#I DUNNO I JUST LOVE THE FUCKED UP ANGST ANGLE HERE

[hereissomething]

hear me out

possessed ford

kissing fiddleford

no? okay ill draw it

[romaritimeharbor]

🌻 I AM BACK HELLO i revised only one topic and gave up on studying so... funny. i love math so much frfr.

i saw your wip list and im just happily jumping around saying yippe every second HAHAH some of them sure break my heart ngl the one with arlecchino and la signora??? aphe who hurt you. WHO IM HURT TOO /lh i already want to hug [name] because grieving sure sucks and when youre a child it probably hits even harder because... how do you tell a child that someone is just. dead. gone forever never coming back. it sucks

and yk i also vote for comfort part for pantalone and younger sib reader (<literally suggested this idea). look no i love the angst and hurt BUT LET THEM BE HAPPYY for a little moment..... although i dont know your exact plans for this fic, i would happily read [name] trying to maybe. accept that this is who pantalone now is.. but not like "oh i know he did bad things but this is my brother )):" way but more like... "okay he's not a good person now and there is nothing i can do with it and i have to learn to accept this" kinda way. lot of conflicting feelings not necessary forgiveness but simple acceptance for how life happened and moving on... i like themes like this??? dunno why

the venti and [name] "are we friends in every universe" is already tugging on my heartstrings HAHA i have a feel that they might be in fact friends in every universe but... their friendship doesnt always have a good end. sometimes it ends badly, sometimes it doesnt, but no matter what, they will always find each other... still im interested how youre going to write it 👀

that kafka wip with teen reader... do you know for how long ive been thinking about different uses of her spirit whisper AJHSHD and funnily the very same scenario, with kafka using her powers to calm someone down from a nightmare also popped in my mind!! lowkey jumped on my seat when i saw this wip 😭😭 im so excited for it. gently holds it 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙌🙌🙌🙌

REAL AS FUCK FOR THAT LMAOOOO HELPPPPP

but i am very glad you are interested in my wips heheheh AND IN MY DEFENSE!!!!!!!! IN MY DEFENSE THAT ONE WAS A REQUEST!!!!! SO I DID NOT COME UP WITH IT. MAYBE YOU SHOULD ASK THAT TO THE ANON WHO SENT IT /lh but that fic will be soooo tragic when i do finally write it.

well MAYBE i'll consider it then............. but that is definitely the angle i would write it from!!! definitely not "i know you're terrible but you're my brother and Blood Runs Thicker Than Water" NO!!!!!!! would definitely be more along the lines of "you are terrible and you're my brother. i love you. i hate you. i hate what you've done. but i know you won't change now and there is nothing i can do about that. there is no forgiveness for you here. but i have no choice other than to slowly accept it because i deserve to live happily and not bitterly over someone else's actions, which i cannot control. i do not forgive you. but i accept you because i value my peace."

YESS EXACTLY THAT IS EXACTLY HOW THAT WIP GOES we are together even when we should not be. we live together. we die together. you die and i do not, but a piece of me does, and i almost wish it had been me instead. IT'S SOOOO AUHFGFGHJFH i can't wait to finish and post it honestly hehehe

it was a request from a moot, i believe!!!! and i am also very excited to write that one, because i totally think kafka's spirit whisper would work for mundane things like nightmares too <3

[hedgewyse]

Tag 9 people you want to get to know better Tagged by @dummerjan, @misspoetree, @letsabandonthisworld (I got around to it eventually!)

Three ships

I love power dynamics in ships, and people who absolutely should not be together. I love people who could destroy one another if they chose to. Whose family or society would be horrified they are together. Bonus points if they are definitely fucking each other up, but continue anyway.

Dongfang Qingcang/Shangque - Love between fairy and devil Ghostship

I love the idea that Shangque is this ancient, powerful dragon but is utterly devoted to Qingcang, knows all his habits, looks after his little mood swings, let's him feel like he's in control even though he probably knows rightly how to manipulate him if he wanted to. Qingcang is the definition of cringefail edgy villain who tries not to show that he's squishy in the middle but only for the right people.

VegasKim - Kinnporsche Ghostship

I really don't care at all about the cousins angle here. When you take a step back and think, our weirdness about that is rooted in concerns around genetic risks and that's uh, not really an issue with same-sex stuff, y'know? Anyway, no, the bit that does it for me is that both families would be outraged, and that they are both utterly tough and unhinged about the family business and absolutely could destroy one another. And they are definitely fucking up each other's lives, ambitions, and self-identity.

Gahan - The Devil Judge main co-stars

Kim Gaon and Kang Yohan are so clearly into each other. So much fascination with each other, how the others operates, what motivates them, the grudging respect. But also just really hot for it. The roaming eyes on both sides when shirts are off. The moments of softness Yohan allows to slip out, the moments of brokenness and anger that Gaon suffers Yohan to witness, how they betray each other but are inexorably drawn together again anyway. I love the moment Yohan risks discovery to save Gaon. I love the moment Gaon risks his life to go down with Yohan. I love both gradually realising the other will come to rescue them, no matter what the risk. I love the age gap. I love how different they are, and how they are two broken pieces which fit together perfectly nonetheless. It's messy and beautiful.

Honorable mentions: WangXian ults, obvs. But I can't put them in every single one of these so I'm trying to branch out.

First ever ship - BtVS: Sprusilla

The second I laid eyes on Drusilla and her graceful, syrupy brand of crazy I was in love, and Spike is such a cringefail dark little villain I was always going to fall for him. They are perfect together. I wish they'd had a spin off series Bonnie&Clyde-ing all over Europe.

Last song

I got this recc from a fanfic. Fucken love when people have fic songs! Set the vibe, queen, I wanna cosy up in your brain.

Last movie - Wandering Earth

Currently reading

Mastering Active Directory by Dishan Francis. Don't even ask, honestly.

But I pretty much read some kind of snuggly fanfic every night to get to sleep - I need my 'literal sleeping together' angst fix.

Currently watching

Just finished Physical: 100 (the women! 👀👀👀) and Moonlight Chicken (this was my first FourthGemini and I am SOLD, holy smokes).

Deciding now between The Glory, Interview with the Vampire (which I'm resuming at ep 5 after the friend I was watching with got distracted by his girl and I am tired of waiting), and I'll probably cave to My School President even though I hate school BLs because of the aforementioned FourthGemini. I'm also still in the middle of Taxi Driver and a rewatch of Magicians with a different friend.

Currently consuming

It's been a really hard month so I've gone back to comfort food; so sweet and sour chicken, pad thai, garlic ramen. And still burning toast every time I come home drunk, lol.

Currently craving

I dunno. Friends who actually want to dance as something more than just pulling at the club? Skinship? An occasional twink to spoil? A deeper conversation? Carrot cake?

Issue declined due to absence of required parameters

Pretty sure everyone has done it already, but just in case, tagging @hilema @negrowhat @dream-thief-forever-amen @cloudburst-ink @eyesof-kkomi @staytotheend @saturnskyline @hoe-for-jihyo @sinistergooseberries

[chimielie]

on the way home

summary: Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader. He comes to you to cure the bad vibes.

word count: 801

cw: fluffy fluffy fluff with the minorest of angst at the beginning. no set timeframe but they’re adults.

a/n: no thoughts just hajime. god i’m in love with him

There’s a light that flashes in his vision no matter how he angles his curtains when he shuts them for the night. On, off, on, off, a little pinprick of red that reminds him that he’s no longer in his childhood bedroom, but instead in his own apartment, in his own adulthood. Sometimes, the light keeps him up, sometimes a blinking, obnoxious force of nostalgia, prodding him further and further along until he breaks down and calls Oikawa so he can reminisce over their golden days together and pretend he’s not sick with fear of the future. Sometimes, it’s a comfort, a reminder that he’s a man in charge of himself and his life, that he can go out in the morning and buy blackout curtains. He hasn’t yet, but he could.

Tonight, he’s only barely managed to sneak his way into dreamland when he jolts awake again, cold sweat covering his shirtless torso. He feels awake almost instantaneously, even though he usually drifts for hours in a half-asleep haze before falling asleep and it’s two A.M. He groans loudly and fluffs up his pillow, turning it over and hoping the fresh side will help him. He closes his eyes and the light blinks, blinks, blinks, shining through his vision, and he sits up again.

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi grumbles, shoving the sheets off and making his way to his dresser to grope blindly for a shirt. “Y/N.”

He’s halfway to you when he realizes that this is a little crazy. He doesn’t want to wake you up, but— he needs to see you. You’ll understand.

Keeping an eye on the road, he composes a text to you during the course of a few red lights, about as cut and dry as his average message. On my way, it reads. Answer the door.

You do, once he gets there, sleep shirt slipping off your shoulder, pajama pants looking far too hot for the temperature of the night. You’re yawning, rubbing your eyes, and he grins at you, pleased.

“Thanks for answering,” he says. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was, asshole,” you say, but you tilt your head and kiss him when he crosses your threshold, and you cling sleepily to his side when he walks in.

The two of you go straight to the bedroom, and you collapse onto your bed immediately, back hitting the soft surface and legs falling open. You beckon and he crawls up between them, laying his head on your chest and looking up at you with soft, adoring eyes.

“Why’d you come, anyway?” Your words are slurring with exhaustion, and he can feel your chest vibrate when you speak. He entwines his fingers with yours and nuzzles his way up to below your chin.

“Had a bad dream,” he says, and even though he only slept a little, his voice is raspy and deep. It usually is, but you imagine that if an earthquake could speak, it would sound like your Hajime in the hour after he’s woken up. “About you.” You can feel him go very still in your arms, the way he does when he doesn’t want you to think he’s upset.

“Mm?” You hum, closing your eyes, rubbing at his shoulders with your free hand. Wow, that muscle is solid. “What happened to me?”

“I dunno,” he says. “I forget my dreams fast. Woke up with a big sense of doom, so I wanted to come see you, make sure you were okay.”

“I’m okay,” you tell him. “Perfect, actually, now you’re here.”

“You are perfect always,” he tells you, voice rumbling into your chest. “Shit, it’s hot.”

You cease the lazy, one-sided shoulder massage so he can sit up, yanking off his shirt, a green shirt for an American band you’re sure he’d never have touched beyond laundry day if he were fully awake or getting dressed in the light. You put your hands on him, on his golden skin, always warm to the touch, and he leans up to kiss you. Kissing him is approximately a million times softer and goofier than his appearance might suggest, as is the rest of his personality around you. You can feel him smiling, pressing closer, and your own lips curve into a smile, dopey and lovestruck.

“You know,” you say when you separate, “overheating causes nightmares. That was probably what it was.”

“Probably,” he agrees, settling down on top of you again. “Comfy?” The two of you wriggle, adjusting, until you can cuddle comfortably.

“So you didn’t have to come,” you say, voice teasing. “Could’ve let me sleep.”

“Sorry, baby,” he says, and you can tell he’s drifting away quickly.

“Kidding,” you murmur. “I’m glad you came.”

“Love you, baby,” he says. You close your eyes and savor the scent, the feel of him.

“Love you too.”

It’s dark in your bedroom. He falls asleep peacefully, and your body is warm and soft, and he has nothing to worry about in the world.

[kingkatsuki]

Unrequited | Awase Yosetsu x Reader

This is my part for the bnharem collab, please check out all the other amazing authors here. The theme this month was flowers! 

Warnings: Angst.

Word Count: 4101.

You’d never been much of a flower person before. You could appreciate their beauty, but you’d never really understood their meanings. The reasons why each flower had its own unique message behind it. More interested in aesthetics than any cryptic messages. That’s why when you received the first bunch, you were perplexed.

“Oi, shitty woman. Why the fuck were these at the front door this morning?” Bakugou flung a bouquet of flowers across the room to you, the ashen smell of his explosive quirk filling the air as you took in the sight of the dishevelled paper, the flowers in a disarray as you looked down at them in confusion. 

“Isn’t it obvious, Bakugou?” Ashido was already leaning over the couch to look at the paper, trying to find a note with them. Seeing the small pink rectangle and grabbing it off the sugar paper before you had a chance to stop her, your hand trying to grab it from her fingers as she held it away from you, “She’s got a secret admirer!”

“What a waste of time.” Bakugou muttered, “Why not just fuckin’ tell you to your face?”

“I dunno, I think it’s kinda romantic, super manly.” Kirishima spoke from beside Bakugou, a bandana keeping his hair back from his body as he wore a baggy vest and basketball shorts, obviously getting ready to go on a run with Bakugou. The grin he gave you made you smile, looking back down into the bouquet as you almost forgot about the note.

Ashido stuck her tongue out at Bakugou childishly as he held the note up, her eyes dancing across the page as she read its contents, Bakugou now storming back towards the front doors to Heights Alliance while Kirishima gave you a wave. 

“I think they really like you, you know.” 

“Huh?” Your eyes were still watching Kirishima’s retreating back as you saw the pink piece of card pushed in your eye line. 

“Your secret admirer. Read it.” You took the note from her hands, allowing your eyes to skim across the message. Your heart thumping in your chest as you read the words across the page.

I was trying to think of the right way to express my feelings for you, nothing I thought of seemed to be adequate enough, so instead I thought I would try to express my feelings through flowers in hopes that you might feel the same.

- Your Secret Admirer.

“Well, that’s great, except I have no idea what flowers these are?” You laughed, stroking your fingers along the small petals, feeling the silky surface against the pads of your fingers.

“One step ahead of you.” Ashido held her phone up to the bunch, trying to angle the camera to capture them the best as she sat shoulder to shoulder beside you, your eyes watching the screen as you waited for the image search to come back.

“Purple Lilacs.” You mused, watching Ashido click the first link as the meaning came up on the screen.

“In the language of flowers, purple lilacs symbolise the first emotions of love, one’s first love or the first time someone feels love for someone.” Ashido stopped reading to squeal, wrapping her arms around you as she pressed you down onto the couch, causing the others in the common room to raise their eyebrows at your antics, “Someone’s in love with you.” 

The way she sang the word ‘love’ made your stomach do back flips, feeling your entire body heat up at the thought. Who the hell was in love with you? You were trying to think of anyone that you’d managed to get closer to over the last few weeks, but you continued to draw a blank.

“Who do you think it is?” Uraraka came up to take the card from the bouquet, reading the message as she let out a soft ‘aww’, “They must really care.”

“I have no idea.”

You spent the rest of that week trying to work out who it could’ve been, over analysing every moment you had with the opposite sex, Midoriya offered you a pen when you forgot yours in class, a blush on his cheeks as he smiled at you when he handed it over. Ojirou asked you to a study session which had you thinking that it could be him. Training with Kirishima after school had a flurry of butterflies erupting as you imagined it was him. Not forgetting the moment where you even though it could be Bakugou when Ashido mentioned it was funny that he’d been the one to find the bouquet. 

It also felt weird that you were trying to shortlist people that may like you, as though there were really that many options? You found it odd that one person happened to like you, and now you were trying to make a list. Walking back to the dorms with your bag slung over your shoulder you continued to think about all the people it could be, were you even really interested in any of them? Did you even like anyone? You weren’t sure. 

As you approached the front doors, you notice someone coming towards you, a familiar mess of black hair wrapped in a bandana.

“Awase?” You smiled, noticing the surprised look on the boy’s face as he gave you a small smile, muttering your name in greeting, “What are you doing here?”

“Why?” He turned back towards Heights Alliance as if questioning himself why he was at your dorm building instead of his own. The harsh tone probably would have set many people back, but you knew it was how he was, having interacted with him during many training exercises. The pink tint spread across his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by you as his eyes suddenly found his shoes quite interesting, “I was just returning a book to Yaoyorozu.”

He must like her, You smiled to yourself as you noticed the way he blushed at the mention of her name. You both stood in silence together, avoiding each other’s gaze as you felt the cool evening breeze swirl around your skirt.

“Well, I better get in.” You smiled, adjusting your bag against your shoulder as he shoved his hands into his slacks, his gaze meeting yours for a moment as you both stared into each other’s eyes, your heartbeat increasing as he broke the contact, looking back down at his shoes.

“Yeah, later.” He brushed passed you on the pavement, his shoulder nudging yours lightly, the movement causing electricity to spark throughout your body, leaving you with a tingling sensation as you turned to watch his retreating form. Smiling to yourself as you skipped up the front steps to the building, your eyes immediately seeing another bouquet laying outside the front doors, propped against the window. You leaned down to pick the flowers up, smiling at the sight of them. These were definitely tulips, your fingers dancing across the large petals as you held the bouquet to your chest, opening the front door as you stepped inside. It was eerily quiet in the common room as you walked passed the couches as you made your way towards your dorm. Your entire body ached after your intense workout after school, and you were ready to collapse into bed, dumping your school bag on the ground as you flopped backward onto your bed. The flowers still clutched against your chest as you held them up, noticing a white card between the stems this time as you fished it out.

Red tulips mean true love.

I’m going to guess you haven’t worked out who I am yet, but I spent each day thinking about you. I wish I could tell you who I am, but I feel like you may not feel the same way if you were to find out.

You paused reading as you tried to think who would say something like this, immediately nervous that it was someone you absolutely did not want it to be. Why would they be scared you didn’t like them back if you didn’t even have a clue who they were? 

Red Tulips mean true love, the kind of love that I feel for you. I just hope that one day if you ever work out who I am that you’ll feel the same. To me, you’re perfect.

- Your Secret Admirer.

You felt warm after reading this note. True Love. Glancing down at the tulips, they suddenly took on a new meaning; someone felt that intensely about you. Glancing towards the flowers that he’d gifted you the first time, the wilted lilacs drooping over the side of the vase as you took them out delicately. Salvaging one to slip it between two pages in one of your books, shutting the page to try and preserve it so you’d have a keepsake for the first time he bought you flowers.

Slipping the tulips into the water as you arranged them, once again taking a photograph like you had for the last bunch and uploading it to your Instagram story. Immediately messages started to flood in from Ashido, asking whether you’d just received them and how, asking you to come downstairs as you looked at your bed wistfully. Groaning as your phone continued to vibrate in your hands.

“Ugh, I’m coming.”

When you made it downstairs, the girls were gathered on the couches, waiting for you eagerly as you stepped closer to them, “Is this a setup?”

“Take a seat, take a seat.” Ashido tapped the cushion beside her as she called your name, a smile on her face as she weaved an arm around you. 

“So, what did they say this time?” Uraraka sat on your other side with a wide grin, her fingers clasped together as you recalled what the note had said and the meaning of the Tulips. Immediately breaking out into a simultaneous squeal as Iida shouted from the tables to keep the noise down, you laughed at the reaction as you tried to decipher who it could be that had given you the flowers.

This time you’d been given a fresh bouquet by Kirishima, a sheepish look on his features as he handed you the flowers. Both men were covered in a glossy sheen of sweat, the moisture sticking to their skin as your eyes wandered over their exposed biceps. 

“Still receiving this shit, hah?” Bakugou growled, making his way towards the showers with a glare on his features.

“I tried to stop him from kicking them, sorry” Kirishima gave you a smile as you took the flowers, your cheeks darkening as his fingers brushed against your own.

Heaving a sigh, you pressed your nose against the most recent bunch of flowers. The stems dishevelled thanks to Bakugou’s harsh arm movements when he flung the bouquet across the room to you, but the note was still dutifully attached to the paper. You’re lips curving into a smile when you read the words scribbled across the paper.

I saw these flowers and thought of you, The Maidens Blue Rose. The true meaning, ‘If you love me, I will find out.’ I’ll spend every day hoping that you do, hoping that one day we’ll be together. That our love will be true.

- Your Secret Admirer.

“What does it say this time?” Momo held out her hand for the note which you handed to her, your fingers slipping through the de-thorned stems, trying to sort them back into place as you took your phone out to take a photograph, uploading it to your Instagram story.

“I’ve got to admit, whoever it is, they’re certainly invested.” You smiled at Momo when she handed the card back, unable to resist re-reading the words. Your cheeks flushed at the thought that someone cared enough to go through all this trouble for you, but you wished that they would tell you who they were, “Any idea who it might be yet?”

“No clue.” You wished you had even an inkling who it could be, but they were yet to give anything away. You thought the more flowers you received, the easier it’d be to work out who had sent them, more clues with more flowers, but you had nothing to go on.

“Well, whoever it is must really like you. They’re definitely persistent.” 

The more you received the flowers, the more you found it peculiar that they never left their identity. The flowers kept arriving, and each time they were always signed by ‘Your Secret Admirer’. Surely your admirer would come forward eventually and show you who he was, show you who had been leaving you these gifts. But until then, you had to keep guessing. The fact that the flowers were always found outside the dorms had you thinking that it was possibly someone from another Class. Trying to wrack your brain on who it could be, maybe it was someone from Class 3-B? Or 3-C? Or perhaps even one of the students from the Support Course. You’d spent such a long time in that class with one of the students designing your Hero Costume, maybe they’d admired you from afar?

Walking to class in the morning, you didn’t even hear Kirishima jog up to you from behind, his shoulder nudging against yours playfully as you stumbled. Steadying yourself as you broke out of your trance as he mumbled a “Shoot, sorry.” His large palms grabbed your biceps to stop you from falling over. 

“I thought you heard me calling your name.” He rubbed the back of his head with a nervous smile, falling into step beside you as you made your way towards the school.

“Hey, did you like the flowers?” Kirishima asked, and your heart almost stopped, how did he know you’d just received another bunch? You hadn’t even taken a picture of these yet. Not sure if maybe Bakugou had text him to let him know, but then Bakugou never really cared about anyone else, so you supposed that it wasn’t that. 

“They were beautiful.” Pushing your hair from your face as you gave him a sincere smile.

“Not as beautiful as you.” He blushed when he realised his words, “Uh, sorry.”

But you paused. Did he just call you beautiful? It must be Kirishima.

“I guess I’ve just never told you that before, huh?”

“I wanted to ask you before someone else got the chance,” You turned your head to glance his way, noticing his cheeks now as red as his hair as he continued to rub the back of his head, “Did you maybe want to go out after school today? Like. Just me, and you?” 

The hopeful tone in his voice had your heart hammering in your chest. Kirishima had been the one sending you all the flowers? How did he know the meaning of each one, the writings on each card, it made your heart swell as your lips reacted before your voice, a huge smile filling your face as you gave him a nod, “Sure, Kiri. I’d love that.”

You felt like you were on cloud nine, everything was perfect. Kirishima was everything you could want in a boyfriend and more. He was friendly, attentive, supportive, and it helped that it was good looking too. How had you gotten so lucky? 

You were waiting for Kirishima after school by the front doors, you’d just finished up a costume design meeting with Mei in the Support Course to add some upgrades to your Hero outfit. You’d promised Kirishima you’d meet him out in front of the school when he finished training with Bakugou after class. 

You heard your name being called out as you turned to the top of the steps, noticing Awase coming down them, a small smile on his face.

“What are you doing here so late?” He adjusted his backpack against his shoulder as he stood in front of you.

“Oh, I had a Support Class meeting, how about you?” You smiled as he still tried to avoid eye contact with you.

“Extra classes with Monoma.” You could tell from the tone of his voice that he wasn’t happy about that.

“That sounds more like detention.” You couldn’t help but stare at his face when he laughed, you’d never quite seen the expression on his face, and your heart began to thump in your chest at sight.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna have to study more to avoid extra classes again.” He groaned, your thoughts immediately flying to Yaoyorozu. You knew he must like her, the blush on his cheeks when you caught him the other day outside your dorms attested to it.

“Why don’t you ask Momo to study with you? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind-”

“Yaoyorozu? Uh- yeah, I guess.” He shuffled his feet, his hand tightening against the strap of his backpack as he cast his eyes away from yours, the same blush spreading against his cheeks.

Silence filled the air as you both stood together outside the school, trying to think of what else you could say to him, as you opened your mouth to speak Awase’s voice cut you off.

“I was just wondering-” Awase kicked the dirt under his feet, trying to decide on the right words to say as you watched him intently, his brows furrowing slightly as his nose scrunched. He looked so cute, you couldn’t help but stare. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late, you weren’t waiting long?” You were broken out of your trance when Kirishima bound towards you, a giant grin on his face. He moved to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, his arm weaving around your waist as he turned to face Awase, holding out his fist for the black-haired male to bump, “Oh, hey man. You okay?”

“Good.” Awase pursed his lips together, noticing the close proximity between you two.

“What did you want to ask me, Awase?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.” He walked off abruptly with his head lowered, your eyes watching him retreating back like you had the day you’d caught him leaving Heights Alliance.

Sorry? For what. You tried to work out what he had to apologise for, you’d interacted more with him this week than you had all your years at Yuuei.

“What was that about?” 

“I’m not sure.” You mumbled, feeling Kirishima’s grip on your waist tighten as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Come on, let’s get back to the dorms and grab some food. You must be hungry.” 

You smiled, taking his large palm in your own as he led you back towards the dorms, but you couldn’t get Awase out of your head.

It had been a few days since that meeting outside the school building, you hadn’t seen Awase since, almost like he was deliberately avoiding you. His words continued to plague your thoughts, taking over when you’d least expect them to. What had he wanted to ask you that day, when he’d never shown a care before. 

When you stepped outside Heights Alliance, you were surprised to find another bouquet laying against the ground, pretty purple flowers sitting there propped against the door. Picking it up and turning it around in your hands, trying to find the card that was always attached to the bouquets you’d received previously, unable to find one. You also found it odd that Kirishima would still be leaving flowers for you outside the dorm, especially since you were dating now. Surely he could just give them to you? You’d definitely have to ask him why; maybe he was still shy about dating you.

Stepping inside the dorms, you pulled your cell phone from your bag, shuffling the flowers, so they were angled towards the camera, much like Ashido had done the first time you’d received flowers, when they type wasn’t specified. Holding your phone as you waited for the page to load.

“Purple Hyacinth.” 

You smiled as various pictures of the flower came up, clicking on the first search engine link to find out the meaning of this particular flower, your face falling when you read the description.

‘The purple hyacinth is a popular symbol of sorrow and regret.’

You walked further into the dorms, cradling the bunch in your arm as you scrolled through the meanings, trying to work out who could’ve sent these to you. Kirishima noticing you from his position on the couches in front of the television as he watched Sero and Kaminari shout at the screen, console controllers in their hands. His face lit up when he saw you, jumping up from his position to welcome you back.

“Hey, baby.” Kirishima pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, “More flowers?”

“Yeah.” You mumbled, a small smile on your face, maybe it was Kirishima.

“Maybe I need to make it more obvious we’re dating, huh? Can’t have another guy making a move on you, wouldn’t be very manly of me.” He gave your shoulder a squeeze as he pulled you against his firm body, “What do these mean then?”

His question fell on deaf ears, your mind running in circles as you tried to work out who’d sent you the bouquet. If Kirishima wasn’t sending you the flowers, then who was?

Awase.

Your mind went back to the time you’d caught him returning the book to Momo, or so he’d said, but she didn’t have a clue what book you were talking about, and the day outside the school with Kirishima. You felt awful. How had you been so oblivious, you were now happily dating Kirishima, you didn’t know what to do.

“I need to go.” You eased yourself out of Kirishima’s grip as you walked back towards the entrance to the dorms, dropping the purple hyacinths against the kitchen counter on your way out. Kirishima called after you, but you ignored him, you needed answers.

It felt so strange being at the Class B dorms this late, taking a deep breath as you knocked on the door. 

“Hey, what are you doing here so late?” Kendo gave you a warm smile as she opened the door wider, giving you a view inside the dorms.

“Hi, uh- I was looking for Awase?” 

“Oh, he’s been in such a bad mood today I dunno why you’d want to speak to him, but I’ll get him for you.” Kendo moved to let you inside, giving her an appreciative “thanks” as she closed the door behind you.

You stood awkwardly in the doorway, not wanting to go further into the Class B dorms, nervous that anyone would overhear the conversation. You felt awful, how could you not have worked it out sooner. Your heart began to beat heavy in your chest when Awase came into view, dark circles under reddened eyes as his hair flopped slightly against his bandana.

“Hey, Awase.”

“Hey.” He gave you a look of confusion, but you couldn’t help but see a glint in his eyes as he came closer to you, “I didn’t expect to see you here so late?”

There was no point dancing around the topic, you’d already set in your mind that he was the one leaving you flowers, each meaning seemed to tie in with the sequence of events that had happened, his dishevelled appearance now only proving your point further.

“I know it was you leaving me the flowers, Awase.” You watched his shoulders tense, his eyes unable to meet yours as he clenched his jaw, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“You just seemed so happy.” His voice croaked, “I didn’t want to take that away from you.”

“You should’ve said something to me, how about that day you went to return the book to Momo?”

“There was no book.” He shrugged his shoulders, his hands slipping inside his sweatpants pockets. 

“I would never have guessed it was you,” You gave him a small smile, but the heartbreak in his eyes was evident. He looked empty.

“How did you know about all the flowers?” You remembered the meaning for every single flower he’d chosen for you, as if he specifically picked them to tell a story.

“Ibara helped me, I thought-” His voice broke, his bottom lip quivering. “I thought it would be easier to confess to you this way.”

“I wish you would’ve said something.” You felt your own tears starting to form in the corners of your eyes, clumping in your lashes as they blurred your vision.

“I’m sorry.”

The final bouquet he had given to you held a far deeper meaning than you could’ve imagined.

[clumsyclifford]

Okay, here is the Cake prompt.“You are/he is the embodiment of actual sunshine.”. You can write angst, fluff, AU, canon. This Cake prompt is now yours to create something new out of. Thanks for always being up for a challenge. Hugs! - 🕷

spidey anon, i sincerely apologize for the delay. but i hope you will accept this (fluff!) as retribution, and i love you <3

-

Luke’s sold out Madison Square Garden and the O2 Arena, but he maintains there’s no better feeling than a lazy day with Calum.

The thing about massive shows is, they end. It’s an unbeatable high followed almost immediately by a crash, peaks and valleys swooping up and down, emotional turbulence that leaves Luke shaky, grasping for something to hold onto. It would be so easy to botch the landing one day. He’s always a little worried he’ll fall cartoonishly into a Luke-shaped hole in the ground and struggle to ever climb out of it.

But Calum, though. Luke always holds onto Calum. And in that way, Calum’s not any towering highs or crushing lows. Calum is the smooth, glittering surface of a lake on a breezy June day, not so much carrying Luke as giving Luke the tools to carry himself. There’s no way to crash from this feeling because it never takes Luke higher or lower than is safe. Calum’s just a constant, a fact of Luke’s life.

Him and his constant, factual love of How I Met Your Mother.

They’re somewhere around their tenth episode. Luke had given up leveling half-hearted complaints about halfway through episode two. In part because he’d gotten bored of getting no reaction, and also because they both know Luke only ever complains to be a little shit. He doesn’t mind How I Met Your Mother, really. 

Mostly, though, Luke would watch anything as long as he gets to watch it like this. Legs stretched across the couch with his head in Calum’s lap, Calum’s left arm resting comfortably over Luke’s torso, right hand carding mindlessly through Luke’s hair. He couldn’t care less how Ted and Robin are doing; his eyes have been closed for at least half an hour, and either Calum hasn’t noticed or he doesn’t care.

Calum giggles at something on the show. The corners of Luke’s mouth tug upward without meaning to, an instinctive response to Calum’s laugh. There’s a clatter at the door, muffled chatter, and then hinges creaking as somebody enters. 

“Hey,” Michael’s voice says, followed closely by Ashton saying, “What’re you watching?”

Luke could answer, but he’s trying to maintain his streak of silence, so he lets Calum take it. 

“How I Met Your Mother,” comes Calum’s reply, clearly said through a poorly-concealed smile.

“Is he asleep?” Ashton asks in a hushed voice.

“Dunno,” Calum says, still around that smile in his voice. “I don’t think so. I don’t mind if he is.”

There’s a moment of silence. “God, look at you,” Michael says, in that tone of voice that means he’s being fond and hiding it behind sarcasm. “You are the embodiment of actual sunshine. Look at that smile, Ash.”

“That’s a happy Calum,” Ashton agrees.

“You’re not contributing to my enjoyment of the show,” Calum says dryly.

Michael’s voice is closer when he says, “And Sleeping Beauty here is?”

“I’m contributing,” Luke says. His voice is hoarse from lack of use. It feels nice. “I’m keeping Calum’s lap warm.”

“He speaks!” says Michael. “Come on, move your legs. I want to sit.”

“I don’t care what you want,” Luke mumbles, even as he tugs his legs towards himself. The sofa sinks under Michael’s weight. Michael taps Luke’s shin, and Luke obediently lowers his legs across Michael’s lap. 

“You guys wanna stop interrupting the actual show that’s playing?” Calum says, slightly exasperated. His fingers scratch lightly against Luke’s scalp, and Luke hums contentedly. He feels the cushions shift again and knows that Ashton has sat himself down on Michael’s left. Luke waits for somebody to say something else, but nobody does. The only sound that carries on is the drone of the show on the TV.

Opening his eyes just a sliver, Luke sees Michael lace his fingers with Ashton and lean into him. His gaze skims upwards, where it meets Calum’s eyes. Predictably, Calum is smiling.

“Hi,” Calum says. Luke’s heart jumps, somehow, even though they’re already boyfriends and something like hi shouldn’t send Luke spiraling. It still does. Calum still does.

“Hi.”

“You can sleep if you want to,” Calum says quietly. “It’s still nice for me.”

“I know,” Luke says. “I’m half-sleeping. I’d never sleep through you playing with my hair. Far too nice to miss.”

Calum grins and Luke sees the crinkles by his eyes. “Fair enough.” 

“Let me know if you need me to violently kick Mashton over there,” Luke adds, just loud enough that Michael whips his head around and glares at Luke.

“Fuck off,” he says.

“We were literally here first,” Luke points out.

“It’s band bonding,” Michael says.

“Where’s the love?” Ashton says. “I’m not feeling the love.”

Luke sighs. Calum taps the fingertips of his left hand against Luke’s ribcage, and Luke imagines it’s his heartbeat, pretends that Calum is the arbiter of that pounding in his chest that keeps him breathing. 

“Don’t worry about it,” whispers Calum, and Luke opens his eyes properly to stare up at Calum.

“You look good like this,” he says, with a goofy grin. 

“Really? From this angle?” Calum grins back. “That’s love.”

“Yep,” Luke says. “It is.”

“Well, you look good always.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Well, good thing I didn’t ask you.”

“Are you going to watch or not? Because we can put on Friends if you’re bored.” 

“There are nicer things to look at,” Calum says. Luke rolls his eyes as if that’ll distract Calum from the way he’s blushing. No such luck. “Aww, you’re all pink.”

“Can you not?” Luke says. “I’m trying to be really manly here.”

Calum dips down and kisses Luke’s forehead. “Sorry. I’m done.”

“No, hey, I was joking,” Luke complains. “Kiss me for real.”

“In front of the kids?”

Luke glances over at Michael and Ashton, but they’re not even paying attention to Luke and Calum, fully absorbed in the plot of the episode. “Quick, while they’re distracted,” he says.

Calum chuckles and leans down, and Luke stretches upward and meets him in the middle, in the most bizarrely angled kiss Luke is pretty sure they’ve ever done. “Not satisfying,” Luke decides when they part, “but it’ll do.”

“You’re the problem here,” Calum says. “If you were just sitting up, we wouldn’t have to do, like, a sideways Spiderman kiss.”

“Not worth it,” Luke says, smiling sweetly. Calum shakes his head, fond, and restarts his process of gently detangling Luke’s hair, deftly separating strands from each other. 

Calum really does look good, like this and also always, but when his gaze returns to the show on the TV, Luke closes his own eyes again. There’s something peaceful about this moment, and Luke wants to savor it; Calum’s fingers working delicately through Luke’s hair as How I Met Your Mother chatters away in the background, Michael tapping out a rhythm against Luke’s shins as he leans into Ashton. The still frame of this tableau could without question be found below the definition of bliss, and Luke makes himself right at home.

[bangtanloverboys]

“There’s something tragic about you” // jhs

summary - after your usual model cancels on you for your art project, your best friend comes to the rescue.

pairing - jung hoseok x gender neutral!art student!reader

genre - fluff (read warnings tho)

word count - 1.7k

warning - nudity, like 1 swear word, kissing, the classic titantic reference

author’s note - this was a sentence starter from this prompt list and it was sent in by @mlkydrms​ not sure if you wanted angst but this is what came out of it. hope you like it!

If you told yourself this morning that your best friend was going to be modeling for one of your art projects, you wouldn’t have believed it. Why? Because your final had to include a nude model and no way was Jung Hoseok going to be nude in front of you. 

Yet here you were, 4 pm in the afternoon in your living room waiting for Hoseok to exit the bathroom.

Originally, you were supposed to have Jin be your model. He has been your model partner for a few projects now, he was just effortless to draw, especially his details. Unfortunately, he got the stomach flu and needed to stay home to recuperate. You were no stranger when it came to cancellations and rain checks when working with models, however the project was due in the next three days. You stupidly put aside all your project to try and focus on your other courses, as did Seokjin. But now there was not enough time for you to fully pull together a full piece with Jin being sick. 

This had led to you slowly freaking out, before you reached full blown panic mode, you called Hoseok. While he wasn’t always the best with words, he was a great listener and even the smallest thing from him made you smile. As you told him your predicament, the line went silent for a few moments. 

“What if. . . I was your model?”

“Excuse me what?” You were stunned at his suggestion. “Hobi. . . it’s a nude painting I need to work on-”

“I know.” He stated, how he was speaking so calmly about this blew your mind. “Your project is due soon, and you need a model. I’m more than happy to help, unless you don’t want me to?”

You bit your lip in thought. He was right, you needed a model and needed one now. You could ask one of your other friends, but here was your best friend offering himself up on a silver plate. Letting out a sigh, you agreed. Hoseok said he’d be over in a bit so that gave you plenty of time to set up and prepare yourself to see. . .all of him. 

Soon as he arrived though, there was this sort of air of awkwardness. You instructed him to go into the bathroom to strip and there was a towel for him to cover himself. He nodded and quickly excused himself. You could see it in the tips of his ears that he was just as nervous as you were about this, seeing him naked was one thing you really weren’t sure about. Because as cliche as it is, you held feelings for him. You already held back on your feelings in fear of it hurting your friendship, but how would seeing him naked impact your friendship.

The clearing of a throat pulled you from your thoughts, you turned your head to see Hoseok standing there, his golden chest revealed to the world and a white towel held tightly around his waist. You resisted the urge to drool as he shuffled into the living room to where you set up the makeshift studio. 

“Uhh where do you want me?” 

You quickly looked between him and the set up. “Sit on the box, back facing me.” You watched as he quickly discarded the towel around his waist and followed your instruction. “Bend your left leg, tuck your right underneath it. Right arm goes to the back and drape your left arm over your bent leg.” Hoseok assumed the pose but he still looked a bit stiff. “Hobi, you can back out if you want to. . .”

“I’m fine!” His voice squeaked. “I mean, I’m fine just. . .new experiences, right?”

You gave him a light smile and nodded. “For the both of us. Now relax your shoulders, you look like you’re being held at gunpoint.” That surely got a kick out of him, his shoulders bounced as he chuckled. “Stop moving!”

“Alright, alright.” He rolled his eyes at you. You could feel his stare as you walked over to your seat and picked up your canvas and charcoal. “You gonna draw me like one of your French girls?”

“Oh my god, how long have you been holding that in?” You rolled your eyes at the cheesy predictable joke. Hoseok just laughed at your reaction, you narrowed your eyes at him and held up the charcoal threateningly. “Sit still and don’t smile!”

Then you got to work, you eyed him carefully before making any strict movement on the canvas. With him being a dance major, it was no surprise to you that he was fit, but you never really did appreciate Hoseok muscle build before now; you were glad you were finally given the excuse. He wasn’t built too big, but there was a softness around each and every edge of him. 

The two of you just sat in comfortable silence, the only sound being of your sketching. You started to feel his eyes on you as you were working on his torso. “Eyes off me, Hoseok.”

“So you get to eye me up while I have to look at the wall? How cruel,” he tsked, but he followed your order and looked back away. “You just look cute when your concentrating.” 

You nearly snap your charcoal pencil in half. “C-come again?”

“You do this really cute thing where you stick your tongue out and scrunch your nose whenever you’re trying to work.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders. You could feel your face flush at his words. “You’re even cuter when you blush.”

“Where is this coming from, exactly?” You ask, trying your best to continue the piece and not fuck it up. 

“I dunno, the fact I’m not wearing pants at the moment has strangely given me the nerve to flirt with you.” He looked at you from the side of his eyes and raised his eyebrows at you.

“And on that note, I’d like to ask if we could put this conversation on hold until you have your pants back on.” He nodded and the silence resumed. 

The torso and arms finished, all you had left was his head. You squint your eyes as you try to find and take in every last detail of his face. The curve of his nose to the sharpness of his jawline to each loose strand of his dark locks. Hoseok really was a man to behold. While you didn’t have a good angle on his eyes, you focused really hard on them, trying to capture him completely. 

“Aand, done.” You said, signing off the piece and dating it at the bottom. With the word, he relaxed his arms and let out a sigh. You watched as he leaned over to grab his towel to once again, cover his modesty. He stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders back. “Sore?”

“Yeah, I don’t know how Jin-hyung does it.” He groaned, placing a hand on his shoulder to try and ease the ache.

“Yoga, and a long hot shower afterwards.” You say honestly. “He used to take them at my place but after the amount of projects, my water bill was going up so I had to kick him out.”

“Honestly, that doesn’t sound half bad right now.” He noted.

“What? The long hot shower or me kicking you out?” You laugh at his strange statement. 

“The hot shower,” he snarkily replied. “Can I see it?”

“Oh yeah sure,” canvas in hand, you take a few steps over to where Hoseok sat and hold out the canvas for him to see. He let out a silent ‘wow’ as he dragged his eyes over the drawing, drinking each and every detail. When his eyes came back up to his face, he had a puzzled look on his face. 

“Can I ask something?” 

“Why is something wrong?” You quickly looked back to the painting and tried to spot the possible mistake you made. 

“No no no, there’s nothing wrong but, I just want to know what you like best about the drawing.” You watched as his cheeks turned a shade of pink.

“Are you asking in general or because it’s you?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Both possibly,” he laughed lightly at you. “What is it?”

“Hmm,” you take a good look at the picture. “Your expression. There’s something tragic about you, something beautifully tragic that just sort of draws me in.”

You look back up to him and he’s staring right back at you. “Beautifully tragic?”

“Shut up,” you place the canvas off to the side. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then help me understand,” he moved his head to try and look at you. “I want to know what the artist sees.”

You sigh and take both of your charcoal covered hands and place them on either side of his face. You look over his features, trying to find the words to describe what you mean. “Your eyes. Your eyes look like you’re in love, yet you hold back.” Slowly, Hoseok’s face came closer to yours. “Like you’re scared of what might happen if you. . .”

He was mere centimeters away from you now, his breath was ghosting over your lips. “If I. . . ?” His eyes were still locked with yours.

“If you let yourself love.” You finished; with his face still in your hands, you trace your thumb over his cheek bone. 

Hoseok’s eyes dropped down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. “Will you let me?”

“Yes,” you breathe. With your permission, he closes the distance between you and presses his lips to yours. Your hands move from his cheeks to his hair, making purchase in his lock. His arms snake around your waist, trying to pull you closer, but due to the awkward angle, it quickly grew uncomfortable and you both pulled away.

“So, are we gonna talk about it now?” Hoseok laughed, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I don’t know, are you wearing pants?” You snorted, “I meant what I said, go put pants on and we can have that conversation.”

“I believe you threw out that reasoning when you kissed me,” he retorted, but he complied and sat up, ready to get changed. But the sudden movement caused him to groan, “Second thought, I might need a hot shower.”

“Oh my god, just go!” You laughed at him as he stiffly made his way back to the bathroom. You rolled your eyes as you heard the shower turn on and let out a sigh, maybe it was a good thing you had a nude assignment.

[unforth]

May Trope Mayhem Fill Day 13: First Kiss

Fandom: Star Wars Eps 7 - 9

Ship: Finn/Poe Dameron

Rating: Gen

Tags: Post canon, fluff with a splash of angstful pining, love confessions, first kiss

Words: 1,987

First time in like a week one of these fills was short enough that I felt it was appropriate to post the whole thing to Tumblr. Also, first time since the event started that I didn’t write either Chinese or Japanese fandom. :D Here, have some Stormpilot.

Xposted to AO3

@duckprintspress​

Rolling onto his side, Finn swung a hand behind himself to catch his balance before he could tumble off the edge of the narrow X Wing nose (was it even called a nose? Finn wasn’t sure, and wasn’t in the mood for the good-natured ribbing he’d sustain if he asked). Poe lay beside him, so close that their sides had been pressed together before Finn moved; he made holding his position look effortless, as effortless as he made flying look, as effortless as he made rebelling look, as effortless as he made smiling look. Lips spread in a relaxed grin, Poe stared up at the night sky over D’Qar, reflected stars sparkling in the depths of his dark eyes. A breeze tousled brown locks over his face and shifted the folds of his loose shirt.

He’s gorgeous.

Am I allowed to think that? I wish I knew. I wish I could ask. And...maybe I can...I wish I knew why I feel like I can’t…

...don’t be an idiot, FN-21-- Finn. I feel I can’t because I’m scared of what’ll happen if I say something I shouldn’t.

I can’t risk losing what we have now.

So - let’s keep things safe, instead.

“What happens now?” Finn asked. Even speaking barely above a whisper, Finn’s voice sounded loud in his ears in the forest night. Insects chirped, branches creaked, leaves rustled, something called low and eerie from the darkness, and Poe’s breathing ebbed and flowed in sof rushes of air. Speaking seemed to shatter something, and Finn wished he hadn’t, but Poe didn’t react as though he’d done anything wrong; he wiggled onto his side, slid an arm under himself, set his elbow on the hard metal of the X Wing and propped his head up on the hand, and directed toward Finn the same easy look that, moments before, had stared up at the sky. One of those gusting exhales brushed over Finn’s face, warm and humid, and stole Finn’s breath away.

“What doesn’t happen now?” Poe replied avidly. “The sky’s the limit, literally. Rey’s got that whole Jedi-Sith fusion plan going on, and the politicians are doing, I dunno, the same crap they always do, and I’m still training folks at the academy...there’s sure enough to keep busy with! I guess the question is - what do you want to happen now? What do you want to do, Finn?”

(read more)

“I want to stay by your side.” The answer, the truth, slipped from Finn before he could stop it. A dash of panic set his heart to racing - what if Poe misunderstood what he meant? What if Poe understood what he meant? - and he continued in a rush, “You know. Rehabilitating the former Storm Troopers. Helping them integrate. Retraining the ones who want it. All that kind of…” Searching for the right words, he raised an arm and waved vaguely at the ait; tiny bugs flitted away as though he movement threatened them; it didn’t - the only threat was to his own precarious perch, and he caught himself with a foot thrown behind himself and a boot stomped hard against the angled side of the ship. “...stuff like that.”

“Awesome stuff like that, yeah.” Poe’s eagerness was spectacular, his implicit support calming. “But honestly? Not exactly what I meant.”

“No?”

Poe shook his head; even that didn’t damage his positioning. Truly, the man was a wonder in everything he did.

But he didn’t answer.

“Something wrong?” Finn asked leadingly, nervously.

“No...and yes,” Poe sighed, slumping onto his back and pressing his palms into his eyes. “Fuck, I’m bad at this.”

“Bad at what?”

“Usually, it’s so easy.”

“What’s easy?”

“I just...go to the person, say how I feel and what I’d like to do, they go, ‘cool, yeah, let’s do that!’ or ‘I’d rather not’ or, at worst, ‘ew, no, get away,’ and that’s that - it’s all good, we do what we do, we don’t do what we don’t do, and life goes on.”

“I literally couldn’t have less idea what you’re talking about.” Finn scowled, disgruntled. He knew that Poe was forward in stating his desires and approaching people he was interested in. That was part of why Finn felt so sure he wasn’t allowed to want - all that confidence had never been directed toward Finn, at least not ‘like that.’ If Poe wanted what Finn wanted, why hadn’t he just said something?

Takes one to know one, Finn - I feel how I feel, and I want what I want, but I haven’t said anything either…

“But you…” Poe directed his speech toward the fathomless sky, not sparing Finn’s interjections a reaction. “...Fuck, I don’t know. What am I even saying?”

“That’s what I’m wondering,” said Finn. “ ‘Cause it almost sounds like you’re suggesting that you’ve got feelings and...doings...that you want to say, except for whatever reason, you’re putting me in a different category than...like...everyone else?”

Please don’t...please tell me I’m just another person…

“Uh, duh?”

...or say that. Oh, that stings.

“Oh,” muttered Finn. Shifting his leg, he let gravity take him and did a controlled tumble down to the runway, landing in a squat.

“Finn?” Poe called after him. Glaring at nothing, Finn rose and stalked toward the barracks.

“Wait up!”

He knew he was being unreasonable.

“Come on, don’t be like that!”

He knew he was being unfair.

“Will you just stop?”

He knew that, if he wanted Poe to talk to him, his current behavior was guaranteed to produce the exact opposite result.

“You don’t understand!”

He knew, knew, that Poe didn’t see him as merely an ex-Stormtrooper, merely a former soldier, merely a murderer who had to learn to assume the facsimile of personhood.

“Aaargh, you’re being impossible!”

He doesn’t see me that way.

“This is exactly why I didn’t know what to say!”

I see me that way.

“I love you!” Poe’s voice, breathless and sincere, shouted out loudly enough in the night that the birds and animals went silent.

Finn froze.

Pounding footsteps raced up behind him and Poe sprinted to his side, overran by several steps, stopped huffing and puffing with his hands on his knees and his breath making foggy clouds in the chill night air before him.

“I know...I know what you’re thinking,” Poe said. “I get what you’re afraid of. And you’re not wrong.” I’m not? “I don’t see you like those people. Because you’re not those people. They could be anyone, but you’re Finn.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” asked Finn acidly. I’m sure it is. He said he loved me. He said...he really said…

“If I cared less, I could talk about it more.”

“...that sounds like something I’ve heard before…”

“Whatever, it’s from some book the General recommended, it doesn’t matter,” said Poe, waving away Finn’s words. “What matters is you. You matter too much for me to risk hurting you. You’re too important for me to take for granted. You’re too special for me to sanguinely accept that if I say the wrong thing, you’ll walk away. And then I said the wrong thing anyway, and you did walk away, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

He looks so earnest, so genuine, so beautiful, that Finn’s heart ached.

“Can I fix it?” Poe implored.

His concerns sound so similar to my own...he comes from a place of experience, and I from a place of inexperience, but the fears are the same.

“Tell me how, and I’ll do it.”

And now I know - there’s nothing for me to be afraid, because he’s told me how he feels, and I know it’s the truth.

“Because I’ve lost everyone - almost everyone - and I can’t lose you too, Finn.”

I’ve told him nothing.

“You won’t,” Finn said; a moment of shame and worry had him looking around, looking down, his toe scuffing the dirt of the path...and then he shook his head, crossed the couple steps separating them, threw his arms around Poe’s shoulders, and pulled him into a rough hug. “You never will.” A helpless noise burst from Poe and then he relaxed into the embrace, putting one arm around Finn’s waist, another around his shoulders, and holding him like he never meant to let go.

“Finn…”

“I love you, Poe,” Finn murmured, shifting his head against the side of Poe’s face, delighting in the tingle of scruff tickling against his cheek, adoring being able to whisper the truth into Poe’s ear. “Seriously.” Poe breathed a word - it might have been yes! but Finn wasn’t sure - and hugged him more tightly. “I really, really, love you.”

“Really, really?” asked Poe, voice rolling with laughter.

“Really, really.”

“Just to be abso-fricken-lutely clear, you don’t mean, like...bro-love?”

“I mean, like, I can’t remember the last time I looked at your face and didn’t imagine kissing you senseless.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s...that’s really, really.”

“Yup.”

“Awesome.” And Poe dropped an arm, leaned back, and hesitated a moment as he gazed at Finn’s face...and he lifted a hand to Finn’s face, ran calloused fingers over his cheek, and then leaned forward and brought their lips together softly, slowly, gently.

Finn had seen a lot of people kiss since he joined the Rebellion.

Finn had been kissed, and kissed others, a whole mess of time - in grief, in celebration, in relief, in greeting. So many cultures kissed casually, he’d learned to do the same.

Finn thought he knew what a kiss was.

Easing into lip-on-lip contact with Poe, Finn realized with crystal-clear, fuzzy-warm clarity, he had no idea what a kiss was.

And he was really, really looking forward to finding out.

He and Poe would have to experiment a great deal until Finn understood, profoundly, how all those other kisses were different from exchanging tender intimacies with the man he’s loved and wanted since roughly 10 Standard Minutes after they met.

Too soon, the kiss ended. There was a soft mwap as they drew apart. Finn’s lips tingled pleasantly, warmth suffusing his chest; flicking out his tongue, he moistened the skin and delighted at the flavor of Poe in his mouth.

He opened his eyes.

Poe was staring avidly at his mouth.

“That good, Finn?” he asked, voice low and throaty.

“You tell me,” Finn replied.

“How about we both work on the sharing-and-caring?”

“It was fantastic, Poe.”

“Right?! It really was!”

“Really, really!”

“Super really, really!”

“Ultra really, really.”

“Mega really, really.”

“Ice-cream-with-a-cherry-on-top really, really.”

“Where did you even learn that?” laughed Poe. “Ginormously re--”

“Question.”

“Anything, Finn.”

“Why are we talking about it when we could be doing it again?”

“...valid. Really valid.”

“Really, really valid?”

Snorting, Poe smacked a quick kiss on his lips again - Finn chased him futilely as he leaned away - and broke their embrace to take Finn’s hand.

“My bunk or yours?”

“My bunk is literally a bunk,” replied Finn.

“And mine isn’t?”

“Yeah, but yours is in a room, with a door, and no bunkmates.”

“...they haven’t given you your own room?!”

“How do you not know that?”

“You literally saved the galaxy.”

“We all literally saved the galaxy.”

“I...you...fucking damn, okay, tomorrow, we’re going to fix that.”

“And right now?”

“Right now...my bunk. Definitely my bunk. Right, Finn?”

“Really, really right, Poe.”

“Stop that,” groaned Poe, laughing again.

“Never,” promised Finn with a grin, and delighted in the matching grin he got back.

“That’s right. Never. Never stop.”

“I really, really won’t.”

“Fuck, do I love you…”

And, beaming, beyond happy, Finn allowed himself to be drawn to Poe’s room.

Had he truly been so worried about how things would go if he spoke his heart?

Now, he was really, really not worried.

And he knew - he was in for a really, really, excellent night…

...and he’d never have to really, really, worry about Poe’s heart again.

Really, really.

[definitely-not-gremlins]

hi for that ask thing ,, 1. critical role / 2. shadowgast / 3. caleb & essek respectively

Hell you’re just going right for the jugular. 

001 | Critical Role:

Favorite character: Caleb Widogast but all of the M9 are absolute wonderful, vital and irreplaceable and I would murder for all of them. From c1 it would be Percy but again the whole dynamics in-between characters  in both the M9 and VM are what really makes the show great.

Least Favorite character: I want to say Trent Ikithon because I mean. Duh. But I find him interesting and I want to know what his angle is on several things. I have a seething hatred for Ripley, though.

5 Favorite ships (no order):

Shadowgast 

Widomauk

Beauyasha

Percahlia 

Scanlan/Pike (i dont know their ship name and im too lazy to look)

Character I find most attractive: Beau, Caleb, Percy

Character I would marry: hhhhh idk

Character I would be best friends with: Frumpkin. 

a random thought: I will never get over how cute Pike & Grogs friendship was it always makes me smile.

An unpopular opinion: Discourse! You can’t really compare Caleb’s & Essek’s guilt with the info we have. Or you can but not draw a definite conclusion.

My Canon OTP: Percahlia

My Non-canon OTP: I guess Shadowgast but like I’m cool if it never becomes canon and stuff.

Most Badass Character: All of them have moments of badassery so I don’t wanna pick one.

Most Epic Villain: The Briarwoods. 

Pairing I am not a fan of: Hhhh I dunno.

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): None. Helps that for each main character there’s someone responsible just for them. :D Though Molly got really screwed over tbf. Haha.

Favourite Friendship: NO I CAN’T PICK JUST ONE AND YOU CAN’T MAKE ME. 

Character I most identify with: Oof. I don’t really know, to be honest. 

Character I wish I could be: None of ‘em have you looked at their backstories? 

002 | Shadowgast:

When I started shipping them: Episode 91. YEAH I HELD OUT LONG.

My thoughts: Though I see the probability for them becoming canon to be very low as of right now, I’m very curious to see where it will go. Even as a platonic relationship their dynamic is just super fucking interesting and I can’t wait to see what happens with it. Just kinda hope they don’t kill Essek off before it can go anywhere.

What makes me happy about them: The whole ‘kindred spirits’, common ground vibe

What makes me sad about them: Aside from the canon problems, I always get sad when I remember their different lifespans. I know that with consecution and Transmogrification there are ways to make it better but still.

Things done in fanfic that annoys me: Those are all more Caleb-specific than ship specific. I can’t think of any specifically for this ship though there’s probably some.

Things I look for in fanfic: Oh I’m not that picky, I think. And it changes with the time of day. I just like seeing interpretations of them in general. Oh wait I forgot. Angst. So much Angst. 

My wishlist: For the M9 to find a way to deal with Essek that doesn’t end up in his death.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: Essek I would find absolutely weird with anyone else to be quite honest. As for Caleb, as long as it grows organically I’m fine with most anyone. Yes, Jester, too.

My happily ever after for them: Essek resigns and leaves his Den and the Dynasty. When the Nein are done adventuring and Caleb survived all of this they settle down somewhere and do research forever and put their joint names on many a spell. Caleb becomes a teacher. Essek can be one too. I haven’t given this a lot of thought but their Happily Ever After is SOFT okay.

003 | Caleb:

How I feel about this character: I love him, find him interesting and love to see his journey and his backstory.

Any/all the people I ship romantically with this character: Primarily Essek, recently also Molly (sads) and a little bit of Jester

My favorite non-romantic relationship for this character: Here’s the thing. Caleb has great platonic relationships with everyone in the M9 and with Essek. So. Hm. Maybe Empire Kids.

My unpopular opinion about this character: I really don’t like it in fanfic when people retcon his backstory relationship to have been with Eodwulf instead of Astrid for absolutely no reason.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: That Jester-Insight Check, man. That should have FAILED. Other than that I really can’t wait for more brushes of him with Trent in some way.

Favorite friendship for this character: See above for ‘non-romantic relationship’

My crossover ship: Not a fan of crossovers.

003 | Essek:

How I feel about this character: Love him even just as a fascinating character. Hope he will see that he did a bad and try to do good but he really needs to not be indifferent to the consequences of his actions. We’ll see!

Any/all the people I ship romantically with this character: Caleb. 

My favorite non-romantic relationship for this character: ... Caleb. And the M9 as a unit.

My unpopular opinion about this character: See above in 001 “Unpopular opinion” i think it counts.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish Beau hadn’t tagged along to walk him home. No hate on her it was top tier sibling energy but still. In the future, hope he keeps his head on his shoulders for a while.

Favorite friendship for this character: See above for ‘non-romantic relationship’

My crossover ship: Not a fan of crossovers.²

THANKS FOR THE ASK SORRY THIS GOT SO LONG.

[mermaidxatxheart]

Crazy in Love

So, it’s been a hot minute since I posted anything. I was having trouble with my external hard drive and even now I have to use my old, slow as shit laptop to post this. This one came from a story prompt given to me by @everythingisoverrated​ I hope you like it.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 8,681

Summary: An attack is coming from outer space. Big surprise. Another day, another dollar. Team Cap and Team Iron Man are joining forces, but Steve calls in someone from Bucky’s past to help with this particular mission. And Bucky isn’t happy about it at all.

Warning: Smut, anger, angst, violence, deadly injuries, and obviously swearing because it’s me.

IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, DON’T READ ANY FURTHER

“I dunno, Steve. This is crazy, even for you.” Bucky mutters, rolling up his scouting maps. 

“That’s why I’ve brought in help.” Steve has a wicked glint in his eye and Bucky doesn’t like it one bit.  

“By help you mean... Natasha? Or Wanda?” He asks, tucking his maps away. 

“Uh, close.” Steve focuses on someone behind him. Bucky half turns and groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“You have got to be kidding me.” He starts to turn back to his best friend. “Steven-“  

Shockingly, Steve is nowhere to be seen.  

“Damn it, Rogers,” Bucky mutters. You approach and Bucky isn’t sure if he wants to take a swing at you or push you against the wall and kiss you like his life depends on it. You always have that effect on him.  

Completely infuriating, but stupidly attractive. 

“Hey, Buck.” You grin, your eyes dipping down over his body slowly before coming back up to his face.  

“Y/N.” He replies through clenched teeth. Better to just stay stock still before his body does something his mind doesn’t approve of.  

See, he knows you’re crazy. He knows that being around you is bad for his health, you’re gonna kill him one of these days. Either through stress or just straight putting a bullet in him. But that doesn’t stop him from wanting you every time he sees you. He had to end your relationship months ago when he realized that while his mind said ‘stay away she’s nine pounds of crazy in a five-pound bag’ his body said ‘but the sex is amazing. She’s everything you want.’  You can’t have that kind of conflict in a healthy relationship. 

And so he ended it.  

And regrets it every day since.  

“Looks like we’re gonna be work together.” You say, leaning against the table next to him. Your arm is touching his and he can feel the electricity between you two. 

��Look, you just stay on your side of the field and I’ll stay on mine.” He grumbles. He doesn’t want to be any closer to you than he has to. He can already feel his willpower crumbling.  “

If that’s how you want to play it.” You shrug and he feels a trap coming. He can feel it hanging in the air, he’s not sure what it’s going to be yet, but he just knows you’re going to trap him, you love your games. 

“Great. That’s settled.” He turns and stomps away, making his escape before you can trick him. 

“Any spare long-distance rifles I can borrow?” You ask, appearing right next to him. He tries not to flinch, to keep control at least outwardly. You don’t need to know that you startled him.  

“In the armory,” Bucky mutters, having no intention of taking you there. You can find your own way. 

“I love the armory.” You hum, stretching your arms above your head so your stomach is exposed. 

Damn it, he’s not supposed to look.  

He snaps his eyes forward. 

“Remember the first time you took me there?” You purr, your fingers creeping up his metal arm. “You bent me over the table in the middle-“ 

“Stop.” Bucky clenches his jaw. His blood is simmering in his veins and he doesn’t want to remember that day, how fucking good you felt all wrapped around him, panting and crying out his name. 

Shit. 

“What will you give me?” You tease and his heart skips a beat in his chest. 

“To stop talking? An-“ he cuts off, knowing he has to be careful with his words. “What do you want?” 

“A little contest.”  

There it is. 

He fucking walked right into it and didn’t even see it coming. 

“A contest?” He repeats. 

“Yeah. We’re going to be killing alien bad guys all day, might as well make it interesting. Whoever kills the most wins.” You shrug like it’s the simplest thing in the whole world. 

“And the winner gets what?” Bucky sighs. 

“Anything he or she may want. Within reason, obviously.” You amend and he knows you threw that in for his benefit.  

Once you win, and he has no doubt you will, you know he’ll be putty in your talented hands. He could just say no, walk away and that’s the end of it. He opens his mouth to say those little words, but what comes out is so fucked up, he can’t believe his brain actually allowed it. 

“You’re on. May the best man win.” Bucky says confidently, already hating his life. 

“I’m sure you will.” You purr, rising up on your tiptoes, kissing his cheek and opening the door to the armory. 

How the fuck did he end up walking you here? The silver table in the middle is empty, so very empty. He knows where the camera switches are, he could easily disable them and show you once and for all just how dangerous it is for you two to be together, just like he tried showing you that first day in the very same room. 

But it’s like you have no sense of fear or self- preservation. He’s not sure if he loves that about you, or if it terrifies him. He watches you walk into the room and you slide up onto the table, lithe and graceful like a cat and god damn it, he has to walk away before he bends you over it again.  

He marches off to find Steve. What the fuck was he thinking? Inviting you here? He could just punch him in his perfect stupid face.  

“Rogers!” He shouts, spotting his friend up ahead. 

“Shit.” He hears Steve mutter, but the big blond knows he’s been caught. “Hey, buddy.” Steve smiles widely. 

“Why her?” Bucky demands. 

“Because next to you, she’s the best. And I need the best for this.” Steve says calmly. “You’re both adults, you can get along.”  

“You don’t understand-“ 

“Buck, it’s done. I’m sorry but I can’t back down on this. You’re just gonna have to deal with it. Now, I have to go see Natasha. Go play nice.” Steve turns Bucky around and pushes him back to the armory.  

“Jerk,” Bucky mutters. 

“I heard that, punk,” Steve calls over his shoulder.  

Bucky grumbles under his breath and heads back to the armory, his stomach churning into nervous knots. He hates that you make him feel this way and he hates how much he still likes you.  

He enters the armory to see you sitting on the table. You’re leaning back, swinging your shapely legs, eyes closed like you’re soaking up rays at the beach. 

“I miss your cologne.” You sigh as he enters.  

He grabs a duffle bag, loading his ammo of choice. He’s determined to ignore you, to keep his head on straight. He hears you slide off the table, the creaking bringing back memories and he squeezes his eyes shut. 

You step up behind him, your slender arms wrapping around his waist and shit, if you don’t fit perfectly. You seem to mold to him from any angle and he shouldn’t like that as much as he does. 

“Stop.” He huffs, grabbing your wrists. 

“I miss you.” You hum against his back, your fingers curling into his shirt.  

“Y/N,”  

“No one can ever treat me the way you do. They don’t even come close.” You moan, burying your face in his shoulder. Your nails dig into his skin and god help him, he loves the sting of it.  He shakes his head, pulling your hands away from his body. 

“Where’s your rifle?” He snaps, moving away. He can feel the scratches you’ve left under his shirt. 

“The cabinet is locked.” You pout. He sighs and pulls out his keys, unlocking the rifle cabinet. You hover behind him, a grin spreading wide across your beautiful face. "Oh, look at these sweet babies!” You gasp, pushing past him and pulling out his rifle. He takes it from your hands, a scowl crossing his face. 

This is the problem with you, no sense of propriety. “Can you please stop talking about assault rifles like they’re puppies?" 

“How many can I have?” You beg, turning to him and grabbing his shirt. 

“You can only use one at a time, babe.” He says, the pet name slipping out before he can stop himself. You don’t even argue and he knows he’s gonna regret that. 

“I think I’ll go with the ArmaLite AR-50.” You say, lifting the massive thing out of its holding bracket. 

“Are you kidding? That thing’s a cannon! Look at the fluted end.” Bucky scoffs. 

“That end minimizes the recoil.” You say pointedly, but setting it back in its brackets. “You’re thinking too much about stealth. This mission isn’t about stealth, it’s about defending a city.” 

“That’s a fair point. Well, what about the Barrett Model 98B?” 

“The Bravo? Yeah, I like that one.” You lift it up and brace it against your shoulder. “Yeah, I like the way this one fits.” You say with a look at him. 

“Don’t go there.” He turns his back on you, just as difficult this time as it was when he said goodbye to you the first time.  

“Why?” You snap and he turns around. “I don’t get it, Bucky. I let you go before, thinking you’d get over your little tantrum and come back to me. You know it’s the right thing. But it’s been months. You can’t tell me you don’t miss me. No one can understand like me. Even Steve can’t.” 

Bucky clenches his jaw, working the muscles there as he struggles to maintain some sort of semblance of control. He can feel it disintegrating as you speak. He knows you’re right, fuck, he knows it. It sits heavy in his chest, prickling at his nerves. And he can’t deny it anymore. It was easy to pretend he didn’t care, that he was mad at you while you weren’t here in front of him.  

Fuck it. 

He sets his rifle down at moves to the door. He hears you sigh loudly as he locks the door, disabling the cameras at the same time. He turns back to you and you’re right in front of him. 

“Coward. You can’t even admit the truth to yourself!” You shove him back a step. Something inside him snaps, as it always does when you fight him. He shoves you back against the cage and, not giving you a chance to recover, kisses you. His lips are harsh and hungry against yours as he grabs your arms, keeping you in place. He growls low in his chest as you kiss him back fiercely.  

You tug against his shirt, pull it off over his head, breaking the kiss for a split second. More clothes are discarded, your hands pull at his hair and he grips your thighs, lifting you up easily. You wrap your legs around his hips as he sets you on the table, kissing down your neck. One of your hands is braced against the cold table and the other is knotted in his hair.  

You breathe heavily in his ear and the sound drives him crazy. He was stupid to think he could just walk away from you. He pulls you off the table and spins you around. Your hands brace against the table, your bare ass pushing back against him.  

“Such a tease.” He snarls, pushing on the back of your neck and bending you over the metal table. He gently kicks your feet apart and lines his throbbing cock up with your slit. You bend your arm behind your back, grasping for his hand.  He laces his fingers with yours and slams home. The table creaks loudly and you moan, arching back off the table. Damn it, you’re still so tight and fit perfectly around him. He holds still for a moment, adjusting to your grip and giving you a chance to adjust. You squeeze his hand, ready to keep going. He pulls his hips back and snaps forward, bottoming out. 

You groan, resting your cheek on the table. He picks up speed, thrusting faster and faster. Your tight, silken walls spasm around him and he groans. 

Fuck, you feel so good. A perfect fit.  

“Harder.” You gasp, squeezing his hand hard.  

Just like him, you like the pain, need it even.  

He leans forward a little, his other hand fisting in your hair and pulling your head back. Your soft moans drive him insane.  

The rest of the time you’re loud and brash and crazy, but here, despite the aggression between you, in this intimate moment-you’re soft and quiet. He could spend the rest of forever trying to figure you out and it still won’t be long enough. He growls quietly, a menacing sound and you clamp down around his cock, your mouth parted, breaths fogging up the metal table. 

“Bucky,” You whisper, your nails digging into the flesh of his hand.  

You’re close, he can feel it as you tremble around him. He switches up his rhythm, hard and deep, fast and hard.  

Your entire body locks into place, muscles tensing as your legs shake, barely supporting you. Your breathing stops and you squeeze your eyes shut. Your cunt walls feel like they’re trying to force his member out, searing pleasure racing up his spine and burning across his chest.  

He slams in, hilting inside you completely, his own orgasm rocking through him. His breathing is heavy as he hovers over you. He guides your arm back around under you and you clutch his hand to your chest.  

After a few minutes, you both come down enough for him to pull out of you.  

“Contest is called off, right?” Bucky asks, scooping up your bra. You laugh, taking it from him. 

“Afraid you’ll lose?” You tease, retrieving your various clothes.  

“Definitely. You’re way more competitive.” Bucky smirks, pulling on his pants. 

“We were designed to be killing machines, sometimes the only way to survive is to make a game out of it.” You lean against his chest and press a kiss to his lips. “That’s something you always had a problem with. You have such a big soul.” You sigh, pulling your shirt on. 

“You have a soul, too, you know.” 

“Agree to disagree.” You shrug, gesturing to the door.  

He grabs his bag and rifle with a huff and unlocks the door. He walks out to the hangar, feeling annoyed at you.  

How can you say you don’t have a soul? He knows you don’t believe that, but after everything you both had been through, you just found it easier to shut out your emotions, even your relationship with him never felt... true. You were just having fun with him. He was crazy about you, and you just toyed with him.  He marches onto the aircraft to find Steve and Natasha chatting at the front. 

“You two work it out?” Steve asks. 

“We’ll be working it out when we're two hundred.” He rolls his eyes. “Are we ready?” 

“Almost. Tony, Rhodey and the others will meet us on site.” Steve says as you and Sam come on board.  

Bucky avoids looking at you, settling into the pilot’s seat. Natasha takes her seat next to him, getting ready. He likes Nat, there’s an easy familiarity between them, both having such strong Russian influences in their lives. 

“Who’s your friend?” She asks quietly.  

Bucky glances over his shoulder at you; you’re watching him with Nat, and you don’t look pleased. “An old friend. We were in Siberia together.” 

“I didn’t think any of the others survived.” 

“She was out of cryo at the time.” Steve approaches them and rests his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. While he and Nat had been talking, a squadron of T’Challa’s warriors had boarded along with the king himself.  

“We’re ready,” Steve says. Bucky and Natasha ready for take-off. 

“Wish we could fit a couple of those rhinos on here,” Natasha says with a smirk and Bucky laughs. 

“Right? Where’s that shrinking guy when you need him?” 

“That would have been genius!” Nat punches him in the arm as they lift into the sky.  

It’s not long to the abandoned city way on the outskirts of Egypt. They park out of the way of the field, Bucky setting down gently.  

“When are you gonna help me find Rogers a girlfriend?” Natasha asks him as they get out of their seats. 

“I don’t think I’m the best one to help with that. People aren’t really my thing anymore.” 

“I dunno, Barnes. You’re still relatively charming.” Natasha winks as she heads for the exit ramp.  

Bucky rolls his eyes, following after her. He slings his rifle bag over his shoulder and is about to step down into the sand when you brush past him roughly. He watches you jog ahead, tilting his head. He catches up to you, knowing he’s going to regret this. 

“You okay? It’s a good thing to be nervous. Or, so they tell me.” He starts and you don’t reply. Not even a chuckle. “Y/N,” he starts, grabbing your arm.  

You shrug him off, not even looking in his direction. “I’m fine, Buck. No nerves here. Just the heartless bitch.” You say coldly, pulling ahead. He slows down, your rejection stings more than he would like to admit. But what he can’t figure out is why you’re acting like that in the first place.  

Steve stops in the center of the old square, tucking away his GPS. “This is the spot.” 

“How do you know?” You ask, falling next to him. 

“Two of our contacts figured it out. They’re good with this stuff.” He says. “I figure you and Bucky take positions on some of these taller buildings, Clint can find wherever he’s comfortable. We’ll take the ground. When Tony shows up, we’ll coordinate with them.”  

“You trust this guy?” You ask and there’s an underlying tone in your voice. Bucky feels like maybe you aren’t really asking about Tony. He still gets a knot in his stomach when Stark is mentioned. 

“As much as I trust Bucky. You two work it out who wants where.” Steve says with a slight nod to his best friend. Bucky glances at the tallest building, already crumbling from the raging winds and sand and heads off for that direction, you knock shoulders with him, heading the same way. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bucky snaps. 

“Heading for my spot.” You snap back, gesturing for his building. 

“That’s my position. Go pick a different one.” He pushes you away.  

You stiffen and punch him in the arm. “That’s a better spot for me. You go find a different one.” You demand.  

“Bucky.” Natasha comes in over the earpieces. “Look to your right.” She says and you glare at the redhead across the plaza. 

“Why?” You grumble, but Bucky looks and grins. 

“Oh, good eye, Romanoff.” He says, moving behind you and off towards a better position for him. “You’re right, Y/N, that one has you written all over it.” He calls, heading for the new perch. His last sight is of you crossing your arms and scowling. He breaks down the door and makes his way up the tilting, winding staircases, his mind wandering to you. You seem to be extra difficult since take off. When he left you in the armory, you were still smiling and joking, but now you’re in a mood.  

He doesn’t ever know what to expect from you. 

He gets his rifle set up and swivels his scope over to where you are and checks you over. You seem to have gotten settled just fine. He flashes his scope and you reply. You’re good to go and his chest loosens slightly.  

“Stark’s here,” Steve says over the comms and Bucky is glad he’s already in the shadows.  

“Good. Because it’s starting.” Nat replies.  

Bucky aims his rifle towards the sky and the brilliant blue turns to a dark, angry purple. Lightning streaks across the sky, thunder clouds rumble, and the sky splits open, revealing a whole new sky, purple clouds, bright stars, and thousands of spaceships.  

Bucky’s stomach plummets and he looks over at you. A manic grin crosses your face and you look back at him. 

-.. --- -. -     ..-. --- .-. --. . -     -... . -

You flash your scope at him and he rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about the damn bet.” He mutters.  

“Holy shit.” 

“Parker! Watch your mouth, don’t make me tell May.” 

“Sorry, Mr. Stark.” There’s a moment of stillness as if the entire desert is holding its breath. The wind doesn’t blow, the sand doesn’t rattle against broken glass. The spaceships hover in the air for a count of thirty, Bucky counts them in his breaths. Then chaos breaks loose and Bucky doesn’t even have a moment to think. He burns through an entire box of ammo in ten minutes. You’re counting in his ear, racking up numbers, laughing so loud he can hear you across the square over the immense noise.  

All of Bucky’s friends, and maybe some not friends, are taking on their own battles. There’s plenty of enemies to spare and more coming with every second.  

He’s in the middle of dumping out a new box when he realizes he can’t remember when he heard your laugh last. What number had you been on? When did you stop counting out loud? He aims his scope over towards your post but he can’t see you. Your rifle is gone from the window and his heart slams to a stop in his chest. 

“Y/N?” He calls on the comms. He gives you a few seconds to reply, loading his rifle again. “Y/N, sound off.” He orders, sweeping his scope over his teammates. He takes out a few stragglers, hating that he’s actually keeping a mental record. Still no answer.  

He scans over your window again and sees you throw yourself out of the window, down the six stories to the sand and cobblestone below. His heart tumbles as the sparks of a pre-explosion catch his eye in the window above you. The actual explosion decimates the building and rubble falls down around everyone. 

“Did you need something, Barnes?” You ask with a smirk up towards him. He rolls his eyes and continues firing. 

“This isn’t gonna work. They’re just gonna keep coming unless we find a way to take them all out at once.” Tony says. 

“Anyone have a nuke handy?” Steve asks sarcastically. 

“Very funny,” Tony mutters.  

There’s no more conversation for a minute and then Bucky hears footsteps behind him. He turns, pistol already pulled out and aimed at Natasha. 

“Jesus, Nat.” He sighs, tucking it back in his holster. 

“I have an idea.” She says, coming over to him. 

“Oh yeah? On a scale of one to Australia, how dangerous are we talking?" He asks and she grins. 

“Well, you won’t like it, but your girlfriend might.” She gestures out the window and Bucky looks down to see you staring up at them, your face eerily calm.  

“Alright, let’s regroup with the others. Tell them your crazy plan.” He sighs, packing up his rifle. 

“So, she is your girlfriend?” Nat presses. 

“Not anymore. Let it go, I don’t wanna talk about it.” Bucky says, following her down. 

“You broke up with her, right?” She guesses. Bucky slings an arm around her shoulders. 

“Don’t worry about my relationship with Y/N and I’ll get everyone off your back about Banner.” He says quietly and she elbows him in the ribs. 

“Fine.”  

You, along with everyone else able to, gather in the square. “Okay, we’re here. What’s your big idea?” You snap, crossing your arms.  

“They all seem to be centered around that big blue ship. I bet if you take that one out, the rest will fall, like bees or ants.” 

“Didn’t realize you avidly studied bees.” You mutter and Bucky gives you a warning look. 

“Makes sense,” Steve mutters. “As much as anything else, I suppose. Who goes in?” 

“Me and Y/N,” Bucky says with a shrug.  

You snap your head over to look at him, your scowl getting bigger.  

“Why you two?” Tony asks accusingly. 

“It’s the most logical. We can do it easily. In and out, no big deal.” He shrugs again. 

“Fine. Go. How do you plan on getting up there?”  

“Leave that to us. You just keep them contained.” Bucky says, turning away. He can feel Nat’s eyes on him.  

“You know that’s a one-way trip.” She says quietly to him. 

“Yeah but maybe not for both of us.” He mutters, glancing back at you over his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna be pissed if you don’t come back. Who else is gonna play pranks on Sam with me?” She says quietly.  

He chuckles. “That last one was pretty good, wasn’t it?” 

“Any idea how you’re gonna get up there?” She asks. One of the hover crafts they use zooms by and Bucky suddenly has an idea. 

“Steve!” He calls, jogging over and grabbing your wrist along the way. “We’re gonna need a lift.” He says, nodding his head upward. Steve studies it for a minute before readying his shield. 

“You sure about this?” He asks. 

“Yeah. It’ll be fun.” Bucky lies. It’s not going to be fun, but it will be worth it to keep you at least somewhat safe. 

“You got it.” Steve shrugs and hefts his shield.  

Bucky doesn’t give you a choice, he pulls you onto his back and you tangle yourself around him with a huff in his ear. 

“Worst idea you’ve ever had.” You whisper, sending shivers down his spine. 

“Really? I thought you’d like it.” He grins, taking off at a run at Steve, leaping onto the shield at the same time that Steve pushes up. You cling right around his neck as he catches onto the bottom of a hovercraft. He grits his teeth as it pulls on his metal arm, the joint straining as he holds both your weights. He finds handholds and works his way back towards the end of the craft. 

“You good?” He calls over the roaring wind. 

“Good. Go faster.” You reply, gripping the front of his shirt. 

“Go faster.” He grumbles. “You carry two super soldiers on a flying car as it weaves around.” 

“I heard that.” You dig your nails in and he hisses. He hauls you both up onto the back and you climb over him, your boots digging into his back, his shoulders, his face. 

“Oh, I hate you.” He groans, heaving himself up and over.  

You’ve already kicked one off and you’re in the middle of fighting off the other one. You drag it away from the steering system and Bucky lets you handle it, slipping in front of the joysticks.  

“I thought I was driving!” You shout, ducking a swinging limb. 

“I’m a better driver!” He shouts back. 

“That’s a bald-faced lie!”  

“Remember Germany? ‘77! You drove us into a lake!” 

“I took a wrong turn!” You kick it over the edge and move next to him. 

“I distinctly remember you laughing!” He looks at you and you grin with a shrug. 

“It was fun.”  

He steers towards the big spaceship, flying low, hoping to avoid any kind of radar. He glides through a small opening and landing quickly off to the side. You leap over the side, not making any effort to hide or go unnoticed. 

“What way?” You ask, glancing at him. Your tone is cold. You’ve never spoken to him like that. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, taking your arm.  

You jerk it roughly out of his grasp, turning away from him. “I’m fine. Worry about yourself.” You snap. 

“Y/N, did I do something?” 

“No, you were predictably perfectly you.” You mutter, pulling out a small baton and flicking it down and out to the side. Silver metal plates link together to form a sleek, dangerous-looking Katana, your favorite weapon. It had been a gift from your previous Hydra handler, and as far as Bucky knows, you were the only Soldat to receive a gift, ever.  

“I don’t understand.” He says finally. He’s leading you down a series of tunnels, looking for something to tell him the way.  A door opens behind you and you shove your way inside, slamming behind you. Bucky tried to open the door, but it’s solidly locked, even his metal arm isn’t getting through. How can you be so reckless? He should be in there, having your back. That’s the whole point of being here together. Screeching noises and thuds of things hitting the walls are muffled as they come through the door and he has mental images of you slumped against the wall, one of the creatures towering over you, about to finish you off. The door hisses open and you step out, your katana and face covered in speckles of blood, guts, and gore. 

“What the fuck, Y/N? You can be so reckless.” 

You shove him back, your blade nicking his arm. “I don’t need your protection. I certainly didn’t ask for it. Just mind your own fucking business, Barnes. Stay out of my life!” You shout, taking off down the hallway.  

His heart crumples in his chest, feeling hollow like a useless tin can, but he follows you nonetheless, doing everything he can to keep you safe as you grow more and more reckless.  

You’re leading them further into the labyrinth, not heading for anything obviously useful. His stomach turns into knots, making him sick with each slice of your wicked blade. 

“Y/N, stop, we have to find a way to destroy the ship.” He says finally, trying to get you to listen.  

You’re beyond listening, your face a mask of rage and hatred. You clear out a room and Bucky glances inside, seeing something he can use to start a chain reaction. He darts inside and starts to quickly assemble a homemade bomb, quick and dirty. He can hear you outside, getting further down the hall and he knows he has to hurry. His heart is hammering in his chest as he messes up and has to start over. 

Finally, it’s done and he rushes out to find you. He just follows the trail of bodies to find you surrounded by at least seven of the towering beasts. Even at your best, you can’t handle that many at once.  

Without even thinking, he charges in, shooting the ones that he can. You cry out and he’s momentarily distracted, turning towards you to see you drop to one knee for just a moment.  

“Y/N!” He shouts, and then there’s a moment.  

Your eyes are on him and they widen slightly. He can’t hear any sounds at all, it’s like the volume has been turned off on the world. He’s sluggish, body reacting too slowly as he turns in front of him. A creature is there, a massive blade at the end of its arm. He can feel his body jolt on impact but there’s no pain.  

He doesn’t understand. There should be pain. His eyes slide slowly down the creature’s face, torso, to its arm embedded in his body. His feet aren’t even touching the floor, dangling in the air.  

He looks back up at it and suddenly, its head is gone. It crashes to its knees, jarring Bucky as his feet touch, but he still doesn’t feel any pain. And he can’t figure out what happened to its head. Then you’re there, tears streaming down your face as you cradle his head. 

“Bucky,”  

He can hear your voice again and he thinks it’s perfect this way. The one person he loves more than anything should be the last person he sees before he dies. The way it’s supposed to be. 

“I’m so sorry.” You gasp and he tries to take your hand but he’s holding something. 

The bomb. 

“Engines.” He mumbles, trying to hand it to you. 

“Bucky, please don’t leave me.” You cry and he smiles slightly. 

“I love you. I’ve always loved you.” His eyes flutter closed, but he wants to keep them open, to see your face until the very last second. “The engines. You need... to stop it... the assault...” he forces out, his breathing is shallow now. 

“I can’t leave you.” You plead and he struggles to find your hand.  

“For me? A last request.” He manages a weak chuckle.  

“You’re not dying. You can’t die.” You demand. 

“We’ll discuss your terms after...” he trails off. “After all, you win the bet.” 

“After.” You repeat, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I love you, Bucky Barnes. Don’t you dare die on me or I’ll kill you myself.” 

His heart swells painfully in his chest. “You love me?” He repeats slowly. He’s waited for years for you to admit that.  

“You better still be alive when I get back.” You warn and he can’t help the smile on his face. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He says tiredly. He’s so tired. He feels the pressure of your hand on his, a squeeze and then you’re gone.

 *** 

Your heart is breaking slowly in your chest, like someone tearing strips of paper just to listen to the riiiip. You had been so stupid, so careless, just wanting to die at seeing Bucky, your Bucky, flirting with that red-headed tramp. Then he has the nerve to bring you up here on this suicide mission and you could just throttle him.  

You were pissed and hurt and looking for any reason to get away from him, maybe get a little injured so he would be worried about you instead. But your half-baked idea backfired big time and now Bucky is dying.  

Dying. 

And it’s all your fault. A sob racks through your chest as you find the engine room. You take out the creature in the back easily and set up the bomb. Damn, he’s good. He left a port to attach it to as many charges as you can find or make. You rush around, grabbing things you would need, rigging up extra explosives to all the engine blocks.  

Finally done, you run back over to the original one and look at how to set it up. Thankfully, he had installed a timer.  

Unfortunately, he had set it for five minutes.  

It had taken you ten just to get here. 

“Oh, I could just kill you for getting hurt.” You mutter. You have no choice but to set the timer. Before the first second even ticks off, you’re bolting back to the hallway where you left Bucky. Your muscles are burning as you push them faster than you’ve ever had to before.  

You might be super, but it’s still painful. You round the corner and see Bucky still there and you sigh with relief. You slid next to him and take his hand. 

“Bucky?” You gasp. Your chest is painfully tight as you struggle to catch your breath. He doesn’t answer you and you freeze. None of your training prepared you for this. You weren’t ever designed to feel this way. You tentatively reach and hand out, checking for a pulse. Your hand is trembling and you force yourself to stay calm. Panicking won’t do him any good.  

You feel a pulse, it’s weak, but it’s there. You only have a minute to get him away.  

“Bucky? Can you help at all?” You ask, standing back up and tugging on his arm.  He doesn’t respond and your heart sinks. You’re never gonna make it. It’s too far, he’s too heavy, you’re too tired.  

You could just stay here with him, let this be the end. He’s almost there, you know you can’t do this in this world without him. Just let there be peace for you two at last.  

But what about Steve? His best friend that went through hell and back several times to save Bucky? Could you really do that to Steve? Bucky’s still alive, and so are you. So you’re going to live. You heave on his arm and support his as best you can. 

Shit, he weighs a ton. It never feels like this much when he’s on top of you. You’ve nearly made it back to your stolen ship when you feel something sharp in your side. You stumble, losing your grip on him as pain blooms up your side. You look down to see a slit. It matches Bucky’s but smaller. You glance behind you as your knees give out just in time. A blade whistles over your head as a creature stands over you.  

You don’t have time for this. You pull out your handgun and shoot, aiming for what looks like the face. It goes down and doesn’t move. With a groan you get back to your feet, pulling Bucky with you. Just a little further. A little longer and Steve can save him.  

Steve always saves him.  

You shove Bucky over the side of the stolen craft, letting him sprawl on the floor. You can feel the explosions vibrating through the ship, ripping metal apart.  

You pull yourself up and struggle to turn the hover around. How had he made this look so easy? You bump into another craft, a wall, some columns, and a dozen creatures before making your way out of the exit. You don’t have time to think, you’re running on pure adrenaline. You know as soon as you stop, you’re gonna crash. The analytical side of your brain knows you’re losing too much blood, but your body just keeps pumping it.  

The shockwaves from the explosions shake your hover as you rocket back to the desert, the rip in space closing fast.  

Looks like the redhead was right, this was the mother ship. It doesn’t make you like her any more.  

You try not to crash the craft, but it’s like steering a refrigerator. One explosion of sand later, you’re flying through the air, tumbling into the earth.  

“Son of a bitch.” You hear Steve mutter, heading for you. You can’t see him with all the sand in your eyes, but you point in the direction you think the craft is in. 

“Get Bucky.” You say, knowing he’ll hear you. You carefully brush the sand out of your eyes and eyelashes, before trudging yourself to your feet.  

“What happened to him?” Steve snaps as he and a guy with wings struggle to lift him out. 

“It’s my fault, I went ahead, he tried to save me.” You stammer. You know Steve deserves the full story, but you’re so tired. 

“He didn’t want you here,” Steve mutters as they carry him onto the ship. The redhead is there, helping. “I should have listened to him. I should never have forced him to work with you.” He says harshly, pushing you out of the way of the platform.  

His words are like a knife in your chest. You know he’s right, Bucky hadn’t wanted you around, but you were so selfish and so one-track-minded that you didn’t care about what he wanted.  

“I’m sorry, Steve.” You say quietly.  

“You’re damn right you are.” He snaps. “Nat, take us home.” He says to the redhead. The platform door closes in front of your face and someone pulls you back gently out of the way as it takes off.  

“He will forgive, as soon as Barnes is okay.” A man says in your ear. His accent is African, the King of Wakanda. 

“Maybe I don’t deserve to be forgiven.” You mumble. “He should save it for someone with a soul.” You traipse back through the sand to retrieve Bucky’s rifle, ducking inside the building he had used for cover.  

If you close your eyes and pretend really hard, you can almost catch whiffs of his cologne. You know it’s not real, you know it’s all in your head, but it makes you feel better.  

Just like it had on those nights when Hydra fought so hard to break you. When you could hear his screams five floors down and couldn’t do a thing to help. Just like when you’d see him after a mission and he wouldn’t recognize you, the Soldat firmly back in place. You sink against the wall, sliding to the floor as tears slide down your face. You close your eyes, pressing his rifle against your face.  

Soldat, your Bucky, the man who got you through sixty years of a never-ending nightmare, and this is all you’ll ever have left of him. And so you cry. You cry in the privacy of the abandoned building. No one comes looking for you, you’re not even sure they saw where you went. Your heart shatters like broken glass as you realize Steve won’t ever trust you now, won’t ever let you near them.  

You’d be better off just letting it end here. Bucky knows how you feel, that’s enough. You need to let him move on with someone who isn’t crazy.  As long as it isn’t the redhead. 

Anyone but her. 

Your legs slide out and you can feel your pulse slow as your adrenaline runs out of gas. You close your eyes, finally able to see peace at the end of a very dark, very long tunnel. 

Okoye 

“How long are we going to let her mope?” She asks T’Challa. 

“She just needs some privacy.” He pulls another alien carcass to the pyre. 

“She’s been in there for twenty minutes, while we work!” 

“Some emotions take longer to work through, especially if they are unfamiliar.” He raises an eyebrow. “While we work? Okoye.” He tsks.  

“I am keeping my King safe.” Okoye grins.  

“If you are so worried, go get her,” T’Challa says, waving her away.  

Okoye scoffs and heads over to the building. She knocks respectfully as she pokes her head in, but you don’t look up.  

In fact, you don’t even move. Okoye’s pulse stutters as she realizes something is very wrong. She nudges you with her foot and that’s when she notices all the blood pooling under you. She curses silently to herself. 

“My King!” She shouts, kneeling down and checking for your pulse. It’s so weak she can barely feel it. T’Challa runs over, his brown eyes going wide. 

“She’s not-“ 

“Not yet, but soon.” 

“We need to get her back to Wakanda.” He says. 

“I’ll take her,” Stark says. How he appeared behind them unnoticed will forever remain a mystery to Okoye. 

“You can carry her?” Okoye asks doubtfully. 

“Should be no problem.” He scoops you up, Bucky’s rifle slipping out of your fingers.  

“Just a moment,” T’Challa says, removing two beads from his bracelet and pressing them into your wounds. “That will stabilize her for the flight.”  

Tony backs out of the doorway and takes off into the sky. Okoye looks at her king with a frown. “Why wouldn’t she say something?” She asks. 

“Maybe she didn’t know?” He shrugs and walks back to continue cleaning up. 

Bucky 

He slowly becomes aware of noises around him before his eyes open. He doesn’t want to open them at all. He was having the best dream he’s ever had and who would want to wake up from that? You had been over him, your hands so soft and gentle on his face. He was prepared to say goodbye, to let you move on as he floated somewhere, but then you told him you loved him and he didn’t want to leave.  

He wanted to stay in this dream forever, here with you.  

“Are you gonna tell him?” He hears hushed whispers somewhere far away. 

 “Are you kidding? He’d kill me. It would break him.” Comes the reply. It takes him a long time to realize that he knows those voices. 

Sam has spoken first, then Steve. 

“He loved her and now she’s... she’s just gone. How am I gonna break that news to him?” Steve says. 

Gone?  

Are they talking about you? Steve’s tone sounds so final. 

No. 

No!  

You can’t be dead.  

His chest hurts. He can’t breathe. His eyes fly open as he grabs his chest, feeling like his muscles are seizing up. 

Heart attack. 

Good, if you’re dead he doesn’t want to be here anymore. It was supposed to be him that didn’t survive, not you. You deserved a chance. 

“Shit, he’s awake.” Steve curses and there’s a commotion. “Bucky! Breathe.” 

He gasps in air, but his chest feels like it’s caving in. Steve grasps his hand, squeezing it just like you had, but for a different reason. 

“Buck, come on, man.”  

“Y/N-“ Bucky chokes. 

“She left, she’s gone,” Steve says. 

“Alive?” 

“Very much so.” Steve sighs. “I’m sorry, Buck. I didn’t want you to find out like this.” 

Bucky feels his chest ease, but only slightly. He still needs to see you, to feel you in his arms. He finally looks around him, realizing he’s in a hospital wing. “How did I get here?” He closes his eyes, the memories flooding back. “She did it. She set off the bomb.” 

“Yeah. She did it, and got you both home.” Steve grumbles. 

“Where is she? I wanna see her” 

“She left, two days ago. As soon as she found out you were gonna be okay, and after she healed.” 

“Healed? She was injured?” Bucky sits up straight, ignoring the dull throb in his midsection.  

“Easy, she’s fine now.” 

“Steve, please? You told me to work it out. I have.” 

Steve is silent for a few minutes, eyes closed, head hanging while he did some deep breathing. “Okay, where would she go?” 

“How long before we can leave?” 

“You need at least two days before you can get the all-clear. I won’t allow less than that. You were nearly cut in half.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I fell down a mountain. I’m pretty sure we can survive anything.” 

Sam gives a low chuckle. “I see why you two are friends now. I get it.” He grins. “Makes perfect sense.” 

“Anything I can get you in the meantime?” 

“Morse transmitter. An old one.” Bucky says instantly. He has a sickening feeling as to where you’d go and he wants to get you out of there as quick as possible.  

It takes Steve forever to find the transmitter and even longer for Bucky to set it up. “Where did you find this dinosaur?” Bucky asks, climbing carefully out of bed despite Steve’s protests. 

“I’m not telling. You’ll just laugh at me. Just do what you have to do. We’ll leave tomorrow afternoon.” Steve leaves him to it, giving him privacy. He finds the right dial, his heart hammering in his chest. 

“Y/N, I know you’re there.” He taps out. He gives it a moment for you to reply, but he gets nothing but silence back. “Come on, answer me.” He grumbles, rubbing his forehead.  

“Fine. Don’t answer. You won’t like the consequences.” He sends, pushing the machine away. His heart is sinking but he knows he can find you. 

*** 

“Shit. It’s fucking cold.” Steve’s teeth are chattering. 

“You get used to it,” Bucky says darkly. He jumps down from the snow tank, his landing making little puffs of snow.  

“You’re sure she’s here? She never answered.” Steve says. His nose and cheeks are red from the bitter cold, but to Bucky, it’s painfully familiar.  

The way the wind bites into his skin, the cold leeches the heat from his joints and his metal arm aches where steel meets flesh. But the cold fresh air feels good, giving him some clarity. He’s been worried sick about you, about what he’d find when he finally makes it home to Siberia. Would you have healed from your injury? Or did you bleed out on the cold abandoned floors of your nightmare?  

He forces himself to be smart, you would have booby-trapped the place to ensure you remained alone. He eases the heavy metal door open, catching the tripwire you have just inside. He disables it and moves on. Steve smartly stays behind him, letting the person who knows you best deal with it.  

Twenty minutes later, he’s disabled at least fifteen intricately designed traps and saved Steve at least twice. 

“Where are we going?” Steve whispers and it sounds so loud in the silence. 

“Officer’s quarters. Always the nicest. No speaking from here on out. And watch where you put your feet.”  

Moving forward is slow when he has to stop and disable traps every five feet. Finally, he disables the last one outside the biggest room. He can hear water running inside, you’re in the private showers. He vividly remembers the man who lived here. He always paid special attention to you and even back then it would make Bucky sick to see anyone touching you that way. And the fact that you chose this room over all the others pisses him off.  

He motions for Steve to stay outside as he picks the lock. He moves silently across the room, he can see the steam billowing from under the door. He eases the door open, the heat washes over him, filled with your scent and his blood boils.  

You have your back to him, clearly, you haven’t gotten in yet. Your pants are still on, you’ve pulled off your shirt and are examining your wound. The scar is ugly, jagged and red.  

“Ow, fuck.” You hiss as he props his shoulder against the door frame. He watches you for a minute, relieved that you’re alive and okay. But then he’s pissed that you left. 

“I’m hurt that you didn’t even wait for me to wake up before you left.” He says and you visibly jump, falling into the sink as you whirl around, covering your bare chest.  

“Bucky!” You shout, slamming your hands down against your thighs. 

“Really offended.” He repeats, his eyes trailing over you. “Especially now that I know you’re okay.” 

“Yeah, well. Your best friend made it pretty clear I wasn’t welcome.” You shrug, rubbing your arm. 

“He was just pissed. He’s over that now. Come here.” He holds out his hand for you. You, however, don’t step closer. 

“He was right, Bucky. I’ve messed up everything for you. I almost got you killed. He was right to be mad.” You say quietly. “I bet he wasn’t even very happy that you came here to get me. Or did you sneak out?” 

“He’s outside, actually. Now, get over here.” He demands, pushing himself off the frame.  

“Bucky,” You sigh.  

He grabs your wrist and pulls you gently against him. “So, while we were on the spaceship, I told you I loved you. And I think I fell asleep because in my dream you said it back and I just have to ask,” 

“I love you, you beautiful idiot. Shut up and kiss me.” You grumble and he grins, his heart feeling lighter than it has in 75 years.  

He wraps his arms around you and picks you up, kissing you deeply. He will never get over the feel of your lips on his. He knows now he was stupid to ever think he could just walk away from you.  

He will never make that mistake again. 

“Marry me.” He whispers, breaking away and pressing his forehead against yours.  

“You’re crazy.” 

“No. You were right. We make sense, we’re perfect together, meant to be. I won’t lose you again. I love you, I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you. Marry me.” 

“Finally.” You kiss him back and he grins against your mouth. 

“Is it safe to come in?” Steve calls from the hallway and Bucky laughs. 

“Yeah. You’re good, Steve.” He pokes his head in the door and smiles tentatively. 

“Hi, Y/N.” He says. 

“Hey, Steve.” 

“So, what’s the word? Staying here? Going home?” He asks, rubbing his hands together. Bucky looks down at you and you smile back up at him. 

“Let’s go home.” You say softly. 

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[ambrossart]

PAPER MEN

— CHAPTER 5

SUMMARY: All Evelyn Tozier wanted to do was make Derry High School a safer place for her kid brother. Well, somewhere between kissing Patrick Hockstetter and telling the principal to go f*** himself, things got a little off track. Now she’s stuck in the middle of a bizarre love triangle with two of Derry’s most troubled teens while her little brother and his friends hunt down a creepy, child-eating circus clown. This year, summer can’t come fast enough. PAIRINGS: Henry Bowers x Tozier!Sister; Patrick Hockstetter x Tozier!Sister WARNINGS: violence, profanity, sexual content, bullying, sexual assault, physical abuse, emotional abuse, all kinds of abuse, trauma, mental illness, implied/referenced self-harm, child death, angst, lots of angst, recreational drug use, underage drinking, underage sex, love triangles, toxic relationships, slow burn, slow build

WORD COUNT: 3,863

MASTERPOST

MASTERLIST

There were few things in life that Belch Huggins cherished more than his 1981 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. His lovely mother, Charlene, was one of them (and no amount of teasing from the other boys was ever going to make him think any different). The other was the mix tape Christie Gibson had given him last summer. Sure, the music was mostly shit, a mixture of teen-pop dance hits and new-wave garbage that used way too much synth, but that’s what had been playing while they were fooling around in the back seat of his car, so he couldn’t bring himself to toss it. Instead, he locked it away in his glove box—the same glove box Henry Bowers was digging through right now.

The teen lazily fingered his way down the stack, finding mostly old receipts and other useless junk. Nothing particularly interesting. “You got a lotta shit in here, you know that?” His words were muffled by the lit cigarette jutting out from between his lips. He took it out and blew the smoke out the window with a single puff.

Belch kept one eye on the road. “Yeah, I gotta clean it out one of these days.”

“No shit.” Henry flipped the compartment closed and leaned back in his seat, his elbow hanging out the window. He flicked grey ashes onto the road. “Where are we even going?”

“I dunno, man. I’m just driving.” He turned onto Macklin Street, going nice and slow as he passed the police station.

A loud groan came from the back seat. “We’ve been just driving for over an hour,” said Patrick Hockstetter, his long legs bent at an uncomfortable angle. The cardboard box was wedged between him and Victor Criss, taking up what little space there was back there. “Why do we still have this, anyway?” At this point, Patrick was ready to chuck it out the window and watch it get pulverized by the cars behind them. He pounded on the box a few times with his fist. “Let’s just dump it already.”

Henry blew out more smoke and ran his hand through his dirty blond hair. “Shut up, Patrick.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Fine, then I’m putting on some music.” He pushed himself between the two front seats and started fumbling with the frequency knob. “Because if I have to listen to metal mouth grinding his teeth for one more second, I’m gonna blow my fuckin’ brains out.”

Vic shot him a venomous glare. “Fuck you, man.”

“Oh, so he can talk.” Patrick stopped between stations, filling the car with the grating sound of static and snatches of voices, (You’re listening to WBFE…) and he turned around, smirking. “So, Vic, I’m dying to know what you and Tozier were talking about for so long outside school today. Must’ve been quite the conversation.”

Henry took an extra-long drag from his cigarette, closing his eyes as he inhaled the smoke.

(… mostly cloudy tonight, with a low of fif-fif—ee—oo)

“I told you already,” Vic said, getting more defensive than he ought to, but all the noise was making it hard for him to think straight. Patrick seemed to sense that. Probably even planned for it, the bastard. “Girl just wanted her shirts back. Guess she thought I would help her.”

(and then I said to the kuh-kuh-kuh-klutz… if you wanna be a juh-juh-ackassssssssss)

Patrick propped up his elbow on Henry’s seat, getting a little too comfortable for the other boy’s liking. Patrick didn’t care. “Yeah, but why would she think that, Vic? Why would she think you would help her?”

A loud, high-pitched screech took over the speakers, making everyone except Patrick cringe and cover their ears. The car swerved into the left lane, right into oncoming traffic. Belch pulled hard on the steering wheel just before they collided with a green four-door; then he slammed his fist on the wheel, his face red-hot and sweaty. “Goddammit, Patrick!”

The radio went dead after that (Henry had flipped the switch), but their ears kept ringing for a while as they adjusted to the silence. Belch made another right and then took the very next left onto Kansas Street.

Patrick looked annoyed, like a child who got his toy taken away. “I was listening to that.”

When he tried to turn it back on, Henry gave his hand a good swat. “Just sit the fuck down, Patrick,” he said, seething. “I’m already getting tired of your shit.”

Patrick didn’t back down. In fact, he sat up even taller. “God, that girl’s really got you worked up, huh, Bowers? Evelyn Tozier, who’da thought?” He gave Henry’s arm a light smack. “Hey, why don’t you do us all a favor and nail the little bitch already? Or are you too much of a pussy?”

Henry responded by putting out his cigarette on Patrick’s forearm, enjoying the quiet sizzle that his skin made as it burned. Patrick seemed to enjoy it, too. The boy didn’t even flinch. In fact, he was smiling.

“You know what,” Patrick said in an almost taunting way, keeping his arm perfectly still, “it doesn’t even hurt.”

In turn, Henry pushed the cigarette deeper into the boy’s skin and gave it a little twist. The ashes pooled around the butt and crumbled away, falling onto the seat and onto the floor.

Belch glanced in their direction. “What the fuck are you two doing?” From where he was sitting, it looked like some sadistic game of chicken, and he wasn’t sure who was winning. “Hey, you assholes better not get any of that shit in my car. I just vacuumed.”

At that, Henry removed the cigarette and tossed it out the window before drawing a new one from his pack. Patrick’s lips stretched into a victorious smirk as he sank back into his seat. A burning, bright red ring had already started to form around the tiny pink crater on his arm, getting darker by the second. Patrick didn’t mind.

He threw his head back and stared up at the roof, getting lost in the blackness of it. “So, where are we going?”

Belch couldn’t remember who had suggested they go to the dump, but he figured it was probably Patrick Hockstetter. Patrick liked to go there alone sometimes, to scour through all the muck and the trash in hopes of finding that rare diamond in the rough. Once, he found an old La-Z-Boy recliner that still worked if you gave the lever a good enough yank. He hauled it home in the back of Martin Davers’s red pickup, then doused it with a full can of aerosol spray to cover up the smell. Now it was his favorite chair.

Patrick got out first, before the car had even come to a complete stop. He pulled his long, skinny torso out through the driver’s side window, dragged his legs over the frame one after another, and then jumped down. “Bout fuckin’ time.” His legs ached as he stretched them out for the first time, but it was a good ache. Their old strength was returning quickly. To prove it, he kicked an old soup can and sent it flying halfway across the yard, where it bounced off the broken door of an old puke-green refrigerator and rolled underneath a junked Toyota Corolla sitting on bare wheel-rims.

Patrick threw his hands up like he’d just scored a goal, then spun around. “You fuckers getting out, or what?”

They didn’t move, and he didn’t wait for them. Patrick sucked in a lungful of the sour, sludgy air and walked off by himself, disappearing behind one of the garbage piles. The others were glad to see him go.

Henry Bowers made himself comfortable on the car’s hood, pulling out a third cigarette with his teeth. It took him a couple of tries to create a flame with his lighter. For some reason, he just couldn’t get the motion right, and his growing frustration only made it worse. “Useless piece of shit.” Once he finally had it, he whipped the lighter at the ground and leaned all the way back against the windshield, drawing his legs in.

Belch Huggins and Victor Criss were watching him from inside the car, neither of them saying a word. Vic draped his arm over the cardboard box, holding it close, protecting it while he could. Then a thought flashed through his mind. He wondered if anyone would notice if he took the box and walked off with it. How far would he make it before Henry caught him?

Not far, he decided. Vic wasn’t fast enough to outrun him.

But if he had Belch’s car, he could do it. Sure he could.

Vic looked up at the rearview mirror and saw the older boy’s reflection. Reggie (that was his real name, though hardly anybody ever called him by it) seemed troubled by something, maybe the same “something” that was bothering Vic right now. His large hands were on the steering wheel, gripping it at ten and two like you were supposed to, and the keys were still in the ignition, dangling from a silver chain with a red leather strap and two black-and-white dice.

Maybe, Vic thought as he watched the dice clack together, Reggie wanted to drive away, too. If Vic asked him, maybe he’d gun it and take off. Make Henry Bowers slide off the hood and chase after them, hollering like a maniac. The thought almost made Vic burst out laughing.

Almost.

Truthfully, Vic was too scared—scared of not knowing what was about to happen but feeling deep in his gut that something terrible was going to happen if he didn’t get out of there quickly.

And that “something terrible” was starting right now.

“Hey,” Henry said, leaning in through the driver's side window. The look in his eye made Vic uneasy. “Get out, both of you, and bring that stupid box.”

Eddie Kaspbrak nearly screamed when the soup can came rolling out from underneath the Toyota Corolla, stopping just inches away from his foot. He jumped back, shoes sinking into the mud, and opened his mouth only to have the sound smothered by Richie Tozier’s sweaty hand.

Ugh, his hand smells like cheese, Eddie thought first, wondering when the boy had last washed his hands. Then he saw all the dirt on the white bottoms of his black Nikes, and he knew he was sure to get a mouthful from his mother when he got home.

Where’d all that dirt come from, Eddie? Goodness gracious, I swear I’ve never seen so much mud in my life! Where’d you go? Somewhere you’re not supposed to, I’ll bet. Oh, you know how I hate mud in the house. Take those shoes off before you track it all over the place. I just scrubbed those floors, too. Now I’m gonna have to scrub them all over again. Get on my hands and knees with a bucket and sponge. And you know how badly that hurts my knees, Eddie.

I know, Mom, Eddie would say, and he would slip off his shoes and promise to be more careful.

Somewhere in the distance, Patrick Hockstetter was shouting, “You fuckers getting out, or what?”

Richie yanked Eddie back, pulling them both behind the junked car. Eddie wrestled himself free of Richie’s grasp so that he could catch a proper breath. His inhaler would help, but it was in his fanny pack, and he was afraid the zipper might make too much noise.

Shoes crunched in the gravel as footsteps drew closer… closer and closer. They could hear Patrick Hockstetter humming to himself, sometimes stopping to mumble things that didn’t make sense. It sounded like he was alone, but they couldn’t be sure, and both of them were too scared to stand up and sneak a peek.

Please, no, thought Eddie, his knees trembling. Don’t come over here!

The footsteps got quieter and quieter, eventually vanishing entirely. A few minutes later, Richie Tozier mustered the courage to poke his head out and look. “He’s gone.”

That didn’t make Eddie feel better. “He’ll come back.”

“Then we better be fast.”

Eddie shook his head. “No. No, I don’t like this. We should go. We shouldn’t be here.” Not in a junkyard of all places, surrounded by dirt and shit and disease, squatting behind a rusty old car while Patrick Hockstetter was waiting to jump out and grab him, lock him in that fridge.

Eddie’s face went white when he thought about the fridge.

It’s just some bullshit story, he told himself. Hockstetter’s an asshole, but even he’s not that crazy.

Are you sure about that, Eds? Toby Bickford sure thought the fridge was real enough. He’d seen it with his own eyes, or at least he claimed he had, but Toby Bickford liked to talk out of his ass sometimes. Richie Tozier had warned Eddie about him back in the sixth grade. “You really gotta have shit for brains if you believe any of the crap Bullshit Bickford says.” Eddie had laughed when he heard that, but he wasn’t laughing now.

Because Patrick Hockstetter was that crazy, and it was a different kind of crazy than Henry Bowers.

See, Henry Bowers would shove your face in dogshit for no reason, or smash your nose, or break your arm; and when he screamed at you, his face got all red and looked about to explode off his neck like a balloon pumped with too much helium. With Patrick, it was different. He wasn’t the type to beat you up for looking at him funny, or for running into him in the hallway, or for saying something smart like Richie Tozier liked to do. Nothing ever seemed to make him angry. He was smiling, always smiling, but there was something deeply unsettling about that smile. Eddie didn’t know how to describe it, but he knew it wasn’t right.

He knew it was dangerous.

“Where’s Bowers?” Eddie asked, keeping an eye out for Patrick just in case.

“On the car, smoking. The others are there, too.” Richie pushed up his glasses. “The shirts are in there, I bet.”

Eddie had almost forgotten about Evelyn’s shirts. That’s what had brought them there. Richie had forced Eddie to come along after Bill Denbrough and Stan Uris said no. Eddie didn’t have a choice—Richie said so. Somebody had to go with him on his suicide mission, and Eddie couldn’t think up a good excuse fast enough. So they hopped on their bikes and chased the Trans Am around town until it finally stopped at the junkyard (because, of course, they just had to pick the junkyard). Eddie and Richie hid behind the old Toyota and stashed their bikes in some nearby bushes in case they needed to make a quick getaway.

But right now those bushes seemed miles away. What if they couldn’t reach their bikes in time? What if somebody came and nabbed them, and they were stranded there? Then we’d be done for, and Patrick Hockstetter would show him the fridge that wasn’t supposed to exist.

“Okay,” Eddie said, taking a big gulp, “what’s the plan?”

For the first time since Eddie had known him, Richie had nothing to say, and that made Eddie even more scared.

“You don’t have a plan, huh?”

The corner of Richie’s mouth curled bashfully. Eddie should have known better. Richie Tozier wasn’t exactly the plan-making type. No, he was more of the make-fun-of-the-plan type. Bill Denbrough was the plan-maker. Big Bill, that was who they needed now, with his big, crazy ideas that somehow always worked out. But Bill wasn’t there. He had to help his father with a woodworking project after school.

(I made a pruh-pruh-promise.)

“Fuck,” Eddie whispered. Now it really was hopeless. Stan would agree with him if he were there, but he wasn’t there either. Nobody was there. They were alone. “We should wait. We should wait for Bill and Stan and try again tomorrow.”

“There won’t be a tomorrow, dipshit!” Richie whispered hotly. “Do you see where they are? They’re at the fuckin’ dump!”

And now Henry Bowers was off the hood and walking around to the driver’s side. He must have said something to Belch Huggins and Victor Criss because the two of them got out of the car, too. Richie saw the cardboard box in Vic’s hands.

“It’s now or never.”

“So, what are we gonna do with it?”

Patrick Hockstetter squatted down beside the box. The Zippo lighter was in his right hand, glinting in the sunlight. Patrick was playing with it: spinning the wheel with his thumb, making a flame, then slapping the lid closed with a quiet clunk. “I can think of a couple things.” The lighter clinked open, and he flicked the wheel again.

The others were standing a few feet away. Henry was leaning against Belch’s car.

“We’re not setting them on fire,” Vic said. “You trying to get expelled?”

Patrick shrugged. His lighter went clunk. “Not like you guys are offering up any ideas. How ‘bout it, Bowers? We can have a bonfire. Throw the ashes on her porch.”

“Shut up, Patrick,” said Henry. “I’m thinking.”

Patrick went quiet, sulking a little.

Gravel crunched in the distance.

A whisper.

Then a slap.

“We should just give them back,” Belch said quietly. He took off his black-and-yellow cap and wiped away some of the sweat from his hairline before putting it back on. It was getting late and his mother would be coming home from work soon. “Those shirts are basically school property, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” said Vic, “and a goody-two-shoes like Tozier won’t hesitate to report us. I dunno about you assholes, but I’m definitely not getting detention over a couple dumb shirts.”

Belch was shaking his head. The car keys jingled in his hand. He just wanted to go home and relax, eat some of that leftover pot roast that was sitting in the fridge and find out how his mom’s day went.

“She’s not gonna rat,” Patrick said. “If she was, she would’ve done it already.”

Patrick was right, but Henry didn’t need to know that.

“Are you fucking stupid, Patrick?” said Vic. “The whole school knows we took those shirts. If she doesn’t talk, one of her student council buddies surely will. And if it hasn’t reached Hellyer by now, it will tomorrow. He’s already got it in for us—for Henry, especially. Do you really wanna get suspended over this, Henry?”

Yeah, I’m sure your old man would love that, Vic thought, but he didn’t need to say it out loud because Henry was already thinking it. That’s why he flinched as soon as Vic mentioned the principal.

But, of course, Henry was quick to hide it. “I said, shut the fuck up and let me think!” He started rubbing the back of his neck, clearly agitated. “I’ll decide what we do with the shirts, okay?”

Crunch. Crunch.

“They’ll hear us.”

“Shut up!”

Patrick made a disgusted sound. “You’re not gonna do shit, Bowers. We all know that. You’re gonna give the shirts back to her, show her you’re not such a bad guy after all, because maybe then she’ll finally drop her panties for you.”

He got to his feet, taking one of the shirts with him. “Here, why don’t you keep one, Henry? The blue really matches your eyes.”

The shirt smacked Henry on the nose before he caught it. All the while, Patrick was laughing.

“You want one too, Vic? I saw you jump in front of her back in the hallway. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you move so fast.”

The shirt came flying at Vic. He ripped it out of the air and pulled it down to his side.

“Fuck! It’s too heavy!”

“Shut up and help me!”

Patrick went back for another, then stopped. “What the fuck?”

The box was gone, now clutched in the hands of Eddie Kaspbrak and Richie Tozier. The boys took four steps and froze when they felt eyes on them. Henry Bowers stepped away from the car, looking more confused than angry. And Patrick Hockstetter was smiling. That’s when Eddie knew they were done for.

“Oh, shit!” He gasped and released his side. The box fell to the ground, blue shirts spilling everywhere. Eddie turned and ran, kicking up dirt and flecks of garbage.

Richie took off too, but not before grabbing a fistful of shirts (because some shirts were better than no shirts, and he didn’t want his plan to be a total failure). He passed the junked Toyota Corolla and picked up the pace. His feet skidded through the rocks as he changed directions, making a break for the bushes where they’d hidden their bikes.

Wait, which bushes were they again? They all looked the same.

Eddie was heading a different way.

Fuck!

Richie decided to keep running. The shirts were wedged in his armpit—six, maybe eight of them. He’d lost a few somewhere along the way, but he couldn’t go back for them now. Bowers was right on his tail. Richie could hear him screaming, “Get back here, you fuckers!”

“Eat shit, Bowers!” Richie yelled back once. He couldn’t help it.

He should have been watching where he was going. If he had been more focused on that, he might have seen the broken bedspring that was lying on the ground. Instead, the trashmouth was too busy talking shit, so when his foot inevitably got ensnared by one of the coiled metal springs, well, he could only blame himself.

The shirts flew out and scattered away. The ground came rushing fast, smacking Richie Tozier hard on the chin. A giant cloud of dust and dirt settled around him, covering his hair and clothes. Richie tried to get up. Pain shot through his whole body as blood leaked out of a dozen cuts and scrapes on his elbows and knees. His right wrist was starting to swell a little. He had stuck it out in an attempt to brace his fall. Another dumb idea.

They were behind him now. Richie could see their shadows against the setting sun. Eddie was probably long gone already, peddling home and muttering under his breath about how he knew this was all a bad idea from the start.

Yeah, it was a bad idea—hell, it was a terrible idea, but Richie had to do something. If he hadn’t, then his big sister would never know how truly sorry he was, that he hadn’t meant what he said in the kitchen that morning. He was just tired and annoyed and spoke without thinking. Because you always speak without thinking.

Henry Bowers rolled him onto his back with his foot. Richie tried to smirk, but the muscles in his face hurt too much. He looked around for his sister’s shirts, reaching with his injured hand. He found one close by and tightened his fist around it.

Bowers was staring down at him, his eyes an angry blue. “Oh, you’re gonna get it now, you little four-eyed freak.”

Richie Tozier used the last of his strength to give Henry Bowers the finger.

______________________

PREV // CURRENT // NEXT

[sunkissedpages]

We’re Only Kidding Ourselves- Part Twenty-Three || Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: welcome to another episode of: this is how friends with benefits act right?? this is how two people who have zero feelings for each other totally interact right?? also big thank you to @parkerstylesperalta​, @summernykole​, and that one anon for teaching me about exercise because I’m fucking clueless :))

Prompt: Enemies to lovers au (from @marvelellie‘s 1k writing challenge!!)

Summary: You work as a production assistant for the Spider-Man: Far From Home crew, or rather as Tom Holland’s handler. The two of you don’t get along very well to say the least, but you won’t quit and he can’t fire you so you’re stuck with each other.

Warnings: swearing, angst, SMUT LIKE IT COMES OUT OF NOWHERE SMUT

What I listened to while writing: this noir playlist

Word Count: 3.7k

Series Masterlist

“Stay. Please.”

Tom’s hand was warm and the new context of his touch sent a shiver down your spine. It was intentional, yet hesitant. You looked back up into his eyes and saw a combination of longing and fear staring back at you. Whether he was afraid you wouldn’t agree, or that you would, you weren’t sure.

“Stay?” you repeated and saw him give you the tiniest nod. “Like a sleepover?”

Tom chuckled and shook his head. “Only you, dork.” His eyes crinkled with his smile when you laughed. “Is that a yes?”

You nodded back at him unsurely, but it was enough for him to lead you over to the bed by the hand he was still holding. When he plopped down on the left side you gave him a look.

“That’s my side,” you said with a pout, thinking back to all the mornings you woke up next to Tom in Venice on the left side of the bed, wondering why he’d bother to change the routine now.

“I forgot you were a control freak,” he groaned, rolling over dramatically.

“I can leave,” you threatened with a scowl, trying not to let his playful words get under your skin. Too many times had he said those exact words under his breath when he thought you were out of earshot all those months ago when you couldn’t stand the sight of each other. It was hard not to let them sting now even though he was teasing.

“No, darling come here,” he pleaded with wide eyes, knowing you were one to make good on your word.

You climbed onto the bed, your rightful side of the bed with a sigh. “You drive me insane,” you muttered.

“Thank you, love, you drive me quite mad as well,” he agreed with a cheeky grin, scooting closer to you on the bed.

“It wasn’t a compliment,” you snarled as Tom laughed and toppled you so that you were lying squished in his arms.

“Ow, my fucking arm,” you complained and yanked it out from underneath him.

“Sorry,” he apologized, shifting so that the two of you could lay on the mattress more comfortably. “This is new for us.”

That was for sure. With Tom’s arms wrapped around you, you were positive he could feel your heart pounding in your chest, just as you could feel his against your back. You relaxed slightly as he began to trace mindless shapes along your body, first on your hands, then along the exposed skin of your hips where your sweatshirt had ridden up.

Goosebumps followed his fingers as they moved along the curves of your skin at a slow, gentle pace. When he felt you finally relax into him he leaned up to kiss the corner of your mouth, taking you by surprise.

“I don’t think this is how sleepovers are supposed to go,” you joked. “I’m calling my mom.”

“Just shut up and let me hold you, dammit,” he sighed in exasperation and squeezed you tighter making you laugh like you hadn’t in a decade. You ignored the way your heart ached in your chest as you did.

Tom’s alarm was a familiar, yet unwelcome sound to wake up to. You groaned and stretched your arms out above your head, noticing that the two of you had moved apart during the night. That was okay with you. It made the night before easier to swallow, made it seem like a more distant memory.

You were now on your back, only half covered by the comforter with your legs tangled in the sheets. Tom was still fast asleep on his side, completely unaware of the blaring alarm still going off on his phone. You couldn’t really blame him, your heads had barely hit the pillows before having to get up again. Still, you wouldn’t have given up last night for any amount of sleep. You smiled thinking about it now and gave him a shove to wake him up, pulling the comforter back up around you, clutching it tightly as you watched Tom roll over and open his eyes slowly.

“Morning, love,” he said sleepily with a smile when he saw you hadn’t disappeared from his side yet.

“Morning, asshole,” you returned with a smirk. His smile faltered and he quirked an eyebrow. “You gonna turn off that alarm or am I going to have to throw your phone against a wall?”

“Haz always said you were such a morning person,” he grumbled, rolling over to turn his phone off and scroll through his messages.

“What time is it?” you asked, scooting closer to him underneath the covers.

“Six-thirty,” he replied and threw off the blankets to get up. “I told Harrison I’d go with him to the gym this morning, want to come?”

That was actually the last thing you wanted to do, you’d much rather curl up right where you were and fall back to sleep, but you felt yourself nodding and heard yourself say “sure” and when you saw Tom’s face light up you knew you couldn’t take it back.

“I just need to go to my room to change.”

“We’re already running late, just wear some of my clothes,” he insisted, already rifling through his suitcase for himself, “and you can change into yours when we get back.”

“But they’ll get all sweaty.”

He chuckled lightly and threw a t-shirt and pair of sweats at you.  “That’s usually what happens when you exercise, love. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“I have loads of gray t-shirts, but if it really bothers you that much we can find a laundromat later.”

You shrugged and pulled the sweatshirt you were already wearing as pajamas over your head. You’d stopped feeling weird about changing in front of Tom by now, he’d seen you naked too many times for you to care.

When you looked back up Tom was pulling on a similar looking t-shirt, chuckling to himself.

“What?” you asked, feeling self-conscious all of the sudden.

He shook his head. “You think I’m afraid of a little sweat? After everything we’ve done together? Darling, my tongue has been-”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Thomas,” you warned, and tossed a pillow from the bed at him while trying to pull your pants up at the same time, missing completely. You felt heat prickling at the back of your neck at the thought of the memories that he’d been implying.

“Alright, alright.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Let’s go then, Harrison’s waiting for us.”

“Harry didn’t want to come?” you asked once you were in the elevator together.

“If we try and wake him up even ten minutes before we’re supposed to be on set we’ll never hear the end of it,” Tom explained. “He usually works out at night, if he works out,” he added.

“Should’ve gone with him,” you mumbled.

“What was that?” Tom asked

“Nothing,” you shook your head. “Happy to be here.”

He smiled. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

The gym was small and surprisingly empty, except for Haz who was sitting on a bench attached to one of the machines scrolling through his phone.You noticed that the walls were lined with mirrors which you hated. You never understood the appeal of having to watch yourself work out from every single angle and it made it feel as if not only everyone else in the room was watching you exercise, but you were too. It made you want to be invisible.

“Took you long enough,” Harrison said without looking up from his phone.

“Blame y/n.”

Haz jerked his head up at your name and noticed you standing next to his best friend for the first time, wearing baggy clothes and looking completely out of place.

You smacked Tom’s shoulder. “You’re the one who didn’t wake up to your alarm, jerk.” You bit your lip when you realized you’d completely given away the fact that you’d spent the night with Tom- that was if you wearing his clothes hadn’t tipped Harrison off already.

He didn’t comment, but you could tell by his expression that he thought it was a bad idea, and he wasn’t wrong.

“You’re both late,” he said matter-of-factly, standing and slipping his phone in the pocket of his shorts. “Glad you could join us, y/n.”

“Thanks, I don’t really know what I’m getting myself into,” you said nervously.

“We’ll take it easy on you,” Tom assured you.

“And who said that’s what I wanted?” you accused.

Tom stuttered. “I-I’m sorry I just-”

“I’m just kidding, please do,” you relented with a soft smile. “But you shouldn’t assume.”

“Noted.”

“What do you guys want to start with?” Harrison asked as he cracked his knuckles.

“Why don’t we do some rotations since there are three of us?” Tom suggested.

The way the boys set up the rotations were so that one person would do a burpee/squat combo, one person would do crunches, and one person would do weights and then you all would switch.

The three of you stretched first, following Harrison’s lead as he did toe-touches and windmills. You tried not to look at yourself in the mirror as you failed to reach your toes from the sitting position and caught Tom’s eye in the reflection, sending him a wink before focusing back in on Harrison.

You started on burpees and squats and Tom taught you the proper form for both, watching on even after you got the hang of it. He insisted it was to make sure you were using safe technique, but he let his eyes wander.

“Tell me, how much does ‘safe technique’ have to do with my ass?” you asked, wondering if he’d only picked squats for this exact reason.

“At least forty-two percent,” Tom said with a shit-eating grin.

“I’m wearing baggy sweatpants,” you said shaking your head.

“Yeah, and they’re my baggy sweatpants,” he whispered hotly.

You did another rep and shook your head again. “Do you ever burn out?”

“I dunno, wanna test it?”

“If you two don’t mind, I’d really like to keep my breakfast down as I work out.”

“Sorry Harrison,” you apologized, hoping the flush of embarrassment would be hidden underneath the flush already present from working out.

“All I’m saying is you better not look at my ass when it’s my turn for that rotation, Tom,” Harrison warned making you laugh.

Tom rolled his eyes. “Come off it, mate.”

You did crunches next, which you didn’t need any help with. You were definitely slower than Haz, who had been doing them before you, but you kept up a good pace, and only slowed a little bit as the time ran out. You learned the technique for handheld weights last, which Tom helped you with before going to do crunches at his own rotation.

He was impressed at how much you could lift since you were a beginner, but you explained that you had to carry a lot of boxes and things around set and that over time it’d started to get easier.

When the timer on Harrison’s phone went off you immediately jogged over to the water cooler and chugged three of the tiny cups, wanting more but holding yourself back.

“Only three more times around!” Tom cheered enthusiastically.

“You mean we have to do it again?” you panted and narrowed your eyes at him.

“Yep, three more times!”

“I hate you.”

Harrison laughed. “Come on y/n you can do it.”

“But I don’t want to!”

You couldn’t even enjoy watching Tom do his burpees as you struggled to do crunches the second time around because of the combination of anger and misery coursing through your veins. No wonder you never worked out.

++

“Fuck y/n I’m going to cum,” Tom cursed as you bobbed up and down on his cock, one hand on his hip, the other holding your hair back.

You felt your eyes go wide as his stomach muscles tensed and pulled off of him with a pop. “Not in my mouth!”

“What the fuck?” Tom hissed, eyes panicked, abs clenching harshly as he fought to hold off the inevitable. He took hold of his cock in his own hand and gave you an alarmed look. “Where am I supposed to-”

“Um, here,” you yanked Harrison’s yellow sweatshirt and your t-shirt off in one go, throwing it up behind him on the bed so that you were only in your bra. “Cum on my chest.”

Tom didn’t need to be told twice and came finally in spurts all over your your chest with horrible aim, having no regard for your bra. He let a string of profanities leave his lips as he pumped himself through it. His head fell back on the pillows in relief as he came down from his high, breathing hard.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked.

“Sorry, I’m still kind of nauseous from working out earlier,” you apologized and collapsed on Tom, laying your head on his hip and breathing rather hard yourself.

Tom couldn’t help but laugh at that, carding his hands through your hair absentmindedly. “Loser.”

“Hey, give me a break, Spider-Man, I’m an amateur.”

“Are you sore yet?”

“Everything hurts,” you groaned, head bouncing as Tom laughed. “Moving stuff around on set all day didn’t help.”

“I’m sorry love, want me to help you relax a little?”

“And how are you going to do that?” you asked cheekily, sitting up a little to look into his eyes.

“I have a few ideas,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Might involve repaying the favor you just did for me?”

“I’m definitely interested, but let me clean up first.”

You pushed yourself up and off the bed and walked to the bathroom where you turned on the sink and waited for the water to warm. You sighed as you unclipped your bra, thinking about how much of a bitch those stains were going to be to get out later. You wet a washcloth and cleaned yourself off, giving yourself a onceover in the mirror.

Your hair was a mess, eyes a little red, and eyes dark with want. You smirked at yourself. Who were you? Having casual sex and actually enjoying it? You never would’ve imagined it for yourself, yet here you were about to (fingers crossed) get eaten out by your boss for the ??? time this week.

You decided you might as well take off your jeans since you were already shirtless just to make everything easier so you peeled them off your legs along with your panties leaving you completely naked. You knew Tom would appreciate it.  

You made your way out of the bathroom with what you were hoping was more of a sultry walk than a sore one, but stopped when you saw Tom looking guilty, bottom lip pulled between his teeth anxiously.

“I know that look,” you sighed. “What is it?”

“I forgot, I’m meant to have a livestream on instagram about the film in three minutes.”

“That wasn’t on your schedule.”

“I know, Jake asked me to switch mine with his because he had some meetings or something and I forgot to tell you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest in frustration. You knew you probably looked ridiculous standing like that completely naked in the middle of his hotel room, but you didn’t care.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry y/n. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Whatever, just put some pants on,” you muttered gesturing to his naked lower half.

“They’ll only see my face,” he protested.

“Yeah, and I’m sure Marvel will love when you accidentally flip the camera around in the middle of the stream and show the entire world your dick.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Tom admitted and rolled over to grab a pair of sweatpants off the floor before pulling them loosely onto his hips. You made for your clothes on the bed, but Tom put out his hand to stop you. “Wait, don’t leave! It won’t be long, I swear.”

You rolled your eyes and plucked a big t-shirt from the top of Tom’s suitcase to wear in the meantime, watching as he got situated on the bed.

“Just, uh, sit there and don’t say anything.”

“Don’t worry, I know how to keep my mouth shut,” you quipped back, wondering why you’d let him convince you to stay so easily.

Tom took a deep breath and pulled his phone out, fingers trembling and it hit you how nervous he was.

“Hey, Tom?” you called over from you chair in the corner. “You’ve got this. It’ll be great.”

“Thanks,” he said and took another deep breath, his thumb hovering over the screen.

You opened up your own instagram so that you could monitor the comments and pressed the little pink icon that popped up when Tom started his live.

“Hi guys, hope you’re all having a fantastic day! I’m in New York right now, on the set of Spider-Man: Far From Home, well not really on set, I’m in my hotel room right now, but you know what I mean.” He laughed and cleared his throat before continuing. “So anyway, we’re in New York City filming the last little bit and it’s been loads of fun! Getting to know everybody on set and seeing all of you guys has been so amazing! It’s really been the best time of my life.”

He continued to talk about the movie and how thankful he was for the experience but the last little bit stuck with you. I mean they were all the words he was supposed to say, but you stopped to wonder if he really meant them.

The best time of his life? Had it been the best time of yours? Your immediate instinct told you no, reminding you of how miserable you were every morning back in London, how many shitty situations you’d gotten yourself into, how many nights you spent crying on this stupid trip. But another, quieter part of you whispered about the smaller moments spent laughing with Zendaya at a cafe in Prague, sword fighting Harrison with baguettes from craft services, and of course all the little stolen moments you had with Tom. It felt like you were living on borrowed time when you were with him, and neither of you spoke your feelings aloud, but the memories you already had with him? They were yours to keep.

You realized you hadn’t been paying attention to the comments and tuned back in. Scrolling back through some of the comments to see what you’d missed.

“So I’m here to answer some of your questions about the film, I can’t go into too much detail of course, but uh yeah just hit me with them.” Tom paused for a second as the questions rolled in, trying to pick a good one. “How’s Jacob?” He smiled. “He’s great, he’s really good. Getting to work with one of my best friends is the absolute best. I can’t say enough good things about the guy, and I’m not just being nice because I know he’s watching!” He winked at the screen and scrolled through the comments some more. “Harry stop asking questions you’re with me all the time.”

Tom had been going on for over ten minutes and your patience was beginning to thin. When he started going off on a tangent about and inside joke between him and Jake Gyllenhaal you said fuck it and sent him a text that you were getting in the shower. He got the notification on his phone, but his eyes still flicked in your direction when you got up.

You knew he’d be pissed, but your chest was still sticky as was your hair, and you figured you might as well just finish yourself off since he obviously wasn’t going to do it. The shower was quiet enough not to be heard over the microphone of Tom’s phone so the only real challenge was going to be keeping yourself quiet. You waited a few minutes under the warm water just to see if he’d wrap things up and join you, but when he didn’t you took matters into your own hands, literally.

You’d barely touched yourself when your phone buzzed on the counter. You froze, waiting for it to stop, but as soon as it did it started buzzing again. The third time it started buzzing you threw up your hands and gave in, figuring whatever it was must be important if they kept trying to call you. You shook your hand dry and reached for your phone, catching it on the last ring.

“What Harrison?” you snapped into the phone after seeing his picture pop up on your screen. You instantly regretted how harsh you sounded.

“Are you in the shower?” he asked sounding confused by the running water in the background.

You bit back a curse and turned the water off, grabbing a towel from the shelf to dry yourself off. “I was, but you called me like three times in a row so I figured whatever it must be was important enough to cut it short. Why are you calling me?”

“I sent you a link to a tweet, you need to look at it immediately. I don’t know if anyone else knows yet, but it’s kind of blowing up so if they don’t already, they will soon.”

“Hold on, I’ll check it out. Will you stay on the line?”

“Yeah sure.”

Harrison’s end of the phone was quiet as he waited for you to look at the tweet. You clicked the link in the text he sent you which opened a tweet with two pictures. The caption was just ‘?????’ which didn’t make any sense until you looked at the pictures.

The first was a zoomed in aerial picture from set that looked like it had been clipped from one of Harry’s drone videos. You spotted yourself easily amongst the other crew members even though your back was turned because you were wearing Harrison’s yellow sweatshirt with the hood up. You swiped in confusion over to the second picture and it all clicked. It was a picture from Tom’s livestream, zoomed into something in the corner and almost so grainy you couldn’t tell what it was, but it was just clear enough to be able to tell that it was Harrison’s sweatshirt balled up with your t-shirt from earlier that Tom had neglected to move out of frame.

“Well shit.”

I know I say this a lot, but I have mixed feelings about this part anyway lmk what you think I always appreciate feedback!!

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[maddiefriendlovesbilly]

can you do a ship prompt for polypie but like mission goes super wrong and one actually dies for like real and,,, sadnesss

(First of all, I just wanna apologize to anon for how long this took?? I kept forgetting to take my medicine because I was off my medicine,,,It literally only took a few hours to write I was just too busy procrastinating and being gay (also adhd but shh.))

The Asylum Case

Rating: PG-13, SFW

Ship: Poly P.I.E. (Ghost/Toast/Spooker/Colon)

Warnings: Lots of angst, Major Character Death, Descriptions of intense pain, Sadness >:3 (Tell me if I missed anything!)

Summary: Ghost recounts exactly how he got into his current predicament, which is dying.

Word Count: 1,829

They’re approximately 30 minutes into the investigation when everything, in Ghost’s humble opinion, goes to shit. “But every P.I.E. investigation goes to shit!” you say. Yes, that is, in fact, true, but Ghost has decided that bleeding out on the floor - very slowly, might he add, which is decidedly not fun - constitutes the creation of a new category of “gone to shit”. “But,” you say, “Why not just respawn?” and again, usually, Ghost would do just that - but there’s just one issue; he can’t. Let’s rewind.

They entered the decrepit asylum, joking and teasing and generally enjoying each other’s company - unsuspecting of the horrors yet to come. Once they were inside, the ghost wasted no time in introducing itself; it screamed its sob-story from nowhere in particular, voice bouncing off the walls and echoing down each corridor, all lined with empty cells. Ghost thought he heard sobbing from the one beside him, and so, using the keys the caretaker - who had been the one to call them to investigate, and who looked about as old and decrepit as the asylum - had given him, unlocked the door and (ignoring the disapproving sigh from Toast, and the alarmed yelps from the other two) entered. A girl sat huddled in the corner, long, matted, black hair cascading over her small form, blocking her face. Her tattered white dress hung loosely, and one sleeve slid from her small trembling shoulder as he approached and knelt down. A familiar dread washed over Ghost as he gently asked, “K-Katrina?”

Abruptly, the girl stopped shaking, before giggling once, twice, and then, neck cracking violently, her head shot up and she stared into his eyes with a wide, manic smile. He edged away, wondering why the others hadn’t entered, hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even made a sound since he’d approached Katrina, but he couldn’t look back, not now, because when he stumbled to his feet, backing away, she followed, neck craning oddly to one side. “Katrina-” he started, pleading, “Kat, hey, it’s me, Johnny! Remember?” He fumbled for the door handle, careening into the hall when it opened. No one else was there.

“Yessssss,” Katrina hissed, drawling, “I remember youuuu…” but she didn’t slow her advance; instead, she just kept hurtling towards him. As he ducked beneath a wild swing of her claw, he glimpsed it - the small, red, rope-pattern lines wrapping around her neck, exposed by its unnatural angle - and choked back a sob. “God, Kat, I’m sorry - I’m so sorry!” he heard himself plead. She didn’t seem to hear him, only muttered, “Johnny, Johnny, I remember, yes I remember Johnny. Johnny!” and took another swing. He scrambled back, gritting his teeth when a razor nail clipped his shoulder, and Katrina’s crazed grin widened. Something inside Ghost twitched at the sight, but he pushed it down, he didn’t have time to panic. “Toast?” he called as he scrambled down the empty hallways, “Spook? Colon?!”

No one answered, and Ghost felt his heart sink.

He fumbled with the keyring, detached it from his belt loop - which proved to be much more difficult while his hands shook violently - and jammed a key into the first lock he came across, throwing open the cell door and slamming it behind him, locking it back.

The old door’s hinges creaked dangerously with the force of Katrina’s hands slamming against it, and Johnny could only pray they didn’t give out under the stress. Slowly, the banging subsided and, hand over heart, he sighed in relief. Pulling out his phone, he hit Toast’s contact, and pulled the phone to his ear, listening to it ring. It clicked, and Toast’s blurted in a near-shout, “Sir, where the fuck are you?!” in the background he heard a short hysterical laugh, and Ghost felt one of his own bubble out past the tightness in his chest and the burning in his shoulder. “Just getting chased by a murderous vision from the past - you know, the usual.”

“Are you injured?”

“She nicked me, but its nothing serious.”

“Don’t do anything dangerous,” Spooker said in the background, “A ghost said we can’t respawn here and we don’t want to chance them being right.”

“Where are you, Sir? We’ll come find you.”

“Er,” Ghost muttered, trying to recall where he was, “I’m in a locked cell right now, not sure what floor - I think it’s B-hall though, so first floor probably,” he paused, putting on a cheery, guide-like voice, “Just follow the sounds of screeching and growling, and you should see a crazy lady pacing outside the door,” he said peeking through the small, barred window. Katrina spotted him and slammed a palm against the door, snarling. “take a sharp turn there and - remember this step because it is crucial okay? - sock her right in the face.”

Toast barked out a sharp, brittle laugh, “We’ll do our best.”

“I’ll see you in a few, I’m gonna hang up now because I don’t want to attract too much attention - these ancient hinges don’t exactly appreciate the abuse we’re putting them through.”

“Alright Sir, be careful.”

And careful he was, but you can’t exactly count on ghosts to obey the laws of physics, or even manners, really, because out of the blue, there was the caretaker, and boy did he look smug. “What a lovely reunion between old friends,” he croaked, “It’s almost enough to warm my cold, dead heart!” then cackled wildly. When Ghost didn’t so much as blink in surprise, he sobered, snapping at him, “Why aren’t you surprised? Everything went perfectly, none of you suspected a thing!”

“Dude, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I hunt ghosts for a living; this plot-twist happens every other week.”

“Damn! Well, either way, you’re gonna die here, so I guess it doesn’t really matter. Dead men tell no tales and all that.”

“Again, hate to do this, but literally every case a ghost says something along the lines of “Ohohoho you’re gonna die anyway, so it doesn’t really matter!” and here I am, alive and only slightly harmed.” Another bang reverberated around the room, and Ghost shuffled uncomfortably but couldn’t look away from the immediate threat.

“Oh, uh, exactly how many cases have you done?”

“Dunno,” Ghost shoved his hands into his pockets, “I’ve been doing this since I was like, sixteen, and our schedule’s kinda all over the place because you can’t really predict when a ghost is gonna show up, but we get at least three to seven cases a week, and about half of them are real.” Another slam, followed by creaking and a final loud rattling sound.

“Huh, half, really?”

“Yeah, people are stupid.”

“Agreed. Speaking of stupid, you let your guard down.”

“Oh.” Things seemed to slow down, a sharp pain stabbing through his back. He looked down, watching three claw-like fingers withdraw from his chest, leaving three little holes all the way through. He collapsed, head falling to the side as he coughed wetly, tasting iron. Almost calmly, he watched as blood pooled around him, before glancing up to the doorway, where the door had been ripped open, and now teetered ominously on its hinges. Katrina loomed over him, blood coating her claws.

And that’s it, that’s how he got here. Seconds later, he hears someone shout his name, and he feels the caretaker’s presence vanish. Katrina glances back, but it doesn’t give her enough time to react before a bullet rips through her solid form, followed by another, then another. She screeches and stumbles back, blindly tripping over the lump of Ghost while trying to shield herself from the incoming bullets. He groans as she falls over him, kicking his wounds. The puddle beneath him ripples, blood traveling in tiny rivers through the imperfections in the concrete floor. Absently, Ghost notes that his sight has gone fuzzy at the edges, and black static is creeping in. Katrina lets out one last screech before disappearing, and as soon as she’s gone Toast, Spooker, and Colon all rush to his side. He smiles weakly as Colon pulls his head into his lap, eyes watery. The other two looked similarly panicked, and Ghost finds himself wheezing, “Hey, it’s really not that bad, okay? You guys can just carry me out of here and I can respawn.” Blood bubbles in his throat as he speaks, and he has to turn to the side to cough it up when it scratches at his throat.

The others glance at each other and Ghost frowns, confused. “What?”

“If we moved you now,” Spooker explains, chewing his lip, “you’d probably die of blood loss before we got outside. And I’m not a doctor but I’m pretty sure you have a punctured lung.”

Ghost’s brows furrow and he laughs sadly. “Sucks to be me I guess…” he ignores the liquid gathering in the back of his mouth, swallowing. “Anybody here magically know first aid?”

They all grimace, shaking their heads. “Ah, well, worth a shot,” he rasps. He feels a tear drip down, catching on his jaw. His chest burns; a hot-cold sensation that tears through him every time he breathes. He can’t focus his eyes anymore, but he looks at the blurry figures he knows are his closest companions - the loves of his life - and smiles, even as more tears follow and he chokes down a gasp of pain. Someone’s holding his face and speaking to him gently, and he can’t understand the words, but he thinks it might be Colon, so he looks up at him. At the same time as a pair of lips meet his temple, and then again and again, until he’s being peppered with kisses. He can feel the body under him shaking now, and through the white-hot burning and the growing ringing in his ears, he makes out stammered apologies and ‘I-love-you’s, and he feels it aching in his bones because it’s not their fault, he did this, and he wishes all the way down to his core that he could go back, that he could undo the pain he knows paints their faces, but he can’t - he’s going to die here, slowly, painfully. The ringing is piercing now and the black static has spread to cover most of his vision, and he thinks he might be screaming, or apologizing, saying goodbye, but he can’t hear anything over the ringing so it’s possible that when he tries to tell them “I love you too” it comes out garbled and incomprehensible. His throat is raw now so he must be screaming, and it’s all so loud until suddenly everything stops.

There’s no ringing, or panic, or crying, or pain. Just empty blackness and total silence. He can’t move, because there’s nowhere to go, there’s nothing here, there’s only void. That is, until the sound of a single raindrop, followed by another, then another, breaks the silence, and like waking up, Ghost blinks, and finds himself standing in front of a grave.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: With Brotherly LV (baon)

Summary: Edge's LV is troubling him. Red helps, if you can call anything Red does helping.

Notes:  I do love Edge and Red's relationship, all tension strained over caring. Bad, bad, Fellboys, who honestly love each other. They just have a funny way of showing it.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Angst, Violence, LV Issues, Mentions of an Unknown Monster Dusting, Brotherly Bonding

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

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For the first brief moment that marrow hits snow, it steams, body-warm and bright against the whiteness, splattering like a splayed hand. His brother is speaking but he can’t hear the words because someone is screaming and he can’t see why. He can’t see through the crimson filling his sockets, not magic but blinding fluid, he’s bleeding, his brother is bleeding, and someone is screaming.

He's screaming.

Screaming as it settles into his soul, like swallowing a hot coal, burning inside him as the Monster at his feet collapsed into dust—

Edge woke with the phantom taste of dust in his mouth. His soul was throbbing, agitated, the LV within it burning. He rolled to his side on the sweat-dampened sheets, curling up in a vain attempt to tamp it down.

Mostly it didn’t trouble him, not so often as it had in the past. In Underfell, the low throb had never quite stopped, numbness shadowed in aching heat. These days, he didn’t often even think about it.

But tonight, with the memory of dust fresh in his mind, it pulsed sharply. Like clawed fingers digging into his soul, gouging out fiery strips. He tried to breathe through it, focused on control with a slippery grip, refusing to allow it freedom.

It resisted. He couldn’t silence it, like a voice of its own, those oily phantom whispers that spoke of violence, coaxing slyly through the underside of his thoughts.

Behind him, oblivious to his struggle, Stretch slept on, even snoring faintly. Exhausted probably from spending the day walking around at the fair and if he woke now, would he know, would he understand—

(liar, he was a liar, hiding things, wasn’t he, begging for forgiveness instead of honesty, lies, how many lies)

No.

As carefully as he could, Edge slipped out of bed, almost stumbling to the closet. He snatched some clothes without looking at them and went downstairs, carefully skipping the creaky third step. In the darkened living room, he dressed quickly, grabbing his keys and wallet and shoving his feet into a pair of shoes.

Even at this hour the air was humid and clinging, the temperatures only a little lower than it had been during the day. He kept the roof up on his car and turned the air conditioner to full blast.

The radio was off, and Edge kept his focus on the road, counting beneath his breath.

One, two, he was calm, breathing evenly, three, four, he was in control, not his LV, five six, calm. Calm. Calm calm calmcalmcalm—

The night guard at the Embassy entrance looked up at him curiously, but without alarm. Edge gave him a curt nod and swiped his badge. He went to the elevator the same one he went to every day, only now he pressed the button for the basement.

In the cooler lower levels was what were generally considered fitness rooms. Several held treadmills and weightlifting equipment, and a few had signup sheets for yoga classes or pilates. The rooms that interested Edge were at the very end of the hallway. Soundproof walls lined with thick mats, and along the back wall were rows of practice dummies, heavily enchanted to be capable of taking even vicious attacks.

He wasn’t the only Monster living with LV in New New Home, although his was higher than most he’d seen. There were others who had survived the war, not many but enough.

Asgore for one. Most probably assumed his LV was from that. A few knew otherwise.

Outside the door was a narrow set of lockers and Edge chose one, setting his keys and phone inside along with his shoes.

He was summoning his first attack before the door closed behind him.

A wave of jagged bones washed over the dummies, bouncing away and fading. He summoned another, a mesh of crimson and blue to bounce off the padded bodies, their blank faces holding no judgement.

He began to summon another, and the glimpse of a shadow made him pause, extinguishing the half-formed attack in a shower of sparks.

“always did have great control, boss. not doing you much good now though, is it. this shit's not gonna help if you can’t let go a little.”

“Go away,” Edge said curtly. A lazy chuckle answered that, and he turned to see his brother leaning against the closed door, hands tucked into his pockets.

“nah, think i’ll stay and watch. might be a good show.” He sucked loudly on his teeth and the smirk on his face made the burning in Edge’s LV soar. He lashed out, the bones fairly dripping with intent and Red was gone before he’d even completed the motion.

From behind, an attack sent Edge to his knees, knocking several points from his HP. He threw up a hasty defense and kept low, crouching and looking warily around but Red was not in sight.

“you missed, little brother.” That disembodied voice seemed to come from nowhere. Everywhere. “eh, but you were never as quick as me, were ya? s’why you have lv. me, i was always outta there before it could catch up.”

“I have LV because I protected us,” Edge snarled.

“sure you did, never said you didn’t.” His focused narrowed and he turned in time to see Red step sideways out of nowhere. “protectin’, that’s your gig.”

Edge flung out a hand towards him, channeling that rage into a narrow line of bones. Even through his blinding rage he knew the attack would never land, but watching his brother lazily sidestep it only fanned the flames in his soul.

“that what has you up tonight?” Red cocked his head to the side. “throwin' a tantrum because you didn’t get to ‘protect’ your liabilities.”

“You lied to me.” Lies, lies, lies.

“have to do better than that, bro, i always lie to you. which one has your panties in a twist tonight.” His sockets narrowed, his teeth parting in a silent ‘ah’. “we’re talking about the honey bun, aren’t we. confessin' his sins while you were praying to the porcelain god. dunno if you can call that a lie, little brother, we never said a word.”

It was true and it was all the more infuriating for it. “You knew! You knew and you helped him keep it from me!”

Red laughed, laughed, picking at his gold tooth with one needle-sharp fingertip. “helped? fuck, i told him to. didn’t want to listen to you cry and bitch about it so—“

He vanished before the bones could strike him, his voice carrying again from behind. “yeah, you go ahead, little bro.”

Edge spun around and Red’s eye lights were glittering with the sardonic amusement he knew all too well. “be pissed at me, i can take it. you’ve been having a hard time with all your pets lately, haven’t ya.”

“Shut up!”

“nah, don’t think i will. stretch losing hp and you didn’t even notice. andy gettin' himself stabbed and bleeding out on the sidewalk.”

“Stop it!” The bones he hurled jammed into the wall, tearing raggedly through the padding into the plaster beneath it, sending a scattering of drywall to the floor and his soul was throbbing.

“no. cause see, none of that was your fault. the honey bun getting sick, the kid gettin' stabbed. i saw the recordings, you know. kid ran ahead and none of ya had any reason to think those assholes would hurt another human. even if you’d sensed their intent you were too far away to stop it. for the kid, anyway. you weren’t watchin' him so close, but i’d bet my ass by the time stretch got to ‘em, you would have been paying attention.”

“I am going to tear your head off!”

“catch me first. yeah, that’s what has you pent up, ain’t it. thinkin' about the honey bun getting dusted on your watch.”

He swung towards that voice—and directly into a row of bones, knocking him clean off his feet to the floor. He was up in an instant, shaking off the HP drain, only to roll hastily away from another attack. Another, another, coming at him relentlessly from every angle and even his endurance could only carry him for so long.

Eventually, he raised a hand to concede, unable to voice it as he sagged to the padded floor, gasping for breath.

A dirty pair of red sneakers stepped into view. Edge kept his eye light on them, refusing to look up into his brother’s smirking face. A useless defiance, Red only crouched next to him, head cocked as he asked with mocking solicitousness, “feel better?”

“No,” Edge said sullenly. But he was the liar this time. That mean little voice was growing more distant by the second and the exhaustion leftover was satisfying in its own way.

Red only chuckled and sank down to sit cross-legged next to him. He ignored Edge’s scowl and pulled out a cigar, lighting a match with a sharp flick of his thumb.

The end kindled as he touched the flame to it, then shook it out. He took a long puff and that he didn’t blow the smoke directly into Edge’s face was likely Red’s version of kindness. That he nudged a toe rudely into Edge’s ribs simply meant his brother was himself.

“you just had to go get yourself another liability.”

The implication of that was enough for Edge to struggle up on his elbows, glaring at his brother as he sputtered, “It’s not like that!”

Red held up a hand and Edge grudgingly subsided. “nah, it’s not, i know that, not like it is with the honey bun which is good because picturin' your ocd ass trying to fuck a human is enough for me to scrub my skull out with bleach, thanks. think they’re a little too juicy for your tastes, bro.”

“Is there a point to this or are you trying to discover new ways to make me vomit?”

“never google yourself, you’d need a set of buckets.” Red murmured, then louder, “what i mean is, you like the kid. fuck, we all like the kid, you kiddin’. he’s just the type to dig right into our psyche and make hisself at home, ain’t he. the kind of trouble beggin' for someone to take care of him, fuck, you saw how fast blue snapped him up.”

“Blue was being practical,” Edge said, shortly. “Even I agreed he would be the best person to watch over Jeff while he recovers.”

The toes pressing against his ribs shifted, unerringly finding a sore place to push with vicious force until Edge grunted and shifted out of reach. “you’re in a piss-ass mood, bro. someone hurt your people and you can’t do much about it. it’s gonna rile your lv for a while, ain’t no question.”

“It’s wonderful that you feel qualified to lecture me about this with no LV of your own.”

“want me to hand you your ass again, kid?” Razor-edged warning that Red’s amusement was growing thin, and Edge knew from past experience that Red would. He was going to ache for days as it was, the threat of another round was enough for him to subside with a sullen glare.

Red sat as still as a gargoyle, his gaze measuring and finally he nodded slowly. “like i was sayin'. next time you need to blow off steam, gimmie a call. this ‘verse’s undyne can’t handle it and those dummies ain’t gonna be enough and you know it.”

“I can handle it.” I don’t want to hurt you.

“so can i.” you ain’t gonna, brat. won’t let ya.

Grudgingly, Edge nodded.

“great!” Red said cheerily. He slapped one knee and rolled to his feet with a groan, joints popping. “fuck, you gave me a good workout, paps.” He scratched his pelvis absently, then tossed out, “oh, and text the honey bun before he sends out a search party. he’s been blowin' up your phone for half an hour.”

Red was gone again before that registered and the moment it did, Edge cursed and hobbled out to check his phone.

He didn’t bother scrolling through the increasingly frantic texts, bypassing it for his contact list. It barely rang once before it picked up.

“babe?”

The relief in his voice cut and Edge closed his sockets. That coaxing whisper in his soul that tried to whisper grim defiance was easy to force back, muffled beneath the love that welled at the sound of Stretch’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” Edge said, softly. He leaned against the wall, let his skull drop back against it with a thud. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“no, it’s okay. red called me.”

He knew, Edge realized. He knew why Edge left their bed in the middle of the night, knew that he was struggling to control the burn of LV in his soul.

Knew, and the only thing in his voice was gentle warmth, caring. He wasn’t disgusted, wasn’t horrified. Somehow, Stretch with his silver-pure soul believed he wasn’t worthy of Edge and he’d never understood that, never, not when he was the one whose soul was stained dark red with LV.

(liar, he lied)

No, not a liar. He’d kept a secret, yes, but he’d been worried, understandably frightened, and he’d apologized for it.

“I love you,” Edge told him hoarsely.

“i know, but i do like to hear it.” He could hear the creak of the mattress as Stretch moved and in his mind’s eye, weary as it was, he could see his husband curled up temptingly bare in the sheets. “look, you do what you need to and if you want anything from me—“

“I’ll be home soon.” What he wanted was to hold Stretch close and sleep with him in his arms. The only pulse in his soul now was a gentle one, eager to be close to him.

“good,” Stretch hesitated. “edge?” He was quiet for a long moment and then, “i love you.” It seemed like he was about to say something else, but he only added, “come home?”

“I’m on my way,” Edge assured him. He hung up, dropping his phone into his pocket and gathered his keys, stepping into his shoes. A glance around revealed no sign of Red, but Edge still murmured, “Thank you, brother.”

Then he walked back to the elevator. He was ready to go home.

-finis-

[synthaphone]

doing this whole OC meme thing for me mostly, very likely not interesting to anyone else (because I’m not really explaining who any of these guys are and I don’t expect anyone to know all of them, also its formatted badly and i didn’t edit it well) so i’m putting it under a cut

The oldest OC I still bring back occasionally is Bluebell, who is an alien creature I invented in 6th grade. She used to be named Hana, because I was taking Japanese lessons and was in that phase of elementary school where you think that naming your characters after a word in another language is always the best and coolest idea

The newest OC I have that’s like, a main character is I guess Viarnne, but my newest OC that’s not a fan character is Slice the rainbow layer cake dragon

I can’t pick a favorite OC very easily- I love Pike and Tu personality-wise a whole lot out of my Dialien characters, and I think Viarnne is my favorite Neopet right now. OH also i love my old character Alkaline

picking a favorite OC design is even harder- of my neopets, Alxxa has the coolest design I think, both to draw and as far as general appearance goes. For all original characters, my favorite for a long time was the character I made whose design was... literally adapted from Alxxa but not a Neopet. I think I called it Tiramisu?? its been a while since I’ve actually drawn Tiramisu

My main reason for making OCs is sort of different for different types of characters- I think part of it is that I legitimately want to tell stories, but the biggest thing IS that I just find character design fun, in particular designing and drawing creatures.

Uhh it’s different for different characters but it usually involves finding something fun to draw and then drawing it a bunch, to see if it stays fun, or if I can keep it fun. If I don’t have fun drawing a character, they tend to sort of fall away- like, you don’t see me drawing Jukebawks often, even though I had fun coming up with a design, because she’s... hard to draw, and doesn’t have as much range of expression as a lot of my other characters. (plus I don’t have a personality for her- if I have a backstory I’m really invested in for a character, I can basically draw very similar pictures of them over and over again and have fun because I like their story so much, which is probably a bit of a flaw)

I don’t really ship my OCs with anyone else’s- I’ve never even really shipped my OCs with like, canon characters from anything? I’m not necessarily opposed to the idea of shipping my characters with someone else’s, but I’m not very good at communication or roleplaying, and a lot of my characters aren’t really what I would call ‘shippable’, so it tends to be easier to just work by myself on that kind of thing.

uhhh i have a couple ocs who I ship but i’m really self conscious about doing so, so i talk about most of them almost never. I ship Sam and Viarnne but I want to actually have a story where it makes sense for them to end up forming a relationship like that, so for now i’m mostly focusing on how their friendship will work (also, just like, assume none of my OCs are fucking I guess?? even the ones i ship together- that’s one of those things that’s just never really been interesting to me, and i mostly just don’t want to deal with jokes about it because like, please?? i like relationship stuff but i just don’t get anything out of sex stuff, jokes or otherwise, most of the time. also please don’t take this as a moral judgement if that’s something you do, i don’t care as long as its not like, something morally reprehensible, you do you). oh i also have Alxxa and Sensurround (neopets), Zotyre and Gyronaut (neopets), Alkaline and Skurl (original story), uhhh kind of not sure if Tu and Iris are gonna end up having a romantic relationship in my Dialien story, i need to do more thinking

weirdest... oc... uhhhhh i’m not sure what that would entail, exactly. my fursona might be the weirdest just from like, not having any sort of world or story or anything, she just floats in space and picks up space radio signals and stuff

I don’t really have enough villain ocs- I guess at this point, Chexerton is kind of a villain, he’s like a shitty space security guard for Virtupets. most of my completely original stories don’t have villains- Dialiens (it needs a better name- maybe just Dial) is more about mental health struggles and potentially capitalism or colonialism, and with LOSER (a story i think i have barely ever talked about on here, its the one with Skurl and Alkaline) i straight up can’t decide whether its a fun road trip where character flaws are explored and then like, amends are made, or if it ultimately ends with the characters not overcoming their flaws and destroying each other. its kind of been both in my mind for a long time which is why i can’t write it- can’t decide whether the relationship should be ultimately healthy or toxic

This is a tough question- I don’t think of my OCs as real people, exactly, that I could be mean to or ‘torture, muahaha i love seeing my babies suffer’- but they’re deeply personal to me, and I don’t think its always useful to see them as constructs unworthy of being treated with kindness. I guess what I would consider being ‘nice’ to my OCs is trying to realize them better and have them make sense and function properly in whatever stories I’m trying to tell using them. In that regard, I guess there’s some I theoretically ‘neglect’ by not really focusing on them very often, or by getting tired of their stories but never officially ‘getting rid’ of them?? Plus I don’t have time to develop literally every character I’ve ever had. I have all kinds of old OCs that i’m not planning to do anything with anymore, but they meant something to me at some point, and its not like they’re going to pile up and take up space in my house if I don’t, like, sell them. I like knowing that if I ever need to look back at my old stuff for ideas, there’s a bunch of stuff I might be able to use or repurpose again someday.

Again, I don’t really think about it as ‘killed’. I guess I don’t have the main character from Skurl’s original story anymore, who was like a mammalian Invader Zim-esque fantasy evil fortress knight?? and Skurl was the funny animal curmudgeon sidekick. I made that protagonist up because the story needed a protagonist, and he never even really had a personality to speak of- his rival was better defined, the mad scientist from the idea had a more interesting character design- basically every other character from that story I might bring back, but that protagonist is probably gone for good. Maybe I’ll bring back his weird ear decorations that smushed his fabric-y rabbit ears down, those were kind of the most interesting thing he had going on. OH if you mean literally killed off in a story, in the nightmare angst version of LOSER Skurl ends up like, not DEAD exactly, but severely fucked up to the point where he’d be better off dead. And Viarnne is technically dead

Oh man years ago I had an OC named O-BR who was a robotic panda bear toy who was possessed by the soul of some dude who died who was a father, and now is kind of the robotic parental figure of the child who owns the bear toy. i don’t think that actually works well as a story- i never even figured out what that dude’s name was, just the name of the bear. it’s name was O-BR because its ears were like, floating purple plastic cheerio shapes that hovered next to his head. this was another ‘i’m obsessed with invader zim’ era character

80% of my Neopet OCs at any given time- also 80% of my non fandom based OCs at any given time. I don’t have time to come up with stories for all of them, and I tend to just focus on whatever is interesting enough that I remember it

I hate drawing Jukebawks... i’m sorry jukebawks........ maybe i should like, offer her up for trade, but i’m not sure anyone else would want her?? i like the idea of her!! i should actually probably design her to be easier for me to draw, in all honesty. When it comes to writing though, Moe has given me so much grief because I honest to god don’t know how he fits into the story and group dynamic in Dialiens. He’s like, kind of an asshole loner who keeps to himself and doesn’t want people to bother him?? i’m not even confident he uses ‘he’ pronouns. i don’t know

this feels like its more designed for people who have more humanoid ocs where they’re heights are more, like, similar, so being short or tall is a thing?? like, for Neopets, Alxxa’s the tallest because he’s really long, and Viarnne is the shortest because he’s an oval that’s like a foot tall. as far as the only character heights that I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about, the Dialiens, tallest to shortest, are: Pike, Moe (not counting the ears), Iris, Chives, Tu

I guess my oldest ocs are Zotyre, Gyronaut, and that mutant Moehog lady- youngest would be Chilston, i guess. and as far as OCs, i have no idea, i don’t think enough about age. approaching characters from the angle that they’re Cartoons!!!! and then deciding to try and give them nuance later means that everyone’s just sort of nebulously adult-ish

Do I dislike any of my OCs, like, as characters, or as people? I think Pike, despite being one of my favorite OCs, would irritate me quite a bit in real life, because his personality is heavily influenced by traits that annoyed me about other people I’ve met, but like, trying to see them more sympathetically?? but he’d get on my nerves. Iris fits this a lot too- I don’t think I’d like Moe much either?? i dunno its a weird question, i like them because they’re my characters and also because they’re not real. i don’t think most of them would be friends with me or anything if they were real, even if so many of them are based on parts of me

oh i’ve made self inserts- i definitely had a self insert Invader Zim character that i drew maybe a single time, and then pretended to be in daydreams in my head while bored during school. she had an angsty backstory. then after that i pretended to be Trigger in my daydream stories all the time in school for like, 3 years (like, during points in time where i was zoning out during class, or walking between classes)

uhhhhh I regret not doing more with these characters, and i regret that i can’t answer a lot of important questions about characters I’ve had for years Now. i’ve had them for years, so they feel really definitive and rock solid in my mind, so they’re hard to change, but also they’re really not as nuanced as i want them to be. its a bit tough

well someone in freshman year of college who i ended up cutting ties with because of some kind of wild friend group drama and like, important political and philosophical differences, actually knew me from deviantart and remembered one of my OCs. that was pretty wild. that’s one person though... uhhh, are any of my OCs popular?? I’m just excited when anyone finds a character i’ve come up with interesting. I’m glad other people seem to like Viarnne!!! it fills me with terror that i’ll like, ruin him by writing a bad story, but its also exciting and validating to come up with a character story and for other people to also enjoy it

uhhh its Viarnne again. i drew him to try and demonstrate how a robot Kiko could be an appealing character design and it backfired on me. i love drawing Orb with a Face and Arms and i am happy when i see him as my active pet on neopets. I guess Pike also qualifies- when I initially drew the Dialiens, I had very vague personality ideas for them, and I felt like he would be the bully. he has since become very much NOT the bully (like, he seems more like a person who would get bullied) and I’ve grown really fond of him. also i created Trigger to be a Chuck E Cheese style mascot back before fucking Five Nights At Freddy’s existed and destroyed that that as an original idea (fuck you FNAF i have two characters now who are basically... that and you can’t ruin that for me. i was here FIRST (this is a joke its not even that great of a premise, my shit isn’t horror, and i’ll deal)). he was also based on a glow in the dark grey alien and a skeleton and lived in an abandoned pizza entertainment building and was basically an evil villain, and then high school me decided that instead of being that he was gonna be a mutated teenager and it was going to be really angsty. I don’t really have as much interest in that backstory anymore??? but I sure had a lot of fun with it for like 4 years so i think that counts

[ladyloveandjustice]

so, now that i feel mildly better enough to write about it, I did indeed see Justice League.

It was...it was better than the Superman movies and BVS. And Suicide Squad. Definitely watchable. Not spectacular but there were only a few scenes where i was like “ugh this is taking too long”, the ending actually went by pretty quickly.

But did have a very forced patchwork feeling of two movies smashed together (which it was, considering the reshoots). I mean ya wanna talk about tone problems. On one hand we had somber dark and edgy BVS type stuff on the other hand it was incredibly cheesy! so cheesy! and I like cheesy! but this cheese kinda felt really forced- if you’re going cheesy you need to go the whole hog. own the shit out of it. this movie didn’t quite make it.

They definitely made an effort to revert Superman to Superman Classic. Apparently dying and coming back to life makes you like 1000% more cheerful everyone should try it. And I like what they were going for but I don’t think Henry Cavill can quite pull it off. yet. i mean maybe he’ll get used to it, it was a major tone shift for him. It doesn’t come off a genuine “aw shucks” thing like it should for Clark it felt...forced and a little condescending. Supergirl’s Superman, in contrast, was a lot more of a natural at it. But yeah, maybe he’ll get used to it. Points for trying.

the absolute worst part was the Superman is OUT OF CONTROL RAGEZOMBIE BACK FROM THE DEAD fight vs everyone else like it dragged so long and we all knew exactly how it would we know he’ll beat up everyone we know Bruce will get Lois and love will cure everything just got STOP WE DON’T NEED THIS JUST GET ON WITH THE MOVIE

actually the worst part was the villain, a very generic evil it was absolutely impossible to care about them fighting at all like it was even worse than Suicide Squad and that is saying a LOT

they...definitely tried for some Bruce/Diana sexual tension and i was definitely not here for it like oh god can you just not arbitrarily pair Diana up with one of them always can DC stop. 

speaking of Diana she was one of the better parts of the movie, as expected, her actress has a good presence and all that. 

of course the movie had to comment on how HOT she was ALL THE TIME though.  (oh god the bikini armor on some of the Amazons was the worst even worse that i expected)

I do like that Bruce seemed to recognize she should be the one leading the team because YEAH. GLAD YOU’RE ON TOP OF THAT CHUM. And her feeling uneasy about being in the spotlight because of survivor’s guilt over Steve and not wanting another death on her conscience that made...kinda sense i guess. Her arc of getting comfortable with her status as a leader and inspirational figure again after being a behind the scenes hero for so long was nice in some parts. The fact that Bruce of all people called her on it...not so much, but I’m glad the rest of the team was basically like “wow Bruce stfu” and he said sorry. (Cyborg’s “SO ANYWAY WHILE BATMAN WAS BEING AN ASSHOLE I WAS DOING ACTUAL IMPORTANT THINGS” comment was good, that’s my dude right there) (Barry’s “you know if she kills you, we’ll all be on her side” comment to Bruce- how I feel about every Bruce v Diana conflict ever. )

For Barry he was likeable...but he fell heavily into the overdone “funny-autistic-streotype-but-we’re-not-gonna-say-it” bit for me. like. am i out of line here? it was the whole “I don’t understand people what is brunch” speech that pushed it over for me, but idk. it was very weird, and like a lot of the movie, sometimes felt forced.

Cyborg! He was there! He was definitely 80s comic mega-angst “I HATE U DAD” Cyborg which made sense as the Accident had literally just happened and as the movie went on you kind of saw his personality emerge a little- complete with the “boo-yah” thrown out there for us cartoon fans. When a review complained about it i was like “how dare u for once that is something from these movies that caters directly to me” but wow it was delivered immediately after they defeated the bad guy very dramatically so i can see why it stood out to that reviewer so much.

 I did think the angle of him hearing weird languages in his head and not knowing what the fuck’s happening made the whole “AM I MAN OR MACHINE” angst a little more relevant. The whole “I’M NOT HUMAN” bit has a bit of a different context now than in the 80s with tech being more accepted, so that was probably needed.

He unfortunately wasn’t terribly memorable, though I did like the “we’re both accidents” bonding moment with Flash and how Diana immediately seemed to decide she was his big sis. 

Aquaman...probably shoulda been in it interacting with the others more? The whole vibe he had going could have really worked if they spent more time establishing it and him, but they didn’t, so it...once again...felt kinda forced. I did like that his Mom seems to be the key component to whatever his backstory is though. Well at least ONE male hero’s mom apparently gets to be the complicated heroic figure he has a weird relationship and doesn’t understand instead of like. just. dead.

There were a lot of parts of the movie that would have worked better if i hadn’t seen the movies preceding them. like Bruce’s whole “WE NEED CLARK” and “HE WAS SO IMPORTANT” and “HE WAS MORE HUMAN THAN ME” and “YES I THINK WE SHOULD BRING HIM BACK FROM THE DEAD WITH THIS THING WE HAVE NO IDEA HOW IT WORKS SOUNDS LIKE A PLAN” like...you didn’t even know him Bruce. you guys measured your dicks for twenty minutes and then teams up for two minutes you had no chance to get to know each other. and nah, he actually was equally as annoying and broody and cold as you! You’d know that if you’d ACTUALLY EVER TALKED. 

also the opening montage of “THE WORLD IS LOST NOW THAT SUPERMAN WAS DEAD” he was only around for TWO MOVIES guys, he spent MOST OF THOSE MOVIES IN WEIRD FIGHTS WITH ALIENS DESTROYING MAJOR CITIES like the previous movies really did not do anything to establish he was this essential to the world’s hope. In fact the entire last movie was about how the world didn’t really like him all that much.

(especially painful was those white guys yelling at the Muslim lady and that was supposed to be connected to Superman being dead somehow? BIGOTRY ONLY EXISTS BECAUSE SUPERMAN DIED GUYS. IF HE’S ALIVE BIGOTRY IS OVER.)

I think another thing that held the movie back was they basically had to establish half the team. Cyborg’s origin was actually plot relevant (but still didn’t feel fleshed out enough), but for Flash and Aquaman it was very casually thrown in our faces and yeah. Just felt messy.

anyway.

it could’ve been worse. it could’ve also been a lot better. i dunno guys. i really want DC to get their act together, and i know there were a lot of tragic issues with this one. but at this point their only solid offering has been Wonder Woman. It’s...looking grim.