#I really tried to encapsulate everything I could from memory

[madaqueue]

Lost Cherry

pairing: yuta okkotsu x f!reader

themes/content: dark content. yandere/stalking. non-curse modern college au. language, smut. scent kink (?), alcohol consumption, drugging (no nsfw during), oral (f receiving), semi-public sex. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.8k

a/n: "i love this guy and whatever undiagnosed anxiety disorder he has" is my fav yuta quote i've ever heard and honestly...me too (and yeah this is based off the tom ford perfume what about it)

Yuta noticed everything about you. How could he not, when the essence of perfection, an angel reincarnate, was here before him?

He truly saw you, his dark eyes boring into your soul as he soaked in your every move, every reaction, every thought.

When you met him your freshman year of college you thought he was sweet, albeit a little strange, his intense gaze putting you slightly on edge for a reason you couldn’t quite pin down. But nevertheless he was always the perfect gentleman, holding every door for you, driving you to class when it rained, bringing you your favorite foods when you were sick. He did it without question, as though caring about you came second nature to him, like it was his one true state of being.

The two of you continued growing closer over the years, sleeping on each other’s couches when study nights ran long, going to concerts of a band you loved together, cooking your favorite foods. It was almost uncanny how similar you two were, sharing the same taste in everything, Yuta’s smile never faltering as you gawked at him in disbelief when he recognized the obscure reference you made or when he happened to guess your coffee order. “I guess it’s just fate,” he’d grin as you laughed in awe.

But it’s not fate, he thinks. Fate would never be so careless as to risk letting you slip from his grasp; no, it was him. Time and time again he outsmarted the universe, foiling its plans to separate you. He knows you because he sees you, understands you, in a way no one else ever will (he’ll make sure of that). It wasn’t hard, really - he was always naturally observant, calculated, patient. All he needed to get close to you was a few chance meetings, accidental run-ins, where he could show you just how much he cares about you. And you, being as sweet and kind as you are, fell right into his open arms.

He loves you because he sees you.

He sees the way your lips curl into a smile as you sip your drink from across a crowded bar, a slight frown forming across your features as some pathetic excuse for a man tries to speak to you, making an idiotic joke you politely laugh at; he sees how you fidget with your hands, pulling at the chipping nail polish during class, a tell-tale sign you weren’t understanding the material (and an opportunity for him to explain it to you later while you studied); he sees the way you move when you’re alone, when you think no one’s watching, when you finally let your guard down and ease into the truest form of yourself.

It’s almost like you wanted him to see you, presenting yourself to him like a book with the pages peeled open and the cover ripped off, making it impossible for him to look away. It was only natural for his eyes to wander the words of your soul, mastering the lines and sentences of what makes you you.

So it’s no surprise when he gifts you a perfume that perfectly encapsulates your energy, your essence. After months of searching he finally found one that met his standards, living up to his mental representation of who you are. He knows you’ll love it, and you do - you begin wearing it everyday, the sweet scent of your skin filling his senses whenever you step into a room. The warm, amber notes become equivalent to you, a signal of your presence, a smile gracing his lips every time it wafts by him.

The one thing he doesn’t tell you is that he bought a second bottle, just for him, his best kept secret, the cherished liquid that evokes vivid memories of your laugh, your eyes, your skin, your voice, your everything when he smells it.

It’s harmless, really, when he sprays it on his pillow to help him fall asleep, calmness immediately washing over him as he pictures you there, holding him. He could practically feel the warmth of your body in his empty room, imagining how your soft hands would trace his body.

And when he wakes up, the scent of you still lingering, a smile graces his face as he nuzzles into the cool pillow.

It’s not his fault when he grows dependent on it, spraying the liquid into the air as he screws his eyes shut, picturing you. The way you’d kiss him, how smooth your skin would be, how soft your lips are, how your hands would feel wrapped around his cock, how warm and tight your cunt would feel around him. As he slides his fist around his length, he can’t help but moan your name, the idea of you filling his mind.

You.

One word, all-consuming. You occupy his thoughts, cloud his mind in bliss, every waking second. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

So when he sees you at a house party, wrapping your arms around his neck as you go in for a hug, why the fuck do you smell different?

“New perfume?” he asks, trying to hide how visibly taken aback he is as he pulls away from you.

Nodding, you take a sip of the drink in your hand. “Mhm,” you hum over the music. “Friend got it f’me. Y’like it?” you slur slightly, swaying in his grasp.

“I-it’s nice,” he stutters, his fingers beginning to dig into your arms.

How could you?

Glancing down, he notices the nearly empty cup you cling to, mind racing as he formulates a plan. “Want me to get you another drink?” he asks, steadying his thoughts and tilting his head innocently, hiding the rage he feels behind his dark irises.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, lip gloss glowing under the LEDs, as your eyes lazily make their way up to his. Reaching out a hand you ruffle his hair, placing a sticky kiss to his cheek. “You’re s’sweet Yuta,” you murmur against his skin, holding your glass out for him to take.

This would be sweet, if it wasn’t for the vile, traitorous perfume that suddenly overwhelms his senses. It’s too floral, too dry, too not you.

“Be right back,” he purrs, placing a kiss to the top of your head before stepping away, afraid that if he stayed any longer he would do something he regrets.

Besides, he can’t pass up this opportunity: he gets to show you he can take care of you, how much he adores you, and get rid of the chance that anyone thinks they know you like he does.

When he returns, you don’t even notice the weird taste in your drink; why would you? You trust him, like you should. When your body starts to feel too heavy, legs struggling to keep you up, you lean on him, like you should. When your head begins pounding and you just want to lay down, you let him take you home, like you should.

In the comfort of your apartment, one all too familiar to him, he helps you change into pajamas before bundling you up under the blankets of your bed. You look so sweet, so innocent, as your head rests against the pillow, eyelashes fluttering as you ease into sleep.

Your mind is cloudy as you rest, body still pulsing with each beat of your heart, suddenly sensing his weight shifting from where he sits at the end of your bed. “Yuta?” you whisper weakly.

He could melt just hearing you call his name, your voice like honey. “Yes?” he responds, turning his head over his shoulder to face you.

“Stay,” you murmur, reaching a hand out to him.

God, he could die happy right here. He could afford a few hours of sleeping next to you, right? It’s not like there’s any urgency now, he’s already lined everything up, now he just has to knock it down.

“Okay,” he breathes, getting under the covers next to you.

The warmth of your body envelops him as you lazily wrap your arms around his torso, uncoordinated motions to keep him, your one source of stability, close to you. Your thoughts are fuzzy as you fade into Yuta’s softness, letting him overtake your mind. Shifting his weight he leans into you, head resting on yours as you bury your face into his chest. He holds you against him, the scent of your shampoo lingering on your hair, a familiar one, a kind one.

He waits until your breathing slows, soft snores leaving your throat as you rest peacefully against him. Gingerly untangling his body from yours he rises, making his way to your bathroom. Sitting atop your counter is the target of his task: the sacrilegious bottle of perfume. It takes so little for him to knock it off the ledge, glass shattering as it hits the tile, the strong smell suddenly overwhelming the confined space, making his stomach turn as he pictures you in it. Never again.

He softly pads back to your bed, careful not to wake you as he rejoins your shared warmth under the comforter. Overwhelmingly pleased, his heart races as a contented grin spreads across his face.

When you question him about it the next morning, it’s easy to brush off.

“Yuta?” you question sleepily after you return from the bathroom, “Do you know what happened to my perfume?”

Normally the frown across your face would haunt him, tugging at his heartstrings to see you unhappy, but now it takes everything in him to not show his excitement. “Dunno,” he shrugs, “maybe you knocked it over last night?”

“Mmm, probably,” you hum, settling back in next to him as your head rests on his chest, hoping you don’t notice how his heart races at the contact, your mind still too foggy to realize you never even told him that the bottle broke. “Thanks for taking care of me last night. Sorry I got so drunk, I don’t know what happened.”

“Nothin’ to apologize for,” he reassures, his arms reaching around you, “I like taking care of you.”

“Thanks, Yu,” you murmur, nuzzling your head further into the softness of his t-shirt.

It’s so easy, he thinks. Everything with you is just that, easy: it’s easy to make you trust him, easy to look after you, easy to love you.

So when he sees you a few days later, eating lunch outside between classes, it’s easy for him to go over and sit next to you, the grass tickling his shins as he crosses his legs.

“Hi, Yuta,” you smile, your cheeks slightly rosy in the sun as you lean your head onto his shoulder.

Before he can respond, a familiar scent hits his nose, the one that is so, undeniably, you. “You smell good,” he blurts out, unable to contain his excitement.

A giggle escapes your lips at the sudden compliment, the sound soft and sweet. “Thanks,” you laugh, “it’s the perfume you got me, so I’m glad you still like it.”

“O-of course I do,” he stammers, “I picked it because it’s perfect for you.”

Looking up at him, you don’t miss the slight redness covering his face as his adoration for you begins to slip through the cracks of his resolve. All you can do is continue giggling, the most angelic sound in the world echoing in his mind, as he melts before you. “You’re too sweet, y’know that?” you ask.

Popping one of the cherries you brought for lunch into your mouth, a comfortable silence falls between you as Yuta continues staring at you in awe - how could you be so perfect? He has to stop himself from nearly drooling as he watches your tongue work the pit from the flesh of the fruit, the way your lips move absolutely tantalizing. He has to have you.

Sensing his gaze, you turn to face him. “Want one?” you ask politely, holding the bag out to him.

As you shift the richness of your perfume again wafts towards him in the breeze, tearing down any remaining walls of shame or embarrassment left encasing his feelings for you. Suddenly he leans forward, one hand going to the back of your neck as his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is messy, needy, as his tongue slides into your mouth. His body presses against yours, desperate for more of you, as you fall into the grass. His hands are everywhere, finally able to feel the one thing he’s been thinking about for years, as they roam your body.

Pulling away slightly, you breathlessly try to get his attention with a call of his name, but he doesn’t stop, only shifting his weight to kiss down your neck. Everything about you overwhelms his senses as he sucks against your skin, leaving a trail of bruises behind. His.

Your back arches off the ground as he moves lower, lips trailing kisses down your abdomen over your clothes as his palms grasp at your tits, your stomach, your ass, any part of you he can find, his touch hot. When he begins undoing the button to your shorts, a wave of panic overtakes you as you process what he wants.

“Y-Yuta,” you stutter, your hand reaching down to tilt his chin up, forcing him to face you. As he does, your face flushes at just how feral he looks, his pupils blown wide and lips parted as he pants expectantly.

“Please,” he whispers, “need to taste you,” his eyes moving back between your legs as he continues removing your shorts.

“B-but-” you begin, worried about the chance of being seen if someone were to walk past the small field you sat in, your gaze moving across the open space.

“There’s no one here,” he explains without looking up, sensing your nervousness. “I’ll make you feel s’good, I promise.”

Glancing around, you confirm the absence of any other students or professors, biting your lower lip nervously as you acquiesce.

Frankly, Yuta didn’t care if there was anyone around - once he started, he couldn’t stop.

He tugs your pants off, pausing only momentarily to admire the wet spot in your panties before pulling the flimsy material out of the way, his mouth attaching to your cunt. He moans as his tongue meets your folds, so much better than he could’ve imagined. The sound vibrating against your skin elicits a sharp gasp from you, your hands instinctively reaching down to his hair.

“Yuta,” you whine as his tongue glides up you.

God, he loves the way you say his name; he needs to hear it again.

His palms trace down your body to hold onto your thighs tightly, nearly leaving more bruises against your skin as he pulls you impossibly closer to him. Swirling around your clit he whines as your hips move up, desperate for more friction, his heart swelling at the idea that you need him just as badly as he needs you.

After years of loving you he knows just what to do, exactly how to move to make you feel good, his compendium of your body finally paying off. Slipping his tongue into you, another whimper escapes his throat as you moan his name. Bringing one hand down he roughly circles your clit with his thumb, using the exact pattern he’s seen you do more times than he could count, one he knows is guaranteed to bring you closer and closer and closer.

As your grip on his hair tightens, he knows it’s working.

His mind is flooded with you, your smell, your taste, your sounds, your everything. He loves it, he wants to crawl inside you and live in your heart forever, just like you’ve done with his. He wants to make a home in the corner of your mind, getting to see the most private and intimate thoughts you have that not even he could be privy to.

The only thing tethering him to reality is your soft voice calling his name, the most soothing rhythm in the world as your body begins to shake, heat building as you approach your release.

“Yuta,” you whimper, “m’close.”

Warmth spreads across his body, knowing he’s the one making you feel good, taking care of you, loving you, like nobody else ever could. His motions pick up, messily grinding his tongue against your cunt as you pull him into you. Everywhere he presses feels like flames, heat pricking over every inch of your body.

His name leaves your lips like a prayer as you come undone on his tongue, a series of whines reverberating against you from Yuta as he continues messily lapping you up, desperate for anything more you’re willing to give him.

When he finally pulls his face away from between your legs he’s immediately back on top of you, his lips pressing into yours with the same feral desire. His breath is hot against yours as you taste yourself on him, the entire thing overwhelming your mind as your body comes down from its high.

Pausing for only a moment, his eyes flutter open as he looks down at you, a gentle sheen of sweat across your features, grass surrounding your hair, cheeks a soft pink. Everything about you so, absolutely, undeniably perfect.

“Mine,” he whispers to himself, so quietly you nearly don’t catch it, before his lips are on yours again.

[retromotherfuckers]

Violet Eyes, Red

Pairing:

rhysand x reader (pretty sure it's gender neutral - there might be a "she" i missed while referring to you from the original draft bc second person pov is not how i write)

Summary:

you and your mate reunite after feyre defeats amarantha and this is the fallout of what the bitch did to him.

Warnings:

aftermath of SA - i can't really tell if it's graphic which tells me it is, loose description of a panic attack, PTSD, please let me know if I missed anything. guys, please, if these topics are triggering for you, don't read this fic. i am not responsible for your media consumption, but i also don't want to throw you headfirst into your trauma.

Word Count:

2,140

A/N:

literally broke my own damn heart with this one. rhys' trauma is so ignored and that needed to be rectified. rhys might be my second favorite bat boy, but he's still a lil baby who needs to be protected

dividers by @strangergraphics

The human girl had beaten her - the woman of his nightmares - once and for all. At the first moment he could, Rhysand winnowed. After fifty years, he knew there was only one place he could go. After all, it was the last Sunday of the month, and that Sunday was the day he and his mate reserved just for themselves. The High Lord and Lady would not conduct any business on that day.

You'd spend most of your day on the balcony. You'd serenade him with the piano. You'd fly around Velaris - creating patterns in the air. You'd cradle each other in your arms. He'd sketch out a new drawing - trying and failing, in his opinion, to encapsulate your true beauty.

One day, he broke that promise, that vow you had made, and went to what he thought was a simple trade meeting. That morning was the last day he saw you, and he still couldn't live with himself.

Those memories alone kept him breathing at times. When Amarantha stole his bed, his body, his hope.

Then the human girl showed up, and he tried to help her. Wanted to give her what she needed to beat the beast he didn't think he'd ever escape. But he had lost the will to pray for it. To the cauldron, to the Mother Above. Despite his pessimism, she persevered. The girl had won. And then he was free.

He was on the balcony before he could even think about it. After a quick glance around, he realized it was empty. At first, he felt a pulse of disappointment, but with the realization of how long it'd been, he breathed deeply. How could he expect you to keep up the tradition? Fifty years of solitude on those Sundays would have made him mad if your roles were reversed.

At the thought, he allowed himself to feel the mating bond. It had gone cold the moment he winnowed away all those years ago, but now it was as beautiful as he remembered. The pull of another person at the end of a tether, forever binding them in the purest forms of fate.

But he heard your thoughts, and he almost broke down in sobs at the sound of your voice in his head. Please come home, my love. I don't know how to do this anymore. Please. The last word, you were begging. Your inner voice, the one he had to get used to living without, was broken. Pleading for him to return - despite everything you'd probably heard.

And with that, he took action, winnowing to every room in the house so he would find you as soon as possible. He knew you were close; your scent wasn't stale. It was fresh, clinging to every piece of furniture you owned together.

It was the last room he checked, his office, where he found you. You sat in his desk chair; the leather more worn than he remembered. But the sight of you stopped him from rushing to you. Nursing a bottle of wine, you slouched on your elbows, hands in your hair, as more thoughts streamed through the bond.

I'm losing myself, Rhys. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I can't let myself believe you won't come back because that- that will ruin me. What she's doing to you, what she's making you do. I don't even know a fraction of it, but I can't stop it. I- I can't protect you. And I hate myself for it. 

He was watching you as you sent the words down the bond, the bond that had been desolate for half a century. You run your hands down your face, not looking up from your wine, the third of many you planned to drown in.

Just get through it. Please just- just survive. Do what you have to do to come home. I'll be here. I love you. My mate.

You'd only allowed yourself to talk to him once a month. Initially, you would try to send him something every day. Thoughts, images, songs you'd learned, prayers for him. You never heard anything back, and it slowly started eating away at you. It shattered your hope every time you didn't get a response.

You'd heard the rumors, Amarantha's whore, he'd been called. Every time you heard it, it ate away at you more and more. As if he would choose that - choose to warm the bed of another when you were waiting for him at home. You knew him better than that, and you winced at the thought. He wouldn't choose it, but would she force him? Was she that much of a monster? 

You had to shake that thought away for the thousandth time that night, downing the rest of the glass. As you reach for the bottle, nearly empty at that point, a hand wraps around your wrist. The touch is gentle but firm - stopping you from drinking more, but not rough enough to hurt. Instead of startling at it, the wine slows your instincts. You can only stare. The tattoos on the dorsal side interweave into vines under the sleeve. Vines you know, vines that you've held, vines that have and will continue to have free rein of your body.

Faster than you thought you were capable of, your eyes flew to its owner's eyes. Violet. The most ravishing violet. Violet you'd feared you were forgetting.

With a new urgency, you pulled yourself to your feet, your hands flying up to his face without thinking. One on his cheek, the other on his neck, pushing, pulling, grabbing, unsure if it was your mind playing tricks on you.

In your desperate touch, you missed the way he flinched.

His hands. Mother Above, his beautiful hands were on your neck too, placed at the sides. When your mind would play you for a fool, it would never let you touch him, let alone allow him to reach you. But there he was, and you could feel him. You tugged at the bond, finally noticing it was warm and delicate and sweet and serene and everything you wished you knew how to describe. 

He breathed your name, barely a whisper. "I'm home, my darling. I'm home."

"You're here." The words barely escaped you, and you couldn't stop the tears. He didn't hesitate a moment, pulling you in for a frustratingly rare and fierce embrace. You clung to each other for dear life, tighter and tighter and tighter, like he'd disappear if you let him go. Frankly, you weren't convinced he wouldn't. "You're really here."

You stood like that for a while, holding each other, when he ultimately pulled away first. "Rh-Rhys, don't go-"

"I'm not," he promised, his voice raw, kissing your forehead. He took in every inch of your face. "I just wanted to look at you. My mate."

Since Rhys had been freed by the human girl, nothing had been normal. Not that you expected it to be, but you didn't anticipate just how awful a recovery for him would be. He couldn't share your bed, and you didn't mean that in a sexual manner. He couldn't sleep with anyone else in his room - if he had even been sleeping at all. He could barely stand to be touched. You knew he wanted to be able to let you, but every time you seemed to blink, he would flinch.

You had suspicions about what went on under the mountain, but you had no idea it would be so evil.

He stood before a cabinet, staring blankly into it, lost in a memory - a memory he'd been refusing to share. You understood why, but something in you told you that you needed to see. Not just for curiosity's sake but to know how to help him. Even if it was past your pay grade.

"Rhys," You called quietly for the second time. You didn't want to touch him, shock him back to reality. The fear of that setting him off more held you back. With a harsh and sudden breath, he fearfully glanced at you and around the room, forgetting where he was for a moment. "You're at home, Rhys. You came home."

"I'm sorry," He rasped, ignoring your words. His hands pulled at his hair, and you were nervous he'd start ripping it out. He backed away from you, so far away he was caught by the wall. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your own formed at the sight of his tears, but you couldn't conjure up what he'd have to apologize for. "It's okay, honey, you're safe. It's okay."

"I didn't- I didn't want it. I swear on my life, I didn't want to."

You shook your head, not understanding. But you knew asking what he was apologizing for was the wrong thing to do. You could see it, the shame, the regret, the blame. "I know you didn't."

He squeezed his eyes shut, buried his face in his hands, and sank to the floor. He kept murmuring apologies, pleading for your forgiveness. "I betrayed you, you have to- you have to leave me."

His words shocked you, and now you were the one that flinched. "Rhysand, look at me." He visibly shrunk at the command, pulling his hands away from his face. "As far as I'm concerned, anything that happened...there...is the furthest thing from your fault. I know there are things you can't tell me, and that's okay. I'll be here when you're ready-"

"I can't!" He bellowed. "You'll never forgive-"

"Show me the memory." You demanded, your voice quiet but assertive. But you wouldn't push too hard if he was adamant about keeping you out. You knew. You knew. Based on the way he had been acting, what had happened. But you also knew he needed to show you. So someone, fucking someone, would tell him it was out of his control. He couldn't govern everything, even if he was the High Lord of the Night Court. The words hurt as they left your lips. "Because I can promise you that I will."

You weren't a daemati, but you could see him battling with himself. Debating, if showing you what really happened, would bury him deeper under the surface or pull him back up for air.

Eventually, he released a rare sob and a barely audible "Okay."

He showed you the first time, how he just laid there like a statue as her hands took everything for herself. Then, the fifth time, when she started demanding he respond, pretend he wanted it. Then, the eleventh time, when his body started reacting. Then, by the next time, he had stopped keeping count.

He showed you, whether he meant to or not, how he prayed for it to end, prayed for someone to rescue him.

How he had been praying for you.

With the confirmation of your theory, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying and failing to hold back the tears. The angry tears, wishing you could've been the one to rip her throat out. Tears that enraged you because that was not Tamlin's kill. Furious tears because that wasn't even your kill. Devastating tears because your mate not only had to play a character for so long, but he had to endure being called her whore. Like he had any fucking say. 

Overwhelming tears because your mate was in pain and there was shit all you could do about it.

"Can I touch you?" The question shocks him, but he nods without thinking, confused at the request. You slowly lift your hands to his cheeks, brushing away his tears with your thumbs. "There is nothing for me to forgive you for. I know you didn't want to do any of it."

"But I-"

"Bodies respond to stimulation whether it's wanted or not. It's how we work." You explained slowly and carefully, keeping direct eye contact. "You forget, sweetheart. I can hear your thoughts when you show me a memory."

"I've-" His voice caught, putting his hands on your wrists, rubbing them up and down your arms until they got hot. "I've been so scared. That it's still happening. That all of this is going to go away, that she's not really gone, that I'm not really here, and this is just another tactic-"

You shake your head, finally pulling yourself together to say what you've wanted to say for weeks. "I swear on my life that I will never let anyone hurt you like that again. I will spend eternity protecting you from her and anyone like her. And if you forget that this is real, just ask me. I'll tell you."

His eyes darted between yours, furiously blinking. Violet eyes, red. Pleading craving begging praying.

"Is it?"

[tallaennatargaryen]

Sweet Creature | Chapter 2

Dean Winchester x Nephilim!OC

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

Series Synopsis: After her father had done everything he could to give her a normal, human life, Helena Michaelsen is dragged into the world of angels and demons when her grandparents are murdered by Gadreel on Metatron's orders. With her whole family dead and her life on the line, Helena has no choice but to accept the help of Dean Winchester.

Series Warnings: canon-typical violence, death, themes of grief, self-hatred and passive s*icidality

Chapter Synopsis: Helena buries her grandparents, Dean tries to change Helena's mind, and Helena gets another unexpected visitor.

Chapter Warnings: grief, very long eulogy, passive s*icidality, minor self-inflicted injury, mention of vomit and grief-induced undereating, knife, stabbing, major injury, lots of blood, stitches

Word Count: 4.9k

Somehow, Helena was finding the funeral easier than the wake. She was sobbing like she was trying to expel every last drop of water from her body, but it was easier. At least here, it wasn’t all falling to her alone. She wasn’t the sole receiver for everyone else’s grief. She didn’t have to receive much of anything really. Here, she was just another mourner, just another person weeping her goodbyes to these two people she loved so dearly.

The priest spoke, said his prayers, told stories he remembered of her grandparents in church. He talked about Helena’s parents, the little ball of energy her mom was as a child, and the pillar of strength her father was for the family after her mom died. He talked about Helena, how she was the greatest legacy of all of them, of their kindness, their dignity, their integrity, and their love. It was after this that things got hard again, as this was her cue to eulogize her grandparents.

Standing in front of the crowd of hundreds that had all filed into that church, she felt both relieved and terrified. Relieved, because her grandparents were loved, because she could stare out at a blob of people rather than a few faces, because when all was said and done, she couldn’t possibly have to rehash her speech with every single person.

But she was terrified, because she heard her dad in her head telling her to keep a low profile and never draw attention to herself, because she could feel the pity radiating at her from every person in the crowd, because she hated to be vulnerable in front of others and yet she could not give her grandparents the send-off they deserved if she was not vulnerable. Everything felt right and wrong at the same time, and all Helena could think was how badly she wanted her grandparents back.

Clearing her throat, she began, “It’s hard to quantify a person’s life, to adequately express how wonderful they were in the singular memories we share at times like these. How can I encapsulate my grandparents in a way that feels remotely close to justice, to the sum of what they meant to this world and to me? I don’t think I can begin to try, because that in itself is an injustice to their memory.

"They were everything to me. Everything wonderful, like autumn leaves, fresh snow, the first bloom of the year, and the first firefly in the darkness of a summer night. I feel as though I’ve spent my life surrounded by angels–” Helena paused for a moment, a small, wry smile twisting her lips for a moment, “-my mother, though I wasn’t fortunate enough to spend more than a few moments with her; my father, who often told me he loved me more than he could contain in his entire being; and my grandparents–my grandmother, who sang me to sleep every night until I was ten and never killed even a fruit fly, and my grandfather, who played with me in every imaginative little world I would come up with, no matter how silly the part he had to play, and who learned to knit to make me crazy hats to wear to school. 

“My grandparents met when they were fifteen, when my grandmother caught my grandfather leaving a zucchini in her locker at school. If you know my grandfather, you too might have fallen victim to one of his many silly pranks, perhaps ending up with a shoe full of gummy worms or waking up cuddling a freshly-caught fish.

"The zucchini was supposed to be a prank on Grandma, but she caught him in the act, and caught him off-guard; Grandpa never liked confrontation, so in that moment, he did the only thing he could think to do: he asked Grandma to share the zucchini with him. My grandma, who was delighting in how awkward my grandpa felt, agreed, hoping to further intimidate him over the course of their snack. Instead, they fell in love–and yes, they ate the whole zucchini.

“They didn’t have much growing up, and they didn’t have much as adults, but they made the best of what they did have. While my grandmother was finishing college–the first woman in her family to do so–my grandfather was working as an electrician, and on the side learned how to fix cars. He bought a junky old van from a scrapyard for pennies, and spent years fixing it up. When Grandma graduated, they took that van and traveled the country for two years, exploring every corner that they could. It only ended because Grandma got pregnant, with a little lady you might have known as Diana. My mom. 

“My grandma used to say that she was a lot of things: a teacher, a wife, a psychotic bitch but only on Tuesday evenings–” Laughter echoed through the church, filling Helena’s heart with the warmth she’d so sorely been missing since her grandparents died. “-but she always said, more than she was anything else, she was a mom. Grandpa was never quite so eloquent, but I know he felt the same way about being a dad.

"They loved my mother. They gave everything they could to her. They would have given her their lives if they could have. I didn’t get the chance to know my mom, but having been raised by her parents, I know that she was one of the best people to walk this Earth. Anything my grandparents touched turned to gold, to joy, to love.

“When your mom dies giving birth to you, it’s easy to hate yourself. I can’t say that I don’t still struggle with it sometimes. But it’s because of my grandparents that I understand the love that put me here, even if it took my mom away. If they ever caught me talking badly about myself, or saying that my mom should be here instead of me, or that they probably wished I’d died instead of their daughter, my grandparents would wrap me in the tightest hug possible, and not let go for what felt like hours.

"They never failed to tell me and show me how loved I was, how precious, how needed I was in this world. My only regret is that I couldn’t believe them more, because I know that’s all they ever wanted for me. I wish they could’ve gone to their rest knowing that I’d given them at least that.

“To know my grandparents was to be blessed personally by each and every angel in Heaven. They would take nothing, and give nothing but love and devotion. They ceaselessly believed in the power of kindness, of generosity, and the good a silly little laugh could do now and again. They were the sun and moon in my sky–the best thing that ever happened to me.

"My sky will never be as bright without them, but I like to think of it like this: when they died, when the sun exploded and the moon crumbled with it, the heat and light and dust scattered to make a million new stars. They’re not gone. They’re just something else now. Something different, but still lighting our way all the same. When you miss them, when you’re overcome with your grief, your rage, your denial, your depression, look up, and see what the sun and moon gave you when they left.”

The burial was the hardest part of any of it, Helena discovered, as she dug her nails hard into her palms in a desperate attempt to keep herself upright. It was wrong, so wrong, all wrong. Her grandparents were warm, and sweet, and gentle. They didn’t belong in the ground. They shouldn’t be cold and still, shut away forever to fade from the memory of the world. The idea that she was never going to see them again, never going to hold them, that this was all very, very, very real was finally starting to set in. They weren’t going to wake up. They weren’t going to come back. Helena felt blood well up under her nails.

When the priest had finished his blessing and people had left their flowers atop the caskets, the crowd slowly started to thin. Helena remained, unmoving, staring distantly at the locks on the caskets. She wanted to open them; whether by key or by crowbar, she wanted to pry them open and hold her grandparents until they were warm enough for their hearts to start beating again.

How was it that she was a nephilim, the daughter of the oldest archangel, and she couldn’t bring her grandparents back? What was the point of any of it, of her mom dying, her dad risking everything, her grandparents being slaughtered in their own home, if Helena couldn’t do a damn thing to fix it?

Helena jumped, a small yelp escaping her lips as a hand closed softly around her wrist. Beside her she found Dean, dressed in a black suit, lifting her hand and prying it open to look at the damage she was inflicting on herself. Though his hands were calloused, his touch was gentle as his thumb brushed over the bloody crescent marks on her palm. For a moment, Helena simply watched him, allowing herself to be mesmerized by him in the way she couldn’t last night. Lovely, lovely, lovely.

If they’d met a week ago, at a bar or something, Helena probably would have been making heart eyes at him all night long and hoping that he would come over to talk to her. Hell, she might’ve even gone over to him herself and made the first move. She wasn’t usually very forward when it came to her love life, but for a face like Dean’s, she was sure she’d have taken the risk.

Maybe it was more than just his face. There was this pull she felt to him, magnetic and gravitational, like to be away from him was to defy the laws of physics themselves, and to be close to him was to keep the entire universe in its proper orbit. If she’d seen him in a bar, and felt that pull, she would’ve let him sweet talk her into anything.

But they’d met last night, after her murdered grandparents’ wake, when he’d broken into her motel room to warn her about Gadreel. Nothing–not his lovely face, not his honey voice, not his gentle touch and his tender care, not his seemingly earnest concern for her wellbeing–could convince her to trust him, much less go anywhere with him.

There was no safety in this world anymore, no haven, no protection–not for her. Nothing worthwhile at least. Her family were the only ones who’d ever wanted to protect her, and were the only ones who did so unselfishly. They were all gone now, and Dean, no matter how many grand and noble promises he made, couldn’t do the job they’d done. 

“This won’t bring them back,” he murmured, finally lifting his pretty green eyes to look at her face.

Helena blinked. “I thought I told you to go.”

“And I told you I can’t walk away.”

“So, what? You’re just going to follow me around for the rest of my life?”

“Well, how long do nephilim live anyways?” It was an attempt at a joke, but it only served to further coil the tension in the girl’s body.

Helena glared at him, snapping, “I’m human,” before storming away.

Dean wasted no time in catching up to her, then passing her so he could plant himself in her path. “Be that as it may, you’re still Michael’s daughter. Somewhere in you, there’s still the power to challenge Metatron. He won’t stop until you’re dead.”

Helena rolled her eyes. “I don’t care.”

She stepped around him and restarted her stride back towards her car, only to be stopped dead by Dean’s next words.

“Your dad is alive.”

It took everything in Helena to keep herself from falling to her knees then and there. How badly she wanted to believe him. How badly she wanted to think that her dad was still out there somewhere. There had been so many nights she spent curled up in her bed over the last four years, sobbing her eyes out as she prayed and prayed to her dad to just come back. He’d always said that if she prayed to him, he would be there in a heartbeat, but no matter how many times she prayed, it was still always just her alone in her room, crying for her dad. That’s how she knew he was gone.

She’d already fought her way–clawed her way–through the hollowness in her chest and the storm in her lungs, to the semblance of acceptance of his death that she’d gained. She didn’t want to let herself believe in the idea of her father being alive, because if it was a lie, a trick being played by Dean to get her to relent, the devastation of losing her dad twice would destroy her.

Whirling around, Helena all but stomped back up to Dean and stuck her finger in his chest. “That’s not funny.”

“Do you see me laughing?”

“Then you’re lying. Do it again and you’ll wish Gadreel would kill me.”

“Michael fell into the Cage with Lucifer almost four years ago.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I was there.”

Helena shook her head, quickly, frantically, trying to convince herself more than anyone else. “No. You’re lying.”

Dean’s brows knitted together in confusion. “Would you rather I be lying?”

“I’d rather you not use my father’s memory to manipulate me into playing along. I don’t want your help, Dean.”

“So I’ve heard. That’s not my point. My point is that you think you have nothing and no one, and you’re wrong. If you won’t let me protect you, then at least don’t give up on protecting yourself. Don’t lay down and let Metatron kill you.”

A few seconds ticked by as Helena just stared at Dean, trying to figure him out. There was no part of her that was capable of believing that he wanted to help her out of the goodness of his heart. Who was she? Who was she to him if not Michael’s daughter? Who was she to anyone now that her grandparents were gone? Sure, she had her friends, but there wasn’t a person in the world who understood and valued every part of her, who knew she was a nephilim and cared because she was a person. She didn’t think it was likely that Dean was the one person alive who did.

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, Helena huffed, “Just leave me alone.” Turning on her heel, she returned to her car, and in the rearview mirror, watched Dean watch her drive away, with an expression she might have labeled as genuine concern if she didn’t know any better.

~~~

Rather than returning to her motel room, Helena pulled into her grandparents’ driveway. With all the evidence they needed for the case collected, the police had cleaned the crime scene and given her the all-clear to go back in. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t stay in her hometown forever; she had to get back to her apartment, her school, her job, which meant she had to sort through her grandparents’ things and list the house.

For an hour, she just sat in the driveway, sobbing as she stared at the house she’d grown up in. Nothing felt right. Keeping it, selling it, going inside, never setting foot in it again. 

After a while, she gathered the strength to get out of her car and walked up the path to the front door. Her hands trembled as she thumbed through her keys, searching for the blue one with bumblebees. She remembered when she’d gotten it; once she started middle school, her grandparents had decided she was old enough to have her own key, so they took her to the hardware store to make a copy.

She remembered looking at all the designs with her grandfather, unable to decide whether she wanted the Star Wars one, the puppy one, or the soccer one. Her indecision went on for twenty minutes; while she and her grandfather debated which would be best, Grandma got fed up, chose the bumblebee one, and made the key without Helena or Grandpa noticing.

Helena had been upset initially, as any eleven-year-old who didn’t get their way would be, but as she got older, she laughed at the memory of how ridiculous the whole thing had been. Now, however, standing at the door of the house haunted by her grandparents’ murder, all Helena could do was cry as she looked at the little key.

Between her tear-blurred vision and her shaking hands, it took a few tries to get the key into the door handle. As she stepped into the dark house, the first thing that she noticed was the overwhelming smell of bleach. It shouldn’t have taken her by surprise–there had likely been a lot of blood here–but standing there for the first time unsettled Helena enough that she turned and vomited into the plant to the left of the door. She’d barely eaten all day, and yet it just kept going and going, until she collapsed to the floor in tears. The realization that she was sitting where Grandma had died immobilized her for another hour.

      It wasn’t any internal motivation that eventually got her on her feet, no strength within stemming from the knowledge that this isn’t what Grandma would want for her. It was the knock at the door, singular but firm, efficient. Purposeful. Being that Dean was the first person to come to her mind, given how annoyingly persistent he was, Helena knew that the sooner she indulged him, the sooner she’d get rid of him.

She was unsteady as she rose to her feet, the room around her spinning from the effects of eating nothing and vomiting everything. Grasping the handle tightly, she took a moment to balance herself, closing her eyes to shut out the hallway light that seemed to have been placed there just to mock her at this very moment. After a few deep breaths, when Helena was halfway confident that she wouldn’t fall over, she opened the door.

To her surprise, and immediate unease, it wasn’t Dean on the porch. She remembered the man from the wake, the strangely formal one who set her on edge. Her grasp around the door handle tightened as she shifted from one foot to another, the instinct to bolt slowly but surely taking over every muscle in her body.

He said he’d only just met her grandparents recently before they died. How did he know where they lived? Helena wasn’t sure she’d like the answer. She made sure to keep the door open just barely enough to see him, and closed enough to slam in a heartbeat. 

“Can I help you?” she asked, scanning his body for any signs of a weapon. 

“We met at the wake,” he said.

“I know.”

“I was hoping we could talk.”

Run, run, run. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

“Right, I forgot to introduce myself.” The man stuck out his hand. “My name is Gadreel.”

Not even a second had passed once the name left his lips that Helena was slamming the door in his face and turning to run. Dean’s voice echoed in her head, almost a taunt: The angel who killed your grandparents, his name is Gadreel.

Behind her, she heard the front door slam against the wall, followed by pounding footsteps pursuing her. Helena hadn’t even made it halfway to the back door when a hand wove its way into the hair at the base of her scalp and yanked, hard. Helena cried out as she found herself face-to-face with Gadreel, who looked not like the ruthless murderer she’d imagined, but a repentant man desperate for redemption. Somehow that was far more terrifying.

“I am sorry,” he told her, “but I cannot throw away the chance I’ve been given.” Gadreel’s hand came down on her forehead, and Helena felt it begin to warm against her skin. Her dad had told her about this; smiting, he’d called it, something angels could do to other beings. Shutting her eyes tight, she waited for the pain, for the scorching heat that would melt her insides, but all it amounted to what felt like a warm compress.

Gadreel let out a small gasp of surprise, his grip in her hair weakening, and Helena knew she couldn’t waste the opportunity. Pulling free from him, she stumbled back and took a knife from the block on the counter, brandishing it in front of her shakily.

“I’m going to kill you,” she spat, tears filling her eyes. “They didn’t do anything!”

Recovering quickly from the shock of her still being alive, Gadreel responded, “No, they did not. But I have a mission, one that I cannot fail.”

“What, to kill innocent old people?”

“To kill you.”

Helena hadn’t noticed the blade that slipped down his sleeve and into his hand. She only saw it once he was lunging at her, the point of his weapon aiming from her heart. With a shriek, she darted out of the way just in time, running around the kitchen island to keep the wooden tabletop in between her and her grandparents’ killer.

Gadreel stalked around the island, eyes glued to her, analyzing every little twitch of her muscles, every quick glance she cast away from him. Helena mirrored his movements, moving fast so that he wouldn’t catch up to her. What she wasn’t expecting, however, was for the angel to leap across the table and grasp a fistful of her shirt before she could even think to react. 

Then, as if it was all one swift, smooth motion, he plunged his blade into her stomach.

It occurred to Helena that she should scream, that she should call for help or otherwise try to alert someone that she was being murdered, but even as her stomach burned with the worst pain she’d ever felt, she knew better. No one could help her. No one stood a chance. The only thing she’d achieve by calling out was more bodies on the ground next to hers. 

Gadreel withdrew the blade, and Helena collapsed to the ground, curling in on herself. “You must know that I did not want to do this,” he told her. “Though your existence is forbidden, you are an innocent. You did not ask to be born as you were. But it is not I you should be angry with; it is your father, who knew the law, and let you live regardless. He knew that a nephilim’s life could only end in suffering, and yet still he subjected you to that fate rather than ending your existence mercifully before you’d even been born. I never knew Michael to be selfish, but then so much can change in two-thousand years.”

“He wasn’t selfish,” Helena gasped. She needed to buy herself time. Just a little more time. “He was a father who loved his child. He gave me a good life, even if it was always going to end bloody. I don’t fault him for anything. I love him.” Helena turned her head, a laborious effort, so that she could see Gadreel’s face. “That’s something you’ll never know.”

With that, Helena slammed her hand down in the middle of the banishing sigil she’d drawn on the floor. The one upside, she supposed, to being stabbed was that she had plenty of blood to make her failsafe. The room was swallowed in a brilliant but cold white light, and when it faded, Gadreel was gone.

Exhausted, Helena let her head fall onto her forearm. She wanted to crawl to the phone or the door, to get help, to find safety before Gadreel eventually returned, but she knew what little strength she had wouldn’t allow for that. She was going to die. It was all she could do at that point. So she just laid there, eyes closed yet tears leaking out at the corners, and waited.

But the universe could not grant her peace in her final moments, it seemed. Heavy footsteps filled the silence again. Her dad had never told her how long an angel would be banished for when she used the sigil, but she’d always thought it would be longer than a minute. How did a singular minute help anyone? With a whimper, then a resigned sigh, Helena lifted her head, wanting Gadreel to have to look her in the eye when he took the life of an innocent.

Instead, she found herself staring at Dean as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. Immediately she felt that pull, like a child grasping her hand and tugging her towards an ice cream shop. And though she was scared out of her mind, and in more pain than she’d ever experienced, she felt herself relax.

Her heart rate slowed, and as some of the tension fled from her body, she let her head fall back down onto her arms. She didn’t trust him, but she did, enough to know that he at least wouldn’t hurt her. She could rest now. So she closed her eyes, and willed the rest of the terror gripping her body to dissolve. It wouldn’t matter soon anyway. 

“Shit,” Dean cursed, rushing to her side and turning her carefully onto her back. Helena whimpered in pain. “Open your eyes, Helena. You’re not going anywhere.”

“I just need a little time,” she murmured. “Just give me a little time.”

“You can have time when you’re sewn up and healing. You’re gonna be fine, okay? Just fine.” There was something in his voice that made Helena think he was just as desperate to convince himself as he was to convince her. “Just keep your eyes open, sweetheart. ”

As much as she didn’t want to, the gravity that seemed to have tethered her to him was protesting, whining at the idea of anything, even death, separating her from Dean. No matter how much her rational side argued that he was a stranger, and it didn’t matter, the tugging on her heart wouldn’t stop.

Helena opened her eyes. When her vision cleared and she could distinguish Dean’s face from everything else around him, she saw the utter relief that had come over his features.

Dean offered her a shaky, unconvincing smile as he worked, grabbing a towel to put pressure on the wound, then tearing a long strip of fabric from her pant leg to fasten the pad to her stomach. “Hey there, gorgeous,” he flirted halfheartedly. “You’re doing great.” Dean pulled the makeshift tourniquet tight around her stomach and over her wound. When she cried out, he shushed her gently, murmuring apologies as he tied the knot together.

Tracking his movements, Helena muttered, “If you tell me ‘I told you so,’ so help me-”

Despite his agonizing concern, Dean couldn’t help a small smile. “Pain in my ass,” he mused. “Alright, I gotta lift you, okay? I’m gonna get you to the hospital.” As Dean slid his arms under her knees and shoulder blades, Helena screamed, tears rushing down her face. Her hands began to ache, clutching fistfuls of his shirt so hard in an attempt to offset her pain. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

With Helena in his arms, Dean couldn’t close the door behind him. Once he’d set her down in the passenger’s seat and closed the door, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled 911. The operator picked up as Dean was pulling out of the driveway. “My girlfriend’s home was broken into, she was stabbed, I’m taking her to the hospital but the assailant might come back and I had to leave the door open. 414 Brennan St. Her name is Helena Michaelsen. I’m Dean Smith.” 

After Dean had hung up, Helena mumbled, “I’m not your girlfriend.”

“Yeah, well, they’re not gonna let me stay with you otherwise.” All Helena managed in response was a hum, and then she went silent. Glancing over at her, Dean saw her eyelids drooping and her head dipping towards her shoulder. Quickly, he reached over and shook her until she was alert again. “Hey, you gotta stay awake, you hear me? You’re not dying today.”

“I got stabbed.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“People die when they get stabbed.”

“Not all the time. I’ve been stabbed, and I’m not a nephilim.”

“I’m human.”

“Have I mentioned that that’s a little inconvenient?”

“Shut up.”

With how fast Dean was speeding, it was a miracle they hadn’t been pulled over, but no surprise that they got to the hospital in under ten minutes. Dean didn’t even shut off the car before he leapt out and ran around to Helena’s side, yelling, “Help! I need help! She’s been stabbed!”

Lifting Helena out of the car, he turned to find a few staff members rushing towards him with a stretcher. Dean soon found himself lost amidst the chaos of nurses yelling to each other, shouting questions at him, and the overwhelming whiteness of the hospital’s interior illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights.

Before he knew it, he was being held back by two nurses, prevented from following Helena into the operating room, left only to watch with a clenching heart as she disappeared behind the door.

~~~~~

Taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

[eunseoksimp]

Wish you Roses ; Lee Sohee

Pairings: Ex boyfriend !Lee Sohee x Ex Girlfriend !Fem Reader

Genre: fluff

Description: in a tranquil garden filled with blooming roses, two former lovers, you and sohee, sit together for the first time since the peaceful breakup. surrounded by the fragrant air and golden light, there’s no bitterness, only a quiet understanding that love doesn’t always need to end with pain. instead, like the roses shedding their petals, you release each other with grace, celebrating what was while embracing what will be.

Warnings: none

i tried to encapsulate the beautiful meaning that comes from the song “i wish you roses” by kali uchis, please listen to it while reading if you can.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the garden feels like a sanctuary today, an expanse of vibrant life with no clear beginning or end. 

the roses are in full bloom, their rich, velvety petals catching the sunlight and glowing with the most delicate shades of blush, crimson, and coral. they look like something out of a dream, like they were painted onto the earth just for this moment. 

every inhalation brings their scent into your lungs, a mix of sweet and earthy, tinged with the warmth of the sun, and it feels like inhaling the past – a thousand moments tied to the very air around you. every shared laugh, every quiet touch, it’s all here, wrapped in the breeze that moves lazily through the leaves, carrying with it the stories of what you and sohee once were.

there's something timeless about being in this garden with him, like the roses could always have been here, as eternal as the love you once shared. not in the way that love often gets written about, as something desperate to be held onto, but in the way that lingers even after you’ve let go. the memory of it sits, soft and peaceful, like a song that still hums long after the music has stopped playing.

you glance over at sohee, seated across from you on the blanket you both spread out earlier. he’s leaning back on his hands, his head tilted slightly toward the sun, eyes closed in that familiar expression of calm that you’ve always known him for. 

the golden light spills over his skin, giving him an ethereal glow. the way his dark hair curls at the edges in the humidity, the slight upturn of his lips, the relaxation in his body—it's all so effortlessly him. 

he doesn’t seem weighed down by anything, least of all by the fact that this is your first time seeing each other since the breakup. if anything, there’s a sense of relief between you, like the unspoken understanding that there’s no tension to wade through, no regrets to gnaw at.

he’s quiet, as he often is, but it’s not the heavy kind of silence. it’s light, like the breeze that teases the edges of your hair, or the way the leaves rustle gently, carrying whispers of something sacred, something that has been and is no longer.

“you know,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence, “i kind of miss hearing you hum when you make tea. it was always the same tune, but it’s been stuck in my head for weeks now.”

his voice is light, teasing, but the affection beneath it is unmistakable. it brings a small laugh bubbling up from your chest. you hadn’t realized you did that, but now that he mentions it, the memory of those mornings together – the soft clink of ceramic mugs, the warmth of tea steaming between your hands, and your absentminded humming – comes back with clarity. those small rituals, the kind that make up the fabric of love.

you turn your head to look at him, really look at him. the boy who used to be everything. there’s still something about him, something that makes your chest feel warm, but it’s different now. the love has shifted, settled into something calmer, something that doesn’t need to hold on so tightly. the kind of love that can let go without fear, without regret.

“you could’ve recorded it,” you joke back, “could’ve bottled it up and played it whenever you missed me.”

 you catch his eye and there’s a sparkle there, a quiet understanding that there’s no need for heaviness in moments like these. there’s too much warmth still between you for that.

he grins, a familiar lopsided grin that you used to tease him about. “nah, didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of knowing i missed you.”

it’s a joke, and yet it’s not. because you both know that missing each other is natural. even though you’re sitting here, no longer bound by romantic promises, there’s still a missing. a missing of the day-to-day, of the comfort that comes with knowing someone’s presence so intimately. and yet, the missing doesn’t sting. it simply is.

you lean back on your hands, letting the soft blades of grass tickle your palms. the roses surrounding you sway gently in the breeze, their petals fluttering like soft wings. the air smells thick with life, the kind of smell that makes you feel like you’re part of something larger, something endlessly growing and changing. and just like the roses, you and sohee are part of that cycle, once blooming in the height of love, now letting go of the petals that no longer need to be held.

"i guess we could talk about the breakup now," you say, half-smiling, half-serious. "since we’re being all nostalgic and everything.”

sohee tilts his head, raising an eyebrow.

"yeah? what’s there to talk about? it was a masterpiece in clean breaks. no drama, no tears. just two geniuses who decided they wanted different things."

you laugh at his casual summation, but there’s truth in it. you hadn’t fought, hadn’t yelled. you both simply realized that what you once wanted wasn’t what either of you needed anymore, and that was okay. in fact, it had been more than okay. there had been a mutual respect in knowing when to let go.

“right, two geniuses,” you play along, nudging him lightly with your foot. “i mean, who else can break up and still have picnics in rose gardens like nothing’s changed?”

sohee chuckles, rubbing his hand over his face as though trying to hide the fondness creeping into his expression. 

“not nothing,” he says, his voice softer now. “a lot’s changed. but i don’t think it’s bad. it’s just… different.”

he looks out over the roses, his gaze following the soft sway of the flowers, the way they tilt under the breeze, letting their petals catch the light. 

“i mean, you’re still you, and i’m still me. we’re just not us anymore.”

the words hang in the air between you, not heavy, but not insignificant either. they’re true. you aren’t the same ‘us’ anymore, but that doesn’t make what you were any less meaningful. in fact, it almost makes it more meaningful, knowing that you can sit here, in the quiet, and recognize what you had without clinging to it.

“i think we’re still ‘us,’” you say thoughtfully, looking at him. “just not the kind of ‘us’ that people expect. we’re more like… like friends who have too many inside jokes and who know each other too well to be strangers.”

sohee’s smile softens at that, his gaze meeting yours again. “yeah,” he says. “i like that. we’re the kind of ‘us’ who know how to let go and still be good.”

you feel a warmth in your chest at his words, not the burning heat of romantic love, but something softer, gentler. it’s the kind of love that’s quieter now, not something that demands or needs, but something that simply exists, like the roses. beautiful, even in their inevitable wilting.

the sun is shifting lower in the sky now, casting a warm, golden light across the garden. it feels like the earth itself is exhaling, settling into a soft glow, and you can feel that same sense of ease between you and sohee. there’s no rush, no urgency to move forward or hold onto the past. the moment stretches, and it’s enough.

sohee glances over at you, his eyes tracing the path of the sun as it dips closer to the horizon. 

“do you think it’ll always be like this?” he asks quietly. “you know, us sitting here, feeling this… this kind of peace?”

you consider the question, feeling the weight of it settle over you. it’s not an easy one to answer because life isn’t static. things change. people change. but that doesn’t mean the peace you feel now has to slip away.

“i don’t know,” you say honestly. “but i think it’ll be enough to remember that we had this. that we could sit here, after everything, and feel… okay. more than okay, really.”

sohee nods, his expression thoughtful. “yeah, i guess that’s all we can ask for, right? to end things with love, instead of pain.”

you feel a sudden rush of gratitude for him, for this moment, for the way you’ve been able to navigate this breakup with grace instead of anger. it feels like a rare gift, something precious and delicate, like the roses that surround you.

“i wish we’d been taught that more, you know?” you say, your voice soft. “that love doesn’t have to end in a storm. it can just… fade like this. peacefully.”

he smiles at that, a wistful kind of smile, and you can see the agreement in his eyes. 

“yeah. people always act like breaking up has to mean hating each other or falling apart. but this,” he gestures between the two of you, “this is so much better.”

and it is. it’s better because you haven’t lost each other in the process. you’ve simply transformed, like the way roses go from tight buds to full blooms and eventually, into something else entirely. the beauty is in the cycle, in knowing that each stage has its own meaning, its own purpose.

there’s a softness in his eyes, his fingers still twirling that petal. it’s the color of blush, delicate and almost translucent in the sun. it reminds you of the early days, when everything between you was new and untouched, when every glance felt like a spark, every touch an electric current. those moments come back now, but not with the sharpness they once had. now they’re like the roses surrounding you, in full bloom but knowing they will wither soon, and that’s okay.

“i’m glad we can do this,” sohee says, gesturing around at the garden, at the two of you sitting there together, even after all that’s passed. “be here, like this. it doesn’t feel… sad.”

it’s true. there’s no sadness hanging in the air, no bitterness or anger clinging to the words you speak. it’s peaceful, like the way flowers drop their petals when it’s time. they don’t cling to them, they just let them fall, knowing it’s part of the cycle. a natural end, but an end filled with grace.

“we were good for each other,” you say, and you mean it. “maybe not forever, but for a time. and that’s enough.”

he looks at you, really looks at you, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes. gratitude, maybe, or understanding. the kind of understanding that only comes when you’ve walked the same path together and reached the same conclusion. neither of you were meant to last in each other’s arms forever, but that doesn’t make what you had any less beautiful.

sohee stands then, stretching his arms above his head, the golden light spilling over him like a halo. he looks down at you with a grin, that easy, familiar grin that you once fell in love with. “come on, we should probably go before the mosquitoes start eating us alive.”

you laugh, pushing yourself up off the ground and dusting off your clothes. “yeah, yeah. lead the way, genius.”

he starts walking ahead, but pauses after a few steps, turning back to look at you. “hey,” he says, his tone softer now. 

“i just want you to know… i’m really glad we’re okay. really glad we did this right.”

you smile, feeling that warmth in your chest again, that soft glow of something beautiful coming to an end without breaking. 

“me too, sohee. me too.”

and with that, you both walk out of the garden, leaving behind the roses, the petals gently falling to the earth, carrying with them the memories of something that was once vibrant and full. you know that you’ll carry those memories with you, too, like the scent of roses lingering on the wind, long after the flowers themselves are gone.

there’s a strange beauty in endings, you realize. they’re not always sad, not always filled with the sharp edges of loss. sometimes, they’re gentle, like the way a rose lets go of its petals, trusting the wind to carry them where they’re meant to go.

it’s not the end of everything, just the end of this chapter, and that’s okay. you’ll carry the memories with you, the way the scent of roses clings to the air, long after the petals have fallen.

as the sky turns to dusk, you feel it again—that peace in letting go, that grace in releasing someone with love. and it’s more than enough.

[nomsfaultau]

What would you say is your favorite part/scene of fault, also what do you imagine Red to taste like?

For one, Red’s texture would be kinda awful. Like thick water that prefers to clump to itself in tendrils. I imagine Tommy misses forks a lot. Red tastes slightly salty and a little bit metallic. Since it basically magically floods the amygdala in order to produce a flight or fight response, I functionally compare it to adrenaline, which can result in a metallic taste in one’s mouth. The salt is since Red is also kinda analogous to sweat. Ew. Potential other flavors when he’s super duper stressed include bitter (adrenaline concentrations) and sulfur (fear sweat). Tommy would not be delicious if he was having a panic attack that’s for sure.

And ahhhhhhh favorite scenes! Such a tough one! I’ll break it up by character bc I’m not getting anywhere else wise:

Tommy: Ember. The scene where Tommy fights against his touch starvation in order to finally let go of his toxic relationship with Philza. When Philza’s affectionate touch begins to burn him and Tommy finally recoils. Just…recognizing that his desperation has led him to ignore so much and finally learns how to stop blaming himself for everyone. Even if Tommy was acting on misinformation, getting Philza off a pedestal was still huge. Philza: Malachite. When he returns to his Collected in full dragon mode. Something just hits me about a massive dragon being guided home by tiny bees. The beauty of him but also the sheer destructive force. And the pure uncertainty of it, if Philza even remembers his loved ones at all. The terror of not only the heart break if he doesn’t, but also the possibility that such a powerful destructive creature could slaughter his children and not even notice. Tommy’s swirl of gut wrenching emotions and awful hope as he’s face to face with a massive dragon, only to get licked. One of my favorite cliff hangers tbh. Also the entire amnestic arc is such a fun way to explore different facets of Philza after he haunted the narrative for ages. The Blade: Unfortunately most of his coolest scenes haven’t been posted yet. But I do adore the fight scene in Alabaster where The Blade is having this epic show down with the organ house (creature pulled straight from my nightmares). He caused the problem by trying to take care of his friends, and he’ll solve it using exactly that. Very good indicator of the larger problems he faces. Also the fact he’s doing a Cool Fight Scene…while his mane is in braids, his hooves are covered in nail polish, and ‘Tommy wuz here’ is plastered on a tusk. The Blade can just get silly with it in a way the others can’t sometimes, and it’s refreshing to have the most chill functional guy be the one with bloodthirsty voices. The Blade makes the active choice to be far less edgy than he could be, and I adore him for that.

Wilbur: Midnight. It’s such a small scene, but the moment where Wilbur is out stealing food and he comes across a pet dog. I think it perfectly encapsulates the warring tension inside Wilbur between his pure survivalist mindset and his softer side. I like the way he refuses to let himself admit what he’s doing as Wilbur tries to forget everything that happened in the Foundation, which simultaneously leaves the reader in suspense for what he’s doing as he inches his knife closer to the dog’s throat. And that last line that suddenly says so, so much about the memories Wilbur is repressing: Wilbur really, really did not like shock collars. Perfect amount of building suspense to an answer that only creates far more urgent questions it refuses to address.

Tubbo: Old Gauze. Might be recency bias, but I just love when Tubbo decides to start screaming at Philza in the middle of the woods. It really encapsulates some of Tubbos’ glaring predjudices but also the flaws in Philza’s simplistic morality system (or lack thereof). Tubbo has a lot of unhealthy beliefs about hatred, guilt, and empathy. Plus the utter hypocrisy of saying Philza has no empathy while actively dehumanizing Philza…delicious. I think in stories with a moral of ‘killing people bad :(‘ it becomes really easy to make the pacifist character the unequivocally good guy. And I want Tubbo to be just as messy and flawed as everyone else. (Also really like the tiny scene in Atramentous where Tubbo starts disassociating about proper tree trimming techniques while their house is literally being invaded by Foundation soldiers.)

Though really any scene where I get to mash different character’s moral philosophies against one another like a kid with action figures automatically gets a lot of my love. I imagine readers probably have vastly different favorite scenes than I, given some of them are tiny in the grand scheme of things. Feel free to share parts that made you unhinged.

[bubbleguppyyy]

Encapsulated in Time: Pt. 3

Bucky x fem! reader

~ Surpriseee ~

Story Synopsis: Bucky knew something was missing from his memories. Something important, something special. He had tried everything to try and recover what it was, but he never could grasp anything. However, he never expected to find those missing memories in a file and an old box of videotapes.

Bucky sat on the floor next to his bed, his back resting against the side of it. Sleep refused to come to him. Very likely because of all the memories of you rushing through his head.

He turned and rubbed his face into the side of the mattress, trying to find some sort of comfortable position. He had been trying to sleep for hours now and he was starting to think he should just get ready for the day.

There was a sliver of moonlight shining through his blackout curtains, illuminating a picture of you he put on his bookshelf. Only your eyes and hair were highlighted.

Bucky always thought you had beautiful eyes. He could stare into them forever. The emotions and love they always held for anything and everything was truly a wonder.

He traces your temple with his eyes to the top of your head. He always loved how much shorter you were to him. He would always rest his arm on your head because you would get this adorable aggravated face and look up at him to tell him off. Ruffling your hair was another fun thing to do.

As Bucky stared more at the picture, a sudden realization came to him. He sat up quickly, scrambling to grab the photo. It’s the one of you and him sitting on a balcony somewhere, you smiling brightly while he simply stared at you.

He held the frame close to his face. Running his finger over your forehead.

He had realized that he didn’t remember where he shot you. He was supposed to shoot you in the middle of your forehead, killing you instantly. Except, he never received that order. You didn’t say execute, you just said “shoot.”

Hydra had programmed him to correlate simple words with actions. Shoot just meant to take a shot, it didn’t matter where. Execute meant to make sure there was a kill.

Had you done that on purpose? Did you bleed out in pain just because he took an order wrong?

Bucky whipped around, searching his room for his phone. He had thrown it early after the Avengers wouldn’t leave him alone.

He found it behind his dresser after having searched every other inch of his room.

His hands were shaking as he picked it up, barely typing the code in. Flipping through his contacts, he pondered what to say. When he came across the name he was looking for, he paused.

Did he really want to know?

He tapped the contact and waited, holding his breath.

“Barnes, you better have a damn good explanation as to why you’re calling me at this hour.”

Bucky wanted to laugh at Fury’s tone but he was barely holding it together.

“I apologize, sir, but what I need to know is very important. It could not wait until morning.”

Fury sighed from the other end, mumbling that Tony was rubbing off on Bucky.

“What is it?”

A lump formed in Bucky’s throat. He was scared, terrified even. If the answer to his question was what he thought it was, it could change the course of everything.

“Wa- was her body ever recovered and if so, where was she shot?”

Fury went silent, no sound of breathing or anything. Bucky strained his enhanced hearing but nothing came through. He started to think Fury thought he was crazy for asking that, or maybe he hung up.

Then, he heard the clacking of a keyboard. Bucky let out a breath he didn’t realize was being held. He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he waited for the director to say something.

5 minutes later, Fury finally speaks up.

“I have a request for the files to be pulled but they won’t be here until the morning, Barnes. Try to get some rest and I will call you the moment I know.”

Bucky simply said okay and gave his goodbye, hanging up immediately.

He tossed his phone onto his bed, watching it bounce around for a second. Looking over at the old box, Bucky decided that he wasn’t going to get any sleep.

Next thing Bucky knew, he had gone through half of the tapes in the common room. He couldn’t stop playing them, wanting to remember every song thing about you. Who you were, how you two met, why you chose him.

Your voice was engraved in his mind, creating a haze in his eyes. He was on a video he had taken of you as you got ready for the day. He could see part of himself in the mirror behind you, recorded in his hand.

You were swiping lipstick on when you caught his eyes through the mirror. He could’ve sworn the smile you gave him stopped his breathing. You turned to look at him, your eyes shining with love.

“How come you never let me take videos of you. I want to remember you as well, James.”

He huffed behind the camera, making you giggle. You turned back around and spritzed perfume on. Bucky remembers the exact scent you always used. A mix of almond, cocoa, and vanilla. He called you delectable, like a sweet treat.

The sound of his phone ringing snapped him out of his reverie. The contact on the screen caused his mood to drop. He looked out the window, noticing that it was early morning. He clicked accept.

“Is the Captain around?”

Bucky scrunched his face in confusion. Why would Steve need to be present for this? Of course, Stev decided that was the right moment to go on his run.

He saw Bucky and immediately got ready to ask what he was doing but Bucky just silenced him with a look, beckoning him over.

“Alright, he’s here. Now, what did you find, Fury?”

Steve sat next to him on the couch, giving Bucky a confused look. Bucky just shook his head at him, giving a look that said “I’ll explain later.”

“I hope you’re sitting down, because what I’m about to tell you might make you drop.”

[catchyaontheflopside]

Get to know your mutuals (tagged by @cerebralsilhouettes thanks babygirl)

What's the origin of your username?: Oh jeez, it's been a while but let me go into the memory depths here. I think I just used to say "Catch ya on the flip side" as a goodbye, and it seemed to encapsulate me pretty well. When I tried it out it was already taken, so I used flop instead and honestly, I think it's even more suiting lol.

OTP(s) + ship name: SwanQueen, SuperCorp, Hollstein, and Clexa. I'm generally a sucker for a golden retriever/black cat style ship probably because I'm the golden retriever and I'm in love with an intimidating woman lol. Something so intriguing about winning over the badass intimidating women.

Favorite color: I've struggled with this one since high school. Like my heart wants to say maybe a dark purple, but it really depends on the moment.

Song stuck in your head: Woncha Come On Home by Joan Armatrading. I've been obsessed with her Show Some Emotion album (everyone go listen immediately).

Weirdest habit/trait: Uhhh... I'm kinda known for being a bit odd, so probably a lot. I don't really feel embarrassment, so that seems to give me permission to just be without having to work around the fear of embarrassment that seems to run a lot of people's lives.

Hobbies: Oh god, I pick up a new hobby every week. Right now I'm into staff spinning and getting back into poi. Reading. I was crocheting while I was off work but honestly there's not a lot of time for hobbies while working full time and taking care of a dog, two cats, and a toddler. Oh music! I still play guitar, keyboard, and ukulele when I can. Working on the harmonica.

If you work, what's your profession?: Haha without doxxing myself I'm basically a labourer? My job is a bit of everything. Maintenance, snow removal, gardening and landscaping, moving furniture, office administration, mail room, and so much more. I like to say my job is to just do whatever needs to be done.

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be?: Really just a stay at home mom would be awesome right now. But also I have a dream to open my own coffee/tea shop that also sells used records and books.

Something you're good at: As maybe noted with my job, I'm a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, but I think maybe my people skills are something I do best . I've gotten further from people liking me than I have being a smarty pants.

Something you hate: Daylight savings, like wtf is that? Why are we still doing this? ALSO I have a peeve about the calendar. With 365 days in a standard year (sun cycle) and 28 days(ish) in a moon cycle, our years could be set up as 13 months of 28 days (13 moon cycles per sun cycle) plus one extra bonus day that everyone can just take off.

Something you collect: Nothing in particular right now. I once collected pennies, sunglasses, swim suits, shoes. I mean I guess records, but I just don't have the money right now for a proper "collection" of anything. I'm sure when my kid is a bit older we'll collect some rocks together or something.

Something you forget: How would I know? I've forgotten

What's your love language?: I like physical touch, but I give acts of service.

Favorite movie/show: Movies I've got a top 5 that kinda mix around for top dog: Spice World, Rat Race, Pan's Labyrinth, Fantastic Mr. Fox, The Sound of Music. Favourite shows: The OA, The L Word meant a lot to me at a few points, Schitt's Creek, I've watched a lot of TV and movies and there's a huge variety of for what I like depending on the day.

Favorite food: This homemade caesar salad that we make.

Favorite animal: All these favourites! I'm not good at favourites lol. I have a degree in wildlife biology so I'm a big animals fan, picking a favourite is hard. I'm a big fan of wombats (wrote a 30 page paper on them in school), my kiddo is really into bushbabies which is definitely making me into bushbabies (specifically the senigal galigo), I've recently discovered the emperor tamarin which is cute as heck, since I was a kid I always liked the kinkajou.

What were you like as a child?: Very social. Bit of a teacher's pet, but was also pretty popular so it didn't matter. I did well in school, did will with friends, was pretty athletic (did gymnastics consistently for 10 years, but also qualified for all the track and field stuff). I was a happy, easy going kid, just needed to be kept busy.

Favorite subject at school: Ahh, now the nerd is revealed. My faves were Math (calculus more than functions)/Physics/Music/Woodshop.

Least favorite subject: Uhhhh... civics and careers maybe? They could have done so much more with civics, but I feel like I didn't learn anything about how our government works. And careers was mostly a joke. I actually liked classes where I learned.

What's your best character trait?: I may have overlapped this with something you're good at. I'll think of something else. My wife said "you're not an asshole," so let's go with that.

What's your worst character trait?: Anxiety? Lol

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet?: I don't know. Maybe my uncle Phil? Seemed like maybe we'd get along.

Honestly don't have the energy to tag people at this point, but if you see this and want to do it, feel free to claim I tagged you (if we're a mutual just take this as a tag).

Cheers

[lucithornz]

I really am listening to the Anthology and realizing half of this is about Sebchal, this is just clicking for me. ugh. Especially Chloe et al

Hands in the hair of somebody in darkness named Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus And I just watched it happen As the decade would play us for fools And you saw my bones out with somebody new Who seemed like he would've bullied you in school And you just watched it happen

Seb watching Charles stay at Ferrari and how bad things got with Carlos.

You said some things that I can't unabsorb You turned me into an idea of sorts You needed me but you needed drugs more And I couldn't watch it happen I changed into goddesses, villains and fools Changed plans and lovers and outfits and rules All to outrun my desertion of you And you just watched it

Change "drugs" to Ferrari here for the full vision. This also encapsulates how Seb didn't know how to navigate being Charles idol and also being like a real person to him, he tried to find the right dynamic but it didn't click, all while his position with Ferrari was crumbling.

And he left Charles behind. He had to watch the frustration that followed at that team and everything they put Charles through and he was relieved he escaped it, but also has to watch it happen to Charles from a distance.

Charles let it all happen in his pursuit of the Ferrari dream. He thought full commitment to the team above all else would save him, it wouldn't an in fact he'd overlook some important things.

But also at the same time from Charles POV is someone who didn't know how to truly be intimate with him. They had this constant back and forth, friendly but too cowardly to take the plunge into the depths of intimacy, and then Seb just left. So Charles just had to grit his teeth and chase the Ferrari dream because that's all he had left.

Will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon like it never happened Could it be enough to just float in your orbit Can we watch our phantoms like watching wild horses Cooler in theory but not if you force it

That final season where they were on different teams, things cooled down, but they never went back to the way they were.

So if you want to break my cold, cold heart Say you loved me

Say it and don't have Ferrari cameras on you when you do.

[popculturebuffet]

Pee-Wee's Playhouse: Monster in the Playhouse Review

In Loving Memory of Paul Rubens 1952-2023 The loss of Paul Rubens this week.. was one of the most devistating celebrity death's i've experienced, up there with Bowie and Adam West. It's just one of those deaths that really gnaws as your soul a bit, to see some one who brought such joy to your life gone in an instant. With Paul it hurt more because he's been such a constant: My family LOVED Pee Wees Big Adventure and I saw it PLENTY as a kid, a truly iconic and fun film that really showcased what paul could do. As I grew up, he was in Mystery Men, one of my faviorite superhero films to this day and a great part of it as the gaseous gladiator The Spleen.

Ironically it wasn't till I was in college and beyond I got to see Peewee's Very own children show and paul's masterwork Peewee's Playhouse, the classic 80's childrens show that had plenty of whimsy for it's target audience of young children.. but plenty of charm, puppetry, a stacked cast, and some all time great set design that made it a classic. It's no wonder my young niece and nephew glommed onto it as kids back when Netflix had it nor mourned him alongside the rest of us.

So while I intend to do more of Paul's work later when I can, faster if someone comissions them, I figured this was the best place to start and to honor him in the moment: my faviorite episode of his show. You'll find out why and if you hadn't really heard of paul rubens find out why he was so awesome under the cut.

Pee-Wee Herman started as a character Rubens made for the stage, with his stage show The PeeWee Herman show. The character was a hit from the get go and said hit lead a young filmaker by the name of Tim Burton to come calling. Thus Pee-Wee's Big Adventure Was born. I was honestly suprised to find the movie came first, as the show has none of it's cast, just the human muppet at the center. It does make sense though as the two works show off the two diffrent but equally awesome ways to play with Pee-Wee. Pee-Wee as a character.. is a giant cartoon. He's very clearly a grown man, but acts like a ten year old, lives in a bonkers house no matter the verison of him, and dosen't care how weird he comes off to everyone.. and thus charms most people simply by being himself. It's why the character resonates with me so much: Pee-Wee is who he is and he's not self concious about it. he's not really lambasted by most characters for being weird and those who do are usually jerks. When something bad happens to him it's usually because he brought it on himself.

So as a giant cartoon there's two ways to play him: you either plop him into the mundane world and see everyone else bounce off the loveable weirdo, or you meet him on his level and have a world of childlike wonder and total insanity. The movie went for the former, allowing rubens to be as unrestrained as he wants while still being a charming guy, and the show, being meant for kids but not talking down to them, could be as weird as rubens could get.

Playhouse has the trappings of a preschool show: most of the cast is hammy, everythings weird and ther'es a lot of loud stuff to keep attention like the secret word. But it's done in a way that's also gentle, calming and just dang fun to watch: it comes off as what a young kid would THINK being an adult was where you can be a cowboy or pretty for a job, have to deal with horrifying salesman and get to have a ptreodactyl as a pet. It's this nice chill fantasy world that's diverse, where only three people are dicks and one of them, pee wee, ususally learns not to be and that tries to teach kids to be excellent to one another.

And while I picked this episode as a personal favorite.. it really encapsulates a lot of what makes this series great and it's philosphy well. Monster in the House follows Pee Wee on what starts as a pretty normal day, he checks on his ants who are gorgeously animated in this nice construction paper style with black on yellow. It REALLY looks cool. Also cool is a season 1 exclusive feature: his toys. His toys... are basically sids toys from toy story, some horrifying mashups, in this case an octopus cowboy with a thousand eyes and a Frankenstein head on a standard dolly, that still has doll hair. It made me realize something about the show: it REALLY loves it''s animation. While the puppetry is awesome, we'll get to that, we have bits like the dinosaur family, the toys and the ants, the penny cartoons, all vastly different styles, all gorgeous. They even bring in some retro shorts via the king of cartoons. It also speaks to the shows tone: it's really freefloating: While there's usually some through line to anchor the episodes shenangians, it has this nice, serene atmosphere, a childhood memory brought to form where you'll often play or do other stuff amidst the hustle and bustle of your life. It's a vibe I haven't really seen in any other show or felt anything close to and it's glorious. There just.. isn't another show that FEELS like this.

Helping with that is the puppetry. I've been covering muppets here lately and Paul really has a lot of the same philosphy's as Jim Henson. It's really sad the two never did something together: Pee Wee did a segment or two for sesame street and not only won an honrary muppet award but was a guest in muppet magazine where we got just.. the most wholesome image ever

But both have this gentle nature that belies the manic content they make, injecting an earnestness into the madness. Peewee has a talking chair, a dog who is also a chair and looks utterly horrifying, a globe, his own robot, a tetradactyl.. all puppets.. but all feel really. Terry is like the son PeeWee never had, CHairy is one of his best friends and in a nice touch i'd never noticed before her eyes and hands usually move when she's in frame even if she's not the focus of the scene. There's also clearly something going on between them but I feel a memorial is a poor place to talk about chair on human romance. The puppets feel real even whent hey can be limited, and all have unique looks. Even chairy and dog chair despite being both animate chairs look and feel different, chairy coming off as pee wee's shy best friend and dog chair being an utter nightmare that's also adorable.

It's the giant gaping mouth. Just... I love a good dog but when you make one that could swallow me whole and very likely my soul at the same time you loose me. Except for Clifford. he's a good boy. You eat those souls clifford, you get bigger and stronger boy. That's a good red dog. Good boy.

So before we get to the plot we need to get the secret word. For those less familiar Pee Wee unplugs and turns on his robot buddy Conky, whose just a delight. And honestly all this reviewing thomas the tank engine effed me up a bit as I was horrified at first that Pee Wee turns Conky off at all.. but then realized they cleverly tucked the reason WHY Conky is plugged in and has to be turned on into the show: he needs to be recharged. Pee Wee would love to have him on all the time, but he dosen't want his friend to run out of battery. It's simply how the bot sleeps.

So he has honky print it out the word and whenever somebody says the secret word "scream real loud". it's a LOT of fun as any time it happens the whole playhouse joins in. Pure hell for parents but something so charmign you can forgive it. It's also sweet when Reba the Mail Lady, one of peewee's friends and his well mail lady, is so deligthed to have said it by accident. It's really sweet

The plot kicks off proper when Mrs. Steve shows up. Mrs Steve is a season 1 exclusive... and unlike others like Tito or Captain Carl who likely got cycled out because production moved and they simply coudln't move with it, Mrs. Steve feels like she got shuffled out because she just doesn't fit the shows tone well. The show DOES have an outright antagonist in randy, but he's more a harmless doofy bully no one takes seriously and who at most sets peewee astray by getting into his head. Mrs. Steve on the other hand is that kind of asshole we've all had: she gets into everyone's business, complains constantly and unlike most of the cast dosen't really jibe with the weirdness that is the playhouse. I don't mind someone say having a straight reaction to peewees nonsense but detesting it just dosen't work. She DOES work well enough for the episodes she's in, I just think longterm it was a wise decision to phase her out. Her actress does a great job though.

In this case there's a monster in the neighborhood. I mean you'd THINK given Mrs Steve sees Dog Chair and Season 1 globey on a regular basis she'd be used to monsters but apparently not. She's warning everyone. Pee Wee doesn't believe but everyone else does. Even the king of cartoons has to be talked into doing his job. I also just.. love the fact that in season one the king whose only job is showing up to show children cartoons has a new york style cabbie. It's so peewee.

Naturally though for this universe there IS a monster, as just when peewee clams everyone down by turning off the lights,a nice calming little bit of letting fear go.. the monster shows up. And Roger , he's named later.. has a fucking awesome design. It's clearly someone in a suit though how I don't know. THey might be hunched over by they CAN jump.

It's such a unique design. Admitely I love cyclopic monsters, so i'm defintely bisased but the nice touches like his weird foot, the little tubes or the side mouth are great.

I also love Pee Wee's response to Chairy Pointing out he said monsters weren't real "So I was wrong, sue me". With Roger just making monster sounds Pee Wee has no idea how to deal with him, realizes he's hungry and makes him a sandwitch which is fun. I also love Roger looking inside peewees fridge to see his food doing thier usual capering and how he just opens and shuts it like a kid would. And as it turns out.. that's what roger is. When PeeWee can't get him to go he WISHES he could understand him. And naturally ...

Since he's not being forced to this bit though the real jambi gladly grants the wish. With the wish granted, long lived Jambi we find out Roger.. is actually a child. He's kind, has a nicely innocent voice and simply wanted to play. He didn't mean anything by his stomping, and was just confused why Peewee was scared of him jsut because he was a monster. It's a nice message about not hating something you don't understand just because it's diffrent. Not subtle, but it's also not so over the head that it dosen't work. Roger may look weird.. but so does the rest of the house. Unsurprisingly PeeWee is huge in monsterland. So PeeWee apologizes and makes a new friend and everythigns good. The episode ends with pee wee getting a call on his picture phone.. which is one of my faviorite runners as in a nicely peewee touch, he always puts on some background and costume before answering. We get Roger's mom whose upset he was missing, ssays the secret word (a touch I really love) but invites peewee back for spagetthi because who wasn't. We also get a nice twist on the usual ending. Usually pewee gets on his scooter, heads off and we see him ending. Here Roger JOINS peewee for the trip. They also scare the crap out of mrs steve, always a good time. Monster in the Playhouse is excellent and it's on youtube. It's a great sample of how good the series was, has a nice wholesome legend and as always showcases just what a great performer rubens was. He'll truly be missed and I hope he's somewhere up there, in his own playhouse. Thanks for reading.. and we'll miss you paul.

[what-gs-watching]

“Sunlight over me, no matter what I do.”

This week on what G’s watching - what G’s listening to. 

This is exciting!

Gang, I told you content is how I apparently digest my feelings, and a big ol’ part of that is music. Always has been, my dad has this crazy extensive collection of albums. When I was a kid he always had something on in the car, or playing from the old stereo in our living room. One of my favorite memories is listening to the Beatles’ White Album with him on long afternoons. He’d let me dance around on his feet, and we’d sing every single one, I was the eight year old who knew the entire thing by heart.

Music is a core fucking memory for me, it’s my dad in a nutshell. I remember one year for Christmas, he gave me a bunch of burned cd’s - all of the Beatles broken up by time period, Cat Stevens, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell,  a set of discs that included the top songs broken out by month between 1964 and 1968, six in total. The tracks, he told me eventually, perfectly encapsulated the way those different seasons felt to him - The March/April disc really feels like springtime.

If you knew my dad, you’d know that the effort he put into it was much  more than his usual Christmas attempts, which were: my mother buying the gifts and then writing his name on the tag. 

So the point is: music can be an incredible thing and it’s a large part of who I am. I could write an entire post about all of that (and one about the Beatles, and one about Paul McCartney specifically, and one about Adele, and one about Bo Burham…see, I’m nuanced)  but I won’t. Right now, at least. 

Because I want to talk about Fleet Foxes. Specifically, Helplessness Blues.

This album came into my life at a weird time, I’d moved to a new city and was working my first ever real tech job and I was living with my sister, trying to figure my shit out. Which involved coworker-turned-friend drama because at the time I was absolutely not the best person, and it was very early 20’s of me. You know, when everything feels frenetic and you aren’t sure what the fuck you’re supposed to be doing with your life, so you’re just…doing random things, all the things. 

Which made me extremely susceptible to the creeping kind of darkness infused with hope the album has. I have a penchant for indie folk bands. I can’t help it. I fucking love guitar and thrumming drums with violins and shit. It just feels real to me. Authentic. Organic.

So it’s no wonder Fleet Foxes pulled me. I had a couple of their other songs on random playlists but had never attempted to listen to their first release. And then one day I was getting my oil changed, sitting in the waiting room and I read a review of Helplessness Blues in a magazine, probably Rolling Stone. I immediately bought it, which wasn’t really like me at the time - I was deep into stitching together random lists on my ipod, pulling tracks from all over the place, but I felt like I had to.  Thankfully.

I don’t know what it is about this album, but it’s the perfect mix of mauldin, shiny, twisted, uneasy, exciting, overwhelming. It feels like there’s a story to it, it’s cohesive and purposeful, but I couldn’t tell you what the narrative actually is. And that’s probably the point. It’s whatever the story is to you, and man this album for me is angst and questioning and accepting. It’s become one of those perfect albums you can listen to, never skipping a track, because they’re always a little different depending on the mood you’re in.

And right now, I'm in a weird mood. I’m lost in my life again, and angst sounds about right, so I put the album  on this afternoon after I’d finished my unemployment application and tried to harass the pharmacy for my husband, did some laundry, some dishes, random life things. I decided all I wanted to do with my Friday was chill the fuck out, blast Helplessness Blues through my airpods, and just, be with myself, and  something familiar. Inside my own brain, but with something comforting, lulling me in the background. 

I wanted to wrap myself up in something, and this was the perfect choice. Apparently one of my coping mechanisms is to just put some music on and let it overwhelm me, turning the volume up as high as I can tolerate, and singing along as needed at the top of my lungs. It’s honestly therapeutic. 

That’s what Helplessness Blues is good for. Because it’s quite a production. You can get lost in the story and it’ll morph into whatever you need at the time. Today it’s a squirming  sense of unease, but also triumph. It’s so good.

I could probably talk about all of the tracks, I’m not going to lie, but that sounds exhausting; they’re still lulling my brain right now and I don’t feel like I could pick out each one well enough, they flow together too well. 

However, The Shrine / The Argument is fucking ambitious. It’s so many different things all at once and it’s almost confusing as one song but eventually it’s really, really not. It’s weird and it ends with a horrible cacophony but then delivers really soft and agonizing violins. It has some of my favorite lyrics from the entire album:

In the morning waking up to terrible sunlight / All diffuse like skin abuse the sun is half its size

When you talk you hardly even look in my eyes

In the doorway holding every letter that I wrote / In the driveway pulling away putting on your coat

In the ocean washing off my name from your throat

Because, who hasn’t felt like that? It’s a really specific loss. How else can you say something like that? 

This is clearly getting away from me, but that’s okay. This is what I wanted to do today. I don’t do this very often, Helplessness Blues isn’t in my regular rotation, because it deserves to be listened to and I don’t always have that kind of time. I’m thankful that I do today though, I’m almost through my second rotation, and it's helping. I’m updating the story that it is, for me. Next time I listen to it, it’ll remind me of this stupid thing I’m going through and all that I am right now, a little bit. 

For example: listening to Blue Spotted Tail was very Crowley and Aziraphale today.  That’s apparently where I am, so now it’s part of the story. 

Why in the night sky are the lights hung? Why is the earth movin’ around the sun? Floating in the vacuum with no purpose not a one…

Poor little Antony J.

 Why is life made only for to end? Why do I do all this waiting then? Why this frightened part of me that's fated to pretend?

So. If you need to feel ways about things (we all do, now and again, right) this album will do it for you. And this is a terrible love letter to it, but just…trust me.

[melancholysway]

ROTTMNT Rise!Leo x Reader: Camera Shy

He’s such a cutie omg

anonymous said: If it’s not asking much, but could you please do some Headcanons or a scenario with… honestly whichever version, I’m addicted to rottmnt lately but please do with whichever you think suits better, and whichever turtle you think it might suit this scenario better or idk me lols *tucks hair* -with a reader (x reader scenario, i Hope I’m making sense lmao- could be already in a relationship or crush stage) and reader seems rather off during movie night or game night, no one seems to notice I guess (besides crushing turtle) and that seems to make them even more reclusive. Gets bad to the point when someone tries to take a pic of them or someone asks for a picture off all of them together, they jump out and say they will take it, when crushing turtle asks them to be in the picture, reader says it’s alright or it doesn’t matter and take it anyway? From Not being in the picture (doesn’t like to take pics bc of how they look, they like the whole making memories concept but hate how they look in very picture, and today it’s been hard to deal with it) do you mind doing something more on a comforting scenario?

This is for one of my good online friends, i hope you like it! <3 ily queen omg

We all know rise!Leo is a camera whore

Like the man will really snatch the camera away & put it on himself he gives no type of fucks

Y’all can clown rise leo all you want, but he’s observant. He notices EVERYTHING. everyone around him, he knows

So he knows when there’s even a slight shift with you

He’s not an over analyzer, he just knows how to read the room well and feel the vibe

And if he doesn’t like said vibe prepare to hear his mf mouth

You have a crush on Leonardo. It happens fairly quick after meeting him and his brothers. The way you met them was…peculiar. Your friend April had lost Mayhem in her bathroom mirror, and as you came over unannounced to surprise her with takeout, you were greeted with four turtles coming through her mirror along with her…er…mystic cat. 

You think you’re living in a fantasy world at first

She doesn’t exist or these 4 life sized turtles

But when the one in blue with red scars speaks to you and says how he’s so good-looking that he left you speechless and caused you to faint, you come to the conclusion that it’s all real.

So it’s settled, you share the takeout with April and the turtles, and you get to meet Mayhem. It’s a win-win…-win. 3 wins!

As time goes on, you become comfortable around them, you gravitate toward Leonardo. He has an encapsulating personality that honestly, anybody could fall for. If you brush past the cocky comments and large ego, Leo’s perfect.

Crushing on Leo is no easy feat. He’s hyper yet lazy, unpredictable yet calculated, and his ego is the size of a fucking Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade float

If you date Leo, he’ll always attempt to get you out of your comfort zone. It doesn’t matter how, he’ll do it.

Despite being close to Leonardo, you don’t tell him about your own personal insecurities. You avoid cameras and taking photos with friends, all of that. 

You’re able to keep that in for a long time. A while, actually. Leo has no idea, his brothers have no idea, nobody knows. 

Unbeknownst to you, Leonardo likes you, too. He however, decides to not say anything for the time being. 

He flirts with you, but subtly. Small compliments here and there, occasional touch, loves to be around you? Yeah, that kind of subtle. His flirting is so painfully obvious to April yet somehow brushes past you. He’s just being friendly, right? Maybe? Or (hopefully) you beat him to the punch and confess your potential feelings for him? That's the thing, he’s not sure if you feel the same way. Sure, his occasional flirtatious manner gets you blushing like mad, but that’s normal when someone compliments you.

Back to your personal conflict.

You keep so much in including emotions that Leo just can’t read you at times. He reads actions, not minds. He can’t tell that you feel insecure about yourself in photos until the sleepover. He sees it. He finds out. Thanks to being invited to a sleepover down in the Lair. He realizes it.

And oh, does he have a mouthful to tell you when he does.

“Okay, the annual Sewer Sleepover is ending in T-minus 30 minutes people!” Donnie says, checking his watch absentmindedly. Once the sleeping portion was done, it always ended with a big friends/bros breakfast in the morning. 

“Are we taking flics?”

Raph cocks a brow and Mikey snickers, “Flics?” Donnie asks, watching as Leo gets up from his spot on the couch and stretches. 

“I’m just…wow that felt good,” cracking his back for everyone to see causes April to cringe from the noise,   “I’m trying to be hip.”

“It’s not working.” April comments, putting her eye mask back on and flopping back on her spot on the floor. 

You were participating in the 4th annual Sewer Sleepover with April and the turtles. Leo had mentioned it one day, to which Mikey suggested you join the next one as it was coming up soon. It’s today! Err, yesterday, actually. It was an amazing time, you got to hang out with your good friends, gorge on food, play video games together, and the best part: draw a penis on the sorry sucker who fell asleep first. 

It was Donnie, by the way. So it’s pretty hard right now to keep a straight face without snickering everytime you look at him, so everyone just avoided eye contact. Nobody has the heart to tell him; poor Donnie. He just looks so excited to take this photo and told April to put it at an angle to get his “good side.”

~ 

How did you get to this point? You’re sandwiched in between Raph and Leo while he puts an arm around you. As much as you’re crushing on Leo right now, you feel uncomfortable as you wait for April’s phone to finish counting down and snap a picture. The longer you wait and the more anxious you get to hear the camera snap, you begin to feel sick. 

3…

2…

1…

“Crap.” What a relief. The phone fell from the contraption April made to keep the phone standing up. Maybe she should just invest in a phone stand or something.

Before she can readjust the phone back, you swiftly leave Leo’s grip, grabbing the phone and standing behind it. 

“Here,” you start, “I can take it instead.” 

“What? No way, Y/n! You have to be in the 4th Annual Sewer Sleepover Extravaganza photo!” Leo exclaims, earning a nod from Raph and Donnie.

“Yeah,  Y/n, we can just find another spot to put it, no biggie.” April adds, yet you don’t agree. You’d really, really rather not be in the group photo. Plus, what’s so bad about being behind the camera, anyway? 

You can feel your anxiety rising as now all eyes are on you, Leo’s making it especially worse. After a few moments, you just huff in slight annoyance. 

“Guys,” You breathe, “I can take it. It’s not that serious.”

“It is! We want you in the photo too!” Raph tries to change your mind, yet you can’t be persuaded. 

“Maybe Y/n’s just camera shy. Is that it?” Donnie blurts out. Sometimes, Donnie doesn’t really think about what comes out of his mouth. Most of the time it’s just his inner thoughts, but this time, his inner thoughts are correct. 

Camera shy was just the tip of the iceberg for you. There were other factors. None of which you would be outright telling everyone, either.

“Yeah, Don,” You sigh and fiddle with your fingers, “That’s exactly it.” There’s a slew of silence that only seems to be awkward to you, and it results in the others complying and getting back in their spots for the photo. You glance at Leo as you lift up the camera and begin to count down, and he realizes he isn’t going to be able to stand next to you during the photo anymore. His eyes quickly meet yours, and when they do, you immediately hide your blush behind the phone, only for him to give a look of concern. Something just wasn’t right with you. 

~

You’re feeling better for the time being. After placing what’s just transpired in the back of your mind, you try to distract yourself by helping Mikey flip pancakes while the rest of the brothers and April (attempt) to help. Except Leo, he’s banned from the kitchen. Because of this, he’s never really sure what to do during the group breakfast cooking portion of the sleepover. That is, until, you accidentally get pancake batter on your shirt thanks to being clumsy, and you’re on your way to to wash it off in the bathroom upstairs. 

“Gah, stupid Bisquik mix,” You curse to yourself, using all the strength you have to scrub the stain out under cold running water. As you’re hunched over the sink, you fail to notice Leonardo walk past the open bathroom door, only to realize it when he clears his throat. 

“You shouldn’t be camera shy.”

As you stop scrubbing for a moment, you don’t look back at him. “It’s deeper than that, Leon.” Continuing to scrub, Leo walks into the room, his eyes focused entirely on you. 

He liked it when you used his nickname. Leon beats Leo for some odd reason, and it made him feel good. 

You didn’t want to admit the fact that there’s something more going on, but it’s Leo, he wouldn’t scream to the whole world your personal problems (unless you approved of course,) he had respect for others (to a degree.)

“I know, I- okay, you’re never gonna get out the stain if you’re scrubbing it like that.” 

So, you sit there in silence for a bit, watching as Leo scrubs at your shirt- the right way. Not any different from the way you were doing it, but to each their own. 

“Are you insecure?” Leo takes on Donnie’s persona at times, he says what he thinks. Like right now, where he’s not trying to intrude, but he wants to know. Is that how you feel about yourself? 

So, you tell Leo everything. It comes out like word vomit, and you’re going 100 miles per hour trying to make sense of your emotions. 

You’re insecure, you lack self-confidence, you don’t think you look good in photos, you think that you’re better off behind the camera rather in front of it. It’s something that’s been bothering you for quite awhile. That you don’t belong in group photos with your friends, as bad as it sounds. You think it’s true. You don’t belong.

“For what it’s worth,” Leo stops, just the water being the only sound in the bathroom, “I think you do.” You belong. To Leonardo, you belong. He’s midway into almost finishing getting the stain out of your shirt and says that. As your breath hitches, Leo looks up at you, his eyes once again looking at yours- thinking he said something wrong. But, he didn’t. You needed to hear that, and it coming from Leonardo made it much more meaningful. The guy you have feelings for thinks of you in such a way that makes you appreciate him. 

As the heat rises in your cheeks, you turn the other way, trying to find something in the bathroom to distract you. Those monarch butterfly shower curtains look nice, wouldn’t you say?

“Th-thanks, Leon, I…um…” You stop yourself, just because Leo lifted your spirits, doesn’t mean he likes you, does he? But he just looks so good right now, his hands on your shirt still trying to get that god forsaken Bisquick pancake mix stain out- who knew batter could be such a bitch to get out of clothing? And oh, the way his arm brushes against your skin while he’s doing it? Come on. You’re practically inhaling his scent- he always smells like this Axe spray he found while digging through Raph’s old things one day, and he abuses it so much. He thinks it’ll attract mates. Well, he’s half-correct. Though it wasn’t the reason it attracted you, it still had you in a chokehold. 

“I know what it’s like to not like the body you’re in. I mean, look at me, Y/n, A life-size mutant turtle. The average person is most likely scared of my dashing good looks.” This is Leonardo’s way of being supportive, guys. 

“Well,” You swallow, mustering up the courage to say what you’ve been thinking this whole time since knowing Leonardo, “I like the way you look.” You say it with your chest, and your assertiveness makes Leo’s eyes light up. You like Leo’s presence. It doesn’t repulse you. 

“Me too. I mean! I like YOU, wait- I like the way you look, too.” Now, Leo is a confident guy, but right now, you just had him stumble over his words. He likes you? 

“What I mean is, I think you should’ve been in the photo with us. You look great.”

He thinks you look great. 

And God, his (very hot) voice complimenting you like that? He knows what he’s doing. He’s the flirty type, everyone knows that. But, he’s flirting with you!

“It’s out.” Leo lets go of your shirt, and looking down, you just see a damp spot in the middle of it, though the stain is gone. “You actually got it all out, thank you.” 

“I’m simply a threat against any food-caused stain.” He says, puffing up his chest only to earn a small laugh from you. He smiles, looking at you, only for your eyes to meet with his. 

He suddenly gets this boost of confidence- more than usual, and pulls a Donnie.

“I think you’re like, really pretty.” 

Oh! Alright, Leo. His voice lowers to a whisper, and it seems as he’s drawing closer to you. Or are you drawing closer to him? It’s a little bit of both, a spur of the moment kind of thing. You both just…get closer. His lips come closer to yours, and when it’s up to that point where you’re too nervous to continue, Leonardo is the one to close the gap in between you two. 

His lips on yours? You could die right now. Despite Leo’s flirting, you couldn’t have seen it coming. Especially right now. His little compliments here and there now hold lots of meaning to you. 

The kiss doesn’t last long, as it’s your first kiss together. However, pulling away from Leo left you empty. You wanted more from him. Come to find out, he felt the exact same. So instead of continuing it in the bathroom, he grabs your hand and steps out into the hallway. There’s commotion coming from the kitchen, but nowhere else. Leo picks a wall for your back to lean on and you share the second kiss. His hand under your chin while the other around your waist. It’s a beautiful moment, and it feels so fucking good. Your hands play with the ends of Leo’s bandana, to which he hums into the kiss as a response. Eyes closed, oblivious to everything around you, and the feeling of your lips on Leo is truly enchanting.

“Hey Y/n I- oop-” You jolt back to reality, breaking the kiss and looking at April, who’s staring sheepishly at you and Leonardo, “Nnnnevermind, uh---oh! pancakes are kissin- I mean sizzling!” April huffs, inhaling slowly, “The pancakes are sizzling. I’ll um…leave-”

Once April goes back down toward the kitchen, far away from you and Leo, only for you both to laugh together. 

“Okay, that was so-”

“Awkward?”

“Aww, Y/n,” Leo cooes, “We’re already finishing each other’s sentences.”

Although you wanted to kiss Leo more, the food was smelling so good, and it seemed that he had the same thought. You were both starved. 

As Leo talks about how he was so ready to tell everyone with his hand in yours, he’s then brought down only for the others to tell him straight up that it was pretty obvious. 

“Like, serious?” Donnie deadpans, while Raph scolds Mikey for putting an insane amount of syrup on his pancakes. He um…enjoys syrup with a side of pancakes. “I knew it! I should’ve betted money or something.” 

Although it’ll take time to get comfortable taking photos with friends, you’re lucky enough to have someone like Leo, who'll pick you up and shower you with compliments. Anything to help you feel better about yourself.

//

taglist:

@bee-1n-space @ducky-died-inside @writingandcrying

Masterlist

[ghostly-penumbra]

Seven Ways to Summon the Ghost King.

Chapter Three: Mix and Match.

[1] [2] [here] [4] [5] [6] [7]

Ao3

Summary: The twins seek some friendly ghost help and- wait, they do succeed?!

- - -

“Everything is in place, is the camera ready?” Dipper asked as he stood next to the ritual circle.

“Ready to film some spooks! Boo-oo!” Mabel answered while waving said camera, causing the image on the screen to shake.

“Mabel, stop!” The feed was cut for a moment where only static was shown, and a second later it was Dipper again, brows furrowed in a frown. “As I was saying,” he continued curtly, “now that everything is ready, we can finally start the summoning of the Spirit of Protection!” He approached the camera and showed the Third Journal, flipping a page back and forth to show everything written in it. “The Journal says that outside the ten types of spirits the author first faced he found The Book of Summonings! We, uh, we couldn’t really find the book referenced in the Gravity Falls Library, but the Author made sure to copy the summoning ritual for the Spirit of Protection!”

“And how do we know this isn’t another demon who will backstab us the moment it gets what it wants?” Mabel bellowed off-camera.

“Because…” Dipper dragged the answer just like they had rehearsed it, “we looked for more sources besides that book!” He put aside the Journal and showed the new pictures on his camera roll, of him, Mabel, Wendy and Soos hiking the Gravity Falls hills, taking in the sights, doing funny poses, unearthing the secrets hidden within the dark, never-ending cave… unsupervised unrestrained summer fun, as usual.

Dipper continued, “We found this cave with all these wall paintings! I tried to take pictures of them, but all of them came out blank. It must be some sort of protection system, or- or you can only access that knowledge if you climb there, and anyone else isn’t worthy and-”

“And we’re lucky you’re a nerd with a good memory who memorized it on the spot!” Mabel complimented him teasingly.

“What we could understand spoke of a kind, benevolent being who protects people in need, that matches the Author’s description of the Spirit of Protection he got from The Book of Summonnings, and considering how we had to face Bill in our Grunkle’s mind… we could use all the help possible, you know?”

“I know! Now less talking, more chanting!” Mabel demanded.

“Ok, ok, I’ll do it!” Dipper complied, but couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice.

Dipper moved behind the circle, and Mabel approached, better capturing the intricate symbols drawn on crayons –Mabel had used their chalk that morning for some Mabel juice– in the centre was a stylized D, surrounded by a circle pointing at the four cardinal points: north being a Venus flytrap, south what looked suspiciously like part of a circuits’ board, east was a red-tinted and angry-looking skull, and west was a green flam; each symbol was encapsulated in a circle of their own. It was simpler than expected, but Dipper had followed the journal’s instructions.

Lowly, Dipper could be heard mumbling “This doesn’t sound like normal Latin but here goes nothing…

“Reĝo de fantomoj,

guidanto de la mortintoj,

terura malamiko,

valorega aliancano.

Mi estas en granda dangero

kaj tial mi alvocas vin.

Bonvolu helpi mi.”

The wood boards creaked, starting from the ceiling and running through the four walls and under their socked feet, until it reached the summoning circle.

Along its way, as the wave passed the sparse candles littered on the room, their flames flickered and turned green, and when it finally reached the Circle, a bright white light emanated from within it in a blinding ring, making the twins cover their eyes and step back.

“My eyes!”

“Why is it so bright?!”

“I can’t see any-! Hey! Bright colorful figures!”

“Mabel, focus!

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me.”

- - -

Danny looked down at the kids as they rubbed their eyes and tried to regain their sight, stumbling about on what clearly was their bedroom.

“What’s there? Who is it?!” The boy said, trying to open his eyes without pain.

Danny vanished his more outstanding regalia sending his crown and ring back to his pocket dimension. He kept his fur-lined cape, however, because he had learnt how to make the inside of it reflect the Amity Park starry night sky. In his opinion, he really rocked it.

The first one to recover was the little girl (because, unknown to Danny, she was better adapted to bright neon colours blinding her eyes.)

She gasped, squeezing her cheeks in her hands with an almost drooling smile. “Hot boy!”

“What? Mabel, this isn’t time for- oh, you’re right. I mean!” Dipper squeaked, cheeks red and hands suddenly sweaty. “I mean, who are you?”

“I don’t know, kid. You tell me. Who did you mean to summon?” Danny said out loud, wondering how had he managed to do that. Ancients, every time he thought he had gotten rid of these How To Summon instructions, someone else found a way to get a hold of him. It was becoming so annoying.

“You are the Spirit of Protection? But- you’re just a teenager!”

Spirit of Protection? That was a new one, and at least that meant these kids weren’t trying to summon the Ghost King, that wasn’t as bad. Still, though…

“I was a teenager when I died which was a long time ago, you know?” Eight years was a lot of time, actually.

Both kids flinched and looked at him with wide, sad eyes and Danny had to hold back a groan.

It’s a good things kids are not used to other kids dying. He had to remind himself. Even if it’s annoying when they give you The Eyes.

“Never mind that though. What do you think you’re doing summoning spirits willy-nilly in the middle of the night with no adult supervision?” So what if he sounded like his parents? He was right!

That changed their mood quickly, from sad and pitiful to chastised and yet unrepentant.

“Well, you see, mister, er, ghost… my sister and I are visiting Gravity Falls for the summer, and this place is really weird and cool! But there are also all these dangerous things like zombies, and gremnomes, and Bill Cipher!

“He’s a dream demon that’s been tormenting us this summer!”

“Dream Demon? Do you mean a Nightmare?” Danny asked.

“Uh, no? Well he is a nightmare to deal with but he has called himself a dream demon, because he invades people’s dreams and stuff.”

The Spirit of Protection’s frown deepened. “Demons can’t do that anymore the Lord of Dreams banned them from his domain years ago.”

“I don’t think Bill got the memo, then, or cared about it.”

Danny mumbles, “That’s not good.” He looked at the twins, who were hiding their yawns and blinking away their tiredness. Yeah, he couldn’t just leave them like that. “Look, dreams and demons are not my domain so I will need some more info before I can set anything up, alright?”

“Isn’t your domain Protection, though?” Asked Mabel. “Can’t ya just ‘poof!’, make a magic shield around the Mystery Shack?”

“Nah, Protection is my Obsession, but you didn’t summon the Spirit of Protection… at least, I haven’t been given that title yet.” He finished with a worried grimace. He’d talk to Frostbite and Clockwork about it.

“Wha- but then, who are you?”

Danny let his Crown and Ring return in a flare of green fire and drama.

“I am the Ghost King.” He declared.

But rather than the awe or fear that would have amused the young King, Mabel squealed in delight and Dipper spluttered in disbelief(? That didn’t sound like indignation to Danny, anyway).

“Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!”

“What? That can’t be! The journal said-”

“Do you have a pony? Do you have a castle? Have you seen a unicorn?!”

“-of Protection! It doesn’t say anything about a King-”

“Wait, is the unicorn dead?! Can you bring it back?!”

“-the difference between a Spirit and a ghost, anyway?”

“But if the unicorn is already dead then it won’t ever, ever die again! Okay, then, hand it over!”

Flicking both middle fingers in a gesture that would remind one of Spider-Man, Danny covered the twins’ mouths with ectoplasm gags that would dissolve soon with no damage done, effectively shutting them up at once long enough for him to speak.

“One at a time, alright? Okay, first off, yes, I have a castle, no, I don’t have a pony, yes, I have seen a unicorn: it’s not mine and it’s an asshole, so you won’t be getting it.” There was a muffled, disappointed sound. “Second, everything has a spirit, but only the dead can be ghosts (unless you’re speaking metaphorically, of course, then anything is possible), it’s like, all ghosts are spirits, but not all spirits are ghosts, and even then, sometimes the lines get blurry.

“And finally, I am the Ghost King and you called me here so either you got your ritual mixed up, or something is up to someone.” The ghost explained.

“Don’t you mean-” Dipper started, watching as the ectoplasm that had been covering his mouth disappeared in wisps of smoke.

“I said what I said.”

“Uh, okay then, mister- sir- your Highness-” Dipper stuttered.

“Phantom.”

“Mister sir your highness Phantom!” Mabel said cheerily, making the ghost sigh.

“Just Phantom.”

“Okay, Phantom, the Author said it was a ritual to summon the Spirit of Protection and usually if he makes a mistake he corrects the information- oh.”

That ‘oh’ turned out to be Dipper flipping the ritual’s leaf back and forth, and separating them in two, revealing two other pages with symbols and writing.

What Danny could see from his position were big, green letters that read HOW TO SUMMON THE GHOST KING.

“You were saying?” Phantom said in a deadpan.

“Ugh, what is it with the Author starting a new page mid-sentence?”

“Don’t you worry about that, I’ll be taking these”

Before Dipper could react, Phantom had taken the Journal and torn out the pages about summoning him.

“What are you doing?! No!”

“Hey, that’s mean! Don’t do that!”

Danny ignored them and went intangible when the kids tried to swipe at him to get the book back.

“Hm, yeah, I’ll have to talk to Clockwork about this, whoever is giving away these titles is being far too generous. Or a real jerk.” He flipped a few pages, ignoring the protesting pre-teens. “Hey, this is actually accurate. Nice find, kid. I’ve seen a few of these too… well, their ghosts, but that counts for something, right? Although I think I can help ya with the ghost types, if you kids are facing guys like these on the regular you need to be prepared.”

“Wait, that means you’re not taking the Journal away?” Dipper asked hopefully.

“Nah, just the stuff about me. I don’t like people having the means to summon me and try to bind me to their whims.” He flipped some more pages until he found a blank one, took Dipper’s blue ball pen from his nightstand and scribbled on it. “That gives me, y’know, a choice in whether I come or not.”

“I- that’s-! Thank you, Phantom! And sorry, for the summoning, didn’t mean to bother you…”

“Don’t worry, kid.” Phantom breathed in deeply (just for emphasis, since he didn’t need to), and said, “Alright, you two, time to go to sleep. No! Don’t fight me on this, you won’t win. I will come back tomorrow, around ten in the morning, I gotta check out on this Cipher guy with some friends of mine, I need more info. But don’t worry,” and the next thing he said was with a heaviness of absolute truth that left no doubt in the twins’ minds about his Royal status, “no one will bother you tonight.”

- - -

Okay, translation from Esperanto of the summoning chanting:

King of ghosts,

leader of the dead,

terrible enemy,

invaluable ally.

I am in great danger

and therefore I summon you.

Please help me.

That's what Dipper ended up saying, but since I didn't show it, I gotta tell ya, this was the Spirit of Protection's own "chanting":

Spirit of protection, defender of the defenseless,

I speak to you and I ask you to come to my call.

I am in great danger

and that is why I call on you.

Please help me.

And the Ghost King (Pariah, at the moment Ford wrote the journal) was this:

King of ghosts, leader of the dead

Terrible enemy, invaluable ally.

I demand your hearing and to my will I bind you.

Carry out my mandates without repercussions

May my adversaries suffer your curses!

which was quite an effective way to have him do your bidding. Good luck Ford had bad writing habits! Since they didn't say the part of the binding, it couldn't tie Danny to anything. They only spoke of a protective ghost king, and the summoning brought them exactly that, so it doesn't matter if the title of Spirit of Protection is or isn't actually Danny's, he's a protective spirit; so they got to the perfect answer with a Frankenstein of an equation.

This one I had a lot of fun writing! I feel like I should've put some more action since last chapter actually showed the restult of Danny's interference, but I liked the banther of this. I'm more of an "interactions" writer, tbh. I once did a crossover with Lucifer (TV) just to see how Danny and him would interact. This is a warning for future chapters, btw.

[bookclubforme]

Our girl is going through it!!!! That’s why!!!! That’s the reason! This whole speech is to show us that Basgiath. is. Wearing. Violet. Down. It’s doing exactly what it is designed to do and wearing down Violet’s empathy.

The speech to Rhi makes perfect sense for where it happens in the story.

Calling it a death factory perfectly encapsulates where Violet is in the story.

Violet entered the quadrant against her will because her mother forced her and she had an idealized notion that if she could just survive and bond a dragon, then she would get to spend her life doing something noble by defending her countries civilians against the relentless attacks from the neighboring country who never stopped attacking them.

And then her entire world view got utterly uppended. She got betrayed by her boyfriend and one of her closest friends, found out her best friend from childhood violated her and stole her memories and then used them to get her and people she cared about sent to their deaths, found out everything she was ever taught growing up was lies and propaganda and her country was actually the bad guys, got thrown into battle as a woefully underprepared first year cadet, had to watch her friend die without ever getting a chance to make peace with him, pushed herself to near burnout, and then got stabbed with a poision blade and then got to wake up and find out that her beloved older brother was still alive and just like the secret about their country being the bad guys everyone around her knew about Brennan too.

Sure, there’s a three day break while she’s unconscious and fighting for her life against the poison, but for Violet, that all happens in a matter of hours. And then she gets told to get back in line in formation like none of it ever happened!

She’s still processing all of that, and she has to pretend none of it happened at all. She’s looking around at this place that was supposed to turn her into a badass dragon rider and seeing the place for what it really is: a death factory that doesn’t actually care about training them. It’s expected that cadets will die. It’s not a question of if cadets will die it’s a question of how many. That’s why the iron squad award is for least amount of cadets lost not no cadets lost.

By the time she gets to her speech with Rhi, she’s been paying more attention to what’s happening around her. She’s noticing all the ways that basgiath doesn’t prepare them - like flight training to land faster and not get off the ground quicker. She’s seen all the ways they’re meant to die. She’s finally understanding what Xaden meant about winning not being important, about the quadrant stripping away your humanity. She’s seeing it happen to herself in real time. Violet is no longer idealizing being a dragon rider. She’s starting to lose optimism and hope and you see it in the way she sees basgiath and the way she’s treating the people around her.

Violet is being worn down day in and day out by the weight of the truth, knowing she’s not being prepared to survive the real threat, being worn down by Varrish targeting her because of his vendetta, by assination attempts and Andarna being in the dreamless sleep and Tairn in constant agony being seperated from his mate, constant worry about Xaden, trying to live up to her promise to Liam to protect Sloane who hates her, by every challenge and every threat around every corner.

All the while she’s worrying about her friends - her squadmates not being ready for what’s out there because she can’t bring herself to tell them the truth! That’s what this whole speech is really about. Violet is starting to see being hard as a good thing because she knows how painful the world is when you’re not calloused.

That’s why she tries to convince Rhi it’s better to be calloused to death, and then almost immidiatly breaks and starts to tell Rhi the truth. The whole speech is because she’s trying to rebuild her whole world view while getting worn down all day everyday.

I think you’re missing the last peice of this though. The moment in part 2 when during the death roll Violet outright admits that the way the riders handle death is Inhumane.

Iron Flame is all about the reckoning that Violet goes through after learning the truth at the end of Fourth Wing. It’s all about her struggle to recenter herself after getting knocked so far off balance she doesn’t know what way is up. That’s why she’s bouncing back and forth from different extreme view points, she doesn’t have a center anymore.

Anyone who read Iron Flame recently, can you help me understand something about Violet real quick?

In chapter 21, she goes on this unhinged rant justifying the war college’s ableism and social Darwinism mentality by saying that watching her squadmates die was good because it made her desensitized so she could leave Liam’s body or whatever. After venting about his death to Rhiannon, she says this:

This is meant to parallel Xaden’s gauntlet thing in the previous book and him dehumanizing her in front of everyone by calling her a literal weapon. Okay, whatever.

My issue with this scene is that it directly contradicts what she says about the slaughterhouse college in chapter 4.

What made Violet go from starting to believe that Bàsgiath was a death factory to her defending the authoritarian empire that killed her friends? What changed her perspective?

[padme-parker]

Mizpah // the darkling x f!reader // ch 7

summary: You and Aleksander come to a disagreement discussing who should be able to wear Morozova’s collar. Zoya is put in her place. Alina has a talk with Baghra. 

warnings: swearing (I think??), violence, baghra being an old hag.

A/N: frfrfrfrfr sorry this took so long lmao, it was very unmotivated to finish. not proofread, I was halfway asleep when writing this so sorry for any mistakes. Listen to a great song while ur reading lol!

YOU thought back to what the letter in your pocket said, something had changed within Aleksander. Before he was the Darkling, he was your Aleksander. That naive, loving boy was now gone. Replaced by the rough shell of a man. He sought out the power to protect his people, power that you could wield.

“Aleksander,” His name left your lips in a hushed whisper, “..what if I want the stag for myself?”

“No, I won’t allow it. We have Alina for that.” His dark gaze bore into yours. His eyebrows scrunched together, suggesting the conflict within him. He wanted for you to have the stag, more than anything. But he wouldn’t let it happen if that meant losing you, he realized that now, centuries too late.

“I won’t allow you to put the life of my friend at risk.” You shook your head, Alina deserved to live a happy life with Mal. Far away from the war and the Little Palace. Somewhere far away from your Aleksander.

“So then you agree, it’s a risk. I’m not going to let you take it. Not when I just got you back.” He said, reminding you of the many times he’d lost you to the stag.

“Things are different now. We have better weapons. More Grisha willing to fight than ever. We even have two sun summoners.”

“The Fjerdans have a weapon that fired multiple bullets at once.” The haunting images of Mikhael and Dubrov being shot down entered your mind. They had been your friends too, even if you weren’t as close to them as Mal was. “And the Shu, they’ve always had far more advanced technology than us. Like I said, no one can know about you being a sun summoner.”

“But..” You longed to feel that giddy warmth you felt when you summoned, a glow that you could feel radiating from you. It was the same glow Alina had on her face whenever she summoned. The glow Zoya had when she used the wind to push you into that stone wall. You hovered one hand atop the other, waiting for something to happen. A simple spark, then nothing. A frustrated sigh left your lips.

“It won’t come that easily, my love. That’s why Alina and I must banish the fold together. Only then can we truly be together.”

“You said-” A memory comes flashing, candles and lanterns flickering. The two of you laid naked in a bed, a thin sheet covering you. His hand resting on your hip, his thumb rubbing soothing circles. He whispered something into your ear, moving his hand from your hip to glide over your collarbones. You shiver at the memory. “You said that you and I were going to change the world. So what’s changed?”

“I thought that there would ever be only you and I. That there would be no others like us. But I was wrong, we have Alina now-”

“You have me! I didn’t know it until now, but you’ve always had me.” You raised your voice, startling him. “Do you tell the same thing to all the sun summoners you meet? Or was it just me and Alina, oh wait..” You scoffed out. This was ridiculous, you came here for the truth. Not to argue with an ancient man.

“It’s not like that, I thought I had lost you forever. I mourned you for centuries, even the day I met Alina. I mourned you until you finally returned to me.” He takes your face into his hands once more. You’d become increasingly aware of just how naked he was, you eyes darting down to the towel that was holding on for dear life. “I can’t spend the rest of my life mourning you again, knowing that you may never return.”

“Fine.” You weren’t giving up, not yet. But you didn’t want to spend another second with him when he was just a slip away from flashing you. You make your way to the door, but before you could even touch the knob, you're in his arms once more.

“Where do you think you're going?” His voice was deep, raspy. His hold on your wrist was gentle as he stared at you, waiting for you to answer.

“To sleep.” You said, as if the answer was obvious. “In my room.”

Aleksander exhales, heavily sighing. “You could stay here..” Even after centuries, you were still the one person who could make his heart flutter. The only one who could make him nervous. He didn’t show it visibly. But from the smirk on your face, he could tell that you knew the effect you had on him. “..with me.”

You observed his room, hexagonal in shape. All the furniture was black, keeping to his theme. Quite possibly the most horribly decorated room you’ve ever been in.

“Do you really live like this?” His room lacked the life and warmth you seeked. There were bookshelves that ranged from floor to ceiling. Images of a forest etched onto the walls. He may have lived here, but it was clear it wasn’t his home.

“Here? Yes. But I wouldn’t call this living.” He surveyed his own room, looking at everything from his bookshelves to his domed ceiling above his bed. “Just merely surviving. The Little Palace isn’t my home.”

“And what is?” You’d already expected what his answer would be.

“You.” He hears you scoff at his statement as he lets a smile paint his features. “Our home, just north of Kribirsk.”

“We have a home together?” You tried to imagine what it would be like, a comfy little cabin in the woods. The General you knew wasn’t one for modesty, he rode around in a black carriage for Saints sake. But maybe for you, he would have settled down for a simple life.

“Well, would you call a run down castle a home?” If you closed your eyes hard enough, you could visualize it. A stone castle overgrown with vines, some of the structures had tumbled to the floor. You could hear the rushing water in the background, most likely a river. Fields of lavender surrounded the castle. The lavender and honey bar of soap came to mind, he remembered what you smelt like. A smile came to your lips. “What, do you think that's funny?”

“No, it’s just..lavender and honey. You remembered.” You teased, using your hand to cover your mouth to subside the laughter that was bubbling in your throat.

“Besides your belongings, it was the only thing that kept you fresh in my memory.” He walks closer to you, something akin to cinnamon, rain, and honey wafting towards you. Such a similar scent, but so different.

“Well,” You said, removing the gold kefta revealing the black slip on you had worn underneath, “If we’re going to sleep in the same bed, can you please put on some pants.” You set the kefta on a chair, feeling his gaze on you. His eyes taking in your form as you kept your back to him. The next thing you heard was the shuffling of his feet, then his towel dropping to the ground. Your eyes widened as you resisted the urge to whip your head around.

“You can look.” He said, but you knew he hadn’t even put on his trousers. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

“I know that, but I haven’t yet in this lifetime.” You let out a nervous laugh as you toyed with the lace detailing of your slip on.

“We can change that now if you’d like.” This time, you whip your head around. You're thankful to see that he’s got his trousers on now, along with a shirt. The corners of his lips quirk up as he takes in your reaction, “I’m just kidding.” He said, followed by a whisper, “maybe..”

“No, no. You and I are just going to sleep together. I mean sleep in the bed together. As you know, like friends, but not friends-” You stop yourself before you could go on. “Aht, you know what I mean.”

“Are you nervous?” He questioned, his eyes looking at how you fidgeted with your clothes. “You always find something to fidget with when you’re nervous.” The statement made you drop the lace of the slip on, clasping your hands together behind your back.

“I’m fine.” liar. But who wouldn’t be nervous? This was the infamous Darkling, and you were going to sleep next to him. You reassured yourself that you weren’t like the others. How many of his flings did he invite to stay the night when he was finished with them? Probably none. Besides, you weren’t a fling, not even close to it.

“You know you can trust me, right? I won’t do anything you're not comfortable with.” You let out a hum as you made your way towards his bed. He copied your actions, lifting up the covers and getting in them. He patted the spot next to him, waiting for you to move. You go to take off your night slippers and place them at the foot of the bed, noticing that he had also placed his boots near the foot of the bed.

“So, that’s where I get the habit from.” You said as you got into the covers, sitting awkwardly next to him. “I assume I get my many habits from you then. Just not sure which ones.”

“There’s a long list of them,” The fidgeting of your hands and feet make him laugh, “That one, surely doesn’t come from me.” Before you know it, you’re encapsulated by his arms. You let out an oomph at the sudden movement.

“Comfortable now?”

“Very.” You replied as you snaked your arm across his waist, your head resting on his chest. Listening to the steady beat of his heart. It was your first time being in his arms, but it felt so natural to you. A memory from Caryeva surfaced, golden eyes that stared back at you as you melted in his embrace. You shook the memory from your mind, not wanting to think about him when you had Aleksander next to you. “Do you think we could visit the castle?” You whispered, playing with the fabric of his tunic.

“Anything you want.” One of his hands goes to your hair, gently playing with it. The other stroking the soft skin of your shoulder. It was a routine that came naturally to the both of you, as if the missing puzzle pieces had fallen into place. “That’s actually where I went for the week. I knew that sooner or later, you would remember me. I wanted our home to be just the way you remembered it when you arrived.”

“That’s very nice of you…” Sleep was finally catching up to you as the truth weighed heavy on your mind. Aleksander continued to play with your hair even when you saw the steady rise and fall of your chest, signalling you were asleep. Careful not to wake you, he kisses the back of your head with a smile. You were finally in his arms once more.

-

THE feeling of someone breathing behind you had pulled you out of your sleep. It wasn’t a situation that you found yourself in often. But the warmth he had been radiating had almost lulled you back to sleep, almost. The arm that was loosely thrown around your waist had pulled you closer until he could rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Good morning, my darling.” His deep, raspy morning voice had stirred something in your stomach, a fire igniting in your core. “How did you sleep?” You removed his hand from your waist as you turned to face him.

“Fine, now that you’re beside me.” You had to admit, it was weird sleeping in the same bed so soon after finding out the truth. But you didn’t want to take any moment with him for granted. “I had another memory come to me while I was asleep.” He urges for you to continue, “I think we were at the castle. The sun was setting, giving the room the most beautiful haze. There was no music playing, but we were dancing in each other's arms.”

You see him smile as you describe the memory to him. He abruptly gets out of the bed, only to offer his hand to you. You wearily place your hand into his, a giggle leaving your lips as he tugs you out of bed and into his embrace.

“There’s no music!” You said as he twirled you around.

“It didn’t stop us last time.” He swiftly replied before pulling you back into his arms, settling for a slow sway. You could feel the fabric of his trouser brush against your legs at his every movement. Laying your head on his chest, a feeling of ease overtook you. You closed your eyes as you got lost in his hold.

It was a feeling so foreign to you. All your life you had always been on edge, even as a child at Keramzin. You could never let your guard down. But with Aleksander there was a side to you that you never knew. One that allowed you to relax and finally be happy. It was a side that neither of your closest friends had seen, ever. When survival was always your priority, you were never given the chance to be at ease.

“Open your eyes.” Once more the room had been engulfed by your light. You looked at your hands as they were glowing, a shocked laugh leaving you.

“Are you doing this?”

He shook his head before replying, “No. This is all you.” You noticed the lack of his shadows in the room, signifying he had no part in what was happening.

“I thought you said it wouldn’t be easy for me to conjure light.” You closed your hands and watched as the light faded, the only indication that you had summoned was the glow on your face.

“I guess being at ease helped you. From here it should get easier by the day to call forth the light.” He explained, a prideful look on his face.

“Does that mean I can have the stag now?”

He lets out a sigh, “No, like I said. I won’t risk your life for the stag again.” His resolve remained strong, never once showing a change of heart.

“But I’m getting stronger, within months I’ll be able to summon at my fullest potential!” You insisted, keen on having the stag on you instead of Alina.

“The key word here is months, we don’t have that time anymore. I’ve already spent months training and mentoring Alina. The people are getting restless, they want to see the shadow fold gone. Immediately.” He responded.

You opened your mouth to reply, only to get cut off by the frantic knocking at the door.

“What is it?” Aleksander growled out, irritated by the interruption.

“Sir! It’s the girl! She seems to be missing. We’ve searched everywhere for her, General.” Fedyor’s panicked voice rang out. “I’m so sorry, I’ve failed you, General Kirigan.” You roll your eyes as you go to open the door. Probably not the smartest idea since you were just in your nightgown.

“I’m right here Fedyor, no need to worry.” He takes in the disheveled state of your hair. Not yet combed since you’d just woken up.

“Oh sorry, did I interrupt?” He sends you a suggestive wink, which he prays that the General didn’t see.

“No. In fact, I was just leaving.” You looked back to Aleksander, a bewildered look on his face. “Have a nice day, General! I’ll see you later for dinner, like we discussed.” You hoped he caught onto your excuse.

“So, you and the General..” Fedyor began, his shoulder bumping into yours in a teasing manner.

“We were just merely discussing plans.” You lied, which wasn’t very much far from the truth.

He gives you a once over, “in your sleep attire?”

“It was an urgent matter.” You replied, stilling as you remembered you had left your kefta in his room. You’d just have to fetch it later.

“I’m sure it was.” He snickered. Soon the two of you parted ways, you to your room as he went to combat training. You decided to get changed for the day. You put on your usual military outfit, along with your weapons strapped to you. It’s not like you needed them when you could summon the sun from the tips of your fingers at any given moment.

No one can know. His voice rang clear in your mind, reminding you to limit the use of your summoning. You flopped onto your bed with a sigh. You were in the Little Palace and still managed to find nothing to do. You remembered the books you had so carelessly tossed when you encountered the Apparat.

Reaching for one of the books, you began to read it. You didn’t know how much time had passed when you decided to put down the book. It had been intriguing, but the strain on your eyes was becoming too much. The sun was still shining bright, you decided that you could explore the grounds on your own.

You threw on your jacket, doubling checking to make sure you had your weapons on you. The cold winter wind nipped at your skin as you clutched your jacket closer to you, trying to maintain your body heat. You resisted the urge to join the Grisha as you walked past the combat training area. The thought of fresh air had been appealing, hoping that it would help clear your mind. But it did little to ease it. There were so many questions that you didn’t know if Aleksander could answer. Have you always been a sun summoner? Why wouldn’t Aleksander let you take Morozova’s collar for yourself? How long had it been since he last saw you?

Soon, you found yourself in front of a fountain, a bench a few paces away from it. The old pictures on the stone made you laugh, how wrong their story was. You knew Aleksander, or as they called him, the Black Heretic, had regretted creating the fold. He did so out of anguish, the loss of you becoming too much. Ever since then, the two of you had collectively worked together to destroy the fold. But it seemed like the Saints had other plans for you each time.

“Something funny, otkazat’sya?” Zoya’s voice boomed out from behind. You spun around, finding that Zoya had been accompanied by the oprichniki Grisha as well.

“Shouldn’t you be minding your business, Zoya?” You must admit, it was a lame comeback. But it was the first thing that came to mind.

“I’ll mind my business when you finally leave the palace.” She and the oprichniki took two steps towards you as you took a step back. “Why are you even here? What could the General possibly want from you?” She taunted.

“Well, there’s a long list. Would you like to know?” You didn’t wait for her to reply before continuing, “For starters, I’m not easy. Not like you.” Zoya raises her fist, nearly summoning before the oprichniki stops her. “The General actually enjoys my company, can you believe it! I don’t need to seduce him to keep his attention.” She breaks loose from the oprichniki’s hold and lunges towards you. Before she can even reach you, she has a pistol drawn to her head, your pistol.

“Take another step and you’ll see for yourself if the Saints are actually true.” You threatened. Zoya could have easily summoned air to misdirect the bullet, no one would see. “You know, after being reprimanded, I would have thought that you’d learn your place. But perhaps you haven’t, so let me remind you.” You put your pistol away as you approached her. She lets out a yelp as you grabbed a handful of her hair, forcing her to her knees as her eyes flew up to yours. Your other hand had a harsh grip around her jaw. “I maybe be otkazat’sya, but you’ll find that my aim is accurate. I make no mistakes, Zoya. Remember that the next time you try to cross me.” You released her as she fell to the ground, tears in her eyes. You didn’t know if they were from embarrassment or fear, it’s not like you cared either way.

“Well, well, well, just what exactly do we have here?” Aleksander’s form came abruptly from the forest, as if he had been watching his whole time and he just now decided to make his appearance.

“Nothing. They were just leaving. Isn’t that right Zoya?” You stared at her as the oprichniki helped her up, the two of them scurrying away, leaving you alone with Aleksander. “Pathetic, aren’t they? How long were you watching?”

“I saw them following you and decided to follow them. I knew you could handle yourself, but I wanted to watch the show.” He entwined your arms together as the two of you took the long way back to his room, a path where no one would be able to interrupt or spot you.

“Did you enjoy it?” You questioned, stroking the soft fabric of his kefta.

“Seeing you put Zoya rightfully in her place? Yes. Although I do wish it was you who was on your knees.” He suggested, making a gasp leave your lips. “Anyways, it was time to fetch you for lunch. I know you didn’t have breakfast, and you wouldn’t be able to last until dinner.”

“Why thanks for the concern, my knight in shining armor.” You looked at his outfit again, choosing to reword your statement. “Correction, my darkling in a black kefta.” Now that you were thinking about it, you’d never seen him in anything else but black. Sure there were some memories here and there of him in a different colored top, but he left those colors behind when he’d lost you.

“So, what’re we having for lunch today?” You asked, the two of you continued walking towards his room. There were no interruptions, no others. Just Aleksander and y/n, the way it had always been. The way it’ll always be, until eternity.

-

MEANWHILE in the sweltering heat of Baghra’s hut, Alina struggled to get a grip on her sun summoning.

“What’s wrong with you, child?” Baghra chided, the thought of hitting Alina with her stick had crossed her mind one too many times today. She was about ready to throw her into the fire pit.

“I’ve noticed something.” She began, “Ever since my friend arrived at the Little Palace, it’s like there’s a side of Ale..” Alina let his name die on the tip of her tongue, it felt strange to be saying his given name. “..there’s a side of the Darkling I never knew existed. She’s brought out something in him. Something I haven’t been able to do in the months I’ve been here.”

She felt something comparable to hatred flow through her veins. But she could never bring herself to hate you. Not when you were practically her sister. No- she hated the way she’d so easily given into the Darkling, and how easily he’d thrown her away. She hated herself for giving up on Mal.

“You must tell me child, what is her name?” Alina had never heard such urgency from the old hag before.

“Y/n, her name is y/n y/l/n.” Her eyes widen in shock as she sees the smallest smile come to Baghra’s face. “Do you need a healer or something? Why are you smiling?”

Baghra left Alina in silence as her mind whirled with the possibilities. But there was one echo that was louder than the rest of them: Hope.

-

Mizpah tags: @all-art-is-quite-useless @devilxangel @musicconversedance @parabatai-winchester@runawayolives​ @tartiflvtte @rbg1933 @thatguppienamedbae@batgal96​ @thebarisinhell99 @5hundreddaysofsummer​ @kaqua​ @queenseneschal @benbarnes-supremacy @princessofpersia96 @takethee @dontjinx-it @freakytillthemoon @amortentiaaaa@marvel-ousnesss @coolninjavoid @areomalfoy​ @pansysgirlfriend @universalirwin @leavejuliaalone @xx-winwin-wednesday-xx​ @honeyofthegods @lunamyangel @d-list-goddess​ @comphersjost @telepathdestiel @the-celestial-kitsune @thestoryofmylife9 @s-corpionem @pancakeisreading @sanna2020​ @secretsandtinyshadows @savannah-elliott @maliasblue @tea-effect @disneyandharrypotter @futuristicpinklemur @tanyaherondale​ @the-puff-is-strong-with-this-one @hxgreeves @yourboiialucard​ @thereeallink @ladyblablabla @wolfieellsworld​ @p3nny4urth0ught5​ @louweasleymalfoy @the-natureofme@itsloveroflife @oddlittleminx @within-thehollowcrown​ @itsfangirlmendes @heyyimlaynna @jgtfvhsg @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @auggie2000​ @itsnotquimey @jtownraindancer @sonnensplitter @sarcastic-and-cool @poulterfilms @spookybooisa @stickyknightflowerbailiff​ @hollandsweetie @yungkvte @evyiione @2023-padfoot @kawaiimarshmallow @nikki-sixx-is-daddy @sanktawylan @blackbirddaredevil23​ @athenamikaelson​ @mellifluous-cosmos​ @mylittlecrazyworldofinterest​ @iiclarixa​ @lcandothisallday​ @agent-jbarnes​ @cleverzonkwombatsludge​ @tiiffanym​ @spnstuff-mrvl​

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S.a.B. forever tags: @deceivedeer​

[alloftheimaginesblog]

Life Without Colour (PART FOUR)

Soulmate AU: Your vision is in black and white until you meet your soulmate. You and your boyfriend, Steve Rogers, aren’t each others soulmates but you love each other. He introduces you to his friends, the Avengers, and a very odd thing happens.

Characters: Steve Rogers x Plus Size Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Female Reader

Taglist:  @domainoflostsouls​  forgetthisbull  handon-h-art  yourspecialcrush  giulsgotmusic  mrsbarnes-rogers  luosymekawa  linzeyzarcone  forgetthisbull   calamityreads  talgra 

Warnings: this one takes a darker turn; trigger warnings for kidnapping, drugged, threats/slight violence, Hydra, angst

Note: this is over 6000 words, enjoy!! x

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

PART SIX

A few weeks had passed since you first saw colour; a few weeks have passed since you and Steve talked through everything and made peace with Bucky Barnes being your soulmate which mean a few weeks have passed since you last saw or spoke to Bucky Barnes. After your 3am phone call, you hadn’t seen him. You’d told Steve about the phone call when you were both awake the next morning, telling him as much of the conversation as you could remember. He seemed fine with it, knowing about Bucky’s nightmares and erratic sleeping schedule. In fact, he appreciated the gesture that Bucky reached out to ask what you were comfortable with. What Steve appreciated more though was your honesty and the fact you were straight with Bucky and told him that you and Steve were happy together and nothing would change that.

Everything was fine with you and Steve, every issue had been ironed out and in fact, the two of you had never been closer. You were truly grateful for Steve’s forgiveness and now, the guilt had almost fully disappeared. He had helped you to heal that wound and you had helped to heal his wounds with trust; you had proved yourself to be honest and that it was just one slip up. 

Life had been good those few weeks, you spent more time with Nat and got to know about her budding relationship with Bruce. You’d seen the team a bit more than usual as well. No one else - besides Nat and Sam - knew about the soulmate fiasco and truthfully, it wasn’t their business to know anyway. Bucky hadn’t been around much, he’d called Steve a couple of times just to say that he was doing his own thing for a while as per your wishes. Steve was thankful to Bucky for providing that space even if it meant he had only seen his best friend a handful of times since he returned from Wakanda.

Things were good. Until they weren’t.

Steve and the some of the team got dragged to a mission across the country. It was a big one; Hydra were back and trying to infiltrate the systems. Brock Rumlow, or Crossbones as he referred to himself now, was after Steve and he wouldn’t stop until he got him. You didn’t really know what was happening with the mission, Steve was never allowed to tell you a lot about the missions, you just knew that it was a big one and it was dangerous. You hated when Steve was away on a mission; you hated the not knowing part of it all but you supposed it’s what you deserved for falling in love with Captain America.

You didn’t know how serious it was until you had been bringing the groceries into yours and Steve’s apartment and saw four men - three very large, hulking brutes of men - waiting for you. The scream that rose in your throat never found its way out before a gloved hand was forced over your mouth, holding a rag with something strong smelling over your mouth and nose. Brock Rumlow had you pinned in his arms, forcing you to breathe in the chemicals. You tried to fight against him as the fear radiated through your body, trying to put some of those self defence techniques that Natasha had taught you to good use but he was too strong and everything felt fuzzy around the edges. Your eyes were wide as you struggled, trying to escape, trying to scream; trying to do anything that would help to save you. Your heart pounded painfully against your ribcage and you could feel the panic set in when your vision began to blur. You could see the three men approach, weapons in hand but a gruff voice in your ear said, “Stop struggling and we won’t hurt you.” Whether you wanted to stop struggling or not wasn’t up to you but instead, the choice had been taken away and given to the substance that you were breathing in. As the darkness crept in, you heard a faint voice say, “Get Rogers on the phone now.”

Flashes of light, snippets of sound and quick seconds of vision was what you experienced for a few hours as you drifted in and out of consciousness. It wasn’t until a loud bang erupted a few rooms away that you really began to come back to life. Squinting in the low light, you blinked hard, trying to focus on something to figure out where you were. Wherever you were, it was dark and dim and it smelled faintly of the explosion of fireworks on the 5th of November.

You weren’t hurt, your neck ached from the position you’d been in for what you could only assume was the last few hours. You went to move when you realised that your hands and feet were bound. That’s when you really began to wake up. What the fuck? Your memory was hazy but you remembered Rumlow and his goons in your apartment. You pulled at your hands, trying to get loose but the bonds that tied your hands were too tight. Squinting, you looked around the room, it was dark, with a metal door and a few wooden boxes in the corner. You were sitting on a wooden chair, hands and feet bound to the arms and legs of it. 

Your mind thought of Steve, oh god, Steve. You knew this had been Rumlow’s doing, what if he had gotten to Steve? What if- what if he- No. You couldn’t think like that. Steve had been on a mission states away from you. Rumlow had come to you because he obviously couldn’t get to Steve, he was drawing Steve out and you were the bait. Steve’s going to find you, (y/n). He said he’ll always protect you and he’ll keep that promise.

The more you panicked, the more you began to struggle; trying to break free of the ropes. Your breathing was quick and ragged as you struggled, your heart rate increasing with every passing second. Tears welled in your eyes as your mind raced with the horrors of what was going to happen to you. You froze when you could hear grunting outside, it sounded close.

Fear kicked you hard in the stomach, making you feel light headed and nauseous. You’d never been this terrified before. You thought that the most you could be scared was that time a spider ran across the bed when Steve was in a shower and you had to deal with getting it out of the apartment but no, tied to a chair after being drugged and kidnapped with explosions and not knowing what the fuck was going on... yeah, that’s a whole new level of fear. You tried to slow your breathing as you strained to listen to the commotion outside of the room you occupied. You could hear grunts and what sounded like punches before the metal door of the room was thrown open and there stood Sam Wilson. A sob got caught in your throat as you saw him.

He pressed his earpiece as he rushed to you, kneeling to help untie you, “I got her, Steve. Second floor, take a right, fifth door down. She’s okay.”

“Oh my god,” you sobbed as relief flooded your senses, “Oh my god, Sam!”

Sam murmured words of comfort as he worked on the ropes that bounded you to the chair, “It’s okay, they’re not gonna hurt you. We’ve got you now.”

He managed to get the last one untied when Steve ran into the room. He wore his Captain America gear sans the mask and carried the shield. As soon as he saw you, he tossed his shield to the side and rushed to your aid. Sam stepped to the side, picking up the shield and playing around with it as he allowed you two a moment to reunite. He was muttering about how the shield was much lighter than it looked.

“Steve,” you whimpered, throwing your arms around your boyfriend and allowing him to pull you up. He held you tightly, breathing heavy into your neck.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered into your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

“Sorry to interrupt but we gotta move,” Sam said after a minute, “before we get any more company.”

“Are you okay to walk?” Steve asks you, pulling you back to look at you, “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you say, wiping your eyes, “Tired but I can make it.”

The three of you hurry out, Steve tells you not to look at the bodies on the floor but you do and you instantly regret it. “Are they-”

“Knocked out,” Sam says, answering your question before you finish it, “but won’t be for long so we gotta hurry.”

Everything’s a bit of a blur as Steve and Sam usher you out, careful to take you the safest and quickest path. You feel queasy after seeing the blood and the carnage of the few HYDRA men so your eyes are trained to the ground until Steve has you safe and sitting in the quinjet. 

Steve doesn’t let go of you, always touching or holding onto you in some way or another. You’re silent as Sam begins to fly the jet. Steve’s talking to you but you can’t focus on anything other than his hand in yours, “I’m tired,” you whisper, “I’m so tired.” You lay your head on Steve’s shoulder and darkness quickly encapsulates you.

You gasp awake, jolting upwards, “Whoa, (y/n), it’s okay!” A voice says quickly, “You’re okay, you’re safe remember. It’s Steve, sweetheart; it’s Steve. Look at me, (y/n).”

Your mind whirs, the tendrils of the nightmare still creeping around in your brain. Hands on your face force your eyes to stop fleeting from wall to wall and instead focus on the person in front of you. Steve stares at you, telling you that everything’s okay and that you’re safe now. Steve’s hands are on either side of your face as he makes you look at him. You blink hard, as your eyes struggle to focus on him. You hear the rapid beeping of the machine and you register that it’s your measuring your heartrate. His face finally sharpens and you can see him properly now.

“Slow breath in, sweetheart. You’re safe, I promise you. Copy me.” Steve takes a deep breath and you follow suit, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart. Steve repeats to you that you’re in hospital and you’re safe, “No one can hurt you in here.”

You look away from him after a few seconds to look around you and sure enough, you are in hospital. The walls are pure white, too white and you’re in the hospital bed, “How did I get here?”

“We got you and you passed out again, I took you here just to make sure that whatever drug they gave you was out of your system. It’s leaving so you’ll be okay, sweetheart.” He brushes your hair back, “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t ever want to be an Avenger, I know that’s for damn sure,” you mutter as you close your eyes and fall back against the pillows, “How you guys deal with the fear is beyond me.”

Steve smiles but it’s sad. You open one eye, “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it. You get some rest and I’ll be right here, (y/n). I’m not going anywhere. Doctors want to keep you in overnight just to make sure it’s all out your system, okay? I’m going to wait by your side all night and don’t worry, we have agents at every door in the hospital.”

“Rumlow?” You asked him, voice trembling, “Where’s he?” 

“SHIELD are closing in on him, sweetheart,” he sighs, stroking your hair back gently, “Don’t worry... He can’t get you in here.”

As Steve looked over you as you slept, Sam came into the room, “Coffee delivery.” Steve sipped at the hot coffee happily, “How is she?”

“Had a nightmare about it but she’s okay. She’s scared.” Steve’s eyes were trained on you as though we were watching a newborn infant to check its breathing, “God, what if we hadn’t found her in time?”

“But we did and we got her out. She’s safe, Steve.”

Steve shook his head, “But for how long?” He asked as he rubbed his face tiredly with one hand, “How long before Rumlow or HYDRA or someone else targets (y/n) to get to me?”

Sam swallows, “What are you thinking then?”

“She has to go somewhere safe, somewhere away from the chaos and the danger.”

“How long?”

Steve shrugs, “I don’t know... At least until we know all of Rumlow and his men are locked up.”

“You’ll go with her?”

It’s a big decision and he knows that you should be involved in it but he knows exactly what you’ll say; you’ll say that you want to stay with him and stay by his side even if it means living in terror of every bump in the night. He had been reckless, Steve had thought he was untouchable, he thought that you would’ve been safe but Steve underestimated the lengths these sorts of guys go to in order to win.

He shakes his head, hating the decision that he’s about to make but it’s for the best. It’s the only thing he knows that will protect you; it’s the only way he’s happy with you leaving, “No... but I know someone who will.”

Sam shakes his head, knowing exactly who he means and he raises his eyebrows, “You’re kidding, right? That’s a stupid decision, Steve, and you know it.”

Steve scoffs, “I wish... but... he’s strong, he’s good in a fight and I know that he’ll protect her no matter what.”

“But what if... what if they... you know?”

Steve takes a breath and releases it slowly, “Then I’ll deal with that when the time comes. I need to keep (y/n) safe and this is the only way...”

Sam’s hand is heavy on Steve’s shoulder as they watch you, “She’s not gonna like that decision.”

Steve laughs, knowing fine well that you will fight against the decision for all its worth, “Oh, yeah, I know. Probably won’t forgive me in a hurry either.” Steve stands up, “Will you watch her so I can go make a phone call? I’ll just be outside the door if you need me.”

Sam nods, taking Steve’s seat, as Steve grabs his phone from his jacket, dialling one number. He waits outside the room, just across from the two agents that Fury had placed outside of (y/n)’s hospital room 24/7.

“Steve?” He’d been sleeping, the one time Bucky Barnes is getting a decent sleep and his phone rings and wakes him. He always answers when it’s Steve though, regardless of the time or where he is.

“Hey, Buck... I need to ask you a favour.” Bucky asks what Steve needs and Steve begins to tell him, “Rumlow and HYDRA are after me. They kidnapped (y/n), she’s okay, in hospital but no injuries. She’s shaken up pretty bad and... Bucky, this is going to be a big ask.”

“Whatever you need, Steve, I’ll do.” He’s sitting, tugging a shirt on with one arm,  “What do you need?” Bucky Barnes would go to the ends of the Earth for Steve Rogers and he knows that whatever Steve needs, it’s something big.

“I need you to take her to a safe house.” Bucky freezes, he had expected Steve to ask him to come help for extra protection or something like that but this... this is huge, “I need you to take her. I don’t know how long for, a few weeks maybe months? No one else, it can only be you.”

“But... Steve...” He doesn’t say much but Steve knows what he’s saying. But Steve, I’m your girlfriend’s soulmate and you’re asking for me to take her into a secluded house alone? Just the two of us for god knows how long? Are you sure that’s a good idea?

Steve sighs heavily, “I know, Buck.” His tone almost sounds defeated, “I know... We were finally back on track and the universe hits out with this... I just need her to be safe, Buck, regardless of who he soulmate is or who she ends up falling in love with; I want her to be happy and I want her to be safe.”

“Why can’t you go?”

“They’re after me, I can’t let you or Sam or the team pick up my mess. I have to deal with it. That’s why I need you to go with her. You’re just as strong as me and... I know that you’ll keep her safe. I know that whatever happens, you’ll do everything you can to protect her... I need you to take her until we have Hydra locked up.”

Bucky licks his lips as he thinks about it. He doesn’t really know how to feel about it but he doesn’t really have to, Steve needs him and he’d follow that scrawny kid into the depths of hell if it mean he’d be helping him, “Okay, I’ll help. I’ll need a few days to find a safe house and get it prepped then I’ll fly out, okay?” He agrees to Steve’s ask though he has a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that all of this won’t go to plan. 

“Thank you, Bucky.” Steve closes his eyes as he leans against the wall, “You can’t tell me or anyone else where you’re going or where you’re taking her. I probably won’t be able to contact you so-” I’m leaving you with my girl alone with no contact from me or the team for weeks or months potentially, “- you gotta keep her safe. I’ve got some cash together for you to buy everything with that so you’re untraceable. Fury’s giving us more cash since we don’t know how long you’ll be away for.”

Bucky swears on his own life that he’d protect you with everything he has. Before Steve hangs up, Bucky says, “Steve, I just want you to know that no matter what happens... no matter what feelings arise... I won’t- I won’t do anything, I won’t act on anything, I won’t try and do anything about them...”

It’s the reassurance Steve needs and he feels a lot lighter now that Bucky’s said that. He smiles as he release a long breath, “I know you won’t, Bucky. I’ll see you soon.” Steve hangs up and walks back into the hospital room where Sam has Marvin Gaye playing quietly on his phone, “Do you just play Marvin Gaye to anyone in a hospital?”

Sam rolls his eyes, “It was too quiet, man! How did it go?”

“He’s onboard.”

Sam claps him on the shoulder, “You sure this is what you want? You know that I could take her or you could and I could hold the fort?”

Steve sighs, “It has to be him.” He shrugs, “I... I can only hope that nothing happens but god knows... All I know is that she’ll be okay with him.” The pair look over you as Steve’s thoughts swirl. This might be one of the last times you’re together in a romantic sense, he doesn’t know if you’ll come back loving Bucky or hating him and it makes him feel sick at the thought but he’s okay with it. He wants you to be happy and if that means it’s with Buck, then so be it.

“Absolutely not.”

“(y/n), come on-”

“No, Steve!” Your voice is raising due to the sheer stupidity of his request, “You’re saying that because you’re being targeted that means I’m a target too, I understand that, but what I don’t understand is why you’re asking me to go live in a safe house with Bucky for god knows how long! He’s my soulmate, Steve, I- I can’t.”

“The plans have already been made.”

“Then unmake them!” You’re angry and he gets it and to be honest, he doesn’t want this to happen either but it has to. He’d told you the next morning when the drugs were completely out of your system. Sam was back at the apartment checking for bugs, just in case Rumlow’s gang planted some when they were in and then he’d take you back to the apartment for you to pack a bag, “I’m not going Steve.”

“Yes, you are.” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks at you with a furrowed brow. He understands that you’re an adult who can decide their own fate but Steve is choosing this one for you, “You might not understand right now but when you come out the other end of this safe then I hope you’ll understand then.”

You shake your head as tears threaten to fall. You’re angry at Steve, that he made this decision and you knew you would be going no matter what fight you put up. It annoyed you, made you feel small and made you feel like a child who couldn’t make their own decisions, “Not without you, Steve. Why can’t it be you?”

“I’m trying to keep the fight away from you,” he says softly, hand on top of yours, “Bucky’s the only way you’ll be kept safe.” Silence falls for a moment before he speaks again, “I know what this means. I know what this could mean for... for us. I know that you could come back in love with Bucky and he for you. I know that you could come back and break up with me on the spot... That’s a risk I am willing to take.”

You shake your head, “No,” you whisper, “I’m not willing to take that risk, Steve.” You could trust yourself, that wasn’t the issue. You knew that no matter what, you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise your relationship with Steve. But... you and Bucky were soulmates and that had to be for a reason and it worried you that being alone with him for an unlimited amount of time would cause something to stir. You trusted yourself not to cheat on Steve but you didn’t trust your heart not to hurt Steve.

Steve crouched down beside the hospital bed and lifted your hand to his lips, “I know, sweetheart,” tears burned at his own eyes as he spoke to you, “I know the risk. I know that you could come back and we could break up instantly and if you want, we could break up right now so that whatever happens, you wouldn’t have to feel guilty about it-”

You swung your legs out of the bed, throwing your arms around him, “No,” you wept sadly into his shoulder, “that’s the last thing I want.”

He held you tightly, knowing that this very well could be one of the last times that the two of you had together in a relationship, “I’m doing this because I want to protect you, (y/n)… Bucky can protect you.”

“I-I love you, Steve,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. My god, how you loved him. He had changed your life, brought so much joy and happiness to it, “No matter what, I love you.” The two of you stayed like that for a long time, just needing to feel each other and needing to be with each other because... who knew what would happen over the course of the next few months?

With doctors granting you permission to leave the hospital and after having Sam debug the apartment, Steve took you home for your last night with him. The car ride to the apartment was quiet and your hand never left Steve’s as he drove you both home. You had relented with the decision, knowing full well that regardless of whether you said yes or no to leaving with Bucky, you would be going anyway. You and Steve had talked things over, about Steve’s duty to the job and to taking down Hydra, about Bucky and how he wasn’t going to overstep a line with you or anything like that. The pair of you spoke about the non-existent contact you’d have.

“Hopefully it won’t be too long,” Steve said, “maybe just a few weeks but these days, Hydra is everywhere and nowhere all in the one, it could be months. Bucky managed to find a safe house relatively quick. For obvious reasons, I don’t know where it is or what continent it’s on but he said that it’s secluded and it’s safe. He said that it comes with minimal furniture so tomorrow morning, you’ll leave.” You squeezed his hand tightly, not wanting to speak for fear of bursting into tears. Steve glanced over at you and gave you the tiniest of smiles. He lifted your hand and pressed a soft kiss to it.

When you reached the apartment complex, there were three black SUVs parked out front, Steve saw you looking,��“SHIELD agents,” he told you, “We’ll have agents outside the apartment and one in each of our neighbour’s apartments.”

“Jeez,” you murmured, “I’m only here for one night, it’s like I’m a bloody Kardashian.”

Steve smiled slightly, glad to hear you make a joke, he wrapped an arm around you as you walked into the building, “Only the best for you, my love.”

You were rather apprehensive about going back into the apartment. It had been yours and Steve’s safe place and now... it seemed compromised almost. Steve seemed to pick up on your worry, “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said as he took the keys out of his pocket, “It’s been cleaned, debugged and also...” He unlocked the door to reveal red rose petals running from the front door into each room.

“Steve,” you whispered, looking at him with a smile. You walked into the apartment, hanging your coat up and kicking your shoes off. You followed the petals into the kitchen where there was a candlelit dinner waiting for the two of you.

“It’s not much but I had Nat come round and make it special since it’s our last night together.” Note; ‘last night together’ is different from ‘last night together for a while’. A pang of sadness shot through you, you leaned up to kiss him softly, whispering that you loved it.

“There’s a bath waiting for you if you want it. Some Chinese takeout if you’re hungry.”

You hugged him tightly, “Just hold me for a while.” So, the pair of you stood in the kitchen, holding each other in the dim light not knowing what would happen next. 

It was a few minutes later Steve tugged you to the kitchen table where you both sat down, “You remember our first night here?” He asked you as he handed you some take out cartons and began to eat.

You stifled a laugh, “Yeah, no electricity for three days and no hot water either!”

Steve laughed with you, taking a fork full of chow mein, “Yeah, having to eat Chinese take out on the floor with torches and candles all around us. Could’ve cried when the electricity finally turned on.”

You rolled your eyes, “You could have cried?! What the hell, Rogers? You teared up like you were watching your first born son marry!” 

The ice had been broken and the two of you could freely talk and laugh without boundaries. You both carried on as though it were a normal night, a date night with no mention As the night went on, you had a nice romantic bath as Steve cleaned the dishes and when you were finished, things ended in the bedroom.

You always loved laying on his chest, listening to the slow rhythmic beat of his heart and his steady breathing. Most people, if they knew it was their last night with someone would probably fuck until dawn but neither of you wanted that. You wanted nothing more than to lie with him, talking and just being there and being present. Steve wanted to hold you, wanted to tell you how much he cared and loved you and he just wanted to be with you.

“Whatever happens,” you said softly, “I just want you to know that this was real; this is real - that although we’re technically not soulmates, I truly believe that we are.”

Steve pulled you tighter into him, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I want you to know,” he said, “that no matter what feelings you start to have for Bucky, no matter how you feel towards me in the end up... I won’t blame you. I won’t expect you to love me like this on the other side. I won’t expect you to still want to be with me. I know that I’m forcing you into this situation and that kills me to do but I have to do it so whatever happens, it’s not your fault.”

You look up to him as you both whisper your confessions of undying love before kissing him gently. It’s a soft kiss, full of emotion and full of such sorrow. It’s a goodbye. You would say goodbye officially tomorrow but this was the real goodbye, this was the intimate goodbye, the letting go of the intertwined hearts and this was it. The kiss soon turned more passionate and then the two of you were confessing your love in the most intimate of ways.

“How are you feeling about all of this?” Natasha asked you as she sat on yours and Steve’s bed. You were in the process of packing your bags.

“I feel like I’m perpetually on the verge of tears,” you answered, as you folded some t-shirts and squeezed them into the bag, “It’s hard, you know? I understand why but my god, Nat, I hate this.”

Nat studied you carefully and you knew the question that was on her mind. What if you fall for Barnes? To be honest, it had been the question on everyone’s mind that morning.

“I’m shit scared,” you admitted to her, dropping the bag onto the bed beside her as you ran your hands through your hair, “I am terrified. I am so in love with Steve and what if I come back madly in love with Bucky? Or better yet, in love with the two of them?”

Nat stood up, placing a gentle hand on your arm, “Hey, whatever happens, it’s going to be okay. You can’t stress about something that might not even happen. You have to take it day by day and if you fall for him then so be it. If you don’t, great. If you’re in love with the two of them then that’s something you and Steve have to talk about and sort out when you’re back. Don’t stress about it now.” She pulled you in for a tight hug, a very un-Nat thing to do, “Just know that I’ll be helping Steve sort out the Hydra mess, I’ll keep his ass safe and in line and hopefully it won’t be too long before you’re allowed to come home.”

“Thanks, Nat.” The two of you pulled apart, “You’ll need to keep a diary or something to update me on everything I’ll miss... especially with you and a certain Dr Banner.” You placed your phone on top of the counter, you couldn’t take it for fear of tracking so there was no point in having it. You sighed as you placed it down.

Nat rolled her eyes, “Yeah right. Let’s get this wig sorted.”

The Avengers were never too good at disguises, it usually always consisted of sunglasses and a cap so, in order to hide your identity further, Nat had brought you a wig the opposite colour, cut and style to your hair just now and some contact lenses of a different colour to your natural eye colour.

After a few minutes, you looked in the mirror, staring at someone who looked like a stranger, “Oh god, I hate it.” The top you wore wasn’t at all flattering for your body type. You tugged it down, wishing that it wasn’t quite so figure hugging. You didn’t mind things that clung to your body, you’d worked through a lot of the body issues you had but the top was a horrid colour and paired with this hair and these contacts... you didn’t feel like a Kardashian anymore. 

Nat laughed, “That means it works. Honestly, you look fine, stop worrying... Let’s go show the boys.”

You walked into the living room with your packed bags to see Sam and Steve standing talking. Steve smiled when he looked at you, “You look... interesting.”

“Shut it, Rogers.”

“I mean, it definitely works because I look at you and I don’t see (y/n), I see a complete stranger,” Sam offered.

“You ready?” Steve asked softly, taking the bags from you, “Got everything?” You nodded, murmuring a ‘think so’. He smiled and pulled an envelope out of his back pocket, “I wrote this letter this morning. I want you to read it when it’s time...” Your confused expression made him explain further, “I want you to read this letter when you start to feel things... things for Bucky. If that happens.” You took a breath, mind whirring with the possible things that could be in that letter,  “You’ll know when to read it.”

It was then that there was a knock on the door. Sam answered it to see Bucky Barnes standing wearing a cap and, you guessed it, sunglasses. He wore leather gloves to cover his metal hand and carried a bag over his shoulder. He lifted the sunglasses to look at you, “Ready?”

Oh god, it’s happening.

“I don’t want to cry because I’m scared of the contact lenses,” you whimpered as tears threatened to fall. You hugged Nat and Sam, thanking them for their help, before Steve said that he’d walk out with you both. He picked up your bags and the three of you left the apartment to the black car that was outside. Bucky packed the three bags in the trunk before hugging Steve.

You couldn’t hear what the two of them said in the brief encounter but you supposed that it would be Bucky reassuring Steve that you’d be safe and that he wouldn’t act on any feelings that may grow. Steve clapped him on the shoulder and Bucky got into the driver’s seat of the car.

Steve turned to you and wrapped you in his arms. God, you just wanted to cry. You wished that you didn’t have to go, you wished that you could just stay with him but you couldn’t. You had to leave. They’d already gotten to you once and Steve wouldn’t dare let it happen again.

“I love you,” you told him softly, “I love you so much, Steve. I-I love you.”

He held you tighter, “I love you, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll get this sorted so that you can come home to me.” You pulled back and he brushed your cheek, wiping your tear gently, “No matter what happens, it’s okay.” You hugged him again before he leaned down and kissed you softly. Bucky, who had been watching in the rear view mirror, looked away, “Goodbye, (y/n).”

“Goodbye, Steve.” He opened your car door and you slid inside.

“Thank you, Buck,” Steve said, clearing his throat, “Be safe.” He closed the door and Bucky started the engine, pulling out of the apartment complex. Your eyes were trained on the spot where Steve was, watching as he got smaller and smaller until you couldn’t see him anymore. It was only when he was out of sight that you allowed yourself to really break. Fuck the contact lenses, I’m too sad to care. 

Bucky glanced at you as he drove, feeling a pang of sadness for you as you wept in the seat beside him. He knew that part of the reason you were so upset was because it was him that was taking you, had he not been your soulmate you would have probably been okay but because he was your soulmate, it filled you to the brim with worry, guilt and pure sadness. All he could do was drive. Nothing he could say could help you. He reached to his side, taking a pack of tissues from the door’s compartment before handing them to you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, taking them from him. He couldn’t do much to help but he had done enough to make you feel comforted and to make you feel as though you weren’t alone. You wiped your eyes as you stared out of the window, wondering where the next few weeks would take you.

[super-secret-anon-blog]

I don’t do public forum and I haven’t for years, but I know some exceedingly good public forum-ers and we sometimes brainstorm arguments together. The other day we had a very, very loose mock debate where we essentially just pitched arguments against each other and tried to break them down.

Is that important? No. Is that relevant? I guess a little, but I just thought it was a fun story, mostly. What I’m trying to get at is that I came up with a quite strong point for getting rid of section 230, and that is that we can technologically recover very well.

(I’m writing this based on memory, and I’m always at least a bit afraid that I’ll get something really wrong, so I will fact-check this in due time, but not right now, I’m tired. Also, feel free to take from this anything you need)

Section 230 came about because the new-fangled forums that people had made were being regulated as paper media, which was a problem because they weren’t. Because of this, at the time you had two options: regulate everything or regulate nothing. This was a big problem because it’s not always feasible to regulate everything, so section 230 was written. It made it so that internet publishers were not held liable as long as they did reasonable moderation. This is what allows big platforms like Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr to work. But it also leads to harms, blah blah blah, you’ve heard this before.

A very strong argument against section 230, however, is that we’ve essentially moved past a broad need for it. Federated platforms like Mastodon can easily handle the moderation of all content due to their inherent encapsulation; ideally, a moderator might only have to manage a dozen or so accounts. This would allow discourse to still happen at scale, while still allowing people to sue over improper moderation.

—

What about blog comments? I don’t visit many blogs, but I personally doubt that blog comments are helpful on a scale beyond that which is easily able to be moderated.

Can federated platforms scale to the same degree as current ones? This is a purely technical problem; if they can’t now, they could be made able to with enough manpower and weird optimizations.

What about user privacy? Improved, the federated platforms that I’m familiar with allow you to easily move if your admin is acting wrongfully.

What about forums? I’d have to look into this one. It’s not immediately obvious that they would be incompatible with federation, but I’m not sure if it’s yet been done.

What about echo chambers? This is a tricky one. From what I kind of remember, a big thing that tries to break echo chambers is how social media algorithms try to incite engagement. I don’t know how much federated platforms tend to do this, so here’s a fun time for a statistic if you want it, but whether this is good or bad is up for debate.

—

Places to draw statistics from: growth of federated social media, lawsuits blocked by section 230, effects of social media algorithms on mental health, etc

Guys does anyone know what to do for the new PF topic. I’m actually struggling so hard wtf are we supposed to do for statistics.

I spent like 2 hours trying to find any amount of statistics on how it could maybe impact those who work for social media companies but I couldn’t find anything.

Resolution: The United States federal government should repeal section 230(or something like that)