#Voices of the 21st Century: book

[selfdiscoverymedia]

C23-27. Susan Isaac, Emulates your personal radiance.

Choose Positive Living with Sara Troy and her guest Susan Isaac, on air from July 4th How did I get started as a glass artist? Why is it so important to me to help people find unique ways to fully express theirunique voice or personality? Why did I write your chapter called ‘Burning the Imposture’ in Voices of the 21stCentury: Women Having and Impact in the World? How does your message in this…

[ruiniel]

Another Way - XII

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Summary: what if someone in the 21st century stumbled upon this stranger during a turbulent storm, narrowly avoiding running them over, and what’s more they can’t understand a word coming out of their mouth.

Pairing: Alucard x Reader

Rating: Mature / 18+ only

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, References to Depression, First Meetings, character-meets-world, Near Death Experiences, References to loss, Grief/Mourning, Fantasy, POV Second Person, Language Barrier, Violence, Portal Fantasy, Isekai, Slow burn, References to canon, Rewriting show canon, Because why not, POV Alucard, POV original character, More tags to be added

Also on AO3

Part I

AN: been a while

XII.

He doesn’t like coffee.

This becomes quite apparent with the different flavor of mild disgust over his features after each sip.

“It’s an acquired taste for some,” you try saying with a straight face, because it is more amusing than you’d thought to see a grown man with a perfect jaw and bedroom hair seated at your small table, coming up with the most telling, candid expressions. 

After breakfast—during which he insists on turning the cooker on and off, ‘to learn’, and during which, once again, he eats little to nothing—you head over to your desk and obtain for him the work Adrian asked for. It’s not difficult to find, and happens to be the first book printed in the English language, in the 1400s. 

“Is… this it?”

His enthusiasm says ‘yes’ when seeing the title page, and you let him take your place and scroll through as you head to get ready for the adventure of helping him look less conspicuous. “All right, enjoy your courtly romance, I’ll be back in a bit.”

“All right.”

You pause, turning to stare but his eyes are feverish on the screen, attention absorbed by the text. Whatever works. You decided to stop wondering. 

Having made yourself presentable enough to be outside, you tap back into the room on bare feet. “Ready to g—...” you trail off at the sound. His voice. His voice, with that same mild inflection, but the words are oddly shaped to the ear.

He’s reading aloud from the online scan you fetched him, nodding, writing in the agenda.

“What’s… this?” You near him, narrowing your eyes at the screen. 

Adrian turns to you with an excitement you’d not seen or felt in a long, long while. Somehow, it’s endearing. This side feels like him too, a natural expression in contrast with all those confused, dour moods he’d been mired in. 

“I need…” He pauses, hand in his hair, eyebrows pinched together. 

“What… do you need?...” 

He points at the scan of the text, long fingers gliding along the little black rows of archaic words. “... from now.”

“From now?... Oh! A modern version, you mean? From our time?”

Adrian nods. “Possible?”

“Y-yeah. There might be one… wait…” As you search it for him, Adrian waits patiently with his arms crossed, rubbing at his chin. “I get it. You want to learn modern vocabulary equivalents, don't you?” You bring up the 1400s version of the work again. “Wait… you understand this one?” Not that it's impossible, shouldn’t be. But you didn't exactly take him for someone pursuing comparative historical linguistics.

“Yes,” comes the answer, leaving you bemused.

“You know what? I won't even ask. Go ham. Here, I found it.” 

As he nears and glues himself to the screen, you dare to gently pull on his sleeve.

“Remember…clothes?”

Adrian blinks in realization, then stares back at the screen with a sort of longing. You get it. He’s making a breakthrough here, or so he thinks, one that’ll be of help in wading through terrain unfamiliar to him. 

But the rare practical side of you insists. “You can pick this up when we get back, right?”

He meets your eyes, nodding in acceptance. “Right.”

~~

The bell rings as you open the door to the second hand shop you sometimes frequent, looking behind you to see Adrian entering with care, gazing about with mild interest. 

“Well, here we are,” you say as he meets your stare, before looking towards the shop attendant who’s sitting behind a desk, phone in hand, chewing on some gum and watching the both of you with piqued interest—no, rather, watching him.

You cough, “Hi, we’re looking for some—” 

“Men’s wear is over there,” she answers, not taking her eyes off Adrian.

“All right, thanks.” Starting to think this is a typical reaction. You make a gesture, urging him to follow. 

He has a befuddled look on his face, but walks after you as you reach the rows of clothing boasting jeans, t-shirts and jackets. 

“So, listen.” You turn, waving a hand around the space. “You look for something you like.” You pull at your own blouse, pants, and coat. “And there’s a cabin over there, where you can try stuff out, if you like.”

He seems to understand, nodding and tentatively following your lead as you rummage through the merch on display. You notice the way he feels the garments, looking at you with a question in his eyes.

“Take your time,” you offer, going over and taking a seat on a chair. 

It doesn’t take long, really. Soon enough he’s gathered a few items under his arm, a bundle of… mostly black, cream and white garments. “Want to try these on?” you ask when he nears, standing before you, uncertain.

When Adrian doesn’t reply but tilts his head in slight confusion, you rise and walk towards the cabin, drawing the curtain and showing him the space. “In you go, let me know if…” You pause as he pulls the worn shirt over his head without much ado, spinning around and drawing the curtain behind him. “... call if you need help,” you mumble, stiffly walking away.

Your heart beats strangely, faster as you meet the stare of the shop clerk, who apparently has less important things to do than follow your exchange. 

Whatever. You go and idly sift through the items of clothing, humming to yourself. 

“Your boyfriend’s out,” comes the clerk’s voice after a while, and you blink in confusion, head swiveling to stare at her.

 “Oh, he’s not my—” Before you can finish that thought, movement has you turning in time to see Adrian emerging from the cabin. 

“Right, uh, you look… they fit, don’t they?" Heat rises to your face, damn the air conditioning. 

Black faded jeans, tight. A simple, white fitted t-shirt—was he always this…slim? Fit? A dark blue coat, reaching to his knees. “They look like they fit,” you follow, scratching your head. 

“Oh yeah, they sure do,” comes the young shop attendant’s voice, and a niggling sensation you’ve been unfamiliar with pinches at your mood. 

Adrian seems to agree, looking at himself, then at you. “Good?” he says in English.

You nod. “Yeah, good. That’s one round. Things here are affordable, so uh…” you retrieve your phone, type it in, and translate. “Find another item of each, to have spare clothing.”

He’s surprisingly efficient after that, and it’s not long before you’re returning to your apartment block, Adrian following with a bag in each hand. 

“Okay, that was relatively painless,” you comment, turning to look over your shoulder at him, and—

“Adrian?...”

His expression is frozen, light-amber eyes wide and lips parted. It’s not out of fear as much as it is… consternation?

You turn back around, a different tremor running through your limbs at the person approaching.

A tall woman, wearing a flowing white dress suit, her red coat slung over one forearm. Her long, straight dark hair is done up in a ponytail, swinging languidly with each step taken on black pumps. She’s always had a distinct sense of style. Her attitude is the usual—one of those people carrying themselves like the world lies in wait at their feet. You never did know how to feel about her, nor do you know much about her. You do know this is but one of many businesses she has under her care. Well to do, in any case.

Guess it had to happen sooner or later. “Mrs. Hawke, hello.”

The landlady smiles in greeting, blue eyes alighting first on you, then focusing beyond your shoulder. She lands a hand on her hip, “How have you been, my dear?” 

The question was directed at you, but you’re perceptive enough—you like to think—to notice the unspoken query following the first. 

“Doing well, um. You know how it is…”

“Mm.” Her eyes are still on Adrian, but her gaze is different from that of the store clerk earlier. It holds no fascination, merely a calculating sort of curiosity that disappears the moment she stares back at you.

“I actually wanted to contact you, but didn’t get to until now. You see, Adrian here will be staying for a while, and I know that affects the rent, so…”

Mrs. Hawke tilts her chin. “That’s right, normally so—do you have an idea as to how long your additional tenant will be staying?...”

“Um. Well, I…” You feel an urge to turn and look at Adrian, but somehow her stare arrests you enough that you can’t.

Just then, she waves a hand. “You know, nevermind. I know you’ve had a difficult time lately. Consider no fee added to the rent, for now.”

The impossible has happened. Mrs. Hawke, being… lenient? Forgoing business? Not asking the ‘how’ and the ‘who’ and the ‘why’?

“Er… you mean it? Really?” Your jaw might be somewhere on the floor for all you know.

She nods. “I do. If the time of stay extends indefinitely, then that’s another matter, of course… but for now, we should be fine.”

“Thank… you…?”

She laughs, a light, glittering sound. “Oh don’t look at me like that. After all…” her gaze flicks back behind you, only briefly. “Life does seem to hold all manner of… surprises, doesn’t it?”

There’s something unusual in her tone, but, ah, the prospect of not having to scrounge up more money regularly is a godsend. “You can say that again…”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to run!” And she does just that, without another glance, leaving the two of you alone in the hallway.

“Well, I’ll be…” you murmur, then remember Adrian. “What is it about you, seriously? It's either the worst of luck or the strangest change... Adrian?”

His stare is unfocused, like something blew a fuse behind his eyes. When you touch his arm, he snaps out of it with a start. “Let’s go up?... You wanted to continue reading, didn’t you?”

Shaking his head like someone having been splashed with ice-cold water, Adrian looks down at you. “... reading. Yes. Let’s…let’s go.”

Picking up fast, you think as he walks ahead of you towards the elevator. And maybe it’s just you, but his steps are more determined than before.

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VII - Part VIII - Part IX - Part X - Part XI

Taglist: @hornyf0ckers @the-keep-under-gresit @pencildrawer12 (this is old, let me know if you want to be removed!)

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MASTERLIST: CASTLEVANIA SERIES x READER

More of my work is on AO3 [many stories not on tumblr]

BLOG MASTERPOST (all you need to know)

Likes/comments/reblogs always and forever appreciated

AN:

Recuyell of the Historyes of Troye (1464) is a translation by William Caxton of a French courtly romance written by Raoul Lefèvre.

[ckret2]

Chapter 46 of human Bill Cipher frantically wishing he was still locked in the Mystery Shack and not getting his wish:

The Eclipse: Part 4

Gravity has fully disappeared from Gravity Falls and Bill finally learns why the Axolotl traveled all the way to Earth to see him. And meanwhile, Ford's in mortal peril.

[SUPER IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE: if you're reading this, it means that I've edited chapters 6&7 to make them compatible with The Book Of Bill but I have not edited this chapter yet.

Before TBOB came out, in chapter 7 I wrote that the Ax's deal with Bill was "I'll give you a different form (a human body) in a different time (dropping you a thousand years in the future) so you don't have to see your old enemies" and then Bill stole a time tape to come right back to the 21st century. I've now edited ch 6&7 to make the Ax's deal with Bill "I'll drop you off in Theraprism" and then Bill escaped via reincarnation.

However, this chapter refers to the OLD version of ch 7. That's because there are not physically enough hours in my life for me to do all the editing I want to do as fast as I want to do it.

Things Bill & the Axolotl say in this chapter contradict TBOB and contradict what the new ch 6&7 say. The conversation they're having DOES NOT accurately reflect the fic's current plot. Don't freak out. I'll fix it when I can. - (note added Sept 7, 2024; will be removed when it's no longer necessary.)]

####

There were only two ways to remove a pair of magic friendship bracelets. Either both wearers had to consent to removing the bracelets; or one of the parties had to die. The bracelets weren't active if they were only being worn by one person, and a corpse wasn't a person.

The moment Dipper's soul left his body, the thread connecting the bracelets turned visible again.

Bill immediately yanked off his bracelet. He considered just letting it go, reconsidered considering that Dipper's ghost would probably tattle to Mabel, and carefully, slowly reeled the thread in. Without the magic active, it was just normal embroidery floss. The Axolotl's gravitational pull didn't make Dipper's body heavy enough to break the line, but if Bill jerked it just a little too hard, it would snap.

Bill heaved a sigh when the body was close enough he could grasp its wrist. He grabbed Dipper's head and snarled in his dead face, "This is why I told you to get in the cave." He wrapped the bracelet around and around the tree trunk and Dipper's forearm, muttering to himself, "But does anybody listen to the all-knowing immortal dream demon who's seventy times older than their entire universe? No! No, what could it possibly know! Surely we'll get better ideas from the brain-damaged hick who married a raccoon—"

An immense voice said, "Hello."

Bill froze. He slowly turned away from the beast above Gravity Falls.

The voice said serenely, "Look at me, you 8-karat coward."

He slowly turned toward the beast above Gravity Falls. He swallowed hard, steeled himself, and dragged his gaze up until he met the Axolotl's eye and he was gently tugged into the time and space between time and space. "Oh, heyyy," he squeaked. He forced a pained smile. "Didn't see you there! Haha, hi! Wow! Imagine running into you in this dimension on this planet, crazy."

"Yes, crazy," the Axolotl agreed.

"This isn't a regular part of your commute! I guess you've got some time off," Bill said. "Work must be going well!"

"Pretty well. I scheduled an extended lunch break," the Axolotl said amiably. "How's being human going?"

Bill shot the Axolotl a dirty look.

The Axolotl continued to give him a perpetual smile. "Happy New Year, by the way."

"I'll kill you."

"No you won't."

"Okay look, let's just cut to the chase," Bill said. "Go on. Tell me my punishment."

"Punishment?"

"For! Coming back here instead of staying when you dumped me in 3012. I skipped time while on parole. That's obviously why you're here." He looked down, shielding his face with a hand and squeezing his eyes shut. "So stop wasting my time and tell me how much trouble I'm in. I'm a busy guy, I don't wanna drag this out."

"Well," the Axolotl said, "it appears to me that you're locked in your enemies' home, you can't use doors, and you need to be handcuffed to a child to go outside. Is that enough 'trouble' for you?"

Bill opened one eye. "Wait, so." He looked up skeptically. "You're saying I won't get re-executed for breaking the rules. Or—or get stuck in a worse body."

"No," the Axolotl said. "You'll answer to no jailer's voice; what you do now is your own choice. I moved you by a thousand years to free you from your killers' fears. If you decide then to return, it's your own second chance you burn."

"Ohhh. See, I assumed this entire situation was a... prison... thing. Considering the..." He gestured vaguely at his body. "The flesh prison." 

"It's a body. Not a prison. You aren't being imprisoned."

"'Not a prison' my base, if it's not a prison then why can't—" He caught himself before he asked a question, and took a deep breath. "So, there are no rules against coming right back to where I left off."

"Though I think your plan is clunky—not my circus, not my monkey."

"Oh. Okay, great." Bill planted his hands on his hips, straightening up properly for the first time since the Axolotl's arrival. "Huh. How 'bout that. Spent the last two days worrying for nothing!"

"You? Worried?"

"Of course not, I wasn't worried for a second," Bill said. "So if you're not here to punish me—that doesn't explain why you are here."

"Are you asking?"

"You know I'm not."

The Axolotl stared at Bill, patiently awaiting a question. Bill stared at the Axolotl, patiently not asking one.

The Axolotl caved first. "I wanted to make sure you hadn't burned down the dimension yet."

Bill pointed sharply at the Axolotl. "Hey! Hey!"

The Axolotl gave him a look like a toothless gumball learning how to smile.

"Not funny! Seriously, now!"

"I came because you called."

"Wh— When did—?" Bill cut himself off. He thought back to the day he'd spent locked in the bathroom. He recalled the desperate plea for salvation he'd painted on the ceiling. He buried his face in his hand. "That... that was a joke. False alarm."

"I gathered," the Axolotl said.

Bill peeked between his fingers. "But, I did call for rescue. Therefore. You're here to rescue me."

"No."

"Why n—! You said I'm not supposed to be in a prison! You've seen what these humans have done to me!"

"You aren't a prisoner," the Axolotl said. "You're a kidnapping victim. That's outside my jurisdiction."

Infuriating—but it told Bill something important: in the Axolotl's eyes, Bill's captivity wasn't just. And Bill didn't consider the Axolotl any kind of god—he didn't consider anyone any kind of god—but the Ax had a lot of pull in the multiverse when it came to defining the universal concept of justice. That was promising. 

"But I do have a keen interest in your case. I wanted to check in on your progress."

Bill gave the Axolotl a questioning look. "'Progress.'"

The Axolotl said nothing. Bill waited. The Axolotl simply continued to smile. "You haven't asked a question yet. Usually you can't wait to get rid of me."

"Under the circumstances," he gestured again at his body, "I didn't think I could afford to waste it."

"I see. However, I do have a meeting I need to get to."

What was the most important thing he could ask. What did he need to know the most. "So... if I learn my lesson or complete my sentence or—whatever I'm supposed to do... will you turn me back into a triangle?"

"I can't and won't do anything else. I've completed my obligation to you," the Axolotl said. "Whatever happens to you from now on is up to you."

That could mean anything from "you're stuck as a human forever and will die in less than a century" to "there's a secret spell on you and when you meet its conditions you'll automatically turn back into a triangle" to "you're already a triangle, you just need to believe in yourself." All Bill knew was that he wasn't getting any help from the Ax.

"It's been a pleasure as always," the Axolotl said. The world slowly began to move again as he gently returned Bill to the dimension he'd come from.

"Wait!" Bill called. He needed to know—was he still a triangle, somewhere on the inside, buried beneath all this flesh and bone? Or had the Axolotl's transformation rotted him to his core—was he now nothing but a human through and through? If he wasn't being punished, why had his suffocating soul been smothered under a blanket of meat? If he wasn't being punished, why had his own corpse stared him in the eye as if it didn't recognize him? "Just one more question before you go!"

"If you have the time. Up to you."

If he had the time? Bill's eyes darted around. Why wouldn't he have the time, what was he missing—?

His gaze locked on Ford. Floating twenty, thirty feet out from the cliff's edge. Oh.

Bill let the Axolotl's gravity drag him to the edge of the cliff before digging a hand into the ground, holding himself in place. Bill was safe; Dipper's body was safe, and his soul could float home once the Axolotl was gone. But when the Axolotl was gone, gravity would immediately come back—0 to 100, just like that—and Ford was dead.

And the Axolotl was already turning away. The millions of axolotls in the water below followed, moving through and out of the lake as though the lakebed didn't exist, migrating in the Axolotl's wake.

Ford was unsuccessfully trying to swim through the air back to land. Several useless feet of cable from his infinity belt floating around him from trying to fling it at the cliff. The best he could do was stretch an arm toward land.

He met Bill's eyes. The only other time Bill had seen Ford this terrified was when he'd threatened to torture the kids.

Bill looked at Ford, looked at the Axolotl—nearly too far to shout to—and looked down. By now, the future death he'd witnessed earlier was so close that Bill could see more than the blood to be left on the rocks. He could see the body—gray hair, tan overcoat, broken. It was just a few moments away.

Stanford Pines was about to die. Bill Cipher was innocent. Dipper was his witness; Dipper, honest goody hero type, could verify that Bill not only repeatedly told them both to stay away from the thing in the sky, but also warned them to anchor themselves right before totality. Everyone at the shack knew he'd protested, knew he'd warned them, knew he'd begged to stay home. There was no possible way Bill could get blamed for this.

And once Ford was dead, none of the idiots in this town would ever find a way to destroy Bill.

Up to you.

Bill didn't stop to think.

He kicked off the edge of the cliff.

He could see, hovering in the air like a golden arc amidst a dozen blurry failures, the path he needed to jump to reach Ford. The Axolotl's tail was already soaring over the town, his sky blue fins rippling like vast, slow sails. If Bill reached Ford before the Axolotl's influence was completely gone, he could fly them over the lake and they might both survive. 

They collided. Bill had to fling an arm over Ford's shoulder before he managed to get a grip on his lapel; Ford seized Bill's hoodie in both hands. Ford demanded, "What are you—?" He fell silent as their trajectory took a sudden sharp turn from south to east.

"The lake!"

Ford nodded. Why could come if they both survived. He could already feel weight grabbing onto his limbs. He spared a split-second glance down, but with half the lake floating in the air he couldn't tell if they'd cleared its banks yet. "Have you ever learned to swim?"

"You have to learn?!"

Ford prayed, if Bill drowned, that he was a mortal, and that he wasn't the kind of drowner who dragged other people down with him. "Cross your ankles as tightly as you can, cross your arms over your chest, land feet first in the water—better to break your legs than your neck—do not tilt your head, eyes on the horizon—" And that was as much emergency survival advice as he could give before gravity returned in full force.

This wasn't the first time Ford had plummeted into a deep liquid from an irresponsible height over the past thirty years. The hit was softer than he expected—the turbulent lake hadn't settled back down into its normal water pressure—but he also sank far deeper than he expected. Streams of bubbles raced past his vision; maybe it was just the power of suggestion, but he could have sworn they looked like transparent axolotls.

As soon as he had his wits about him, he threw off his coat, tugged off his boots, and kicked his way toward the surface.

Bill didn't.

This actually wasn't so bad, he thought, with a calmness that definitely came from being such a rational level-headed fellow and not from being in shock. Sure, all the air had been forced out of his lungs and his body was screaming in airless panic, but he wasn't his body, was he? This felt just like floating. He would miss floating again.

What was he supposed to do now.

He'd seen humans swim. He tried kicking his legs. He felt stupid. But, he decided—again, with a calmness that definitely was not from shock—that looking kinda stupid was probably preferable to drowning. Although he was curious what drowning felt like. Had he ever drowned a puppet before? He couldn't remember. Didn't seem bad so far.

He surfaced.

Ford was already on shore, on hands and knees, desperately coughing out water, his lungs burning. He collapsed in the sand. It took a couple minutes for him to reach the point where he was breathing more than he was coughing, and another minute of heavy breathing before he had the energy to look at the lake again. Bill was floating on his back about fifty feet away, very still.

Ford croaked, "Bill," coughed again, and tried a little louder. "Bill?"

Without otherwise moving, Bill raised one arm and gave him a thumbs-up.

Ford dug into what energy reserves he still had, shuffled back into the water, and swam over to Bill. "Are you all right?"

Bill gave him a dazed look, opened his mouth, and exhaled a cup of water. Then he started coughing. 

Ford grimaced. "Let's... get to shore." He took Bill's arm to tug him toward dry land.

Bill flailed upright and shoved him off. "Don't—" Hack. "M'fine. I l—" Cough. "I like floating." He lay on his back, shut his eyes, and said shakily, "Don't touch me."

Ford treaded water for a moment, considering that. Bill looked like he'd got the hang of floating enough that he wasn't an immediate drown risk, so Ford said, "I'll... be on land."

"'Kay."

Ford swam to shore and sat cross-legged in the wet sand to wait, staring down at his hands. The Handwitch's ring was a bright indigo blue again, no traces of darkness within the cabochon, as though the lake water had washed it clean.

Should he go do something useful? There weren't many places Bill could go, except to shore; it wasn't like he was at risk of escaping. But then if Bill did make it to land while Ford was distracted, he had a chance to make a run for it without the bracelet—

Ford stood up. "Bill! Where's Dipper?!"

Bill raised one arm and pointed up.

Ford looked at Gravity Peak. A small speck high above, Dipper was looking down over the cliff's edge. Ford waved to him. Dipper waved back. Well. That was inconvenient. Maybe Ford could restrain Bill with the infinity belt's cable in the meantime. (He reeled the cable in while he was thinking about it. He was fortunate it hadn't tangled on anything while he was underwater.)

"We have to rendezvous with Dipper. Get over here."

"Just leave me."

"Not an option."

Bill let out a pitiable whine, but, after a moment, managed to figure out a way to slowly paddle-kick his way toward land.

When his heels hit sand, he rolled over, crawled onto land, and lay down. "Gravity," he groaned. "I hate gravity."

"I'm not too fond of it myself right now." Ford's limbs felt like lead. Some combination of spending a day and a half in steadily reduced gravity, the exhaustion following a near death experience, and waterlogged clothes. "Where are the enchanted bracelets?"

Bill lifted one hand from the elbow and pointed toward the cliff again.

That'd be just Ford's luck. All the same, he said, "Really?" Bill would hide them if they were on him.

"Yes, really. Whaddaya want, a strip search?" He gestured vaguely toward his body without lifting his head. "Go ahead. 'M not moving to help." His arm flopped back down.

Ford decided that was a bluff he did not want to call. "Fine. We'll put them back on when we rendezvous with Dipper." If Bill tried to escape, Ford wasn't sure he was in any condition to chase; but then Bill didn't seem to be in any condition to run, either.

"Surprised you wanna wear matching bracelets with me. If I'd known, I woulda made you a friendship bracelet." Under his breath, Bill muttered at the sand, "But m'sure it'd've been a waste of thread."

Ford decided it was more prudent to hold his tongue. "Can you walk?"

"If I have to." For as difficult as Bill made getting to his feet look, one would think he was being subjected to the gravity of Jupiter. Ford offered his hand; Bill smacked it aside.

"Well. My raft is still in the cave behind Trembley Falls, so we'll have to borrow a boat." Ford pointed toward Tate & Backle's Bait & Tackle at the far end of the lake. "Think you can make it that far?"

Bill—barefoot, soggy, and slumped like he had the whole weight of the world on his shoulders—gave Ford the most pathetic look he'd ever seen Bill wear. Ford empathized completely. But Bill only sighed and said, "Let's get going."

####

Tate lowered his magazine to give Ford a critical look. "Dr. Pines," he said. "You get caught out on the lake when the gravity came back?"

"Something like that."

He shook his head. "Shoulda listened to the news."

"The news?"

"Dad's been making public warnings since yesterday. 'Stay anchored and keep your head down.' Reckon you must've missed it."

"We've... been camping." He'd have to ask Fiddleford about that later. "Listen—do you have a boat we could borrow? It's an emergency. We were separated from Dipper and we have to get across the lake."

Tate raised his hat just enough to give Ford a look that told him exactly what he thought of his merit as a guardian—Ford figured he deserved that—but then stood with a sigh. "All right, I'll see what we've got."

He paused, then gestured behind Ford with his chin. "Who's the lady?"

Ford turned. The shop's door was propped open and Bill was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed tight, staring blankly out across the lake. "Er—Goldie. She's... staying in the shack a few weeks."

"Hm." Tate raised his voice. "Ma'am?"

Bill didn't budge.

"Ma'am—Miss Goldie?"

That time he turned to give Tate a faraway look. "Me?"

"Yes, uh—you're soaked to the bone. Would you like to borrow some dry clothes?"

"Oh." Bill considered the question for a little longer than necessary. "If you want."

Ford explained, "She inhaled a lot of water."

Tate nodded. "Think we've got some out-of-season stock in the back, there might be something big enough for..." He caught himself before insinuating something about a lady's weight, and mumbled, "Well, it'll do." He headed to a door behind the counter, paused, looked Ford over, and reluctantly said, "I s'pose you can get something too."

####

Tate had a motorboat in good working order, so he let them borrow it, with a stern request to have it back by the end of the day. And so they set out—Ford in waders that went up to his chest, a bandana he really hoped was keeping his embarrassing neck tattoo hidden, and a t-shirt that said "The worst day of fishing is better than the best day of court-ordered anger management classes"; and Bill in a makeshift skirt Tate had apologetically improvised out of a beach towel, a sweater depicting a pine tree constructed out of fish that said "MERRY FISHMAS", and a pair of novelty slippers shaped like rainbow trout.

"I'm never giving these shoes back," Bill informed Ford as they crossed the lake. "I don't care whether we buy them or steal them. They're hilarious." It was the nearest thing to personality Bill had demonstrated since landing in the lake.

Ford supposed he was in no position to tell Bill he couldn't keep them, considering that Bill had... well.

Well.

Ford should say something about that. He didn't know what. He didn't know where to start. (Bill's question came back to him: if Ford didn't believe anything Bill said, why did he keep trying to pry information out of him?)

(Because, he realized—beneath thirty years of every nerve in his body screaming "DON'T TRUST HIM"—part of him was still hoping Bill would say something he could believe.)

Ford cleared his throat. "It's... impressive that you didn't panic while you were underwater," he said awkwardly. "That must have taken remarkable self control."

"Oh. Eh." Bill spread his hands vaguely. "I wasn't really paying attention to what was happening. I was thinking about other stuff."

Ford blinked. "While you were drowning?"

"It wasn't a very severe drowning."

Ford huffed.

This was probably a conversation he should have later—Bill's brain only appeared to be half on—but, if they had it later, Ford wasn't sure he'd get anything but yet another polished lie. 

And so he steeled his nerves and asked, "Why did you save me."

Bill didn't answer. He stared silently at his rainbow trout slippers.

"Bill—?"

"Hold on," he said. "I don't know, just—give me a minute to make something up."

It was the first time in a month and a half—the first time in years—that Ford was absolutely certain Bill had just told him the truth.

And not just about his intentions to lie to Ford—but about not knowing why he'd saved him.

It meant there was no secret master plan, no manipulative ulterior motives, no cunning illusions. It meant Bill had endangered himself just to save Ford.

There was a universe where Ford then said, "I didn't think you meant it all those times you said you wanted to be my friend again," and where Bill lied—both to Ford and to himself—"I didn't think I meant it either." It wasn't this universe, because neither one of them wanted those words out in the world. Yet they still hovered around them, unspoken.

It didn't make Ford trust Bill. It didn't make Ford like Bill. Bill was still everything he'd ever been—liar, conman, tyrant, torturer—and Ford still hated him for all of it.

But. It meant that for the first time in a month in a half, a muscle between Ford's shoulder blades that had been knotted tight with fear could finally loosen and relax.

Ford was safe.

####

(I first had the idea for this chapter nearly a year ago and I've been dying waiting to post it. I hope you enjoyed, and I can't wait to hear what y'all think! And to those of you in the path of totality, happy solar eclipse this Monday! I totally planned it this way. I did not.)

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Wands, Wizards, and Wi-Fi (Draco Malfoy)

Summary: you help Draco with Muggle Technology.

Warnings: an angry draco, but fluff.

WC: 500ish

@dawn-petrichor-world asked: I have a question. You know magic exists and one day you meet Draco Malfoy in a library struggling with a computer and secretly he tries to use his wand. Why will you do? Ignore him "destroying" public furniture or act like you didn't see his wand and try to help him. In my case, it depends, if he looks like a furious man I don't want to end up transforming into a frog 😭

A/N: we talked about this back in march of 2023!!!! i've had it saved in my drafts ever since!! lol

Read on Ao3!

--

The comforting aroma of old books filled the air as you roamed the shelves of the small, independent library tucked in a quiet corner of the city. It was a haven for you—a sanctuary where magic and reality seemed to blur. Of course, you knew real magic existed; you’d seen things you couldn’t explain, whispers of a world beyond the mundane. But you never expected to encounter it here.

At a corner table, a blonde man was glaring at a laptop with the kind of venom reserved for mortal enemies. His sharp cheekbones and tailored clothing made him stand out from the usual crowd of patrons. The tension in his jawline seemed to radiate frustration.

Curious, you wandered closer, pretending to browse the nearby books. That’s when you noticed the odd sight: his hand dipped into his jacket pocket, pulling out... a wand.

Your breath hitched. Was he really about to—?

He flicked the wand toward the laptop, muttering something under his breath. Nothing happened. The screen stubbornly remained blue, its spinning wheel mocking him.

Biting back a laugh, you stepped forward. "Need some help there?"

The man froze, his grey eyes snapping to yours. For a second, he looked almost panicked, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I don’t need help," he said stiffly, slipping the wand back into his pocket.

"Right," you said, raising an eyebrow. "Because magic definitely fixes laptops."

His face reddened slightly, though he attempted to cover it with a sneer. "What do you know about it?"

"More than you think," you replied, lowering your voice. "I’ve seen magic before. And I’m guessing you’re not from around here, are you?"

His demeanor shifted, suspicion mingling with curiosity. "Who are you?"

"Someone who knows how to make that," you pointed at the laptop, "stop spinning. Want me to show you?"

He hesitated, clearly weighing his options. Finally, with a huff, he pushed the laptop toward you. "Fine. But if you break it, you’re paying for it."

"Relax," you said, suppressing a grin. Sitting down, you navigated the menus with ease. "What are you even trying to do?"

"Research," he said vaguely, his fingers drumming against the table.

"For what?" you pressed.

He hesitated again before muttering, "Muggle technology. My father insists we need to... understand it."

You couldn’t hide your amusement. "So, Lucius Malfoy finally decided to catch up with the 21st century?"

His head snapped up. "You—how do you—?"

"Like I said," you replied, fixing the issue on his laptop with a few clicks, "I know more than you think."

For the first time, a small smile tugged at his lips. "Perhaps you’re not entirely insufferable."

"Gee, thanks," you shot back, pushing the laptop back toward him.

As he examined the now-functional screen, his expression softened ever so slightly. "You’re surprisingly useful for a... Muggle."

"Who said I was a Muggle?" you teased, standing up.

You left him sitting there, his wand forgotten for the moment, as he stared after you with a mixture of intrigue and newfound respect.

[two-white-butterflies]

jasmine wind | c16

Description: Being in love with an f1 driver was supposed to be easy - but for some reason, your father doesn't like him.

Pairing: charles leclerc/wolff!reader

"Bebe," Charles giggled while staring at your new profile picture. He was only joking when he replied to your tweet - he was pleasantly surprised to see you take it seriously. "It's a cute picture, no?" you narrowed your eyes teasingly while pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Very cute, now I'll have to change my profile into your picture." he chuckled, quickly opening his twitter to change his icon.

You were surprised to be awoken by the sound of your phone ringing. A groan escaped your mouth - slowly adjusting to the artificial light of the lampshade. You reached for your phone - accepting the call without looking at the one calling. "Hello," your voice sounded hoarse from the rude awakening. "Schatz," you heard your father's voice.

A louder sigh escapes your mouth - you already memorized his lines. He'd start off by asking about your wellbeing - then the conversation would drift towards Charles. "How are you?" he inquired in a polite tone, you could hear the coffee pot from the other side of the call.

"I'm fine," you decided to be civil - turning to the other side of the bed where your fiancee was peacefully sleeping. Gods, you didn't even tell your parents that the wedding was happening in a few months.

"Are you eating your vegetables?" Toto asked, taking a sip of his coffee. "Yes," you replied in a whisper. "How's uhh - Charles?" he asked with reluctance, seeing that he was a sore topic. "He's alright, Pa. He's sleeping." you chuckled - closing Charles' mouth before he could turn into a mouth breather.

This was the perfect time to tell him about the wedding.

"There's something that I want to tell you," you take a deep breath - praying to Jesus that he'd approve. Praying that your relationship returns to its old form.

"What is it?"

"Charles and I are getting married - after the race in Monaco." you informed, and he replies with a deep disappointed sigh. "Did he propose to you?" he questioned and you nodded - mind not working properly to understand that he couldn't see you.

Judging by the silence, he knew that Charles did.

"- and he didn't ask for my permission, or your mother's?" Toto began to scold you. A frown formed at the top of your forehead - yes, Charles was wrong for not asking him - but it wasn't like he'd approve. "We're in the 21st Century, I can't believe you're about to start a fight over this." you scoff.

"Bye, Pa - I'll see you after Spa." you hang up.

"I don't want to think about that right now," you continued cooking the fried rice. "He's your father, and he was right. I should apologize." your boyfriend replied - placing his homemade ice cream on the fridge. "No." you responded firmly.

If Charles apologizes now then Toto would believe that he'd be right all the other times. "It could've gone better, but I'm glad that it's over. I gave him an invitation so he's the one to decide whether or not he attends. I don't care." you groan - he wraps his arms around your waist. He could read you like an open book.

Deep inside he could see that you were hurting.

"I'm here for you, alright." he whispered.

He'd know the truth in due time.

(AFTER MONACO, THE DAY OF THE WEDDING)

yn_leclerc: ready for married life.

maid of

29 comments 124,390 likes

Charles_Leclerc: already changed the last name 💗😂 - yn_leclerc: in advance too

ganggangchiken: all the other celebs do lavish weddings but they're the only ones who's driving to court with 5 guests 😭

You couldn't stop the tears that threatened to fall. It just flowed endlessly at the sight of your father. "Did you really think that I'd miss your wedding?" he raised an eyebrow, standing up from the bench right outside the courthouse.

He was clad in blue suit - smiling at you and Charles.

[shinysobi]

the kiss (aka that one scene) and subsequently—

*spoilers for bridgerton s3*

ahem...this might be a bit indelicate? Let us think about who Colin is, at his core. he is a dreamer. he's sweet, he's kind to a fault, and he's also the Bridgerton brother most likely to have ao3 in the 21st century.

Penelope asks for a kiss, and Colin cannot deny her that. so much of their relationship is evinced by the fact that they cannot deny each other anything, even if it is at the expense of their own well-being. Penelope has never once voiced her feelings for Colin because she is aware that he would never see her in such a light, and mostly because, she does not think that her feelings are his business. In the books and in the show, Penelope has never voiced her crush.

So, when she's facing the very real prospects of remaining a spinster and firmly under the influence of her mother and sister (Prudence, especially, I don't really think Phillipa would be that bad) she makes a choice to ask the love of her life, mind you, the one man she had always felt safe with, to kiss her. She is waving goodbye to the dreams of being married, finding a place of her own in a world where a woman had no value if they were not attached in matrimony to a man. Yes, it seems pathetic, yes, it seems desperate. It is. It is desperate. Penelope is desperate at this moment, and she is reckless, but she is not pathetic. She wants to be kissed, and she asks for it, it is a moment where we see a woman exercise agency for the first time in her life. Feelings are so very rarely black or white, and so is this scene; on one hand, you feel wronged and angry at the fact that Penelope is pleading for a kiss, on the other, you empathize with her situation and where she is coming from. She wants this moment, and who better to ask from, than her best friend? Colin has always, always been there for her, and she has been there for him. They know each other the best, she has had the privilege of being able to love him. She wants love, and she has it in her hands at this moment, a fleeting, transient glimpse into what her life could be if she were someone else. This is the moment when Penelope Featherington's dreams are well and truly shattered.

And that same kiss turns Colin's world on its axis. It is so wonderful to see on screen how the same action can have two entirely opposite, but just as important effects on people. Colin has always loved Penelope. This is not even a discussion. He took action on behalf of her family (on behalf of her, really) when he found out about her cousin's schemes. He gives Cressida the cut direct when she humiliates Penelope in front of him. He seeks her out at every social assembly. He has always looked out for her and has always loved her. But all this is platonic. He has never felt a physical connection with her, because neither of them has had the chance to explore that avenue. Neither Colin nor Penelope are aware of their latent attraction to each other. For Penelope, it is because she has never been allowed to feel a physical connection with anyone, and Colin because he has never thought of pursuing a physical connection with Penelope. It is their kiss that ultimately awakens that connection in Colin, and by connection, Penelope asking Colin for a kiss is what puts the wheels in motion.

Which brings me to the first paragraph. Colin is the sweetest boy in the Bridgerton family (Gregory I love you, but nine children? Get off that woman, immediately). When he realizes that he likes Penelope, and loves her romantically, what does he do? He internalizes it like he does everything else. So much of Colin's character arc, both in the book and in the show is about him internalizing everything. He refuses to voice his own feelings if they make other people uncomfortable, much to the detriment of his own mental health. After being deceived in the first season, he removes himself from London because he cannot bear to stay in the city anymore, not when he is reminded of how naive and stupid he was, every moment. It is also important to realize that Colin has been viewed as the naive, soft-hearted brother, by everyone else. When he gets engaged in season 1, Anthony, his big brother, the example he is supposed to follow, tells him that he should have taken Colin to brothels and accuses him of getting married to have sex. In season two, Penelope, an outsider, is the only person who gives a damn about his thoughts. His own family refuses to listen to him, and what does he do when he returns a second time? He tells them, "I shall not bore you with the details". He knows, no one essentially gives a shit. This is why, when he comes to the knowledge of the full breadth of his feelings for Penelope, he internalizes so hard he dreams of her. And this is not an indelicate dream. He does not dream of taking her in the back of a carriage or on his yellow sheets, he dreams of her returning his feelings. He is yet unaware of the extent of Penelope's feelings toward him, but he knows he should not force his feelings onto her, and that is why he dreams of her.

I could go on and on about why Colin is the best Bridgerton brother (Gregory, nine children) but it will take up a lot of space, so I shall keep it brief: (in the show) Anthony almost marries Edwina, a girl who is what, thirteen(?) twelve (?) years younger than him, a girl who has no safety net outside of her sister and her mother, her sister whom Anthony was in love with, and refused to confront his feelings for. Literally, no one forced Anthony to propose to Edwina, he went down on one knee while being aware of his feelings for her older sister. Kate would have been content with relinquishing her younger sister to a marriage where she loved someone who would forever love another. Imagine if Anthony had married Edwina as he intended. Do you think, for even a second, that he would look at her face and not be reminded of Kate? Not to mention neither of them took action till the very last second, and Edwina, a bystander, was forced to ruin herself. Half the reason why she married abroad is the fact that not a single person in London would have married her (headcanon: she marries the Prince, fuck you, Anthony) when she was very publicly denigrated as the Viscount Bridgerton's cast-off. Yes, the Queen's favor saves Anthony and Kate's marriage from scandal, but it also saves Edwina, it saves her from further public embarrassment and scrutiny by a ton that not only views her as an outsider but also envies her for securing the title of the Season's Diamond. (Book)Benedict forces a woman from a servant class to be his mistress while he searches for the girl he fancied to be the love of his life. I'm sorry, there's no coming back from that. Colin gets angry when he is aware of who Lady Whistledown is, but his anger is not directed at Penelope herself. It is directed at her lack of thought for her own safety. Colin puts Penelope's safety and reputation over everything. In the carriage scene, he steps back as soon as he hears the words "but we are friends" from her mouth; he takes it as a sign, that this is Penelope telling him I don't have feelings for you, and he is happy to respect her wishes. Colin would have never voiced his feelings a second time if she had rebuffed him then, he would have been happy to remove himself from Society and spend his days on the Continent, writing in his journals. So much of both Penelope and Colin is them learning to voice their wants and desires and fuck, it's the most beautiful thing to watch as it comes to life on my screen.

[atalienart]

you requested book discourse, may I offer you this take: I'm sick of "feminist" Greek myth retellings that are advertised as untold tales of heroines finally being given a voice. All of them read like a 21st century feminist lady was airdropped into an ancient Greek setting. Besides, if the heroines they are based on were "voiceless" the author would have no source to fall back on. Also, there's definitely an issue of cultural appropriation in non-Greek authors retelling Greek myths (I'm not Greek so I can't really speak on their behalf but it's sus to me)

I agree about the retellings. They change a lot about the characters and their authors usually write them through the modern lens. It's the same with historical fiction, historical romances. The world is only a backdrop. Authors take an existing world without the context of that world. It can be really annoying sometimes, especially when the "old world" clashes really strongly with the modern elements. Oftentimes people also lack the understanding of niuanse. A heroine can't be strong if she can't kick a guy and tell him to fuck off. That's why women in those myths can be seen as "voiceless". I'm sick of it too xD

As for the cultural appropriation… Eehh... I think it's good to be able to draw inspiration from different things. I understand that if you want to write about historically accurate place and events you should do a thorough research first. The thing is, what if you write a fantasy? What if a culture is only an inspiration for a fictional world? How accurate do you have to be when you create a place where fairies or vampires exist? What culture do you take the fairy folklore from? What if you mix a fairy lore from idk a Polish and Irish folklore and create your own unique world? When I see yet another retelling of Hades and Persephone myth I kinda try to see what the author took from that story. I don't need to see the myth. I don't expect writers to be folklorists and historians and mythology professors. I do expect them to take interest in the culture they borrow from so that what they create isn't offensive or completely idiotic but I don't need them to know everything about it. I don't think keeping cultures closed off and untouchable is the best approach. It will only let that culture shrink and die eventually. Of course watering it down to a cool aesthetic can also be quite damaging but it also brings some spotlight to it and can be a spark for a more thorough discussion. What do you think?

[librarycards]

those of you who also enjoy indie books should vote in this poll! my friends at genrepunk magazine are putting together a kind of counter-nyt milquetoast bestseller list, titled "best indie books of the 21st century." you can nominate 5 books from independent presses. i am very excited to see the results of the list; make your voice heard!

[makingqueerhistory]

Can you make some recommendations for most likely lesbian/bi women who were most likely influenced by "sexual inversion theory" in history? Either names or articles or books if you know of them. Im aware of louisa may alcott emily dickinson and jane austen as possible candidates but i know i was still influenced by this theory even in the 21st century so itd be nice to read about other women who could only understand their sexual identity/ romantic feelings through feeling like they had to be a man in order to be attracted to women

Yes, I do have a couple of women who fit this description!

Elizabeth Amy Dillwyn said:

“My own belief is that I’m half a man & the male half of my nature fell in love with her years ago & can’t fall out of it again.”

There is also an interesting discussion of this in Before We Were Trans: A New History of Gender. (Affiliate link)

There is also Emmeline Freda Du Faur, who was institutionalized and possibly had this idea pushed upon her, writing in her diary:

“For a week I was in a dazed semi-consious state. Asleep all night and half the day. I think I must have been heavily drugged. I took whatever medicine and food I was given. I had a queer experience I could not account for.

A voice said to me, I was awake, “You will have nothing of your own anymore and never be as before. You have an inverted hedonistic persuasion at four points. Will you become a Jewess and do as you are told? Or have eternal pain?” I said I was a Christian and forgot the matter.”

I hope that this helps!

[malcolmschmitz]

REVIEW: THE VICAR MAN

Okay, so, I finished @ameliahcrowley 's THE VICAR MAN. I promised to leave an Amazon review but Amazon won't let me. So in the spirit of our agreement, I'm leaving a review somewhere and figuring out Amazon later.

TLDR: The Vicar Man is good! I liked it! If you like funny historical fantasy you will probably like it!

So as you could probably guess from the title, The Vicar Man is a spoof of The Wicker Man, the classic folk horror movie. (It's mostly drawing from the Christopher Lee one, not the Nic Cage one, and thank goodness for that.) Dora's village worships a dark, eldritch god and sacrifices virgins to it for the good of the harvest. When a stranger comes to town- a nice young vicar who genuinely seems oblivious to the horrors at hand-

Dora can't just let him get thrown on the sacrificial pyre. She has to save this guy. And the easiest way to keep someone from being a virgin sacrifice is to make sure they're not a virgin anymore. Problem is, Dora's aro/ace, and moderately sex-repulsed. But a man's life's at stake. She sets off on a quest to seduce the Vicar, poking fun of many historical romance tropes along the way.

It might be more accurate to call this story an unromance novel than a fantasy novel- it follows all the conventions of a romance novel, down to the plot beats, but none of them quite wind up where you'd expect. This isn't a traditional love story- but it's not not a love story. This isn't a traditional horror story- but it's not not a horror story. If you're aro and/or ace, you like the idea of historical romance, but you're not here for the Love At First Sight Based Solely On Pantsfeelings? This book was made for you, specifically.

What it is is a comedy, and it's fast-paced and funny the whole way through. Dora's incredibly likeable- especially if you're a snarky, nerdy bluestocking, or if you've left a high-control religious group- and her inner monologue never fails to please. Norman, the titular vicar, is a sad, wet cat of a man, a poor little meow meow, adorable and kind and So Very Doomed. The relationship between the two of them - well, I shan't spoil things, but I thought it was delightful.

This book has one quality that didn't always gel with me- the language sits a bit wrong for a historical, even one that's set in the year "uh. well. there's probably a king? named George?". There's a fair bit of Tumblr dialect sprinkled through here- in particular there's a handful of jokes that revolve around 21st century feminist terms, sometimes deliberately using them for a jarring and inappropriate effect. And sometimes it hit right, but sometimes it didn't do it for me. I'm oversensitive to language, though- heck, I invented an entire goddess for one setting so I wouldn't have to use 'modern' trans language in a setting where it doesn't belong!- and it probably won't bug most people.

Overall, I really enjoyed the time I spent with THE VICAR MAN- I'd recommend it if you like funny historical fantasy, if you'd enjoy reading a sendup of Gothic romances and folk horror, or if you like the idea of an aro/ace unromance novel. I'd especially recommend it if you like The Misadventures of Sawbones and Its Menagerie- the narrator, Dora, has a very similar narrative voice. They share that 'outwardly quiet and polite, but with a constant snarky inner monologue' energy.

Strong recommend, and thanks to the author for the review copy!

[savagewildnerness]

The Vampire Lestat notes...

OK, so I am taking part in a The Vampire Lestat read along on Discord (organised by @old-long-john& @inkyblotposts!)

Don’t expect me to be this in detail every week as I absolutely cannot… but I realised I went SO in detail with my notes/thoughts on my read of the first part that I can’t share it all on Discord! Hahaha!  So, instead, I’ll post it here, link it there and maybe you’d like to discuss here too? Look, I don't do things by halves, OK!? So did I write nearly as many notes as there likely are words in this part of the book? Maybe... And...?!?!?!?! But this is my Tumblr and so I can post the notes in full here and what's more, I WILL!

Introduction:

I enjoy how out-of-touch with 'the youth' of the 1980's Lestat sounds and I hope that the TV show retains this in some way. Lestat, of course, would be pretty out of place in the modern era in some ways in how he speaks, particularly given that it seems the majority of the last century he's been hibernating with a plank piano and an iPad..?

Lestat says that "there was a romance" to modern music and I'm so curious if that's how he'll feel about some kind of modern music now, or, whether Lestat’s rock star career will just be 100% about Louis on the TV show?

"the way electricity could stretch a single note forever; the way harmony could be layered upon harmony until you felt yourself dissolving in the sound. So eloquent of dread it was, this music." - This reads to me like a musical description of vampirism?!

It makes me laugh when we juxtapose how Louis and Lestat describe how broken and scared of everything he is in his wilderness years in the books... yet Lestat here is like "Yeah, I was a bit scared... but in THREE DAYS I was roaring around on a motorbike...!" hahahah... I don't know whether to believe you or not, Lestat?! I also note here that it's impossible for Lestat's strength to have increased like it has here in the book on TV as he's already too strong on the show for that!

Quote I thought might be used on the show - "All people had a right to love and to luxury and to graceful things.”

Potential episode title - "Pure evil has no real place."

Surely this quote will be on tv… “It was enough to make an Old World monster go back into the earth, this stunning irrelevance to the mighty scheme of things, enough to make him lie down and weep. Or enough to make him become a rock singer, when you think about it…”

I was interested how Lestat describes how he jams with the musicians. Will The Vampire Lestat's music incorporate old French songs and brutal rhythms - eerie and disjointed music, as Lestat describes his playing?

"When I Iose my confidence, my powers drain." Found that interesting…

We'd better see Lestat standing stock still beneath a street light, whipping through IWTV at an insane speed till he exasperatedly tears it to shreds on TV!

Lestat dreams of "unprecedented rebellion, a great and horrific change to my kind all over the world." !!!

Lestat had better use the phrase "A velvet-lined motor coach" on telly! MAKE IT SO ROLIN! Please!

The ache for Louis Lestat has - for “his romantic illusions”, “his gentlemanly malice and his physical presence, the deceptively soft sound of his voice.”

There's a self-destructive excitement to how Lestat talks of being hunted and known "as no mythic monster has ever been fought by man before.”

Lestat's psychology… “How could I not love it, the mere idea of it?  How could it not be worth the greatest danger, the greatest and most ghastly defeat?  Even at the moment of destruction, I would be alive as I have never been.”

Lelio Rising.

So first of all… I noted the timeline as I went this time:

Lestat kills the wolves aged 20 (he specifically states that he is 20 on p38 if you have the new UK paperback version of the book… “The Winter of my 21st year” - your first year you are aged 0… when you turn 1 that is your second year.  So Lestat’s 21st year is from the day he turns 20 until the day before he turns 21.

As far as I can tell, all of Lelio Rising takes place when Lestat is 20 (apart from the flashbacks when he is younger.)  Lestat meets Nicolas and they begin their conversation as Winter turns to Spring in the year he is 20…. He first performs as Lelio in late-August of the year he is 20… and he talks of seeing Magnus in October of that year… soon after which, he is made a vampire.  Thus, I think Lestat will have been made a vampire weeks/days before he turns 21.  I’d personally like to imagine it happens on Halloween.

Regarding Lestat’s family… Gabrielle has 8 children.  The oldest boy is Augustin… there is one girl, but we don’t even know where she came in the birth order.  Lestat is the youngest boy.  Only one more boy survives… a boy whom for whatever reason, Lestat doesn’t mention by name even once!!?!

How Lestat self-describes: The dreamer, the angry one, the complainer, the hunter, unhappy, ferocious, a wild creature, bitter (haha, I typed BUTTER first!)

OK… on to the chapter!

The book starts describing the Winter and I was struck by how later in the chronicles, Lestat will often dream of this snow and how this bitter Winter is the opposite of death for a vampire - who die in fire or The Sun…

“In the winter of my twenty-first year, I went out alone on horseback to kill a pack of wolves.”  Wouldn’t that have been magnificent as the actual first line of the novel?!  Just saying…!  I mean, it kind of *is* the first line!  I wonder if Anne wrote the introduction first, or this?

Lestat being brought back with his wings broken made me see Nicolas’ mind-bird in my mind.

“White-wigged Parisians in high-heeled satin slippers” was so redolent of Louis and Lestat at the Mardis Gras ball in S1 to me.

“Though I speak of them as dogs now, they were known only by their names to me then.”  What a beautiful, sideways way of expressing what the dogs meant to Lestat.

I love how hunter-Lestat is described almost like a beast himself and it makes me so excited to see this on screen.  I also love the way he understands the wolves’ strategy - thinking like the wolves think.  We’re gonna see a FLAIL, folks!

Lestat’s horse’s death is the first truly gothic description…. It always makes me wonder too whether that Lestat found it in himself to kill his horse in mercy for her suffering isn’t as much a reason for Magnus to pay attention to him as the fact that he killed the wolves? Also I’ve begun to notice Anne Rice loves to compare things to insects…

When Augustin says Lestat didn’t kill the wolves, then retracts it & Lestat says the next thing he knew he was lying alone in his room… I mean… it can be read at face value, but I also wonder - is there something that happened here that Lestat doesn’t write?  And if so, might the TV show go there?

Breaking the bullet points up as tumblr won't let me post...

I noticed a lot of what Lestat will later seek in his relationships and how he is in relationships in his relationship with Gabrielle.  Gabrielle is not a touching-person, but the moments she allows a tiny bit of conversation… it leans into me thinking of Lestat and Nicolas’ conversation… the way she gives him gifts and *things* when he struggles… it creates Lestat the gift-giver, it seems to me…?  This is how he is shown love and so this is how he learns to give love.  The way withdraws surely creates Lestat’s sense of being “too much” as much as his Father and brother telling him his is ‘wrong’ does?

“I wanted to be enclosed forever with people who believed I could be good if I wanted to be.” - I wonder if the TV show will go down the route of Lestat’s quest for goodness?  I hope so!  At this time, I think 12-year-old Lestat found goodness in the order of the monastery versus the chaos he felt in the family castle (haha, the family castle!) And I also feel like he felt goodness in being made “ordered” rather than “chaotic” himself.  However, I don’t think Lestat would have been happy in the end in so restrictive a place, much as I am sure he would have loved learning.

Gabrielle buys Lestat his first mastiff puppies, a good horse and a rifle when he is 12.  She creates Lestat-the-hunter.  She later will say she feels Lestat is the man in her, the man she cannot be in this era.  And she literally chooses what Lestat will be.  She doesn’t teach him to read, even though she knows his curiosity to learn, even from the way he talks.  No, she decides the boy will become a hunter and so Lestat does.  Becoming a hunter is also something that will bond him more tightly to his home.  It’s not something that’s ever going to lead to a route to escape for him.  Teaching Lestat to read might have led to Lestat fleeing for Paris far sooner…. I don’t know.  Gabrielle will later say she kept Lestat prisoner as surely as his Father and brothers and I really felt that on this re-read…. Even when Lestat runs away with the theatre at 16 and so Gabrielle truly then knows how Lestat wants to escape… what does she buy him?  A fancier rifle.  A thing to keep him more tightly where he is, hunting here for the family.  She begins to talk to Lestat in conversation.  But it’s like she’s placating on both sides - so Lestat will stop getting beaten (to keep him here) and so he’ll have just-enough mental stimulation to keep him where he is too: here with her…?  I understand it from her perspective.  Imagine how alone she’d be otherwise.  But it’s interesting to me.

“The silent ebb and flow of life felt deadly to me.” - surely Lestat will say this on TV?

I got annoyed thinking about Lestat playing Harlequin as I read the Commedia Dell’ Arte talking about how an actor plays a single role for life… although… metaphorically, could we say Lestat truly *is* kind of playing Lelio for life once he is immortal?!

After Lestat returns from the theatre, this is when he really begins to despair and to believe he will never be free.  I was struck by how he says he becomes more useful in this time.  Isn’t it often the way - with no hope for his own future, he sinks into the role of provider and caregiver and the only way he can ‘be good’…. It also makes me think how in the future, when in despair, Lestat will rush to *do* some mad scheme or other.

Hahaha at Lestat valuing his Mother’s physical beauty as having inherent value, the vain little irritant!

I did wonder, when Lestat tells Gabrielle how he dreams of killing his family… given how they have made all the characters worse on the show, I really HOPE they don’t make Lestat LITERALLY kill his family.  It crossed my mind that they *could*… PLEASE DO NOT.  I don’t think they will as it counters the ensuing conversation, but I had a sudden flash of FEAR!

This conversation though, Gabrielle takes Lestat seriously.  She always takes Lestat seriously, which I love her for.  Much as I believe Gabrielle doesn’t love Lestat enough… I think it’s probably pretty rare and a very special thing for a parent to take the thoughts of their child and who they are so seriously and not to dismiss them?

Gabrielle seems to love Lestat more now he’s 20 as she can see him as a man rather than as her son.  She likes to talk to him as if he were not her son.  She hates to be called Mother.  She seems to love to feel him as a comrade.  And I will say here that if I feel Lestat isn’t loved enough by Gabrielle… his brothers… she literally despises them.  I know they seem awful, but imagine not receiving even one iota of love in your entire life from your mother, which must be their experience.

“You don’t have to take upon yourself the burden of murder or madness to be free of this place.  Surely there must be other ways.” - This is the spark that makes Lestat first believe he might not have to be obedient in order to be “good”.

I love Gabrielle’s quote “I am purely myself.  I belong to no one.”

I love too that even in this introduction we get Lestat the hunter, the killer juxtaposed with Lestat the aesthete and Lestat the thinker, feeler and (he wishes!) learner…

Little break, because my favourite time is now starting - it’s Nicolas time!

Lestat describes Nicolas (at different times) as: a vision, witty, dismissive, sneering, excited, sarcastic, intelligent, melancholy, cynical, bitter, full of energy, passionate, handsome, ironical, sad, scornful, mocking, miserable, weary, dejected.

Will Nicolas say “I too am impossible, Monsieur.  Only the impossible can do the impossible.”  Surely he will, and surely “Only the impossible can do the impossible” will be the title of the episode where Lestat kills the wolves?

Lovely foreshadowing that Gabrielle says Nicolas was inspired to play violin by watching a virtuoso so impressive people said he sold his soul to the devil and then suggests that maybe Nicki can do the same.  “I laughed a little uneasily.  It sounded tragic.”  Oh Lestat, you have NO IDEA!!!!!

Will Mozart be in S3?  I HOPE SO (& think so!!?!).  And Marie Antoinette, too!  Surely!

Obviously we’ll hear Nicki’s Father was threatening to break his hands for the foreshadowing too!

“I think I loved him already, doing what he wanted like that.”  A few pages later… “I think I loved him.”  Lestat falls hard and fast, like love at first sight.

I just want to add here that it’s an absolutely ridiculous concept that Nicolas STARTS playing the violin aged 20 and immediately is able to be as good as he gets!  He might feel he can never be good enough… but he must be literally a genius if he’s become even that good at the violin when he’d never even picked one up a year ago! How do you think playing an instrument works, Anne?!?!?!?!  You just pick it up and instantly - BAM you not only can just do it, but you’re great!  If only!  And Mozart is willing to take on a complete beginner as a pupil, too?!

In Lestat and Nicolas’ first conversation, it feels to me as though Lestat is infecting Nicolas with his light and optimism and it really made me understand how much Nicolas truly did need Lestat - like he is Nicolas’ hope.  Until…. (We’ll return here later in the book!)

I wonder how the fact that Lestat is born in The Enlightenment - a new age of Reason will impact how he is portrayed on the show?  Obviously we’ve seen already how it’ll affect Armand!

When Nicolas brings up The Witches’ Place, Lestat doesn’t immediately remember - as if he has repressed the memory as it is traumatic.  I need The Witches Place on TV, but I can’t imagine how we can get to it?  Nicolas would have either not yet been born or have been a baby when this happened, so he cannot remind Lestat; Gabrielle would absolutely never bring up such a story in retrospect… and Lestat has repressed the memory… so how can we now get to The Witches’ Place?  Also, I find it interesting that Lestat says Nicki studies him as they talk about this… to ascertain how Lestat feels about it now?

I spoke of Lestat’s love for Nicolas, but when Nicolas is saying “Ah, you are a dreamer! My lord, the wolfkiller.” It feels Nicolas loves Lestat as well.  And of course, Nicolas also says “I love you” to Lestat, in Paris.  I love how, in this first conversation they both discover what it is to be truly known by another being - in how they share their lives and their longings and their dissatisfactions and they truly listen to and empathise with each other.  It definitely feels like (beyond his Mother, who really was more sporadic in her attention), this is Lestat’s first experience of truly being seen by another being.

“I think I was happier than I had ever been in my life.”  Lestat is so joyous here.  When he hears Nicolas play for the first time, he kisses Nicolas on both cheeks and then the violin!  You can just imagine the infectious joy!  And it’s such a contrast to how Lestat is afraid to touch his Mother

Lestat then (of course!) promptly cries!  (Is Sam’s Lestat going to burst into tears as often as Lestat describes it, because get him ten thousand gallons of water to drink - he’ll need them!!!!  Lestat also cries at the most random moments… but we know Sam is up to the task!) Nicolas seems deeply moved too that his music had this effect.  Perhaps Nicolas initially expected to find a kindred spirit in ferocity and rebellion in Lestat?  And he did!  But he found a match in sensitivity too.

As conversations go on, Lestat and Nicolas find their differences with opposing worldviews and interestingly they often clash about the goodness inherent in art… and yet they then come together in art (for example as Nicki plays violin and Lestat dances…)

The idea to go to Paris actually comes from Nicolas - he is the instigator.  And it feels like they are both, at this point trying to escape the meaninglessness of life.

Lestat’s “Oh, oh, oh!” crisis moment really reminds me of… *warning - slight spoiler for first time readers* what Lestat will later see in Nicolas’ mind… and it gives a different vibe to things to know that Nicolas is Lestat’s comforter in this moment and tries to relieve Lestat’s pain, but basically this is Nicolas’ mind 100% of the time.

“It was not better in the morning.”  In fact this existential crisis, his malady of mortality becomes Lestat’s eternal yearning ache of questioning than can never be fully assuaged (maybe on the TV show, the answer will be - Louis’ love.)  It never goes away, and any time someone describes Lestat as just FUN, I think back to this - because at the core of Lestat (and as I see it, at the core of The Vampire Chronicles) is this terror that existence is meaningless and that no life has any meaning at all.  That there are no answers we’ll ever receive, not even when we die.  That there will be no retribution or reward or even knowledge in any way.  That all there is is existence and non-existence.  This will obviously only be heightened once Lestat becomes a vampire, so must take life in order to survive and force countless souls into non-existence…. In in fact, Lestat’s focus on death and chaos has this nihilistic hint to it which is so the opposite to how Lestat is generally perceived.. and, admittedly how he tries to come across, too!  Lestat says he doesn’t believe in presentiments, but narratively this all is a presentiment and literally it is to be Lestat’s eternal malady of immortality as well.

I had some very personal thoughts at this point, when Lestat goes about questioning everyone… which perhaps I won’t share….  Well just to say that sometimes when something big happens in your life, you literally see the world in a different way.  I am thinking on a time when all of a sudden I began to look at people & it felt like I could *see* the weariness of their souls and internal fragilities, just looking at strangers’ faces and it was really unnerving and overwhelming, especially going about in crowds…

“Drew me as strongly as it scared me.”  Isn’t this always the way?  I hope the writers always have this quote in mind throughout the entire show’s creation!

It’s interesting that before Lestat heads to Paris he is now toning down how much he tells Gabrielle and instead it is Nicki he will fully open up with.

I love the part where Lestat hugs Gabrielle and she gives herself over to him and he witnesses her cry for the first time and loves it.  I had a very similar experience with my Dad once when I was a child, heading into being a teen and I can still conjure the scene and how it felt… and I felt similarly about it too…

At the end of chapter 6 it seems Gabrielle is saying she’s always lived vicariously through Lestat & now in sending him away as she’s dong, she hopes to continue to live vicariously through him still in some way as she approaches what she thinks will be her death?  Reading this time gave me big Magnus vibes in how he perceives Lestat too… weird!  Like somehow, both seem to desire to live vicariously through Lestat?  Could we even say it of Nicolas too, in a way?  He needs Lestat, to feed on his capacity for joy… hmm… I don’t know… I’m thinking as I type…

I love the feeling of freedom and optimism when Lestat and Nicolas first arrive in Paris  - the true start of living life!

And yet, Lestat still talks of his trembling, terrifying existential dread that settles upon him every night and which Nicolas tries to encourage him to let go.

Vampires have preternatural ability to mimic, but as described, Lestat already learned in this way it seems, in the theatre.  I love how he describes his fear evaporating and how he loved being on stage.  I love his determination and how convinced he is he will be a great actor.  I love how Lestat and Nicolas are described here and there’s a tantalising feeling of how their future might be…

The Autumn arrives with it’s personification of Dread.

Malady of mortality surely has to be an episode title?

When Lestat wraps he and Nicki together in his cloak against the show and rain, it feels simultaneously real and metaphorically poignant.

Lestat genuinely thinks if he could just get Nicki to understand the truth Lestat feels certain of (goodness in art and making others happy through your art), all would be well, but Nicolas still believes goodness can only come from obedience and self-sacrifice and denial and, thus, he knows himself to be evil.

“Light and beauty come together in you in a thousand different patterns” is such a beautiful thing Lestat says to Nicolas.

Nicki’s final words to mortal Lestat are a soft “Let’s go to bed.”  (Do you think show-Lestat will be ripped out of post-coital Nicolas’ arms..?)

Finally: Questions:

At the start of TVL, Lestat has been In The Earth. Do you think he will have been In The Earth in this era on the TV show? (As Louis has seen him pretty recently, which makes it seem like perhaps he won’t have been?)

The ‘spirit’ of 1984 reminds Lestat of the 1700’s. Will there be anything about the 2020’s that Lestat will associate with/that will remind him of the late eighteenth century?

“I did a lot of thinking about this sinless, secular morality, this optimism” - will this be a driving force for modern day Lestat? What will he think about in relation to right now?

What music will Lestat listen to? He listens to a lot of Bach when he first rises in the book (while driving his Harley-Davidson.  Is there a security both in the structure of Bach and in the fact his music is from an era predating even mortal Lestat that makes Lestat feel safer entering the modern era?

Lestat talks about coming back after killing the wolves and feeling that he was ‘not-Lestat’, so I thought we could discuss - did killing the wolves change Lestat, and if so: how?

When Lestat goes into a depression post-killing-the-wolves, is this essentially a human version of “Going into The Earth” as Lestat will do numerous times as a vampire?

How will the French Revolution impact the TV telling?

When Lestat talks of how he could have poisoned meat to kill the wolves, but meat was too scarce… is he in a veiled way saying that his life has less value than a piece of meat?

“I don’t think I felt the slightest fear then.  But I felt something, and it caused the hair to rise up on the back of my arms.” What exactly is the “something” Lestat feels when he sets out to kill the wolves?  And why is he not afraid? Bravery? His hunting spirit? His impulsive, adventurous nature? Stupidity? Naivety? Only feeling truly alive in moments that contain the potential for death? A lack of care whether he lives or dies (borne of despair}?

Reading the wolves section, with the dying animals and even after this too when Lestat talks of his ignored/thwarted farming plans for his family’s land… It made me wonder, just a curious ponder - if Sam might have had any experiences in real life connected to any of this stuff, given his family’s line of work…?

Is performing with the theatre troupe at 16 the first time Lestat truly feels pure joy - he describes it as ecstasy?

How can we now get to The Witches’ Place if Nicki can’t have witnessed child-Lestat there, Gabrielle would never tell the story and Lestat has repressed the memory…?

[rockermazy]

All singing in the show is canonically diegetic - meaning that all singing 100% takes place in-universe, for all the characters to hear and potentially participate in.

In the first (non-pilot) episode, the " Story of Hell" book, as read by Charlie, states that Lillith "empower[ed] demon-kind with her voice and her songs - and as the numbers of Hell grew, so did its power." After the extermination began, Lilith's "dream was passed down to her precious daughter, the Princess of Hell", who is presumably Charlie herself. Two scenes later, Charlie is in musical-notation hammerspace with other denizens, being the cognito hazard that she is.

In episode 7, Rosie invites Charlie to rally Cannibal Town in defending the hotel during the upcoming extermination. When Charlie initially fails, Rosie asks how she normally explains her hotel. Charlie replies, "Through singing". Singing is canonically a gift of both Charlie and every demon - both Hellborn and Sinner.

Which leads me to a theory: One thing that's been nagging me since the pilot, is how Lucifer and Lilith have been fucking for nearly 6,000 years, but only NOW decided to have a daughter in the 21st century. It makes Charlie's existence look almost Mary Sue-ish*. After watching Helluva Boss, it made more sense that Charlie might be an "insurance baby", much like Octavia is to Stolas' lineage. Lucifer might not be unkillable. Carmine and the hotel battle of episode 8 have both demonstrated that angels can be killed with the right ammunition. But why was Charlie born now, in the 21st century? My theory is that Heaven asked Lilith to leave Hell, hoping she'd take her song with her. Heaven knew that Lilith was the one making Hell stronger through her songs. Charlie uses song to rally the people around her.

Husk used song to heal.

Song, even when used to butt heads, (ex: Lucifer vs Alastor), will make combatants drop valuable info, basically outing themselves to everyone within earshot in this universe.

My guess is that a conversation sometime in the past went something like this: Heaven: Lilith, bitch - we see what you're doing. Stop teaching Hell how to sing - the bonding and wholesomeness is threatening our status quo." Lilith: No. Heaven: Fine, we'll exterminate. Lilith: (years later, looking at Carmine's charts) hmmm... the number of sinners getting exterminated each year seems to be climbing. Heaven might want all of us dead. Hey, Luci-boo... get your depressed-ass over here. You wanna make a kid this time? (Waits til Charlie is somewhat grown, and asks Heaven for a "meeting".) Lilith: ok, I have got an offer you cannot refuse - I will never EVER sing again, and my power will leave with me - IF you give me a spot in Heaven (or Earth - I should technically be immortal since I never touched the Forbidden Fruit). Heaven: um... win for everyone? ok! Charlie herself (for lack of a better term) might be Lilith's "ace in the hole" herself. Also, this makes me wonder if the only way to avoid lying is to avoid singing on the topic XD

*I have nothing against mary sues. I'd been wanting for years now to do something visual describing the internal turmoil that religious trauma caused in my The-Cell-starring-J-lo --like inner worlds. Telling personal stories and Mary Sues are inextricably intertwined. This show has inspired me to either keep pursuing that or just quit. Because picking apart past trauma for analysis can be more trouble than its worth - especially if you are ready to forget. u.u I still get deep chills every time I hear Emily and Charlie's duet in "You Didn't Know", even though I've officially considered myself atheist for like, what, three months?" This shit was an essay. I'm just going to play Warframe instead. Peace.

[tomatoswup]

phone calls

summary: two old rotary phones begin the connection between two souls. One from the past and another from the future.

warnings: angst, literally angst, sad vash :(, hurt/comfort but its not the comfort you think it is. kinda more like an acceptance comfort

pairing:vash x reader

-inspired by the movie "The Lake House"

A/N: am i a fiend for writing angst? yes. do I like reading it? NOPE. wanted to get this out before I hustled on school work hehe. But fun fact this was originally longer but I rewrote and condensed it b/c I thought it was too long for just a one shot lost media typa beat. honestly i don't think i wrote this right but fuck it we ball. I recommend reading this with the saddest song you have bookmarked. Enjoy!~

"Hmmm...Well you got some personality to you.” You mumbled, staring at the old red vintage rotary phone sitting in front of you. How did you come to achieve this old relic of time? Well in short terms, you liked to think about it like an equation.

Old attic + mischievous white cat = you adventuring to go find said cat and to your dismay, said cat scares the living ever hell out of you making you lose balance and fall backwards into endless towers of boxes.

Fun times right?

Those bruises weren't gonna be….

But that was the least of your problems at the moment. As expected, the rotary phone suddenly started to ring, shaking and clicking in itself, making you sigh in disappointment. Grabbing the phone, you yanked it up to your ear “Hey, yeah I don’t think this is gonna work.” You deadpanned “Now we know that we're always gonna be connected, what is this? The 5th time?"

"Damn and I thought you hanging up would’ve solved the problem. I don't think we could connect with anyone else though! I asked the farmer about it and he had no idea!" Chirped the male on the other side of the line.

Of course! It sounded like a normal conversation between two individuals but even Einstein himself would've been baffled at these circumstances. Imagine this, you find an old phone and you had been playfully talking into it until a voice actually responds without it being connected. Strange right? And no, you were sure you hadn't been seeing any strange figures on the sides of your vision.

Now here you were, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on alongside the man who had introduced himself as Vash The Stampede.

"21st century my ass, Google isn't doing shit!"

"Wait hold on now, did you just say 21st?"

"Yeah? Something wrong?"

"Uh well.. It's just that its actually the 32nd century."

You blink a few times "No, it's not. My calender literally says it's the 21st century. It's general knowledge."

"No I'm pretty sure its the 32nd century!" Vash snapped back.

Silence filled the air on both sides.

"WAIT A MINUTE-"

And thats how the unknown man from the future and you hit it off.

After this discovery, the two of you talked on the phone for a while, sharing things about each of your own time periods. And you slowly found yourself enjoying the conversations you would have with Vash who you soon found out, was pretty goofy in his own way, but kind. And unknowingly, Vash felt the same way.

What was an accidental and odd situation turned into practically an everyday thing for the both of you now.

After work, you always looked forwards to that red phone on your nightstand until one day, you decided to decorate it with cute little stickers because why not?

After all, it was fasinating to hear things about the future. Sometimes you'd laugh at the way Vash described it, like something out of an old wild west movie.

"It's all just desert! Really!" He groaned out as you chuckled, holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you put books and CD's away on your bookshelf "At least you can make some cool sandcastles or something!"

"With what water?"

"Your tears." Snorting, you listen on as he whined through the receiver. "Hey but just imagine me helping you build them! Makes it hurt less."

Vash let out a exaggerating sigh "But seriously, it's not always sunny were you live?" He asked curiously.

"Nope!" You smiled, slipping one of your favorite books into place "It changes every so often really. Depending on the season." You hummed out, looking out the window to your right to see the drenching rain down with its spring showers.

"Season?"

"Sometimes it rains and sometimes it gets super cold. Other days it just gets too hot and if we're lucky, we get days with perfect temperatures. Its never the same but I guess that's the beauty to it here. Every day is a new sight no one could really get tired of. "

Or a new headache.

Vash stayed quiet on the line, and you imagined how he looked like deep in thought. Eyebrows furrowed, his supposed pointy blonde hair messily spread out across his pillow, and eyes as blue as the sky looking up at the ceiling in concentration.

…Okayyy that’s enough out of you.

He didn't say the eye part himself but you liked to ponder on the idea.

"That sounds beautiful.."

And to that, you smiled. "Yeah, it kinda is."

But something in your head made you stop and look down at the book you had in hand, unsure if you wanted to say anything.

"Hey Vash.."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry that I'm the only person you could really reach with this thing. I know you really wanted to talk to your friends.."

"Why are you apologizing? It's not everyday I talk to someone from the past! From even before No Mans Land!”

You sigh and slip the final book away to which Vash adds in one more sentence. "And even if you weren't, I like talking to you."

You scoff in good humor "You're lying blonde."

"NO I"M NOT!" Vash gasps out dramatically "Oh how you hurt me so!"

"Hardy har har." You chuckled, shoving a box of things you wanted stored away in the corner of your room. "At least I know I'm speaking to someone as beautiful as the nightsky!" He huffed out trying to sound manlier.

“Yeah? Now how could you tell that?"

"Because I know a pretty and kind soul when I hear it."

E-Excuse me?

Your face flushes red "Alright cowboy are you trying to soften me up?"

"Pftttttt nooooooo~"

Your conversations never ceased to end, and when talking to Vash about practically everything, it felt...comforting. To know there was someone to listen to your struggles, and listen to his own. It felt so intimate.

Sharing about your life on Earth, the things you do and him speaking about his own life and travels around his home planet.

One day, Vash and you had been talking for the night and he mentioned something that gave you a sense of familiarity.

PROJECT SEEDS.

A large project that's been reported on the news for more than a few months now so of course you caught onto that. You've watched their segment on TV before. Something about bringing life to other planets?

You knew the Earth was dying, scientists had announced that someday in the nearing future, the very sun that shone down on you, would destroy you. But did that really matter to you anymore?

The project had been accepting registrations for boarding their new ship incase it happened. Your sister got to register in time but you had been too late. All the slots were filled.

That was a very odd day to say the least.

But that didn't stop you from speaking to Vash.

"Vash, do you ever think you'll see me in the future?" You pondered one night as you were cuddled up in your blankets, the cold being unbearable this winter season.

"Well, I hope so. Sometimes it gets tiring speaking into a thing of metal and plastic hehe.." You could practically hear him playfully grin through the receiver.

You gripped the handle of the phone tight as tears threatened to leave the corner of your eyes.

"I hope I get to see you one day Vash.."

He went quiet for a moment.

"I do too.."

That night, you slept with the phone held to your chest as the fluttering feeling in your stomach never ceased. And you didn't want it to.

Vash had made it a routine to call you every night at exactly midnight to check in on how you were since he couldn't really do it in person either way. And every time he called, it felt as if he heard your voice for the first time all over again. The warmth in his chest made him smile when you answered the phone with the nervous pitch in your voice.

"Vash?"

He found it theraputic to listen as you talked about your day, the normalicy and peace No Man's Land and that his own life had lacked.

Hanging out with friends, reading in libraries, and more.

How he loved it.. Hearing you speak so fondly, so excited, it felt refreshing to Vash.

You were full of life

And Vash wouldn’t trade it for anything.

With every time you spoke his name, he felt like melting into a puddle. He just wanted to hear you repeat his name over and over again, and no, he'll never get tired of it. He could spend an eternity laying in the dusty bed of the farmer’s home just listening to your voice. Listening to your worries, your hopes, and the momentary jokes you would tell him.

But as the days passed, after one full year and a half of the two of you speaking over the old rotary phone, you answered the phone one night with a change clear to Vash. You sounded so weak, so sickly and out of breath.

"Are you alright?" He asked, hearing loud shuffling and things falling on the other line.

"I-I'm fine!" You coughed out as Vash peeked out the old wooden window in the room he was staying in, spotting Wolfwood and the broadcasting girls waiting for him to join them.

"Are you sure?" He breathed out in honest concern, feeling his fingers fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

"I'm fine Vash, seriously." Your voice weakly echoed through the receiver "Just a little sick, that's all.."

"Please make sure to get some rest okay? I'll ring you when I come back."

"Promise?"

"I promise lov-" Vash caught himself, quickly shutting his mouth.

"Hm?" You hummed out in question.

"Sorry a fly got caught in my throat! Hahaha!" He played off before sighing.

"Take care of yourself, for me okay?"

"I will, I will.." Before Vash put the phone back onto the base, you said one more thing.

"Love you." And with that, the familiar ding of the phone receiver on the other line rang through Vash's ear, signifiying the end of the call.

And Vash was left in utter silence and awe. Love. Love you said. Him?

A fond expression instinctively grew on his face, yet the churning feeling in his stomach wasn't one of butterflies, but one of dread. He couldn't help but leave with the gut feeling that something was wrong.

When Vash returned back to his room and picked up the phone at the same time the two of you would call each other at every day, there was no reponse.

He called your name and no sound came out of the other end. So he put the phone back down onto the base and lifted it back up again to his ear as the same dread slowly seeped into his chest. The room was starting to feel a bit more heavier than usual.

"Hello?" He breathed out nervously as he felt his forehead start to sweat.

"Come on.." He muttered to himself worriedly. Maybe you weren't home in time and had gone to the doctor. Yeah, maybe that's the reason. So Vash left the phone alone for the night for the first time but the prodding feeling in his chest didn't leave.

He tried the next night.

No response.

Maybe you had stayed over your parents' for the day.

He kept the phone by him whilst he napped, waiting for the ring of the phone to wake him up like an alarm, but that didn't come.

He tried the next night, the next night, and continued for the next 3 months until finally.

One night, Vash just stared at the old red phone that hadn’t rung since that day, anticipating at least one final call, one last goodbye from you. Sitting on the bed side, he kept his eyes on the phone until finally Vash couldn’t hold it anymore and cried. Clear waters falling down his cheeks as he tightly held the phone to his chest in desperation.

Did you forget about him?

Did you find the love of your life and decided not to bother with him anymore?

'Come back.'

'Dont leave me please.'

'I love you."

'Please speak to me.'

The string of desparate thoughts ran through his mind as the burning sensation grew in his chest. He can't breathe. He gasped for air as his quiet wails filled the night.

Don't go.

The morning after Vash permanently left the farmer's residence. Of course, he took the phone along too, incase you ever decided to ring back but to Vash's dismay, it never did.

And Vash thought back to you, from time to time, stil wondering if you remembered about the red phone that sat in your room and the idiot blonde on the other side of it.

2 years had passed since that night, and both Vash and the gang found themselves in the city of Augusta for their annual merchant gathering, an event in which all the merchants from around the planet come and trade their valuables or tools in a big, single event.

Crowds of people flooded the streets as the stands were all surrounded to the brim. Vash had been walking beside Wolfwood, who was talking about some bounty hunters causing trouble around when something red caught his eye from an stand that they had walked past, causing Vash to stop in his tracks. Eyes widening in realization, he rushed over to the stall, leaving Wolfwood in the dust.

"H-Hey where are you going!?!" Wolfwood called out but Vash ignored him. His leather clothed hands slammed down on the stall table, the young man who managed the stall yelping in surprise.

"H-HOW CAN I HELP YOU?!" The man nervously shouted out as Vash reached over and picked up a very familiar red rotary phone "Where did you get this!?" He exclaimed in urgency. "How'd you get this!?"

"I-I-" The young man quickly cleared his throat and regained his composure at the sudden burst from the tall blonde-spiked haired man.

"It's a very old device! Back during the old days according to my great-grandmother!"

Vash looked down at the red phone, very dusty but he was able to make out the sticker decorations and doodles that were scattered around on it. Inspecting it more, he turned it around to the back and saw something melancholic.

"12:00 PM Midnight" was written on the back of the base with black marker. The time the two of you would call each other every night those years ago.

"Sorry, is.. is there anyone I could talk to about this?" Vash apologized, giving the young man a somber smile as he held the phone to himself, as if someone were going to rip it away from his grasp.

The man observed Vash for a moment, before nodding and giving Vash directions to his great-grandmother's home, right outside the border of Augusta.

"There you are!" Wolfwoods' voice rang out angrily behind him "The hell did you see now?!"

Vash turned to Wolfwood and simply gave him a smile "We're gonna be paying a visit."

It didn't take long to reach the old worn down home and greet the owner of the property, a small old lady to which surprised Wolfwood that she hadn't kicked the bucket yet.

Vash, of course, elbowed him in the rib for that one.

Seeing the phone in Vash's arms, the lady let out a small smile "My, I haven't seen that phone since I was a child..." She quickly showed Vash and Wolfwood inside, explaining how the phone came to be here.

"According to my grandfather, our lineage began with two sibilngs who were born and raised on Earth. When Earth neared its end, the daughter of the family was able to escape whilst the other sibling unknowingly stayed behind on Earth."

The old lady snapped her fingers to Wolfwood and waved him over "Be a dear for me and put this on the table."

Watching Wolfwood put a very old and deteriorating box on the table, the lady continued.

"Well, the sibling died before the daughter left Earth, so in attempt to preserve her family's memories, the daughter took some of her siblings' things, something to remember them by."

The old lady points to the phone in Vash's arm "That was one of them. And here-" The lady patted on side of the box "-are the things she was able to take with her. Check them out yourself." She softly motioned Vash to come closer with her frail, wrinkled hand.

Hesitating for just a second, he took slow and steady steps towards the box, biting the inside of his cheek in attempt to not just cry.

Damn, he sure felt like a cry baby these days.

Putting the phone down besides the box, Vash reached into the box and pulled out various things. Old shirts, CDs, a wallet, wired headphones, books, and something he never thought he'd ever see in fine print that made his breath hitch.

A colored photo I.D and on the side of it, your full name printed in black.

It was you.

These were your things, these shirts you've worn, the CDs you've listened to, the wallet you used in your day-to-day life, but he kept his eyes on the I.D.

Vash stared at your photo, the features you've described to him once were in his hands, proof of your existence.

He couldn't hold it anymore, how could he? Silent tears ran down his face as the small giggles he let out, turned into full on laughter.

He laughed and laughed whilst holding the I.D close to his heart.

You didn't purposely leave him.

You hadn’t meant to.

The same gracious laughter morphed into sobs as he grabbed everything he had taken out of the box, and enveloped them tightly into his arms.

This was the first time he was able to physically feel you, even if you weren't there yourself. He wished the smell of the favorite perfume you had gotten one day had still lingered onto your shirts, he wished he could've shared and listened to your favorite music alongside you. And he wished you were beside him, looking through all these things with him. He wanted to hear you reminsce your past and your present again.

Oh he wished.

Vash spent hours at the old ladies' home, looking and observing every single one of your belongings. There were some he remembered you talking to him about, and others he didn't recognize.

But it was time for him to leave and Vash knew it.

Looking up at the sky outside, he softly smiled, caressing the small compartment he had your I.D pocketed in.

"C'mon needle-noggin. Time to get your ass moving!" Wolfwood shouted ahead of him.

Letting out a large exhale, Vash muttered out a few words before running to catch up with the priest "Wait up!"

Behind him, two objects were left behind in the sand, placed neatly besides a metal nameplate.

The two red cherry rotary phones glistened in the sun, one filled with stickers and the other covered in dirt and scuff marks as your name plate, that had been cleaned of any dirt or scratches, continued to sit in peace as the windy breeze passed on by.

"I'll live on. For the both of us."

[ilrjsm]

My best friend is no longer my best friend! (he’s my boyfriend) 

pairing - bff!renjun x reader

synopsis - You've known him for most of your life. And truth be told, who wouldn't have a (major!!) crush on this pretty boy? Out of all the instances you’ve fallen in love with Huang Renjun, you've never once regretted it.

warnings - profanity, reader & renjun being awfully dense, nothing that serious

wc: 1.7k+

There were four times you fell in love with Huang Renjun all over again and each time, you fell harder than before.  

i. Van Gogh in the 21st century!

You met Renjun when you were about 5. back then, he was nothing but a timid artsy kid who refused to show you his sketchbook. Of course, provided your natural talent towards convincing people, it was merely a game for you to acquire (read: snatch) that book. You very well recall how he had glared at you, snatching the book back just as quick and flicked your forehead as he did so.

Ever since then, the little timid kid had grown up to absolutely not permit you in his room until and unless he hid his stash of sketchbooks. Which in your honest opinion was a blatant waste of time.

Okay, maybe you felt a bit offended by his actions. Was he hiding a whole Van Gogh in his sketchbooks or what? Why, just why couldn't he let you peek into them at least once? You took the challenge of finding his cherished artworks upon yourself one fine day. It wasn't as easy as you thought it would be, but with the handful of flatteries you gave Mrs Huang, she was ever ready to lead you to this stash. 

You were dubious at first, as the first few pages you turned looked nothing different than overrated paintings. But then you found the real deal.

That was the first time you realised your love for him - at a raw age of 15, you were heads over heels for this boy who had his sketchbooks filled with candid portraits of none other than you.

You wished you could look at yourself from his eyes because you were nowhere close to being this stunning.

ii. Huang renjun was p(r)etty as fuck.

You see, Renjun wasn't quite the bright, excited boy ever since he turned into an adolescent. He laughed at your lame puns, sure, but only you knew how painful his forehead flicks could be if you ever did something reckless.

Like that one time when you were at a party at Donghyuck’s (some guy from your statistics class who just turned 18), you figured Renjun wasn't invited - naturally, given he had absolutely no clue who this Donghyuck dude was and vice versa. However, when he realised you’d probably be intoxicated as hell by the end of it, he immediately dragged you out, albeit a little too late. 

You had very obnoxiously protested (“Do you not trust me, Renjun?” You dragged out each syllable, a prominent pout on your lips. Renjun deadpanned and scoffed, “No, actually.” a long whine escaped your chapped lips, and you licked them before hanging your arms around his neck, his own tracing oddly comforting circles on the small of your back. “You know what?” you were already tipsy, Renjun noted, “i hate you.” he froze. Scanning his flabbergasted expression, you laughed loudly, only pressing your body closer to his. “I hate how you act so rough on the edges, c’mon Jun, let loose!” he sighed, using his free hand to push away your self-cut, grown out bangs aside. “I’d rather not, y/n,”)

According to your shitty memory, you blacked out after that, but Renjun's pink ears, when you asked him if anything had happened, begged to differ. 

All you remembered was how attractive he looked under the dim moonlight that night, his damp hair moving with the wind. Oh, you remembered his gaze averting from your lips to the dark surroundings, you remembered tuning out Donghyuck’s distant voice calling out for you while you stared at his lips. You remembered the glacial breeze capturing you both in its hold, causing you to shift closer to him. You remembered nothing from that night, but falling for Huang Renjun all over again.

iii. you + donghyuck = renjun’s obvious jealousy

You didn't need to hide your self-proclaimed infatuation for Renjun, as it had occurred to you that:

1. Renjun was so dense (you were probably denser, give or take).

2. You’d grown accustomed to masking your obvious attraction towards him with time.

At one point, you even forgot that you liked (read: loved) Renjun. In your defence, it had been finals week.

But you were harshly reminded of that fact when Donghyuck had asked you out on a date, and you felt too bad to reject him right away. 

No, that wasn't a reminder for you that you had a massive crush on your best friend, it was when donghyuck took you to the same cafe the said best friend worked at for the date. He, more than hurt, was baffled. He had mouthed to you, I didn't know about this? And so you mouthed back, Sorry, it was impulsive.

Renjun nonetheless took your order, and pointed at an empty table right in front of his sight, just to be on the, quote unquote, safer end. 

Donghyuck was a funny guy. His jokes and perfectly timed flirtatious comments made you giggle like a teenager who was talking to her crush.

Now was when the vile jealousy and hurt pooled in Huang's gut. Donghyuck brushing back your hair just like he would was his last straw. Time was fortunately on his side, and his shift hand ended. So, he spammed your phone with calls and texts, causing you to pick it up in a final defeat, with a long sigh of aggravation. “I’ll be right back, sorry.” (That was lie, you eventually forgot about him)

As soon as you exited the cafe, and stormed to the back of the cafe where Renjun would be, you were greeted by a bitter looking Renjun. “What?” you’d asked him, folding your arms over each other. “What?” he mimicked, scowling. Groaning, you threw your arms up in exasperation. “Renjun!” 

He incredulously glowered down at you, “one date and he already seems in love with you!” he exclaimed. “Isn't that good? I'm finally scoring myself a boyfriend.” you teased back.

To anyone else, it was painfully obvious of the lingering feelings you both had towards each other. Apparently, everyone but both of you could make that out (even Donghyuck). Renjun had never looked scarier as he gritted his teeth, a muscle in his jaw inevitably twitching. “Fine… fine! Whatever! I don't care.”

“I never asked if you did- OW!” 

That was the hardest forehead flick you had received from him.

iv. 23 things you liked about him.

One of the many things you loved about Huang Renjun was his music taste. It was one of the most beautiful things that just screamed… Renjun. You both had had a tendency to visit the record store often during high school, but not so much anymore provided you both were on the verge of bankruptcy and you had little to no time to spare as you were in the final year of uni.

For you, it was a long forgotten hobby, but for Renjun, it was a place he’d constantly confided in, and now that it was gone, it left an empty hole in his heart (which, for the record, was mostly filled with you). 

You knew his favourite albums, all his favourite tracks from over the years. Just like he had a couple of sketchbooks filled with you, you had a whole shelf dedicated to the albums he had recommended you and somewhere in there, you had a book filled with his likings, mainly songs.

He was once again laying on your bed, head propped against his folded arms as he stared at the ceiling. “You study too much, it's boring.” his gaze stopped at the white cupboard beside your bed, the top two shelves packed with vinyls. He was surprised by how your collection kept growing, a part of him also envied how you bought so many of them while he usually just borrowed them. 

Standing out from the rest was a sage green, hardback book, and curiosity got the best of him. The male sat up with a grunt, proceeding to make his way to the furniture. As soon as he got a hold of the book, he flipped through it carelessly, his eyes catching his name being written in bold on the very first page.

RENJUN

what he likes <3

Every other page had something similar, and if he weren't your best friend (who reciprocated your feelings) he’d think this was borderline obsessive.

He read each one of them intently, eventually reading through all of it until he reached the part of the book where you wrote what you liked about him. 

There were many, but he counted them to be twenty-two. He shut the book with a cocky chuckle, moving towards you - who was yet studying diligently. He smacked your head (gently) with the book, catching your attention. “What is it now?” You grumbled, eyes unmoving from the book in your hands. He hit your head with the hard book again, and this time around you actually looked up. “Hey, Huang Renjun, what if I get a concussion?”

That’s when you spot it. “Wait, shit, where’d you find that book?!”

He pointed towards the shelf with his thumb, placing the book down on your desk instead. “I must admit, you know about everything I love,” You had the urge to yet again dig a hole for yourself, “but you missed out on one thing.”

Your eyebrows raised, “What?”

He placed both his hands on either side of the chair’s armrest, effectively caging you. “You.”

Your knees went weak, and you could practically hear your heartbeat drum in your ears at his words. A fresh glow coated your cheeks, and you had to look away from him to not collapse then and there. Good lord, you seriously needed to get a hold on yourself. Just how many times had you fallen in love with him over and over again? Because you just did again.

Clearing your throat in pure discomfiture, you gathered any courage you had left and looked straight into his eyes - why did he look at you like you saved the damn world? He had a pretty smile adorning his lips, and you noticed how his own ears were red. Unable to take his strong gaze, you looked away again, neck hot.

23. There were 23 things you liked about him - you liked that he loved you back.

That was the biggest achievement in your life.

Huang Renjun, your sole archnemesis from kindergarten, your artist, your best friend, your crush, loved you just as much as you loved him. You couldn’t ask for anything else.

…Okay, maybe you could ask for some courage.

[richincolor]

Banned Books Week Day 2

While many in America are doing their hardest to stifle diverse voices, there is an enormous push back by many invested parties to make sure books are available to all. Today we're highlighting two organizations doing their part.

The first, Authors Against Book Bans, is a national organization that consists of authors, illustrators, translators and more. AABB aims to be a resource for authors who have experience their book being banned and to help local organizations in the fight against book bans. If you are an author or involved in the publishing industry in any way, click on the link to find out more: Authors Against Book Bans.

The second organization,  Every Library, is a national organization that anyone interested in the fight can join. The organization tracks legislation that is harmful to schools and libraries, provides crowdfunding for libraries and provides support for people who are fighting book bans in their local vicinity. If you would like to get involved, click on the link to find out more: Every Library

Today's book is from Contributor Crystal. Her choice is Gabi, A Girl in Pieces by Isabel Quintero. She states that she chose this book because "Gabi is a character that everyone should get a chance to meet. Gabi faces difficult situations with vulnerability, honesty, and an abundance of humor. It's a beautiful, sometimes messy journey of a young woman finding her voice. "

Gabi, A Girl in Pieces by Isabel Quintero

In this groundbreaking William C. Morris Award winner for a YA debut, Gabi's life is a mess--her family, her friends, her attempts at a love life--but writing helps, especially since it turns out she's pretty good at poetry.

Gabi Hernandez chronicles her last year of high school in her diary: college applications, Cindy's pregnancy, Sebastian's coming out, the cute boys, her father's meth habit, and the food she craves. And best of all, the poetry that helps forge her identity.

July 24

My mother named me Gabriella, after my grandmother who, coincidentally, didn't want to meet me when I was born because my mother was unmarried, and therefore living in sin. My mom has told me the story many, many, MANY, times of how, when she confessed to my grandmother that she was pregnant with me, her mother beat her. BEAT HER! She was twenty-five. That story is the basis of my sexual education and has reiterated why it's important to wait until you're married to give it up. So now, every time I go out with a guy, my mom says, "Ojos abiertos, piernas cerradas." Eyes open, legs closed. That's as far as the birds and the bees talk has gone. And I don't mind it. I don't necessarily agree with that whole wait until you're married crap, though. I mean, this is America and the 21st century; not Mexico one hundred years ago. But, of course, I can't tell my mom that because she will think I'm bad. Or worse: trying to be White.

If this novel appeals to you, show your support by visiting your local library or purchasing a copy at Bookshop.org.

[sebbypowell]

Hunt - Oneshot Bucky

Summary: Ever since Steve gave Bucky his book and going back in time to be with Peggy, Bucky’s been using the book like Steve did. Bucky started using the book after he was pardoned by the government. The only difference was that Bucky researched Hydra associates and wrote them down in the book. He would hunt them down and get them arrested by following these three rules that his required therapist Christina Raynor gave him. 1. Don’t do anything illegal. 2. Don’t hurt anyone. & 3. Make sure people know he's James Bucky Barnes, not the Winter Soldier. Someone does also return in Bucky's life.

Words: 7.3k

Warnings: arresting, fluff, bad memories as the winter soldier, mentions of killing, mentions of being controlled, mentions of being brainwashed, and swearing

Bucky is wearing a leather jacket with a white t-shirt along with jeans and combat boots. He's standing at the entrance to a concert, leaning against the wall, waiting. He's here on a mission. One of his targets was reported to be here.

He scans the crowd of people, looking for his target. All the noise and bright lights are a bit overwhelming, but Bucky doesn't let it bother him. He's been in worse situations before. He keeps searching for his target. His targets name was Phillip Mccann.

After a few minutes of searching, he finally spots Phillip. The man is casually standing near the stage with a beer in his hand, enjoying the concert. Bucky pushes himself off the wall and slowly makes his way over to him.

When Bucky is close enough, he taps on Phillip's shoulder. The man turns around and sees Bucky standing behind him. A flicker of recognition crosses his face, and he puts on a cocky smirk.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Winter Soldier," Phillip says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Bucky doesn't respond. He just continues to stare down at the man.

Phillip takes a step closer to Bucky, his smirk growing wider. "What brings you here, Frosty? Decided to join the 21st century and become a fan of Taylor Swift?"

Bucky's expression remains emotionless, but his jaw clenches involuntarily at the man's words. "I'm not here for the concert," he replies coldly. "I'm here for you."

Phillip raises an eyebrow, a hint of nervousness in his eyes now. "Oh yeah? And what do you want with me?"

Bucky takes a step closer to Phillip, towering over the man. "You're under arrest," he says, his voice firm. "I have a warrant for your arrest on several counts of conspiracy and attempted murder."

Phillip's eyes widen in surprise, but then he quickly composes himself, trying to maintain his cocky demeanor. "You've gotta be kiddin' me. You're here to arrest me at a damn concert?"

Bucky ignores the man's words and instead, he reaches into his pocket to pull out a pair of handcuffs. "Turn around and put your hands behind your back," he instructs, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Phillip looks around nervously, seeing people starting to turn their attention towards them. He hesitates for a moment before reluctantly complying, turning around and putting his hands behind his back.

Bucky swiftly secures the handcuffs around Phillip's wrists, making sure they're tight enough that the man can't escape. He then grabs ahold of Phillip's arm and begins leading him towards the exit of the venue. "I’m no longer the Winter Soldier. I’m James "Bucky" Barnes and you’re apart of my efforts to make amends."

As they make their way through the crowd, people stare and whisper amongst themselves, obviously recognizing Bucky. But he ignores them, keeping his focus on Phillip. They finally reach the exit, and Bucky leads the man outside, where a police car is waiting.

Two police officers exit the car and approach Bucky, ready to take over from here. "We got it from here, Sergeant Barnes," one of them says.

Bucky nods, reluctantly letting go of Phillip and watching as the police officers put him into the back of the car.

As the car drives away, Bucky takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. He can’t help but feel a little bit of satisfaction at bringing in another Hydra associate, but the mission is complete. He takes the book out of his pocket and crosses off Phillip Mccann.

Just as Bucky is about to leave, he notices a young woman standing nearby, watching him. She looks to be in her early twenties, with long red hair and green eyes. She seems familiar.

Bucky studies her face, trying to place where he’s seen her before. The noise and lights of the concert venue fade away as he focuses his attention on her.

"Do I know you?" he asks, finally breaking the silence.

The girl takes a step closer to him, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I’m someone who’s supposed to be dead," she says, her voice soft.

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow, confusion etched on his face. "What do you mean?" he asks, taking a small step towards her.

The girl looks around, making sure no one is listening. She then takes another step closer to Bucky, now standing inches away from him. "Sacrificed myself on Vormir for Clint to get the soul stone."

Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise, suddenly realizing who she was. Natasha Romanoff, his old teammate.

"Natasha?" he says, his voice barely above a whisper. He can’t believe it. She’s supposed to be dead.

Natasha nods, a sad smile on her face. "Yeah, it’s me."

Bucky just stares at her, trying to process the information. "But how? You were dead."

Natasha sighs, leaning against the wall. "It’s a long story," she says. "But the short version is, Steve returned the soul stone to red skull, red skull returned me to life and Steve gave me a Pym Particle to travel back here."

Bucky nods, finally understanding. He takes a deep breath, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Natasha is standing before him, alive.

"So you’re here now," he says, more as a statement than a question. He began to walk. "Did Steve tell you about Stark before you came back to this time?"

Natasha falls into step beside him, nodding. "Yeah, he told me everything. The time heist, Tony’s death, the snap, Thanos coming back. I know it all."

Bucky nods, shoving his hands in his pockets as they walk. "Tony died before we could even make amends," he says, his voice low.

Natasha gives him a sympathetic look. "I know, I’m sorry," she says. "But Steve mentioned that you’re making amends now, by targeting Hydra associates."

"Yeah, it’s something my therapist suggested," Bucky replies, shrugging. "It's been a good way for me to deal with… everything."

Natasha nods. "I can understand that," she says. "But I gotta say, when I saw you in the venue arrest that guy, I almost didn’t recognize you."

Bucky glances over at her, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You’ve changed," Natasha says. "You seem more… human, I guess. Less like a soldier and more like a person."

Bucky is quiet for a moment, processing her words. He can’t deny that the past few years have changed him. "Wakanda changed that."

Natasha nods again. "Your long hair is gone."

Bucky lets out a small chuckle, running a hand through his short hair. "Yeah, I cut it a few months ago. Felt like it was time for a change."

"It looks good on you," Natasha says with a small smile.

They continue walking in silence for a few moments, both lost in their thoughts. Then Bucky speaks up. "So, what now?"

Natasha shrugs. "I’m not sure," she says. "I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet. I just knew I had to come find you."

Bucky looks over at her, surprised. "Why?" he asks.

"Because I wanted to know if you remembered everything between us in the red room," Natasha replied, her voice soft. "I couldn't ask you in Wakanda because when me, Steve, Sam, Rhodey, Bruce, Wanda and Vision arrived, we basically kinda went straight into battle."

Bucky’s mind flashes back to his past with his time as the Winter Soldier, and more specifically, his time in the Red Room. He swallows thickly, memories of the mission he had with Natasha flooding back to him.

"Yeah," he finally says, his voice quiet. "I remember. I mean, I was the one who trained you."

Natasha nods, a flicker of pain flashing across her face before she masks it. "Yeah, you did."

Bucky notices the pain in her expression and feels a pang of guilt. "Nat, I-" he starts, but he doesn’t know what to say.

"It's okay," Natasha says, cutting him off. "I know it wasn't your fault."

Bucky looks at her, surprised by her understanding. He had expected her to be angry or resentful, but instead, she’s forgiving him. He doesn’t deserve her kindness.

"Hey, you want me to help you hunt down the other associates?" Natasha asked.

Bucky is caught off guard by the offer, but he doesn’t hesitate to accept. Having Natasha by his side again feels nice, and he knows that her skills would be helpful in bringing down the Hydra affiliates.

"Yeah, that’d be great," he says, a small smile forming on his face. "I’ve got a pretty long list."

"Well then, let’s get started," Natasha says briskly, pushing off the wall and standing up straight. "Where to first?"

Bucky motions for her to follow him, leading her to his motorcycle parked nearby. "We're going to back to my apartment in Brooklyn," he says, straddling the bike.

Natasha nods, climbing onto the motorcycle behind Bucky. She wraps her arms around his waist as he starts the engine and they take off into the night.

As they ride through the city, Natasha can’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia. Memories of similar nights spent on motorcycles with Steve and Bucky come flooding back to her.

Bucky glances back at her, feeling her arms around him. It's a familiar feeling, and a part of him wonders if she feels it too.

They arrive at his apartment complex in Brooklyn quickly and park the motorcycle in the underground parking garage. Bucky leads her to his apartment on the top floor.

As they walk into the apartment, Natasha looks around, taking in the simple but cozy space. There’s a small kitchen, a living room with a worn leather couch and an armchair, a hallway leading to what she assumes is the bedroom and bathroom, and a stack of boxes in one corner that look like they’re unpacked.

Bucky notices her looking at the boxes. "I moved here a few months ago," he says by way of explanation.

"It's nice," Natasha says with a nod, setting her backpack down on the couch. "Cozy."

Bucky heads towards the kitchen. "You want anything to drink?" he calls over his shoulder.

"Sure," Natasha replies. "Water is fine."

She takes a seat on the couch, looking around the room again. Despite the simplicity of the space, she can sense Bucky's personality in every corner. The place feels like him.

Bucky emerges from the kitchen a moment later, holding two bottles of water. He hands one to Natasha and sits down in the armchair.

"So," he says, breaking the silence, "how long do you plan on staying?"

Natasha shrugs, taking a sip of water. "I don’t know," she says. "Indefinitely, I guess."

Bucky's eyes widen a bit at her answer. "Indefinitely?" he repeats, trying to keep his expression neutral.

Natasha nods. "Yeah, I don't really have anywhere else to go," she says, swirling her water around in its bottle. "All my old safe houses were burned in Budapest, and I haven't got anywhere else. Figured I could crash here for a while if you don't mind."

Bucky is silent for a moment, not sure how to respond. On one hand, he doesn't mind the idea of Natasha staying with him. In fact, a part of him warms at the thought of having her around. But on the other hand, he’s worried about old feelings that he thought he'd buried coming back to life, especially after he just started to move on.

"Yeah, sure," he says finally. "You can stay as long as you need to."

Natasha notices the conflicted look on Bucky's face, but she doesn’t press the issue. Instead, she changes the subject. "So, who's next on your list?"

Bucky shakes his head slightly, clearing his thoughts, and reaches into his pocket to pull out the notebook. He flips through the pages, skimming over the list of names. He stops on one name in particular and frowns. "Grant Ward."

"Who's Grant Ward?" Natasha asks, leaning forward in her seat.

"He’s a former agent for SHIELD," Bucky replies, his grip on the notebook tightening slightly. "But he was secretly working for Hydra undercover. He killed dozens of SHIELD agents, and he’s responsible for Victoria Hand's death."

Natasha nods, recognizing the name Victoria Hand. She had known her briefly during the short time she was a SHIELD agent. "I remember her," she says. "She was a tough lady.”

She notices the tightness in Bucky’s jaw and the set of his shoulders. It’s clear that this Grant Ward is someone Bucky has a personal grudge against.

A white cat who had blue eyes came out of Bucky's bedroom.

Bucky looks up as the cat jumps into his lap, meowing loudly. He scratches behind its ears.

"This is Alpine," he says, gesturing to the cat. "I found her in a dumpster a few months ago."

He looks back down at the notebook. "Coulson and his team have been helping me try and track Ward down."

"Coulson?" Natasha raises an eyebrow in surprise. "Phil Coulson is alive?" She had assumed that he died in the Battle of New York.

Bucky nods. "Yeah, but it's a long story," he says. "Short version is, Fury knew he was alive but kept it a secret. It was part of his resurrection.”

Natasha is quiet for a moment, mulling over this information. She had always liked Phil Coulson and respected him. The thought of him being alive and working at SHIELD again was reassuring.

"How's he doing?" She asks, genuinely curious.

Bucky gives a small smile. "He's doing good," he says. "Running things at what's left of SHIELD and training a new group of agents. He seems happy."

Natasha nods. "That's good," she says, a small smile on her face.

There's a comfortable silence in the room for a few minutes, broken only by Alpine's purring. It's a silence that feels familiar, like they’ve done this countless times before.

Natasha then glanced at a black cat outside of Bucky's window.

Bucky notices her looking out the window and follows her gaze. "What are you looking at?" he asks, his hand still on Alpine's head.

"There's a cat outside your window," Natasha says, standing up and walking over to the window.

Bucky furrows his brow and gets up as well, walking over to stand beside her. Sure enough, there's a black cat on the fire escape outside, staring at them through the window. Bucky decided to open the window to see if the cat wants in.

The black cat cautiously approaches the open window, its tail flicking back and forth. It looks up at Bucky and Natasha, its green eyes wide and curious.

Natasha holds out her hand cautiously, beckoning the cat closer. The cat sniffs her hand for a moment before deciding to trust her and nuzzles its head against her fingers. Natasha picked the cat up to check its genitals,

"Looks like a female to me." Natasha said.

Bucky watches as Natasha picks up the cat, a small smile on his face at the sight of her holding an animal. It's a side of her he doesn't often see.

“She looks like a stray,” he says, eyeing the cat. “No collar, and she seems pretty thin.”

"Yeah," Natasha agrees, running her fingers through the cat's fur. "She probably is. Poor thing."

Natasha can't help but feel a rush of protectiveness towards the cat. There's something about animals, especially strays, that always tugs at her heartstrings.

"I'm calling her Liho," Natasha said, putting the cat down.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Liho?" he asks, amusement in his voice. "That means misfortune in Russian."

Natasha shrugs, a small smirk on her face. "Yeah, I thought it was fitting," she says. "It suits her."

The cat, now named Liho, walks over to Bucky and rubs against his leg, purring softly.

Bucky bends down to pet Liho, a small smile on his face. “You’re a little troublemaker, aren’t you?” he says to the cat, scratching under her chin. She leans into his touch, purring louder.

Alpine got jealous, hopped off the couch, walked over to Bucky and rubbed against Bucky's other leg.

Bucky chuckled, reaching down to pet Alpine too. "Don't worry, you're still my favorite," he says, scratching behind Alpine's ears.

Natasha watches the scene, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. There's something sweet about seeing Bucky being gentle with the two cats.

Bucky looks up at Natasha and sees her watching him with a smile. He feels his face warm, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. He stands up and clears his throat. "Anyway," he says, changing the subject. "We should probably get some rest. Tomorrow we start planning for Ward."

Natasha nods in agreement, trying to hide her own blush. "Yeah, you're right," she says. "We'll need to be in top form if we're going to take him down."

She picked up Liho before making her way to the guest room. "Goodnight, Bucky," she says, giving him a small smile.

Bucky watches her go, feeling a pang of something in his chest as she closes the door behind her. He can't quite put his finger on what it is, but it's a feeling he hasn't felt in a long time.

He turns off the light and heads to his own room. "Come on, Alpine."

Alpine follows Bucky into the bedroom and hops onto the bed, curling up on the pillow as Bucky gets under the covers. "You got a little friend now, huh?" he says to Alpine.

Alpine lets out a soft meow in response, her eyes half-closed as she starts to doze off. Bucky watches her for a moment, then rolls over onto his side and closes his eyes, drifting off to sleep.

The next day

Bucky woke up early the next morning, the pale light of dawn filtering through the window. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes and stretching his arms over his head. He glances over at Alpine, who is still fast asleep on the pillow next to him, and smiles faintly.

He climbs out of bed and walks into the kitchen to make some coffee. As he waits for the coffee machine to finish brewing, he hears the sound of the guest room door opening and footsteps approaching.

"I'm thinking that we should take Liho to the vet today and to the store for a collar." Natasha said.

Bucky looks over his shoulder at Natasha, somewhat surprised that she's already up. He nods in agreement. "Yeah, good idea," he says, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "She definitely needs a collar, and a checkup would be good too."

Natasha grabs a mug and pours herself a cup of coffee as well. She takes a sip and leans against the counter, watching Bucky. "How'd you sleep?" she asks, studying his face.

"Not bad," Bucky replies, taking a sip of his coffee. "I slept pretty well. You?"

He glances over at her, catching the way her hair falls across her face slightly and the way the light from the window illuminates her features.

"Same," Natasha says, setting her mug down on the counter. "I slept better than I have in a while, actually."

There's a moment of comfortable silence between them as they drink their coffee. Bucky can't shake the feeling that there's something more to these quiet mornings with Natasha.

Bucky clears his throat. "So, um, about today," he says, breaking the silence. "I was thinking we could do some research on Grant Ward before heading to the vet."

"Sounds like a plan," Natasha nods, taking another sip of her coffee. "I can take Liho to the vet and pick up a collar while you start looking into Ward. I'll bring back lunch, too."

Bucky nods, feeling a little relieved that Natasha will be taking care of Liho. "Alright, that works for me," he says. "I'll get started on Ward."

He takes another drink of his coffee, then sets the mug down and heads towards the living room to grab his laptop. He looked at the date. It was December 16th.

"Oh, shit… maybe I shouldn't," Bucky said, closing his laptop.

Natasha, who had been washing her mug, looks over at Bucky questioningly. "What's wrong?" she asks, drying her hands on a towel.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, feeling a pang of guilt. "I forgot it's December 16th," he said, avoiding Natasha's gaze. "It's been 33 years since-" he cut himself off.

Natasha puts down the towel and walked over to Bucky. She knows what he's referring to; how could she forget after all they'd been through?

"James…" she says softly, her voice filled with understanding. "None of that was your fault."

Bucky clenches his jaw, still avoiding her gaze. The memories of that day are still as fresh and painful as they ever were.

"Maybe not," he says, his voice quiet. "But that doesn't change the fact that I was the one who killed Tony's parents."

Natasha places a gentle hand on his arm, trying to get him to look at her. "You were brainwashed, James. You didn’t know what you were doing," she says firmly. "It wasn't your fault."

Bucky finally looks up at her, his eyes filled with pain and regret. "I still have to live with it, Natasha," he says. "Every day, I have to live with the weight of what I did, whether I was in control or not. And today… today is especially hard."

He looks down at his metal hand clenched into a fist, the guilt and shame written across his face. "I'm just not gonna research on Ward today. Just go take Liho to the vet."

Natasha hesitates, not wanting to leave Bucky to wallow in his guilt and pain. But she knows that sometimes he needs space to work through things on his own.

"Okay," she says finally, squeezing his arm. "I'll take Liho to the vet and grab some lunch. You take the time you need."

Bucky nods, appreciating her understanding. He watches as she grabs her jacket and scoops up Liho, who had been rubbing against his legs.

"Be careful," he says, his voice gruff. "And be back soon."

Natasha nods, her heart twisting at the pain in his voice. "I will," she says. "Take care, Bucky."

With one last glance at him, she heads out the door, Liho in her arms.

Once Natasha is gone, Bucky lets out a heavy sigh and collapses onto the nearest chair. He leans his head back, closing his eyes and trying to push down the memories and guilt that are threatening to overwhelm him.

He sits in silence for a few minutes, lost in his own thoughts, before he's interrupted by Alpine jumping onto his lap.

Bucky looks down at Alpine in surprise, then lets out a small chuckle as she headbutts his hand, seeking attention. He scratches her head, smiling faintly at her antics.

"You always know how to cheer me up, don't you, Alpine?" he says, his voice fond.

Alpine purrs contentedly, rubbing her head against his hand. Bucky continues to pet her, his mind beginning to wander again. He knows he should be looking into Grant Ward, but the events of 33 years ago are weighing heavily on his mind.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a worn photograph. It's a picture of him and Steve from their days in the war, smiling and young. Bucky can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia and heartache as he looks at it.

"We really thought we could change the world, didn't we, pal?” he mutters to himself, tracing his finger over Steve's face in the photo.

Suddenly, he's interrupted by the sound of his cell phone ringing. He looks down at the caller ID and sees that it's Sam. He sighs and answers the call, bracing himself for whatever conversation awaits.

"Hey, Sam," Bucky says, his voice gruff.

"Hey, man," Sam says, his voice warm but tinged with concern. "Natasha called me. She said you're having a tough time today."

Bucky huffs out a humorless laugh. "She told you that, huh?" he says, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, it's not exactly my favorite day of the year."

"I figured something like that," Sam says, his voice sympathetic. "Look, man, I know it's hard, but you can't blame yourself for what happened. You were being controlled by the Hydra. It wasn't your fault.”

Bucky feels a pang of annoyance at Sam's words, even though he knows they come from a place of caring. "It doesn't matter if I was being controlled or not," he says, his voice hard. "The fact remains that I killed Tony's parents. I don't deserve forgiveness for that."

"That's bullshit, man," Sam says firmly. "You can't keep carrying that around with you. It'll eat you up from the inside, trust me. You gotta find a way to forgive yourself."

Bucky lets out a bitter laugh. "How am I supposed to do that, Sam?" he asks, running a hand through his hair. "How am I supposed to forgive myself for killing two innocent people? How can I just move on from that? I killed Howard. Someone I knew in the 40s!"

"Listen," Sam says, his voice softening. "I'm not saying it's easy, okay? I know it's not. But you gotta start somewhere. You gotta start with forgiving yourself. You're not the Winter Soldier anymore, Bucky. You're James Buchanan Barnes, superhero, Avenger, and good person."

Bucky is silent for a moment, absorbing Sam's words. A part of him wants to dismiss them as empty platitudes, but another part knows that there's some truth to what he's saying. He sighs, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and resignation.

"What if… what if I can't forgive myself, Sam? What then?" he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sam's voice is gentle but firm when he responds. "Then you keep trying, man. You keep waking up every morning, and you keep trying to forgive yourself. You keep fighting, and you keep being the good person I know you are. You don't have to do it alone, either. You've got Natasha, me, hell, even Steve. We're all here for you. Your cat has even been helping with your nightmares."

Bucky can't help but let out a small smile at Sam's last comment. Alpine, who is still in his lap, purrs loudly as if to acknowledge that she is, in fact, helping.

"Alpine's a good cat," Bucky says, scratching her behind the ears. "She makes me… feel less alone, I guess. Like maybe there's a chance I'm not as broken as I feel."

"See, man? There you go," Sam says, his voice warm. "You're taking the first step. You're recognizing that you're not alone and you're not broken. Just keep going."

Bucky takes a deep breath, letting Sam's words sink in. Maybe he's right. Maybe it's time to start accepting the idea that he deserves forgiveness, even if he doesn't believe it yet.

"Thanks, Sam," he says, genuinely grateful for his friend's insight. "Tell your sister that I said hi."

"Will do," Sam says. "And remember, I'm here for you anytime, man. You just have to reach out, okay?"

"I will," Bucky says, his voice gruff but sincere. "Thanks, Sam."

He hangs up the phone and sits in silence for a moment, absorbing the conversation. He glances down at Alpine, who is still purring happily in his lap.

"We're not so bad, are we, girl?" he says to Alpine, scratching her head gently. She leans into his touch, her purring growing louder. Bucky can't help but smile at her, feeling a small sense of comfort in her presence.

Just then, the sound of the front door opening and closing echoes through the apartment. Bucky looks up to see Natasha walking back into the apartment, Liho in her arms and a brown paper package in her other hand.

"Hey," Natasha says, noting the slightly dazed expression on Bucky's face. "Everything okay?"

Bucky nods, not quite meeting her gaze. "Yeah, I just got off the phone with Sam," he says, scratching Alpine behind the ear. "He was just checking in, that's all."

Natasha can sense that there's more to it than that, but she decides not to push. Instead, she holds up the package in her hand.

"I got Liho a collar," she says, placing the brown paper package on the coffee table. "Want to see it?"

Bucky nods, grateful for the change in topic. He sets Alpine aside and walks over to Natasha and Liho, who is still in her arms.

"Let's see it," he says, managing a faint smile as he looks down at Liho.

Natasha reaches into the package and pulls out a red leather collar with a small metal tag attached to it. She straps it onto Liho, who seems unbotried by the new accessory.

"There," Natasha says, stepping back so that Bucky can see Liho. "Doesn't she look cute?"

Bucky studies the collar for a moment, amused by how unbothered Liho seems by it. He has to admit, the red leather looks good against her black fur.

"Yeah, she does," he says, giving Liho a small pat on the head. "You did good."

Natasha smiles, pleased by Bucky's approval. "I also got Alpine one too." she said, placing Liho down on the floor. "It's a matching one, but the color is light blue."

Bucky raises an eyebrow, surprised by Natasha's thoughtfulness. "You got Alpine a collar too?" he says, a hint of surprise in his voice. "You didn't have to do that."

Natasha shrugs, as if it's no big deal. "I thought it would be cute to have them match," she says, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Plus, I couldn't resist. The pet store was having a sale. Buy one collar, get one half off."

Bucky can't help but chuckle at her reasoning. "You know, you don't always have to buy things just because they're on sale," he says, shaking his head in fond amusement. He grabs the collar from the bag and walks over to the couch to Alpine.

Natasha follows him and watches as he puts the collar on Alpine, who seems equally as unbothered by the new accessory as Liho. The light blue leather looks good against Alpine's white fur.

"There," Bucky says, stepping back to admire his handiwork. Alpine shakes her head a few times, adjusting to the feel of the new collar. "Now they really match."

As if on cue, Liho and Alpine start to chase each other around the apartment, their new collars jingling with their movements.

Natasha smiles at the scene, clearly amused. "I think they like their collars." she says, watching them play.

Bucky watches as the two cats dart back and forth, their energy levels suddenly skyrocketing. "Yeah," he says, his voice dry. "What happens if they bond really well and then they'll be separated because you moved?"

Natasha rolls her eyes at Bucky's attempt to ruin the mood. "I'm not moving, Bucky," she says, crossing her arms. "And I certainly don't plan on separating them. They're a package deal now."

Bucky can't help but feel a pang of relief at her words. He's not sure what he would have done without her if she had moved out. He'd gotten used to having her around, to the point where he didn't want her to leave.

"Good," he says gruffly, trying to mask the emotions that he was feeling. "I'd hate to have to deal with a heartbroken Alpine."

Natasha smiles faintly, seeing through his gruff exterior. "You know, I think you'd miss me a little too." she teases, her eyes sparkling.

Bucky rolls his eyes, trying to brush off her comment. "Oh, don't flatter yourself," he says, leaning back against the armrest. "I'd be just fine without you, thank you very much."

Natasha rolls her eyes right back at him. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm, walking over and wrapping her arms around his neck. "You'd be lost without me… like I was lost without you when they put your brain back in the blender and I had to watch…"

Bucky stiffens at her touch and the mention of the incident in Lagos. He knows she's just teasing, but the memory of what happened still haunts him.

He sighs, gently pulling her arms away from his neck. "Nat…" he says, his voice gruff. "Don't…"

Natasha immediately regrets her decision to tease him about something that clearly still haunts him. She should've known better than to make light of it.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice soft. "I shouldn't have brought that up, I just…" Her voice trails off, unsure of how to continue.

Bucky shakes his head, his expression weary. "No, it's okay," he says, even though it's not really okay. "I just… I don't like remembering that stuff. It brings back a lot of… unpleasant memories."

Natasha reaches up and gently cups his cheek, her touch is incredibly soft. "I know," she says, her voice gentle. "And I'm sorry for bringing it up. I wasn't thinking. That day sucked for me when I had to watch all because we had an affair."

Bucky's expression softens at her touch, her tenderness breaking through his gruff exterior. "It wasn't your fault," he says, leaning into her touch against his better judgment. "You weren't the one who had a mental break."

"But I shouldn't have been careless," Natasha says, her voice soft but tinged with regret. "I should've been paying more attention, instead of being distracted by… us. I should've noticed there was something off about you. I should've… done something more."

Bucky gently grabs her wrists, pulling her hands down from his face. "Natasha, stop," he says, his voice firm but gentle. "You can't put that all on yourself. I was the one who lost it. It was my fault, not yours."

Natasha shakes her head, her stubbornness kicking in. "I could've stopped it," she insists. "If I had just been paying attention, If I hadn't been so damn distracted-" She was cut off by a kiss.

Bucky interrupts her self-deprecating tirade with a kiss. It's chaste and gentle, barely grazing her lips, but it's enough to silence her. He pulls back, just enough to look her in the eyes.

"Don't blame yourself," he says firmly. "You're not to blame. I was the one who lost control."

Natasha stares at him for a long moment, her eyes searching for any hint of blame or anger. But all she sees is his familiar mixture of weariness, care, and something else she can't quite place.

"But…" she starts to protest, still unable to shake the feeling that it was partly her fault.

Then there was a hiss

Bucky and Natasha both stop and look over at the source of the noise. They see Liho and Alpine hissing and swatting at each other, their tails thrashing. It seems like their playing has taken a turn.

Bucky sighs, shaking his head. "Of course they start fighting the moment we're in a serious conversation," he mutters, stepping forward to break up the cat fight.

Natasha watches as Bucky breaks up the scuffle between Alpine and Liho, scolding them gently as he separates them. She can't help but feel a small pang of affection watching him as he deals with the cats.

Bucky manages to separate the cats, holding Alpine in one arm and Liho in the other. Liho is still hissing, while Alpine looks decidedly unimpressed.

"Looks like they're going to have to sit in timeout for a while," Bucky says, looking over at Natasha with a weary smile.

Natasha can't help but chuckle at the sight of Bucky holding two disgruntled cats, their new collars jingling.

"They're quite the pair, aren't they?" she says, amused by their antics.

"That's one way to put it," Bucky mutters, setting Liho down on the floor and releasing Alpine. The two cats immediately dart off to opposite sides of the room, still shooting each other grumpy looks.

"Well," Natasha says, watching as the cats skulk away to their separate corners. "We need to deal with this Grant Ward thing now."

Bucky's expression darkens at the mention of Grant Ward. "Right. That's probably more important than preventing our cats from killing each other," he says, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. He walked over to the laptop. "I need him crossed off my list ASAP!"

Natasha crosses her arms and leans against the armrest of the couch, watching Bucky intently. "What's the plan then?" she says, curious to know what he has in mind.

Bucky types something into the laptop for a moment before turning back to Natasha. "Well, I've already got his last known coordinates," he says with a slight grin. "Thought we could pay him a little visit."

Natasha raises an eyebrow, intrigued by the idea. "A little visit, hm?" she says, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I like where this is going. We could go undercover as intruders and pretend to have sex in his bed."

Bucky's eyes widen at her suggestion, clearly taken aback. "What?" he sputters, his face turning red. "We're not… I mean…" He fumbles for words, completely caught off guard by her bold suggestion. "Nat, is that really necessary?"

Natasha laughs at his reaction, clearly enjoying his flustered state. "It'll work. Trust me."

Bucky lets out a sigh, realizing that arguing with Natasha is futile. "Fine. Let's do it. But if this blows up in our faces, I'm blaming you."

. . .

They broke into Ward's house while Ward ain't home and they immediately go to Ward's bedroom.

The room is spacious and well-furnished, with a queen-sized bed and tastefully appointed furniture.

Natasha looks around the room, assessing their surroundings. "Nice digs he's got here," she says, running a hand over the bedspread.

Bucky grimaces, feeling a pang of revulsion at being in Grant Ward's personal space. "Yeah, it's all very… beige," he says, peering into a closet. "Can we hurry this up?"

Natasha rolls her eyes at his impatience but nods. "He's about to be here anyways so get on the bed."

Bucky lets out a sigh, resigned to what they're about to do. He climbs onto the bed reluctantly, flopping down onto his back with a thump. "I can't believe we're doing this," he mutters under his breath

Natasha chuckles at his grumbling and climbs onto the bed after him, straddling his waist. She leans over him, her hands on either side of his head, pinning him down onto the bed. She then pulls the covers under them. "Just make noises."

Bucky's ears turn red at the close proximity of her body pressed against his and her weight on top of him. "Fine." he grumbles, his voice suddenly gruff.

"Good," Natasha smirks, seeing the flush in his cheeks. She leans forward, her face just millimeters from his, her breath caressing his skin. "Now act like you're enjoying it."

Bucky's heart pounds in his chest at her proximity, but he forces himself to play along. "Okay, okay," he mutters, closing his eyes tightly. He let out a low, guttural moan, pretending to be caught up in the moment.

they could hear keys jiggling

The sound of keys jiggling in the lock snaps them both out of their act. They freeze, their bodies still locked together. "He's home," Natasha whispers, her face mere inches from Bucky's. "Continue."

Bucky's heart rate quickens at her words, but he forces himself to continue the act. He lets out another guttural moan, this time louder than the first. His hands instinctively move to Natasha's hips, holding her in place.

Natasha leans down, pressing her body against his and letting out a small moan of her own, for effect. She can feel the tension in his body, the way his grip on her hips tightens, and she can't help but be slightly affected herself.

"Alright, who's doing it in my bed?" a voice asked.

Bucky's eyes snap open at the sound of Ward's voice, realizing that they have been caught. He looks up at Natasha, their faces still so close that he can feel her breath on his skin. She gives him a subtle nod, a silent order to arrest him.

In a split second, Bucky pushes Natasha off him and springs into action, grabbing Ward from behind. He pushes him up against the wall, his vibranium arm holding him firmly in place.

Ward attempts to struggle, but Bucky's grip is like an immovable vice.

Natasha jumps up off the bed, her movements quick and graceful. She walks over to them, her demeanor calm and collected.

"Well, hello Grant," she says casually, as if she hadn't just been caught making out with Bucky on his bed. "Nice place you've got here."

Ward glares at her, his expression a mix of anger and confusion. "What the hell are you two doing in my house?" he growls, struggling against Bucky's grip, to no avail.

Bucky tightens his hold on Ward's shoulder, his vibranium hand pressing on a nerve. Ward lets out a pained hiss, his eyes meeting Bucky's cold gaze. "For me to get you arrested and for me to also tell you this." Bucky grumbles, his voice low and dangerous. "I’m no longer the Winter Soldier. I’m James "Bucky" Barnes and you’re apart of my efforts to make amends."

Ward snarls, his body still restrained by Bucky's grip. "You think I care who you are now?" he spits out, his eyes narrowing. "You're still a traitor either way."

Bucky's eyes darken at Ward's words, his grip on Ward's shoulder tightening even further. He leans in closer, his face just inches from Ward's. "Well, I'm not a traitor. I escaped, but Coulson is waiting for you outside." he growls, a hint of menace in his voice.

Natasha watches the exchange silently, her own expression steely. She can sense the tension in the air, the anger and tension between the two men.

"You've got nowhere to go, Ward," she says coolly, her eyes scanning the room. "You're outnumbered."

Ward's eyes dart between Bucky and Natasha, searching for a way out of this situation. But he knows he's outnumbered and outmatched. He lets out a defeated sigh, his shoulders slumping in surrender.

"Fine," he grits out, his voice dripping with bitterness. "Take me in."

Bucky eases up his grip slightly, but keeps a firm hold on Ward's shoulder. "Let's go," he mutters, pushing Ward towards the door.

Natasha follows behind, her steps silent and vigilant. They lead Ward outside, where Coulson and his team are waiting. The sight of the familiar SHIELD agents seems to make Ward's expression darken even more.

Coulson steps forward, his expression as serious as ever. "Well, well," he says, eyeing Ward with satisfaction. "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time."

Ward glanced at Daisy. "Skye…"

"Not Skye anymore." Daisy said.

Bucky pushes Ward forward towards Coulson, not taking any chances with the former SHIELD agent. "He's all yours," he mutters, his voice still gruff.

Coulson's team quickly takes charge of Ward, handcuffing him and leading him towards a waiting vehicle. Ward doesn't resist, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Coulson nods at Bucky and Natasha, his expression slightly softer. "Thank you for bringing him in."

Bucky nods curtly in response, his eyes still fixed on Ward's retreating figure. "No problem," he mutters. He takes out his notebook from his pocket and he crosses Ward's name. "List is finally complete."

Natasha glances sidelong at Bucky, noticing the satisfied look on his face. She reaches over and gently touches his arm. "Finally done with your list, then?" she says, her voice soft.

Bucky nods, a mixture of relief and exhaustion evident on his face. "Yeah," he sighs. "Finally finished."

He closes his notebook and slips it back into his pocket. "It's over."