#WHILE THIS IS FUNNY i really wish they coulda just said fuck off like they have a damn fanmeet AND jb’s birthday and i rly doubt their

[goatpaste]

Whats your fav jjba episode?

mAN.. thats really a hard one to awnser??

OK OK,,, if you will allow me i can probably pick a fav or two per part

i think my all time fav episode IS the rat hunting episode, its a DiU ep, its got rats, and its a cute silly ep with jotaro and josuke and jotaro almost dies in the funniest way he coulda so it kinda hits a lot of fav elements for me

BUT

Phantom Blood: honestly? its hard to say because i think the manga is better and the anime was weirdly segmented for eps. it kinda slumps in the middle for me

so i think I like the Youth with Dio ep, something about it is very fun to me...

Battle Tendency: OUGH so this ones hard because i think p solidly i loVE the first ep

i think Joseph at the start of Battle Tendecy carried the strongest best traits of Joseph that Araki kinda left behind, like being really nice and passionate about things that mattered even if it put himself in danger, as well as having a hair trigger fight response when it cames to ppl bothering him, or more importantly bothering the people he cares about.. they cut out a bit of him and erinas bestie stuff from the manga which is sO sad

but i think "New Yorks JoJo" captures my favirote snap shot of silly fun bastard joseph that i love that he lost, with so many funny antics and such and his FUCKIGN SIGHT WITH STRAIZO IS SOO GOOD

BUT if i didnt go with that, id had to go with the chariot fight ep, so kinda two eps as this spans over both with the "a True Warrior" and "A Warrior Returns to the Wind" WHICH THE LATER EP TITLE MAKES ME SOOO WEEPY GOOD LURD ILY WHAM

Stardust Crusaders: SO THIS ONE IS HARD BECAUSE ITS SO FUCKING LONG AND SO MANY CHUNKS OF STUFF SPAN 2 AND 3 PARTERS

but mmm probably one of the D'arby fights,,, its hard to pick my fav? they both are really iconic and their the ones i remember the best/most fondly out of all Stardust tbh

Diamond is Unbreakable: LIKE I SAID THIS IS PROBABLY THE RAT HUNTING EP ITS SO GOOD I LOVE IT SO MUCH LOL

i really think nearly every ep in DiU is really great, i think their all classic and i really dont have many i find a drag like i tend to in other parts. the yukako eps are really fun, LETS GO EAT ITALIAN FOOD IS A CLASSIC, THE INVISIBLE BABY EP, the intro ep for rohan are great just for the ending where josuke kills him <3, MIKITAKA EP!!! UGH a lot of good ones

but the rat hunting ep wins for me, for having a rat in it

Golden Wind:.. im so sorry this ones kinda easy only because.. i dont... really like golden wind as a whole

But its Spice Girl vs. Notorious B.I.G. i think its the best fight in the whole part and its a big reason i wish trish gotten to do more. i would KILL for a trish and bruno team up fight....

dont get me wrong i loVE a lot of other fights, Narancia and formaggio fight is fun, the secco fight is sO fun, i also love the greatful dead and Beach Boy fight

but 100% its the spice girl ep for me, i think its really fucking excellent

Stone Ocean: AGAIN A TOUGHY BECAUSE I REALLY DO LIKE ALL OF STONE OCEAN VERY MUCH

but fuck dude, i think just based off the top of my head, its either the gwess fight or the mcqueen fight. i think i just love how silly they are, the gwess and mcqueen are my poor little meow meows

BUT UGHHH the Limp Biskit episode really is a good one to man... i rEALLY loved watching that one with no prior knowledge

AND THE DRAGON DREAM EP, but tbh while i LOVE FF and Dragon Dream in there, the ep and fight itself are fine. the concept fine just a lil boring

and ofc i love the brando bro eps, and rikiels was probably my favirote.

sdjkghjkd i think i just really liked the sILLY ones

[gojuo]

GDA BEGGED GOT7 TO GO?????????????? LMAOOOOOOOOOSOOKFOO OONOOFKDKCKDKMSKSDND

[weixuldo]

Enigma// ch 3

Anakin x Reader

(A/N: we’re gonna pretend u and Ahsoka have a god tier alcohol tolerance cause i don’t want to write a throw up scene lmfaooo, also we’re learning more abt ani!!)

This is not how you wanted your second meeting with Anakin to go...

Warnings: cursing, intoxication, alcohol, yelling, passing out?, implied injury

____________________________________

“Hello there” he said with a sigh followed by a yawn.

“I’m sorry Ben, we coulda got home just fine.”

He held a hand up, “No, it’s fine, I’ve woken up at unholy hours of the night to help people for years”.

He looked back at Ahsoka “I just didn’t expect to have to get you two when Anakin called”.

He began driving the road towards Anakin's apartment.

“Yeah, he scolded us for being immature and irresponsible” you huffed.

To which Ben let out a laugh, “He’s right, but that’s amusing coming from him”.

Soon, you arrived at Anakin’s place, “why did Anakin call you to get us? If we were just gonna go to his place?” you asked.

Ben tightened his grip on the wheel before answering, “He doesn’t really like driving at night, and I would just bring you two to mine, but my fiance, Satine is over”.

You gasped, alarming Ben, “Wait I feel so bad!!! You really didn’t have to come get us, You were with your fiance! Love is sooo important” the alcohol was still making you sound delusional. “Noo, Ben! Go home and tell her you love her and kiss her and hold her. That’s wonderful Ben, I wish I had that”.

He laughed and proceeded to help Ahsoka out of the back. You arrived at Anakin’s door and knocked on the door, no response. You began to knock again but Ben stopped you.

“I’ve got a key” Once you were in you looked around for Anakin but he was nowhere to be found. Ben sat Ahsoka on the couch and asked you to watch her while he went to get Anakin. You plopped down beside your friend who was fast asleep. She slumped over and rested her head on your shoulder, she was warm and smelled like liquor, but she was still radiant as ever. You waited for a minute, then two, then five, then ten, where were the guys?

You were about to go investigate when you heard the click of Anakin’s door followed by footsteps. An irritated looking Anakin walked out first, dressed in gray sweatpants, a burgundy hoodie and his normal gloves, followed by Ben.

He was still walking kinda funny as he came out to face  you. Ben patted him on the shoulder, “You sure you got this?”.

Anakin nodded, “yeah, thanks for dropping them off”. To which Ben nodded, waved, and swiftly exited. Now the room was still with Ahsoka snoring lightly on your shoulder and Anakin’s gaze burning into you.

“Hi?” you said timidly.

“What the Fuck, F/N”

There was that feeling again, shivers down your spine.

“What?” you asked, genuinely puzzled. 

“You two are adults, about time you start acting like it.” he huffed as he limped over to the chair on the other side of the living room. 

“We were just-”

“And you two do this every week!”

 “Hey! We don’t go this far! And it's not even that bad, you’re just being dramatic” you shot back, feeling cornered.

He held his hand to his forehead in annoyance, “Ahsoka needs to grow the fuck up, and so do you. You think you can just sustain this lifestyle in the real world?”

Umm, what the fuck? 

Was this man really lecturing you? He doesn't even know you.

“Who are you to say what we can and can't do? You don't know me”

“Yeah, but I know Ahsoka and she was better than this as a kid. And you're right, I don’t know you, and now I’m not certain I want to” he spat.

Ouch.

You felt all of the confidence drain from your body, your heart anxiously began to race. You sat there in silence for a moment then looked over to Ahsoka and patted her head before you laid her on her side. You got up and the couch cushions shifted slightly.

 “Ok, sorry for wasting your time, i’ll be going now” you said as you collected your bag and started for the door. 

He rolled his eyes, “Where do you think You’re going?”.

“I don’t know, but not here, that's for damn sure” you said, gripping the door handle. 

Soon you felt yourself sway and your vision got fuzzy, what the fuck? You wavered and your legs gave out and you were suddenly on the floor. Fucking great.

You opened your eyes once you felt something stiff gently shaking you. You looked up and saw a worried looking Anakin looking over you. “Fuck, are you alright?” he asked anxiously.

You closed your eyes and nodded before mumbling “mhmm, i’m just gonna sleep on the floor..”.

He shook his head and ran his hand against your arm, his gloves had gripy material on the insides of the palms but his hands felt hard. He guided you to a sitting position and asked you a few questions.

“Are you alright? Do you think you’re going to be sick?”

You shook your head, “I’m fine, I just have a headache”. 

He nodded, “Ok, can you get up for me?”.

You nodded once more, leaning on him for support. It was like both of you were drunk by the way you were attempting to stand. His balance wasn’t very good and he had to brace himself against the wall before he could help you. Once you were up you rested on his shoulder for a moment, you listened as he caught his breath. Once both of you were ok he began walking. 

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“My bed, Ahsoka is on the couch so I can’t get the pullout”.

“What about Ahsoka?” you asked.

“I’ll watch her, but this isn’t the drunkest i've seen her, she’ll be fine” he said sitting you on his bed.

“Do you drink this much this often?” he asked.

“Not really, I go out but I usually only have one or two drinks” you said.

He sighed, “ok, here drink some water. We need to get you hydrated. I’ll get you some ibuprofen and then you can go to sleep, ok?”.

He sounded nicer?

“Why?”

“Why what?” he asked.

“Why are you being nice to me?”.

“I’m concerned, that’s all” he said, but his actions said otherwise. 

He was rubbing your back as you sipped the water he offered. It was sweet. 

God, you wanted to kiss him.

Once you were done with the water you set it on the nightstand and faced him once more. His cheeks were still rosy from the exertion of getting you off the floor. At least, that's probably why they were red. 

If you weren’t so tired you would have made a move, but your body was telling you to sleep, so you ignored your urges and laid down. 

“I’m sorry, Anakin” you whispered, eyelids feeling heavy with sleep. “I know you don’t like me, but just please don’t hate me” you trailed off at the end.

You felt him pull the covers over you and felt his hand linger over your side.

“How could I hate you?” he responded softly, almost as if he were only talking to himself.

You felt one of his hands smooth out your hair before you were out. 

***

(a/n: the girls do b partying, but also anakin is def grouchy. he had been drinking too, but he still took you and ahsoka in…..interesting)

taglist: @dnamht​ @sxoulohvn @angeelcoree @wtf-andys @httpeachesblog @katsukiswrld @jetiikote​ @rabbitrabbit12323​

[turtle-steverogers]

first kiss on bucky's 17th birthday

Bucky started it but it was an accident, and steve just kissed him back

OKAY SO this totally inspired me but i changed up the thought a bit and it ended up being bucky's 21 birthday adkjflaksdjflaksjflk

anyway here's a fic

warnings: alcohol consumption, a very brief allusion to child abuse-- nothing graphic or detailed

Lips Lined with Whiskey

The bottle feels weighted in Steve’s hands, wrapped in newspaper and secured with old twine he’d found in his ma’s closet, her things still as untouched as the day she’d left for the hospital. He’d been reluctant to meddle with the space, but two years since her passing meant it was about time Steve ought to be using some of the practical things she’d kept around, if only to not let it go to waste. Crumple in the back of her closet and turn to dust, cursed to slip through Steve’s fingers like the rest of her.

Besides, he thinks she’d approve of the way he’d artfully tied the twine around the neck of the bottle, painted dark green and lending the illusion of vines drifting down over a small picnic scene he’d painted on the newspaper. She’d always been one for artfully crafted gifts and he knows she would have wanted this for Bucky, too. Because it’s not every day your best pal turns 21, and steve had paid a pretty penny-- an entire two weeks savings-- to get Mrs. McConnell down the hall to buy this bottle of Gilbey’s.

He rounds the corner onto their street in Brooklyn Heights, feet and back aching from a full day of work and his detour afterwards to pick up the whiskey and wrap it. The straps on his back brace are finicky, but he really should start wearing it again. Maybe he’ll ask Bucky to take a look at them when it’s not his birthday.

It stunk that he couldn’t spend the whole day with Bucky on his 21st, but he hadn’t been able to get the day off. Either way, Bucky had gone out with a few of their pals from school, then to a bar with a couple of his work friends, so Steve’s sufficiently convinced he wasn’t lonely. He takes the stairs, going slow so his back doesn’t protest much further, and tries to gear himself up for a night of drinking. It’s not like they hadn’t gotten drunk together before, but there was something inherently thrilling about doing it for an occasion, and not because Bucky was able to jack some of his father’s liquor on one of their weekly dinners home.

Bucky is back from his celebrations when Steve gets through the door and he looks up at Steve, midway through pulling off his tie. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone and his belt is hanging out of the loops of his trousers. His hair sticks up in disarray where it was evidently pulled at and Steve’s gaze immediately finds the hickey on his collarbone.

Smirking, he says, “Looks like you had a happy birthday.”

Bucky laughs, full and bright, and it’s enough to make Steve’s stomach flip. He’s grown used to breathing through these moments of desire and spares a moment to thank god that he isn’t the jealous type. He’d much rather let his heart soar with Bucky’s laugh than let it sink at the sight of a hickey. Who wouldn’t want a piece of Bucky Barnes? Besides, it’s not like Steve hasn’t sucked dick in the bathrooms of the local queer bars Bucky doesn’t know he goes to, so it’s only fair he grants Bucky the same benefit.

“It was fine,” Bucky says, still grinning. He’s shed his tie completely now and is in the process of shucking off his trousers, hanging that and his shirt on the back of his desk chair. Only in his undergarments now, he slumps down on the edge of his bed and it’s then that Steve notices he’s drunk already. Of course he is. Why hadn't Steve considered that? Oh well, he can catch up, or something. “Got three shots in with the guys, then Lizzy Williams was yanking me out the back door. Gave me an epic suckjob. Think I still got lipstick on my dick.”

Steve’s eyebrows climb up. “Lizzy Williams? From high school?”

“Yup,” Bucky says, slumping back on his bed. He’s half hard in his shorts and his skin is flushed with intoxication. It’s nothing Steve hasn’t seen before, but god, he wants to touch him. He wants to take him out of his shorts and take him deeper than Lizzy Williams had, suck right past that lipstick stain. His own dick twitches and he clenches his jaw, looking away. “She was there with some of her girlfriends, I don’t really remember.”

Steve smiles and sets the bottle gently on their table, working to shed his own clothes.

“Well it sounds like you had a lot of fun,” he says, stripping down to his own shorts and socks.

Bucky hums. “Still wish you coulda come, though.”

Steve’s chest pangs. It’s moments like these where he has to reconcile the fact that Bucky still makes him feel special-- that he could have chosen any best friend out there, and he chose him.

“Me too,” he says. He picks back up the bottle and goes to sit on Bucky’s bed, wincing as his spine creaks when he sits. “But we can celebrate together now. Sit your ass up, I got you a present.”

“Oh, darling, you shouldn’t have,” Bucky teases. It feels like a punch to the gut.

Steve pinches his thigh. “Come on, you lug.”

“Alright, alright.” Bucky sits up, swaying a little until his bicep is flush with Steve’s. “Whatcha got for me?”

“Happy birthday!” Steve exclaims, handing Bucky the bottle.

Bucky takes it, eyebrows quirking up, before his expression morphs into wonder, then something distinctively softer as he takes in the painting. He runs his thumb over the scene, stopping on the two little boys in the picture-- one blond, one brunet. With them is a woman with brown curls and a younger girl with chestnut hair and a pretty pink dress.

“That was my seventh birthday,” he murmurs.

Steve nods. “First one I spent with you.”

Mrs. Barnes had taken them for a picnic in Prospect Park. It had been the first birthday celebration Steve had been invited to and felt like he actually belonged. They’d shared a whole loaf of bread and cheese and tossed grapes into each other’s mouths, making a competition over who could catch the most.

Bucky looks up at Steve, eyes swimming. He’s always been an emotional drunk.

“Stevie, this is--” he shakes his head, wiping clumsily at an eye as he reaches out to pull Steve into a one armed up. Steve goes willingly, face smashing against his shoulder. The angle hurts his lower back, but he stays put and hugs Bucky back. “God, you’re so talented and just-- such a good pal. You’re my best pal ever.”

He presses a sloppy kiss to the top of Steve’s head and Steve laughs, blushing hard and trying to ignore that. He reasons that Bucky’s just extremely affectionate.

“That ain’t even your real present,” he says, gesturing to the package.

“May as well be,” Bucky mumbles, then shoves the bottle back into Steve’s hand. “You open it. I don’t trust myself not to mess up the painting.”

“Sure,” Steve says, and carefully undoes the twine, worried about breaking that, too. He lays the bottle across his lap and eases the newspaper off, making sure to smooth it out afterwards so the painting is more visible. Bucky takes it and sets it on his bedside table.

“I’ll hang that later,” he says, probably to himself. Steve passes him the bottle.

“Happy birthday,” he says again, and Bucky groans, taking it.

“Aw, hell, this is the good stuff,” he bemoans. “Fuck, if I’d known we were gonna have this, I wouldn’t have gotten proper drunk. Shit, how much did that cost you?”

“Don’t matter,” Steve says, eyes twinkling. He’s glad Bucky likes it, even if he’s got a funny way of saying so.

Bucky glares at the bottle, then determinately pops the cap. He wafts it and pulls a face. Steve can smell it from where he’s sitting. It’s really strong stuff, apparently.

“Fuck it,” Bucky says and stands to get two glasses. “I’m having one shot, then you’re catching up and hiding the bottle. Got it?”

Steve nods, mock saluting. “Got it.”

Bucky salutes back with a glass in hand, then motions for Steve to hand him the bottle. He pours them each two fingers of whiskey. Steve takes the glass closest to him, then holds it up.

“Cheers,” he says. “To you being officially an old man.”

Bucky grins. “You’ll get there soon, kid.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve says, because he’ll be twenty in four months and he really isn’t that much younger than Bucky.

They grin at each other, then take the shots, hissing as it burns their throats. Steve feels it settle in his chest, somewhere in his sternum, and he grins. It won’t take much for him to be where Bucky is.

“Shit, that’s good,” Bucky says, dazed eyes wide and serious.

Steve snorts and takes the bottle, pouring himself another two fingers. “And you’re not having anymore tonight,” he says, and downs the next shot.

A half hour later, they’re laying on Bucky’s bed, staring at the ceiling. It’s spinning and Steve tries to follow it with his eyes, which just makes him more dizzy. Idly, he clacks his teeth together. They’re tingling.

“I’m so drunk,” he says, needlessly.

“Mmm, me too,” Bucky hums.

Steve lolls his head to look at him, studying his profile-- his strong jaw and sweaty hair that’s too long and curling behind his ear. His hand seems to move on autopilot as he reaches out to tug at a curl. Bucky looks at him and smiles.

“Was she good?” Steve finds himself asking. At Bucky’s confused expression, he elaborates. “Lizzy Williams. Was she good at sucking you off?”

Bucky shrugs. “She was fine. Why? You want her to suck you?”

Steve shakes his head, fingers still playing with the hair behind Bucky’s ear. He chocks it up to inebriation that Bucky isn’t pushing him away.

“Nah, not my thing,” he says, before he can think about it.

Bucky frowns. “What is your thing then?”

Steve shrugs. “Rather be the one sucking than being sucked.”

Bucky’s eyes widen and it’s then that Steve realizes what he’s saying-- what he’s telling Bucky while his hands are on his skin, while they’re close to each other in nothing but their boxers. Close. In the same bed.

He freezes, eyes going wide as well.

“Shit, Buck, I-- forget I said that. Dunno why I told you that,” he says, voice slurring as he pulls away. He starts to sit up, heart slamming in his chest. Stupid. He’s stupid. Why did he tell Bucky that? “Fuck, sorry, I’ll just--”

He’s halfway off the bed when he feels a hand close around his wrist. He stops moving, his breathing loud in the quiet space. He doesn’t dare look at Bucky.

“Steve,” Bucky says, and he sounds more sober than he did two minutes ago. “Do you mean that?”

Steve grits his teeth and doesn’t say anything.

“Steve,” Bucky says again, more imploring. “Are you-- is this-- you’re queer?”

“Is that a problem?” Steve snaps, even though he knows he is. He knows it’s wrong, and that his father was right-- he really is some little fairy.

But then he’s being gently pulled back, turned around, and when Bucky tugs him to sit back on the bed, there’s no vitriol in his gaze. Steve looks at him through a wall of unshed tears and prays that there’s no catch. That he’s not about to be hit. He never wanted to be hit by a drunk man again.

Bucky shakes his head and reaches up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing away a tear that’s fallen. “Breathe,” he murmurs, and Steve realizes his chest is tight. He pulls in a desperate breath. “How long have you known?”

How long has he-- oh.

“My whole damn life,” he whispers.

Bucky nods. “Me too,” he whispers back and Steve gasps, hand flying up to cover the hand on his cheek.

“Buck?”

“Wasn’t sure, but then I laid my eyes on you and I knew. I knew.”

And Steve’s world feels like it’s screeching to a halt, ears ringing as he latches onto Bucky’s gaze.

“Me? But, Buck you-- all those girls and--”

Bucky shrugs and he looks nervous now, dropping his hand to his lap. “I like girls, too. That wasn’t a lie or-- or a cover. I just-- I like both? Fellas and girls and-- mostly you. Just… never knew how to, you know. Or if it was even safe and sometimes you’d look at me a certain way and think maybe, but… but then I always thought it was my imagination.” He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Even now, I’m jumping to assumptions you’re queer for me. It’s dumb.”

I’m too drunk for this, Steve thinks vaguely.

“Not dumb,” Steve mumbles, reaching out for Bucky’s hand. “Had eyes for you before I even knew what it meant to notice someone.”

Bucky swallows, lifting his gaze. There’s a weight between them that feels terrifying and whole. Steve revels in it, leans into the feeling, and laces their fingers together.

“I want to kiss you,” Bucky says.

“I want that, too,” Steve breathes, then shakes his head. “But not-- we’re drunk. I don’t want to while we’re drunk.”

Bucky’s face falls for a moment, but he nods. “Can I hold you then?”

Steve answers by moving into Bucky’s lap, straddling him in a way that could be heated, but turns soft and sweet the moment Bucky cups the back of his head and carefully kisses his cheek-- unassuming. Not a sealed deal yet. And when they fall asleep, the alcohol pulling them under an indiscernible amount of time later, Steve feels warm where their chests meet.

-

When he wakes, the first thing Steve notices is that he’s hungover, cotton on his tongue and head steadily throbbing. The second thing he notices is that he’s in Bucky’s bed and there’s a weight behind him-- warm and heavy-- and oh fuck. Oh fuck.

The night before comes flooding back. The whiskey, the talk of Lizzy Williams and suck jobs, the admissions that Steve remembers clearly despite the alcohol. He scrambles to turn around, terrified for a moment that he was remembering it wrong and Bucky will be gone, or change his mind or--

Fingers catch under his chin, a thumb smoothing back to soothe his jaw. He sucks in a breath instinctively and looks up at Bucky, who is already awake, propped on an elbow and looking down at him.

“You sober?” he asks, an easy smile on his face. Steve can see the tightness of his eyes, though. The fear.

He nods, words evading him.

Bucky thumbs over his lip. “May I?”

With all the willpower he can muster, Steve manages to breathe, “Yes.”

And then they’re kissing, a quiet fanfare that turns into flickering sparks as they sink into each other. It’s nothing like Steve imagined and everything he thought heaven would be. Warm and whole and utterly safe.

He reaches up to cup Bucky’s jaw in turn and moves to lay over him, bearing down with his heart and soul as the kiss deepens. Unknowns fill the space around them, but as Bucky’s arms wind around his back, pulling him close, he knows it will be okay. They’ll be okay.

Tilting his head, Steve takes a step off the edge, knowing Bucky will take the freefall with him.

-

thanks for reading y'all!

[kuboism]

Bleach Canon Vs. Studio Clown Episode 1

Intro to the series

WARNING: Long read but theres plenty of pictures

The first deviation we’re greeted with is what the anime presents as the arrival of hollows into the human world. With a likely artistic rendition of them forming from the shadows of Hueco Mundo and dripping/bleeding over into the human world like splotches of ink, after which they disappear - unable to be perceived by humans.

A/N: Which, kubos to the anime, is rather neat.

The anime also decided to incorporate the first volume poem which is the thematic beginning and a great establisher of the mood/themes of Bleach, which roughly translates to: 

我らは 姿無きが故に それを畏れ

“We fear that which cannot be seen”

And then they curiously add a line to this poem? 

姿無き故に敬う

”We revere that which cannot be seen"

A/N: Which, initially seems on brand with the spiritualism of that “which is not seen” - the shinigami, DEATH itself if you will. However, unlike the themes of “fear” and “fear of death/the unseen”, “reverence” is not really a theme prevalent or definitive for bleach. Reverence is not particularly reserved for death or death gods, but antagonists with themes of divinity/the Soul King himself, but I digress.

Next off the bully scene has a couple of missing/reworded lines, as well as some of the delivery changed, but overall it’s not significant enough to mention.

I also wish they’d kept Ichigo’s shit yourself scary face from this moment right here, since it really underlines how serious and personally invested Ichigo is in bringing small justice to the souls of the departed, but I can only pray a future remake does include it.

^ I am disappointed in y’all :/

vs.

v Karma delivery, bitch

Then for some reason the next scene is changed significantly:

In the manga, it builds up slowly to Ichigo’s reveal of supernatural abilities with the iconic TM character profile intros (which I can see why weren’t recreated in the anime, but I sure wish they put them in....)

with him spooking the bullies off with the ghost girl right behind him

Versus his scary face doing the job instead.....

It’s a small change, and I can see why it would be opted for - we don’t really know if they even saw the ghost in the first place (then again you could argue that would spook them anyway). There is a tonal difference in the long run though. The manga emphasizes once again *why* ichigo is scolding them in the first place - he sees the people disrespected by them knocking down the vase, he wants them to acknowledge their actions *because* in his mind, there are real victims he knows from it. While in the anime, since the ghost is not yet introduced, it feels more like “you are disrespectful to the dead” in a more generalized way vs. him actually being acquainted with the dead and treating them like the living. 

(Again, not sure why change it so much at all........the suspense and reveal are in the manga just the same.... but ok)

As well as cutting off this small moment where you can see Ichigo’s very human (and cute!) interactions with the ghosts. To him they’re just as real as the living, and he lends them a hand whenever they ask for help.

Also lmfao this 4kids level of censorship.....

It goes on rather faithfully for a while, no significant omissions, then Pierrot decides to randomly replace Yuzu’s lines with Karin??

Manga:

Anime: 

Which is an odd choice, given that not only does Yuzu sense ghosts just fine (albeit at a much lesser level than her family) and that later comes into play with Fishbone & Grandfisher, but Karin literally later admits that she doesn’t even want to acknowledge their presence, so why the change....?

They also cut short Karin’s little talk about Ichigo’s stats, which is a fair change for screentime’s sake, but mentioned for the record.

There’s a bit of a divergence with Yuzu lore, when the manga explicitly states she sees them, but not “clearly”, the anime focuses on her barely sensing them. I guess it doesn’t matter that much in the long run, since she is not that prevalent in the story, but it’s here for the record nonetheless.

Anime: 

vs. 

Manga:A

Also this next bit was removed, probably for the sake of pacing (which, totally fair!!), but it’s funny and I love the Kurosaki family so here it is:

It does make the flow a bit better in the manga, since this talk of selling his talents distracts Ichigo and creates an opening for his father to strike, in the anime, the same is done with Ichigo just randomly saying 

and thats where his father attacks him, which isnt really an issue, just kind of funny of how the manga is like:

Ichigo’s distracted by his sisters plotting to sell him out and hence Isshin has his chance to strike back

vs the anime being like:

Ichigo randomly thinks about dinner mid convo about ghosts and thats what distracts him from play-fighting with his dad 

gfdkhlgfdg okayyyy....moving on 

In the manga this scene is interspliced with Ichigo’s inner monologue about the nature of his powers (with hip jargon like “for real” courtesy of Viz ) 

(but my beef with Viz translations are for another day)

Also the line about “He told me more ghosts than ever have been haunting me” has been given to Karin for some reason, probably to make her feel more included in the scene/Ichigos life.

Notably, Isshin’s response is changed from “What?! He talks about stuff like that with you (Yuzu, singular)” to “What?! He talks about stuff like that with you guys?” as well, again probably to include Karin more into the dialogue. (Mmmm ok....)

Minor detail, but Karin’s lines has been changed to more “boyish” speech structure in the Japanese dub, which may seem insignificant, but ...... that is for later. 

.....

This little exchange

 is replaced with: 

Which, seems innocuous adaptation differences, but Yuzu’s lines keep decreasing and it’s a short enough moment to like....include and establish how motherly Yuzu is acting towards Ichigo.....but ok...huh. 

And now we get into the big boy changes.

So, probably for the sake of grounding the supernatural element of the series, the anime decided to skip time to the next morning and introduce the hollow attacks with a news report.

Which.....is an interesting choice. I am assuming this is addressing how the real world perceives the hollow attacks, which Bleach doesn’t put too much effort into addressing, but very soon after this we learn about stuff like memory replacement and other various technology to keep things under wraps so this is either redundant or implying that shinigamis have not been doing their job, which hm......

Next off is the bizarre choice to paint Isshin out of the picture for the night

Not sure why, but ok

Again, where’s the shinigami with their Kikanshinki (memory replacement devices)??? Pierrot where’s the lore coherence......

Anyway, Ichigo goes to replace the girl’s vase, but suprise-surprise she’s gone-zo. Wonder what happened to her.....

(And....again, people vehemently don’t want a reboot when the anime looks like this? )

So Ichigo hears a scream and a hollow scream and follows the sound (Ok?).

Totally random hollows attack. Which Ichigo somehow has never seen so far? Mind you, this isn’t like in the manga, where Fishbone was sent by Aizen specifically after Ichigo to make him aware of it. These are random-ass hollows attacking people, so how come Ichigo suddenly sees them. Ya coulda played it safe Pierrot, and stuck to the book, but we got plot inconsistencies episode one so let’s party.

The girl is, of course, not eaten and they run away.

She trips at the most inconvenient moment. (can ghosts trip? Ghost don’t even have legs in japanese lore and Kubo draws them floating around so okkkkkkkk)

(ok ok, im just being petty, bUT YKNOW)

(convenient tripping on deadass levelled ground is convenient)

(also God I really want that bag Ichigo’s got on his shoulder, it looks so nice)

Random-ass hollow closes in and 

BOOM

Rukia

(Now, if the rest of Bleach and the manga didn’t exist I would like this moment. We get a glimpse into Rukia’s abilities, into shinigami as a concept and we don’t really get to see her slice and dice hollows that much overall so the moment itself is rad in isolation.

Now, unfortunately for Pierrot’s screenwriters, Bleach manga exists and so does it’s lore, which again, would not be inconsistent with each other if the adapation was faithful. Now, Ichigo sees a shinigami, for some reason, for the first time in his 15 years of life. All of a sudden. 

You could argue, that much like in the manga, this is all part of Aizen’s plan TM, but like, she literally leaves right after leaving Ichigo gaping in awe ghfkjgdf. Why’d Aizen give him an appetizer, I really don’t understand how this change is benefitting the narrative in any way. It’s ....dare I say....generic.)

Rukia yeets the hollow

(why is this kid suddenly not wearing shoes?)

and goes off on her merry way, leaving Ichigo shooketh

ALSO RUKIA MA’AM THERES A FUCKING STRAY GHOST RIGHT AT YOUR RIGHT????? ISNT IT YOUR LIKE....JOB.......... TO HELP GHOSTS MOVE ON??? i know killing hollows is the fun part, but like ghjkfdlgfd ??? are you gonna ignore her???

( his fucking face ghfjdkgdlfgfd)

So after this wholeass pointless detour (you’ll see why it’s pointless in a moment)  we timeskip again (the filler is strong in this one. These 6 minutes were worth not coming up with something cohesive and removing scenes that actually make sense ah yes)

Ichigo is in deep thought TM about who tf is the stranger he’d just seen. Likely mulling over the monsters and how this person was able to slay said monsters. Probably thinking how unusual they are.

and as if on cue

the stranger makes their presence once more

(my God these faces gfhgkldfg)

....

Now let’s briefly address what happens in the manga instead.

Instead of the whole timeskip scene with the fight, Ichigo simply returns to his room on the same day, and oddly enough recognizes the species of the butterfly he sees? (nerdy boi! nerdy!! boi!)

rukia arrives much the same

(With the little text emphasizing how he’d never been aware of soul reapers, which is unsurprising given their secrecy, and makes sense in the long run since their first meeting is specifically orchestrated by Aizen. Two species that werent meant to interact brought together by his schemes.)

Back to the anime:

Ichigo pauses to ponder who tf they are and why the fuck they’re there.

and then the anime has the gall to suddenly revert to sticking to the manga, which like.... Ichigo kicks her for no reason? I guess because she isn’t answering? Even though Ichigo knows she has a sword and can wield it? Reckless boy.

Manga Ichigo thinks she’s a burglar, therefore, unsurprisingly, is comfortable kicking her outta his house. It’s a silly moment, but it also shows how accustomed or stupidly brave he is with the supernatural.

In the anime Ichigo asks her who she is instead of all that, and she responds pretty similarly to the manga

AND THE NEXT SCENE IS WHERE IT CLICKS WHY THEY WENT OUT OF THEIR WAY TO REMOVE ISSHIN FROM THE HOUSE.

(Ichigo and Rukia addressing the pointless filler, this leads nowhere)

Rukia check him out like she’s checking if the oranges on sale dont have mold on them 

slapstick ensues

and Rukia decides to answer his question.

Vs. the manga in which Isshin doesn’t leave his children home alone for some random conference and is actually used very efficient for two reasons:

1) building up on the burglar gag with actually funny slapstick that is based on a previously established joke

2) Instead of Rukia just saying “oh usually people can’t see me”, we get an actual demonstration of it, the reader gets to see “oh Isshin can’t see her - she must be a spiritual entity,” which further clicks with her surprised reaction at him being able to kick her in the first place.

The next scene is the classique Pierrot censorship.

Ghost girl runs away from what I’m assuming is Fishbone.

Aside from not showing her get eaten, the scene is pretty much delivering the same message, 

bUT

BECAUSE OF THE STUPID ASS FILLER WITH THEM MEETING RUKIA BEFORE THIS, I CAN ACCUSE RUKIA OF NEGLIGENCE.

UNLIKE THE MANGA, where Rukia arrives the night before and is specifically seeking Fishbone, therefore having no time to help this girl pass away, 

This vvvvvvv

could have been prevented if SOMEONE DID THEIR FUCKING JOB THE DAY BEFORE VVVVVVV

(I rest my case. Thank you Pierrot for making Rukia either negligent or an idiot. Awesome, And mind you, these changes were unnecessary. The manga’s pacing is fine. They could’ve extended scenes. But nope, had to go for making them meet beforehand.)

Anyway, we get to see some actual stakes in the manga

The next scene which is this in the manga 

has two changes to it. Firstly, obviously Isshin being consoled by Yuzu isn’t included since he isn’t home in the anime, and even if he were, I can see why that would be removed, cute as it may be.

And secondly, due to them having met prior Ichigo asks two additional questions:

And Rukia nods at both, which means she acknowledges that she had seen the girl the hollow was after and yet did nothing to help her pass on. 

(Reminder the Bleach anime was in production WAAAAY past the first 4 volumes, which gave a good general idea of the series, which y’know, was fine to adapt as is.

You’ll see these changes add up into becoming inconsistent with further Bleach lore. There’s a reason people call Bleach a hot mess, and I’m afraid Kubo ain’t really it.)

(Volume 14 Note from Kubo where he talks about the anime being announced)

Back to the series

Pet peeve time: Wish the anime was half as expressive as the manga

These scenes are supposed to represent

This panel:

(Nitpicking? Perhaps, but idc)

So uh, this scene is odd

Again, because of the addition of that filler with the hollow

Ichigo has seen her in action

And they even added Rukia trying to convince him 

even though, yknow???

LITerally the previous day???

Anyway  in the manga, where Ichigo has reason to be distrustful of her and her claims since y’know hes never seen her or a shinigami in action, but has enough proof that she’s a ghost bc his dad didn’t see her, he simply dismisses her before she can reply, and instead of just getting angry for being called a pipsqueak

she shows both Ichigo and the audience proof of her spiritual powers by binding Ichigo and forcing him to quietly listen to her explanations.

(To reiterate - Anime Rukia  has to verbally try to convince Ichigo WHO SAW HER FIGHT A HOLLOW THE OTHER DAY that shes no ordinary ghost. And because of that, she has no other reason to use Sai on him other than that shes mad she was called a pipsqueak bc she just tried to verbally convince him shei is a shinigami. When they could just adapt the manga and have her both demonstrate her powers and put him in his place at the same time. Wild.)

Also CRIMINALLY BORING SHOT, WITH CRIMINALLY BORING RUKIA

#NotMyRukia

LOOK AT THE MANGA

LOOK AT HER SMUGLY OWNING ICHIGO’S IGNORANT ASS #FuckYeahRukia

Also the subs may not show it if you’re watching it on Netflix, but anime Rukia says “I am not allowed to lay my hands on humans outside orders,” which like, you ARE LITERALLY DOING THAT. Manga Rukia is fine with bullying Ichigo, but she draws a line at killing him, but man Anime Rukia, you give no fucks about the laws huh.

why so cheerful?

(also Rukia be right tho)

(specifcally compared to hell you could say Soul society is a resftul place lmfao)

Also anime salary man gets to rest in peace, even like, pray and shit

Meanwhile the manga

YEET TO SOUL SOCIETY

(also notice how we’ve been robbed of ichigo’s silly socks

I swear the anime knows how to suck the soul out of the manga 

Get it? Soul! haha ....moving on.)

Really Rukia? One of your jobs?

GUESS YOU WERE OFF DUTY HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(I’M SORRY BUT LIKE, SEE HOW POINTLESS THIS FILLER IS UGH!!!)

(Again pet peeve but look at how ugly this screen is COMPARED TO THE MANGA)

(What have they done to you, queen)

(also they never mention the name Konso ( or as Viz calls it here -”soul funeral”, thanks Viz)

Next on, not a pet peeve, but an observation:

Anime Rukia keeps her sketchbook in her kimono

Manga Rukia keeps it at the titty

Yep, which you neglected to do the day before,

she literally says “With the konso I did just a  moment ago” like she used the word before. Like you can contextually get it, but why cut that line out of the dialogue if you don’t change the next line it’s referenced in?

There’s also a dialogue change from the manga’s well, Viz uses “vaporize” which is not a bad choice given the specific wording Kubo uses, but the original says 

昇華 • 滅却

sublimate/convert • extinguish

which is a clever little nod/foreshadowing to the nature of souls in bleach and that they can be “converted” in and out of a hollowfied state. 

While the anime just says “to slay hollows”, and albeit it lacks the little nod the manga has to offer, I can’t see how they’d include it in the anime at that stage so I’m fine with them simplifying it to like, an exorcism.

A better question then Rukia - WHY DIDN’T YOU SEND OFF HER SOUL????

also WAIT THE GIRL IS STILL ALIVE?? she’s dead-dead by this point in the manga.

BULLSHIT !!!  YOU LITERALLY EXPLAIN LATER WHY!! ACTUALLY YOU EXPLAINED EARLIER WHY!!! YOU LITERALLY SAID THIS, 1 MINUTE AGO :

Anyway, Fishbone almost grants her the priviledge of escaping this God-awful anime, but is suddenly stopped?

AND CAN TALK??

wait WHY DOES FISHBONE TALK?? GHFJD isnt this supposed to be  a juicy reveal for later when Ichigo realizes “hey theyre not actual complete monsters - but used to be humans!” Hm, ok.

Also leaves her alone? Damn ok...

Reminder:

Moooving on...

Speaking of the manga, this little moment is missing:

Since there is no pointless filler that would make him ask about the ghost girl therefore exposing Rukia’s slacking off of her duty, Ichigo realizes that there must be a hollow nearby bc in the manga he actually has braincells to spare. 

Also wiping off the Baron’s moustache moment is gone 😢

Missing and dearly missed is also this moment, which consolidates how protective Ichigo is of his family. He only needs to hear Yuzu scream to click that the hollow is nearby and his family is in danger. I feel like anime Ichigo should be even more worried since his sisters are alone but ok??

Also foreshadows their dynamic of Rukia trying to stop his reckless attempts at pushing himself to protect his family, bc yknow....she has her own Kaien trauma to process.

Next off....

This is .... a choice....

They were very eager to give Yuzu’s lines to Karin just a couple of moments ago but now this whole exchange:

Where we see a very pragmatic yet soft side of Karin

She doesn’t know what is happening, and doesn’t expect her brother to fight it - he just wants him to be safe, because she loves her family. At least warn him before it gets to him and hurts him.

is replaced with this:

Yuzu, sweetie, what do you think he can do to achieve that.

I guess at least Anime Ichigo tries to get Rukia to do her job as she looks down on Yuzu in silence. 

But compare it to the manga:

#MyRukia stops by Karin to check for a pulse and reassures Ichigo that his sister is alive.

Manga Ichigo is NUMBER ONE oniichan in town and doesnt have time to call out to a stranger to save his family - HES BEYOND READY TO GO FIGHT, RECKLESS AS IT IS, EVEN THOUGH HIS OWN FAMILY BEGS HIM TO JUST RUN. because he cant let himself be unable to protect them. He cant live with himself if he doesnt try his darnest to protect them.

*elevator music playing as ichigo tries to get rukia’s attention but she fucks off downstairs, but instead of doing shit he just does the worm on the floor*

which I guess is more realistic for a teenage boy, but Ichigo is literally traumatized by being unable to protect a family member. Y’all think a ghost he’s never seen before is gonna stop him? 

Yooo, pathetic. #NotMyIchigo

[babbushka]

Hide Your Smile

Flip Zimmerman x Reader 

11.5k ; Warnings for: Dark!fic (graphic depictions of violence [drunken violent outbursts, domestic violence, domestic abuse {physical and verbal}], blood and gore, graphic brutal murder, mild stalking, possessive behavior), & NSFW content (Car sex/fingering)

Also available on AO3!

(this fic was written in collaboration with my amazing friends and followers here. Thank you all so much for voting in the polls to determine this oneshot, I hope you enjoy it!)

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

You don't own me I'm not just one of your many toys You don't own me Don't say I can't go with other boys

And don't tell me what to do Don't tell me what to say And please, when I go out with you Don't put me on display 'cause

You don't own me...

Darkness, all around.

Nothing but hot wet earth, mud sinking under your feet, swallowing you whole.

Rain, thudding against the ground, against your back as you are chased by a monster in the night, bitter breath haunting the back of your neck, the hair rising on your arms only to be drenched down by the torrential downpour flooding your lungs.  

The world blurs around you, and you can’t tell, can’t tell which way is up, which way is forward. Things feel slow, thick, you blink but the spots only multiply. There’s a rush in your ears, a gruesome thud thud thudding – is that your pulse? You don’t know.

Blood stings your eyes, dirt caked into the backs of your molars. You can’t see, you can’t hear, you don’t know what’s going on, you see lights in the distance but when you run towards them they seem farther and farther away. Claws and teeth nip at your heels, you can’t stop running, can’t stop no matter how badly your legs ache, because if you stop even for just a moment, he’ll get you, and who knows what will become of you then.

Somewhere far away, a million miles away, Leslie Gore sings and your friends dance in a cookie cutter house in a cookie cutter town. But there in the woods, as something closes around your arm and drags you down to the ground,

you scream.

The party had been going well enough, hadn’t it? Josh hadn’t taken his hand off of you all evening, and wasn’t that something just dandy. Things had been getting tense between the two of you lately, you try not to think about all those heated arguments and cold shoulders that your boyfriend had dropped atop your head. You could ignore all of that now, he didn’t mean it, you knew that.

Maybe he did mean it, but he wasn’t meaning it now, as he dances with you in the dimly lit living room. You weren’t so sure what time it even was, gosh the rain was coming down so hard and making the skies nearly pitch black; why, it coulda been two in the morning for all you knew!

You give a strained smile to Josh for a brief moment, before laying your head back down on his chest. You think he looks relatively dashing tonight, dressed up for the party. New Year’s Eve 1962, could you believe it? Or well, it’d be 1962 in a couple minutes, but still.

You wore a mini-dress with the grooviest pattern you could find, some bright purple tights and white block heels, and you’d done your hair up so high you were sure you could feel it swaying on top of your head. It was very on trend these days, this sort of hairstyle. From what you could tell, anyway. You knew that this party was important for Josh, was important that he show up and make a good appearance with his football buddies, there were guys here that knew NFL draft scouts and he needed to impress them so he could get on their good side.

You wanted to look nice. He looked nice too, in his letterman jacket and jeans. Maybe he could have dressed up a little more, put a little more effort in. It was alright, it was fine. He gelled his hair down, that was more than you were expecting.

Thunder cracks across the sky and you involuntarily press yourself closer to him – he’ll hold you, won’t he? You wait for his arms to tighten around you, but they never do. Disappointed, but not surprised, you think.

“What’s your problem babe?” He asks, his voice slurred. You realize you’ve stopped dancing, stopped the short back and forth of your feet and he’d picked up on that.

“Nothing Josh. Just you know, the thunder and all.” You shrug, but he only scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“It’s not even real, it can’t hurt you, get a grip.” Josh steps away from you, away from the dance floor.

There are prying eyes there in the dark, and you’re embarrassed by the volume in his voice. He doesn’t realize how loud he can be sometimes, you know that, especially when he’s a little more buzzed than normal. He’s been getting more and more buzzed these days, you didn’t think it was good, was healthy. Just because he was of legal drinking age didn’t mean that you should dump alcohol into your body, not the way he did anyway.

“Right, of course Josh, sorry.” You grit your teeth, clench your jaw.

“Why don’t you go get me another beer, make yourself useful.” He dismisses you, turning towards his group of friends on the football team, towards bigger and stronger boys than he is, an attempt to weasel his way inside their group.

You’ve had quite enough of being dismissed, pushed aside. You’ve had enough. You’d been thinking of leaving him for a while, thinking about telling him what for, for once and for all. It never felt like the right time, something about him always made you feel like something bad would happen if you tried. But you’re at a point where you’re not being given any other choice.

You watch him laugh with his friends, with these college seniors, big boys on campus, and your heart races in your chest. A very small part of your brain fantasizes late at night about killing him, pushing him off some cliff or into traffic, an accident. Always an accident.

You’d never do it of course – of course not. Good girls didn’t kill their star athlete boyfriends.

But.

But maybe…maybe if something were to happen to him, you wouldn’t be so upset, would you?

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?” The words tumble past your lips without much thought, and you don’t really even register it until the whole group of jocks go silent and Josh turns around slowly, menacingly, to stare you down.

“…What the fuck did you just say?” His voice is low, angry.  

“You’re supposed to drive me back home after this, I just want to make sure you’ll be alright to drive.” You’re unrelenting, shoulders square and jaw tight. If he thought he was going to be a jackass to win brownie points, then he had another thing coming.

The jocks only sip their beers, carefully watching. You wonder if any of them would come to your defense, but their silence is telling. You decide you hate them.

“I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion, I asked you to get me a fucking beer.” Josh shoves his red cup into your hand and you decide you hate him too.

Without another word, you accept the cup and with a forced smile, make your way to the kitchen where people are crowded by kegs and bottles.

You give a small sigh while you pour a cup of whatever shitty draft they’d gotten for the party. Part of you wishes you hadn’t come at all, you knew it could have only ended like this, being ignored and belittled all evening.

You wish that Flip were there, and you sigh again.

Philip ‘Flip’ Zimmerman, your best friend. The handsome basketball player, the guy who’s got his life together. A good job at the lumbermill, probably going to be a manager or something, the CEO one day. Smart, so smart! You can’t help but think of how many nights he tutored you for math with gentle eyes. And funny, and kind, and nice to you. He’s a couple years older than you and probably doesn’t think of you as anything other than a friend, but…but for a moment, you imagine what it might be like to call Flip your man.

You wonder if Flip would hold you tight when the thunder cracks across the sky, and a small smile threatens to creep up on your face. He definitely would, he’s done it before, hasn’t he? Given you his jacket to keep you dry from the rain, strong arms around your shoulders. Your cheeks begin to warm at the thought, at the way you can practically smell the cologne he wears whenever you’d rest your head on his shoulder.

You wish Flip were here. Or maybe no, maybe you just wish you were with him alone, were with him anywhere that wasn’t here. You wish you were cozied up on the couch in his Ma’s house, watching some scary movie and tucking yourself under his chin while you share a bowl of stove-top popcorn.

Lightning splinters across the clouds through the window in the kitchen, and you sigh again.

You had asked him to come, you really did try. But he said he was busy with work stuff, and he couldn’t. You admired that about him, his work ethic. He was so dedicated to everything he did, and even though you wanted to be selfish and whine and complain about needing his attention, you respected when he put his foot down.

Watching the froth begin to fade from the top of the beer cup, you think to yourself that tonight’s it, the last night you’d deal with Josh. You decide that you’ll go over, give him his beer, and then as soon as he drops you home whenever this party is supposed to end, you’ll tell him not to bother calling you ever again.

Something inside of you lightens up at the thought, like a weight slowly slipping off your shoulders. You can’t help but smile a little bit, at the thought of no longer being with him. Maybe…maybe if Flip saw you were single, he’d make a move of his own. Your head is in the clouds thinking about Flip, when you accidentally bump into someone on your way back to the living room.

A little bit of beer sloshes onto a boy’s shirt, and you recognize him as one of Josh’s new pals.

Before you can even open your mouth to apologize for the mess, he grabs you by the arm. His grip is harsh, and he yanks you around for a second, the beer spilling everywhere, all over the floor, onto your new white shoes.

“Hey J, are you gonna control your woman or what?” The guy – was his name Tommy? – sneers down at you. He’s tall, and he’s strong, you can start to feel a dull ping of pain on your arm where his fingers are digging in deep.

“I’m not his to control.” You wrench yourself out of the guy’s hold, stumbling backwards a few feet from the force of it.

Josh is up off the couch in an instant, infuriated with you.

He’s drunk, eyes glassed over like some shark, dark and empty. He backhands you across the jaw, sends you falling to the floor despite your best efforts, the crack of your skull against the wooden panels calling spots to your vision.

“Don’t ever speak back to someone like that, are you out of your fucking mind?” He wrangles you back up off the floor, grabs you by the front of your dress and hauls you up roughly, unkindly.

“Don’t touch me!” You shout, your nails scratching at his face, teeth bared in a rage of your own, pent-up anger that you’ve been swallowing for six months as you smack him across the face back in retaliation, angry and spitting, “Get off of me!”

Josh doesn’t let up, in fact he doubles down, kicks at your ankles so your knees cave in to try and support yourself as his hand shoots up from the collar of your blouse to wrapping around your throat. He drags you like that through the party, and you can’t help but wonder why no one is saying anything, doing anything? Do they not hear you? Do they not care?

“I’ll make you regret that – I’ll make you regret everything.” Josh hisses lowly in your ear as he forces you through the house by the scruff of your neck, sour breath of a drunken stupor stinging like a brand across your cheek.

“I already do.” You choke, struggling against his hold, against his hands.

You manage to elbow him in the stomach, hard, hard enough that he doubles over from the wind knocked out of his lungs, and you run.

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

Don't try to change me in any way You don't own me Don't tie me down 'cause I'd never stay

I don't tell you what to say I don't tell you what to do So just let me be myself That's all I ask of you

Shoving through the crowd of people, a hundred faces you don’t recognize, smiles fading into confused glares, you run. 

Thunder, rain, lightning, music deafens in your ears as you look for the door. Why is it so dark at this party? Where in the house are you? Hallways lead to doors that lead to nowhere, and you can hear his footsteps, can hear him running running running after you.

Didn’t you pass through this room before? Where was a telephone, surely whoever’s house this was, surely they had a telephone. But who would you call? You couldn’t call your parents, couldn’t let them know you snuck out of the house. You could call Flip, yes, that was it! You’d call Flip, if only you could find a phone.

They laugh at you, the people at the party. Laugh with their drug addled eyes, high off mushrooms and LSD, acid trips going wrong wrong wrong. They dance and laugh and laugh and dance, chugging spiked drinks with wild abandon, lights flashing red yellow purple green blue, a cacophony of psychedelics.

He’s there, somewhere among them, he’s there, you know he is. The smack of your footsteps sound like gunshots against the wood, your head throbs. You want to sob and scream and shout and cry cry cry but you can’t do that until you are safe, and if you stay in this house, there’s no telling where you’ll find safety again.

Or at all.

You try every door, locked ones, unlocked ones, looking for a way out. Eventually you lock yourself in a bathroom, lucky that there’s a window. It’s a single story house, the jump isn’t far.

You abandon your shoes, they don’t stay on your feet that well anyway, and you don’t have the time to groan about the frigid mud that squeaks between your toes as you splash down onto the ground from the window.

“Help!” You cup your mouth and shout, hearing something, a twig snapping not too far away. You see him, he’s coming after you through a side-door, and you have to run, you have to go. “Oh fuck – ”

You bolt, freezing rain soaking your clothes.

You don’t know where you are, don’t recognize this part of town.

Josh knew the area, not you, not you. These were his friends, not yours, not yours.

You just run, hoping your legs carry you to safety, carry you away. There’s woods, in the distance. You whip your head around, try looking for a road, any road. Where’s the driveway? It must be on the other side of the house, it must be –

Josh is gaining on you, athletic legs more powerful than your own.

“You can’t outrun me, don’t even try, don’t bother, get the fuck over here!” He hollers at you, voice guttural and deep, primal in a way that strikes fear into your heart.

You wish you had something, a weapon of some kind, any kind, to fight him with, but you don’t.

So you run.

“Shitshitshitshitshit – someone help!” You toss your voice to the wind, the howling wind which carries sheets of rain, pounds it down sideways against your back, your face, hair sopping wet and sticking to your eyes, nose, getting in your mouth as you pant pant pant, sobs of terror spiking through your chest, salty tears whisked away by the rain.

You don’t know how far you’ve gotten, you don’t know if anyone can hear you, don’t know if anyone would even come if they did. You need to form a plan, need to put enough distance between you and this monster of a man, need to catch your breath.

Your adrenaline pounds in your ear as the earth slips and slides underneath your feet, your nylon stockings not doing anything to help gain traction. You skid your knees on rocks and trip over gnarled roots, but every time you get up, each and every time you have to get up, otherwise he’ll get you.

You can feel how close he is, his hands reaching out to tear away at your clothes, can feel the ghost of his fingers trying to hook around your dress, and you can’t help but let out a high-pitched scream, something that pierces into the blackness of night, something that sends the birds from their branches.

“How dare you! How dare you embarrass me like that!” Josh manages to snatch you, the both of you tumbling down to the ground from the momentum, rolling in the mud. It’s in your eyes, mouth, a sharp hot pain at your temple makes you think you’ve hit your head, maybe on a rock? You don’t know, you taste copper in your mouth. You feel hands, no, fists, hard against your jaw. “I’ll kill you, you whore, I’ll fucking kill you for embarrassing me.”

“Don’t touch me – !” You scream, searching the ground for something, for anything, relief flooding through your body when your hand closes around a rock large enough to do some damage.

“Quiet, just be quiet!” He’s annoyed with you, annoyed with how loud you’re being, as if you’re inconveniencing him by not taking a beating politely. You take in a deep breath and muster all the strength you possibly can, to slam the rock against his face, making him knock backwards with a loud, “Fuck!”

“Someone – please!” You cough and sputter as blood streams down your face, washed away by the heavy rain which does not relent.

In an instant, the hands are yanked away from you, and you scramble to get away as fast as you can to catch your breath. You cough and hack up blood, dirt, mud which grinds between your teeth, the pounding against your temple making you dizzy, making you sick. You feel like you’re going to be sick, the adrenaline rising up up up your throat.

“Who the fuck are you – ” You hear Josh start, before the sound of punches and grunts cuts through the air again, and you squint in the dark to see who came to your rescue, who heard your calls.

“Flip?” You nearly can’t believe it, can’t believe your widened eyes, but there he is – you’d recognize those broad shoulders and the pattern of his breathing anywhere. Despite all better judgement, you rush back to his side, slipping and sliding on mud as rain beats down with such fury as your best friend’s fists, “Flip!”

“You don’t get to touch her, ever again.” Flip does not yell, he does not scream.

He does not raise his voice, he is calm, eerily calm, unnervingly calm.

You almost don’t hear him speaking at all, from how softly his voice comes out as he kicks the shit out of Josh, as he holds his head in place and knees him so hard in the face once, twice, three times, hard enough that the sick crunch of bone and cartilage echoes the thunder all around you, and he goes limp.

But Flip doesn’t stop, he doesn’t stop beating Josh’s face in with his fist until the man is a mess of blood, teeth coming loose, broken nose and busted lip bubbling hot, steaming in the freezing cold air. He doesn’t stop still, and you watch in awe, in twisted admiration as Flip hauls the ragdoll of your former boyfriend up enough to get him in a chokehold and snap his neck.

Only then, does Flip drop him, face down into the mud.

You look at the lifeless body, and then up at Flip, who you find is already looking back at you. His chest is heaving, he’s panting, out of breath and exhausted. The rain has soaked him through too, but he’s not shivering, not the way you are. He must have ran too, had to have ran to catch up with you. You don’t know how deep in the woods you are, how deep he had to go to find you.

But he did, he did.

You’re numb, standing there. Numb from the cold, from the shock, you don’t know. You want to comfort Flip – and isn’t that fucked up? You wanting to comfort someone else right now? But you do.

Everything feels like it’s going to be okay now, now that Flip’s here.

“Oh my god.” You say, because you don’t really know what else to say, don’t really know what else to do other than stand there. You’re frightened, you can feel the fear bubbling up in your stomach, but there’s calm now too, a calm that’s got you more afraid than anything. You look at Josh, then back to Flip once again. “Do you think…”

“Are you okay?” Flip pushes the hair out of his face with a bloody hand and takes a cautious step towards you.

“Me? Yeah – yes I’m…Do you think you killed him?” You ask, holding a hand out to Flip.

You know he’s worried about scaring you, and warmth cuts through some of the chill in your bones at the thought. You extend a hand and encourage him to take it, smearing blood between your palms which the rain washes away, carries down into the wood in thick muddy rivers.

You’re not afraid of Flip, could never be afraid of Flip.

“Look at me,” He’s hung up on it, presses his forehead against yours and goes nearly cross-eyed in the dark to peer into your eyes, your soul, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” You finally answer truthfully, taking another step closer to him, trying to get as close to him as possible. You feel safe, your brain screams safety with this man, with your friend, your Flip. “But I’m better now that you’re here. What are you doing here? I thought you had work.”

Confusion dawns on you, and you frown a little bit, just because it doesn’t make sense for him to be here right now, it doesn’t make sense for him to be here at all. Flip’s eyes widen a little, and even in the scant moonlight you can tell he’s blushing. He tries pulling away, but you don’t release your grip on his hand, warm and solid and real against your own.

“I just – I’m sorry I – well I got off early and I wanted to make sure that you would be okay so I came over and just kind of watched from the car in case you needed me for anything.” He rushes out in one big breath, winces, waits for you to berate him.

“Do you do that? Watch me from a distance.” You ask him, the both of you standing there in the rain.

You know it’s absurd, somewhere in the back of your head a small voice tells you it’s absurd to have a conversation like this while standing over a body in the middle of the woods, but you push it away, push it away and step closer to Flip. You’re not accusatory when you ask, you’re not condemning him – you’re just curious.

“No – I – well yes, sometimes, but only when you’re out with him.” He admits, nudging Josh’s back with the toe of his boot. His voice is dark, low, gritty in the back of his throat but he doesn’t yell, you sigh against him, your heart breaks for the anger in his voice, the sadness. You wish you never started dating this schmuck, wish you never said yes to him, wished that it had been Flip who asked instead. “I don’t trust him, (Y/N), I don’t like how he treats you. I worry, and I know that it’s creepy I know, I’m sorry, I’m not a creep I swear, I just. I care about you.”

You’re quiet for a little while, and then you move away from him only far enough to plant your stocking-clad foot onto the back of Josh’s head, push him deeper into the earth, the mud. The body gives no resistance, and a sick satisfaction makes your vision go blurry.

“Have…have you done this before?” You ask, that numbness starting to fade, the tremble of shock at what you witnessed, experienced setting in.

Flip looks like he would fall to his knees before you in that moment, as he blinks water out of his eyes, as he trembles too.

“No, I swear. I don’t even know what came over me, but I heard you screaming and begging and I couldn’t stop, I had to help you somehow.” His voice breaks, and all you want is to be close to him, so you go, go rushing into his arms, and he holds you tight.

He holds you and you hold him back, two people under the moonlight as lightning illuminates the body with picture-perfect clarity for a split second. He’s face down in the earth but you can tell, you can just tell he’s brutally mangled by the damage Flip did to him, and as you shove your face into Flip’s chest, for the briefest of moments, you smile.

“We have to get rid of him.” You say softly, trying to think of a plan, trying to think of what to do.

Flip gently pushes on your shoulders to separate the two of you, and shakes his head with a frown.

“We? No (Y/N), you can’t be involved at all, you can’t, just please go to the car and get dry and warm, I can handle this.” He’s sweet, so sweet with the way there’s sincerity in his eyes, but you’re not having any of it.

“I’m already involved, Flip, I’m not going to let you do this alone. Whatever it is, we’re in this together now. We can’t go to the police, they wouldn’t understand, they wouldn’t believe us. I’m with you.” You squeeze his hand lovingly in your own, and you can’t help but think how good it feels, how right it feels, to hold his hand.

“I think I have an idea, but first, we need to get him to the car.” Flip chews the inside of his cheek, a nervous tick of his that you always scold him for.

You don’t scold him now, there’s no time, that’s not what’s important now.

What’s important is hauling dead weight down the woods without a trace, without any evidence other than what will be washed away.

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

I'm young and I love to be young I'm free and I love to be free To live my life the way I want To say and do whatever I please

And don't tell me what to do Oh, don't tell me what to say And please, when I go out with you Don't put me on display

The body rolls around slightly, in the trunk. You’re in Flip’s dad’s '58 oldsmobile, the heat is blasting, and you hug your knees in the passenger seat, as Flip maneuvers through the winding Colorado roads. It had taken quite some time to get back through the car, out of the woods.

He had been parked out front, only a few feet from the driveway the whole time. All evening, sitting, watching, waiting. Hoping you wouldn’t need him, but prepared to do anything for you if you did. He’s silent on the drive to wherever it is you’re going, the radio is playing softly. The music helps calm your nerves, and you’re thankful for it, you try not to freak out.

The little clock on the dashboard says it’s only about midnight, but you feel like it’s way later than that. The rain fucks everything up, you think, the rain’s been pouring for hours and hours now, but it feels like days.

Every time the car makes a sharp turn, or goes up and down a hill, the body thuds against the walls of the trunk, and you just hug your knees tighter.

“Where are we going?” You ask eventually, voice soft. You’re afraid if you raise it, you’ll scream. Your throat hurts, you’ve done enough screaming already.

“Hospital.” Flip replies easily, not taking his eyes off the road, his hands at perfect ten-and-two. You wonder if he’s afraid of screaming too.

The thought of the hospital sends a spike of fear through your blood, makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“What? Why?” You demand immediately, confused, scared.

“You still haven’t stopped bleeding and I need to make sure you’re okay.” Flip says evenly. You can tell he wants a cigarette, you can tell. But this is his dad’s car, and he can’t smoke in it. You wonder what his dad would say to knowing that there’s a dead body in it, wonder if smoke would be more of an issue.

“No!” You shake your head, turning yourself towards him fully, a hand on his arm. “No, Flip please, they’ll call my parents and they don’t know I’m out this late, please just – let’s just get rid of him, and then take me home, Flip I’m begging.”

“But what if you’re seriously hurt? What if he did something severe?” Flip’s grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckled, and your stomach flutters as the windshield wipers beat back and forth, whisking the rain away.

“I’m okay, I promise I’m okay, I’ll be fine.” You don’t know if that’s the truth, but you have to believe that it is, you have to. “Philip, please.”

The use of his full first name convinces him, you don’t think you’ve ever said it before, not out loud anyway, not like this. He chews on his lip and sighs, nods his head to your supreme relief.

“Thank you.” You want to kiss him, want to embrace him desperately, but now isn’t the time. He’s driving, there are more important things right now, more important things to deal with. “What are we going to do with him? We can’t bury him in the woods, the rain’s logged all the dirt.”

“Logged – we can go to the mill.” Flip snaps his fingers, and it’s like a light bulb has gone off inside his head.

You just sit back and press a bundled up wad of wet napkins against the wound on your temple, hugging your knees, knowing that you’ll be okay, as long as you’re with Flip.

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

The lumbermill is a family-owned and operated affair. Flip’s grandfather had founded it sixty-two years ago way back during the turn of the century in 1900, and it had remained in the Zimmerman hands ever since. Once a small business, now stood a proud industrial center for logging and clearing away trees to produce more logs and square away neat pockets of land. Where there used to be only hand-held tools and traditions, now there were the highest-end types of machinery.

You thought Flip was brilliant, absolutely brilliant – you knew exactly what he was thinking.

Just last month, Flip’s dad had been bragging about the new woodchipper that had finally been ordered. You remember sitting at Flip’s Ma’s shabbat table and listening to him go on and on about the new sharp blades, how much more efficient it would make everything, not to mention how little waste they would have, considering the wood chips could be sold for all kinds of uses.

At the time, you had thought it was a little annoying how he wouldn’t let anyone else at the table get in a word, but now you’re thanking your lucky stars that you had been paying attention.

It’s strange, being here this late, being here at all. You’ve visited before of course, Flip has always been eager to show you around. It never felt like you were sneaking about or anything, not considering his family owned it, considering he’d own it one day too.

But it’s strange, with the flood lights filling the night sky with a brilliant white, the usually bustling lumbermill quiet, nothing but the sound of harsh rain clanging on machinery and metal roofs. Flip parks the car in the lot, reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out a key-ring. There must be a dozen keys on the little circle, but Flip seems to know exactly which ones are for what.

“Emergency backups of all the gates,” he explains, jingling it on his index finger for a second, “No one will suspect anything.”

You nod, chew on your cheeks. The thought of going back out into the rain is unpleasant, but you suck it up and open the car door, bracing yourself for a minute before the icy water plunges down the back of your dress once again, body already shivering.

He meets you at the trunk, pops it open. With the flood lights, you can see the extent of the damage to Josh’s face – if you could even call it a face anymore. It was nearly caved in completely, soaked with blood and mud, all the planes of a face that should push out were indented inwards. You manage a glance at Flip’s knuckles, and you see they’re busted wide open, and you suck in a sharp breath.

“Follow me.” Flip says, hoisting the body over his shoulder like a fireman would rescue someone from a burning building, and his boots splash in the mud towards where he knows the woodchipper is set up.

You regret not going back for your shoes now, as more freezing mud stains your tights. You regret dressing up at all, dressing for fashion instead of comfort. Flip is in a flannel and jeans, and normally you tease him for being like a cartoon character always wearing the same thing, you wish that you weren’t in a fucking miniskirt and tights in the dead of winter.

Lightning backs the machine dramatically, after a few minutes of trudging. The ground here is much more substantial than the woods, and you push your legs across a developed terrain instead of through the wilderness of the mountains. It stands tall, proud, the woodchipper, and you swallow a lump around your throat.

“Is that it?” You ask, close enough to Flip that you only have to raise your voice a little bit to compete with the sound of the rain.

Flip dumps the body onto the ground, goes over to the woodchipper and turns it on. You can tell that using it in the rain is a poor decision, but it’s the only option you have. Flip adjusts some settings, and the thing roars to life, metal blades whirring whirring whirring.

“Yeah but it – he’s too fucking big he can’t go in all in one piece, it’ll get jammed.” Flip runs a hand through his hair as he comes half-jogging back over to you, and you just blink for a moment.

“Okay then we cut him up.” You say matter of factly, your heart pounding in your chest, aware that time is not on your side, that you have to get this done and get out, have to get this done and go as quickly as possible, in case someone comes, in case someone sees.

“(Y/N), are you sure you want to do this?” Flip asks you seriously, puts his hands gently on your shoulders and looks into your eyes.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.” You whisper, eyes wide, feeling more liberated and free, feeling so light, determined. Maybe it’s the shock, maybe you’ve lost your fucking mind, you don’t know. But you can’t stop now, you’ve done this much, you can’t stop now. “It can’t be too hard, like breaking down a chicken, right? Split at the joints.”

The analogy is lost on Flip, because as much as you love your friend, he cannot cook to save his life. Flip isn’t one to smile, and he doesn’t smile then, but you know he’s agreed with you because he looks around, tries to find something.

“Hold on.” He runs across the yard, finds one of the sheds that’s tucked against the back wall of one of the main buildings.

You stand there and wait, arms crossed, staring down at Josh. While Flip searches for whatever it is he’s looking for, you just grow more and more angry, watching rain flood the spaces in the dips of his shoulders.

“Fuck you.” You say to his lifeless body, “You say I embarrassed you? You tormented me. I wish I could have killed you myself. You’re lucky Flip did it, I wouldn’t have been so merciful.”

You don’t know what’s come over you, but the words sound like the most truthful ones you’ve ever told this boy, this husk of a monster, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You can’t help yourself, spitting onto the ground in his direction, sneering through the rain, blinking it and the shocked fury out of your eyes.

Flip returns with an axe, brand new from the looks of it. The blade glints in the floodlight, freshly polished metal dripping with silver rivers of water as Flip swings it lightly in his hand.

“This should work, fuck, okay. Okay. Okay alright okay, you come over here, stand over here I don’t want you getting hurt accidentally.” He’s steeling himself, psyching himself up for this, and you put a hand on his back to calm him.

“Want me to do it?” You offer, not knowing the first fucking things about even how to hold an axe, let alone swing one.

“No, no let me.” Flip huffs out a laugh, shakes his head. You can’t help but feel silly for asking, you know there’s no way you’d have the upper body strength to cut through a person. You’d never even chopped wood before, and well, Flip was an actual lumberjack.

“Okay, I can count to three?” You acquiesce with a tremor in your voice.

“Please.” Flip whispers, getting the body into position.

You stand where Flip tells you, a little ways away, as he raises the axe high above his head.

“One…”

There’s a ringing in your ears, a pounding in your chest. You’re doing this, you’re really doing this, you can’t help but think. Flip plants his feet firmly on the ground, takes in a deep breath. You can see his hands flex and grip the handle, as he liens himself up.

“Two…”

Your face shakes, teeth rattling in your skull from where your jaw chatters, shivers in the cold. It’s so bright, so bright with all the floodlights, you feel like you’re being watched, you feel like you can hear the whispers, the murmurs of ghosts all around you, the ghost of this monster you’ve killed.

“Three!”

Hot blood sprays from Josh’s shoulder as the axe swings down, cleaves into his shoulder. The blade is bran new, terribly sharp, and it nearly goes all the way through. The bone splinters, you can hear it, can hear it slicing into pieces. Flip pries the blade out and lines himself up again, does not wait this time for your count before taking aim and slamming it into the body again.

Blood hot and thick bubbles up, gurgles around the wound, and when Flip tosses a severed arm away from the rest of the body, despite yourself, you turn around, brace your hands on your knees and throw up. Everything you ate and drank at the party comes back up in an acrid stinging cough that has you nearly choking, but you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and get yourself together.

You don’t know how Flip has the stomach for this, for it, but he has a steady hand as he works on the other arm, separating it from the body.

The machine is still on, the machine is hungry.

You want to give it what it wants, you want to see the spray out the other end. Without waiting for his instruction, you pick up the arm, grab it by the wrist. You make sure there’s no jewelry, no watches or anything that could get jammed, and you rush it over to the woodchipper, drop it into the basin.

The sound it makes is horrific, the sick squelch and crunch of bone, the shredding shredding shredding of the blades. Mincemeat blasts out the other end, and even as some of it sprays back against the wind, even as some of it lands on your face, speckles of blood and guts and shards of crushed bone, you find that you’re grinning, because it worked.  

“Another one, give me another one.” You say eagerly, holding a hand out to Flip.

He smiles too, eyes too bright, as he gives you Josh’s other arm, hacked away in nice clean segments. He watches as you dump the second arm into the machine, gets to see as it eats up the flesh, grinds and slashes it into nothingness, watches as the bits of this man land in wet smacks on the dirt.

Piece by piece, you obliterate the monster that had tormented you for months.

Piece by piece, you free yourself of the hurt and pain, the lies and manipulation he shackled you with.

Piece by piece, you destroy the evidence, watch as it washes away, watch as the rain carries it down the drain, into the sewers where he’ll rot among the rats like he deserves.

The rain absolves you and Flip of the muck and grime of the deed, and now that it’s over, now that he’s gone, you close your eyes and tilt your head up towards the sky, letting the rain patter down onto your cheeks, your forehead. You feel clean, though you are cold, so so so cold, the only thing you can focus on is the cleanliness, the relief.

“You never should have fucked with her.” You hear Flip say, and that makes you open your eyes, makes your turn towards him.

Flip looks down to the drain, and you smile, because he looks lighter too.

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

You’re leaving the lumbermill, when it hits.

You’d been so caught up in the euphoria of getting rid of him, of this man who had made your life a living nightmare for far too long – that you hadn’t stopped once to think of the consequences of these actions.

“I – holy shit I can’t believe we did that.” It slams into your chest, the realization that you’re a murderer, you’re both murderers, you’re going to go to prison for this, they’ll send you to the chair for this, they’ll kill you for this the same way you killed Josh. Your heart races, pounds pounds pounds as dread and terror and fear all come rushing back, all come slamming down inside your brain. “What the fuck did we just do? Flip what did we do?”

Flip must have willpower of steel, because he doesn’t even blink when you whip around to face him, when you immediately freak the fuck out, when you start to hyperventilate, holding the sides of your head.

“It’s okay, it’s fine. Things like this happen. It was an accident that spiraled out of control, it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Flip is calm, so calm, and that almost freaks you out more, maybe you were going to scream, maybe you were already screaming, you don’t know, you don’t know anything except you just murdered a man.

“Oh my god what are they going to say when he doesn’t come back to the party? Or go home?” You panic, shifting around too much in your seat, legs bouncing, back aching from the way you keep twisting and turning, “What’ll they do if they find the pieces of him?”

“You have to breathe it’s going to be okay, we’ll be okay – fuck, what was that?” Flip is cut off by a loud thud, the car coming to a complete stop.

Your eyes begin to well up with tears as you hiccup out terror, hands shaking. You want to slam your fists against the window, want to throw yourself onto the street and beg for forgiveness, you want to be sick, you want to tell Flip to drive and never look back.

“Oh no, oh no no no this is it, this is the karma catching up to us already.” You can feel the tethers of reality start to slip, black splotches dancing in front of your vision – will you pass out? Are you at your limit? You don’t know, you don’t know but the car isn’t moving, it’s not going anywhere no matter how hard Flip pushes on the gas pedal.

“Stay here.” He says, and you’re in no mood, no state to defy the instructions now.

Flip puts the car in park, gets out and shuts the door so water doesn’t come pouring in. You watch him through the warped view of rain on the windows as he walks around the car, his hands on his hips, trying to figure out what the fuck happened.

It doesn’t take him too long to find the problem, and he comes back into the car with a sigh, soaking wet and unsure of what to do.

“We’re stuck.” He tells you, and that’s the last thing you want to hear. A flat tire you knew he could change, even in the rain like this, but being stuck left nothing to do except wait for someone to come un-stick you.

“So we’re stranded out here?” Your voice creeps up higher and higher in octave as the consequences of that stab you through the chest.

You never should have snuck out of home, you lament, hot tears finally stinging the rims of your eyes. You never should have left home through your window, never should have agreed to the party. You never should have agreed to date this fucking guy, you think, because if you hadn’t maybe you’d be safe and warm somewhere, maybe you’d be asleep soundly in your bed and not stranded in the pouring rain, in the middle of you don’t even know where.  

“Yes but – but this is good. This is good, this is our alibi. We don’t know anything, because we were stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere in a ditch.” Flip knows you’re freaking out, he knows, he can feel it, can see it, it’s happening right in front of him.

“Wh—what will we say that we were even doing out here? What if someone asks why we’re here in the first place?” Your whole body wracks through with terrified sobs. “They’re going to kill us for this, Flip if they catch us they’re going to kill us – I don’t want to die, I don’t --”

He collects you in his arms and holds you tightly against his chest, rocks you to soothe you, calms you. The rain is unrelenting, and you wonder how much water the sky can hold, how many clouds are up there to maintain such a downpour. Flip’s arms are so warm around your shoulders, and his neck is blazing hot where you tuck your face against it.

“You called me to pick you up from the party, I came, we got lost, wound up here. It’s dark and raining, that’s all the truth.” Flip whispers, “We don’t know anything, we’ve been here, waiting for someone to pass by.”

You nod, because it’s all you can do right now. You had almost forgotten how cold you were, the stark comparison of your own body temperature compared to Flip’s making you feel even colder.

“I’m f-f-freezing.” You say, because you don’t have anything else to say, and Flip hums in the back of his throat.

“I don’t have any spare clothes, I’m sorry.” He frowns, but then you pull away for a moment, begin stripping off your dress. You peel away the layers until you’re in your bra and underwear, just wanting the wet cold fabric off of your skin. Flip’s hands drop from your body, and he nervously looks away with a very gentlemanly, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry – I just – I figured maybe if we use body heat – ” You explained, suddenly feeling stupid, feeling unwanted, feeling --

“Don’t stop, I’ll do it too, if you want. I’ll keep you warm.” Flip nods, understands what you’re doing now, what you mean. He looks at you cautiously, not ever wanting to be imposing, not wanting to make you comfortable. “Only if you want.”

You lick your lips and nod, and in mere moments, he’s shedding his clothes too, until he’s just in his underwear.

Flip climbs over the bench seat and lands in the back, laying down on his back and spreading out. There’s significantly more room in the back seat, and without another thought, you unclip the straps of your bra, letting your breasts breathe, before arranging all the clothes in the direct line of the heater so they might have a chance to dry, before climbing over too.

Flip welcomes you with open arms, and as you settle against him, body flush with his, your heart pounds. He rubs your back, warms you with his palms, palms which feel like the most comforting iron brand, heating you through.

“You know…” You whisper, listening to the sound of his breathing and the rain that pitter-patters onto the roof of the car, “I’ve been thinking about doing something like that to him for a long time.”

“Yeah?” Flip asks, voice thick.

You’re nuzzled against his chest, feeling the most safe that you ever have. The panic has subsided for now, for now at the very least.

“Yeah. It was never a real idea that I had, at least not in the beginning. But more and more lately, I’ve been thinking about how good it would feel if he were gone forever. I don’t know what I ever saw in him. I guess I just…I liked that someone liked me, wanted me. It felt good to be wanted, for a minute there.” You’re honest with Flip. Sometimes it feels like Flip is the only person you can ever be honest with.

“Just a minute?” He asks softly, teasing and playful in a way that makes you want to cry.

“Yeah, just a minute.” You whisper back, propping your head up onto your hands, looking at him.

“There are…other people, you know. Who are out there, who like you. Want you.” He looks back at you, eyes filled with apprehension, but hope.

“People like you?” You ask, hope in your own lungs, in your heart.

“Yeah, people like me.” Flip nods, caresses the back of your head with his strong, capable hand.

“You know, the entire time I’ve been with him, I wished I were with you.” You confess, because now feels like as good a time to confess something as any, doesn’t it? What’s this admittance, compared to the thing you have just done together?

“This isn’t the shock talking, is it?” Flip’s hand smooths around to hold your cheek, pinch at the apple of your smile, because you are smiling now, smiling how he hasn’t rejected you, how he never would have, now you know.

“No, no I promise. This is me talking.” You turn your face into his palm and press a light kiss to the creases in his hand, those hands, the hands which have only ever protected you, defended you, loved you.

“Why are you crying?” Flip frowns, confused, worried, but you shake your head, unable to stop, unable to quit the smile, the tears.

“Because I’ve dreamt about being in your arms like this for what feels like forever, and I – I kept thinking that there’s no way you could ever want me, I thought I was just delusional for thinking maybe we could be something. And here you are, coming to my rescue, the way you always do, and we’ve just killed a man but all I want to do is kiss you.” You huff out a laugh, a laugh that’s tinged with regret for the past, all the time that could have been.  

“Can I?” Flip asks suddenly then, innocent and gentle, “Can I kiss you?”

“Oh Flip, yes, please.” You nod, pushing yourself up a few more inches so that your lips can meet.

They press together in the softest, sweetest of kisses, and all at once it feels like the gates of your heart have been unlocked, and all the love you feel flows out with wild abandon.

Flip deepens the kiss when your mouth opens in a small gasp, and you let yourself be rolled underneath him. The car rocks a little from the effort, but you don’t care. A kiss or two becomes making out, and you feel your head fill with the thick perfume of lust, your whole body warm now, on fire almost. His mouth is hot, tongue thick and heavy against yours, but he tastes delicious, tastes like home.

He kisses you until your breathing begins to quicken, until the smallest noises start to moan and hum in the back of your throat. Your nipples are stiff, so hard from where they’re brushing against his chest, your arms looping around his shoulders, legs parting so he can settle between them.

“Did…did you two ever…?” He pulls away, lips kiss-slick and flushed, and you blink, forgetting all about your boyfriend, or one you used to have.

“No, no I didn’t want to, it didn’t feel right. Not with him.” You tell him honestly, suddenly feeling inexperienced, feeling self-conscious, “Have you?”

“No, I’ve been waiting for the right person.” Flip shocks you by blushing out his own truth. Your eyebrows shoot up, you really would have pegged him for a womanizer type, he was certainly handsome enough for it. But thinking back, you realize in all the time you’ve known him, he’s never once mentioned a girlfriend or even a fling, nothing. It’s always just been you, and him. Flip blushes deeper when you don’t say anything right away, stammers out, “I know it’s cheesy.”

“It’s not cheesy.” You shake your head quickly, dismissing the idea that you’d make fun of him for something like that. You’re relived, it means you can be together for the first time truly together.

You kiss him, invigorated, no longer feeling shy or inadequate. He kisses you back, and when your eyes close there’s nothing but the welcoming embrace of his warmth and affection to pull you in. Your mouths and tongues slide against one another, and your hips raise up, your underwear rubbing against his, wishing there were no barrier between you.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to, I don’t ever want to pressure you or – ” Flip shakes his head, so caring, worried, nipping at the corners of your mouth.

“Maybe, maybe you could just touch me? Just for now, touch me and then, then we can see where we go.” You’re desperate for him though, desperate for him in every way.

He smiles against your mouth, and you smile too, his hands sliding down your body. He shuffles back a little, straddling your hips, knees digging into the upholstery as his hands roam your body, touch where he didn’t have permission to touch before.

He’s drawn to your breasts immediately, kneads them. He licks his lips and rolls your nipples between his fingers, and your back only arches for him, pushes your chest up into his hands further. His breathing is heavy, and you decide that you’re tired of holding yourself back from the things that you want – after this, after tonight, you won’t deny yourself anything ever again, you’ve spent so much time bending to the will of other people, from now on you are going to ask for what you want.

You cup the back of Flip’s head and push him down, gently nudge him. He takes the hint, immediately nuzzles his face into your cleavage, rubs against your breasts. His mouth latches around one of your nipples and he kisses and licks and sucks, and you moan, the pleasure going straight to your pussy.

So does his hand, tentatively skimming over your panties until your legs spread enough to give him permission. He tugs the cotton aside and you hiccup out a little cry of pleasure when he reverently pushes his fingers through your folds, pushes his way through into the tight wet heat of your cunt.

“Oh, oh, that feels good.” Your eyes fly open, hand tangling in his hair where he makes out with your breasts, grunting and groaning with need that the praise spurs in him. His fingers are more insistent, more purposeful, and his thumb swirls over your clit making your hips lift up up up against his hand. “Yes, yes! Flip – do that again, please do that again.”

“Good?” Flip lifts his head from where he’s been smothering himself in your tits, eyes so big and brown, eager to please.

“So good! Phil, it’s so good, I’ve wanted this for so – ah!—long.” Your head tips back against the seat as your toes curl, his fingers moving faster, your stomach expanding with each deep breath you take, trying to suck down the air, trying to lose yourself in the bright white hot light of pleasure.

“This doesn’t count as our first time, okay?” Flip bites a mark around the bottom of your ribs.

“Okay.” You grin, elated that this means maybe maybe maybe he’ll want to have sex with you again, maybe he’ll fuck you with his cock. Maybe he’ll want you forever, maybe he’ll ask you out and take you on dates and do all the things that you’ve always hoped but never dared to dream for.

“I want our first time to be sweet and good and gentle, and not in the back-seat of this car.” He fingers you faster and faster, and you struggle to pay attention to his words because his fingers are so thick and so full and they know just where to touch you to get your feet searching for purchase as you moan and whine and gasp. “I’m going to take you out to dinner and then a movie, and then I’m going to make love to you on a big bed with rose petals like you deserve.”

“Oh fuck – I’m – I’m gonna – ” You gasp out, hips rolling, undulating against his palm, grinding your pussy against the warmth of his hand to chase your orgasm, your body thick with pleasure, sweet and sticky like molasses in your veins.

“Come on my fingers, it’s okay, you’re okay.” Flip encourages you, presses a little harder, moves a little faster, the car shaking shaking shaking from the way your body trembles, rain thudding against the roof as your orgasm crashes through you, a wave of nothing but good, nothing but love.

“Fl-Flip!” You shout, eyes shut tight, the first couple hints of tears clinging to your lashes.

“You’re so beautiful, holy shit.” Flip strokes your pussy through it, coaxes out come that shines on his palm, shimmers on your inner thighs. He kisses your neck, your chest, bites and sucks and marks you so thoroughly, marks you as his, you’re his you’re his and he’s yours and, “(Y/N) you’re – you’re so beautiful.”

“Can I, I want you to come too, I want you to feel good too.” You try, you offer, but he’s still sliding his fingers through your pussy, two – no, three? -- stretching you wide, stretching you for him, for his cock. You want it, you want it so badly, want to be filled, but an aftershock of pleasure builds builds builds and you’re not sure it’s just an aftershock anymore, as your toes curl again, knees shaking, bones aching to come again, “Flip I’m, I think I’m – oh!”

“No, it’s okay, you don’t have to do anything for me, this is more than enough, you’re more than enough, thankyouthankyouthankyou.” He smudges the words into your chest, your throat, litters you with sweet nothings and gratitude, and you want to ask for his dick right then and there –

But there’s a sound, coming from the window.

A knock on the window.

Someone is there, knocking.

“Wait – what was that?” You freeze, the rose-tinted glasses ripped off.

Flip carefully pulls his hand away from your pulsing cunt, sucks your come off of his fingers until they’re clean. He reaches for something, anything, to cover you with, to cover himself with.  

“Cop.” Flip says quietly, and you want to panic but he shakes his head, “Don’t, it’s okay, follow my lead.”

You are suddenly very very aware, of what you both look like. Flip with his torn up fists, you with the split lip and wound on your temple. You’ve both finally stopped bleeding, but you know – you just know – that this officer is going to question you on it, normal people don’t go driving around in the rain with head wounds and split knuckles.

Fuck, you think, you haven’t even cleaned the car yet, there’s bound to be blood in the trunk from where the body had been stashed, what if the officer decided to search the car? There were no weapons in the car, but there didn’t need to be. Your stomach does little flutters of panic as the impending anxiety drips cold down your spine, and just hide yourself behind Flip’s denim jacket, cover up as much as you can, cover your face.

Flip rolls down the window, and a flashlight peers inside the car for a few moments, before you hear a resigned sigh.

“Alright you kids, come on, break it up.” The cop says, tapping his flashlight on the roof of the car. “The middle of the road isn’t the place for this kind of shit, let’s go.”

“Our car is stuck, we’ve been waiting for someone to drive past to ask for help. Could you help give us a push?” Flip asks, and the officer looks at him like he’s crazy.

“No.” The man scoffs, before sighing again, realizing that he can’t just leave the two of you out here. “But I’ll call someone. Then off you go, okay? It’s late.”

“Thank you.” Flip says, and then, like some miracle, the cop goes back to his car, radios for a tow, and leaves.

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

You both are dressed by the time the tow arrives and pulls you out of the mud. Leaving the clothes in front of the heater did wonders, and though your dress is still fucking filthy and caked in mud, it’s not freezing, or soaked. You feel awful, Flip’s dad is going to be pissed when he sees the car like this, but Flip assures you that he’ll have Jimmy help deep clean the whole thing before his parents come home after the weekend.

The tow truck driver doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t really talk to you at all. By the time he arrives, the rain has stopped, slowed enough as the storms moved across the mountains. You don’t say anything, just sit there and wait for the wheels to come free, holding your breath until the tow driver leaves too.

The radio is soft and gentle, the time on the little clock reads just past three. Flip drove all the way to your house with a hand on your knee, reassuring, comforting. You can’t help but think it feels so different from Josh’s hand, how gentle Flip’s hold is on you. You wonder if he’s trying to ground himself, or keep you calm. Maybe it’s both.

He shuts the lights off and the radio when he rounds the corner. Puts the car in park, and the two of you walk the last few yards to your house. It’s not raining anymore, not at all. That feels like a good sign, somehow.

“Will you come in?” You ask him softly, standing under the streetlamps, careful not to step on cracks in the sidewalk.

“If you want me.” Flip nods, and you smile, and he smiles, because you both know that you always will.

The climb up through the window is a little difficult because of how wet everything is from the rain, but you both manage easily. Your bedroom is warm, and you both shed your clothes in the tub of your private bathroom, knowing your parents wouldn’t ever look in there. You want to shower desperately, but doing so this late would raise suspicion, so you don’t, you’ll have to wait until morning.

But that’s alright, because for now it’s enough to be in clean clothes. Sheepishly, you offer Flip some of his own clothes, clothes that you’ve accumulated over all the time you’ve known him; jackets accidentally forgotten on your couch, sleep shirts and pajama pants he let you borrow that you never returned.

Flip doesn’t tease you for them, he only accepts them gratefully, and the two of you lay down on your bed in the dark. You face one another, so close that your noses almost touch. He’s so handsome, you think. You’ve always thought it, but up close, this close, it’s like the thought consumes your whole mind.

“We can’t ever tell anyone about this, ever. Not even when we’re old. This is something we take to the grave.” You whisper, rubbing the tip of your nose against his.

“Agreed.” He breathes, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. You lean into the touch, lean into him.

“I don’t want to think what would have happened if you didn’t show up.” You confess, and in the silence of the room, the thought of what might have been is more terrifying than anything you two had done together. Flip is quiet, but his jaw clenches as he gently touches the closed wound on your temple. You don’t know what prompts it, but suddenly you’re asking, “Do you believe in alternate universes?”

“Hm?” Flip frowns, and you shrug in the dark.

“You know, like, a different version of our world, existing in some other dimension out in space.” You explain, shuffling close to him, tucking yourself under his chin.

“I never thought about it.” He admits with a shrug of his own and you close your eyes against his throat, warming yourself with his heat as his arms wrap around you.

“Maybe there’s a world where this never happened.” You whisper, “Maybe there’s a version of us out there that never had to do this. Maybe there’s a universe where we’ve always been together.”

“We can be together now, here in this one. If you want.” Flip whispers back, and you can feel the rabbit of his pulse jump jump jumping in his chest, and you smile.

“Phil?” You ask, not opening your eyes, not moving, barely breathing, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He responds right away, with enough feeling behind the words to make you think that maybe he’s loved you just as long as you have loved him, maybe even longer.

A grin spreads across your face as you snuggle up closer to him, impossibly close, suppressing a thrilled little bubble of laughter as he cards his fingers through your hair.

“You’re stuck with me now, you know that? Forever.” You tease with a smile in your voice – but you both know there’s some truth to it. No matter what happens, you’re bonded by this, this nightmare of an evening.

“Happy New Year, (Y/N).” Flip teases right back, kissing the top of your head, before you reach up to kiss him properly.

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

When the sun rises the next morning and you find him gone from your bedroom, tub empty of soiled clothing and the car driven away to the cleaners, you aren’t afraid, because there’s a note on your nightstand written in the most incomprehensible handwriting that could only be Flip’s, asking you on a date, and a brand new pair of heels to wear for it.

And when they ask about Josh you’ll say you don’t know, and when they launch the investigation you’ll testify lies, and when you attend his funeral you might shed a tear, but only only only if Flip’s there by your side, so you can stand behind him, and hide your smile.

You don't own me

I'm not just one of your many toys

You don't own me

Don't say I can't go with other boys

You don't own me

You don’t own me

You don’t own me.

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

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[jesstielle]

okay i have Feelings about NEO: TWEWY and nobody to shout them at because literally nobody else I know plays it which is truly a crime; the original twewy remains one of my favourite games to this day.  but anyway.  massive NEO TWEWY spoilers inbound:

First of all it truly is a miracle that this game even exists.  I never once actually believed we’d get a sequel.  Let alone one this good!! It is really, really good!!!

Things I Enjoyed:

- The gameplay.  Whoo boy.  Up to about 4 team members, anyway.  It’s fast paced, button mashing satisfaction, that manages to keep elements from the original game while still being fresh and fun, if not entirely chaotic, which is why after 4 characters, it was a bit like, ‘okay, chill, let us switch out or something’ lmao

- The new characters.  Although I feel like we leave the game not knowing as much about them as I would like, the new team are really great, and Nagi in particular really shone in terms of character grown.  Rindo.. I feel like I know as little about him now as I did at the start :|a Maybe I just missed something.

I honestly found the teams and their leaders kinda forgettable >>;; Although the heel-face turn on Motoi was pretty great.  I needed more from Kanon to feel anything when she, yknow.

The new reapers were... a mixed bunch. Shoka was fantastic, Susukichi was... a bit much in English, great in Japanese, Tsugumi was great but didn’t get enough screen time (unless she gets more post game, I dunno yet) Shiba annoyed the fuck outta me, Kaie was alright.. the others... meh.  They don’t hold up to Kariya and Uzuki. And obviously Kubo sucks ass pfft

- The reappearing characters.  of course i loved them.  i got a hit of serotonin every time one appeared on my screen. neku my son. josh  the reapers.  i was never a huge minamimoto stan lmao but he was fun. even curry don. but some were DIRELY underutilised which i WILL COME BACK TO

- THE MUSIC.  twewy cannot fail on its music, it’s amazing, it’s glorious, it’s multi faceted, it goes hard. and adding in Beat’s psyche, a rhythm mini game acting as the fast walk button???? yes. yes yes yes yes.  yessssssss. 

- The graphics.  Mostly.  Everything looked beautiful, and HD, and the character designs were great - not toooooooooo Nomura but Nomura enough, yknow? And the occasional chibi faces were great lol.  The chaotic battles sometimes caused lag which... I mean, they coulda given us the option to turn off some of the animations or damage graphics lmao but hey.  the forced perspective on shibuya was a bit off occasionally but it was how the original game did it and it’s all for the ~aesthetic~ so hey.  And it was great seeing some of the original locations looking so much more fleshed out

- The Localisation.  Personally, I think the translators struck a perfect balance that made the kids seem like they’d fit right into today’s culture.  It wasn’t forced, it wasn’t ‘look at us we are Teenagers’, it was right on the mark.  And it was really, really interesting hearing just how different the Japanese VA lines were compared to the English translations.  They really went all out and it paid off, imo.

Dislikes: (i haven’t read the secret reports yet tho)

- UNDERUTILISATION OF THE ORIGINAL CHARACTERS - now, look, okay, I’m biased.  I admit it.  I’m a Josh and Neku stan lmao, so I was looking forward to seeing them the whole game.  And as it went on and on and I realised I wouldn’t be until much later, it bummed me out.  The bait n’ switch with Beat was funny at first, and I enjoyed it a lot, until I realised that yeah, that’s what they’re going with.  Beat’s probably my least favourite partner from the original (sorry) but even disregarding that, it annoys me that they gave him like 10,000x more screen time than even Neku. 

Not to mention Shiki and Joshua!  Josh in particular I could write a whole essay on how pissed I am.  The lost potential.  Nobody mentioning him, ever, once.  Until he just sorta shows up and says a few things.  It makes NO SENSE, he’s the fucking composer, Neku and Beat worked with him, why aren’t they questioning his whereabouts when Shibuya’s turning to shit??????’  I just?????? I had low hopes for Josh content tbf but I am still disappointed :( And naught but one singular Hanekoma mention, as well.  Sigh.

Shiki, it’s a shame she doesn’t appear more, she certainly could have - I can think of like 5 ways off the top of my head - having her as a partner would have also been extremely good.

Neku at least we got..... half a week with. and as a PC.  And like, I know it’s not supposed to be about them, but throw us a bit more than cheap fanservice, yknow. And Kariya and Uzuki were great too.

- why, oh why, was every single team lackey male????  they couldn’t be arsed to make female designs????? it baffled me.

- SO. MUCH. SHIBUYA. TRAVERSING.  I don’t remember if it was that bad in the original?! But oh my god lol.  I think a lot of it was padding.  Sure felt like it.  Paired with the slightly hand hold-y mission progression cutscenes, they coulda cut a bunch of those out.

Other Stuff:

- The voice acting - fantastic in Japanese, okay in English, except for the returning characters?? didn’t sound great??? in english??? I was hyped to turn English back on for Beat but.... nah. Nahhh.  Nagi’s English VA was absolutely the best imo.

- They nailed the feel of the old game without totally copying it - the food, clothes, general aesthetic, music.  That said, it still felt a little too tied to the original.  Ironic considering the rant above I know lmao but... yeah.  The player psyches were a nice touch but I feel like it needed something to set it apart a lil more from its predecessor. 

- I didn’t realise A New Day existed until literally today and I wish I had seen it before I played Neo.  Now I know who Coco is lmao.  And Shinjuku’s erasure was part of that too! arghhhh. Nomura stop burying plot points in other things.  I’m a DS OG dont do this to me

- Rindo’s time travel power was cool but jumping back to the same point like 3 or 4 times in some cases got old

- You could really feel the KH3 energy of ‘play 30 hours until something or someone pivotal finally appears’ lol.  Nomuraaaaa. 

... anyway.

TL;DR good game, needed more Josh, also needs more fans please

[sebumis]

#lgbtstoriesweek || shoulda, coulda, woulda- shin pd’s dramas

one of the things I will always appreciate about shin pd’s works is his willingness to explore same gender attraction. reply 1997 was the first kdrama that I watched featuring a gay (if one-sided) loveline. I admire that shin pd is willing to explore something other than oppressive straightness across various projects, and I wish more showrunners were willing to take this “risk.” all that being said... it’s the conclusions to his lgbt storylines that don’t give me life in quite the same way other aspects of his dramas do.

so let’s break it down.

reply 1997

in general, joon hee is probably the character I have the least to say about. if I’m being picky, I would have liked more details on his sexuality. I think the ambiguity makes sense for the high school scenes from 1997. sexuality is fluid for a lot of us, and especially during adolescence. like. who knows anything as a teenager? but, I feel like the “present” timeline could have done more exploration on that front. all the other major characters have their futures outlined pretty clearly, so I’m just a little annoyed that the one mlm character gets the lost in translation treatment, you know? show us who was in that damn CAR, shin pd.

reply 1994

binggeurae is a little more complicated. reply 1994 in a lot of ways is my baby (trash as the male lead for all of life amen). but the binggeurae storyline? I don’t know, man. I think in a lot of ways binggeurae works as an extension, or even parallel, of the joon hee storyline. binggeurae shows an interest in trash (less explicitly than joon hee, we’ll get to that) and he has A Secret Person in a Car waiting for him during the flashforward... much the same as joon hee did. but unlike joon hee, we do find out who is in the car during binggeurae’s flashforward. we see him meet a woman, fall in love, and marry her during throughout the drama. the wrap up of binggeurae’s storyline is significantly more clear than joon hee’s, but I’m not sure it’s as successful for me.

I do think binggeurae being bisexual, letting go of his crush, and then moving on to someone else is not a bad storyline on the surface... it just didn’t work for me in practice. my problem is that while joon hee’s love for young jae was explored, binggeurae’s love for trash just... wasn’t. if joon hee’s ending was vague and ambiguous, binggeurae’s entire loveline with trash was vague and ambiguous. there were reviewers who still, even by like episode 16, didn’t know for sure if binggeurae’s feelings for trash were romantic. baro did good lingering eyes, and some monologues implied him fighting with feelings... but we really don’t get much clarity that binggeurae’s love for trash is anything more than admiration. and, at least in the translations I read, the one thing scene that DOES read as romantic seemed to imply that binggeurae did love trash but needed to ~grow up~ and marry a woman. why did they even have that car callback to the joon hee storyline? I wonder sometimes if they asked hoya to come back for that scene and he declined, or if they changed their mind midway through. but all I have to work with is what we have, which again feels like a lot of unexplored territory re: his sexuality and what that entailed.

wise prison life

and finally.... well... let’s talk about han yang. y’all. I truly thought this was going to be it. this was going to be where shin pd made everything up to me. and in some ways, it did correct some of the problems I had with earlier series. this is the first time we see an actual gay relationship in any of his shows. no more of that one-sided pining shit. the scenes where ji won visits him in prison? beautiful. the flashback to their first kiss? poetic fucking cinema. 

but that ending, though.

I think wise prison life spends a lot of time on just how damn disappointing and unfair life can be. we see that, to some degree, in pretty much every major character. but at the end of the show, most of those people have some hope. han yang, by my count, is the only character from the prison cell that’s confirmed to have a bad ending. some of them we just don’t know how they end up, but with han yang it’s confirmed that he’s going back to prison for god knows how long.

I think this is the risk you take of using only one or two people from a minority group in your storyline. there are so many straight dudes in the drama that it doesn’t hit as hard that some of them get happy endings while others don’t quite get the justice they deserve. but han yang being the only gay prisoner that we spend any real time with, and having him get back on drugs while his boyfriend suffers... feels especially unfair. there is a storyline to tell there about how strong drugs are and how it can ruin people’s lives. but when you tie that storyline in with your only major gay character… it fucking sucks, man. captain yoo gets the appeal even though there’s only a 5% chance, but han yang goes off the wagon because druggies are the biggest reoffenders? give me a fucking break.

conclusions

so, by my estimate, if you’ve got a loveline with someone of the same gender in a shin pd your future is either: ambiguous, straight, or miserable. it sucks because I love his dramas so much. his shows always have this wonderful blend of funny and heartfelt. he’s got a knack for finding character actors to give life to the rich characters that populate his works. there’s so much good there and I want the lgbt storylines to match that quality, but I just don’t think they do. 

I don’t think realism is always a bad thing, but when it’s your gay characters that are almost exclusively suffering for it… maybe some changes could be made.

[johannstutt413]

(requested by calligomiles; related to this but maybe not the same timeline)

“Hey, Nat, it’s Independence Day.” Sonya, sitting across the dining room table from the heiress, set down her book to address her. “We should go to the bar tonight.”

“Hmm...I agree. Rada’s unavailable, but Anna should be free.” She, likewise, closed her book and went to get her coat.

Zima shrugged. “Sure, she can come along. Things are still a bit messy, but it’s a holiday. She can find it in herself to forgive me for one night.”

“I hope you don’t mind sharing that pardon with me when you get it,” Rosa replied. “The day after you told her the news, I could feel her eyes boring into the back of my neck during our shift in the office together.”

“If he’s really that busy, the Doctor might want to stop rotating his assistants around. Can you go invite her?”

She smirked. “I never thought I’d see you scared of one of our own.”

“Between the two of us, and without Rada here, you’re the face she’d want to see more.” The General went back to their room to change. “Text me when you’re on your way back.”

“Yes, ‘General.’” Natalya tossed a bit of sarcasm in her parting shot as she left.

Istina responded to a knock on her door by looking through the peephole...and there was Rosa. Hmm. “Can I help you?”

“Tonight, not particularly.” The heiress mimed tossing back a shot. “The General and I are going to the bar to celebrate Independence Day. Will you join us?”

“You really want to celebrate our freedom while our brothers and sisters bleed to secure it? Rather optimistic, don’t you think? Nonetheless, I’ll come along; I finished my novel, and I can’t quite start the next one yet.” The advisor reached for her coat, hanging on the wall beside her door, before joining the homewrecker in the hallway as she texted her girlfriend…

To say the situation was ‘tense’ between Anna and the couple was a massive understatement; it’d be more accurate to say the relationship survived through the sheer weight of their shared history, which admittedly only made the betrayal that’d occurred cut closer to home. Zima and Istina had had what felt to the advisor like a strong bond, but shortly after Rosa re-emerged from her self-imposed exile in Logistics, the General threw that away to date the heiress. It stung, in both the past perfective and present adjectival sense, but it wasn’t as if she could disassociate with them. After all, Gummy and Leto were still friends with all of them, even if they were doing their own things for the most part these days, and on the occasions they were around, it was almost enough to make them feel like a group again.

Almost.

They walked back to Zima’s apartment, where the General was waiting by the door. “Ready to go?” She asked, hand on the handle in case Natalya needed to run in and get something.

“Yes, we should be good.” Rosa took Sonya’s hand as she passed their apartment, Istina walking on the other side and noticeably behind her. “If I’m honest, I don’t believe I’ve been to the bar with you before, Anna.”

“I don’t drink often.”

The General nodded. “That she doesn’t. The lightest-weight Ursan you’ve ever met.”

“Th-that’s not true!” She retorted. “I knew plenty of girls my age with lower tolerances.”

“None of which I or Nat have met, so my point still stands,” Zima retorted.

The heiress sighed. This might’ve been a mistake. “Let’s try to refrain from fighting too seriously until we can start a proper brawl, please.”

“Aye. No point in fighting her, anyway.” Sonya scoffed. “No challenge to it.”

“...” The advisor simply followed them to the bar without any further word.

For the first half of the night, things went as expected; Rosa sat in the middle, the General on one side and Istina on the other, acting as a half-Gummy in her attempts to keep things civil. Anna at most sipped her drink, but even that seemed to have an effect on her, making her protests more vivacious. Eventually, Zima got bored of squabbling and, seeing Beehunter and Leto at another table, left to talk to them, leaving Istina and Natalya alone.

“Shouldn’t you be going with her?” The advisor asked, officially finished with her first drink of the night and moving into her second. “You are her girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“I...have my doubts about that,” she admitted, watching the other table laugh, presumably at Anna’s expense.

Anna shrugged. “Don’t blame you. Wouldn’t be the first time, after all...Two-timing whore’s daughter...I still miss her, though.”

“Really?” Now that was a thread worth pursuing. “I thought you only had vitriol left for her.”

“I woulda tho’t the same, but I dunno. Hard to hate ‘er fe’real when she use-a be so warm, y’know?” Her words were sticking together on her tongue like honey; it was hard to scrape them off into the air without them running together.

Natalya smiled. This one really did have a low tolerance, didn’t she? “So is it possible you don’t miss her, just having someone there for you?”

“Mebbe...Do you?”

“I’m sorry?”

Istina swerved around on her stool to face the heiress. “D’ya miss ‘er at ‘er best?”

“Well, yes, I do.” Her eyes wandered back to the other table. “Or at least, I think so. But have I seen her at her best? You’ve known her longer than I ha- What’s so funny?”

“Knew ‘er? Knew ‘er?! Oh, that’sa good one, itn’t it? I knew ‘er, yeah, sure, just like we knew ‘bout the ‘ole ‘Pet’r’eim’s a Reyunyin plot’ or wh’ever they tryda tell us, or ‘at Sonya was thirstin’ fer ya more’n I do after a night at the bar...Yeah, sure, I knew ‘er like ‘at, a’ight...I knew ‘er like the shadows ‘hind my closet door...”

There was a moment of silence, punctuated by a laughing trio of Ursus, before Rosa continued the conversation. “‘Thirsting’ as in you need water after going out drinking, or-”

“Oh, c’mon now, Miz Perfek, don’cha tryn’ play innocent wi’ me...Ya know ya’ve got some’in the rest of us don’t...” Anna giggled a bit, her eyes drifting down Natalya’s neck and settling pointedly elsewhere. “Mmhmm...Woulda been e-zyer t’keep ‘er if I’d ‘ad ‘em, too...Must be nice, bein’ so mature...Damn noble breedin’...”

“You really do have a low tolerance.” In spite of what might be expected, part of the heiress was enjoying listening to her like this. Very few people at Rhodes Island had anything negative to say about her, so all she had to back her own self-loathing was more of her own inner voice. It was depressingly refreshing, or maybe refreshingly depressing? One of those.

That came to an end when Istina drifted a little closer. “Hey. Wanna know a secret?”

“A secret?” Rosa raised an eyebrow. “About who?”

“‘Bout me, konechno (obviously). C’mere.”

Natalya looked back over at the other table, frowned, and turned around to find the advisor even closer. “Yes?”

“‘Tween you and her? ‘snot even a choice.” A pair of very intoxicated lips continued talking. “Ye might be a homewrecker, but yer still better ‘an ‘er by a long shot.”

“I don’t-”

Anna leaned in further. “I say we oughta have a lil’ revenge, don’cha think?”

“How drunk are you to be thinking...like this?” How drunk was she, to find herself kind of agreeing? “I mean, she’s right there...She could see us if she turned around.”

“Ya really think she will, though?” Istina giggled a little. It was obvious what the answer was there, judging by the animated voices coming from that part of the bar.

Rosa rubbed her forehead, sighed, downed what was left in her cup, and shook her head. “You’re right, she won’t. She doesn’t care, she never did, and I...I’m sick of it. Sick of being second-fiddle to someone she won’t even confess to. Sick of being a bystander in my own life. Sick of-”

“Ah, shut up and kiss me already.” The advisor tugged on Natalya’s shirt and pulled her close enough to do just that.

“And so I said to Nat-” Sonya was saying to the others, turning to gesture to her at the bar...Only to see that unfold. “So I...Fuck.”

Leto cocked her head. “I think they’re just kissing right now. It’s not that bad yet.”

“I knew one of them was a lightweight, but both of them? You sure know how to pick ‘em, General.” Beehunter smiled to herself behind her glass.

“...Eh. They won’t remember it happened.” Zima turned back around. “So anyone, I said to Nat...”

But the truth was, Rosa was very cognizant of what was happening - cognizant enough that, when they broke it off, she was blushing bright red. “Anna, I...This is a bit much, I think.”

“What? Didn’t like it?”

“N-no, I...I did, but...” Wouldn’t this make her a double homewrecker at this point, then? “I mean, I don’t even have any proof that-”

Istina sighed, turning back to her glass. “‘Course you need proof. I knew ‘fore she said a word what’d happened ‘tween the two of ya…’Ell, I think I r’mber yer taste from my last kiss wi’ ‘er.”

“Oh. You know I never meant to hurt you, right?”

“Just lost yerself in ‘er smile? I know the feelin’. So rare t’see...” She slunk into the bar. “Still, ‘o, I wish I’da known what I missed out on fer ‘er the firz time.”

The blushing was only getting worse. “Oh, Anna...”

“That one ‘Arkaz girl sang it better ‘an I coulda...I’m sleepy...Need a pillow...” Despite that, Anna’s head fell to the bartop, and she seemed to fall asleep just fine.

“Hmm...Hey, Sonya?” Natalya called over to the other table. “I’m going to take Anna home. I’ll see you when you’re done here?”

Ignoring the snickers from the other two, the General turned around and gave her the thumbs-up. “Sounds good. See you there.”

“Heh. Well, looks like we know who’s getting some tonight, then.” Beehunter had dissolved into a quiet but body-wrenching giggle fit by this point.

“Maybe,” Zima admitted, watching Rosa pluck Istina from the bar and cradle her as she took them back to the advisor’s place. “Honestly? I’ll just sleep at Anna’s tonight. Save her a trip back to my room.”

The other two weren’t sure whether to keep laughing at how ridiculous that sounded, or admit that, as usual, the General was two steps ahead. The drink in their systems, eventually, got them to settle on the former.

[exhaustedfander]

First Comes Love: Chapter Two

Chapter Summary: Remus and Roman have a phone conversation about Remus's plans, chronicling Brotherly bonding as well as developing plans of a grand proposal.

1 / 2 / ?

a03 link

“So you’ve finally lost your mind? I always knew this day was coming…still, it’s sooner than I might’ve thought.”

Remus laughed into the phone, visualizing the look of disbelief on his twin’s face.

“I don’t know if my head’s ever been clearer in all my life.”

“Jesus Christ, that was sappy. Are you stealing my bit – are you the sap now? Remus, seriously, what the hell? You can’t be serious about this.” Remus pressed the phone close to his ear, amused with Roman’s dramatics for once in his life.

“I am, though. Ro, it just came to me this morning, looking at his sleeping face. I realized I want to spend the rest of my life with him.”

“Okay, who are you and what have you done with my brother? Remus, what in the world?! You’re never so lovey-dovey, and I mean. It’s not even been a year yet. Isn’t that like, insanely quick?”

“It’s about to be a year, though,” Remus pointed out, as though that made things seem any less abrupt, “In two weeks. And I was friends with Logan even before we got together. I’m serious, Roman. I want to marry him. I want to get down on one knee and promise him anything he wants – Jesus fuck, is it exhausting being this level of dramatic every day? How the hell does Virgil stand it?” Roman huffed out a sigh on the other end.

“Yes, it’s positively draining being so extra,” Roman said, only somewhat sarcastically, “Are you sure you aren’t…rushing into things a bit headstrong?”

“When have I ever been known to be anything besides headstrong?”

“I can think of a few things. Brash, abrasive, a real pain in the ass –.” “Oh, don’t start on a list, I’ll never get you to shut up.”

“You know what I mean, Remus. Surely you must. Logan is a very well put-together person, someone who values order. Don't get me wrong, you two are wonderful for one another, you really are. I mean, you’ve found someone who can tolerate your antics, so you’d better hang onto him.”

“Roman.”

“Oh shut up, I’m allowed to tease you now.”

It was strange, the shift they’d encountered in their relationship. Going from almost no contact to chatting fairly regularly and hanging out with friends was something that was certainly jarring in the beginning. It was still a lot for Remus to wrap his head around, sometimes, having a brother at his disposal who was supportive and wanted nothing more than the best for him. Roman being one of Logan’s closest friends was certainly a bonus.

Both twins had become so uncomfortably used to not having a close family member in their lived, and now having one another, they still had their moments of astonishment.

“Hate to break it to you, bro, but we teased each other long before we were ‘allowed’ to.”

“Be that as it may,” Roman sighed, “I’m just…I’m worried. I love both you and Logan so much, but I can’t help but fear that this might scare him. I mean, this would be such a major step. Are you certain this is something you’d like to go through with. You must realize there’s absolutely no rush to this, there isn’t a time limit.”

“Just because you haven’t popped the question yet doesn’t mean I can’t, y’know?” Roman sputtered in what appeared to be an attempt at coherent speech, failing miserably in that department.

“How dare you?!”

“Dude fucking relax. I’m just saying –.”

“I get it, okay! It’s not like I haven’t been thinking about it!” Remus’s end went dead for a moment before Remus replied, smug as ever.

“Are you ‘bout to propose to your emo? I mean you two are practically attached at the hip, it’s a wonder you aren’t already married with a thousand kids yet.”

“Stop it, you’re being unnecessarily cruel.”

“Aren’t I always, brother dearest?”

Remus wished he could see the look on his brother’s face, the grin that surely betrayed all of the fondness in his rumbling chuckle. He’d called him after waking up a few hours after Logan had left for work, not even sure if he would have the time to pick up. Remus couldn’t admit how grateful he was that Roman had answered the call even if he wanted to. Even with the sudden sureness he felt that Logan was the one for him, forever and always, Remus was sure he was going to start bouncing off the walls anytime now. He was stupidly, deliriously in love, sure that the things he felt for Logan could drive him to a madness rarely seen in humankind.

Remus still wasn’t entirely used to it, the strength of his emotions. For so long, he’d been nothing but a nuisance, mostly intentionally. He wanted attention, and by hell or high water, he would do anything to get it. He’d talk to most anyone who would listen, telling of the macabre, strange facts he had amassed a wealth of knowledge of. Most people shuddered, turning away at disgust at the person who Remus portrayed himself to be. Even the individuals he dated didn’t take him seriously, not really. He wasn’t even sure if he’d taken himself seriously then, in hindsight, probably not.

And then there’d been Logan. Logan who listened, Logan who cared more than he gave himself credit, Logan who loved. Logan who, upon their being friends, claimed to be emotionless. Remus didn’t buy it for a second, but still, he couldn’t help but be thrown for a loop when he finally realized how deep Logan’s emotions ran, as well as the feelings the man provoked in him.

Logan had given him more than he would ever realize. He restarted a heart Remus had long since believed was cold and unbeating. He’d been by his side at Remus’s weakest point. In some strange twist of fate, Logan had brought Roman back into his life when he called Roman informing him of his being hospitalized. And from there on their love had only continued to bloom. Because of meeting Logan, Remus had a real relationship with his brother again, he had people he could call his friends, he had a love unlike anything he’d ever known.

Remus had someone who he woke up with every morning, he had someone who he spent his evenings with. Remus had a companion who would entertain any and all of his strange fascinations, he had a partner who encouraged his writing more than anyone ever had, even while Logan was no real horror fan himself, he had someone who made him feel whole and human.

Remus had been granted everything he didn’t know he needed, and the realization that he couldn’t let that slip from his grasp was a compelling force.

“Yes, you’re a pest as always,” Roman said. Remus could practically see his eyes rolling, dramatic as ever, “I’m just trying to look out for you, is all. I love you, okay? And I love Logan. I don’t want you to rush into anything that could have nasty consequences.”

“I love him,” Remus said simply, a smile stretching over his face, “I love him so fucking much, Ro.”

“I know you do.”

“He’s my whole world. Isn’t that insane? I never…I didn’t think I’d ever get anything like that. Love, I mean. I didn’t know anyone could love me, not the way he does.”

“It’s not insane,” Roman said, some of the hesitations seeming to have left him, if only momentarily, “Not at all. I know Logan’s told you of my initial reaction to finding out about you two.”

“Oh, many times. He said you looked white as a ghost – whish I coulda seen it! I’m sure it was funny as all hell.” Roman sighed, exasperated as Remus chuckled at the idea of Roman being so flabbergasted about him and Logan being an item. It hadn’t been so long ago, only a few months.

“Right. What I’m trying to say is that, he’s brought out the best in you. I’d like to say you’ve brought out the best in him, but Logan’s certainly been more chaotic lately.”

“I’m proud of that!” Remus replied boisterously, “My Dragonfly’s letting his walls down. He’s so soft with me…I, it’s silly…how much it makes my chest ache, just thinking about him. You never told me how much love burns. It’s not bad, just...weird.”

“Looks like you’ve both gone soft. I never expected it, and certainly not from Logan. You’re both full of more surprises than I suppose I realized.”

“So…still think it’s an absolutely terrible idea to ask Logan to marry me?” Roman paused, mulling the question over for a moment almost long enough to send Remus into a panic before responding carefully, saying:

“Ask Logan about marriage. Nothing overt, mind you. Just his feelings on the matter. You don’t want to pull something like this out-of-the-blue, I don’t imagine he’d fare too well.” Remus considered his brother’s advice, nervously thinking about how he’d possibly breach the subject without falling apart. Even so…he supposed Roman made a good point. While much of their relationship thus-far had been fairly spontaneous, throwing Logan into a situation like this without at least a little warning could spell trouble.

“Okay. Yeah, I think you might be right. Fuck look at me taking advice from you. You think you’ll ever take a piece of my advice?" Roman laughed softly.

“At this point, I’m not sure if I’d doubt it. So long as you’re not advising I spontaneously decide to ask for Virgil’s hand.”

“Well…”

“No. Absolutely not. Just because you’re already thinking about marriage doesn’t mean that I am.” Remus wasn’t buying that for a second.

“Oh come on, Broman. The way you gush about him, you’d think you guys were already married. Knowing you, you’ve already got the whole thing mapped out in your mind.”

“I…might have an idea or two…” Remus barked out a laugh.

“Of fucking course you do! If you’re telling me I should have a talk about marriage with Logan, you might want to do the same thing with Virgil.”

“Remus – we’re not talking about my relationship, we’re talking about yours.”

“Trying to take the heat off of yourself isn’t going to work, dude. I’m being serious.”

“As am I. Seriously, Remus. Talk to him, before you go any further. From the sounds of things, you’re already building it up in your mind.” Remus stood up from where he’d sat on the bed, rising to his feet and looking out the window at the blue sky, only vaguely remembering that he needed to hold the phone to his ear with how lost in himself he was becoming.

“I can’t help it! I just…he’s so perfect, Ro. And he loves me.”

“He really does.” Suddenly, Remus was struck with an idea that he considered absolute genius.

“Hey, if I talk about marriage with Logan, can I ask you and Virge a favor?”

“So long as it has nothing to do with hiding a body on our property, I’m listening.” Remus grinned widely, his mind running rampant with a quick-forming plan.

“Can you guys host another party, like the one you did a year ago in say, two weeks?” Remus was sure he could hear the gears in his twin’s mind grinding.

“Ah…are you actually planning to propose in the same setting that you two got together?”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t that be awesome?” “Do you think Logan would enjoy that? After all, he isn’t much of a party-person, if that party has anything to say for it.”

“Sure, yeah, but this would be different. It doesn’t need to be big or anything! Just make it similar to that night and, boom, I could propose to him in your backyard!”

“If you’re so certain that’s what you want…then I suppose I could discuss it with Virgil.”

“For real?” The excitement in Remus’s tone amused Roman so.

“Yes, for real. But seriously, Remus, be smart about this. I know how you can be when it comes to doing things on a whim.” “This isn’t a whim, I swear!” Remus promised, even when the idea to ask for Logan’s hand had only occurred to him this morning.

“Okay. Then I suppose I’ll leave you to your planning. I’m sure you’re aware of my hesitations…” Roman paused, sounding unmistakably proud of his brother suddenly, “But I wish you and Logan the best in life. You two make a good team."

“Thanks bro,” Remus said, trying to disregard how much his heart swelled at his brother’s words, “I’ll talk at you later. Say hi to the emo nightmare for me!”

“Goodbye, Remus.”

And then, once again, Remus was left alone with his thoughts. Thoughts that delved into plans Remus prayed could be successful.  

=+=

[thiswasinevitableid]

#69 with danbrey?

#69 Danbrey:  I’m a famous celeb and you’ve been dragging me on social media with really funny memes/come backs, so I’ve come to surprise you in person on the set of your first interview about the interactions that have made you an internet sensation. SFW

Aubrey bounces her legs with jittery excitement; she’s going to be on T.V! Real T.V! Chicanery is a show that knows how to take someone’s fifteen minutes of fame and double it, segments and interviews always going viral, and Aubrey cannot wait to see what happens. 

“This is so cool” she mouths to her friend Duck, who came with her as support (though she really wishes he’d stop making goo-goo eyes at that one camera-guy and focus). 

“Ah, Ms. Little, wonderful to make your acquaintance.” Ned Chicane enters the set, voice booming and teeth gleaming, takes a seat behind his desk, “now, don’t be nervous my dear, just follow my lead and try to forget the cameras are there.”

“I’ll do my best!”

“Thirty seconds Mr. Chicane!” Kirby, the assistant director, waves the stragglers of the crew out of the way. 

Aubrey holds her breath as Kirby counts down, forces out a breath as Ned starts talking.

“Welcome back, esteemed viewers! Here in the studio with me is Aubrey Little, who you may know better as Lady Flame on Twitter and Instagram. Now, Aubrey, you’ve had several tweets that have gone viral in response to Dani Coulice, a voice actor on the hit animated series Northwoods. Buzzfeed has featured them as some of the best tweets of the year.”

“Um, that’s cool, but it’s like March.”

“Tell as bit about how you got started in your back and forth with Ms. Coulice.”

“Um, well, she was insisting that a joke on Northwoods that was SUPER gross was fine and I just kept responding to her with that ‘sure, Jan’ gif from the Brady Bunch. I guess people thought it was funny.” She shrugs.

“Yes, they certainly did. But I wonder what our next guest has to say on the matter.”

Aubrey watches as a blonde woman in a bright green and gold sun-dress crosses onto the stage. She’s breathtaking, even if her smile is well-rehearsed. 

“Um, who is this?”

Ned turns, raising an eyebrow, and the woman’s smile twitches. 

“This is Dani Coulice.”

Aubrey has a pet rabbit. Said rabbit once got stuck in a tanktop and froze, as if staying still would keep him safe from the mysterious force gripping him. When Aubrey tried to dislodge him, he shrieked in alarm. That’s basically how Aubrey feels right now.

 She should say something clever, or show that she’s okay with the goof or at least isn’t afraid of it. 

“No one told me she was cute!”

She can hear Duck smacking his forehead from across the room. 

“Why? Does the fact I’m cute change anything about my work?” Dani gracefully sits down, smiling at both of them.

“No! I, um, I was just surprised. This is all a surprise.”

“When it comes to fame, you have to be ready for anything.” Dani says mildly. 

“This barely even counts as fame! My memes will be outdated in like a week and everyone will be talking about, like, a chinchilla in a cowboy hat or something.”

Dani snickers, “sorry, that’s just a funny image.”

“God I wish I were a chinchilla right now.”

“Did you mean to say that out loud?”

“Fuck!”

“You’d be even cuter like that; I’d give you a nice bowl to take a dust bath in.” She’s laughing more now, the sound kind enough that Aubrey’s spine unclenches some. 

“Wait, did you say eve-”

“Alright, now that you two lovely ladies have met, I’m going to show some screenshots of your exchanges and get your thoughts on each one.”

“Actually, Ned, I have something even better.” Dani sets her hand on the hosts desk conspiratorially, “something no one but me knows yet.”

“Do tell.”

“As of this morning, I am no longer part of the Northwoods cast.”

Half the crew gasps while Aubrey worries this is somehow part of the prank. Only Ned is unphazed. 

“Why, that’s unexpected. Are you at liberty to discuss what happened? Was it merely time for your to move on to bigger things? Or Aubrey’s tweets, perhaps?”

Another laugh, “The first guess is closer; I’d had misgivings about the writing on the show for a while, and then they announced they were going to kill me off. In a tampon-based accident, played for laughs.”

“Classy.” Aubrey mutters.

“I know, right? I quit then and there, and had my agent accept your offer to appear here so I could share the news. After all, did you think I really came on this show just to dunk on some unsuspecting magician?”

“Uh, well-” Ned catches sight of Kirby signalling off-camera, “we need to keep the lights on, so it’s time to go to commercial. When we come back, we’ll learn just how many pigeons one gentleman can fit in his pants.”

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

“That’s it, deep breaths, here,” Duck hands her a water bottle, “you did good.”

“I’m gonna pass out.”

“Please don’t, we gotta take the train back and I don’t wanna carry you. I mean, I will if I have to, ‘cause that’s what friends doOOshit, uh, hello Ms. Coulice.”

“Hello. Can I, uh, speak with Aubrey alone a moment?”

“Uh…”

“Duck, look, it’s that camera guy!”

“What, whereAHfuck, hey!” Duck continues making indignant sounds as Aubrey shuts the Green Room door and locks it. 

“Nicely done.” Dani leans against the table, eyeing Aubrey up and down approvingly. 

“Thanks. Duck takes his job as my emotional support bear seriously.”

Another laugh, “It’s good to have friends like that.”

“Yeah” Aubrey toys with the flame pin on her vest, “um, Dani? I’m kinda sorry for dragging you so much. I mean, I stand by the criticisms of the show, but I probably coulda expressed them better. Or directed them at the writers instead of you.”

“Aubrey, it’s honestly not a big deal” Dani sits down on the couch, gestures to Aubrey to join her, “I’m a woman on the internet, someone teasing me with a silly meme is the least unpleasant thing I deal with.”

“Uggh, yeah, that’s true.”

“And I honestly did agree with you on a lot, but I didn’t want to put my work at risk, not until I had a better gig lined up.”

“What-”

Dani presses a gold-painted finger to her perfectly shaped lips, “can’t say just yet. I do have to add, I think you’re a better magician than you are an internet personality.”

“You’ve seen my stuff?” The shyness creeps up on her.

“We did a quick check when your tweets started getting attention to make sure you weren’t dangerous or something. I’ve been watching your videos religiously ever since.”

“Do you...have a favorite trick?”

“I love any of the ones that involve making things disappear. It;s so cool. And I love Dr. Harris Bonkers; he’s so cute.”

“He’s a good good boy. Most of the time.” Aubrey glances at the chunk missing from the heel of her boot.

“His owner’s not bad either.” Dani grins at her and all of Aubrey’s thoughts, worries, and breath go out the window. 

“Dani? We gotta get you across town for that EW interview.”

“Coming Mama!” She stands,opens her arms, “no hard feelings?”

Aubrey hugs her, and of course she smells like daisies and summer rain, “no hard feelings.”

She waves goodbye, gathers up her things from the little make-up cubby where they sat her this morning. A small card sits atop her purse, and she opens it, mouth quirked up in confusion. 

I’d love to see more of your tricks. Say at my house, Saturday?

-Dani

Aubrey reads the note, and the accompanying phone number, five times over before she believes it.  Her phone dings, alerting her to the fact that she’s appeared in sixty percent fewer internet searches this week. 

Fifteen minutes of fame be damned; she’s got something even better coming her way. 

[mostfacinorous]

GO Whumptober Day 31: Today’s Special- Torture [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23][24][25][26][27][28][29][30]

“You know,” Crowley heard, as he slowly woke. “Every hunter worth their salt has a tracking device they keep on their person. And his led me straight to you. So tell me the truth: where is Mathias?” 

Crowley opened his eyes to find himself in a mostly dark room, tied to a chair, plastic spread out on the floor around him, and floodlights hitting him right in the eyes. 

There was a woman standing in front of him, arms crossed and looking both unimpressed and threatening. 

“I mean-- I ate him.” Crowley answered, feeling a mite groggy, like he may have been drugged. The pounding in his skull backed up that theory. 

“Oh, a jokester. Funny. Mathias is my brother, so I hope for your sake he’s around here somewhere.” 

Crowley groaned.

“Mathias sent a child after me by lying to her about the source of her ma’s illness, and then he attacked when I turned up to help them, so I turned into a snake and ate him.” Crowley told her. “I’m not joking, and I’m awful sorry for your loss, though he was a bit of a prick.” 

The woman looked less than pleased with that answer, and paced back and forth a bit. 

“You wanna talk me through what you’re thinking, or would you rather wear a hole in that tarp?” He finally asked. 

“Well, your eyes say demon, so that makes your story a little more plausible. I don’t want to believe my brother’s dead, because if I come home without him, my father will be furious.” 

Crowley listened, nodding. 

“So I suppose,” she continued, “My options are to take you back to my father and let you tell him your story, and hope I get let off the hook while he kills you slowly, a little bit at a time, or, I do it myself, here and now, save myself the trouble of the roadtrip with you, and know I’ll probably kill you off faster than he would, so it’s really sort of a favor, on account of how you’re right, and my brother was a prick.” 

“Sounds like either way is pretty shit, as far as options go on my end.” Crowley quipped, and she huffed a little laugh. 

“Shame about you eating him,” she responded. “I feel like we really coulda grown to like one another.” 

---

Crowley swam in and out of consciousness for the next several hours, as this incredibly disturbed human woman made a game of removing bits of him and putting them in labelled mason jars. 

It really was like some kind of parody of a decor show, the way she tied little ribbons around each one, and labelled them with what they were and the time when she removed them from him. 

He had no idea where they were or how they’d got there, but she’d done a damn good job of making sure she wouldn’t be interrupted. 

He’d yelled and cried and screamed as loud as he could, but it seemed like there were no neighbors around to hear, or care, or help. 

And he had no idea where Aziraphale was. He wished he could call to him, though, reach him, ask for some kind of way out of here. 

“So it occurs to me,” Amber said, for that was her name, and Crowley hated that she’d bothered telling him about her, because he sympathized now, a little. 

“I haven’t had much opportunity to learn about demons, and how they react to things. For example:” She held up a bottle of salt. “I can make a circle with this, and you can’t leave it, yeah? But what happens if I just…”

She upended the bottle over his chest, slashed open and bleeding sluggishly as it was. 

He screamed again as the salt began to dissolve in his blood and sting at the open skin. 

She watched, dispassionately, and when he voice broke and his screams turned to little whimpers, she hummed to herself. 

“I’d say that was about on par with a human, actually.” She noted. “Which is a real pity, I expected more… fireworks, or the like.” 

Crowley twisted his wrist back and forth, trying again to work his hand free, but she laughed. 

His fingers were broken; she’d done that first thing, so even if he could get free, the act of summoning a miracle would be even more painful. 

“How about the old folklore fixes, eh? Silver? Iron? Garlic?” 

“Werewolves, fairies, and vampires. Not me.” He answered her, voice rough from screaming and ruining his attempt at sounding cool. 

“And how about holy water? Does that do anything?” 

He croaked out a little laugh.

“Tingles a bit. Demons use it as hot sauce.” 

He had loosened the duck tape around his wrist enough to be able to move his hand a bit, and he smashed it against the chair, forcing his broken bones back into some semblance of being hand shaped.

“Hm. Hot sauce, you say?” She asked, and he didn’t like that at all. He wiggled his fingers, braced himself, and summoned a miracle.

“Maybe I should go get you some, then. After all, you are being punished for having eaten my brother-- maybe keeping your mouth on a constant holy water drip will make the punishment fit the crime a little better.” 

Crowley sucked in air, in too much pain to try and figure out how to talk his way out of that one. 

“Did I hear,” A new voice said in the darkness, and Crowley felt his eyes filling with tears of relief, “That you are in the market for some holy water?” 

Aziraphale stepped forward, looking prim and proper as ever, and he’d even pulled out his halo and wings for the occasion. 

Amber looked up at him in awe.

“You’re an angel aren’t you?” She asked, and Aziraphale smiled. 

“I am. And it seems you’ve captured my own personal adversary.” He flicked his eyes towards Crowley, and Crowley whined at the cold expression in them. 

Oh, Aziraphale was pissed. And worse, he was righteous. 

“Oh, did you want to get in on this? It turns out he ate my brother, so…” 

“Were you aware,” Aziraphale asked, voice still light and sweet and casual, “That your brother had made a deal with devils? That your brother kidnapped me, and sold me to hell?” 

Amber took a step back as Aziraphale turned to look at her again. 

“What? No, I mean, Mathias was an arse, but…” 

“Your brother.” Aziraphale said, advancing on her, “Was a monster. And so are you.” 

Crowley could not actually see what happened, but he did see that Aziraphale did not so much as lift a finger. 

Amber screamed and fell to her knees, her eyes bleeding, her mouth wide open and her tongue suddenly missing. 

“Crowley, darling, I think you had better close your eyes.” Aziraphale warned him, and, when he’d obeyed, he could see the bright holy light that suddenly shone throughout the room even through his closed eyelids. It stabbed into him and set his head off again, and he whimpered. 

Just as fast as it began, it ended, and then Aziraphale was there. 

“Alright, here we are, I am so sorry. Come on, let’s get you out of here, get you healed up.” 

“What-- what did you do with her?” Crowley asked. “She was just-- her and Mathias both, their dad…” 

“Oh, I know.” Aziraphale told him. “I sent her body back to her father, covered in writing that tells the entire story of their awful line. No further children will be born to them. The old man will see his daughter, read my letter, and then never see again. And whatever monster he is running from will finally be able to catch up.”

Aziraphale’s voice echoed with a sort of certainty, a knowledge beyond what they knew, and Crowley realized he was tapping into the weapons available to angels in the most extreme of circumstances. The sorts of weapons he’d have been given back in the beginning, back when it was a very real war, and he’d been set out to kill demons like Crowley. 

Instead, now, he was using those powers in defense of a demon. 

“I don’t think heaven’s gonna like this too much.” Crowley told him, head lolling as they moved, and suddenly Crowley realized he was being carried. 

“I don’t give two fucks what heaven does and doesn’t like!” Aziraphale said hotly, but sounding more like himself. “I won’t let anyone take you from me again!” 

Crowley smiled at that, even though, as they crossed out of the darkness and into the sunlight, his headache flared up, and all the moving was jostling the salt in his chest wounds. 

He was woozy and in and out of it, and Aziraphale got him laid out on the grass by a roadside, the day crisp and bright and lovely, and Crowley felt cold and vague. 

“That crazy bint killed me, didn’t she?” He asked, and Aziraphale’s eyes flashed, brighter even than the noonday sun. 

“Not if I’ve anything to say about it.” He answered. “I am so very sorry,” He added, softer and sweet. 

Crowley sighed, trying not to tense even though he knew what was coming next. 

Or, he thought he knew. Aziraphale had done some laying of hands on him before, once or twice, and it was terrible for them both each time. They both suffered when they went about helping one another that intimately. So he tried to prepare for more pain. 

What he felt instead, though, was Aziraphale’s hand on the side of his face, and then his lips on his, and he was kissing him back to life. 

And somehow, it didn’t hurt. 

It was like being dunked suddenly into a cold pool, a shock to the system, unpleasant, but bracing. He felt alert again, like he’d just woken, and he felt the pain in his chest going away, the throbbing in his fingers ceasing as everything straightened out and reknitted itself, pieces regrowing and reattaching and healing. 

And Aziraphale was kissing him. 

When he was done, Crowley chased after his retreating lips, panting and confused. 

“That didn’t-- it didn’t hurt me at all. Did it-- are you alright?” He demanded, sitting up and reaching for Aziraphale to catch him in case he fainted from the efforts.

But Aziraphale just smiled. 

“When God said she wanted us to be closer,” He said, sounding, finally like himself, “I suspect this is more what she had in mind.” 

“You mean I could have been kissing you since winter?” 

Aziraphale laughed and helped Crowley to his feet. 

“If we weren’t so scared, I would say we could have been kissing for much longer than that. But, yes. I don’t think we’ll have any problems with healing one another any longer.” 

Crowley felt tears coming to his eyes again, and he grabbed hold of Aziraphale and held onto him tightly. 

“Let’s go find somewhere that’s quiet.” He requested. “Somewhere out of the city. You bring your books, I’ll bring my plants… and with any luck neither of us will have to heal the other ever again.” 

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale said on a sigh, “That sounds delightful. How do you feel about the south downs?”

“If you’re there?” Crowley told him, as he reached to pull him into another kiss. “Better than heaven could ever be.”

[doctor243]

The Girl Who Cried Wolf Chapter 8

I question myself when rereading this chapter. 

Summary: 5 times MJ says ‘I love you’ and 1 time Peter says it back.

Characters: Michelle Jones, Peter Parker 

“Got it Jake?” MJ asked with her arms crossed.

“Yeah,” the large footballer grinned gleefully. “Prom and then paper.”

“Exactly,” she sniffed, satisfied.

“Oh my gosh, this is actually really exciting,” Jake gushed. “You guys ware gonna be so cute.”

“Oh please,” MJ rolled her eyes before spotting the Love of her Life. “Okay shut up here he comes. BABE!!”

She flung herself at Peter with as much gusto as she could muster and wrapped her arms around his neck like an octopus.

“Play along and I’ll make you cookies for a week,” she growled in his ear. “Don’t, and watch me make your life a living hell.”

She heard him gulp nervously and concluded that he’d made the right choice. She could feel his heart pounding against his chest and, therefore, hers. Once she was satisfied that he was afraid, she released him and turned around.  

“Sorry Jake,” she cooed, congratulating herself on how genuinely fake she sounded. “I know what I promised, but I don’t think my boyfriend will be very happy if I don’t take him to prom.”

“Wha-prom??” Peter squeaked, but MJ shushed him.

“I know,” MJ sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. “But it was before us, I swear!”

“Um-”

“You goddamn bitch!” ‘Jake’ yelled, garnering unwanted attention from surrounding students. His demeanour had completely changed from the teddy bear persona he’d emanated earlier. “You made a deal.”

She felt Peter stiffen for a quick second before he slipped out of her arms and positioned himself strategically in front of her.

“Whooaaah whoa whoa whoa,” he interjected, throwing his hands into the air. “What’s going on?”

“Your girlfriend here promised that I could take her to Prom if I did our science project by myself,” Jake growled out in reply. Good job Jake, MJ mused. Colour me impressed.

“That was last year!” MJ rolled her eyes. Never in her life would she imagine this to be so much fun.

“A deal is a deal, Jones,” he bit out. “Never took you for a liar.”

“Okay now listen here, Igor,” Peter stepped in. Oh no, MJ perked up. His Spider-Man is coming out.

“What the fuck did you call me?” Jake’s face was growing increasingly redder.

MJ had no idea whether Jake was just an outstanding thespian, or in fact enraged by Peter’s quips.

“I know you’re still hung up about things that happen in the past,” Peter continued, unperturbed. Peter, please stop. MJ pleaded mentally. “But you need to move on if you want to grow! Mind you, you should actually stay off the steroids, it might be hurting your brain.”

“You little shit-”

“But one day I’m sure, Hodor, you’ll come to realise that there’s so much more to life than forcing dates out of pretty girls and bullying people smaller than you.”

“My fucking name’s Jake!!”

“That’s what I said, Wun Wun,” Peter rolled his eyes. “C’mon, stay with me here. I’m trying-”

::::::

“MJ, I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean to take a swing at him, I just didn’t know how to-”

Jake was immediately apologetic to MJ, and was afraid he’d ruined her plan of taking Peter Parker to prom.

“Dude,” MJ scoffed. “It’s fine, he can take it.” He’s Spider-Man.

“I know, but I feel so bad, cuz he was just protecting you and being a nice guy.” The poor guy was still pulling out his hair.

“Hey, it worked didn’t it?” MJ smirked. “I got him to go to prom with me.”

“Why didn’t you just…ask him like normal people do?”

At that, MJ’s face fell a little. “Cuz he doesn’t like me like that, and he’d get all weird if I just outright asked him.”

Jakes expression softened into an amused smile. “Oh my dear Michelle Jones,” he whispered as she turned and left. “Ever so observant, and yet ever so blind.”

::::::

“I don’t appreciate that you called him Wun Wun,” MJ grumbled as she entered the roof deck of her apartment complex. She also didn’t want things to get so out of hand, but no one died, so that was a plus. Peter sat on the ledge of the roof, stuffing his face with a pout.

“What??” Peter exclaimed through a mouthful of cookies. “But he was being a dick!” She stared at his puffed-up face and indignant glare. It was strange to want to kiss someone so badly, yet here she was, staring at the crumbs on his face.

“I know, so don’t disrespect one of my favourite characters like that,” MJ smirked in response, passing him the ice pack and getting comfortable on the ledge.

Peter just grinned in response and accepted the ice pack, gingerly placing it on his bruised eye.

“Why didn’t you fight back anyways?” MJ grumbled as she hugged her knees, although honestly, she was glad he didn’t fight back. “You coulda trashed him - you’re fucking Spider-Man.”

“Language,” he warned.

“Okay Captain America,” she rolled her eyes, half tempted to push him off the roof. “You’re freaking Spider-Man. Better?”

“Much,” he grinned cheekily, before looking into the skyline. She opted to keep looking at his face, trying to drink in every detail and soothe her pounding heart. He was beautiful, even with that bruised eye and chocolate stained mouth.

“I don’t know,” he said after a while. “Probably for the same reason that I don’t fight back when Flash picks on me.”

MJ didn’t say anything, she knew he’d continue in his own time. She knew he was comfortable talking to her, and somehow, the favour was returned wholeheartedly.

“It probably sounds stupid,” he mumbled, grabbing another cookie. “But I mean, fighting fire with fire doesn’t actually work. Nobody became a better person because they got beaten down by someone stronger than them. Most people become bullies after they got bullied anyways.”

MJ shifted to take a cookie as well. She lived for moments like this, when Peter’s soul was revealed in his speech, not just his eyes. Moments where he wasn’t just cute or funny, but he was such a good person.  

“And anyways,” he took a gulp of milk, “if they can’t pick on me, they’ll probably pick on someone who can’t take it, right?”

She didn’t answer, just reached over and took a sip of milk. And then she smiled at him.

Her heart felt as if it was going to explode, but she had to hold herself before she burst into song like a Disney princess. She smiled at him with as much hope and joy as she could muster, wishing with all her heart she could sweep him up into an embrace, and force another cookie into his mouth. She wanted to tell him she loved him, that he was the best person she knew, that moments where it was just the two of them was all the social interaction she would ever look forward to. But she couldn’t express her love, because he didn’t love her back, and anything that even remotely drifted past the boundaries of their platonic relationship could sink the ship, so she did the next best thing.

“I love you for using Game of Thrones references, though,” she smirked, eyes still pointed to the sky.

And there, her heart ached as she almost let slip her deepest secret, teasing it with revelation and tempting it into exposure. One day, she promised, one wonderful and blissful day, she would say it while looking at him square in the eyes, raw and stripped of all disguise. One day, she would say it true, and he would say it back. One day.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “I guess we’re going to prom?”

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Masterlist: Here

Tags: @you-guys--are-losers​ @spideychelleforever​ @spideychelleee​ @spidermaninlove​ @tonystarkissist​ @spideychellefics​ @spiderxboy @spideychelle-4-ever @spideyxchelle @thespideychellelibrary @here-be-spideychelle

[glambitions-a]

falling, but i thought that you would need me.

audrey rose centric fanfiction | post descendants three | canon compliant | part one of ? | rating : teen | warnings : swearing, anxiety | word count : 2521 | masterlist  | part two

   “yes, gil, i promise they won’t make you drop out even if you don’t do your chores.  you don’t even have to do chores anymore.  you know that don’t you?”

   audrey rose was trying her damn best to keep that god-forsaken snark out of her tone.  she was trying because honestly, she did care. she cared so much, in fact, that the blonde had taken it upon her self to see that every single villian kid on that damned isle would be happily situated in healthy and safe homes.  because she owes it to them, doesn’t she?

   doesn’t she owe it to them after the half-ass apology she got from her royal highness, lady of the court, daughter of maleficent?  because she almost destroyed everything, which is enough for her to almost start screaming because she didn’t really mean to.  

    but, it’s not right to dwell on the past, (she can still hear those words coming out of her own grandmother’s mouth, seated in the formal living room on golden detailed sofas, praying the lesson would end so she could go see her future husband ben.)  she can think of old audrey, who’s snarky words were all that she had and held her tongue until one day it slipped loose of her hold. and now she’s lost everything, chad won’t look her in the eye (as he should, best friends don’t curse each other) but then she was queen, dark and incredibly regal so much so that she no longer had just her words, oh no, she had magic then, and she had made them pay (something still whispers that it’s not enough, they haven’t paid their dues, that it was only a fraction of the cost.  she had been cheated)

   sometimes, when those words get too loud, she goes away. for days at a time, its only gone over a week once, which got her in so much trouble with her family, so she’ll never do that again. audrey never seems to remember where exactly she goes, which is certainly nightmarish in every way all things considered. (by all things she really means her little incident not so long ago)

   god forbid she actually feel something out of line, the world would turn upside down should she ever be angry, or passionate.  even mal is walking on eggshells around her, the daughter of an effing villian scared of sweet little audrey rose.  it would be laughable if audrey wasn’t scared of herself too.

   “are you sure? i can..” the boy looked around their surroundings, the calm chatter of the cluster of picnic tables near them drowning out the birds chirping (which audrey has come to find out, uma hates the noise, harry’s indifferent; though his captain disliking it makes him hate it too, and gil just adores it, which makes the other two say that they don’t care even though they were hellbent on making gil happy. this kind of behavior audrey may or may not be jealous of. nobody wants to make her happy, they just want to keep her from exploding, it sounds so tempting to let her emotions run free, however dangerous it is.)

    audrey doesn’t let him finish, putting a soft hand over top his own the table, like ben does.  “i’m very sure.” she says with finality, which makes him beam gratefully causing the princess to smile in return. (”it’s a super power of his” harry had said. “uma coulda’ just lost a battle to mal and if he smiled, we were all doin better already.”)

    but of course all so suddenly, disaster strikes. she can spot dark purple (a new establishment after several critiquing comments from  council members about the blue she had sported) out of the corner of eye and she can tell she visibly pales because even oblivious sweet gil looks at her with concern.  her hand leaves gil’s and goes to push herself off and up the table, heart pumping so loud it thunders through her.

    gil’s face flashes briefly with alarm, before he turned around to discover the almost-queen laughing and waving at familiar faces and he turns back to her, his face soft with understanding (which fires up rage in her heart because he doesn’t understand, no one does.  nobodies ever kissed his boyfriend in front of everybody with no apology.)

    she wants to snap at him, her mind reeling in a response as soon as he looked at her.  but she couldn’t. that was the old audrey, now she is kind and forgiving and gracious. (and jealous)

    so instead she ignores him, (arguably not the best choice, but whatever) and picks up her purse from where it had been laid on the bench.  audrey offers a smile, “i’m not feeling too well, must’ve been something i ate.” she laughs to cover up her bundled nerves but she’s not fooling anybody.

    but then, gil stands up with her and goes over to where she stands, she’s in shock but tries to keep a neutral face on, her eyes following him. normally he always lets her leave because he’s such a pushover sweet friend. are they friends? or is he just here to tell mal she’s not losing her fucking mind? because she is, but if you can convince everybody you’re not falling apart of anger but of sadness, nobody has to tell that your therapist is really just somebody you vent to, and that they don’t actually make your gnawing anxiety go away.

   “audrey, you haven’t eaten anything.” she wants to cry at the way he says her name, like he’s fucking disappointed when he really doesn’t have any right to be.  it’s none of his business, but she really can’t think about it too much because she doesn’t want mal to see her and she doesn’t want to pretend to talk to her.

   “oh,” the little noise she makes is pathetic and she immediately wishes she never made it she can’t let her guard down. “well i have to go talk to uh..” she tries to think of a name, any name that’s not mal bertha almost florian.  audrey realizes how unsure she sounds and she tries again, “i have to go talk to freddie, she wanted me to help her with her goodness 101 homework, it’s funny sometimes i forget i’m in that class too.” i don’t belong there tries to force it way out of her mouth which surprisingly would’ve gone perfectly with that bitter tone the last part was uttered in.

   she tugs her arm out of his grip (she hadn’t even noticed that he had touched her in the first place isle instincts would’ve gifted her so greatly.) “so, i should go.  i’m sorry, i’m such a ditz i can’t believe i forgot!” she offers an apologetic smile and goes to turn but his arm is back, tighter this time, and she knows she isn’t getting away.

  gil purses his lips like he’s in thought, before looking back at her. “i don’t believe for one minute that freddie needs help, mal helps her with her homework.” audrey opens her mouth to say something, whether an apology or an excuse she isn’t sure. “but --” her mouth abruptly closes with the look he gives her. “-- we are going to go with harry and uma and the four of us will do our homework together” he finishes with passion and a firm nod of his head, leaving no room for argument. 

  audrey wants to snarl and say something clever and fiendish like how he is dumb as rocks and really won’t be able to do the homework which isn’t true. she almost sobs at how easy it is to be mean, how quick she would’ve been had she not thought.

  instead, she nods mournfully, like a pathetic pitied princess scolded toddler. she tries to regain her dignity by standing up straighter, which gil adorably tilts his head at.

  the princess looks over her shoulder to still spot purple hair causing her to  frantically drag gil away from the inevitable scene she could’ve caused.  face paced heeled feet carry her far away from the anxiety inducing area and back to the comfort of her own dorm where she could wrap herself up in a blanket and just forget. 

  unfortunately, as she tries to make a break for it, gil notices and he tugs gentle as could be her back in the direction of uma’s dorm.  normally audrey would argue that the library would be better suited, if it was somebody else.  but harry hook is not well known for being quiet or getting along with other students.

  and then she’s sitting on a lazily thrown teal comforter on top of uma’s bed, her book propped up against the foot board and her binder in her lap on top of uma’s feet.

  the princess had finished her homework for the class the sea witch was currently groaning about a long time ago, it was simple and the questions were phrased in such a way you’d think that they were for kindergartners. 

  a pillow hits her shoulder and she is quickly startled out of her studies. “harry!” she cries, throwing it back at him.  it misses, making him burst out laughing as uma leans back off of the side of the bed, causing audrey to grab her ankle in attempt to keep her from falling. uma punches harry on his knee from where he sits next to the bed, and that’s when gil starts to laugh.

   and it stays like that for awhile, audrey trying to study while the so called ‘sea three’ goof off.  it’s so sweet audrey almost doesn’t notice the prickling burning thoughts that start to bubble to the surface after gil says something offhandedly about taking over auradon that even uma doesn’t catch.

   they laugh it off, although audrey’s laugh is a lot less convincing and her face is screwed up, she’s sure it looking absolutely disgraceful but they don’t notice so she lets it be.

   and then she messes up because she lets the thoughts ravage her mind until that’s all she can hear.  so much so she almost doesn’t realize that uma, who had taken a notice at her silence and brown eyes boring into the paper, is calling her name and now sitting up.

   at least, until she does see and then she’s met with fierce eyes and a fiercer face laced with concern which makes her feel angry and comforted at the same time.

   and that’s where things start to worsen for audrey because she could blow off and fake everybody else in the world, but not uma, and not her pirates.  so really, it shouldn’t of surprised her when she tried to make up an excuse and got off the bed when uma pulled her back down.

  “what is going on?” uma’s voice goes in one ear and out the other, truly, because she continues to try and leave.

  “uma, please let me go. i’m serious i have to go.” she tugs backwards only to find a pale hand on her shoulder, and she looks up to meet blue eyes that tell her she’s not going anywhere until she answers them.

   which is fine, because she scoffs and pushes harry’s hand off, squirming through uma’s tight grip on her hand. “i’m fine, please i have to go.”

  her words don’t seem to affect uma at all because she’s still looking at her so sternly that audrey can feel herself shrinking back. “i’m sorry, but i’m fine.” she purses her lips to look up at uma. “ i don’t want you to pity me, i told you i’m not playing this game with you.”  she sneers, and it’s accidental, but uma’s gaze only narrows.

   she remembers the first time they met, when harry had conveniently disappeared and left her alone prime time for pirates ganging up on her, she supposed.  she remembers uma telling her she wasn’t alone. and that was all she had said before taking her back to harry.  

   they were not friends, but they were not cruel to each other. they were kind, even.  it was a mutual respect kind of deal (but did mutual respect include calming audrey down when she’s about to burst or letting her play with her fingers under the desks in goodness 101?) it was nothing more, really.  audrey doesn’t owe her anything. (which is maybe why they get along so well.)

   uma’s glare had turned cold as she let go of audrey’s arm, crossing her own over her chest. “i’m not going to pity you, princess.” uma’s tone matches her gaze and audrey feels as if her heart would shatter.  and it’s especially ridiculous that her heart feels so broken because she wants this, doesn’t she.  all she really wants is to be left alone, away from people who make guilt stir deep in her stomach because it hurts.

   audrey’s is at a loss for words, her thoughts spinning her head around. “good,” she states, tilting her nose up only slightly (a habit) uma hates when she does that, because it makes her look entitled.  but why not hide what is already there. “can i go now? or are you going to interrogate me some more?” interrogation, like when the kidnapped ben for the wand, because they’re pirates. every pirate’s a villian in the end, her grandmother had taught her that at least, maybe this is something she’s right about.

   she can tell she did something because there’s a trace of sadness on uma’s face before it’s gone, she can see uma disappointingly wave her hand at harry and suddenly audrey’s free to go. (it’s pathetic how much she wants to dive into uma’s lap and never leave, to hold on tight to something, anything would be so lovely.)

   she pretends she does not think about staying and collects her things quietly, imagining like she can not feel the three other teens’ eyes burning through her.  her heart is stinging and she’s about to cry. (she can’t cry, she cannot cry in front of pirates, in front of villians.)  but, she would rather be bitter than cry in front of people so instead she gathers her pride and leaves. audrey imagines in her head that they’re running after her, that somebody still wants her even after she’s been a bitch. 

   it’s a ridiculous hope, she wouldn’t want to be friends with herself after all she’s done and continues to do.  she always finds herself alone and mean at the end of the day.  her nightmares are always the same, her lying dead in a room full of adults she once was adored by, her cursing an entire kingdom (and abusing her best friend) and nobody ever saves her, nobody wakes her up.  

   the princess has always had nightmares, she had always imagined it was her mother’s curse, and her own curse had only heightened the fear and realism of them.  once a week turned into every other night, which turned into never having a single dreamless night.  

princess audrey rose never had any peace.

ʚĭɞ | hi there! i hope you enjoyed this lil bit of audrey angst.  i’m not sure if i’ll continue this, it was very fun to have a break of writing my oc fic. it felt nice to write something new.  i hope i gave audrey justice i really love her as a character and i recently did a ‘study’ on her outfits you can find here!  let me know what you think! - rory

[1989dreamer]

Full Offense (no offense)

Cross-posted at my AO3

Summary: Stiles lives in an apartment below the worst neighbor in the world. Derek always submits false complaints about Stiles and his roommates to the front office. Well, tables are turning. Derek is hosting a party this Saturday, and Stiles fully intends to crash it and confront Derek over his asshole-ish-ness.

Main Relationship: Sterek

Rating: T

Tags: Angry Stiles, Human AU, drunk characters, Derek cooks, dub/non-con drugging, attempted assault mentioned, over-protective Laura, enemies to lovers, asshole Jackson

                                                                                                                     ~ * ~

“I’m offended,” Stiles announces to the room in general. No one looks up, too used to his outbursts by now to pay much attention. The fools.

He marches up to Scott sitting at the breakfast nook, a large bowl of Fruity Pebbles in front of him. He stares him down while Scott keeps shoveling cereal into his mouth.

Finally, after about five minutes, once his bowl is empty, he looks up as if just noticing Stiles for the first time. “Sorry,” he says laconically. “You’re offended?”

“Yeah, and you wanna know why?”

“Not really.”

Stiles ignores Scott and forges ahead. “That bastard in 3A wrote another complaint about us.”

“Really?” Now Scott looks interested. “What’d he say we did this time?”

“Something about an over-loud party last weekend.”

“But we weren’t even here last weekend,” Scott protests. He shoots a look at their roommates, Boyd and Jackson, sitting on the couch and playing a first person shooter game. They both shrug. Boyd had been at his girlfriend’s. Jackson had been who knows the hell where. Stiles doesn’t keep track of him. As long as he pays his rent, they are cool.

“So I’m thinking he’s targeting us,” Stiles says. “Why, I don’t know. That is something I intend to find out.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Scott asks.

“A little bird told me that 3A is planning to host his own bash this weekend. So guess who wrangled an invite?”

“You’re going to crash 3A’s fancy shindig?” Jackson snorts. “In what outfit?”

“In this one?” Stiles points down at his button down, left open over a graphic t-shirt and baggy khaki pants. The only thing he might change is his shoes. He’s got a fresh pair of sneakers just waiting for a spin out in the world. Might as well break them in at 3A’s party.

Jackson snorts again, but he’ll be waiting a long time if he thinks Stiles either wants or needs his fashion advice.

“And how exactly did you get an invitation?”

“The front desk clerk gave it to me.” Stiles pulls out the blue paper and waves it in Jackson’s general direction. “Look, ‘Derek Hale formally invites you to Apartment 3A to partake in games and alcohol from the hours of 6:00 pm to 10:00 pm. Cabs will be called for all attendees who do not wish to stay overnight.’”

“Wow,” Scott says, “this Derek fellow sounds awfully polite on paper.”

“Yeah,” Stiles admits. “It’s probably to disguise how much of a shithead he really is.”

“Well, have fun,” Scott says. “I will be at Allison’s this weekend.”

“I’m heading back to Erica’s,” Boyd adds.

Jackson rolls his shoulders. “Any chance that invite has a plus-one on it?”

“Fuck off,” Stiles says, but he checks anyway. “Nope, sorry. Nothing about that. Seemed pretty exclusive from what the front desk clerk said.”

“Well I guess I’ll just have to get my own then,” Jackson says with too much nonchalance. He’s a bad liar. Stiles knows his tells. When he’s this relaxed, he’s worried.

“What? You think I’m going to his party to hobnob?” Stiles forces out a laugh. “Buddy, I’m going to confront the bastard and see what his fucking problem with us is.”

“Oh of course,” Jackson snipes back. “Couldn’t be that you’re finally fucking picking up culture.”

Stiles snorts. “If you consider going to Derek Hale’s wine-and-game-night culture.”

“Well,” Scott says, “it is more cultured than beer and C.O.D.”

“Hey, don’t shit on C.O.D. nights. That’s culture too.”

Boyd gives Stiles an air-five.

“Anyway. It’s just a party. If I can get Derek Hale off our backs, isn’t that a good thing?”

The others agree, and Boyd and Jackson go back to their game and Scott gets up to wash his bowl and spoon.

Stiles goes to his room to plot his speech for this Saturday. Derek Hale won’t know what hits him when Stiles walks into his apartment. It just might be the last thing Stiles ever does, but by God, he’s taking that asshole with him.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

The rest of the week passes so uneventfully that Stiles is scared that things are going too well.

The day of Derek’s party dawns bright and beautiful and quiet.

Boyd left last night to Erica’s, and Scott didn’t even come home before he headed out to Allison’s.

Jackson is still around, but Stiles is ignoring him. As far as he knows, Jackson never managed to get an invite to the party, so he’s hoping to sneak out before Jackson can attach himself like a barnacle and slip into the party as a plus-one even though it really isn’t that kind of party.

Stiles spends most of the day in his room, on his computer practicing his speech until he can recite it without notes. If he was being graded on it, he’d accept nothing less than an A+. It’s that good.

Stiles has his outfit picked out already. Despite what he told his roommates earlier, he’s actually going to be wearing a fitted gray blazer over a buttoned down blue shirt and pressed khakis. He also managed to find his dress shoes from graduation. So, he’ll be decently dressed and can pass for one of Derek’s swanky friends.

At least, Stiles assumes they’re swanky. Derek dresses nicely all the time—at least whenever Stiles runs into him in the hallways.

About an hour before the party, he dresses in complete silence and then uses the fire escape outside his window to get down street side, and then he just chills at a small park about five blocks away.

Once 5:45 pm arrives, Stiles heads back and jogs up to Derek Hale’s door. The front desk clerk who’d given him the invite is nowhere to be seen. Instead, it’s an older, lecherous man that Stiles calls Uncle Bad Touch in his head. UBT waves at him as he hurries past.

Thankfully, UBT only works once in a long while. Usually it’s one of two clerks who look remarkably the same aside from different hairstyles. Stiles likes Cora best. She is abrasive in a good way, and she gives things to Stiles, like extra soap when he forgets to buy some or the invite to Derek’s party.

Despite all his careful planning, Jackson is waiting in front of Derek’s door, dressed even more smartly than Stiles. Hell, that might even be Jackson’s high school prom tux, and it really isn’t fair that he still fits in it, even if the shoulders look a little tight.

“Ready?” Jackson cocks an eyebrow at Stiles. He knocks before Stiles can answer.

The door immediately swings open, and Derek stands before them. Stiles can’t help fist-pumping a little when he notices that Derek is dressed in slacks and a button up shirt instead of a suit or tux like Jackson. He does bite back the “Culture,” that wants to come out, though.

“Welcome,” Derek says, looking from one to the other, a frown of confusion pulling his brows low over his eyes.

Stiles clears his throat and shoves the invite from Cora at Derek. He takes it, tucks it into his back pocket and then steps back to allow them in.

“Drinks are in the kitchen. Thanks for coming.”

He leaves them standing just inside the door as he makes his way to what must be the kitchen. The layout is similar to their apartment just downstairs, and Stiles heads for a couch in much nicer condition than theirs. Jackson follows him, perching on a loveseat across from him, a sturdy metal coffee table between the two sitting areas, and clutching at his knees. He seems far more nervous than Stiles feels.

There aren’t any other people here, and for a moment Stiles thinks he might have arrived too early, and then Derek reappears with a tray of finger foods just as the door slams open.

“What’s up, asshole!” the not-Cora front desk clerk yells, bouncing into the room, closely followed by a guy dressed identical to Jackson.

Jackson doesn’t look any relieved to see that.

“Hey, Laura, hey, Jordan.” Derek gives them an awkward sort of wave. “This is Cora and her fiancé.”

“Really now?” Laura peers at Stiles and Jackson with pretend interest. “Coulda swore those are your downstairs neighbors.”

“All right, you got me. Cora and Lydia were busy tonight so they gave their invite to Stiles and Jackson.”

Jackson shoots a sort of smug look at Stiles, completely ruined by the fact that he also looks like he wants to throw up. Stiles refuses to react, but he is a little bummed that it actually was a plus-one invite.

“Cool.” Laura looks marginally more interested. “Are they any good at Risk?”

Derek rolls his eyes so hard that Stiles waits for them to pop out and bounce along the floor. “We’re not playing Risk. I donated the game after last time.”

Laura turns a funny shade of red while Derek all but runs to where the door is being timidly knocked upon.

All told, five more people show up; a vivacious blonde couple, Rachel and Sean, who seem more interested in flanking Jackson and making him blush hotly before Derek makes them move; Kira with cat-headphones and a shy smile when she catches Stiles admiring the many fandom pins on her bag; permanent-frat-boy Sammy, with a backwards cap and saggy basketball shorts; and thin, elegant brunette, Abigail, who has an aloofness to rival a freezer. Derek keeps running back and forth from the kitchen until his tasteful coffee table is loaded down with cups and food. He encourages everyone to eat, and it’s delicious. Stiles eats way too much and drinks only enough to wash it down. He manages to put away two loaded potatoes, too many breaded mozzarella sticks, fried mushrooms, jalapeño poppers to count, and half of a small cheesecake. Only Abigail eats more than him. Derek is a fucking fantastic cook (even if most of the foods are pop and bake) and bartender. He’s also the quintessential host, and Stiles really feels bad about what he’s going to do.

He decides to wait until everyone else is too drunk to stop him before he confronts Derek about his well-hidden asshole-side.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

About three hours later, the food is gone, drinks are back in the kitchen, and Laura is drunkenly trying to set up Jackson with Jordan. Despite wearing matching clothes and red faces, neither seems to actually mind her meddling.

And Derek keeps staring at Stiles with a heated gaze that is definitely not helping the stomachache from too much food.

Stiles wins every game they even try playing because everyone else, including Jackson, is smashed. Then, once they’ve settled into just conversation, he begins putting away the games. Derek tries to help, and Stiles has to bite back a fond smile as Derek rests his head on his shoulder while he tries and fails to sort the Monopoly money.

“So, how’d you get an invite?” Derek slurs against his ear when Stiles takes the money from him.

“You said it earlier: Cora gave it to me,” Stiles says honestly. “She also told me that you filed another complaint against us.”

“What?” Derek hiccups on the word, pulling back and staring wide-eyed and innocent at Stiles. He isn’t buying it.

Not at all.

Derek hiccups again, and then lets out a low burp. He blushes, covering his mouth. “Sorry. But I didn’t file any complaints against you. You’re great neighbors. You haven’t done anything at all. Even your get-togethers are quiet and respectful. Why would I complain about you?”

“If it isn’t you, then who…?” Stiles looks away from Derek. For some reason, he finds his gaze locked onto Jackson. Who is staring back at him with a kind of terrified look on his face.

“Jackson?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah?” His roommate swallows hard.

“Why has Derek been filing complaints about us at the front office?”

“He hasn’t,” Jackson whispers. “I have.”

“Why?” Derek asks. “You guys are perfect! My parents love you.”

“It’s stupid,” Jackson mutters. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop. I’ll move out too. I’m sorry, Stiles.”

“What did you hope to accomplish by filing complaints against us? You realize you would be kicked out too, right?”

“Yeah, but…” he pauses to blow out a breath that he doesn’t seem like he can spare. “I just. It’s just so stupid. I’m so sorry, Stiles. I just wanted to get you evicted. I knew the rest of us could play off as quiet and nice tenants while you’d probably have a loud reaction and get kicked out. I’m sorry.”

Hurt, Stiles leans back like that can even begin to give him the distance he needs right now. Jackson does look reproached but sorry doesn’t make up for the fact that his roommate, someone he thought was his friend, filed three noise complaints against him. One more and the landlords would have no choice but to investigate and possibly kick him out.

Derek pats at Stiles’ arm. “I’m sorry you have such a shitty friend,” he says.

Stiles nods. “Me too.” He stands up. “I’m sorry, Derek. I came here to yell at you for unfairly complaining about us, and you’ve been nothing but awesome. I hope I get to see you again someday. Right now, I just need to go. I need to find a place to stay for tonight.” He looks back at Jackson and then away just as quickly. “I can’t stay at our apartment right now.”

“Everyone was just leaving, right?”

“Fuck no,” Laura says. “We’re stealing your bed, Derek. You can sleep on the couch.”

Derek frowns at her. “Okay, so we’re all a little too drunk for this. Stiles, why don’t you stay here tonight and Jackson will go back to the apartment. We’ll sort it all out tomorrow when we’re not drunk anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Jackson says again. “Really, Stiles. I am.”

“I get it,” Stiles tells him, “but right now, I don’t care.”

“Jordan, walk Jackson back to his apartment,” Laura orders. “My buzz is fading and that’s not what Saturday night’s all about.”

It’s definitely an awkward end to what had been a fun and kind of sweet night.

Stiles sits back down on the sofa as the door closes behind Jackson and Jordan. Derek watches him, eyes soft with concern. Stiles isn’t sure that he wants whatever sympathy Derek has for him, but he’s glad at least someone seems to realize how hurt he is by Jackson’s betrayal.

Laura grouses a bit and then stumbles to the bedroom, half the rest of the party following her while the other half goes to the other bedroom.

Derek sighs, leaning against Stiles. “Are you okay?”

“Not really, but I guess I will be. Anyway, I better call our other roommates and let them know that I’ll be moving out.”

“You can stay on my couch tonight, and if you need a place to crash, I’ve got a spare bed.” He glances at the second door. “I’ll clean the bed and put out fresh sheets tomorrow,” he promises.

“Why would you do that for me?” Stiles asks. “I’m practically a stranger to you.”

“Well, my sisters like you. Cora especially. So,” Derek shrugs, “I like you too.”

“That is, ostensibly, the worst reason I have ever heard to like someone,” Stiles says.

Derek rolls his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “It’s worked out so far,” he replies. “Anyway. I should let you get settled.” He pauses, studying Stiles with a serious, contemplative expression, lip between his teeth. Honestly, it’s a little adorable.

Stiles sighs and shakes his head. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Derek, you’re being a real friend, unlike Jackson.”

It’s Derek’s turn to sigh. “I’ve had my share of bad friends,” he admits. “I do my best to not make anyone feel like they’re unwelcome even if I don’t know them. I guess it makes people think I’m soft or something, so I try to keep my true emotions hidden when I’m out in public…” he trails off, blinking. “I don’t remember where I was going with that, but yeah, I really just want you to know that you’re welcome here as long as you need it.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says sincerely. “That really means a lot to me. Thank you, Derek.”

“No problems.” Derek does a two finger wave as he stumbles to a trunk set between the bedroom doors. He returns with a couple of blankets and pillows, thumping one set into Stiles’ chest. “You take the couch. I’ll sleep in the kitchen. Wake me up if I’m not already up when you get up.”

“Okay.” Stiles refuses to believe it’s a promise, but the hopeful look Derek gives him before he disappears into the kitchen makes him think that whether he meant it or not, Derek definitely took it as a promise.

Could be worse, he decides, dropping the pillow onto the couch and following it down.

His brain, usually wired too fast to get much sleep must be as exhausted as he is because almost as soon as he buries his face in his borrowed pillow, he’s out.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles wakes up when one of the guests trips on their way to the bathroom, and because it’s daylight outside, he decides it’s not worth chasing that last minute of sleep, so he gets up and goes to find Derek in the kitchen.

Derek is rolled into his blanket, face smushed into his pillow. He’s adorable, and Stiles is struck by the sudden realization that someone needs to be kissing and loving up on him, and that maybe it should be him.

The floor creaks a little as Stiles moves closer, and Derek snuffles a bit and then sits bolt upright, bleary-eyed and yawning.

“Wha’ time’s it?” he mumbles, a hand flopping out of his blanket wrap to scratch at his beard.

Stiles pulls out his phone. “It’s almost 6:30,” he says. “Are you okay from sleeping on the floor?”

“’m fine,” Derek says around another yawn. He scrambles up and stretches until his back pops. “So, do you want something to eat? If I know Laura and her hangover, she’ll want the greasiest thing I can make. I’ve got three types of bacon—regular, thick, and turkey. I have eggs, cheese, hash browns, biscuits, and gravy.”

Stiles laughs in disbelief at the size of the menu. “Just how many guests do you have?” he asks. “Jordan’s still with Jackson. That means there’s eight of us left, including you. Do you really thing we can eat all that?”

Derek grins at him. “You don’t know hungover Laura. She’ll put it all away if we don’t stop her.”

Stiles rolls his shoulders. He’s not inclined to stop Derek if he’s planning on cooking again. Besides, it’s not like he has anywhere he has to be. Not until Jackson is out of the apartment because even though he’s the one moving out, he doesn’t want to be in the same room as his former friend.

Instead, he sits at the little table tucked under the window and watches Derek dig out everything he talked about and more. He tosses an orange at Stiles and then hums under his breath as he heats up a skillet and begins cracking eggs into a bowl. He pops what look like homemade biscuits on a baking sheet and starts a pot of country gravy.

“You know,” Stiles says, contemplative, “you’re handsome, can cook, and are so sweet. Why don’t you have a significant other?”

Derek’s shoulders tense for a brief moment before he continues, using a fork to beat the eggs. “I’m un-datable,” he says easily. Certainly far more easily than Stiles could have in his position.

“And why is that?” Stiles digs a thumb into a groove of the table while he waits for Derek’s response.

“Because he’s a fucking martyr,” Laura says from the doorway. She saunters in and sits down in the chair across from Stiles, wincing as her chair scrapes the floor. “Way back in high school, he wasn’t always so reserved and cool. He was dorky as shit. There were a few girls—popular bitches. You know the type, rich, never had to work for the things they had. Anyway, some of them targeted him because while Derek was never ugly, he wasn’t the cutest boy in school.” Laura pauses to rub her temples. “We have money. Obviously. Our parents own this apartment complex. So they just wanted to fuck with him. The last one was the worst.”

Derek’s shoulders are shaking, and Stiles stops Laura. She looks over at her brother and swears colorfully.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I’ll stop talking. We won’t say anything more. I promise.”

“It’s okay,” Derek says, calmly sliding several slices of the turkey bacon into the pan. “It’s been years. It’s not like she’s out yet.”

Stiles startles, a soft, “What?” slipping out.

Derek sighs heavily, reaching for a spatula. “My last girlfriend drugged me. She was trying to record something incriminating and ended up getting busted by a chaperone.”

“It was junior prom,” Laura fills in.

Derek nods. “She got five years. It was extended after she fought her cellmate and almost killed her. So, she’s got another five years. She’ll be released in two years.”

Stiles quickly counts up on his fingers. “So that makes you, what, twenty-five?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Twenty-three.”

“I’m thirty,” Laura interjects, shrugging when both her brother and Stiles look at her. “Yeah. I had an outside perspective.” She goes quiet. “I was the chaperone.”

“That’s some heavy stuff,” Stiles says. “No wonder you don’t date anymore.”

“Anyway. Breakfast is about halfway done. You should call the others.”

Derek moves onto the potatoes next. Laura leaves, probably to rouse the other guests. Stiles sits back at the table, rolling the orange one way and then the other.

After a few minutes of nothing but the sizzling of potatoes, Stiles clears his throat. “So,” he says softly. “Are you ready to date again or still…?”

“Probably ready,” Derek answers, so low that Stiles has to strain to hear him. “Been ready for a while, but Laura feels so guilty that she kind of sabotages my relationships.”

“If it were me, I wouldn’t let her push me away.”

“Are you insinuating that you’d date me?” Derek turns just to raise an eyebrow at him.

Stiles waits until he turns back to stove before saying, “Maybe more than insinuating.”

Derek doesn’t respond, so Stiles assumes he hasn’t heard him. That’s okay. Stiles can just sit here and enjoy the view. Maybe after breakfast he’ll bring up the insinuation again. He doesn’t want it to be awkward if he’s going to crash with Derek before finding his own place.

But if it goes well, aside from Laura, then maybe they can move in right away. Derek has two bedrooms. It’s not like they’ll jump right into bed. Stiles is still virginal and a bit self-conscious about it. And besides, Derek might be ready for dating but dating is miles from having sex. At least, Stiles thinks it is. It’s not like he has experience there.

He finally peels the orange to give his hands something to do and then Derek clears his throat. Stiles looks up.

“So, uh, about what you said, about it not being an insinuation. Did you mean that?” Derek sets a plate of the fresh biscuits onto the table and then grabs the pot of gravy too.

“Yes?” Stiles coughs, feeling the flush rising in his cheeks. “I mean, yeah, yes. Definitely. I definitely would like to date you. I mean, technically, we’re already on our second date.”

“True. So, formally, Stiles-I-don’t-know-your-last-name, would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Stilinski,” Stiles says, “and yes, Derek Hale, I’d love to go on a date with you. Formally.”

Derek makes a face. “Your name is Stiles Stilinski? Who named you?”

“Excuse you, I did.” Stiles makes a face back at him. “It’s a nickname, duh.”

“So what’s your real name?”

“Ah,” Stiles waggles a finger at him, “that’s a third date kind of question, don’t you think?”

“Are we going on a date tonight?”

“Probably,” Stiles says, and then realizes what Derek is getting at. “Cheeky,” he says. “Maybe I’ll never tell you until the day we get married, and then you’ll be like, ‘What happened to Stiles?’ and ‘How the fuck do you even say that?’”

“Wrong.”

“How so?”

“I’d never be so crude as to swear on our wedding day. That’s for the honeymoon.”

“Oh yeah, and what’ll you be saying then?”

Derek blushes and doesn’t answer, but Stiles can guess and it makes him blush too.

“Oh isn’t this cozy?” Abigail says as she drops into the chair next to Stiles. The rest of the guests file in, grab food and file out, all shuffling in some kind of zombie-walk. Only Laura joins them at the table. Abigail adds, slyly eying Laura, who has piled a plate high with a lot off food, immediately stabbing a fork into the mess and shoveling it into her face, “Are you finally going to admit your big, fat crush on little old Stiles here, eh, Derek?”

“Yeah, actually, we’re way past that,” Derek says. “We’re on our second date.”

Laura chokes on her eggs. “What?” she demands, glaring at Stiles. “When did this happen?”

“Um, well, the party last night was the first date,” Stiles says. He holds her gaze, giving as good as he gets. “Breakfast this morning is date number two.”

“And we’re going on a third date tonight,” Derek announces. He stares down Laura, almost daring her to challenge him. Instead, and Stiles gets the distinct feeling that this is rare, Laura sinks back in her chair and digs back into her eggs.

Briefly, Stiles thinks he made a mistake agreeing to date Derek so easily, but the first moment Derek looks up from his plate and grins at Stiles as he reaches for more food, he knows he was gone the moment he sat on Derek’s couch and listened to him make his friends leave Jackson alone, the way he let them in at all. The way he’s been nothing but gracious despite his semi-drunken confession to purposefully putting on a grumpy air in the hallways. Derek Hale is a sweetheart and Stiles realizes that he wants to date Derek in all the ways. He wants to learn his favorite color, which movies he loves, what he reads, why he gives up his bed to his friends and his couch to a stranger. He wants to know Derek, and Derek’s gentle smile lets him know that Derek wants to know him too.

So maybe Jackson deserves a little credit for this, but Stiles is still mad at him. Even if it’s the best thing that’s happened to Stiles in a long while.

“Mieczysław,” he says suddenly, aware that he’s interrupting some weird bantering between Abigail and Laura.

“What?” Laura asks.

Derek just grins wider. “Mieczysław,” he repeats and he doesn’t completely butcher it, but it could use some work.

“Yeah,” Stiles says.

And that’s how he knows they’ll work out, eating breakfast foods at a table with Derek’s older sister and special friend, on their second date, Derek’s blanket and pillow still shoved into a corner of the room, the sound of the rest of Derek’s friends chattering in the living room.

Derek and Mieczysław sitting at the table, making eyes at each other over eggs and bacon, gonna get married and say bad words on their honeymoon.

Yeah, it kinda sounds perfect.

~ The End ~

[avengerscompound]

Needed

I Think He Likes You:  A Stucky Fanfic

Series Masterlist (and to see what’s going on with Nat and the Girl at the Coffee Shop) PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Word Count:  3679

Warnings:  Mentions of past rape and torture, smut (m|m, frottage, oral sex, anal fingering)

Synopsis:  Bucky and Steve go on their first date.

Needed

First dates are always nerve-wracking.  You never know how formal it’s going to be.  What you should wear.  Whether the person you were with would want to hold hands or not.  Even back when Bucky excelled at first dates he always had the nerves first.  Trying to impress a girl when you had no money took a level of skill and finesse that Bucky wasn’t sure he could always pull off.

This was worse.  This was the first date.  The moving of friendship into a romantic relationship.  The fact he’d exclusively seen women up until now.  The fact he still had it in his head that being with a man was wrong.  The fact that he hadn’t actually gone on any dates since he got away from HYDRA.  He hadn’t been intimate with anyone since he had to share his body with someone that wasn’t him.

Bucky considered that he’d settled down into the Avengers pretty well after the dust had all settled.  He’d sulked around a lot, to begin with.  They never did manage to get the soldier out of his head completely.  Just to negate the triggers.  So he’d had to adjust to the fact he’d never be who he once was. But once he saw that most of the others weren’t just only tolerating him being there he’d settled a little.

He had managed to get used to Steve touching him as a friend.  The pats on the shoulders and the occasional hug.  The first few times it had made him jump out of his skin.  But this was Steve and he was familiar.  So he’d gotten used to it, and even liked it.  Then Natasha had started doing it too.  That took more getting used to.  Particularly because he could remember the Red Room.  When he saw that she of all people was willing to forgive that and move on, that was when he really became comfortable in the tower.  He could hug people, and pat them on the back.  He didn’t mind when the girls put their feet in his lap and hinted at foot rubs.

The thought of more though.  Of actual kissing and maybe even sex.  That scared him.  Especially when it was with a man.  Especially when that man was Steve.

Not that he didn’t want it.  He wanted it. He’d wanted it for as long as he can remember ever wanting to have that with anyone at all.  He regretted not doing something back then when he was him and Steve was just Steve.  He wished he’d been as brave and cocky as he made everyone believe he was.  Now he didn’t even have it in him to pretend that.  He was scared.

Scared and he couldn’t decide what fucking tie to wear.  He ripped the red and blue striped one from his neck and threw it on the bed with the others.

There was a knock at the door and Steve opened it.  “You ready?”  He asked.

Bucky looked over at him.  Steve was ready.  He looked amazing in his black dress pants and dark blue shirt. He wasn’t even wearing a tie.  He just had the collar open and his sleeves rolled up a little, showing off his forearms.

“I wanted to dress up a little, but I can’t choose a tie,”  Bucky answered, looking over a Steve.

Steve approached him and ran his hands down Bucky’s arms.  He looked at the pile on the bed.  “Where did all these come from?”

“Tony,”  Bucky answered.

Steve picked up a cornflower blue one from the pile.  “Tony loaned you his ties?”

Bucky smirked.  “Well I mean, he doesn’t know he did.”

Steve laughed as he hung the tie around Bucky’s shoulders and started to tie it in a Windsor knot.  “I like when you wear light blue.  It shows up in your eyes.”  He said, softly as he set the knot in place.  He ran his hands down Bucky’s chest and smiled at him.  “You look very handsome.  Am I underdressed?”

Bucky shook his head.  “No.  You look good.  You always look good.”

“Since the serum,”  Steve added, chuckling.

Bucky shook his head again.  “No.  Even back then.  I’d go back to then if I could.  I should have said something then.  Maybe you wouldn’t have hated yourself so much.”

Steve’s eyes shimmered and he wiped one with the back of his hand.  “Buck.  It’s okay.  I probably wouldn’t have believed you anyway.”  He reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Bucky’s ear.  “You’re wearing your hair up again.  It suits you.”

“Maybe I should get it cut.  Like I used to wear it.”  Bucky suggested.

Steve smiled at him.  “You aren’t that guy any more Buck.  And I’m not the guy I was either.  I’ve changed my hair.  Maybe you’re a guy who wears his hair tied back now?”

Bucky didn’t say anything.  He wasn’t even sure what to say to that.  Is it good he’s not that guy anymore?  Was Steve not attracted to him until he was this amalgamation?  Or did he wish he could go back to and is just settling for the wreckage that’s left?

“Shall we go?”  Steve asked.

Bucky nodded and they both grabbed their coats and headed out.  For a while, they just walked in silence, side by side hands in their pockets.  It was snowing again, and flakes were settling in Steve’s hair and eyelashes.  His nose was bright pink and each breath out they made was accompanied by a cloud of condensation.

Bucky wasn’t actually sure where they were going and after a little while, he hoped Steve knew.  He was the one who had asked him out on this date.  If it was up to Bucky they’d just stay in and order Pizza.  Maybe watch some movies on Netflix in bed.

Steve had changed in a lot of ways.  But he was still old fashioned about romance.  They walked past the coffee shop he and Natasha went into most days, Bucky pointed it out.  “That’s where that girl Natalia has a date with works.”

“Really?  It’s funny to think of Nat with just some girl from a coffee shop.  I always assumed she only dated people like us.  I didn’t even know she was gay.”  Steve mused.

Bucky laughed and clapped him on his back.  “Did you even know you were gay?”

Steve smirked and shook his head.  “I knew.  I just didn’t want anyone else to.”  He rubbed his arm with his palm.  “I do like girls too though.  I always thought you were supposed to be one or the other.”

“I like ‘em too.  I think Tasha also likes fellas.”  Bucky shrugged.

“Does anyone just like one or the other?”  Steve asked.

Bucky shrugged again.  “I got no idea, pal.  I guess so.  Otherwise, why would they have spent so much time telling us how evil it was to for men to like men?”

Steve stopped and looked around.  He seemed to get his bearings and they headed off again.  Just down the street and the first left.  They entered a small, low lit, swing club.  There was a haze of smoke in the room which Bucky found strange with the new smoking laws they had these days.  People were sitting at the bar, others at tables and about half a dozen swing dancing in the middle of the room in front of a band that consisted of a saxophonist, a double bass player and someone on the piano.

Steve went over to the server.  “I had a table for two booked for Rogers.”  He said.

The woman looked down her list and crossed out a name.  “Right this way, Captain Rogers.”  She said, smiling warmly and picking up two menus.  She led them to a booth in the corner.  It was dark and a candle in a glass red holder sat in the middle of the table.

Steve slid into the booth followed by Bucky.  They both just sat staring at the menu.

“Why is this so hard?”  Bucky asked, putting the menu down.

Steve looked up at him.  “The steak looks okay.”

Bucky shook his head.  “That’s not what I meant.”

Steve offered a half smile.  “I know.  I don’t know.  I know I love you.  I know I want this.  This is just new.”

Bucky sighed.  “I wish you’d let us just stay at home.  We coulda got a pizza.”

Steve laughed.  “And had Tony bother us all night?  Besides, I wanted to do this right.  Now come on Buck.  You gonna show me a good time?”

Bucky chuckled.  “You got it, pal.”  He bumped Steve with his shoulder and they both laughed.

The waitress came and took their order and when she left they were quickly approached by two women.  Both dressed in vintage looking rockabilly dresses.  The blonde wore red and the brunette blue with polka dots.

“We were wondering if you gentlemen would like to dance.”  The blonde said.

Steve and Bucky both smiled up at the women and Steve ran his hand through his hair.  “We’re actually here together.  But thank you for the offer.”  He said.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.  We’ll leave you alone then.”  The blonde yelped.

“I hope we’ll see you on the floor then.”  The brunette added.

Bucky smiled at Steve.  “Look at you.  You actually told someone we’re on a date.”  

Steve blushed.  “Well, we are.”

“You realize you haven’t touched me since we left my room,”  Bucky said, sliding a little closer to Steve and looking into his eyes.

Steve hunched his shoulders up and looked away.  “It’s just public display of affection … Ya know?  And … I just … I’ve never…”

Bucky tilted Steve’s chin back to face him and ran his palm over his jaw.  “You’ve never what?  I know you’ve kissed a gal.  I saw it with my own two eyes.  You kissed me.  What haven’t you done?”

Steve swallowed.  “All the rest of it.”

“I took you on double dates before,”  Bucky said, moving a little closer, so their thighs were touching.

“Yeah, and the girls always ignored me and ended up going home with you,”  Steve said, his eyes flicking down to Bucky’s lips and back up again.

Bucky pushed his hand back into Steve’s hair.  “I’m sorry.  I never took you on those to hurt you.”

Steve shook his head but didn’t take his eyes off Bucky.  “I know.  I pushed them away.  I wanted you.”

Bucky brought his lips to Steve’s, kissing him deeply.  He fisted his hand into Steve’s hair and tugged on it.  Steve hummed into Bucky’s mouth.  When Bucky pulled away Steve chased his lips.

“I thought you didn’t like public displays of affection.”  Bucky teased and pecked Steve softly on his lips again.

“Maybe I just never had the right partner,”  Steve replied, pulling Bucky back into a kiss.  They were interrupted by the arrival of their food.  Bucky stayed pressed up against Steve while they ate.

“So why here?  This isn’t normally where you’d take us.  You weren’t even awake for the fifties.”  Bucky asked.

Steve shrugged looking away from Bucky.

“Steve.  You’re with me, pal.”  Bucky pressed.

“I wanted to dance,”  Steve replied, quietly.  “This was the closest place I could find that had dancing close to what I recognized.  But it’s stupid.  I don’t even know how to dance.  And who would lead anyway?”

Bucky slid out of the chair and took Steve’s hand pulling him.  “Come on, punk.”

“Buck…”  Steve whined.

“Don’t you ‘Buck’ me.  We’re dancing.”  Bucky said, firmly.  Pulling Steve to his feet.  

Bucky led.  He knew how to dance.  Even if his moves were outdated by even swing dancing standards, he could hold his own on the dance floor.  After a while, Steve gained confidence and it switched.  Then it wasn’t really clear who was leading.  They were just dancing and enjoying each other.

They stayed out late and when they walked home it was with Bucky’s arm slung over Steve’s shoulders and Steve’s wrapped around his waist.  In the elevator up they stood face to face.  Steve leaned in a little and Bucky bridged the gap, pushing Steve up against the mirror and kissing him hard.  The elevator stopped and then came out breathless and swollen lipped.

Natasha was sitting on the couch in a hoodie watching TV.  “Evening gentleman, have you had a good night?”  She smirked.

“We have, thank you,”  Bucky replied.  “What about you, didn’t you have a date?”

“I did.  But it’s now midnight.  I walked my little Cinderella home at a reasonable hour, unlike some people I know.”  Natasha teased.

“Well, mine is home now too.”  Bucky laughed. “Night, Tasha.”

“Night, boys.  Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”  Natasha purred.  

“Night, Nat,”  Steve said.  He took hold of Bucky’s hand and led him to his room.

When the door closed, Bucky turned to Steve.  “You brought me back to your room.”  He said.

“That’s very observant, Buck,”  Steve said, tugging on Bucky’s tie.

Bucky caught Steve’s hand with his.  “You sure?”

Steve nodded.  “I’m sick of waiting for you.  I want this.  I want you.  If you’ll have me.”

Bucky nodded and kissed Steve.  Steve’s hands went back to Bucky’s tie and pulled it off, tossing it to the side.  He pushed his hands up under Bucky’s shirt, raking his fingers over his abs.

Every one of Bucky’s muscles spasmed under Steve’s touch.  His cock hardened and throbbed.   Even such a simple thing as kissing had become too much.  His body seemed to automatically expect that touch means pain, and now it didn’t, it’s was in sensory overload.

“Stevie.  Oh god.”  He moaned.  “I need to slow down.”

Steve stepped back and his brow furrowed.  “What’s wrong?”

Bucky leaned against the wall panting.  He ran his palm over his abs and shook his head.   He didn’t really know where to start.  How to explain what’s happening to his body right now. Nor the fears running through his head.  He reached over and took Steve’s hand. “What they did to me… I’m a mess.  Every time someone touches me I expect pain.  When it’s not it’s almost too good.  Does that make sense?”

Steve nodded.  “We’ll slow down.  It’s not like I have any idea what I’m doing anyway.”

They moved towards the bed, slowly unbuttoning each other’s shirts.  “Me either, pal.”

“You gonna keep calling me pal, even now?”  Steve asked, gently running one finger down Bucky’s chest.  Bucky’s muscles twitched as his finger trailed down his skin.

“It’s just habit.  You’d rather ‘darlin’?”  Bucky smirked.

Steve laughed.  “I guess not.”

Bucky kissed him, deeply but gently. Their lips caressing each other's.  He pushed Steve’s shirt down off his shoulders and onto the floor before moving his mouth to Steve’s neck.  Steve let his head fall back and held Bucky around the waist.  Humming as Bucky’s lips touched him in a place he’d never had kissed before.

“This isn’t something I’ve ever done before either.”  Bucky murmured against, Steve’s skin.

Steve’s hand slid up Bucky’s back.  Bucky shivered as it stroked upwards.  His muscles flexing under Steve’s palm.  Steve stopped on Bucky’s neck and just held his hand there, cradling the base of his head with his large fingers.  “No I mean, at all.  You’ll be my first at all.”  Steve whispered.

Bucky pulled back and shrugged off his shirt.  “I meant that too.”

Steve looked at him, slightly puzzled.  “But all those girls?”

Bucky laughed.  “I dated ‘good’ girls, Steve.  I liked to try and get as far as I could, but it was never this far.  A couple of times I got my hands up their skirts.  That was it.”  His face fell for a moment and he furrowed his brow.  His metal hand running over his hair.  “The soldier… he did… was made… in the Red Room.”  He turned and looked back to the door, knowing Natasha sat on the other side.  Natasha who had so openly forgiven him for everything the Soldier had done to her.  “Can we not count that, Steve?”  Bucky implored.

Steve cupped Bucky’s jaw.  “Of course, Buck.  That doesn’t count.  This is your first time.”  They kissed again.  This time frantic and passionate.  All the feelings Bucky had been holding down for 70 years.  About Steve.  About what happened to him.  About the things he’d been made to do, bubbled up and poured out into that kiss.  They started to kick off their shoes and unbuckle each other’s pants.

Once naked they hastily moved up onto the bed, side by side.  They lay down facing each other and Steve pressed his leg between Bucky’s.  He broke the kiss and slowly ran his hands over Bucky.  Touching as much of him as he could reach but carefully avoiding his dick.  He watched as Bucky’s body went from tensing and twitching to just relaxing under his hands.

“Does this hurt?”  He asked, running his finger down Bucky’s jagged scar on his shoulder.

“Sometimes.  When it’s going to rain.”  Bucky replied, his own hands had been trailing lazily over Steve’s skin the whole time and he now felt relaxed, despite how his cock throbbed and leaked precome.

“I’m so sorry, Buck,”  Steve said, his voice cracking.

Bucky shook his head.  “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is.  You were there because of me.  You should have been home.”  Steve argued.

Bucky pushed him on his back, straddling his thigh.  He kissed him fiercely.  “It’s not your fault, Steve.”  He said.  “It’s not.”

Bucky took both their cocks in his hand and started stroking them against each other as he kissed Steve hard.  Steve started to moan, his hips moving against Bucky.  “I love you, Steve,”  Bucky growled.  “I love you and I went because I wanted to protect you.  It’s not your fault.”

Steve held onto Bucky, giving himself to him.  He reached over and started digging in his side table.  His fingers finally closing on a bottle of lube and dragging it out.

“Steve…”  Bucky teased.  “Why would a single guy like you possibly have that?”

Steve rolled his eyes.  “Because I’m single.”  He squirted some in his hand and took over from Bucky.  Rubbing his slicked palm up and down their cocks.

Bucky jerked and fell forward, burying his face in Steve’s neck.  “Oh fuck, Stevie.  I won’t last.  Uff…”  He panted.  

Steve pulled the hair tie from Bucky’s hair and ran his fingers through it.  “It’s okay.  I want that.  I want you to, Buck.”

Bucky kissed him, and his body jerked. He spilled in waves.  Hot come coating Steve’s hand and abs.  “Fuck.”  He hissed.  “Sorry.  Sorry.”

Steve kissed him.  “It’s okay.”  He said continuing to slowly stroke Bucky’s pulsing cock against his own hard one.  “This is just the first of so many times for us, Buck.”

Bucky nodded and kissed Steve’s throat, sucking on a patch of his skin.  He started stroking Steve’s cock and kissing down his body.  The closer he got to Steve’s cock, the faster he stroked.  Bucky ran his tongue up Steve’s shaft and smirked.  “What’s it apple flavored for, single guy?”

Steve blushed.  “I didn’t read the label.  I dropped in my basket as quickly as I could and used the self-serve checkout.”

Bucky started laughing.  He shoulders rising and falling as he hovered over Steve’s cock.  When he finally got himself under control he licked over the head of Steve’s cock and pulled his foreskin down.  He sucked greedily on the head, flicking his tongue over the slit.  Steve moaned and bucked up into Bucky’s mouth.

Like Bucky, Steve was large.  There was no way he could take all of him into his mouth so he continued to pump his fist up and down the base of his shaft as he sucked and licked as much as he could. He looked up at Steve and saw him looking back down at him through those thick lashes.  His chest was heaving and he was making soft moaning sounds.

Bucky sat up for a second and picked up the lube.  He looks down at his hands.   Until now he’d been exclusively using his right to touch Steve’s cock.  His left was okay for the rest of him, but he worried that the plates my catch or his grip might be too tight.  Now he wanted to use both his hands and he wasn’t sure which would be best for the things he wanted to do.

He squeezed the lube into his flesh palm and rubbed his hands together slicking them completely.  He took Steve’s cock into his right hand and lowered his mouth down over the head again.  With his left hand, he started stoking Steve’s perineum.  He teased his asshole with the tip of his finger and slowly and gently pushed in.

Steve groaned loudly and bunched his fists into Bucky’s hair.  “Jesus Christ!  Buck!  Bucky!  Shit!”  He cried.  Bucky didn’t even make it into his first knuckle and Steve came explosively.  He spilled into Bucky’s mouth, taking him by surprise.  The hot come coated his tongue, salty and tart.  Bucky swallowed and kept sucking, pulsing his finger in Steve’s ass.

When Steve’s cock stilled Bucky crawled up and curled against his broad chest.  “Next time, I wanna do that to you,”  Steve whispered, grabbing some wipes from his bedside table and cleaning them both up.

“Okay,”  Bucky replied.  “I’d like that.”

Steve trailed his fingers down Bucky’s spine.  “What was it like?”

Bucky rubbed his cheek against Steve’s chest.  “It was good.  I liked how you tasted and the sounds you made.”

“It felt good too.  Christ, Buck.”  Steve sighed.

Bucky chuckled.  “I could tell, pal.”  He leaned up and kissed Steve’s lips softly.  “You want me to go?  I have pretty bad nightmares.  I might keep you awake.”

Steve tightened his arms around Bucky.  “I have them too.  You’re not going anywhere.”

Bucky smiled, settling against Steve.  Knowing this was where he needed to be.