#again like never moved to do ''original'' stuff so that also just gave me grounds to Draw besides in my notebook margins during class

[unproduciblesmackdown]

speaking of happening to manage to go away to college ft. a shakespeare theater within walking distance & not just student pricing & pwyw but a freshman course taken at/with the theater / company, fun to think about all the nonzero exposure scattered all around to Theatre that i could be interested in & engaged with & respond to the idea of theatremaking big time but i had no context for this lmao like well i assume everyone adores Rehearsal & Playing A Role & Being Backstage or In The Greenroom just doing your own thing & the Idea of more of this, so that i feel neutral/average really

like on the note of no context, started dance classes as a Thing To Do when i was all of three? four? on the basis of [older sibling doing that] b/c like how else do i choose doing something. also did that w/[older sibling is being taught playing piano] + that i like to know how to do many things, like determined speedrunning of an edutainment learn to read computer program when i was three, except playing the piano never caught on for me (it'd be fine if it got to the point a song was muscle memory but i never got the hang of oh this note written here is [whatever it is without me having to count the steps in the staff] & ah that's here [without me having to look / count the keys]) so that was a miserable half hour weekdayly requirement for years. whereas dance was alright, & for a while the performance angle could be kind of fun for rehearsal, onstage, costuming, but didn't really have Roles, & was yknow everyone doing the same part at the same time & taller people in the back if there's rows, what older students did seemed more fun, plus like an annual nyc trip some did which didn't happen by the time it was relevant to me....but when it finally kind of kicked off like oh boy pointe shoes have panache & Make Noise (i suppose ideally you're quieter with it but ideally to me, Clonk Bonk Tap. & why not) but speaking of why not, that this also involved like oh shows that have Scenes & Roles even if this is all dance w/pantomime, got solos, costumes, more acting adjacent, more rehearsing, plenty of fun to me, unforch one of the most fun shows was ballet but in less Classical form & more character styles & i had the parent who could make anything into an ego issue who decided things Ought to be Classical despite knowing i enjoyed the more character style techniques as much or more lol so that was like, oh boy an adagio claire de lune quartet? pinch me. however a few more wins in there, fun getting to do a Cats inspired facepaint leg/armwarmers character that some absolute random audience member apparently liked so much their dad was like hey your number one fan, can we get a pic. which is in fact a great basis of an interaction to me

had a damper on dance class anyways from like lord the increasing gender "i'd rather not wear fitted dance garments" problems & my left knee getting more sensitive & my just more wearied like i don't see Fun Performances down the line, i was never doing this besides as a hobby, i'm gearing up to go to college where i kind of assume i could fail asap but the idea of keeping up with dance classes too is a bit much so what if we just didn't....meanwhile a drop of Drama(tm) in middle school, but just as like cycle of elective courses four per year so very Brief & i don't think was part of 6th grade's & yknow, middle school. but it was really fun to me still, not sure what all i even learned lol & yet. & like one time it was like uhh write your own scenes / play & Writing Original Stuff has never been a thing for me & is not only unrewarding but yknow difficult like i don't know. writing Vocab Sentences in like first grade i started to get annoyed at how contrived it felt & the teacher complained the sentences were too simple like clearly the context of what the word means is there but i'm sick of making up narrative beats & character arcs that have fuckall to do with me understanding what a bleacher is, but when i decided to Theme them on a computer game i enjoyed then i could rock n roll lol....anyway so Writing Material just became throwing preexisting characters in a bin & just being silly making jokes / stringing some fun plot along w/the acquaintances in the group assigned to be making this, & then Performing it was a high time i was like i love to do fun comedic stuff & be a villain, throwback to fourth grade and doing scenes from julius caesar like yaayyy nongendered casting b/c all the roles are guys anyway & i'm technically a villain which i enjoyyy, but i'm also like i wish anyone told me anything at all about acting techniques, i don't know what i'm doing beyond [talk loud enough]....feedback on the middle school class homemade performance was that nobody really knew what was supposed to be going on while watching it lmao like well that's fine b/c i'm not interested in writing fuckall, could've stood to have feedback that Enjoying Performing Onstage even that goofaroundly wasn't just expriencing the universal baseline lol ah well. my useful personalized feedback from middle school besides that as ever it was great that i got good grades & kept my head down (reading) was the librarian saying nobody checked out rebecca but i might like it, i did have fun & it's like oh nice when there's pleasant nontransactional gestures For No Reason i.e. you didn't even have to "earn" them, i was just getting to hang out reading in the library at the end of the school day. fond memory still like ah being readily handed one of the crushed oreos & gummy worm cups at the end of some early elementary school year Just Because i was there, wasn't that moved by like figurative pats on the head for good grades or what have you when i understood the conditionality of that just fine

in college like Introducing That Shakespeare Theatre like i sure did respond to getting to be up close & personal w/some professional actors & acting & plays, great time attending....kinda was tempted to get involved in the school theatre going on w/classes or productions but at this point it was like, i don't want my parents to be involved in anything at all ideally but especially not something i do suspect i'd genuinely enjoy & care about, plus it was like uh oh there'll be all these ppl older than me with even experience doing plays in high school & stuff :/ but another real damper was being around age peers incl my roommate who still Also had theatre experience & interest much more established & would be telling me like oh you're not a tenor if you're a man or oh you're not doing xyz right that way (based on their own perspective doing a whole other activity) like i love info & tips sure but not people feeling In Charge of me or even giving the awkward biting back genuine feedback wow nice good lmao....knowing some theatre people with theatre knowledge a bit helpful like oh these are some bway shows / cast recordings from like, the '00s & on, i've heard of Some of these, i've seen some macys parade show names....still just lacking context like what the hell Is broadway, just talked about like gonna take a while like it's this location & this technical capacity based venue designation & here's further context yet. still never really Did Theatre but seemed like a fun thing of Course ppl would be interested in, but luckily some Experiencing Performances, saw live stage shows in various mediums at various levels of professionality now & then, in retrospect like oh i think i saw some bway stuff Touring a few times, i just had no idea that was a ting, nobody explained shit lmao. disinterested parents who just kind of expected you to magically Pick Things Up by virtue of existing, but also don't ambiently pick up the things i don't want you to know about, you can bet it all always worked out great....parents at least a Bit interested in theatre / specific shows / recordings was certainly handy like oh okay not everyone would happen to be exposed to some shows even thusly, sure, but again like with no context / further info or really further way to engage with that....also backing off like i ripped off my siblings' pastime when i was three re: dance classes, just b/c their doing lively musical productions in high school seems super fun like i can't Also rip them off on that one (plus even like yeah family / parental proximity & attendance like eugh....)

like that the How Do You Even Get Context like all the time i'd be amazed if stuff i read or watched that i super enjoyed was like Also something i could find in the outside world, other people who liked it, even just the ability to procure it, like wow magical b/c yknow everything is just what i experienced by myself at home w/no significant onlineness yet or way to travel anywhere else. just pouncing on proximate enough things like queer & have to go to church? hell yeah tenor harmonies time & it's always Be Quieter Be Quieter lol well everyone else step it up, there's like 5x as many sopranos with 5x the rehearsal time going over The Melody....but seriously folks. only showing up late for an online breakout popular Current Bway Musical like oh hey btw what Is any of this? & still don't much know what goes on but at least a little more than i did for sure, plus i just don't keep my finger on the pulse of fuckall, i'm not so much more likely to check out musicals for the sake of being musicals so much more than i do movies b/c they're movies, maybe a little more likely though sure lol....& i just have more of that context like ohhh yeah i did super big time like doing live performance & theatremaking stuff the ways i got to / related activities, i just figured like well me & everyone else having the exact same response i'm sure. or same with enjoying taking it in, i suppose

which nowadays it's still like bummer i Never took in any acting technique just b/c it annoys me not to have anything besides idk making it up, also bummer idk how to sing any better than [also making it up] like no technique known barely in the same way, & i just like knowing things, i'd value knowing it just for singing to myself when nobody's around & i like to do a little performing too when pertinent, e.g. more than survive in the kitchen & i'm doing the choreography lol....utterly abstract though like i love to See people acting the crap out of acting & be like oh shit damn wowww, don't Really feel like ah actor au me is just over there....not even sure like ah you can be backstage in other ways, like i do not know how lol plus likewise i just don't think it's gonna come up yknow like we'll cross bridges when we come to them, who knows in this life. but i'm having the highest time ever as Audience, not live & in person but online & lively, like oh fuck yes finally digging into the relatively nicher more specific theatre live performace acting singing musicaling stuff i'd more specifically enjoy like pointing hands to head yelling are you seeing thising getting everything that i want so i do feel like it's worked out well. maybe low level for randos acting / singing instructing just cuz i like to Know & have the Option to wrangle playing around w/effects one can engage with but in the meantime like i Have always cherished proximity & audienceship so. fr Yayyy 💖

[elibean]

Hello friends! I made a post a looong time ago about how back when the Noragami anime aired (the first season), in 2014, we did not have Yukine’s backstory like we have now; despite that, the scene we got in the anime where Yato named Yukine and received all his memories, was all relevant. That really amazed me; I know mangaka and writers plan this stuff in advance, but certainly not all of them, and it would have been easy enough to retcon or change things (and there are some scenes here that indicated things may have been changed). 

So in appreciation and curiosity, I went back and screencapped all the brief scenes the anime gave us, to compare them with the corresponding manga panel/chapter. However, a tumblr picture post only allows 10 pictures and I ended up with 13, so I’m gonna pick the most interesting ones. 

Not included here is the very first scene, which is of a cat looking back at the camera. Yukine has not been shown to have a cat in his past life, nor was there any indication of a cat in his family (at least as far as I can remember) so I’m gonna go ahead and comfortably put this in the “symbolism” camp, as it could be a stray cat or anything you want to interpret it as, really. 

The second scene, also not pictured, was of luggage. This clearly relates to his sister and mother moving out. Again, when this aired back in 2014, we would have had no idea what this luggage could have related to!

The third scene, pictured, is more curious- two hands shaking. I don’t think it’s too far of a stretch to guess that the extended hand is their father’s-- but who’s the one reaching out to him? Yuka? Could this be the dad making a deal with her about keeping Haruki? But that’s not what happened, right, it was the other way around...Could be that the hand is actually Haruki’s. Unsure. Could correspond to volume 23, chapter 91, pictured below the anime shot.

Scene 4, pictured, is CLEARLY Yuka and mother leaving, with Yuka looking back. BACK IN 2014. WHEN WE KNEW NONE OF THIS, NOR WHO THEY WERE, ETC ETC.

Scene 5, not pictured, is just a pair of shoes on the ground. This could be anything; not quite sure what the symbolism is meant to be here.

Scene 6, also not pictured, is just Yukine huddled by himself facing a wall. Could be anything also, but more likely just him enduring his dad’s abuse. 

Scene 7, also not pictured, is a broken mug on the ground, liquid spilled out of it. Could be a sign of the father breaking stuff in his anger.

Scene 8, pictured, is the letters- the letters!!!! Again completely relevant and traceable to the manga! Specifically it’s the dad stepping on the letters, which does not have a direct equivalent manga panel, but the one I put under it is pretty damn close, from volume 25, chapter 96.

Scene 9, pictured, is most curious. This is an arm, likely Yukine’s, with bandages surrounding it. This was likely meant to tie in to the reason his sword form has bandages, but it was never expanded upon (and I doubt it will be in the last few chapters we have lol). I do wonder what the intent was, though-- maybe a mark of his abuse by his dad. We’ll never know!

Scene 10, pictured, is a lot of empty cans of alcohol. Clearly related to his alcoholic dad (though I guess it was never confirmed he was ALCOHOLIC for certain, but definitely a heavy drinker lol). Again not a 1-to-1 manga panel correspondence, but a pretty close one came from volume 24, chapter 94.2!

Scene 11, not pictured, is a wallet with some money strewn around. Probably to symbolize the financial situation of the dad, which was to say, not great lol

And scenes 12 and 13, pictured, are likely Yuka turning back to look at Yukine, presumably-- though I do wonder. Given the tie and suit, I wonder if this was meant to be YUKINE/Haruki when he was alive (it does kind of look like him, doesn’t it?), or if Yuka was originally intended to be Yukine’s BROTHER, or something else. Could totally be wrong, could just be an old design of Yuka! I do wonder though.

Anyway I love Noragami. It’s great. This was a silly thing I wanted to do, but it was fun to dig through the screenshots and pause every second haha. I know the fandom has mixed opinions on the anime, but it’s what introduced me to the manga, and I still do really love it. And Bones put a lot of love into it. I really hope we get a season 3 someday (and so does Kaji Yuki, according to his tweets lol). Thanks for reading!

[syrupspinner]

i just completed bomb rush cyberfunk

the sound that plays when you clear a textbox is the spongebob footstep sound and youll never unhear that now

i love the fuck out of this game. the vibes are literally, not figuratively, everything i couldve ever wanted from a jet set radio successor. a lot of people get caught up in naganuma's music, but jsr had way more variety. the original had rob fucking zombie and future had that yoko ono song about cake or whatever. i feel like they did a excellent job keeping a cohesive vibe while still including a wider variety of songs. characterizing the gangs through their mixtapes is such a fun idea and it was done so well

the gameplay is perfect too, like every little bit is fine-tuned to be exactly what it should be. walking feels like walking and skateboarding feels like skateboarding, the way you turn feels noticeably different but in a lateral way that the game is built to accommodate

level design is phenomenal. built from the ground-up for your combo game without feeling like its forcing you onto a single route. manuals were the perfect addition so you dont feel trapped in what the game provides, and lets you get creative with a levels ingredients.

I dig the dream levels and how they twist the formula. levels are normally pretty open arenas, but these are just linear platforming challenges. it's really cool to see what these physics and moves let you do in a different environment. they're super fun for the plot too, I love the bit where red is like "I can't keep the ladder steady, I'm up here with you". no spoilers but I think it ties in super well to the backstory of the character and shines a light on their thought process - you can't get support from someone if they're on the same level as you because they're too worried about keeping themselves steady.

i love how they did achievements for this game. the only story-related achievement is for beating the final boss, and its totally possible for that to be the first one you unlock. it feels good when youve actually gotta work for the achievements, and it adds so much to the endgame. i had so much fun experimenting with the best place to do the longest manual, going back through all the stages for the pictures of the penguin guy, and just playing around for... the, uh... oh christ those are some high scores. welp, problem for the post game.

not to mention all the collectables you can get! this is the perfect amount of side content, i always get excited when i see a pickup in the distance but i never felt bogged down by the need to collect everything. and slowing down to examine the level and look around for everything is a great way to shake up how you usually play the game without feeling like youre doing something that isnt accounted for design-wise.

also, fucking thank you for the maps, and smart move that you can only get em after the main story beat in that spot. it's a shame they don't show the collectables too, cuz finding the last 2-3 is a total pain without a guide, but I'm just glad there's some mercy in finding the graffiti spots. that one in mataan is a bastard, you know the one

the game's pretty easy, i dont think there was ever a point where i lost and had to retry something, with oooooone exception. the cops are all pretty annoying, especially the turret, but not in a way that makes the game unplayable if you have heat. there are certain platforming sections that gave me trouble, like that one on top of the signpost in varsum hill, and... probably another one im forgetting. its hard to hold on to stuff i struggle with, because its just so fun to do fucking anything in this game. moving back into position and trying a jump again is just part of it, yknow?

but that exception, damn. theres one boss fight that fucked me up. it was the first time i actually died in this game. and the second, third, fifth. heres a hint: youve gotta deflect the projectiles. dont worry, you didnt miss anything, you cant reflect any other projectiles (i dont think there even are any) so there isnt some tutorial you missed. it may seem like youre supposed to get close to the machine and spray it like every other fight in the game and youre just struggling with the hitbox or something, but no youre doing the wrong thing. it may also also seem like the reflected projectiles are designed to miss because they keep just barely avoiding his head, but there youre just doing the right thing the wrong way and need to aim better. not with your camera, but by changing the angle of your player character. it may also also also seem like youre meant to use the deflected projectiles as a chance to stun him and close the gap between the two of you, because since he jumps across the map whenever you get near him, there is going to be a gap. this is also one of team reptile's clever tricks, as the stun is so short you need to dodge the projectiles to get in close (but not too close!) and only then start to reflect them. wow, this is inexplicably misleading for a game thats been really tightly designed until now. you think since i get texts all the time like "dont forget to earn points by doing tricks!" someone could communicate the brand new mechanic to me at some point

another thing with this game and communicating mechanics, nobody explains the secret things that all the different ride styles can do, so thisll be your spinny tip of the day: skateboards can balance on fire hydrants and do a trick to unscrew them and ride them up; bikes can stand in front of those garage doors with bike symbols to open them; and if you manual with the skates you can break glass. yeah i only figured out the bike one on my own. i get this is going for that good ol days vibe where there was just cool hidden shit the game doesnt tell you about, and too its credit you only need to know these if you want 100%, but i found them pretty unintuitive. like, i had my board out and fucked around with a hydrant at one point, and i didnt stumble on the secret, just because theres nothing that flags to me to consider jumping on it. this is obtuse, but not as mood-ruining as the boss fight.

also, this isnt really a complaint, i think im just confused. there are tons of spots that are designed like hidden loading screens? theyre usually transitions between parts of the map, like between the entrance and the wide-open parts of the mall. im not sure why though, because it seems like the game doesnt need them? like theres one in pyramid island separating the lower and upper parts, but... you can fall from the higher part to the lower part without a stutter. theyre both clearly loaded all times youre in the area, and the game isnt shy about loading the levels when you move from one spot to the other. is it just to stop combos from going too long? that seems strange in a game thats like, about combos. again its not a big deal at all i just dont really get it?

oh, i should talk about the plot. no spoilers, but im super into stories about the psychology of the characters, shit like repressed memories and identity. if you didn't know, I'm actually working to become a counselling psychologist, so it's really cool to see how games tackle really mental-based narratives. it's like being a plumber and appreciating the manhole design. the central theme is roots, as in where you come from and how it effects you, and they did a pretty cool job exploring how that would be handled in a sci-fi setting.

the story does a great job of having a protagonist thats important but doesnt feel shoved into the world. a lot of stories have to establish a status quo and then introduce how the protagonist is fucking with it. here, the status quo is already shaken up cuz the streets used to be between the big three, but now theres only one left. the protagonist is born from this distruption and has to work backwards to try and get out of it, all while still embracing the world around him. it really helps players get acclimated without making it feel like a hand-holding isekai

and of course you know im gonna dig the anti-cop through line. i like how there are focal characters within the force to show that while its corrupt on a systemic level, there are still individuals inside that system that arent immoral. and once they conflict with the corruption, their choices are to abandon their morals and assimilate (which is why one of those characters disappear from the narrative, they were faced with the realization but discarded it to become assimilated into the general mass of the police) or to abandon their position and fight against the corruption (the other character doing so to help our heroes survive the oppressive force).

oh, and i also dig how they specifically draw attention to how police think. the chief states that he sees all crime as bad because of the slippery slope fallacy, saying that citizens witnessing that the laws dont matter would encourage more reprehensible criminal activity like homicide or piracy. i can see how someone raised in a system that values order and obedience could develop such a black-and-white thought process, and we see how its propagated through the whole police. i also love how, even without saying it out loud, theres a point to be made about how the police are so overfunded that theyre running out of shit to justify it. yeah sic the swat team on those teenagers, who gives a fuck if youre just treated like an inevitability of society and have more money than god. theyre also so everpresent that theres little pods where i think the fuckers just wait until their inescapable silencer system picks up the slightest hint of disobedience. saying the quiet part quietly, but still saying it.

uhh what else. i also appreciate that we see what a cyberhead looks like before we learn why red is exceptional. thats just good plothole-covering, cuz if that didnt happen, i totally wouldve been like "wait are they all like that?". im trying to be vague but its the thing in the mall chapter

alright lets talk about what youre here for: what it was like to 100% this thing. my process was this: normal casual playthrough of the story, getting pickups i saw along the way and making a point to seek out all the optional characters. the second thing is to go back and tag all the graffiti spots, which you should get out of the way so you dont have to worry about the police later and so you have the rep to unlock all the oldhead-gates. after that, go back through the boroughs a third time and pick up all the pickups i missed. you should use a guide for this, those fuckers are really well hidden. by all means look around first, like i said earlier its fun to take it slow, but it devolves into "where the fuck is the last thing" pretty quickly. if its not fun, why bother, yknow? turn it from a scavenger hunt to geocaching. the fourth step is doing the other gangs' score attack challenges to unlock them as playable. I thought it'd be super hard, but theyre tough but doable if you keep a single combo through the whole thing and do the boost trick. the only thing is if you drop your combo, you gotta march your ass back to the challenger to restart, or get your phone out and wait the timer out, there's no quick restart. it's not THAT big of a deal, but I shouldn't be taking my phone out in the middle of your video game, just saying

then there's the high-score steam achievements. this is bar none the hardest part of the game. unlocking futurism in mataan just takes 5mil points, which you can do in a few minutes. the achievement asks for 16mil, more than triple that. you have unlimited time, that's still a pretty bad leap. the best way to get your score up is to up your multiplier with unique billboards and rail corners, but that only works once per combo. even if you exhaust most of a stage, you're still gonna be pretty short, with the multiplier only getting you to a couple mil. so, what do you do when you have no time limit? find a rail that loops, rubber band your joystick to the side, and go to bed.

...that's what I thought at least. I tried this in mataan and I bottomed out at about 6mil after going grocery shopping. and I gotta walk a kilometer and a half to the store and back, so it was like... a little over an hour. that doesnt sound that impressive but still i didnt wanna just wait. I feel too self-conscious about running up a power bill I split with my roommate to do it overnight, so let's try plan b and just... do it. and yeah, its still the hardest part of the game, but... its still very doable. i dropped my combo like two or three times, but i ended up with 20 million before i even realized it when i went for varsum hill, which is wayyy overshooting. the only problem area was pyramid island, and thats just because i had to march my ass back to the top when i dropped my combo. i totally overblew how much of a pain these would be

i think thats it! with a single 15-minute-or-however-long-that-fight-took exception, and disregarding the post-game optional character missions having no quick restarts, this game is fantastic from beginning to end. i know it sounds like that fight was a huge detraction, and yeah ive got problems with it, but a single blemish cant ruin a whole game. i can see myself loading this up and just fucking around with it even after ive perfected it, which is a HIGH complement from me. its got that same sauce as all the games i played as a kid, where it feels like if you only got one game per year, you could play the fuck out of until that whole time without getting bored. you know the kind of games im talking about, those jrpgs and zelda-like adventure games where it just feels like the game doesnt want you to leave. like yeah there are games where its fun to replay the campaign over and over, and this feels like one of those too dont get me wrong, but it just feels like its giving you so much to play around with, to explore and unlock and even just to fuck around and exist in the world. sure, as an adult it feels kinda nice when a game is short, cuz you know you wont have to be married to it for a year while you balance real-life shit in between the video games, but thats why it being optional is so thoughtful. also 30 hours is a totally healthy length for a game to be completed in

i guess what im saying is that bomb rush cyberfunk knows exactly what its doing. this feels like how a game from the era its paying homage to should feel, how it would be designed with the sensibilities of the time, but without subtracting from what i appreciate about modern titles. if you told me this was a remaster of an OG xbox game that added shit like autosaving, id totally buy it if i didnt know better.

im worried im underselling how much i love this game, so i guess ill just say that i love jet set radio. jsr classic has some of the best vibes in the medium, and future is straight up my favorite retro game of all time. and brc eclipses both of them combined. i would like to apologize to anyone who has any interest in working towards xbox emulation. i fear that interest in the field will somehow decrease even further now that the only xbox game worth emulating that hasnt just been ported to pc has been totally outclassed. good luck trying to top this, sega

[nellie-elizabeth]

What We Do in the Shadows: The Roast (5x08)

Oh my god, this was an AMAZING episode.

Cons:

I feel bad for continuing to harp on this, but The Guide continues to feel like such a wasted character! I like the performance, I don't think it has to be this way, there could be some really funny stuff here! But instead it's the same joke again and again. It's like she's the Jerry from Parks and Rec or the Toby from The Office. But this show didn't really need that, they're all a bunch of losers, and there's already the vampires treating Guillermo like he's disposable to fall back on as a joke? I don't know. She had plot relevance this week, but it feels like we could have done this without her.

Pros:

Lazlo's ennui was really funny, the way he keeps dismissing everyone's attempt to snap him out of it... one of the funniest exchanges was right at the top, when Nadja and Nandor were talking about Lazlo lacking interest in his old hobbies: Nadja - "We are down to like sixteen fucks a week." / Nandor - "We're down to three". And Nadja reaches out and puts a hand on Nandor's arm, in horror and sympathy to hear something so terrible! That really made me laugh.

Honestly, this episode was laughs all the way through, I can't even pick favorite lines from everyone. But I loved Colin's failed roast of Lazlo, I loved Nadja saying that maybe dying wouldn't be so bad, and Nandor being like "wtf" and then Nadja being like "I've just been going through a lot lately."

The main plot here is that the Baron discovers that Guillermo was the one who accidentally burned him up a few years ago, and he wants revenge. As ridiculous as all the antics were, I was also genuinely moved by Nadja and Nandor both begging for Guillermo's life and trying to dissuade the Baron. But at the same time, they're all worried about Guillermo killing the Baron, because he's the origin of their line of vampires, and his vampire descendants might die as well! What a fun and twisted web of allegiances. Guillermo doesn't try and kill the Baron, in part because it puts his friends at risk. And yet his friends can't let the Baron kill Guillermo either!

Things are... sort of resolved... when Guillermo tells the Baron that he has renounced his vampire killing family legacy by becoming a vampire himself. The Baron finds the whole situation with Nandor not being the one to change him kind of hilarious and he's also sympathetic to Guillermo because of it, so he calls off his vengeance. And then... Guillermo accidentally burns him in the sunlight again.

Genuinely, the sight of Nandor clutching Guillermo's sweater, and then his grief when he sees "Guillermo" dead on the ground in front of him... I'm sure the whole fandom is celebrating hardcore. It was so much. Pair that with the utterly callous way that Lazlo guts the corpse, to show everyone that it's not really "Gizmo", but one of his clone experiments gone awry... this show is utterly ridiculous in the very best way.

The sweet Guillermo and Nandor moments don't stop there. When Nandor finds Guillermo hiding in his coffin, after thinking he has fled never to be seen again, he asks him questions to make sure it's the real him. One of them is, what's in the card you gave to me the first day you were my familiar? And Guillermo quotes it exactly, with Nandor mouthing along. "To be a vampire is my dream, but to be your familiar would be my honor." What the heck kind of high romance? Amazing. I can't believe next week we're going to see Nandor find out about Guillermo at last. Everyone's been building up again and again how Nandor will be forced to kill Guillermo and then himself. I wonder what's going to happen!

Turns out, Lazlo's strange mood was just because he was trying to figure out how to alphabetize his books. I love this gag as like... a fun example of what longevity and immortality might really be like. You can afford to just space out for a couple weeks to make a decision if you like! There's so much time stretched before you.

It was so funny to see Doug Jones as the Baron, sans any weird crazy make-up or prosthetics, only for the episode to involve him getting all burned up and disfigured again. I guess he's back to untold hours in the makeup chair any time he's on this show! I love it. I also loved how the Baron accepted Guillermo as a vampire right away, in a way the others who are in the know haven't quite done. He's all-in for his fellow vamps, and now he's got a bunch of Guillermo animal clones to hang out with at his place!

I'm not ready for this season to be over, it all happened too quickly! This may be the best episode of the season.

9.5/10

[galactose-galaxy]

Okay, I wrote this a bit ago and its basically a blurb of an AU of my one character, Bjarne (or Sleipnir), and how his normal lore would translate to the universe of Altered Carbon. Fully self-serving as I absolutely adore the show (need to read the books... soon) and I enjoy how the parallel of sleeve wearing fits the original version's stuff. I think, for fun I might write another. Would be great to practice writing characters interacting since it is such a weak point for me :,) Also warning, some violence and quick murder

-*-*-*-

Freezing sleet rapped against the thick glass, barely audible about the electronic hum that constantly droned throughout the entire city. Quiet was for the deaf and the dead, the living had to suffer with the noise their evolution had brought to this alien world. The closest thing to peaceful background noise jarringly broke as the worn lock of this rusted place ground open, followed by the heavy sliding of the door. The peace was further sullied as dim lights turned on, and the muffled screaming of a gagged man now filled the space. With a soaked back and tied-up feet, the man fruitlessly gasped and grabbed the broad shoulder he was so unceremoniously slung over. The leather, cold from the outdoors, gave the well-chewed nails of the man nothing to grab onto. Frigid, unbearing. Even his kicks were still weak and uncoordinated, a fruitless endeavour that only received silence from the man’s captor.

Taking a final drag of the cigarette, the captor roughly crumpled it in his hand, singing flesh with the dying ember before flicking it to the already littered ground of the hotel room. He gripped the man’s tied feet and with a heave he sent the body falling right into the chair prepped by the window. Finally, the captor and captured were face to face for the first time. Unnaturally blue eyes bore into the natural brown, only encouraging the muffled screams to continue. The captor’s lip twitched downwards, into a frown as he finally exhaled, letting his smoke wash over the screaming victim. Wretched, disgusting, even gagged the poor victim choked and sputtered. At least, as he did so the sweaty and now drool-soaked rag was removed from his mouth. Sucking a breath in, he started to spew the filthy begging they all did. “Please, I-I just take my money man. I can even drain my account for you. I can even pretend I never saw your face and we can just part ways right here. What do you say, big guy?” The captor simply turned his back. Cold and uncaring, not a word fell from his lips in acceptance or denial. He didn’t care, the only thing he cared about was that precious sleeve the man had. Be it bought, born, or borrowed, the skin was soft, the eyes a wonderful natural shade and the man didn’t seem to be balding either. Bjarne could already taste the credits this one would make him. The time it would spare him. Calloused hands picked up a well-used switchblade from the kitchenette as the coffee machine whirred to life, dribbling into the stained carafe. The chorus of pleading became the new backdrop as he stepped closer, flicking the blade open, its golden metal flashing just as his large frame moved to straddle the still-conscious sleeve. The talking moved to panicked screams, pleading and begging, and even a prayer or two. All the beautiful words fell on deaf ears though, and all it got was a very soft and disappointing, “shhh” from Bjarne. Shushing the poor man like a fussy child. Even caressing his hair like one as his face was forced against leather. The victim gnashed his teeth and bit where he could, but cold calloused hands stayed true and strong, keeping him in place. Holding him still as the golden blade of Gabriel found the nape of his neck.

Tears ran, and sobbing began. “Don’t RD me, please, I swear, I can change. If that is what this is, please, please, I will learn please.” The sobs grew ugly, deranged. While the corners of the cold captor’s lips twitched yet again, falling farther into a scornful frown, just as blood pricked the knife eager to escape as the tip was pushed in on that telltale scar. With an uncomfortable precision, the blade slid in, roughly bumping against the vertebra as Bjarne found the sweet spot. The man’s pleas grew in crescendo, falling ill to the pain before finally nothing. The body hung limp against Bjarne’s chest. The silver-haired man let out a soft sigh, twisting his knife against the man’s spinal cord until the object of his desires popped free. Dropping the knife to the ground, blood splattering over his already stained boots, he drove his fingers into the wound. Flesh squelched uncomfortably, but the little metal piece was easy enough to find. He gave it a flick as he stood up, pushing the once a man, now just a sleeve, back into the chair. Holding the glowing blue object up to the light, simply inspected it with an appraising eye, even giving it a wipe against his shirt before tossing it into a bowl where a few others resided. Far away from that hotel, and a few bodies lighter, Bjarne flicked and tossed his knife, over and over again. Sheltered by the taller buildings, the rain only came down in certain areas and was easy to avoid. Yet it created puddles and portals to another world. Reflecting the hundreds of neon lights that dance, desperately trying to grab the attention of the small-minded individual. Like moths to a flame, a crowd surrounded the establishment that Bjarne had been looking for. Slipping his blade away, he tucked his palms into his pockets, shouldering his way through without a word. No apologies or even the acknowledgement of those he barreled through. They didn’t matter, they were nothing to him. He only had one goal and wanted it over with as quickly as possible. With a steeled gaze he looked up towards the neon pink sign, the strange symbols of a name rolling right past his mind. Still, after all these years, he hadn’t bothered to learn to read the local tongue.

A rough hand grabbed his jacket, yanking back on the young man. Causing his tunnel vision to break as he came face to face with a bouncer. “Buddy, back of the line.” Giving the strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes a puff of air, he stared the bouncer down, trying to recognize the face. Grabbing a hold of the still stained and bloodied shirt he wore, he tugged down the neckline, giving the man just the corner of a tattoo that swirled along his chest. Just with the sight of the tail, the bouncer was understanding, and let Bjarne go with a rough push. “Don’t fuckin’ start anythin’, I don’t care who you are, fucker.” Someone who didn’t care wouldn’t have crumpled so easily. For a brief moment, the young man let himself revel in the fantasy that he was respected for his own name, his reputation. He moves past the winding hallways of flashing and neon lights, tuning out the faux moans of organic and synthetic workers alike along with the cheers of the greasy folk who frequented this upstanding establishment. Though, just as fake as the paid-for whimpers of pleasure, he knew that fantasy was synthetic, made up just to buffer the blow against his ego. He was no man of his own making, just a boy forced to the coattails of the man he worked for. Passing by more security, this time unhindered, he shouldered the heavy metal door. As soon as the seal was broken, a wash of smoke blew over his face, swirling and burning his nostrils with its toxicity. Fucking terrible. With a final breath of relatively fresh air, he stepped in, as confident as his legs would allow. Bathed in low and pink light, the source of the haze that filled the luxurious room sat the uncomfortably familiar face, the golden mirror of his own, aged by years of life, and years of purgatory. Bjarne’s father blew out some more smoke, and a grin, unlike that of his father, broke across his face, followed by a voice made by Gabriel’s vocal cords, but spoken by that of Svathilfari. “Sleipnir, my boy, you finally join us.” The voice purred, cracked by the smoke-filled lungs. A ringed hand delicately brushed over the shoulder of his Blom, her form wore a new sleeve, yet the boy could see who she was just from the judgmental glare she held for the boy, a glare that only softened when she returned her attention to the most important figure of the room.

Bjarne didn’t offer the man a verbal response. He never did. Instead, he stepped past where they lounged, roughly opening the cabinet where he knew the terminal was, the one he always had to use. “Three hours late. Right on the dot. You know the deal, boy.” He grinned, turning over the cigarette in his hand before sucking down another puff, letting it snake out of his maw after a moment. Pure ecstasy seemed to flood through that stolen sleeve as soon as the chemicals hit. A glance was all the man got before the boy shrugged his shoulders, depositing the credits. All the way down until his account was empty, yet the balance wasn’t set to zero. He squinted towards the screen, turning back to Svadilfari with a soft grunt of confusion.

“Ah, boy. Inflation you see.” The man didn’t even give him the respect of hiding his devilish smirk. “Had to charge more, especially on your regular late fee.”

Quiet anger seethed in the young man, waiting for the inevitable rest of his words. He always offered this, he always wanted it.

The golden mirrored man pushed off from the elegant chair, clasping the pin-striped suit’s buttons neatly as he closed the distance. “Sell your sleeve, Sleipnir.”

There it was, and right as those once kind hands grasped the boy’s shoulders, trapping him in place and under that terrifying gaze. A delusional man would think he was brave, staring down the eyes that threatened to pluck him right from the very skin he wore. Truthfully, the son was always terrified of the father. As a child, as a teen, and even now, as an adult.

Hands balled into fists as he seethed. It took every single ounce of courage the weak boy had to muster it, but he did, just as every time before. Breaking the eye contact, he shook his head no.

“How many times have we been over this.” The false father growled, the grip on the boy’s shoulder with barely restrained rage. They had been over this time and time again, the incoming speech that often was delivered with a calm before the storm. False Father’s mouth opened for a mere moment before he drew a knife of air through his teeth, snapping the brittle tension with a deranged smile.

The shift caught the boy off guard, and where his eyes had found themselves digging holes in the wall behind his tormentor readying himself to withstand a beating, they snapped to his face in stark confusion. That mask must have broken, for the change in the boy’s demeanour brought nothing but illicit joy from Svadilfari.

“I have a far better offer for you, especially now that you consider yourself a man.”

*-*-*

[unwrittenlibrary]

adore you

summary // bucky and alpine enjoy their solitude, but the girl across the hall is slowly creeping into their hearts. (bucky x fem!reader)

words // 7.4k

warnings // diverges from canon & no major spoilers.

notes // just thousands of words of fluff bc that’s all i know how to write. maybe one day i’ll venture into anything else. fluffy bucky has my heart 

reblogs & replies are greatly appreciated!

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

The first time you knock on Bucky’s door Alpine wanders over curiously.

Bucky stares at the door silently urging you to go away. You knock again and Alpine begins to paw at the door before meowing loudly, which makes Bucky groan. “I’m coming.” He calls as he stands from the couch. He pauses the movie playing on his television, something ridiculous that Sam had insisted on. Alpine meows again and Bucky can hear you laugh through the door. 

He pulls on a hoodie that’s laying on his counter and stuffs his left hand into the front pocket. When he pulls the door open you smile brightly. “James!” 

The two of you had met briefly when Bucky had originally moved into the building. You had smiled the same bright smile in the elevator and offered up your name easily. Bucky had smiled tightly in return and told you his full name, a habit he had yet to break, and he deeply regretted it. Every time you passed in the hallway you called out a cheery James despite Bucky’s corrections. 

“It’s Bucky.” He mutters. Your eyes move over his shoulder and Bucky watches as you take in his very undecorated and barely furnished apartment. Bucky didn’t mind how seemingly empty his place was. He wasn’t home a lot and nobody but Sam spent time with him. Sam might think it was time to add barstools and a spice rack, but Bucky was content with how things were. 

Your attention is pulled to Alpine as he peeks out from behind Bucky’s legs. “And who are you?” You ask quietly as you squat down to meet his eyes. You hold a cautious hand out and Alpine only stares. You wait for a moment before he turns and moves back into the apartment. 

You don’t seem to take it to heart though. You laugh as you stand up. “He takes after his dad, huh.” There’s a teasing glint in your eyes and Bucky should be offended but the comment actually makes him smirk. 

“His name is Alpine.” Bucky says monotone as he watches you rock back and forth on your feet. “Did you need something?” 

“Oh!” Your eyes light up as if you had completely forgotten your reason for coming here in the first place. “I need salt! Do you have any?” Your eyes move behind him again as if you’re now suddenly worried the answer won’t be yes. 

“I have salt, yes.” He doesn’t move from his spot and only stares down at you. Your eyes flicker around the hallway before you smile nervously. “Can I have some?” You ask quietly. 

Bucky nods and makes his way into his kitchen. He expects you to stay and wait in the doorway, but he hears the door shut behind you.

“Didn’t want him to get out.” You say as you lean against his counter. Bucky’s a little put off by your brazen personality, but you don’t seem to notice his discomfort. “How long have you lived in DC?” You ask as Bucky moves to pull the salt out. 

“How much do you need?” He asks instead of answering. 

“Not much! A couple teaspoons.” Bucky’s stoic attitude doesn’t seem to deter you at all. He glances around the bare kitchen before deciding to just give you the shaker. 

“I don’t have anything to put it in, just make sure to return it eventually.” He shrugs as he slides it over to you. You grasp it in your hand but make no effort to move. Bucky sighs. “And I’ve lived here for a couple years now. I… I moved here after the Blip.” 

He wonders briefly if you know who he is. He’s not sure what happened in the years of the blip, if his name had been marked on one of those memorials. That had been before his pardon, so he assumes not. He wonders if Steve’s exhibit had been changed. He hadn’t been back since before the blip. Was he still in it? Had they changed it or was Bucky Barnes still dead in America’s eyes? His eyes find yours and then he wonders if you did know who he was, were you worried? 

You seemed fine around him. He hadn’t seen any recognition on your face when he had introduced himself all those months ago. A frown tugs at your lips. “Were you…” You trail off but Bucky knows the question. 

Bucky nods tightly and you take a step away and move towards his door, like you know he’s reached the limit on sharing personal details for the night. “Me too.” You finally say when your hand lands on his door knob. You pause. “It’s weird. Right? Coming back to a completely different world?”’

“Yeah.”  He nods. You have no idea, he thinks. He had just begun to figure out how to live free again and then he was gone. And when he came back, he was thrust into battle then lost Steve to a world Bucky was no longer a part of. “It’s weird.” 

You smile apologetically. “Thank you for the salt, James.” You say quietly. His eyes flash to yours but your face doesn’t give much away. 

He nods and the door slams shut. Alpine comes trotting out and rubs against Bucky’s shins. “Yeah, she’s weird.” Bucky reaches down to softly pet Alpine’s back. “Pretty though, huh?” 

Alpine pushes against his hand and Bucky takes that as agreement enough. 

//

Bucky liked helping Sam down at the VA. Handing things out, setting things up, and talking with veterans gave Bucky a sense of something. It gave him something to do when Sam and him weren’t away on missions. 

And he got to spend time with Sam. While it was something he would never admit to the man, he enjoyed his company. Sam had slowly become Bucky’s best friend. Not that Bucky really had any other close friends. 

“Thanks for helping out today.” Sam smiles as Bucky leads him through the hallway towards his apartment. “But you know, you can just come for a meeting. To talk.” 

Bucky nods. He did know that, really. But Bucky was okay with listening for now. Maybe one day he would share some of his story, but helping out now was helping him. 

Bucky stops short in the hall when he notices something sitting outside his door. He throws an arm out that Sam slams into. “Jesus, what…” He trails off when he notices what Bucky had seen. 

There’s a small brown box sitting on the ground. “Stay here.” He murmurs as he begins to move towards the object. Sam gives Bucky a look before following behind him. “Or not.” He glares. Both men kneel down in front of the box. There’s not much that gives anything about what’s in the box away, just his name written in fancy script. 

He reaches a hand out to touch it when the sound of your door opening makes him second guess and pull away. You were a little weird, but he didn’t want to blow you up. 

“James!” Him and Sam look over at you as you lock your door. You’ve got a red apron wrapped around your waist and your bag is slipping off your shoulder. Before Bucky can say anything like be careful, you furrow your brows at the men. “What are you doing? Do you not like cookies?” 

“Cookies?” Bucky asks as he glances down at the box again. Sam has already stood up and straightened out, but he’s still kneeling in front of the door. He can hear Alpine pawing at it, no doubt having heard Bucky’s voice, and he feels a little ridiculous now. “It’s Bucky.” He adds on now that he knows it’s not an explosive sitting in front of him. 

You nod slowly with a confused smile on your face. “Cookies. I made a bunch so I packed up the extra for you. When I knocked nobody answered so I left them, I wasn’t sure if I’d be home when you got back.” 

Bucky feels heat rise to his cheeks. He hastily picks the box up and stands. Sam laughs loudly and Bucky glances at him coldly. “Thanks.” He says quietly. 

You rock back and forth on your feet again. Must be a nervous habit, Bucky thinks. “I also made some cat treats. For Alpine.” Bucky recognizes the nervous tone in your voice as you stare at the box in his hands. “Thank you. For the help.” You say before spinning on your heel. You freeze and turn again, this time your eyes land on Sam. “Nice to meet you, Captain America, sir.” You look like you’re thinking of throwing your hand up in salute, but instead you turn again and rush down the hall. 

Bucky just stares after you until a muffled meow breaks his focus. He shakes his head before shoving the box into Sam’s hands and moving to unlock the door. “So.” Sam says with a poorly contained smirk as he follows Bucky inside. “She seems nice, James.” 

Bucky groans before snatching the box from his hands. “She knows I go by Bucky, she just calls me that to mess with me… I think.”

“And she knows Alpine?” Sam kneels down to pet said cat, but he jumps away and hides behind Bucky’s legs. “Come on, Al. We’ve known each other since you were adopted.” Sam stands up and rolls his eyes at Bucky. 

Bucky laughs softly at the cat. “She asked to borrow salt last night and kind of met him. Alpine didn’t really stick around to hang out with her.” He begins to open the box and notices a small note taped to the inside of the lid. 

He pulls it off hesitantly. “What’s her name?” Sam leans against the counter and pulls a cookie out of the box.

“Y/N.” He says quietly as his eyes skim over the note. 

James, 

Thank you for the salt. And the conversation. I hope you enjoy the cookies. I made some simple tuna treats for Alpine. 

Step One in getting your cat to love me. 

Bucky lays the note on his counter and looks into the box. His shaker is standing in the corner next to a small plate of cookies and a jar of what he assumes are the cat treats. Sam laughs and Bucky glances up to see him reading over the note. “Hey!” Bucky yanks it out of his hand and shoves it into one of the drawers in front of him. 

“Getting Alpine and you to love her, she means.” He laughs again and Bucky rolls his eyes. “That’s cute. I didn’t know you had a little flirtationship going on.” 

Bucky scoffs. “I don’t… What does that even mean? Did you see us in the hall? I don’t flirt with her.” 

Sam reaches for another cookie. “Really? Just felt like that’s how you would flirt. And you blushed so…” He trails off with a smirk. 

“I wasn’t blushing!” Bucky says defensively. He didn’t blush just because a pretty girl gave him cookies. He wasn’t in middle school. When Sam reaches for another cookie, Bucky yanks the box away. “Are you gonna order dinner or stand here and eat all of my cookies?” 

Sam throws his hands up in mock surrender and pulls out his cell phone. “Hey. No need to get defensive. Maybe it was just hot in the hallway.” He moves into the living room and flings himself onto the small couch. 

Bucky scoffs and looks down at Alpine, who has made himself comfortable at Bucky’s feet. “I wasn’t blushing.” He says quietly to the cat. Alpine just blinks. Bucky pulls a treat out of the small jar and holds it out to him. “You know I wasn’t blushing.” 

//

The next time Bucky sees you, it’s him at your door. He’s got a clean plate in his hand and is decidedly not nervous as he waits for you to answer. 

He lifts his hand to knock again when the door swings open. You’re standing in nothing but a sweatshirt and shorts that barely peek out from beneath it. Bucky swallows and forces his eyes up from your legs to your face. 

He gives you an apologetic smile when he sees your raised brows. “James.” You smile kindly as you lean against your door frame. “What can I do for you?” 

“Bucky.” He says automatically. He holds the plate out and notices your eyes catch on his gloved hands. “Figured you might want this back. I washed it.” 

You take the plate from his hands. “Thank you.” Bucky doesn’t move from his spot in the hallway. He’s not really sure why because he’s done what he needed to do. He just wanted to enjoy your presence, he assumes. You had begun to grow on him and your cookies were really good. Or maybe he had always kind of liked you. 

“Do you want to come in?” You ask. There’s an inviting smile on your face and he almost says yes. He wants to say yes. But he didn’t want to leave Alpine alone, he had already been gone for most of the day. 

Bucky gives you an apologetic smile. “I would… But I don’t want to leave Alpine alone.” You nod with a soft smile and Bucky watches for a moment before taking a step back.

“I’ll just…” He points over shoulder at his door. He turns and starts the short walk to his door. 

You laugh quietly. “Have a good night, James.” 

“Bucky.” He corrects. He takes a deep breath and turns to face you again. You’re still standing in your doorway watching him amused. “Do you want to… You can come to mine instead?” 

Your small smile transforms into something bright and excited as you nod. “That would be great. Let me grab my keys.” You hold a finger up and disappear into your apartment. 

As soon as you're out of sight Bucky slumps against the wall. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He thinks. His living room is bare except for the small, shitty couch Sam had persuaded him into buying. That and a lamp on an Ikea side table and his television. 

He imagined your living room was much homier. Probably decorated to fit your aesthetic and cozy. What would you think of his place? What did you think? You couldn’t mind it too much if you agreed to come, right? 

His nervous train of thought is disrupted when he hears your door slam shut. Bucky watches as you lock your door quickly. “Lead the way!” You look at Bucky with teasing eyes. 

Bucky smiles hesitantly as he turns towards his own door. When he opens it, he finds Alpine laying on the back of the couch and he stares confused at Bucky and the new addition to the apartment. 

“You remember Alpine.” Bucky says with a small smile as he beckons you further into the apartment. “It’s not much-“

“-It’s nice.” You cut him off. You’ve got a genuine smile on your face and Bucky begins to wonder why he had ever been nervous. You’d always been kind, he couldn’t imagine you having anything rude to say. “Hi, Alpine.” You say quietly as you step cautiously towards the couch. 

Bucky watches as Alpine looks up at you equally as cautious. “Nice to see you again. I hope you like the treats.” At the word, Alpine perks up and looks at you intrigued. 

Bucky quietly pulls a couple treats out of the jar. He moves as subtly as he can in order to avoid shifting Alpine’s attention. “Here.” He slips a treat into your hand. “See if he comes to you.”

You hold the treat out in front of you and Alpine sniffs the air. You don’t say anything, like you know trying to coax the cat to you might spook him. Alpine seems to appreciate it and moves towards you slowly. He snatches the treat from your hand before dashing away. He disappears down the hallways, but you don’t seem to care because you spin around to face Bucky with a happy smile. 

“Did you see that?” You laugh. Bucky swallows and nods. Briefly he thinks you have a beautiful smile before shaking the thought off. You take a seat on his couch and pull your legs up underneath you. “I’ll be his favorite in no time.”  

Bucky snorts. “I’m sure.” He says sarcastically. He sits next to you on the couch and moves to hand the remote to you. He lets a small smile be directed at you as he watches you make yourself comfortable in his home. It’s not much, but you seem to fit right in. 

When your eyes land on his gloved hands again, he thinks you’re gonna ask for a reasoning behind them. He’d have to come up with a poor excuse, not wanting to share the truth yet. But your eyes move from his hands to his face and you take the remote with a smirk. “You ever seen Legally Blonde?”

And, well. That’s that. 

//

The next time you and Bucky see each other, it’s in passing. He’s going out as you’re coming in. There’s a grease stain on your shirt and your red apron is barely stuffed into your purse.

Bucky hesitates for a moment. “Hey.” He says quietly. You spin around and slam backwards into your door. “Fuck. I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sorry.” He takes a cautious step towards you. His eyes trail over your face, your eyes are red and he can tell how exhausted you are. 

“It’s okay.” You say quietly. You take a few calming breaths. “I was in my head. It was a rough night.” 

Bucky leans against the wall next to you. “Wanna talk about it?” He’s grown so used to you just stopping to chat that this tense silence feels wrong. Normally he wouldn’t even have to prompt you, he would listen as you just launch into a story easily.

You trail your eyes over his outfit. “You look like you’re headed out.”

Bucky shrugs and doesn’t move from his spot. “Just a recap then. I have time.” He’s not sure what’s inspired him to do this. But he thinks it has something to do with this newfound fondness to your bright personality. He wants it back. 

You take a deep breath and nod. “Come in for a glass of water? Then I’ll let you go.” 

Bucky sighs in relief. “Sounds perfect.” He follows you into the apartment. It’s different from his. Bright, like you. You’ve got posters hanging neatly on the wall your tv is against. Plants sitting by your window. A large couch and soft rug. “Nice place.” He comments as he moves to sit on one of your barstools.

You laugh softly. “Thanks.” You drop your purse onto the counter and turn to pull two glasses out of the cupboard. “Where are you headed? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

Bucky glances at the time on your stove. “Oh… I help my friend out with meetings at the VA. I was headed to help him set up.” 

You slide a glass of water towards him. “You’re a vet?” He takes it with an appreciative smile. “I didn’t…” You shake your head. “Thank you.” 

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m not…” He trails off unsure of how to explain his status to you. Did you really not know who he was? “Tonight's topic is you.”

You roll your eyes and lean back against the counter. “Have you ever just had a bad day? Where nothing seems to go right?” Bucky nods and you sigh. “My master’s thesis, I’ve been working on it for months, I got back my draft today from my advisor and he tore it apart. Had a good cry about that. Got called in early to work, I need the money so I said yes. The diner was busy and we were short staffed. To top it off, my last customer of the night was a douche. He hit on me all night. When I told him no to getting my phone number, he threatened to take my tip away.” You laugh bitterly as Bucky sits in silence, listening intently. “And then when I walked away, he tried to grab me. So… Stellar night over all.” 

“Want me to kill him?” The words are out of Bucky’s mouth before he can think. He couldn’t imagine being forced to be nice to somebody who was just harassing him all night. In fact, he knows he wouldn’t be. And he knows you certainly didn’t deserve treatment like that. 

You let out a shocked laugh that turns into a full blown laughing fit. Bucky lets out an awkward chuckle as he watches you shake. 

“That’s…” You trail off and Bucky notices tears gathering in your eyes. “That’s really sweet.” You say wetly. 

“Hey.” Bucky stands up and takes a step towards you. He pauses, unsure of what to do, but when you start to shake again, this time with tears, his decision is made. “Hey. You’re okay.” 

He pulls you into him and you come easily. You wrap your arms tightly around his waist and rest your head against his chest as you let it out. 

Bucky rubs your back and tries his best to calm his rapidly beating heart. He hopes you can’t hear it because he’s sure it would break any kind of aura of nonchalance he had created. 

He glances at the time again. He really has to go. The meeting was starting soon and he’s sure Sam is worried about where Bucky is. He pulls back slowly, not wanting to let go. 

You look at him with sad eyes. “I’m so sorry. I have to go.” You nod dejectedly and take a step back. You don’t go too far, both of your hands still clinging to his jacket. “Can you watch Alpine?” He rushes the words out and he knows there’s a light blush rising to his cheeks. He just wants to make you feel better and he really does hate leaving his cat alone. 

You furrow your brows. “What?” 

“I mean.” He takes a hurried step back suddenly aware of you still wrapped in his arms. “I hate leaving him alone. And… You look like you could use some furry company.” 

A slow smile spreads across your face. “Are you saying your cat likes me?”

“No.” Bucky laughs. “But you are the only other person he doesn’t completely hate.” 

“I would love to watch Alpine.” You take a few rushed steps out of your kitchen. “I’ll change and head over.” 

Bucky lets out a relieved breath and nods. “Good. Cool. I mean-“ He shakes his head. “-my spare key is on top of my door. You don’t have to do anything but hang out with him. Don’t expect cuddles though, I’m not sure you’re on that level yet. Don’t give him too many treats.” 

You’re nodding like his instructions are even the smallest bit important. “I have to go.” Bucky says ago and takes another step towards the door. “I’ll see you later.” 

You nod and take off down your hall. Bucky lingers by your door for a moment.

“Wait!” You yell and come rushing out again. Bucky freezes and turns to look at you. “Thank you…James.” You smile brightly before spinning around again and disappearing. 

Bucky smiles to himself as he leaves. The bright was back. 

//

When Bucky gets home he’s more nervous than when he left. His palm is sweaty and all that’s on his mind is Sam’s constant teasing. 

Bucky didn’t have a crush. He just… Liked having you around. That didn’t mean he wanted to date you. Maybe he did think you were pretty. And sure when you had let him hug you earlier it had made his heart race. 

But it wasn’t a crush. Bucky was too old to have a crush. He takes a deep breath before opening his door. He can hear a movie playing softly before he even looks up. 

“Hey.” You say quietly from where you’re laying on his couch. You sit up hastily with an embarrassed smile. Alpine is laying on the chair across from you. “We’re friends!” You point to the sleeping cat. 

Bucky nods. “He actually stayed in the same room as you all night?” He asks doubtfully. 

You frown, but there’s a mischievous sparkle in your eyes. “Maybe not all night. But he came out like an hour ago. I think he gave up on waiting for me to leave.” 

You pat the spot next to you on the couch and Bucky moves as quietly as he can. “How was your night? Do you feel better?” He looks you over. You looked less tired and from the blankets piled on his couch it looks like you had taken a nap. 

You nod. “A lot better… Thank you. I really appreciate you letting me hang out with your cat.” You look up at him with a nervous smile. “He’s just like you. You two were made for each other.” 

Bucky glances at Alpine. “What does that mean?” 

You poke Bucky’s leg with your socked foot. “Hard exterior, secretly wants to be best buds with me.” 

Bucky snorts and gently shoves your foot away. “My secret plan has been outed. Make the girl from 4B my best friend.” You laugh and move to tuck your feet under his leg. It’s silent for a moment, and Bucky knows you’re watching him so he busies himself with watching Alpine.

“Hey…” You trail off waiting for Bucky to turn his attention to you. “I don’t want to upset you or anything.” 

“That’s always a good start.” Bucky says nervously as he focuses on you. Your hands are fidgeting in your lap as you watch him. “What’s wrong?” 

You shake your head quickly. “Nothing’s wrong! I just… Promise you won’t be upset with me?” Your eyes are pleading and Bucky can feel himself get anxious. What could you be so nervous about? 

“What’s wrong?” He asks quietly. You don’t say anything, so Bucky swallows hard. “I promise.” He nods slowly. 

“Okay.” You take a deep breath. Bucky watches your eyes shift around the room before landing on his hands clenched together in his lap. “I thought I recognized you. Like, your name is so familiar and then when I saw you with Captain America…” 

Bucky looks down at his hands and nods. He knew where this was going. “I…” He trails off. 

“I looked you up.” You rush the words out. Your voice is small and Bucky feels any hopes he had for this friendship shatter around him. 

“I don’t… I’m not any of those things anymore.” Bucky cringes. His leg is shaking anxiously, but he just can’t get it to stop. He can’t even get himself to look up from his gloved hands, didn’t want to see the fear or disbelief that would be painted across your face. 

Your toes poke at his thigh again and it forces Bucky to look over at you. Your eyebrows are furrowed as you watch him, but there’s no trace of fear or anger, you wear the same kind smile that you always did. 

“I know that.” You whisper softly. Your eyes move past him and Bucky follows your line of vision to Alpine, whose bright eyes are staring at him. Bucky smiles gently at the cat as he stretches out and hops off the chair. Alpine rubs against Bucky’s shins, a welcome distraction from the impending conversation. Your feet curve upward to poke Bucky in the leg again. He looks up hastily at the gesture. “When I asked if you were a vet earlier, why did you say no?” 

Bucky purses his lips to think. The truth was he wasn’t at all sure how to explain everything to you. He didn’t have to explain things to Sam or Steve, they knew. “My war was a long time ago.” He settles on saying. 

“That doesn’t make you any less a veteran.” You say firmly.  “And there’s not much online about the Winter Soldier-“ There’s ringing in Bucky’s ears as the words come out of your mouth. What had you found? And what were you thinking? 

“Hey.” You lean over and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “There’s not much online, but I didn’t read what there was because I knew that it was your story to tell me. When you’re ready.” 

Bucky inhales sharply as you look at him with curious eyes. “I… I did a lot of bad things. I… I worked on making amends and I… I was pardoned.” He pleads with you like he’s sure you’ll walk out if you know everything. 

“Okay.” The word is quiet and your hand is still resting on his shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I just wanted you to know that I’m your friend. Even with your super cool secret identity.” 

Bucky laughs at that. “It’s not a secret if you use your real name.” 

“Ah! You agree? We’re friends?” You say with a smirk. “Does that mean I get to see the super cool metal arm that’s always been covered around me?” 

Bucky shakes his head, but laughs. “Not yet.” You’re watching him carefully so he gives you a small smile. “I would say we’re friends though, yeah.” 

//

Suddenly, you’re always there. 

When Bucky has missions with Sam, you check in on Alpine for him. His spare key has moved from above his door to your keychain. 

You’ll come over with treats when he gets home from the VA. (Bucky likes to think you check for him when you hear the heavy footsteps in the hall and that’s why you’re always there right after he gets home.) 

He’ll bring dishes back whenever he sees you get home. (He does check the peephole when he hears footsteps.) 

You send him pictures of Alpine when he’s away. Alpine who still won't cuddle with you or even touch you, but who lays in the same room and has recently started allowing short pets. He sends you pictures of Sam and cities they’re in. 

And tonight, while he’s in New York, you’ve sent him a picture of you in his bathroom mirror with Alpine sitting pretty on the counter. 

He’s not supposed to be up there. 

All he gets is another picture in return, this time you have a thumbs up and Alpine is still on the counter. Bucky smiles. Sam notices. 

“Your girlfriend texting you?” He teases. 

Bucky scoffs. “She’s not my girlfriend… She just watches Alpine for me sometimes.” He looks back down at his phone. Nice. He sends back before stuffing it into his pocket and looking back at the man. 

Sam nods slowly. “Right. She just watches Alpine sometimes. And hangs out with you when she’s free. Don’t forget the treats she makes you and Alpine.” Sam lists off casually as he looks down at his fingernails. 

Bucky feels an embarrassed heat crawl up the back of his neck and looks down at his feet. “We’re friends. She’s a good friend.” 

When he looks up, Sam doesn’t have a teasing smile, but instead a genuinely happy one. Bucky thinks that this one is somehow worse when Sam grips his shoulder firmly. “I’m glad you have such a good friend, Bucky. Someone outside this super hero business.”

Bucky nods and swallows the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Thanks, Sam.”

“I’m serious, Bucky. You deserve it.” 

Bucky gives him a grateful smile unable to say anything else.

//

Bucky creeps into his apartment at four in the morning. It’s quiet, like usual, but Alpine isn’t sitting on the couch like he normally does when Bucky isn’t home. 

“Al?” He calls out quietly. The logical part of him is aware that Alpine may have fallen asleep in his bedroom, or underneath a piece of furniture. But there’s another part of him that panics at the routine being broken. 

Alpine was always there to greet him. 

Bucky would rather be safe than sorry. “Al.” He whispers again, already reaching for the knife strapped to his ankle. He bends slowly and lifts his pant leg as he scans his eyes under the couch and coffee table in search of the cat. 

He stands with the knife in his hand and moves slowly down his hallway. His bedroom door is ajar, Bucky takes a deep breath before pushing it open all the way. Alpine blinks at him from the edge of his bed. The knife slips from Bucky’s hand as he stands, shocked in the doorway. You’re asleep. Asleep on the bed that he never used. 

The knife clattering against the ground stirs you from your sleep and your eyes widen when you notice Bucky standing there. 

“Hey!” Your voice is raspy and low. You rub your eyes and Bucky can only stare at your half-asleep form. “I… I thought you were going to be gone until tomorrow night.” 

He nods. “Yeah. I mean, we got things done sooner than expected.” He explains. You lean over to flicker the light next to you on. Bucky doesn’t recognize the pillow sitting behind you or the blanket that’s thrown over your legs, he thinks you’ve brought them over from your apartment. You must have because his pillow and blanket was sitting folded in his linen closet waiting for the next time he camped out on the floor or the couch. 

You smile apologetically. “I’m sorry. I… I got tired of falling asleep on the couch.” You whisper. “And Alpine lays with me on the bed.” 

Bucky hastily shakes his head. “No! It’s fine. You don’t have to apologize. I should’ve told you to sleep in the bed. I didn’t even think of it.” I don’t really sleep in the bed. He moves further into the room. 

You scratch nervously at your cheek before freezing in action. He almost laughs at the annoyance that crosses your face. You had mentioned once that touching your face was a bad habit you had been trying to break for months. “I should go.” 

“You don’t have to.” Bucky opens his dresser drawer in search of sweatpants. “Stay here. You’ve already got yourself set up. I’ll crash on the couch.” 

You push the blanket off of your legs and Bucky has to force his eyes to stay on yours when he notices the already short shorts you’re wearing have ridden up your thighs from sleeping. “I can’t make you sleep on the couch, James. I’ll go!” 

“You know it’s Bucky.” He stops you with a hand on your shoulder. “It’s fine.” He stresses. “I… I don’t really sleep in the bed anyways. The couch is better.” 

Your eyes narrow. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.” He can tell you’re hesitant, but your rushed movements have paused. “My apartment is across the hall! I feel awful for invading your space like this already.” 

Bucky sits on the edge of the bed and watches curiously as you shift to sit next to him. Both your legs are dangling off, almost brushing his, and Bucky feels warmer than he had all week. “Doll, I’m serious. Beds are weird for me. I haven’t had one in so long that sometimes they’re just too overwhelming for me to sleep in.” 

He almost jumps when your head rests against his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t think of that.” 

“It’s good to see somebody getting good use out of this bed.” He leans into you slightly. “My ma would have thrown a fit if she saw how much this bed was. 800 dollars for a mattress... 800 dollars back then is like, thousands now.” 

You laugh softly. Bucky glances down again. Your eyes are closed and he thinks you’re almost asleep until you talk. “Do you… Would someone being there help you sleep in the bed?” 

You don’t open your eyes and Bucky’s almost glad for that because he can’t look away from you. “I… I don’t know. It’s only been Al and I.” His eyes follow the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe slow and calm. 

You finally look up. “You should stay with me. The couch isn’t comfortable to sleep on, I would know.” You elbow his stomach gently. 

He nods before he can even think about it. “If… If you’re comfortable with it.” He whispers. 

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t. I promise.” You move away from him and Bucky already misses the warmth you radiate. “I’ll let you change.” 

He leans against the bathroom door as soon as it’s shut behind him. “It’s okay.” He mumbles to himself. His nightmares had been getting better, but that didn’t mean they were gone entirely. 

They probably never would be. And he knew he couldn’t let himself be afraid of the bed for the rest of his life. He had bought the bed. He just hadn’t expected his attempt at getting over the anxiety to be with you. 

Why had he said yes? He thinks as he shakily slips his jacket off. He looks at himself in the mirror and sighs. It was a good question, why had he said yes? 

He slips into his sweatpants and just stands in the bathroom. He couldn’t change his mind now. 

Well, he could. He knew you would give him a kind smile and reassure him that he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to. You were just that person. Kind and understanding and holding no judgement. 

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay.” He shakes his shoulders out and picks up his discarded clothes. He stops at the linen closet and pulls out his blanket and pillow. 

You’re already wrapped up in your blanket again when Bucky comes back into the room. Alpine has moved to lay the floor in front of his bed. You smile sleepily at Bucky. He feels himself smile back. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

(When his eyes crack open the next morning he finds Alpine curled at his feet and you curled into his side, he knows being with you wouldn’t be bad. It’s the first time he lets himself think maybe this really is a crush.) 

//

So, Bucky has a crush. Which is a little ridiculous because he’s over a century old and having a crush is so high school, but it’s there. When you smile in the hall and butterflies rush through his stomach or when his chest warms at a picture you’ve sent of you and Alpine. It’s so obviously there. 

“What are you staring at?” Your voice shakes him when he realizes he’s been staring at you this entire time. You’re sitting next to him on the couch, so close your legs are touching. “Do I have something on my face?” You reach a hand up to your cheek. 

Bucky shakes his head hastily. “No. Sorry, I was just lost in my thoughts.”

“Penny?” You ask softly and Bucky furrows his brows in confusion. “Penny for your thoughts.” You clarify quickly. 

He thinks the smile that appears on your face is bashful and it makes Bucky feel just a little more confident. Maybe he made you as nervous as you made him. 

“You’re really pretty.” He says suddenly. Your eyes widen and you look away nervously. A hand scratches at the back of your neck and Bucky bites down on his lip as he watches you. Not exactly how he hoped that would go. “I mean… I was just looking at… how pretty you were.” He cringes at the words as they come out of his mouth. 

He used to be so much smoother than this, he thinks. He remembered having a new girl on his arm every week and a friend of theirs for Steve. 

Alpine meows loudly and Bucky just knows the cat is laughing at him. “Thank you.” You finally say quietly. “I… I didn’t think you thought that about me.” 

“‘Course I do.” He says equally as quietly. “Always thought you were pretty.” He glances at you and smirks, “Even when I thought you were weird too.” 

You gasp and turn to look at him. “You thought I was weird?” 

Bucky laughs and nods. “After you came in the middle of the night for salt? A little. And the fact that you keep calling me James when I’ve told you it’s Bucky.” He raises an eyebrow. 

You smile brightly. “You introduced yourself as James. Why would I call you anything else?” 

Bucky presses his tongue to his cheek as he tries not to laugh. “Yeah. I’ve regretted that every day since. Nobody’s called me James since the forties.” 

You scoff. “I find that hard to believe.” 

Bucky looks away. “Well for decades I was referred to as soldat.” He glances down at his hands. He’d stop wearing his gloves around you after you’d spent the night, even told you a little of his story the next morning. 

Sam thinks your relationship is weird. You spend the night sometimes and both of you find time to spend together when you can. It’s like you’re dating, but Bucky knows it’s not really like that. He thinks you both bring a sense of calm to one another. 

He’s not sure how to shift that, or if you would even want to, into a relationship. He glances back at you with a tense smile. ��Steve always called me Buck. Sam calls me Bucky. Last person to call me James was probably my mother.” 

“I’m sorry… I never meant to-'' You take a deep breath like you’re preparing yourself for what you're going to say next. 

Bucky shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I was just pointing it out.” He tries to smile reassuringly. 

“I was just trying to flirt.” You say so quickly the words sound jumbled together. 

It takes him a moment to comprehend what you’ve said. “With me?” He points to himself. The words make his confidence rise exponentially. “You were trying to flirt with me?” 

“With you.” You confirm with a slow nod. You start laughing, but it’s soft and happy. “Of course I was! I wanted you to remember me! How could I do that if I called you what everybody else does?” 

“I don’t know. Anything else?” He laughs along with you. “I…” He shakes his head with a smile. 

You both settle and Bucky hears you inhale sharply. “The salt to come see you and talk, the cookies and treats for Alpine… I’ve had this huge crush on you since you moved in.” You say softly. 

Bucky nods, he could see it now. Then he starts laughing again. He feels you smack his shoulder. “I’m sorry… You… Sam said that those cookies and treats were you trying to get me and Alpine to like you.” 

You roll your eyes at him. “Keen eye. He saw I was flirting.” You tease gently. “Does it… Does it bother you? Or change anything? The fact that I was flirting?” You ask softly and full of nerves. 

Bucky smiles sweetly. “That depends. Do you still want to flirt with me?” 

You narrow your eyes, but nod. “I don’t ask just any boy to sleep in the same bed as me.” 

“Just me and Alpine?” Bucky nudges your knee with his. You nod softly and he inhales a deep, nervous breath. “It worked.” He says quietly. 

You nudge his knee back. “It did?” 

He turns to look at you again. You’re already looking up at him with hopeful eyes and Bucky feels his heart race. “Yeah. I like you a lot. I don’t... I haven’t felt this way in a long time.” 

A smile breaks out on your face. “I like you a lot too.” You whisper, like you’re afraid anything louder will break the moment. 

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers back. You nod excitedly and lean towards him. Bucky places a gentle hand on your cheek as shuts his eyes and leans in. 

His chest warms when your lips press against his tentatively, like you’re both still nervous it’s not real. Your lips are soft and Bucky knows his own are chapped, but he feels you smile against him and can’t stop his own smile from overtaking his face. 

You pull away, but you’re still close enough that your lips are brushing against his. He’s caught up in the moment staring at you when he feels something rub against his shin. 

It makes you pull apart. Alpine is rubbing himself against both your legs and purring softly. Bucky presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“Think you won both of us over.” 

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

notes // what do you do when your midterm is an essay & gave you a headache? write bucky barnes fanfiction. thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed it. ps i’ve seen some spelling mistakes promise to edit those in the morning!

[nightowlwriting]

summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

[1101001]

THE GIRL WHO FLEW DOWN THE STAIRS _

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‘ the story of akashi meeting you and all the events after that made him realize he was falling for you ’

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character .. akashi seijuurou

word count .. 1.3k

tags .. fem!reader who is energetic but also thoughtful and likes to learn (as requested) , lowkey pining? , s h o g i , written from akashi pov , requested by the lovely bean anon <3 

Akashi’s first impression of you wasn’t anything bad. It wasn’t exactly good either. It was certainly memorable though. ‘The girl who flew down the stairs, knocking him onto the ground, and landing on top of him with a thump’ is how he remembers you. 

The moment was almost cliche. If your eyes had met and lingered on each other, both aware of the position you were in but not moving away, then it possibly would’ve been a scene straight out of some cheesy romance novel. 

Instead, you seemingly bounced straight up upon impact, not even bothering to spare Akashi a second glance. You proceeded to give him a quick apology, running down the next flight of stairs immediately after.

It was definitely one of the odder interactions Akashi had with his fellow students at Rakuzan High, but it amused him nonetheless and made him notice you much more often around campus. Even though you weren’t in any apparent rush anymore, you still radiated this energy that was all bubbly and seemingly ready to burst. 

It brought a small smile on his face every time he saw you, bouncing along hallways without a care in the world, chattering away with your friends. Sure you seemed like the typical happy-go-lucky person, but Akashi couldn’t help but see you as a bit more unique.

Your second interaction with Akashi was an interesting one too, in Akashi’s opinion at least. 

The basketball team had just won a tournament the other day, so Akashi was free this afternoon. He had decided to go challenge some shogi club members to a few games. 

In the middle of one of those games, you walked into the club room.

Akashi didn’t think you were part of the club, and his suspicions were confirmed when another member of the club went to ask if you needed anything. Akashi was definitely not eavesdropping, no he was paying attention to his game (the one he knew he would easily win anyway) when you pulled out an envelope and he happened to overhear you telling the club member that someone asked to meet you. 

Nobody in the room came forward to claim they were the one who sent the letter though. 

After a few awkward, silent moments, you moved to take a seat with some of the other club members. It was an action that surprised Akashi. He figured you would’ve just left because the whole did seem like a waste of time. However, you just sat there asking some club members to teach you how to play. 

Akashi could sense genuine curiosity in you and, needless to say, it intrigued him. It seems like there’s more to the “girl made of energy” than he originally thought.

The clock ticked, and a few rounds later, Akashi decided it was time to head home. Saying his formal goodbyes, he walked out of the clubroom. 

He didn’t expect you to come running after him, almost slamming into him again in the process. 

“You shouldn’t run around school so much, you know. You could end up bumping into people and maybe even hurting them.” The words left Akashi’s lips sounding a lot more teasing and flirtatious than he intended.

You blushed and started rambling out apologies. ‘Cute’ Akashi thought. 

His brain froze. 

Wait. Cute? How-

“Anyway um.. you left your notebook back there…” you said, holding out what was indeed his notebook out towards him.

“Oh…” was all he could say. He rarely forgot his things, especially things as important as his notebook. It seems his mind must’ve been too distracted by... other things. “Thank you L/n-san.”

He saw a slight shock on your face. “You know my name?” 

His brain froze yet again. How was he supposed to answer this question without seeming like a stalker?

“Well yes…” he started before you cut him.

“Didn’t expect the Akashi Seijuurou to know my name.”

He scoffed at that. “I think I’d know the name of the girl who jumped down the stairs and knocked me to the ground.”

“Again, I’m really sorry about that…” you said with a smile, although Akashi could see the guilt that lingered behind your eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he quickly said. “I was just…”

He was just what? Flirting? Was he actually flirting? Him. Akashi Seijuurou. Flirting??

“…you know,” he finished quietly.

You didn’t say anything in response but instead looked at him with a peculiar sort of gaze. 

“Um.. hate to make things awkward by asking this but… were you the one who sent me this?” You held up the envelope Akashi saw earlier.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Oh… okay then.” Was it just Akashi’s imagination or did he hear a sliver of disappointment in your tone? “I suppose you don’t know who it is either right?”

He shook his head.

A lot of thoughts rushed through his mind. Did you actually expect him to send you a love letter? Did you hope it was him? 

He sensed you were about to leave though, so before he could regret it, he asked you, “Why do you want to know who sent it anyway?”

Your eyes widened slightly at the question.

“I understand the curiosity and wanting to know who it is but… if they didn’t show up, why are you still waiting?” He clarified.

“Akashi-san, you’ve never confessed to someone have you?”

He gave a slight nod.

“Well, I don’t see why you’d need to,” you mumbled more to yourself than him. Clearing your throat, you continued, “The thing is, confessing takes a lot of courage. And writing this letter asking me to meet them here would’ve taken a whole lot of that courage already. I think that, if they were able to go that far, then I should at least hear them out right?”

That… surprised Akashi. 

“But then again, there’s always a possibility this is just a prank,” you added as an afterthought. 

Unsure of what to say, he just nodded. “It is possible, considering how long you had to wait.”

You smiled, “The wait was fine though. I had fun learning shogi.” 

You actually had fun learning how to play? Looking back, it did seem like you were enjoying yourself… 

It’s strange. Akashi realized just how much his view of you changed in one afternoon. Earlier, you were that bubbly, energetic girl bouncing through the halls. Now, you were this thoughtful and kind person who liked to learn. You also said you had fun playing shogi, which nearly made Akashi’s heart skip a beat.

Oh. 

Oh.

He gets it now. The reason his brain was acting all slow was you. With that thought, everything became clearer. 

Now he wishes that love letter really was a prank.

“Ah Akashi-san, I think I have to go home soon,” you said, holding up your phone. “You’re heading out too right? Wanna walk with me?”

He blinked in surprise but quickly agreed.

“Great, just let me get my things first-” And with that you rushed back into the club room.

Akashi stood staring at the empty hallway, still caught up in his thoughts and trying to process what just happened between you two just a few seconds ago.

When you came back out with your things, he couldn’t help but smile softly. The two of you fell into conversation easily, and by the time you walked out of the school gates, you were still in a talk that showed no signs of nearing an end.

He wanted to continue walking and talking like this, but there was a car and a driver waiting for him in the exact opposite direction of where you were headed.

“Well, goodbye then L/n-san,” he said, hoping the reluctance wasn’t obvious.

You smiled in response. “Goodbye Akashi-san. It was nice talking to you.”

With that the two of you went your separate ways. Throughout the car ride home, Akashi could think of nothing but you. It would seem… he has taken quite the liking to you.

He isn’t sure what’ll happen next, but he’s looking forward to seeing you again and hopefully, talking more with you too.

. . .

note .. THIS CAME OUT LONGER THAN ORIGINALLY INTENDED but anyway i actually enjoyed writing this,,, yk all the stuff potentially going thru akashi’s mind when he has a crush intrigues me and uhh i hope u guys liked this and if u do PLS LMK WHAT U THINK !! it would legit mean the world if u guys did <3

[auroracalisto]

she will be loved, part five

summary: hayley arrives with a witch to help, while [your name]’s visions take a turn for the worse.

pairing: dad! elijah mikaelson x child! female! reader

word count: 1.1k words

warnings: mentions of death, canon divergence, hayley is pregnant but timeline is all screwed bc i said so, visions, prophetic shit i guess

a/n: :D also... just putting this out there....... why is description so difficult?  like everything i write seems almost like a script or some shit.  i need to work on my description big time

she will be loved masterlist

“Hello?  Hayley?” 

Hayley was quiet on the opposite line, a frown deep in her soft features.  What was he doing, calling her?  

Klaus cleared his throat, but she stayed quiet.

“I was hoping you would know of someone who could help us.  We need a witch.  One that deals with visions.”

Hayley closed her eyes, sighing softly.  “Why?”

Klaus blinked slowly, his jaw clenching in frustration.

“Klaus, I’m not going to help you unless you give me a reason.”

“I shouldn’t have to give you a reason,” he sneered, anger slithering up his spine as if a snake had replaced what nerves he had left.

“Alright, then,” Hayley rolled her eyes.  “Have fun finding a witch.”

Hayley pulled the phone away from her ear, prepared to hang up when she heard Klaus yell her name through the receiver. 

“Wait,” he said, his voice constrained for the time being.  “There is… a problem we’ve been having.  A child,” he said.

Hayley stayed quiet, her hand hovering over her own stomach.

“She’s been having visions.  Prophetic visions.  We… are hoping to find someone who can help her.”

Hayley cleared her throat, pursing her lips soon after.  “Okay,” she said.  “You’re still in Mystic Falls, right?  I’ll… see what I can do.”

“Come too,” Klaus said.  “We do not need a witch on our grounds when we’ve no idea who they are.”

“I’ll be there,” she said, before hanging up the phone.  She knew exactly who to call.

—

Time went by slower that week than it had in some time.  The witch Elijah had called had no idea how to help little [Your name].  She left almost as soon as she had arrived, claiming that some other forces were in control of the child.  

Elijah was tempted to find her and rip her a new one—how dare she give up when she hadn’t even begun to help?

It was on a night that Elijah had just laid [Your name] to sleep when a knock came from the front door.  No one else had been home.  Klaus and Kol were out at the Grill, and Rebekah was at the high school with the prom committee.  It was just him and his little girl.  He sighed softly and left his daughter’s room, promptly answering the front door.  

“Hello?” he greeted as he opened it, his eyes growing wide at the sight of a pregnant Hayley Marshall.  Beside of her stood a fiery redhead, who he could only assume was a witch—he could practically smell the magic drifting off of her.  

Elijah looked down at her belly before looking back up at Hayley in shock.  “Hayley…”

The brunette gave him a soft smile.  “Hi, Elijah.  Is Klaus here?  He was asking for a witch.  I brought him one.  I need to talk to him, too.”

“No,” Elijah frowned.  “But, I’m sure he’ll be back soon.  Who are you?” he turned to look at the redhead.  

She smiled, revealing a set of almost perfect teeth.  “Penelope.”

“And what are you here for?” Elijah raised an eyebrow.  

“Uh,” Penelope looked over at Hayley for help.

“Again,” Hayley rolled her eyes.  “Klaus asked for my help.  I brought him a witch that knows about visions and stuff like that.”

Elijah’s eyes widened.  “Oh,” he breathlessly said, looking between Hayley and Penelope.  A part of him wondered if he should wait for his siblings to return… but he knew that whatever he could do for his daughter would be beneficial in the long run.  

“Come in,” Elijah said, moving out of the doorway.  

Hayley and Penelope came inside.  The former kept a hand over her belly while the latter looked around the house in utter amazement. 

“This is gonna sound stupid, but I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place this big,” Penelope whisper-yelled to the woman standing beside her. 

Hayley rolled her eyes, but it was a playful gesture.  She just smiled at her friend.  

“So,” Penelope soon said, turning to face Elijah.  “What can I do to help?”

Elijah led the women up to his daughter’s bedroom.  However, he did not go inside, opting to instead explain what was going on, first.

“I adopted her about… well, nearly a year and a half now,” he said.  “She has always been susceptible to dreams of all sorts.  Lands filled with candies, snow during the summer, her favorite characters becoming her friends.  But she has also had… visions.  What we now know to be precognition,” Elijah frowned, crossing his arms over his chest as he spoke.  

Penelope clung to his every word.

“She is terrified.  She has seen my brother die.  She witnessed a girl with something that my brother and sister have been searching everywhere for.  [Your name] has never once heard them talking about it.”

Penelope tilted her head.  “What is it you are wanting me to do?” she asked.

“Can you get rid of it?  Take her power away?  Allow her to be a normal child, with normal dreams?” Elijah asked, staring her down.

Penelope looked from Elijah to Hayley, frowning.  “I’m not sure.  But I will see what I can do,” Penelope said, patting the satchel at her side.  “My mother’s grimoire has a lot of info about visions,” she said.  “I’m sure I’ll be able to do something to help.”

Elijah gave a small not, uncertainty getting the best of him.  Would she be able to help?  What if there was nothing they could do for his little girl?

The original vampire would have led them somewhere else, a guest room perhaps, had it not been for the little girl now standing at her opened door.  

“Daddy?” [Your name] quickly spoke, tears springing in her big eyes.  

Elijah wasn’t human, but his non-beating heart sprung to his throat in an instant.  He bent down to her height and held out his arms to the child.  [Your name] ran to them, hugging onto the man.  

“What’s the matter?” Elijah softly asked, pressing a kiss to her temple.  

“I had another dream,” she said, trembling in his arms. 

“About what, my love?”

“I don’t know,” she let out a soft sob, roughly wiping her eyes to try and stop her tears.  

Elijah quickly grabbed her hands, stopping her.  He couldn’t bear the thought of her getting hurt by her own hands.  

“[Your name], look at me,” he frowned.  “You’re alright.  You are safe,” he said.  “Nothing can get to you here.  I will always protect you.”

“Always?” she looked up at him with wide eyes.  Her bottom lip quivered as she spoke.

“Always,” he nodded.

She sniffled softly, looking at his hands that were now holding hers.  [Your name] took in a deep breath, her eyes soon wandering up to his.  “I saw you, daddy,” she said. 

Elijah frowned.  “What did you see?”

“I saw you…”

He furrowed his brows, confused.  

“You were dead, daddy.”

[9tzuyu]

four months.

note: hiiiii! just trying to get into the groove again. i dont know what this is. the original prompt is below, however it did not turn out that way?¿ its kind of a mess, but fluffy i suppose. i hope you enjoy :>.

using my own experience so don’t think i hate poor people because i am those people </3

(also chapter 4 of children of tragedy will be out soon, i promise. ive just had awful writers block.)

+ thank you moli for proofreading so i dont have to. i love you.

warnings: none?

prompt: * reader used to be poor and stuff and w/n is like “you know you don’t have to get the cheapest things” and R covers it up and says “oh this is the brand i like, but w/n discovers hidden receipts and asks why they have a bunch of useless receipt and R is like “i was just tracking how much we spend....”

🏷 @natasha-danvers @midnight-lestrange @whatiziz @kermy48 @mycosmicparadise @peggycarter-steverogers @blackxwidowsxwife (lmk if you want off the tag list because ik i dont post as regularly as other writers, so im just going with people who have told me they want to be on my tag list in the past)

and lastly, for my baby @nermalina. its not really your genre per se [ i have a smut fic that i’ll dt you on ;)] however, accept this as a form of love.

it wasn’t so much that you were homeless and out on the streets, but you weren’t necessarily well off either. working as a waitress only got you far enough to pay your monthly rent and gas. somehow you managed to squeeze in a list of groceries.

every penny counted, you didn’t have room for mishaps or sick days. thats why you kept your budget small and a stash full of receipts on the kitchen bar.

natasha didn’t know about any of this though. you were sure she’d have you by the neck if she found out how long you’d been keeping your secret.

the redhead was generous, and no matter how many times you offered to pay for something she would never even dream of letting you. natasha insisted on it, and you were powerless to stop her.

it wasn’t until you tagged along with her on a trip to the grocery store when things began to unravel. she only needed a few things, nothing important.

but nat was quick to pick up on the fact that you continuously flipped every little thing you picked up to look at the price tag.

“here, it’s the cheapest one i could find.” you said, smiling as you handed her a cardboard box of pasta. natasha hummed, “you know you don’t have to get me the cheapest thing on the shelf.”

you bit your lip, eyes suddenly looking back at the shelf of different pasta boxes. “i know... it’s just- it’s my favorite brand.” natasha automatically knew you were lying by the way you began chewing on the inside of your lip.

she narrowed her eyes. “no it’s not.”

“huh?”

“you got this brand because it was the cheapest. you know i can afford more, which leads me to believe you do this out of habit.”

you shuffled uncomfortably under her gaze. “no, i just really like that brand.”

the sudden realization that she had never been to your place struck her.

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

“why don’t we go back to your apartment after this? we can just relax, watch a movie, do whatever you want.”

a mix of guilt and shame flooded your body. but damned if you didn’t still give it a try.

“my apartment’s a mess right now, you don’t want to see that.” you tried, offering a small, dry laugh in hopes of getting her off your back.

“you’re a terrible liar.”

“i’m not-”

“i picked you up from the park today, just like every other day. i’ve not once picked you up from your own apartment, so what are you hiding?”

when you didn’t give an answer, she tossed the cheapest box of pasta in her cart and walked away. you groaned as you watched natasha leave before catching up to her.

“okay, okay, we can go back to my apartment. just don’t judge me, alright?”

she smiled softly, “it wouldn’t even cross my mind.”

soon enough you began helping your girlfriend load her car with bags full of miscellaneous items. nothing needed to be refrigerated, so if natasha wanted to, she could stay at your apartment all day.

your leg bounced in the car as you gave her directions. but soon enough, after what felt like the longest fifteen minutes of your life, natasha pulled into a parking space right outside your door.

you silently cursed yourself for not renting a spot upstairs. at least then it would’ve prolonged the situation just a little bit longer.

natasha watched as you fumbled with your keys, your hands visibly shaking.

“fuck.” you mumbled after hearing the clank of metal hit the ground. you bent down to pick them up but natasha beat you to it.

“which key?” her voice was soft.

“the yellow one.”

the door swung open and you motioned for natasha to go before you.

it wasn’t bad, really. apart from the chipped brown walls, the lingering smell of cigarette smoke (you hated your neighbors for that), the broken windows, lack of space and furniture that was as good as the floor.

natasha noticed the windows first, a sense of protectiveness overpowering her. she didn’t like that you weren’t safe.

you went to offer her a water bottle, but she wasn’t paying attention. instead, she noticed the lack of food in your fridge, frowning when you tried to cover it up.

another few minutes of her silence went by and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“look, i know you’re rich. i know you like to have luxury brands and that you don’t have to worry about whether or not someone will break in and steal what little you have left. but that doesn’t give you any right to judge me. i’m sorry i don’t live up to your expectations.”

natasha licked her lips and leaned her back against the kitchen counter.

“how long have you lived like this?”

her question caught you off guard, but you managed to find an answer.

“i’ve always lived like this, nat.”

she nodded solemnly before abruptly turning around to look at what was inside your cabinets.

“what are you do-”

“you have no food.”

you sighed, “well yeah, i can’t really afford it.”

“and the receipts?”

natasha was met with a shrug. “have to keep track of everything somehow.”

she stared at you a minute longer before finding the exact words she wanted to say.

“i would never judge you, or anyone for that matter, on their living situation. i know people don’t always have a say in what or why things happen.” she paused. “but i don’t like knowing you go to sleep every night with broken windows practically inviting anyone to come in and intrude. i don’t like knowing all you have to eat is bread, canned fruit and grilled cheese sandwiches.”

you listened to her ramble on, still nervous about the fact that this was new to her.

“so come live with me.”

“natasha-”

“come live with me.”

you immediately shook your head. “no, no, no. nat don’t even-”

“i’m serious. you won't win this argument, y/n. let me take care of you. i don't mind picking you up and dragging you out of here myself if that’s what it takes.”

a sigh left your lips as you folded your arms across your chest. “natasha, i can’t have you do that. i’m okay, i promise.”

the redhead raised her eyebrow. “how many times have you gone to bed hungry? or let your car run on fumes for as long as you could? and how many times have you gone to work sick because you can’t afford to miss one single day?”

when natasha was met with no reply she moved closer to you, wrapping her arms around your waist, pulling you into her embrace.

“i know it’s only been four months but i don’t think i could ever forgive myself if something happened to you and i didn’t do enough to stop it.”

she kissed the side of your head, “let me take care of you.”

[page150]

My Baby 💎 Latrelle x Reader

Request: None

Pronouns: None Stated

Word Count: 1615

Warnings: angst , really small mention of blood

“What did I say about getting blood on my carpet?” You mumbled, dabbing the cut on Latrelle’s cheek with a soft tissue.

“Not to,” He replied.

You shake your head, tossing the bloody tissue into the trash can. He was bruised up bad this time. Cuts on his face, a black eye, he was even limping. The blood that dripped from his nose onto your white carpet seemed less of a problem compared to him.

“I’ll clean it for you.” He squints his eyes shut as you clean one of the bigger cuts on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, you need to rest.”

You glance at the time. You had woken up an hour ago to the sound of someone knocking at your door. Of course it was Latrelle, beat up. You knew he had been messing with César again.

You wondered why it was so hard for Latrelle to leave César alone. César rarely messed with him. It was always Latrelle actively making things tense for everyone. He made it hard to be in a relationship with him, while also respecting César and his friends. You toss Latrelle a blanket and a pillow from your bed, before climbing in.

“You can sleep on the couch. Then leave in the morning.”

“Babe, you really gonna treat me that way?”

“Yes, I am because you had the nerve to wake me up at 3am to bandage you up because you were starting some stupid b.s. with César.”

He rolled his eyes and tried to get in the bed with you. “You know it’s the life I live y/n. I have to keep them on their toes or they’ll get comfy. You can’t change me baby”

This pissed you off. You pushed him off of the bed. “No because I know the life you live. I'm not trying to change you, it’s just when you're messing with him that’s when I get mad. Do you know how hard it is to watch you run and start a fight with César and have to baby you back to health, only to look Monse in the eye the next morning to say hello. It’s really freaking hard.”

He throws his hands up, “Whatever you’re bugging. You always take things too far y/n. I wasn’t even really messing with him. It was only him and his girl. He was on me for no reason so I had to say something. It wasn’t my fault he was acting all tough like he was gon do something.”

Your eyes widen and you sit up. “Monse was there?” You ask.

“If that’s her name then yeah.”

“You fought him while Monse was there!” You yell, throwing a pillow at his face.

The pillow hits Latrelle hard. He throws it out your bedroom door, turning to look at you, his mouth turning into a scowl.

You return the face, “You’re lucky he didn’t have a gun, Latrelle! You know he gets protective when he's with his friends. You know this!”

“You need to calm down. Why are you getting so emotional?”

“Why am I getting emotional? I’m getting emotional because one day you might not knock on my door. You might be bleeding out in the street, because of your dumb decisions. I would never forgive myself if you…” You felt tears start to roll down your cheek, but you don’t stop yelling even though your voice is breaking with sobs.

“Please break up with me if you are going to keep doing this. Please. I can’t keep helping you like this. I can’t keep defending you. Don’t you love me? Why can’t we go to the park or on dates like we used to? Why will you ignore my texts for days but feel fine with coming to my door bloody. You said you love me so why don’t you act like it?”

Latrelle stared up at you from his place on the ground. You were full on crying now. Fat tears slid down your face onto your sheets and you put your head in your hands. You heard Latrelle get up but you didn’t feel his warmth on your body. You didn’t smell his cologne or feel his tight hugs. He had gotten up and walked out the door.

You got up and threw on a robe, suddenly self-conscious of your outfit even though it was just a shirt and shorts. You ran out of your bedroom, into the hallway, all the way to the front door, but he was gone. He hadn’t even locked the door behind him.

Opening the door you step out. Your hot face was cooled by the wind. It fluttered around you, shaking the trees. The only light there was was the moon and the streetlights. No stars, no cars, not even a firefly and not even your boyfriend.

Shutting the door you slide down with your back against it. You reach the floor and wrap your arms around your knees and continue to cry. Your heart began to ache at the silence. He had left you. He had walked out and left you.

You fell asleep there. On the wooden floor, in front of your front door. In the morning you woke up to your alarm blaring from your room. Your cheeks were still stained with tears, your eyes bright red and it seemed hard to keep them open. All you wanted to do was sleep a little more. To move to your warm bed and fall back asleep, but if you missed a day of school it would make your parents come back sooner. You got up and went to your room to change. You chose a random black sweatshirt and jeans.

After washing your face, brushing your teeth, and eating a little bit of breakfast you start the walk to school. It was one of those mornings where you wished you had more friends, so you wouldn’t have to walk to school alone.

Your lack of friends was one of the things Latrelle liked about you. To him you were safe. Not always the center of attention, but not a nobody. You were a good enough kid that with him being your boyfriend, it made him seem like a better person. In a way you hated him for that. It made you feel more like an accessory than a significant other, but in an attempt to not start crying again, you stop thinking about it.

You walk into the school and head to your first class, then the next. They all go okay. As you walk to lunch Monse gives you a small smile. You smile back, but notice that a lot of people are looking at you. You look down at your outfit. Your jeans weren’t open, the sweatshirt wasn’t backwards. You sit down at your usual lunch table and suddenly the cafeteria doors are swung open. You didn’t care enough to look up.

Someone sits right in front of you. You start to eat your apple, it’s juices dripping down your mouth.

“y/n I’m sorry.” Latrelle mumbled.

“Are you?” You questioned. Using the back of your hand to wipe away the sticky juices.

“I got you this.”

You look up and see a single flower. “You got me one flower that I’m supposed to carry around school.”

“Dang why can’t you be happy,”

“I’m done explaining stuff to you and your dumb attempts of apologizing. You can go.”

Latrelle places the flower on the table. You start to eat your sandwich.

“Look, I’m real sorry y/n. I shouldn’t have walked out on you. I shouldn’t have treated you like that. I was just frustrated. I didn't want you to have to deal with me any more that night. I even apologized to César. Well I didn’t apologize because I aint no punk, but you know I gave him a nod. Babe, I hate when you're angry at me.”

You start to eat your sandwich, but you weren’t hungry anymore. As you get up from your seat to throw your trash away, his hand goes around your wrist. His brown eyes looked into yours, but you removed his hand and walked away.

He followed you into the hallway.

“Y/N please.”

You turn to face him, sticking a finger into his chest. “Look you can apologize all you want, but unless you’re really going to change, leave me alone. I told you, I rather you break up with me then to keep lying and doing stupid stuff.”

He pulls you into an empty classroom. He kissed your neck and rubs his hands on your back, You kiss back. It continues for a few seconds. You and Latrelle make out in an empty classroom until he pulls away and hugs you. His hugs were always almost too tight. He hugged you like he never wanted to let you go, like he never wanted anything to get to you.

“I swear I won’t do anymore stuff like that.” He whispered. He pulled a box out of his back pocket. “Here’s your actual gift.”

Inside the box was a cute gray bracelet with your birthstone in it. Your name and his are written in cursive underneath it, along with your anniversary date. “You really did this for me?”

“Yeah, you my baby. I had to search up ideas. I know you like cute things like this.”

You felt your cheeks start to warm up. The bracelet was exactly your size and you couldn't stop looking at it. “Thank you baby.”

“Anything for you.” He put one of his arms on your shoulders. “You wanna get out of here. You look tired.”

Ignoring your other classes you say yes and walk with him out the back of the school.

Author's Note: Fun fact this was originally going to be a César post, but I decided I wanted to do a cuter one for him. But omg I wanted this to be for him so bad. Be on the lookout for my next post because it will def be a César one! Anyway Requests are still open! Please like if you enjoyed and follow. We're almost at 50 followers and I have a huge surprise when we reach 100 <3!! Have a wonderful day ~c'k

[asterlark]

ok. samwell college of music au. i wrote all four years let's go babey

eric bittle is this lovely southern tenor (sounds kinda like mitch grassi or ben j pierce) who posts covers (& sometimes originals, but always with neutral or no pronouns because he can't post anything that says he or him ☹) on his youtube channel and has major stage fright but is very talented; he also plays ukulele

he got into samwell college of music on a voice scholarship and his dad doesn’t exactly approve but eric was never the 6′2″ masculine football player he wanted anyway so why not go for his dreams

he auditions for the very competitive samwell men’s contemporary chorus (there’s like 20 choirs; chamber choir, jazz choir, a cappella groups (lax bros do a cappella), combined choirs, etc- smcc does contemporary pop/rock music) and while he’s very very nervous and shaky as he auditions, directors hall & murray see a lot of potential in him (with major grumbling from student director jack)

(the rest of this ridiculously long au under the cut)

the group is small, for a chorus, because the point of the group is not a wall of sound but a focus on all of the very talented guys’ voices coming together in these gorgeous harmonies and basically they’re like one of the best choruses on campus and all the male singers want in

so there’s jack zimmermann, who of course eric knows because everyone knows who he is, he’s the son of bob and alicia zimmermann, both incredibly talented and famous musicians, and basically those genes were in his favor because he’s mega fucking talented

(jack was supposed to sign a recording contract to be in a band with his best friend kent parson when he was 17 but something happened between them and the pressure was too much and jack overdosed on something- there’s so many rumors no one knows what’s real- and kent signed solo in LA & went on to win grammys for his albums about a mysterious ex and jack disappeared for a few years to be a counselor at a music camp and reappears at samwell, knocking everyone’s socks off again like he’d never left, except with a renewed vigor and intenseness that freaks everyone out)

jack is a contemporary writing & production major, freaky talented and sings like a modern day frank sinatra, and he plays like 20 instruments and can read music like breathing air and writes songs like if he stopped he’d die; his music is folksy and mournful and he plays all the instruments on his tracks himself- guitar, piano, strings, drums- it sounds like a full band but nope. just jack. he’s intense

“we all get nicknames in this choir,” justin informs eric on his first day, “we’re those kinda guys.” so he’s bitty, which he finds vaguely offensive (bc he’s not that short!) but still cute, & the rest of the group is introduced to him:

“shitty” knight (voice like colyer) is a musical education major and an enigma of a singer with this awesome, earthy, raspy voice that’s really interesting to listen to and a very.... unique style & look; he writes cheesy but shockingly good raps about social justice topics and he will sing-lecture you if you’ve said something offensive (he also plays banjo)

justin “ransom” oluransi is a music business & management major with an angelic voice you can’t help but listen to; he’s sultry and has an incredible range and does runs like nobody’s business (with a voice like daniel caesar or leslie odom jr UGH)

adam “holster” birkholtz is a voice performance major, wants to be on broadway and it’s all he ever goddamn talks about basically, he’s a belter and has a lot of charisma and starpower and he’ll charm the pants off of you within one note; can also play piano and irritates everyone constantly because his regular volume is like a level 11 (voice like the frontman of my brothers and i combined w/ x ambassadors lead singer)

larissa “lardo” duan is at the local art institute because performing arts is not her jam and she’d much rather paint; she’s a barista at annie’s and supervises open mic nights and keeps the annoying choir dudes from driving away all her patrons

“i’m not even in your dumbass choir,” she says when the group gave her her nickname. holster just told her that she was an honorary member and then started sing-shouting a song at her about how good she is

bitty’s first year is hard because he’s talented and he works hard but he shies away when anyone asks him to sing outside the group and like, he can sing to a camera by himself but being on a stage with everyone looking at you and the sole responsibility of the song on your shoulders is terrifying and no thanks

jack does not. understand this. he’s been performing practically since he came out of the womb and he doesn’t really get performance nerves (what he gets is anxiety about how he did after he gets off stage that follows him home and makes it so he can’t sleep) - so he bothers bitty about it constantly like “you just need practice, you just have to sing by yourself a lot and then you’ll get over it” which like.... that’s true but it’s also hella scary and bitty’s like “no thanks!!!!”

but jack’s annoying and intense so he makes bitty do open mic with him every saturday night and it’s going okay and bitty loves his choir and loves his school and these new friends he’s making and he finally feels comfortable enough to come out to them during his second term

then during their spring choral showcase at the end of his freshman year bitty has a solo and he’s worked really hard on it and he’s feeling good- okay he’s completely freaked out but he’s trying to feel good- but when he gets up on stage there’s so many people and the stage lights are so hot on his face and he flips out a little and maybe he passes out from anxiety and stress right on stage and it’s terrible and he’s so embarrassed and ashamed that he ruined their set at the showcase

of course jack blames himself because “we shouldn’t have given you a solo before you were ready, i misjudged it, i’m sorry” - and they all feel kinda bad bc holy fuck they didn’t know his stage fright was that bad like they didn’t know someone could pass out just by being anxious to sing

he practices all the time over the summer and goes to his local open mic at jack’s insistence and it actually helps a lot because instead of a sea of strangers judging him it’s a bunch of people he knows and they’re all smiling at him and when he finishes his song they cheer for him and it boosts his self-confidence a lot

his sophomore year they have three new members- chris ”chowder” chow (voice like ieuan), an excitable music education major with impressive rapping skills, derek "nursey" nurse (frank ocean or leon bridges type), a songwriting major who can also play violin and guitar, and will ”dex” poindexter (like tom west), a production & engineering major who tried out with chowder bc he needed moral support and didn't expect to get in but impressed the directors with his voice

the year’s going pretty good, bitty’s still pretty scared of singing alone but more confident now and the open mic nights with jack haven’t stopped, so he’s getting better. and one night they’re hanging out at annie’s after closing waiting for lardo to be done so they can walk her home, and bitty suggests that jack sing with him one of these nights, and jack says he doesn’t know any of bitty’s songs and bitty says they can write one together half jokingly but then jack is like “yes.” with that Intense Look

SO they get together a couple days later in jack’s room at the house they all live in together (bitty moved in at the beginning of the year after previous smcc member john johnson called him- how’d he get his number?- and told him he could take his room if he wanted), jack with his guitar and bitty with his ukulele, and it’s a little awkward until bitty says jack should play him one of his songs

and, okay, he doesn’t really know what to expect because the only music jack ever released to the public was that one single he did with kent parson when they were 17 so bitty doesn’t even know if he has anything to play him, but he does- he starts playing these soft, sad notes on the guitar and opens his mouth and sings about being lonely and scared and unsure, about false starts and shaky ground and not knowing where you stand with someone, about expectations and lying awake at night and wishing so hard you were someone else, and bitty watches him sing and just kind of... realizes he’s head over heels for this boy and internally Freaks Out a little

he tries to put that aside and they start to write this song, at first it’s weird because jack’s like “all your songs are love songs i can’t really relate to happy love songs” and bitty’s like “listen... i’ve never even had a boyfriend i just write a bunch of sappy love stuff because it’s not about me it’s about whoever’s listening to it, they’re gonna project their own experiences on my music anyway so it doesn’t matter if it’s my real life or not” and jack’s like “alright while fake af that’s smart and i respect you” (what bitty doesn't say is that he writes about what he really wants which is to fall in love & be in a happy relationship)

they say they’re just gonna write this kinda vague sad song but they both secretly write lines about their actual lives so it ends up being really personal and real and raw for the both of them

they sing the song at open mic that saturday and the crowd at annie’s is never that big but they’ve never got a standing ovation here before, and some girl shouts “MAKE AN ALBUM” (it may or may not be lardo) and they both blush furiously and bitty’s like “... that was really nice, jack” and jack’s like “... yeah it was good good job you’re really getting some confidence out there nice work” (bitty: “THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT AAAAH”)

around this time jack’s really thinking about what he’s gonna do when he’s done at samwell, talking with his parents and his agent and looking into different record companies and deciding if he wants to sign with anyone or possibly start his own company- the head of a small company called falcon records in rhode island has been talking to him a lot, and jack talks to bitty about how he thinks it’d be nice to start small, and the record exec georgia and the producer marty had both been really nice and welcoming, and bitty’s so happy for him but also just... sad that he won’t be around jack every day after he graduates

THEN at a haus party celebrating their win of a local choral competition, who shows up but none other than pop star kent parson to Ruin The Fun

bitty sees the way jack pales when kent walks in, notices them disappear upstairs together and feels a little sick worrying about jack but chalks it up to the highly alcoholic concoction shitty and lardo had cooked up but nonetheless decides he’s sick of the party and goes up to his room and hears.... a little too much

and YIKES he’s standing right there and kent parson, pop star, two-time grammy winner, is looking a little rumpled and staring right at him and he puts his hat on and clears his throat and snaps at jack- “hey. well. call me if you reconsider. but good luck with rhode island. ...i’m sure that’ll make your parents proud.” and jack’s shaking, and bitty doesn’t know what to do but jack goes back into his room and bitty’s just kind of standing there like What The Fuck

so.... he kind of stews over winter break but tries not to think about it too much and he and jack text a bit and jack tells him to practice and bitty’s like “oh, you” and jack’s like “im serious” and bitty’s like “>:( it’s christmas”

spring semester starts and they're doing well in competitions and they go to semifinals and then finals for a prestigious collegiate choir competition and the pressure is mounting but they all are so optimistic and really feel like they're on the same page and bitty’s confidence is better than ever and then.... they don't win

jack especially takes it very hard, but then he also has signing to worry about, which everyone helps him with and he decides to sign with falcon records and start work on an album after graduation

speaking of graduation, shitty and jack graduate and it's hard for them but harder for bitty who feels like he's losing jack in a way, he knows how intense jack gets when he's making music and it doesn't feel like he'll have any time for bitty anymore so when they say goodbye bitty goes back to the haus and listens to his and jack's song and just cries

but, like in canon, dadbob has words of wisdom to impart and jack has an "oh" moment and races across campus to kiss bitty

they get together and the next few months are spent with jack working nonstop on his album (which tbh, he'd had many of the songs written already so it's mostly recording and producing) and texting bitty constantly and coming to visit him and playing him demos of all the songs

jack also asks bitty if they can record the song they wrote together & have it as a bonus track on his album & bitty says of course, so when jack visits they set up an impromptu studio and record vocals in the guest bedroom and this deeply personal song they wrote before they were ever together means so much more to them now

and bitty is so happy but so scared and sad too because jack is playing him these songs telling him "they're all for you bits, & a lot of them are about you" and he just doesn't know how he's going to keep all this love inside even though it feels like jack's career is at stake

he tries to shove it down and stay strong though, especially since he's now an upperclassman and they're taking on new members- connor "whiskey" whisk (voice like finneas or the male singer in valley), a music business/ management major who seems to hate bitty's guts and tony "tango" tangredi (like chaz cardigan), a jazz composition major who astounds everybody with his endless questions but also his ridiculously impressive composition skills & naturally perfect pitch (he can also play saxophone??)

i want ford in this au so fuck it she is a composition major with dreams to write scores for musicals and she stars training as a barista at annie's (aka training to corral the smcc)

the pressure of it all proves to be a lot and bitty and jack have their hi, honey moment where bitty's like i can't be this deep in the closet!!! and so they tell the smcc and also jack's label that they're together and that eases things a bit

jack's album comes out to much critical acclaim and shouting in the groupchat ("#1 ON ITUNES BRAHHHHH!!!!!!!!") and several months later, when smcc has already been eliminated from choral competition in an earlier round, jack is nominated for SEVERAL grammys including best album, song of the year, and best new artist

when the time comes he takes his parents and bitty on the red carpet which, everyone keeps being like "who are you here with jack?" and he's like "my family and my good friend :)" and yes it is awkward

jack wins... all three awards. it's the comeback everyone is stoked to see and when his third win is announced, he and bitty are so elated that they kiss before he goes to accept the award

his speech is basically just "um... wow. thank you. i just kissed my boyfriend on live tv. this is amazing and i'm so humbled. i'd like to thank my boyfriend and georgia and marty and my parents and my friends and my boyfriend"

obviously the press has a FIELD DAY with this but bitty & jack are honestly vibing and so happy that it doesn't matter untiiiillll bitty's mom calls and he has to tell her "mama i'm gay and i'm going on tour with jack this summer okloveyoubye"

the last few months of bitty's junior year pass quickly and he's voted student director which is a huge honor considering how much he struggled with stage fright and confidence & how he'll now be stepping into ransom & holster's shoes

r&h and lardo all graduate (the smcc basically crashes the art school graduation and all scream when lardo gets her diploma lmao), which is a bittersweet occasion and they all do a bit of tearing up

that summer bitty goes on tour across the u.s. & canada with jack and his touring band (snowy is a bassist, tater is a drummer and poots does backing guitar, he also brings nursey to play violin on a few songs) as well as georgia who's there to manage logistics

and tour is so fun & chaotic with many bi and rainbow flags in the audience that end up thrown on stage and draped around jack's neck and they spend so many nights in the bus drinking and laughing and fooling around on the guitars and bitty's uke and exploring new cities bitty has never been to before and it's the freest bitty has felt in a long time

summer ends though, and jack leaves for the uk/europe leg of the tour, and with the new school year brings a few new members- river "bully" bullard (voice like gregory alan isakov), a music therapy major who draws his own cover art for his songs, lukas "louis" landmann (like jr jr), an electronic production and design major with a penchant for EDM, and johnathan "hops" hopper (like keiynan lonsdale), a film scoring major who wants to write music for movies and video games

bitty meets and befriends some of the other student directors- shruti, sd of the women’s contemporary chorus; sharon, sd of the chamber choir; and edgar, sd of jazz ensemble (even chad l., sd of the all-male a cappella group)

senior year passes similarly to the comic; coach visits and sees one of bitty’s competitions, jack comes to madison for christmas, smcc does well in competition and goes to regionals etc

however… bitty keeps putting off and putting off gathering the songs for his senior recital

he has a hard time doing that because he’s so focused on the group and making sure they’re performing well and as they advance in competition, everything else starts to fall away

eventually the rest of the smcc has to lock away his uke and change his youtube password and FORCE him to choose songs for it and start preparing because he cannot graduate without doing this recital and doing well on it

he chooses (of course) a beyonce song, a few of his own songs, an ellie goulding song, and an adele song

with all that his breath hitches and his hands shake before he goes on stage, he does really well and his voice instructor prof atley tears up a little in the audience as does his mom

meanwhile smcc goes to semifinals, then finals, of the national collegiate choral competition they participate in

and i imagine bitty faces somewhat less homophobia in this au because i mean, he’s in the performing arts, but i think it’s still there and he also faces a good amount of classism from richer students and performers who think they’re better because they had the resources and money to be performing professionally from a very young age, and he has been practicing via filming himself on a shitty camcorder and posting it to youtube

but they still get there! and the national finals are fucking HUGE and a big deal and a little overwhelming

bitty’s stage fright is Present because this is the biggest stage and the biggest stakes he's ever had and he has a big solo in one of their songs so if he fucks up, he fucks up a national championship for his whole group and school

luckily though, when he steps on the stage with his best friends and sees his boyfriend and family and smcc alums in the audience and they perform their first song, a high-energy pop medley that always gets the crowd going, everything seems to melt away and it's just him living in this moment and singing his heart out

when it gets to the next song and his solo, he forgets to be nervous and belts it out, getting screams of approval from the audience when he finishes

(dex and nursey do have a duet together that they had to practice for many long nights in the practice rooms alone but that's neither here nor there)

their time on stage seems to last both hours and no time at all and then they're done, the crowd gives them a standing ovation and it's at least 30% r&h & shitty's hooting and hollering and jack's enthusiastic clapping that makes bitty & the others beam with pride

then it's just waiting, giddy and nervous beyond belief in their green room, for the judging to be over

after what feels like forever they're back on stage, arms linked together waiting and hoping for their name to be called and it is, they win and it feels like years have built up to this moment, and bitty tears up because years ago when he was fainting from anxiety at having to perform in front of people he never could've imagined that he'd do this, that he'd be the student director that led them to a championship

they get the trophy and a ridiculous amount of flowers from their loved ones and they all are just in giddy disbelief that this is happening, they're national champs!!! they are the best choir boys in the nation!!

they come home and the rest of the school year passes by so quickly that it's very suddenly graduation and bitty can't believe his college career at samwell is over 😢

(he and ollie and wicky take pictures together, o&w talk about how excited they are to devote full time attention to their band & wedding planning and bitty's just like wait you're gay??)

bitty got plenty of offers from record companies but he likes his freedom of creativity and he has a built in fanbase from doing youtube all these years so he decides to make an album independently (jack helps him produce & master it 🥰)

when bitty's album comes out about a year later, full of bops about being gay and in love and having struggled but come out the other side more confident than ever, it doesn't get any grammy nominations- and he didn't expect or need that.

what it does do is it resonates. it makes the rounds in youtube and queer internet circles; people his age reach out to him saying this is the music they wish they had as a kid and kids reach out to him saying he's a role model and they're so glad to have his music to listen to. his album is written about as an underrated gem that shines with queer brilliance and is sure to start a party when it comes on.

his parents may not fully understand the road he's chosen for himself but they're still so proud and promote the album as hard as any of his loyal fans (especially the one country-inspired song on the album that he wrote and dedicated to them).

and jack, jack who saw this album from its infancy to its release date, who took the film photo that ended up being the album cover, who worked with bitty to make sure his vision was realized exactly how he wanted it to be, is proud beyond words.

jack starts using his semi-abandoned twitter again to tweet "stream [album name]" every day and bitty retweets them sometimes, with just a "this boy. ❤"

and they're happy. they're good. they have come so far and they are reaping the rewards of all the hard work they put in to make the music that they truly love.

the end :)

[angelasscribbles]

My Best Friends Girl Chapter 14: Flight

Series: My Best Friends Girl Remix

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Characters: Drake Walker, Liam Rys, Riley Campbell

Rating: R

Warnings: Mature themes, language, so many f-bombs in this chapter.

A/N: So..... my original idea for this fic, was just to write book 1 of TRR from Drake's POV. It was supposed to end with the coronation ball and tie into Three Weeks in Ramsford.

I got halfway through what should have been the last chapter and........I just couldn't do it. After being in Drake's head for the last 13 chapters, I knew my character (as I've written him here) just would not stand down in this situation. He wouldn't. He's going after her. So this fic just got longer than originally planned/intended.

My original goal was also to stay as true to canon as possible in this series. Just add a little to Drake's inner monologue. I have made a few tweaks along the way (like him switching rooms with her at Applewood for her protection, because that made more sense.) Now we are moving into non canon territory as Drake says fuck it and heads to Ramsford. Because sometimes the characters just have ideas of their own!

You can catch up on my other stuff here.

I made my way to my room and threw a few things in a duffle bag. I had no idea how long I was going to be gone. As long as she needs me.

I opened my door to step into the hallway and heard voices. I peered down the hallway and saw a couple of Bastien’s guys on patrol. Or where they looking for me? Again? Liam wouldn’t, would he?

He had been pretty adamant that I not go. Shit. I should have kept my intentions to myself. Stupid. She made me stupid, careless, more reckless. She was my weakness and it scared me, but it also excited me, made me want to throw caution to the wind. Something I just don’t do.

I stepped back inside my room and shut and locked the door. I pushed an indention under the candelabra on my wall and a panel slid open. I slipped into the secret tunnels and closed the panel behind me. Perks of being part of the undercover guard, and also having grown up at the palace. I knew these passageways like the back of my hand.

I made it all the way to the ground level and out an exit that opened onto the grounds near the garages. I got to my car with no issues. Either they weren’t looking for me, or they were stupid enough to think I was still in my room. Getting off the grounds was going to be a lot more difficult if Liam had put out an order to stop me.

But just like Constantine had used Bastien’s division to keep me from helping Riley, that’s who Liam would use to keep me from leaving. I pulled my phone out and called Lorenzo. “Hey Esposito, I need a favor.”

There was no way I was getting out the main gate if they didn’t want me to. Or even the service delivery entrance. But there was a little used gate in the back with limited security. This was on purpose. If someone was planning an attack, this would be the vulnerable gate, only one King’s Guard posted at the booth next to the rusted, never used, padlocked gate.

The trick was the number of undercover guards that could be there within seconds. The building near the gate was ostensibly a makeshift bar/poolhall that the staff used to relax. There were always a dozen of my guys there, day or night. The supposed pool boys, wait staff and butlers that were, in fact, part of the covert security force. If we could control where an attack took place, we had a better shot of stopping it. Anyone looking for security gaps would think this was one. It gave us an advantage.

“Whatever you need, Cap. What’s up?”

“Who’s manning the booth tonight?”

“Hold on.” He was back after a few seconds, “Cirillo.”

“Perfect! Think you can send someone to distract him? Talk about the game last night, or better yet, ask for pictures of his grandkids.”

“Sure. What else?”

“I need the gate unlocked, it doesn’t have to be open, I just want as little damage as possible when I drive through it.”

“Shit, Cap, what’s going on?” He sounded alarmed.

“I’ll explain later. Can you do it?” I didn’t have time to explain.

“Give me five minutes. And wait for my signal.”

I wouldn’t ask him to do anything to endanger his job. He could honestly say that he was following his commanding officer’s orders. I seriously doubted that my men had been given any orders that pertained to me. It would create confusion and conflict. It was possible that there were no orders at all, but I wasn’t willing to take the chance.

I pulled my car around until I was almost in sight of the gate, headlights off, and waited for the signal.

My phone dinged and I looked down at the text. It just said “Go.”

I went. I waited until I was about twenty feet away to hit my lights, then I put my foot in it. The car lurched forward and roared toward the gate. There was a clang of metal on metal as I crashed through the exit. I didn’t slow down.

I flew down the dirt road behind the palace, mind furiously whirling. Where was she? I needed a destination. I picked up my phone and dialed her number. It went directly to voice mail. Damn it!

I dialed Max next. He didn’t answer the first time, so I called again, then again. He answered on the third call.

“Hey Drake, we’re a little busy-“

“Is she with you?”

“What?”

“Goddamn it Max! Riley. Is she with you?”

“Yes, we had to go to the airport-“

“Where are you now?”

“On our way home.”

“You mean Ramsford, right?”

“Where else would I mean?”

Right. “Just verifying.”

“Are you with Liam?” He asked.

“No.” I didn’t care to elaborate at the moment. “How is she?”

“Not good.” He sounded pretty distressed himself.

“Tell her I’m on my way. I’ll meet you at Ramsford.” Tell her I love her. I could hear her crying in the background. My heart felt like it was being ripped right out of my chest.

“Not that I’m complaining, but…why are you coming to Ramsford?”

“Same reason you went to the airport to get her, Max. I care about her and I’m not going to let her think we all abandoned her.” I got to a paved road and turned right, toward the motorway. Besides that, if she was a target, she needed protection.

“What about Liam? Did he….Riley said he got engaged to Madeleine?” There was a disbelieving note to his voice.

I sighed then gritted out, “Yeah. He did. Look, I’ll explain everything when I get there.”

“Ok, Drake. See you soon.”

I no sooner hung up than my phone started ringing. The caller’s name was displayed across the read out in my dash. Liam. I hit ignore. He called back. I sighed and rolled my eyes. I was going to have to face him sooner or later. I hit talk and his voice spilled out the speakers.

“What the hell was that Drake?” He sounded pissed. I mean really pissed.

“What the hell was what?” I feigned ignorance.

“You know damn good and well what! Where are you?”

“On my way to the airport.” I lied, just in case he was planning to send someone to try and stop me. The airport was in the opposite direction from the one I was headed in. Of course, if he did send someone, it wouldn’t take them long to figure out that I wasn’t at the airport. And not much longer after that to realize where I was really headed. But it would buy me a little more of a head start.

“I told you, I sent the Beaumont’s after her. She won’t get on the plane. Now, turn around and get your ass back to the palace!” He told me impatiently.

“I’m sorry, Li, I can’t do that.” Maybe back in the states would have been safer. This wasn’t distancing himself from her, this was stashing her nearby while he got his shit together. Which meant she could still be in danger. He wasn’t thinking clearly and maybe neither was I, all I knew was that she needed me, and I was going to be there for her.

“Why the fuck not?”

Yeah, Walker, why the fuck not? Is the part where you tell him you’re in love with his girl? What I said was, “Listen, Li, technically I’m still on her detail. I’m just doing my job. Making sure she’s ok, protecting her.”

“This is the opposite of protecting her!” He shouted at me.

“Agree to disagree, Li.”

“Agree to- what the hell Drake?” He yelled, shock evident in his voice.

“Listen. I’m the security expert here, not you. So why don’t you just trust me on this, huh?” I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her that I could have prevented. Max and Bert were not going to be able to protect her if someone came after her while she was there.

“You’re off her detail.” I could tell through the phone that his teeth were clenched.

“What?”

“You heard me, I’m pulling you from her detail.”

“That’s not a smart idea, Li-“

“Turn around and get your ass back to the palace, now! That’s a direct order from your king!” He sounded desperate. But hell, I was desperate too. And I wasn’t turning around.

“Oh, playing the king card already? It’s been like five minutes.”

“It’s not funny and I’m not playing around, Drake, I fucking mean it! Turn around and get back here or you’re fired!”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” I asked him incredulously.

“Yes, I am fucking serious right now. I don’t want to do it, Drake, but I will. You’re not leaving me much of a choice right now!”

A sense of complete and utter calmness descended upon me as the rightness of what I was doing coalesced in my center. “Alright then.”

“Alright?” I only felt a little guilty when I heard the relief and hope in his voice.

“Yeah, alright. I quit!”

“What?! You cannot be fucking serious right now!”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.”

“You’re willing to lose your job behind this?”

“Yep.”

There was silence on the line for so long I thought the call had dropped. Then he asked, “Why?” the shock was gone, and his voice held a note of something else.

“What do you mean why?” I asked.

“Is there something you need to tell me, Drake?” His voice had gone low and quiet, and it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“Like what?” I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. Liam wasn’t stupid, he was putting two and two together.

“Like, is there something that I have completely missed? Four months ago, you didn’t even seem to like her.”

“Yeah, well, things change.” I told him.

“Things. Like your feelings for her?” He said with a fair amount of accusation in his voice.

Well fucking shit! Now what? “Yeah, like those things.” I verified. This was not how I wanted to have this conversation. Or ever.

“For how long?” He demanded.

“I don’t know, a while now.” Since the first moment I laid eyes on her.

He was quite for another long moment then he asked me softly, “Does she know?”

“What? No, of course not!” I mean maybe? I did kiss her. More than once.

“Why haven’t you told her? Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked.

“How can you even ask me that? I didn’t tell her out of respect for you, and out of respect for her, and the connection I thought the two of you had!”

“Thought we had? We do have a connection, Drake, I was going to fucking marry her!”

“Was? Do you even hear yourself right now?”

“If we can clear her name, find out who’s behind-“

“You know she did nothing wrong!” I was furious again. If he loved her, how could he contemplate marrying another woman? Throwing her to the wolves? Letting the scandal stand, when he could issue a public announcement and settle the matter?

“I know that! But until we know who’s behind this, I have to distance myself. We don’t know how far they’re willing to go to keep her from being queen! I can’t risk her life, Drake, I won’t!” I could tell by the determination in his voice that he wasn’t going to change his position no matter what I said.

“I understand, Li. I’ll do my best to make her understand where you’re coming from, I promise.” I wasn’t sure I understood it, but I would do my best to explain it to her. Maybe she’d be more forgiving.

“Drake-“ there was a pleading note in his voice.

“Do what you have to do, Li. If you need to distance yourself from me, do it. Fire me, don’t take my calls, tell the press we’re not friends anymore. I’ll understand. But I’m going to do what I need to do and what I think is right. I love you, man but maybe we shouldn’t talk for a day or two.” I hit end then powered the phone off.

I made it to the motorway and glanced at my instrument panel, full tank of petrol, speed limit had already been exceeded. I opened the throttle a little more. Ramsford was three hours away, I could make it in two and half.

[delimeful]

Builder

new minecraft AU update! this one jumps between the past & the present! 

warnings: zombies, injury mention

-

Patton found the old house on a cloudy day.

He was still hit with the urge to roam, every once in a while, and while Logan’s home rested on the edge of a swamp, there were green, rolling hills to the southwest that were lovely to wander in.

Logan normally escorted him, as an extra pair of eyes with a helpful cat familiar to prevent any creepers from creeping up on him, but today he had been immersed in his potions. He’d found a new enchanted spellbook while out on a voyage, and was practically bursting with ideas upon his return.

Patton had smiled and left him to it, waving off any concerns with a promise to be extra careful and come back home if he started feeling sunsick.

He hadn’t meant to amble so far off course, but he’d seen a beehive, and where there were bees, there were flowers!

Spurred on by the idea of a flower crown for his friend, he’d found himself farther westward than he’d ever gone before. The hills turned to a taiga landscape, and between those towering birches was the house.

It looked uninhabitable, the wood rotted and the roof collapsed, but something about it called Patton closer, and so he pushed aside the remains of the front door and walked inside.

The stairs were ruined, barring any entry to the upper level of the house. Any furniture that had once stood tall was now utterly destroyed by years of exposure to the elements. He stepped carefully, ducking past cobwebs and listening to each creaky step.

Finally, he reached the back corner, and stopped, turning his head this way and that until the dull glint of metal caught his eye, half-hidden behind a dusty bedframe.

He crouched next to the iron hatch, and with only the barest moment of hesitation, pulled it open.

Daylight spilled into the basement below, and he caught a glimpse of clouded eyes set in a rotting face before the zombie backed up out of the light with a groan. Patton stumbled back with a yelp, falling on his back, and then crawled forwards and slammed the latch shut.

There was no protest from the creature below, and he left the house at a sprint.

-

Logan had followed him back out to the house based on nothing but Patton’s panicked ramblings alone, and his brow had grown more and more furrowed as they reached the house, ventured inside, and re-opened that hatch.

“I passed this house many times,” he spoke slowly, voice pained, “and all this time, someone had been down here?”

Patton leaned in, hands shaking as his eyes adjusted to the dark. “There’s two of them,” he corrected softly, and then stood back up in time to watch Logan hurry out of the dilapidated building.

It was guilt that his anger stemmed from, and Patton gave him some time before following, ignoring the bubbling remains of a shattered potion on the ground to pull his friend into a long hug.

“Could you help them?” he asked, once Logan’s witch mark had ceased its glowing, and his fists were no longer white-knuckled. “The way you helped me?”

Logan had been looking at him with that helplessly surprised stare, the one that always appeared when Patton witnessed his supernatural ‘fits’ firsthand and stayed anyway.

At the question, his expression went firm. “We’re going to try.”

-

The next few weeks were a rush of planning, harvesting, and brewing.

Patton hadn’t been sure he would be much of a help at all, but Logan had an unending list of tasks that he was working through, and a surprising amount were simple enough that Patton could manage them himself, like scavenging for certain ingredients or preparing others in a certain manner.

Eventually, he even began his own little garden, where he planted the ingredients more commonly needed for most of Logan’s potions.

Other tasks weren’t so easy.

Gold couldn’t be grown, for example, and their luck in mines varied from day to day. Some of the ingredients were only found in the Nether, and while Logan had traversed it enough to be familiar, it was still a dangerous place.

Logan had once returned home with a crossbow bolt lodged in his shoulder, having survived the trek back by leaving the bolt in and drinking a potion of healing anyways. They'd had to reopen the wound to get it out, and Patton had insisted on waiting by the portal for every venture after, just in case something like that happened again.

Still, bit by bit they worked, until Logan had a refined version of the cure he’d created for Patton.

Applying the cure didn’t actually take that long, though Logan expressed his frustration with how difficult it was to maneuver young zombies. Apparently older zombies-- the ones that were more bone than flesh, the ones that didn’t flinch away from pain, the ones that no potion could cure-- were much easier to lead. More predictable after the last traces of humanity faded from their minds.

Regardless, Patton’s very talented friend managed to separate and enclose the two of them in cells on his own, refusing Patton's assistance to avoid adding an extra person to the mix and complicating everything. He did allow Patton to help him with the actual curing, and how strange it was, to be on the other end of the process this time.

The potion & golden apple combination went over without a hitch, and Patton didn't think he'd ever slept as deeply as he did the night after those hard weeks of work. With the former zombies now laying tucked into their own beds, healing more by the day, Logan and Patton were left to wait in anxious anticipation.

Luckily, they had plenty to do to occupy their time! The new residents would need a place to stay, after all, and though Logan’s home was cozy, it wasn’t large enough to fit additions. Patton had originally wanted to build a neighboring house right next door, but Logan had suggested they build it closer to the decrepit house, just in case these strangers wanted some space to themselves after their ordeal.

Patton had a sneaking suspicion that the suggestion was also in case the others reacted badly to Logan's witch status, but he didn’t call his housemate out on it. He was nervous about meeting these new people too, after all. He hadn’t really had the opportunity to spend much time with anyone but Logan since regaining consciousness, and sometimes it all seemed like too much.

Now though, building this place with the breeze at his back and Logan at his side, he felt as though he could take on all the muchness in the world.

He set another wooden beam in place, stepping back to smile at how close they were to finishing the house. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it had taken a lot of hard work, and Patton had a good feeling about it.

New beginnings didn’t come around every day, after all.

-

Patton smiled nostalgically at the house in the distance, the one at the heart of the village that he had built together with Logan all that time ago.

It was amazing how much the village had grown, one new home at a time, occupied mostly by former zombies at first, and then the occasional traveler settling down, and eventually a few kids running about. It had become a thriving community, and Patton never stopped feeling proud of all the work that everyone had put in to keep it safe and welcoming.

There was a curious little ‘vrrp’ from behind him, and Patton turned away from the half-finished wall to see Anxiety shuffling in place, avoiding the gaps in the floor that hadn’t yet been patched.

“Just lost in thought!” he reassured the enderman, reaching out slowly and patting his friend’s arm, giving him plenty of time to scoot away if he wasn’t feeling up to touch today. Anxiety held still, fingers curling around Patton’s hand in turn.

After a moment of this, he teleported away sheepishly, and Patton muffled a chuckle as he turned back to finish installing a window. Logan would be here soon, but until then, it was nice to have company as he once again worked on adding a home to their little patchwork village.

Patton would be the one moving in, of course, and though there was a new addition to their population, Anxiety was more of a secret housemate than a homeowner. (They wouldn’t want anyone gawking at him, after all!) Even with those differences, the process was still familiar enough to make him grin.

Anxiety made a small, otherworldly 'notice me' chirp, and Patton turned to find there was a solid block of dirt in his wall, the grass on top of it still green. It only took him a moment to connect the dirt’s presence to the empty-handed enderman shifting antsily next to it.

“Oh! What a nice touch!” he encouraged, and laughed as Anxiety teleported back and forth in apparent pride. “It’s fun to work together with friends on stuff like this, isn’t it?”

He couldn’t really understand the noises that the enderman made in response, but he got the sense it was a resounding agreement.

[not-the-tie-youre-looking-for]

Something that's been bugging me for years since the Legends finale. If Zhan had been the writer for Rebels, do you think he would have had Thrawn bomb Lothal to bring Ezra out? On the one hand, from Legends Thrawn's portrayal I imagine he would without a second of hesitation. On the other, Canon Thrawn has been much more... restrained? And on a third point, there's the fact that Legends and Canon Thrawn seem like they really could be the same person just at different points of time. cnt in next

...I'm just curious if anyone else was curious if Zhan agreed with that direction taken. Which, on that note, did Zhan ever say anything about his thoughts on how Rebels handled Thrawn? Both from a writing standpoint as well as an acting and musical one (Thrawn's various leitmotifs)?

Oh man. Ohhhhhhhh maaaaan. My friend, you have asked exactly the right person this question, because not only have I wanted to talk about this multiple times before, but I also have ~receipts~. 👀

⚠️Spoiler warnings for Star Wars: Rebels, The Mandalorian, the canon Star Wars novels Thrawn, Thrawn: Alliances, Thrawn: Treason, Thrawn Ascendency: Chaos Rising, and Thrawn Ascendency: Greater Good, and the legends Star Wars novels Heir to the Empire, Dark Force Rising, The Last Command, and Outbound Flight.⚠️

Oh man. Where to begin.

Lets start with who Thrawn is, because depending on who you ask, you're gonna get different answers—whether you're strictly a Legends fan, Dave Filoni, a guy who's only seen Thrawn in Star Wars: Rebels, Timothy Zahn, or just a writer/artist fan like me.

To Timothy Zahn, the man behind our favorite chiss, Thrawn is a character that is constant in both attitude and personality throughout all of his content. In multiple interviews, ranging from Thrawn's debut in Rebels to the latest about the writing of the Ascendancy Trilogy, Zahn states that Thrawn in canon and Thrawn in Legends are indistinguishable.

And so I present the receipts:

In a 2017 interview with The Verge on writing the first canon Thrawn book Thrawn, Zahn is asked the following question and responds as such:

How do you navigate bringing back a character who already has an extensive backstory and audience expectations, with telling a new story that fits in the new continuity?

Actually, I didn’t find that to be a problem. I’d never written Thrawn in this part of the Star Wars timeline, so it was simply a matter of bringing him into the Empire and chronicling his rise through the ranks. It’s still the same character as in the 1990s books, just a decade or two younger and in a very different military and political environment.

In another interview with The Verge in 2018 (a few months after the finale of Rebels aired) about writing Thrawn: Alliances, he repeats this sentiment twice:

Thrawn feels like if it had been written before the canonization purge a couple of years ago, or if you squinted a bit, it would serve as a perfect setup for Heir to the Empire.

Oh, I don’t think you need to squint at all. I wrote him in these two books to fit in with everything else I’d done. So if someone at Lucasfilm snapped their fingers, and suddenly all of my other books were canon, and there would be no real retrofitting that would have to go in. It would all fit together.

Thrawn: Alliances feels more at home in the new canon, especially because Thrawn has been fleshed out a bit more in Rebels. Was there any adjustments for that?

Not really. I’m getting to play with more canon characters like Vader and Padmé and Anakin, but the character himself, I still see him as the same person. He’s got goals, and he won’t necessarily share them with you, but he as long as you’re going the same direction, he’s happy to cooperate and assist along the way.

...and this is referenced again in a 2020 interview with Polygon about writing Thrawn Ascendancy: Chaos Rising:

Along with Thrawn’s appearance in Rebels, Zahn would pen a new novel, Thrawn, that chronicled the character’s early days as an Imperial officer. Zahn didn’t have to change anything with the character, telling me in 2017 that “he’s like an old friend who I understand completely.” While Heir to the Empire was no longer canon, a reader could easily read Thrawn as a precursor to that classic novel. Thrawn went on to become a major presence in Rebels, and Zahn continued to explore his origins in Thrawn: Alliances and Thrawn: Treason.

The next day, an interview with IGN was published on the same subject:

Thrawn is an especially unique case because Zahn has been able to effectively continue the work he started way back in 1991 with Heir to the Empire. That novel may not be a part of official Star Wars lore any longer, but as Zahn explained, Thrawn himself is basically the same character regardless of continuity.

[....] The closest comparison between Chaos Rising and Zahn's earlier EU work is probably 2006's Outbound Flight, which is set during the Clone Wars and details the first encounter between Thrawn and the Galactic Republic (while also retroactively laying the groundwork for elements of Heir to the Empire). That novel is no longer canon, but Zahn told us he prefers to operate as if it were. He's making a concerted effort not to retread the same ground as Outbound Flight and to avoid contradicting the events of that novel as much as possible.

So yeah. In Zahn's opinion, Legends Thrawn is Canon Thrawn is Book Thrawn, and there is no difference whatsoever between Thrawns in, say, Outbound Flight, Heir to The Empire, Alliances, and Chaos Rising. I wholeheartedly disagree, but lets move on.

Now that the books are out of the way, its time for Rebels.

In July of 2016, after the trailer announcing Thrawn's canon debut aired, Dave Filoni had the following to say about Thrawn's character in regards to Timothy Zahn:

“I was pretty adamant with a couple of people saying, ‘Listen, we need to have Tim sign off on this. This is kind of a waste of time [otherwise],'” says Filoni. “We, of course, can do what we want with a character that Lucasfilm owns, but without Tim’s okay, what does it mean? That’s not going to be good. Once we had some stuff, we wanted to do what we thought was right and make the character. Then we brought him in. We had the production fully prepared. I said, ‘Look, if there’s something that Tim says that I think is really valuable, even if it changes something dynamically, we need to be ready for that and see what we can do.’ I wanted to make sure we did this right by everybody. We brought him in and we didn’t really tell him why. We just flew him up to Lucasfilm and sat him down in a theater and said, ‘Hey, we’re bringing Thrawn into the show.’ He was like, ‘Wow.’ and I said, ‘Yeah, wow. And I’m going to show him to you right now and you let me know what you think.'”

(Before we continue, keep that first highlighted sentence in mind for future reference. I'm going to come back to that later.)

Fortunately, Timothy Zahn was delighted at the show’s approach to the Empire’s imposing blue-skinned Chiss.

“We showed him some of the scenes with him,” Dave Filoni recalls. “He looked like a kid in a candy store. I think it meant a lot to him not just because it was his character, but because you have to imagine what he went through when it was announced that everything is Legends now, not Expanded Universe. I get that and I’ve always appreciated the work that goes into the Expanded Universe… For Tim, I think it was us saying, ‘No, no, no. We really like your character. We want him to be part of the real thing. The canon universe.'”

So in 2016, before we even saw Thrawn in action beyond a trailer, we were told that Zahn gave the OK, and he was chill with the way Thrawn was created in the show. In 2017, he gave a little more of the background of this process in an interview with FANgirl Blog:

The events of Thrawn dovetail closely with Rebels and shed light on some of Thrawn’s more seemingly surprising actions on the show, like when he appears to lose his temper and yell at Lieutenant Lyste. What was it like to see Thrawn come alive onscreen? Is he how you’ve pictured him in your head?

I don’t see my characters in terms of voice or appearance, but rather as personality or attitude. That said, I very much enjoyed the way the Rebels team brought him to life, in his appearance, voice, and actions.

I also appreciated the freedom I had to tweak certain incidents, such as the one you mentioned, and give additional or alternate explanations for the viewers who may have thought those were somewhat out of character for him.

He doesn't really elaborate on this, but we can assume he had SOME creative input on Thrawn's character, and he was overall pretty happy with the choices made in the show.

But then, we have this from that earlier 2017 the Verge article:

When did you learn that Dave Filoni was intending to bring Thrawn to Rebels, and did you have any input into how the character would be handled?

[...] I didn’t have any real input into how Thrawn was going to be handled, mainly because the lead time of an animated series is so long that much of season 3 had already been finished. But I trusted Dave and the team to do the character right. After all, why bring him into Rebels if you were going to drastically change him? Having seen the entire season now, I think we can agree that my trust was completely justified.

So... he didn't have "any real input," but was satisfied with it in the end? I guess? I don't know. We're getting into some contradictions now.

The last thing I've got in regards to Rebels is an interview Zahn did with the YouTube channel Star Wars Explained after the finale aired, where he responds to the following:

“So, maybe let's jump over to Rebels for a little bit. Now that it has wrapped up, how do you feel Thrawn was represented in Star Wars: Rebels?”

“They did a really good job—they not only understood the character and how to write for him, but they also understood the meta around how you defeat him. The only way to defeat Thrawn is to throw something at him he can't control, or can't anticipate. Given perfect knowledge and control, Thrawn will always find a way to win. But they understood, this is how you defeat him, these are the things we can use against him... so his portrayal in general, is very good; he's smart, he's anticipating, he's a step ahead of everybody, he's looking at clues and picking up on them, so I was very pleased with how the Rebels team handled the character."

I think these quotes answer many of your questions, so to answer your initial question: If Zhan had been the writer for Rebels, do I think he would have had Thrawn bomb Lothal to bring Ezra out?

Yes—but ONLY because at that point, the only established™️ Thrawn content was found in Legends, where Thrawn was a ruthless and calculating warlord.

However!

I do believe that if given the chance to re-write the Star Wars: Rebels finale using his now-canon novels as a solid background TODAY, Zahn would choose to not let Thrawn bombard Lothal's Capital City.

I believe this because he made one single very interesting creative choice when writing Thrawn that completely overwrote Thrawn's pre-established Rebels character: Thrawn was not responsible for the civilian deaths on Batonn—Pryce was.

And that's that on that.

A few months ago I would have ended it there, but today, Thrawn's story is no longer just contained in the novels and Rebels, but also in that of The Mandalorian.

This is where I will proudly say I have no idea what the fuck is going on. Before The Jedi aired, I was 100% sure that the next time we saw Thrawn, it would be nowhere NEAR the Empire, because Zahn was pretty adamant in the novels that Thrawn was only in the Empire to help. His. People.

So now he's apparently doing fuck-knows-what in fuck-knows-where and is STILL associated with the Seventh Fleet and Imperial Warlords???

Huh??? Despite the fact that he held no true loyalty to the Empire or to the Emperor??? It's been months and I'm still confused as fuck. Add to the fact that Zahn also doesn't know what the fuck is going on to the equation and we get a big fat question mark with one pretty clear answer that Filoni said himself that we have to keep in mind:

"We, of course, can do what we want with a character that Lucasfilm owns."

So I don't think Zahn has much control over Thrawn as we would all like to think. We can hope he gives us the crazy Thrawn and Ezra Space Adventure™️ novel all we want, but ultimately, Thrawn's fate does not rest in his hands.

If you guys have more to add please let me know!!! This is, obviously, a topic I am very passionate about, so I'd love to hear your thoughts!

[gallavictorious]

I saw your tags and I think you might need to write that fic of Ian and Mickey recreating their first time when Ian gets a tire iron. 🧐☺️

Okay, so this took me a hot minute, and I did it as a kind of speedwrite so it's rather short and not exactly thought out. I also went off (my own) script a little bit and it got unexpectedly sappy there for a moment... But! Have 1,4k very silly words of Ian and Mickey roleplaying their first proper get together because Mickey gave Ian a tire iron. I hope you enjoy it, dear one – thank you so much for the prompt! I had unexpected fun with it. ❤️

(Oh, and tags in questions are the ones on this post, so all credit to @jenatte for providing the original inspiration.)’

ETA: It’s on AO3 now too.

---

Ow. The fuck?

Reluctantly, Mickey blinked awake. The bright light suggested it was already near noon, but that wasn't what had woken it, that wasn't–

It came again: a hard poke to his back. Not the good kind, either, of Ian pressing his hard-on against Mickey's rear while they were snuggled close, but something cold and sharp. Insistent.

”What the fuck?” Mickey groaned, rolling over on his side and peering up at–

–his husband standing over him with... a fucking tire iron in his hands? Not just any tire iron either, but the one Mickey had gotten him as a gift for their anniversary as a mix of a joke, sentimentality and practicality; it was how they started, sure, and meaningful for it, but also a damn good thing to have, no home was complete without it. He thought that maybe Ian had overlooked the practial aspects, though, in favour of going a little misty-eyed before he started dropping half-assed quips about hard lenghts and Mickey had to roll his eyes and punch his husband in the arm a little bit.

Now Mickey's brow furrowed further as he tried to make sense of the scene. For a brief, terrifying moment, apprehension siezed his gut: was Ian having a manic episode, seeing enemies where there was none? But no; though he feigned a fearsome scowl, there was that glitter in Ian's eyes and a small quirk to his lips that spoke little of mania and everything of being a fucking dork and a tease.

”Give me the gun, Mickey,” he intoned, and Mickey was about to ask again what the hell and what fucking gun and maybe are you feeling okay man because perhaps Mickey didn't have quite as good a read on his husband as he thought he had–

–and then he got it, memory reasserting itself, and he could feel the fucking grin growing on his face quite of its own accord. He'd have felt stupid for not immediately catching on, but give him a fucking break, he'd been sleeping two seconds ago and his days of waking up with a start and ready to fight were slowly and thankfully becoming a thing of the past.

Ian's faux frown broke, as he was unable to contain an answering smile. He seemed inordinately pleased with himself, and with Mickey for getting it. Mickey would tell him he was a fucking idiot, but Ian looked so expectant that Mickey decided to play along instead. No harm in a little weird roleplay to make his husband happy, right?

Besides, it wasn't like Ian standing over him and looking vaguely threatening and very hot didn't do it for Mickey on several levels.

”Okay, fine,” he said, climbing to his feet while doing his very best to appear drowsy and uninterested. It had been instinctive back then, the plan of lulling the irate kid into a false sense of security before pouncing on him and kicking his teeth in for having the fucking gall to march into Mickey's room and demand things.

Mickey made a show of slowly turning towards the nightstand, just as he had all those years ago. He could feel Ian's eyes track his every movement, ready to react to the sneak attack he knew was coming. There'd be no taking him by surprise this time.

His face turned away and unseen, Mickey smiled. Or would it?

He grabbed hold of the bottle of lube on the table and spun around to throw it at Ian's head, took a quick step up and to the side, and as Ian gave a short yelp and involuntary raised his hands to protect his face, Mickey rushed him from the side to push him down on the bed. Ian went with a thud and an oof and Mickey didn't hesitate; he was on his husband in a second, straddling his chest and wrestling the tire iron from him grip.

”What the hell, Mick?” Ian demanded, not bothering to struggle but glaring up at Mickey with wide reproachful eyes. ”This isn't how it went!”

Mickey grinned. ”How it went is I kicked your scrawny ass,” he said smugly. ”Now, how am I gonna do that if you know which way I'm gonna move?”

”I was going to let you win!” Ian protested.

Mickey's eyebrows rose. ”Oh, you were gonna let me, huh?”

”Yeah,” Ian said slowly, eyes narrowing, ”I was going to let you.” And with that he grabbed hold of Mickey's arms and pushed him to the side while using his greater body weight as leverage to flip them around.

”Fucker,” Mickey spat, kicking at Ian's shins. He dropped the tire iron – not like he was actually going to hit Ian with it – to have both his hands free for a renewed assault on his sneaky little shit of a husband, but Ian had already wrapped his his stupidly big hands around Mickey's wrists and was pushing him down into the mattress, grinning triumphantly while Mickey struggled and squirmed beneath him.

”Guess I had a change of heart,” Ian said.

Mickey stilled, biting at his bottom lip as he considered. He was pretty sure he could still take Ian if he really wanted to, mostly on account of him being a ruthless motherfucker with no interest whatsoever in fighting fair. However, that required a level of playing dirty and pulling nasty jabs that went far beyond what he felt comfortable doing to his husband these days.

”Uh-huh, and what's the plan now, genius?” he demanded, opting for snark instead of violence.

Ian didn't answer. The look in his eyes had shifted from triumphant to something thoughtful, and softer.

”Do you think it'd have gone the same way if it'd been me on top of you instead of the other way around back then?” he wondered aloud.

Mickey made a face. It fucking figured that his sap of a husband would turn a promising round of foreplay into a game of sentimental what-if.

”I dunno,” he said, wriggling his hips a little to remind Ian that there were otherstuff they could be doing right now, stuff way more exciting than having a goddamn conversation. ”Does it fucking matter? It didn'thappen like that, and it never would have happened like that either, 'cause back then I didn't give a shit about fucking you up too bad, so I'd bashed your fucking brains out before letting get on top of me.”

He wanted to bite his tongue as soon as he'd said it, but it was too late: Ian's eyes had lit up and his thoughtful look transformed into a smirk. ”Well, I mean,” he drawled, leaning down to put his mouth to Mickey's neck, just for a moment, just a little bit of teeth in the brief touch.

”Fuck off,” Mickey said, but he was laughing. Ian's weight pinning him down was as exciting as it was annoying, as it was grounding.

Ian just hummed. He'd straightened again and was gazing down on Mickey with a look that was so damned fond it made a small blush work its way up Mickey's neck.

”I think we'd have ended up here anyway,” Ian decided. ”Somehow.”

”Oh yeah?”

”Yeah.”

Soft smiles then, as something warm and happy bloomed in Mickey's chest. For a moment, they just looked at each other, eyes resting on the face each of them knew best, loved best.

Ian let go of Mickey's wrist to put his hand on the side of his head, fingers tangling in Mickey's hair as Ian ran a thumb over his husband's cheek. He bent down again, but this time to capture Mickey's lips in a long, lingering kiss.

”I think I was always going to have you,” Ian murmured as they broke apart, forehead pressed against forehead.

A second later he yelped in surprised outrage as Mickey took advantage of his lapse in vigilance to grab hold of his hair and yank his head sharply to the side while pushing up to get Ian off him and halfway down onto the floor. Mickey followed him with a snicker, and off they went again, tousling and laughing and absolutely heedless of any noise they might make.