#but they became a family so quickly and so earnestly

[laurasbailey]

is it weird that the bells hells party dynamic might be my favourite

[baeshijima]

thoughts on being engaged to duke!sunday, the head of the oak family, an incredibly influential figurehead within society, the close subordinate of emperor gopher wood who brought him and his sister in and raised him like his own, and the villain who faces a tragic ending in a novel you recently finished — the very same one you just so happen to find yourself transmigrated into. he is as cunning as he is blinded, a trait which brought ruin to many in the empire, and one which ultimately brought ruin to himself at the hands of the protagonists.

as luck would have it, you became a barely mentioned side character from a marquis family, whose role was to be the villain's wife stuck in a one-sided love who, too, would get caught up in the tragedy alongside him. however, now that it's you who is stuck in this position, you're determined to try any means necessary to deter him from going down that path, all in an effort to escape your predestined doomed fate!

of course, you didn't expect it to be easy. the day of your arrival in this world was already the night before your wedding, so you had little time to prepare yourself for the nonchalance of your supposed family, how they viewed you as but a means — a tool — to boost their influence and prosperity, the dismissive mannerisms of the household servants, and the absolute beauty of a man you will be married to.

(seriously. the novel descriptions did not do him justice. he was like... like... like he was handcrafted by god himself! and not to mention his sister, robin, was the very epitome of an angel! perhaps you're destined to perish by the god-tier visuals instead...)

to say the least, the wedding ceremony went by quickly. safe to say you didn't spend the night; he was cordial and gentlemanly upon letting you know that he won't do anything until you're ready, that you can take this relationship slow, but somehow you ended up feeling a tad insulted. like, who leaves their newly wedded alone in a big cold bed as they walk out on their own? a sick bastard that's who!

well, whatever. it's not like you need nor want to consummate with him! besides, you have bigger things to worry about — things such as your impending death. and, of course, the only way to stop sunday that you can imagine working is by chipping away at his resolve bit by bit, and opening his eyes to reality.

he is a tragic character, one who cares more about the well-being of penacony and its people than anyone else, but was manipulated into getting his hands dirty in the emperor's stead. you knew this. you sobbed over his story, cursed out the protagonists, and even fought internet randos on novel forums about sunday's motivation and how,

no, he is not just a stupid villain. he is a complex character with flaws and humanity and was cruelly taken advantage of by someone he considered family. he was deceived through the suffering the emperor wanted him to see to make him easily manipulated, creating a rift between him and robin to have that prominent separation. you know what? maybe you're just a !%#@ who can't even #@?"% read properly!

and yet you still find yourself at a loss when faced with the walls he has in place. your initial efforts went as well as it possibly could have; you trying to earnestly help him, while he "kindly" dismisses your offers! well, "kindly" being more condescending since you could read between the lines of his mannerisms and amiable demeanour, but that's fine! you expected this! that just means you have to double down on your sincerity, get through to his heart (somehow), and help him realise humanity isn't as weak as he's led to believe!

you have three years until the novel's plot officially starts, and another year after that until your demise. that's plenty of time to get him to warm up to you!

it was easier said than done, but after your valiant effort and abundance of time put into this relationship, which admittedly you could do with some of that lost time back, you could give yourself a pat on the back with the progress you made! while you definitely could have done without a lot of the headaches, it's safe to say sunday has significantly warmed up to you in comparison to your wedding day. he now willingly eats all his meals with you with some real conversation, takes garden strolls with you in the early evenings, invites you out for dinner at a restaurant at least four times a week, hell he's even joked and laughed with you more frequently! but most importantly, he has begun asking for your opinion before finalising any decisions he is required to make. and he actually listens and considers your side! now, that certainly is the best outcome you could hope for after all this time, and it most definitely will help in your endeavour to save you both from the protagonists!

however, you've noticed he's been more... affectionate? well, at the very least he now willingly holds your hand when in private (not just in moments when you're in the public eye and he has to make sure the family's reputation is spotless), sometimes he will hug you out of the blue ("i just need to... recharge. you have a way of calming me down. i hope you don't mind." ...how could you say no to his supreme god-tier face card? that's just a losing battle you won't even bother fighting against.), oftentimes he opts to just gaze wordlessly at you (robin had mentioned over one of your tea times how it almost appears as though there is no one but you in the world when sunday gazes at you with, in her words, "the eyes of a man so deeply in love!" ...whatever that's supposed to mean...), but a more recent development has been his sudden interest in kissing you; well, more specifically giving you a kiss to the back of your hand or on your forehead — certainly not anywhere near the lips! (besides, he's probably just gotten comfortable with you, enough where he can freely act without judgement. nothing more, nothing less.)

well, either way, development is development! soon enough, the time for the main plot to start has arrived. it of course follows what you remember, from the organised balls to the protagonists meeting to the political aspects of it all. the only difference is sunday's less active involvement in all the schemes and the emperor's ploy. rather, he seems more focused on you and the future of your marriage and even displayed a sudden interest in your practically non-existent relationship with one of the foreign diplomats, aventurine— wait...

"[name]," he calls your name out so sweetly you nearly disregarded it as someone else he was talking to. well, perhaps you would have done had he not suddenly appeared before you, a tight-lipped smile tugging the corners of his lips as he steadily approaches you.

oh. he doesn't seem very happy, if his tense figure is anything to go by. you wonder if one of the nobles grated his nerves a little too much this time?

sunday comes to a halt a step away from you. "i don't like that... gambler being so close to you. it... it brings me a rather unpleasant feeling." there's a slight, trembling pause. not a moment later does he close the gap between you, one knee on the ground as he matches your seated height on the fountain rim, your hands gently enclosed in both of his.

you idly wonder if this is what robin meant by the so-called "eyes of a man so deeply in love" she constantly gushed about, for the way in which he gazes up at you is enough to render you breathless.

"tell me, [name]," he begins once more. there is an underlying desperation woven within his tone, one which has your head spinning and heart thumping wildly as his trembling gaze holds you in place. "tell me, what am i to do with this fervent love and overwhelming adoration i hold for you?"

oh.

...oh.

perhaps your impending doom should be the least of your concerns when you now find yourself in the arms of a clingy husband...

(though, it's safe to say you did, in fact, manage to prevent him from succumbing to his tragic fate! you just gained a loving, yet slight slightly emotionally challenged husband along the way.

well, you can help him work through it; you have the rest of your lives now to figure it out, after all.)

[salty-dracon]

Astral Express Sunday thoughts, bonding with the trio:

Sunday and March's friendship is surprisingly wholesome once they get the formalities out of the way. She's a cute girl who loves all sorts of girly things (just like his sister) and she needs someone to practice her manicure skills on. Sunday himself has some nail painting skills, having used them to entertain Robin in her youth.

There have been at least a couple of incidents now where Himeko opens the door to March's room and finds March and Sunday doing each other's hair, painting each others' nails, or just chatting together. March really does remind him of Robin before she became a star- she has many little dreams and is always full of smiles, but hidden behind her laughter and joy is the darkness of the void. Does she know? Sunday wonders, having seen what was inside her mind. But March's next quips break him out of his stupor, and he goes back to chatting with her.

Caelus and Stelle seem okay with Sunday's presence- in a sardonic sort of way. Actually, it's more accurate to say they've been testing him ever since he got here. One time, Stelle dared him to drink a whole cup of Himeko's coffee. Another time, Caelus dragged him to Jarilo-VI and tried to enter him in a cage match under the name "Cold Dragon Youngest Junior". Another time, the twins brought him to the Luofu and challenged him to a soda-based Russian Roulette. Somehow, their crazy ideas never end.

In fact, over time, they become more pleasant. The twins convince Arlan to take the group on a tour of Herta Space Station, pointing out all of their favorite curios and introducing him to Ruan Mei's little dumpling dogs and cat cakes. They order massive platters of food from every locale they can think of, encouraging him to try a bite of everything. And of course, the siblings love to swing their bats at anything bigger than them, and he finds great joy in lending them his power. They really are like animals, Sunday thinks, watching them try to tag-team a Warp Trotter and fail spectacularly. Adorable little bundles of chaos.

There's something weird about Dan Heng when Sunday first spends a night in the Express. His unwavering eyes watch him closely, hunting for any semblance of betrayal. His offers to use his Harmony powers during missions are quickly shot down, and his suggestions to split up with the others during particularly time-sensitive conflicts are denied. Sunday eventually realizes what the issue is- a lack of trust. And who would trust him, after what he did to Dan Heng's closest friends? So Sunday spends a week proving himself. He offers to make coffee and tea for Himeko and Welt, and chats with them openly about his thoughts. He battles earnestly alongside the group, without using too many underhanded tactics such as the Harmony's brand. When Pom-Pom needs someone to help mop up the floors, he's the first to volunteer. He spends time with March and the twins, and even chats about literature and the archives with Dan Heng, who appreciates that they share an interest in books. In time, they grow accustomed to each other.

When two pairs of hands are needed to deal with the antics the rest of the crew causes, Dan Heng goes to Sunday before anyone else. More than once, Sunday has been reading in his room when he hears a knock at the door. "Caelus and Stelle fell asleep in the parlor car again," Dan Heng says. "Could you help me move them?" Sunday's happy to oblige- they're his precious family, after all.

[natsuki-kibutsuji]

Woman with the moon in her eyes

Part 1

Previous: prologue

There is a full moon that night, beautiful, but for one person terrifying. Hope flashed through Natsuki's thoughts that Muzan wouldn't show up.

"Maybe he forgot... Or maybe he won't make it in time... Maybe it will be too late and I'll turn into dust... Or he's taking care of his fake family and it's keeping him busy..."

The woman sat at her dressing table, combing her hair and thinking about the hours ahead.

"Am I kidding myself?" she asked her reflection in the mirror.

Her blonde, wavy hair fell over her shoulders, and her blue eyes sparkled amid the dark light of the lamps in Infinity Castle. Natsuki stood up from her chair in her silk western nightgown. She gracefully walked towards the bed to lie down, but before she could do so, she felt dizzy. Quickly she grabbed the bed rail and tried to lie down.

Suddenly, Natsuki felt a presence in the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Muzan standing in the entrance.

"Maybe you'll finally decide to give up? I'll bring you a human to feed on." Muzan spoke up, slowly walking towards his wife.

She bowed to him, fighting against the weakness of her body.

"Thank you for this kind of dinner. I will remain true to my values."

Muzan supported her arm and helped her lie on the bed.

"Always the same..." he replied, positioning himself on the other side.

He didn't have to explain or add anything. Natuski, like a little spoon, allowed him to embrace her. However, his wrist slipped at the level of her mouth. Natsuki, revealing her demonic fangs, bit through the layers of his skin one by one, reaching for the blood. The taste and smell of his blood spread throughout her body. Disgusting, but in demon form an extremely tempting experience. She could have moaned in pleasure, but she didn't let herself do that. She always tried to stop such animalistic tendencies.

"Good girl..." his voice echoed in her ear, "Maybe one day you'll even let me fulfill my duty as a husband," his tone sounded like he was teasing her.

Natsuki almost escaped from his embrace "Never!"

"I hope you enjoyed your dinner," he smirks, "Next serving on another full moon, unless you ask earlier."

"Please stop, this is embarrassing enough."

Natsuki waited a moment until Muzan released her. The taste of his blood and his masculine scent still tantalized her senses. She laid on her side, facing away from him. Earnestly, she tried to breathe to calm down her demon blood stirred by Muzan.

The man, ignoring his wife's dryness, took a book from the bedside table and focused on reading. This one moment, the full moon, became the closest experience of their marriage. Muzan tried hard to keep her alive all these years. According to her - as entertainment; According to him - as a symbol of waiting.

The truth came as a surprise to these two.

next: part II

[sgiandubh]

S on BBC 4's Saturday Live: 'anything but a quiet life'

As you all know, S was today on BBC Four's Saturday Live radio talk show, sharing the scene with people like super male model David Gandy, Catrin Finch - a Welsh harpist of international repute and the ever fascinating Lucy Worsley, a strong contender (along with Mary Beard) for the title of personal favorite (living) historian.

You can listen (as I dutifully did twice) to it here: https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m001t96r. I don't know how to embed it on this page, but that shouldn't be a problem.

The show is always interesting and I strongly suggest to let it play along and not rely only on my summing up & comments. I particularly enjoyed Lucy Worsley's Medieval and Baroque musical selection (flawless!) - but enough said, we're here for S, who was live on show from BBC's London studios.

As usually, I am going to transcript it as much as I can, primarily for those reading this post and using Google Translate (@bat-cat-reader, you are served!). So, you will kindly excuse the length, thank you.

At the 07:40 mark, a half jocular mention when prompted by the host: not a cricketer and not a harpist either (you can say many things about S, but not that he's got no humor - always a big plus in my book). But then things quickly get emotional, when he immediately mentions his mother (the question generally asked was 'what did your parents sacrifice for you?'), who 'sacrificed a lot (...) [as] a single parent, (...) she gave us everything, I think'. And then he quickly gets emotional, mentioning Chrissie H. again:

'(...) can I give my mom a shoutout, it's her birthday, on Monday [Nikki Bedi, presenter: 'aww, of course you can!'], so happy birthday, Chrissie, and thank you so much and I wish... I'm glad you never got me a harp, because I would have never dedicated myself. I think that's why I became an actor, because I didn't have to work too hard at one thing.'

It's then David Gandy's turn to talk about his own rural childhood in Billericay (Essex), his close knit family and his parents' endeavor of building a business and the now incomprehensible need to use faxes, something he has now to 'explain to the younger ones'. Then Nikki Bedi turns to S (13:08): 'Sam's laughing at that. Do you remember faxes?' Answer: 'I do.. I mean, I remember faxes getting scripts through or couriers bringing you know, scripts to your door, it..it's just a completely different world, now, and I am sure the fashion world is completely different now, isn't it, David, I mean it's changed so much'.

Onwards to more questions asked by Mrs. Bedi. This one was interesting (19:16): 'Sam, do you fear that each job you do is an act that could be your last? Is that always in the back or front of your mind?' Answer: 'Yeah, I think.. David, I mean...um... earnestly, everything you're saying there kinda rings true for my career as well... I am sure for Catrin being, you know, being a musician, I think it's, you know [Nikki Bedi: is it true, Catrin? CF: yes, absolutely, yeah, many things David said... it's the same (...)'].

Huw Stevens mentions alternatives to 'gigs', the need to plan for the future and the fact 'you always have to remain busy', mentioning S's whisky. Gandy also mentions S ('you've got quite a few businesses [...] a man after my own heart, we'll then gonna have to go out'), immediately cued in by Nikki Bedi ('whisky, tequila, gin').

Just after Lucy Worsley's superb intervention (easily my favorite of the whole program!), cue in to the kilt on a glacier part of S's chit-chat I am sure we all dutifully 🙄, by now. I noted the slight hesitation in his voice, while mentioning 'my...my friend, Graham McTavish', so I will not - yeah, sue me-, I repeat: I will not transcript this verbatim, simply because it doesn't really bring anything new or important to what we all know, already. Sitting on a glacier 'in a kilt, in commando, yes, it's my claim to fame'. Disgruntled Tumblrettes, beware - he poked fun at himself (shall I sign this to you, or are you able to read my lips?) and that is something only very intelligent people are able to do without sounding pathetic. Another interesting thing is the way Nikki Bedi presented S ('the actor, award-winning liquor maker and writer'- 36:00), roughly midway of the whole broadcast.

His dedicated segment begins at the 49:10 mark and lasts until the end, about 10 minutes in all. He was introduced by Huw Stevens: "Sam Heughan, it seems, would like anything but a quiet life", plus some cursory bio elements, mentioning his mother's influence on his own creativity, his breakthrough as JAMMF, but also TCND (Nikki Bedi watches it and 'apparently the third episode is the most steamy' 🤦‍♀️). 'He is also a philanthropist, businessman and thrill seeker, and of course, as mentioned earlier, has his own whisky and is a best-selling author'. Mentions his 'parents, characterful people, hippies, in the Seventies, with a love for Tolkien'. S: 'my mum would probably kill me if I called her a hippie' - also, 'she is not the best singer, but there was always music around'. Stevens mentions the Gandalf's Garden Soho hippie community both his parents were a part of before he was born, but S doesn't develop it. The rest (difficult childhood, loner, using his imagination sparked his creativity, etc) we know from Waypoints. The very Scottish concept of 'stravaigin'' comes along in the conversation, which is not exactly a drifter and a bit more than a wanderer (if I understood correctly) - perhaps a good title for a second personal memoir, S? I'll leave this idea float in here for free, heh. OL comes along then, and by far the most interesting thing he mentioned about it is that "it is my life, it's taken over my life', hoping it would sparkle at least some conversation in the comments' thread. OL 'has also been hugely beneficial for Scotland, increased tourism by 200% in some locations (...), and it's all down to the magic of Scotland'.

Next projects: exciting not to really know what is next, but 'I am also saying no to a lot, because I am in a place now where I think the next decision is really important (...). I enjoy being in control now (....), producing my own shows and you know, my own products. (...) once you take control of that creativity (....) there's a lot of freedom and yeah, we shall see'.

And then Huw Stevens makes a joke - but was it really a joke? it's the BBC, after all - and says that all four of the guests could contribute something to what 'could be the next generation of Bond', (S: 'the finest British production'). Cue in an anecdote about S being invited to present an event to Buckingham Palace and taking a cab to a pub, right afterwards. MPC and tomorrow's book signing at Saint Pancras station wrap off the show.

Quickly, my 50 cents on it: way, way better than expected and S always delivers when they ask no weird questions about his private life (hallelujah, maybe they listen to us, after all?). The question about the fear of each job being the last reminded me of one of his answers in a very early interview: 'your biggest fear? getting the sack'. This time, his answer, whatever he intended to say, got lost in the brouhaha, but I suspect not much has changed, essentially, even if the 'after OL' part of the show strives to tell a more optimistic story.

But the thing that impressed me the most and in a very good way is the attention he got from all the other people invited in that studio. Unlike the social nobodies of Tumblr, they did not find bizarre the fact that he created his own spirits business and is actively promoting it. They were far from judging him: in fact, I even think he made a new friend of David Gandy, who had quite positive and nice and honest things to say about him. S was articulate and graceful and very moving every single time he mentioned Chrissie. And I am also sure he would have loved to share more things, especially when David was lovingly talking about his wife and daughters. But he couldn't. And that is a shame. But this too, shall pass - The Boy is slowly learning to say no to a lot of things, as he just let us know. Probably the best news we've got from him in a good while.

And now, onwards to a particularly venomous Anon I am still pondering the answer to.

[asophiamills]

Omg I have a blog where I can post real lore dumps okay uh here...

MHMMMM SOPH X SAM LORE ACTUALLY.

Sam x Soph Spotify Playlist

Check my Instagram for my SophxSam IG highlights, it has more info hehe

Soph's family was in Pelican Town and she spent most of her childhood there. Jodi, I HC, grew up in Pelican Town, but was in Zuzu City for college, and thats where Kent and her ya know- had Sam. But frequently, Jodi, Kent and Sam visited Pelican Town during summer and the holidays because Jodi's parents lived there too. During these visits, Sam and Soph quickly became friends bcs Sam was fun and rambunctious, and Soph was the honorary adopted introvert friend. Anyway yall know, Sam loved her first bcs Soph made a paper flower crown so he didnt feel out of place for his allergies n stuff, and one holiday later, Soph's family left Pelican Town, leaving Sam wondering why she left without saying goodbye, when he was so excited to visit Pelican Town bcs of her. And when he found out she was in Zuzu City, all of a sudden, Kent was drafted into war, and Jodi's parents suggested they live in Pelican Town at their place.

Ok, so, when Soph moved in, she and Sam met one another, and recognized each other being childhood bestfriends when she lived at the farm with her grandparents. So they're super close immediately, with Sam being a friendly extrovert and Soph being a shy but excitable ambivert, they've developed a cool friendship that lasted say 6 months. BUT- Sam has been crushing on Soph the moment she walked in the valley, because as a kid Soph made flower crowns for everyone in town, and since Sam was allergic, he couldn't wear flower crowns. Soph made him a paper flower crown instead, crudely cut pieces of paper. Since then, he's had a crush on her, but were eventually seperated when she moved back to Zuzu City. Seeing her again has ignited that flame, especially now that shes older and has found a stronger sense of identity, which he finds totally authentic and keeping it real, very punk hehe.

They were just separated as kids and Soph hardened over time bcs of trauma, SA, and other stuff growing up and being played so often, so when did they see each other again, it was fucked up and they lasted like a year for becomingg friends again and then another year for courtship

Then sam also has this sad headcanon i have for him being a kid who was forced to grow up and essentially becoming the family man bcs Kent had to leave for the war so he was basically Vincent's father figure and Jodi's therapist and he felt alone most of his life. Like i bet he dropped out of college, not bcs he didnt like it (but also bcs he probably didnt like it) but also so he could start making money and gettin a job n shit to help his mom with the bills and have money of his own too. Anyway all that growing up early made his adult self more childish and fun as a way to cope, which is why he got into punk anyway, skateboarding and playing music, it was his escape n stuff.

He only started to calm down again, and grow up again but more naturally when Soph moved in Pelican Town, mostly bcs while Soph matched his childish nature, she was very driven and hardworking and that lowkey inspired him so hes taking therapy when she's taking therapy, esp when he learned they had similar childhoods of acting like an adult when they were kid and found solace with one another. They were wild and fun, Soph always encouraged and supported him, making sure he didnt feel bad for acting childish, but reined him in whenever he went too far, and Sam helped Soph enjoy life more earnestly and to see beyond her fears and insecurities. :))

Anyway, Sam's a terrible flirt, he tries shooting his shot, but he fails everytime, this being his first relationship and having little to no experience. And Soph's demisexual, so she needs a long term emotional connection before seeing someone like that, but she is aesthetically attracted to Sam. In the hopes of something more, she's been flirting with him back, slightly getting a little more touchier than she is with her normal friends. She's always either hanging around his house or vice versa, the pair often playing games and her getting a private show of him on his guitar. So, after his 8 heart event, 6 months after meeting, Sam eventually confesses to Soph. Soph, having been traumatized by past relationships and barely believing in love anymore, is immediately pressured by her issues and is scared, running off, unable to take it. Sam runs after her, and calls her out on her flirting and their lingering gazes and shit, and he breaks down crying in front of her. Soph realizes she fucked up. And so she decides to give him a chance if he'd accept it.

That's the hard part DONE. SO. Sam proceeds to court Soph, knowing she needs extra time with her being demisexual and lacking trust in romance. He often brings her home, invites her to dinner. Soph, feeling a little guilty, and slowly falling for him, despite her not knowing, tries her best to respond to his advances too and gives him handmade gifts, and often buys food from the saloon or cooks them herself for him. One whole year later, with Sam finding out she's Filipino (EYYYY), researches a few tagalog words for her, and learns about harana, where you visit a woman at her house and sing by her window until she comes out to either accept or deny him. He tries this, not expecting much and throws pebbles into her window. Annoyed, she goes out, and accidentally gets hit in the forehead by a rock. After an awkward series of apologies, Sam proceeds to sing filipino love songs to her in the middle of the night with nothing but his guitar and a candle. That night, Soph finally said yes, and they're officially dating every since. :DDDD

Soph was a quiet kid, and showed signs of being autistic but she never rlly got diagnosed, but just know she was rlly sensitive to noise, barely spoke and grew up with barely any friends. Barely cried until there's noise, has almost 0 emotions.

Soph's Lore:

As I've written, Soph has had some SA trauma before, and is pretty hypersensitive with people touching her back. Its not something she can just dismiss, whenever people touch her back, she tenses a bit, but doesnt make a big deal out of it. And she prefers knowing if people would be touching her back instead of surprising her. Just a little thing to remember.

As an adult it doesnt bother her as much anymore, but she gets overstimulated and ends up getting nervous a lot and scratches her neck, arms and hands, its a sign of an impending anxiety or panic attack, i think i wrote a comic about that before.

She's pretty touchy with her friends especially, but anything with romantic tension is pretty hard to handle, she gets anxious, shy and flustered pretty easily.

I HAVENT BEEN ABLE TO DRAW THEM IN THIS STORY EXCEPT FOR THE CONFRONTATION AND THE 8 HEART EVENT...

8 heart event and confession here

Confrontation Video here

[letsgoletsgetit08]

ink ch.3

summary: Park Seonghwa has been given an ultimatum by his parents: a year to marry a woman of their choosing with the end goal of producing an heir to the family fortune since queer party boy Seonghwa can't be trusted with it. His solution? Get absolutely blasted in tattoos to scare off his possible suitors and their families. But why did his tattoo artist have to be so pretty and kind? It's enough to make him question some things. Possibly, everything.

pairing: park seonghwa x hwang hyunjin

warning: mdni, barebacking, oral sex, public sex

total word count: 30,328 | chapter word count: 3,076

ao3 link: chapter 3

III: feelings suck

Seonghwa had to think on his feet when choosing a restaurant and happened to remember a spot he liked in the area that was in the basement of a Japanese fine dining restaurant, owned by the same company but much more relaxed, modeled after the post-war black markets in Tokyo. Dark atmosphere, overpriced cocktails, a large sake selection, and classed up bar food with a Japanese spin. 

Seonghwa had received the best head he'd had to date in one of their bathrooms a few years ago. Not that he would be telling Hyunjin about it. But really, the bathrooms were extremely nice. 

They sidled into a booth tucked into the corner, nearly private by design, and Seonghwa felt his mouth go dry at how stunning Hyunjin was in the low lantern light. 

“Um, order whatever you want, obviously, but unless you have a deadly allergy, we're sharing an order of their fries.” Seonghwa was not accustomed to feeling nervous around anyone or feeling the need to impress - he was Park Seonghwa, after all - and he was sure he could blame some of it on feeling out of sorts after so much of today spent with a needle barraging his skin, but if he was honest with himself, he knew it was because it was Hyunjin in particular he was trying to impress. He felt himself willing the waitstaff over for their drink orders. 

“What if I wanted the fries as my entrée?” Hyunjin asked, challenging him. 

“Then you'll get the fries as your entrée as well as half of the fries I'm ordering for us to share.” Seonghwa answered simply, feeling accomplished as he watched Hyunjin smile and roll his eyes at the answer he was given. 

Hyunjin looked at the menu, “Ooh Japanese sweet potato fries with miso mayo? You weren't joking, they sound so good.” 

“Hyunjin,” he fixed him with a stern look, “I never joke about food.” 

Hyunjin hid his face with the menu to protect himself from Seonghwa's serious expression, “Duly noted!” 

A waitress finally appeared to take their order as soon as Hyunjin returned from the bathroom, (“The bathrooms here are SO nice!” “Aren’t they?!”), and soon enough, they were three shots deep into a nigori sake in a pink bottle that Hyunjin had suggested. 

Seonghwa was quickly learning that Hyunjin had very good taste. 

And that he was an entertaining storyteller. He had Seonghwa in stitches talking about a cover-up job he had had to do of an extremely elementary portrait of Danny Devito someone had gotten on their ass cheek. 

“Honestly, Hwa,” Hyunjin looked at him earnestly, and Seonghwa felt his breath catch at the intimacy around the shortening of his name, “I almost would have rather left the portrait instead of covering it with what he asked for.”

“What did he ask for?” Seonghwa leaned forward, completely immersed. 

“You're never going to believe me.” Hyunjin was eating this up. 

“I already believed you that a man came in with Danny Devito on his ass cheek, come on! Tell me!” Seonghwa all but pouted. 

Hyunjin leaned in like he was telling a secret, “Prince.”

“NO.” Seonghwa was aghast. 

“Do you know how wrong it felt to essentially put Danny Devito in blackface as he became the artist formerly known as Prince?!” Hyunjin had obviously told this story before, but Seonghwa loved the theatrics of it. 

“You're better than me, I would have told him no.” Seonghwa said through laughter. His cheeks hurt. He hadn't had such a good time in, well, longer than he could remember. 

“I was a starving artist, what can I say?” Hyunjin sighed as he shrugged. 

They were briefly interrupted by their fries and food being delivered, and after Hyunjin somewhat reluctantly told him he was right about how good the fries were, (“Seriously, if these fries were a guy, I’d be going down on him in the fancy ass bathroom right now”, Hyunjin had joked. Seonghwa had briefly wondered if the man could read minds), Seonghwa finally mustered up the courage to breach the subject he had brought up earlier once more. 

“Tell me more about that. If you want, of course. But I want to know how you got started.” He propped his chin into one hand, elbow on the table. Eager.

He had pictured it before. In his mind, Hyunjin was a retired model or something along those lines. Too pretty to never have been paid for his looks before. Or maybe Seonghwa was just conceited and projecting. 

Hyunjin sighed and took another sip of his sake before speaking, “It’s not a story I’ve shared with very many people.”

“Oh, well don’t feel pressured to-” Seonghwa began.

Hyunjin cut him off, “No, I think I want you to know.”

Seonghwa didn’t know what to say, so he clasped his hands in front of himself on the table and gave Hyunjin a look he hoped conveyed his undivided attention. 

“My parents were always very supportive of me, like I mentioned, but we lived well below the poverty line. I moved out at 18, college was never an option, but I didn’t want to continue taking any resources from my parents, cost them any extra money. For a while I did okay on my own, had a few part-time jobs and could afford my apartment. But then my landlord raised the rent. I started to sell my art to help make ends meet but eventually…” his eyes looked down at the table, avoiding Seonghwa’s gaze, “I ended up living out of my car. I’m extremely fortunate it wasn’t for very long. I had grown apart from my friends after high school and I was too prideful to ask for help from anyone, but one day, the right person happened to take an interest in my art. George would come by once a week and buy a new painting from me. Eventually, he started putting the pieces of my story together, and before I knew it, I was agreeing to apprentice for him at his tattoo shop. He even let me move into his little apartment above the shop. When I finally got licensed and started making money, I tried to start paying him for rent but he refused. He was such a wonderful, kind man.” Hyunjin’s eyes started to well up as he told his story.

Seonghwa reached his hand across the table, taking Hyunjin’s hand in his own, stroking his knuckles softly with his thumb. 

Hyunjin swallowed and continued, voice a little thick, “He still is, it’s just not the same.”

“What happened?” Seonghwa asked, voice almost a whisper.

“He had a psychotic break. It was so scary… He was paranoid and thought I was out to get him. I had to take him to get him admitted to a psych hospital because he was threatening me. I found out there that it was very late for his first break, usually it happens before you turn 25. But I guess there’s always outliers. Anyways,” his eyes met Seonghwa’s again, and he wanted to reach up to wipe away the tear that was streaking its way down the man’s cheek, but didn’t think it appropriate at that very moment, “He lives in an assisted living facility now. He signed over the shop and the apartment to me as soon as he was lucid again after his first break. I still go see him… not as often as I should. I feel bad about that. But it’s hard. He’s rarely, I don’t know how to say it other than ‘himself’ but I don’t know. It’s been years and at this point, I’ve known this version of him for as long as I knew him before.”

“Hyunjin…” Seonghwa was always terrible at comforting people, “I can’t imagine how hard that must be.”

“It just. Sucks. It’s always the people who least deserve it it seems. Not that anyone really deserves that sort of thing, but you know what I mean. And then the worst people seem to get everything. Things just handed to them. Money. No health problems. Probably live until they’re 100.”

“Like my dad.” Seonghwa laughed wryly.

“Is he as bad as he’s made out to be?” Hyunjin asked and Seonghwa couldn’t help but admire this man who obviously wanted to give everyone the benefit of the doubt.

“Honestly?” Seonghwa sighed, still not quite believing he was willingly opening up with someone, “He’s worse. Despite how hard they may have tried, the tabloids didn’t have access to the inside of my house growing up. No one really knows how he treated me and my mom.” Seonghwa never talked about his family. Always played his upbringing off as some sort of joke to be made for shock value. 

But here Hyunjin was again. 

Cracking his ribs open and exposing the tender muscle encased inside. 

Beating red and real. 

“But I mean, can I really complain?” He tried to steer the conversation back away from himself, “I’ve never gone through anything like not knowing whether or not I’ll have a roof over my head or anything like that, I shouldn’t complain, I’m so-”

“Don’t,” Hyunjin cut him off, “don’t say you’re sorry, Hwa. It doesn’t do any good to compare the acuity of your trauma to someone else’s. Just because it’s different doesn’t mean it’s less, or has affected you less.”

Seonghwa felt so fragile, vulnerable, and what’s worse is that he didn’t hate it. He was terrified, but not because he didn’t feel safe sharing with Hyunjin. In fact, it was the opposite. 

He was terrified because he did feel safe with the gorgeous man across from him. 

He didn’t know what to say so he just gave a small smile and said, “Thank you. For saying that. And for sharing.”

“Any time, Seonghwa.” Hyunjin squeezed his hand. 

Seonghwa ignored the butterflies that awoke inside his stomach at the man’s touch. 

He walked Hyunjin back to his apartment. He didn’t know what was getting into him, suddenly feeling the need to be gentlemanly or something. 

The conversation had turned lighter on their walk home, warm from the sake and the food and each other's company. Seonghwa noted how easy it was to be around Hyunjin. Noted it and then boxed it up and filed it away to examine later. 

Probably. 

There was a persimmon tree stubbornly still growing through the concrete sidewalk in front of the tattoo shop and Hyunjin stopped to examine it, checking to see if any were ripe yet. No luck in that department, but they both spotted something at the same time that felt even luckier, Hyunjin reached out to grab whatever part of Seonghwa was closest (his wrist) in order to grab his attention, “Hwa, look!” he exclaimed, right as Seonghwa spotted it, all but squealing, “Jin, look!”

They looked at each other briefly, smiling at how they were yet again perfectly in sync with one another. 

A giant luna moth was perched on the trunk of the persimmon tree, nearly glowing in the moonlight. 

“I know what your next tattoo is going to be.” Hyunjin whispered, and Seonghwa’s stomach clenched as the other’s hand traveled down from his wrist, finding purchase between his fingers instead, fitting together like they were made for each other.

“It’s perfect.” Seonghwa agrees, knowing that Hyunjin will turn it into a beautiful piece, probably to include the persimmons and the tree itself as well. 

“Oh yeah?” Hyunjin asked, as Seonghwa felt himself lean in closer.

Hyunjin did the same, and Seonghwa answered, “Yeah.” 

And before he could think better of it, his mouth was on Hyunjin’s. The kiss was searing, their lips fit together unimaginably easily. He sucked on Hyunjin’s lower lip, unable to resist, and it pulled a moan from the man’s throat that shot a bolt of lightning up Seonghwa’s spine. He reached up and tangled one hand in Hyunjin’s hair, the other on his waist, pulling him close, and Hyunjin followed suit, seeming to read his mind yet again, turning their heads to better access the insides of one another’s mouths. 

But no. No. He couldn’t do this. As much as it pained him, he pulled away, nearly stumbling back with the force that it took to break such a kiss. 

“I’m sorry, I-” He took a shaky breath, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Hyunjin looked insanely beautiful with his flushed cheeks and spit-slick rosy pout, face confused and a little hurt, “Um. Okay? I mean. I guess I don’t really understand why we can’t…”

Seonghwa sighed, “I don’t really either. But I mean. I’m a client. We should probably keep things professional.”

It was a lie. He really didn’t care about that, and the look on Hyunjin’s face almost had him backpedaling.

“Oh, god, of course. I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about that, I’m… I’m sorry. I guess I just got a little caught up.” He was embarrassed and all Seonghwa wanted to do was hold him until he felt better. Kiss his pain away.

The truth was that he knew he could never be with Hyunjin after he went through all this trouble to keep the money. If you had asked him before tonight, he would have said it was just the reasoning Mingi had fed to him, why he was hesitant to give into his developing infatuation with the man. But now, knowing his backstory, Seonghwa felt he should protect Hyunjin from himself. He deserved someone better. 

Someone brave enough to give up the money for him. 

Someone Seonghwa was too cowardly to be. 

But blaming it all on professionalism was much easier. 

“It’s okay, really. It was my fault, too. I just think it’s probably better if we do it this way. I really like your art and I don’t want to find a different artist and if we explored this and things went badly…”

“No, yeah, of course. I totally get it.” Tears were building in Hyunjin’s eyes again and it took every ounce of restraint Seonghwa had in his being not to pull him close.

“Good.” It wasn’t. “Glad we’re on the same page.” He wasn’t. “I’m sorry again…”

Hyunjin turned towards his apartment door, “I’ll see you at your next appointment, Seonghwa. Be safe getting home.” 

Seonghwa cried the entire way home.

To make everything worse, when he finally checked his phone after arriving safely back home, he had a text from his mom. 

Ma

Meet us at the marina at 11 o’clock. We’re taking the boat out with Sloane Greenburg and her family. Please do some research to make a good impression. Dress nicely.

Calling their yacht a “boat” was laughable and assuming he would dress anything but nicely was even more so. 

He tried to distract himself by researching the family he would be meeting tomorrow but after finding an article with a stuffy picture of Sloane in her graduation cap, Valedictorian at Brown, class of 2021, which turned out to be less about her research and more of an advertisement for the entertainment company her father owned, Seonghwa felt his eyes unfocus from the boredom. 

He was unable to think about anything besides how incredible his night with Hyunjin had been, his fingertips still felt like they were burning from the contact with the man’s skin. He felt like he needed to punch something with how frustrated he was at himself for being who he was as a person and being too afraid to really consider changing. 

Luckily for his pillows, he was never one for violence. 

Instead, he texted Mingi:

Me

I had dinner with my hot tattoo artist

Mingus 

idiot. how was it?

Me

It was so good. 🙁 Turns out he’s a fantastic person.

Now I have an even worse reason to not get involved.

Mingus

damn. did u at least fuck him before figuring this out?

Me

Worse.

Kissed him impulsively.

Stopped it and told him we should be professional.

Mingus

oh shit. 

u actually like him

rip buddy 

Me

Any advice?

Mingus

only the advice u don’t wanna hear, man

Me

Ugh. I know.

Mingus

love u bro. chin up. it’ll pass. 

Seonghwa knew he was right. Unfortunately, for the first time ever, he wasn’t sure he wanted the feeling to pass. 

He was too upset to do anything else, so he took a pre-rolled joint out of his stash in his bedside table drawer and went out on the balcony to smoke it, letting his worries float away in the air with each lungful of smoke he released from his mouth. 

Usually this helped. 

Tonight, it just had his imagination acting up.

He pictured himself and Hyunjin slow dancing in the living room of a small but stylish and comfortable home. A cat weaving its way in between their legs. Home cooked dinner baking in the oven, the smell wafting through the air. The peace this imaginary version of himself felt was all-consuming. 

He shook his head, trying to clear it, but he couldn’t get the thoughts to leave. 

He went inside when the joint was finished, stripped off his clothes, and headed to the bathroom.

Despite desperately craving the comfort of a hot shower, he instead punished himself with a cold one.  The shock of the icy water sobered him up. 

It also reminded him of how his dad had gone about “teaching” him to swim as a kid.  A shove on his back, a curt instruction as he fell to, “sink or swim.” 

Sometimes he wished he wouldn’t have learned. Taught his dad a lesson. But he had to remind himself, he probably wouldn’t have learned.  Knowing his dad, he would have buried Seonghwa and gone home to bury himself inside his wife, trying for a new victim immediately, all in the same day.

Somehow, thinking of himself as the only reason some other poor kid hadn’t been brought into this world to endure what he had - simply by him existing and refusing to die when he had the chance and refusing to not be a thorn in his dad’s side his entire life from then on - made him feel a little better. 

Even just for a moment. 

Mostly he still felt like shit. 

The promise of getting to show off his fresh, still-wrapped tattoo tomorrow, considering they would be on the boat and short sleeves would be appropriate, was the only thing that finally got Seonghwa to sleep that night.

[rightdowntothedirtywork]

LONGLEGS (2024) Dir. Osgood Perkins ‘This is a cruel world, especially for the little things.’

LONGLEGS is a psychological thriller/horror film released earlier this year in 2024. Following in the footsteps of similar 90s FBI procedurals such as CURE (1997), Silence of the Lambs (1992) and SE7EN (1995), it follows a young FBI agent Lee Harker as she attempts to solve a string of familicides in 90s Oregon.

The film received a lot of publicity upon first being announced, being hailed as the ‘scariest film in the last 50 years’, which was only furthered by an incredible marketing campaign audience members could be involved in, such as calling the titular villain and cracking coded files to uncover crime scene photos, seemingly sent to you directly by the villain himself (which I managed to get from when I was involved with this before the movie came out);

The film was created by Osgood Perkins, the son of 60s horror darling, Anthony Perkins, who’s family life with Perkins’ mother informed the overarching 'meaning' behind the film.

Perkins' father died on September 12, 1992, from complications related to AIDS. He had been diagnosed with the disease a few years earlier but kept his illness private for most of his life. His mother, the talented Berry Berenson, also tragically lost her life in the September 11th attacks in 2001. In conversation with Vulture, Perkins reflects on his family life and the ways in which these experiences shaped his creative process in developing LONGLEGS:

““Mothers can craft stories,” he says as we loop along a lake and he looks toward the looming Cathedral Mausoleum, home to the remains of Peter Lorre and Rudolph Valentino. (For all his dry affect and working-director gear, with scruff and a baseball cap, Perkins still gives the occasional gleam of matinee-idol drama.) “They can tell their kids a version of what’s going on in their life or in the lives of their parents. And it’s done compassionately, protectively. And it’s not great.” In Longlegs, Agent Lee Harker (Monroe) gets assigned to investigate a series of murders with supernatural implications that are revealed to have a connection to details she never understood about her own childhood. In the character of Lee’s mother, Ruth (Alicia Witt), who raised her daughter alone and whose religiousness contains an off-key note, Perkins sees something personal about the domestic mythology his own mother wove. “My father was a homosexual man, or at least a bisexual man, who had a life that wasn’t reconcilable with his family life. For us, growing up, we just weren’t given that language. We weren’t given that access. Instead, there was a narrative put on things about what the family was like and how we were together and how my dad was. The challenge of rectifying what I felt I understood and what I was being told is the genesis for the mother that chooses to be complicit in a story.”

LONGLEGS quickly became one of my favorite films from the moment I first watched it. I remember leaving the cinema and immediately adding it to my (previously very stubbornly unchanging) Letterboxd top 4. I found its exploration of the themes surrounding the sheltering from the harsh truths of the world, particularly through the conversations between the secondary antagonist, Ruth Harker, and her sheltered, emotionally immature daughter, Lee, to be highly relatable.

Lee, who was raised in a Catholic environment with her mother working as a nurse, is suggested to have been sheltered as a direct result of this upbringing. Ruth's desire to protect Lee from the harsh realities of life culminates in the films final act, where it's revealed that she is collaborating with LONGLEGS - or Dale Cobble - to murder families after making a pact with the Devil to safeguard Lee from an eternity in Hell. Earnestly telling a panicked Harker that, “If they don't die, then we will burn … and twist, and burn … and twist, in hell. Forever and ever.”

Lee was incredibly relatable to me, but so was her mother, in a way. Having experienced a form of Religious mania as a child, I could easily see myself growing up like Ruth if not for the timely intervention of others around me.

Although it was probably unintentional, the film resonated with me as someone who was raised Catholic. In Catholic schools, particularly in Ireland, the teachings often leaned more towards fearmongering than actual 'this is why you should be comforted by the afterlife!' lessons.

I vividly remember being terrified of burning in Hell for even the smallest mistakes—like not blessing myself when passing a church, failing to say my prayers, mispronouncing Irish during hymns, or living in sin (as a nine year old).

The imagery of genuine horror, unease and brainwashing that comes in this film is very familiar and haunting to me, and I really enjoyed it. Unlike the older women I saw on the way out the moment Cobble mentioned Satan by name, which I guess still isn't capable of a soft landing in Irish cinemas.

[melodythebunny]

maybe someday

Valentine's day.

Roxxi couldn't say she outright hated the holiday- given how it was mainly for companies to exploit and earn more money. 

But rather it was just a sore reminder of just how alone she was. Her, Roxanne Fowler, the biggest reporter in Fair City, alone. Maybe not truly alone. But did it count when she was surrounded by a bunch of fakes?

“Heya, Roxxi rocks.”

Roxanne raised her eyebrow at her approaching coworker. Freddy Fahrenheit, the weather man.

“hello Freddy.” Roxanne greeted.

“Y’know with Valentine's coming up I figured-”

She cuts him off, not even mildly interested. “No thanks, I have plans already.”

That was a lie of course. Knowing she would just spend her day cooped up in her apartment avoiding the world. But Freddy didn't have to know that.

She didn't miss how his face turned into a scowl for a moment. Very brief in fact. Not many would notice. But she learned to read faces long ago. For a moment she wonders if she had misjudged him. That was quickly squashed however in the following days where it had been apparent she had dodged a bullet.

Roxxane didn't hate her job.

But it became bluntly clear she didn't get this job off her intelligence. Part of it was for the money her family funded for the news station. And they just wanted a pretty face for the screens. So it wasn't a surprise for Roxxi when people wanted her around. Knowing why.

Still left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Then there was Amazo Guy.

He was like a breath of fresh air. Too good to be true. He was just so…genuine. The first time Roxxane had to do a cover story, admittedly she was excited. Having been somewhat of a superhero comic book fan growing up, it felt like a dream come true. She winded up asking more questions than what was written down for her to ask.

She stopped seeing how overwhelmed he was becoming. Amazon didn't say anything but she could see him holding a strained smile, one she often used.

Oh…

“Sorry..I got excited..and I know that's not a valid excuse…” Roxxi says earnestly. 

“It's alright. I get that it's your job and I've had way more invasive questions than that.” Amazo said, trying to wave it off.

The news reporter glanced down at her paperwork realizing she hadn't even begun writing down anything. “Nah these weren't even on my task list. you know what…”  She yeeted her clipboard somewhere behind her. “We don't even have to do this interview if you don't want to.”

“Really?” The hero looked at her perplexed but she could also see he seemed a bit relieved.

“Yea, really.” Roxxane said. She found herself meaning it too. More and more often did she start realizing that the ones behind the capes and masks were people too. Constantly having to deal with expectations of others. Often judged and opinions discarded as Long as the others got what they wanted.

Maybe she and Amazo guy weren't so different after all.

Perhaps that's why she began to fall for him. Roxxi hadn't even noticed until she looked at the card she had made. Her face flushed with embarrassment.

Lois Lane to your Superman. She had written.

How cheesy.

a few poetic lines couldn't tell him how much he meant to her. She crumpled the paper and tossed it into a trashcan.

She looked at the photo she had taken with Amazo guy. She really was supposed to unmask him. But honestly didn't care about what her bosses wanted. Couldn't fire her without losing the funding they craved.

She found herself unwrinkling her crumpled card.

Maybe someday…

@blueweirdness

@ninjastormhawkkat

@erraticeris

@lartmacabre

@liloskull343

[cocoscurios]

The Hour, the Spot, the Look, the Words Chapter Commentary

Chapter Nineteen: To Be or Not To Be

Elizabeth had settled quickly into life at Pemberley. The place already seemed so much like home that it was difficult to believe that she had not lived there for years, yet it had only been four weeks since the Darcys had married. She hoped her presence had not been too much of a disruption for her new family; or, at least, not an unpleasant one. I sometimes come across the opinion that Elizabeth would really miss Longbourn and her family life there. To those people, I point to Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, and if they need the Cliff's Notes, the last paragraph of chapter sixty. 

“What did you used to do in the evenings, before I intruded?” Elizabeth asked.

Fitzwilliam was in his study, finishing some letters, and she and Georgiana sat in the drawing room, talking happily as they waited for him. I love this period when it's the three of them. <3

“You have not intruded at all,” said Georgiana earnestly. “I love having you here.”

The Darcys had a deeply-rooted strain of sincerity about them that Elizabeth’s style of humor had only just started to chip away at. Darcy gives it away at Netherfield (obviously, though, his ribald side showed there too). 

“Still, I hope I have not shown up in your house and changed the place entirely. I should like to know all of your Darcy traditions, so that I might fit in. If it were just you and Fitzwilliam, as it was for so long, how would the two of you have amused yourselves?”

“We have not altered very much, Elizabeth. We always had quiet evenings. The only real difference is that Fitzwilliam has not read aloud since I returned to Pemberley.”

This pastime was news to Elizabeth.

“He has never read to me!" she said, a little indignantly. “I will need to have words with him."

“Oh, it is most entertaining!" said Georgiana. "He acts out all of the parts.” Inspired by a former teacher of mine, an otherwise serious and quiet man, who became an Oscar winner when reading to us before lunch.

Elizabeth smiled at this image, and at Georgiana’s enthusiasm.

“Fitzwilliam,” she said accusingly, when he walked in a few minutes later, “I have been informed that you have a great genius for reading aloud, and yet you have never done so for me. Georgiana says that I should scold you.”

Elizabeth winked at her before she could color too deeply.

“I apologize for my negligence,” Fitzwilliam said smilingly.

“I will only forgive you if you read to us now.”

He gave a bow of mock solemnity and picked up a volume of sonnets.

“Oh, no, Fitzwilliam,” said Georgiana, and unless Elizabeth was mistaken, there was a note of mischief in her voice, “we have not yet finished Hamlet.” Georgiana coming out of her shell by mimicking Elizabeth is one of my favorite headcanons. 

“It has been many months since we left off.”

“All the more reason to continue with it now.”

"But Elizabeth was not with us when we started."

“Is it a special favorite?” Elizabeth asked.

“Fitzwilliam does love a soliloquy,” said Georgiana, very innocently, but there was a wide smile spreading across her face, “and he performs Hamlet's particularly well. I do not know why he intends to deny us this evening.” Darcy as Shakespeare Fanboy is headcanon that I dedicated to Rhi way back when. <3

Fitzwilliam had gone a little pink.

“Yes, why do you intend to deny us, Fitzwilliam?” teased Elizabeth. “I should like to see if you are fit for the stage. Georgiana tells me that you play all of the characters.”

He raised an eyebrow at his sister.

“You do!” Georgiana insisted. She turned to Elizabeth. "He will not want to start in the middle. He is finical that way." Calling myself out here. 

“I do not know when you became so insolent,” he said, looking at Georgiana with an odd expression on his face. There was a drop of consternation in it, but was otherwise entirely amusement. 

“It will have been my doing, I am afraid,” said Elizabeth. “My mother always said I was the worst behaved of all her children. I am a bad influence.”  This exchange is one of those instances of me thinking up random lines of dialogue when I should have been sleeping, then getting up and writing them down for future use. I remember being super irritated about it on this occasion.  Fitzwilliam looked both diverted and hesitant.

“I think we had better hear the sonnets,” said Elizabeth, coming to his rescue. “If Hamlet is to be performed, I should like to see it from the beginning.”

“Very well,” agreed Georgiana, in a tone of voice very unlike her own. “The sonnets will do.”

“Perhaps,” said Fitzwilliam, trying to look sternly at his sister but unable to keep his mouth from twitching, "I will send you to live with the earl for a while, where you will hear nothing more interesting than Fordyce’s Sermons.”

Georgiana giggled, perhaps a little nervously. She was beginning to look a bit faint from the effects of her own boldness.

***

“You do read very well,” said Elizabeth slyly, after Georgiana had gone to bed. “I wonder why I did not know this before now.”

“As I recall, we were otherwise engaged most evenings.” Wink, wink.

She grinned at him. “I suppose that is true. I did not realize that your reading was such a regular entertainment. I did not mean for it to cease with my arrival at Pemberley.”

“I am sure it would have been resumed soon enough.” He smiled. “Of course, it has never been accompanied by so much teasing before."

“I am sorry if we embarrassed you.”

“No, it was good to see Georgiana so lighthearted.” He tucked a curl behind her ear. “She was trying to emulate you.”

“In all of my impertinence.”

“There are worse examples to follow.”

He kissed her forehead.

“Well," said Elizabeth, picking up the volume of Hamlet that had remained untouched, "as it is just the two of us, might I be treated to a peep of your Prince of Denmark?"

He looked reluctant. “Your expectations are rather high now. It is a lot of pressure.”

“Fitzwilliam, you are aware that I am quite sickeningly fond of you, are you not?”

He smiled bashfully.

“I am sure that I will find you all that is charming and delightful."

“I thought you might like the sonnets," he said, changing the subject. "I know you are prejudiced against the efficacy of poetry in love, but--” One of my favorite exchanges in P&P. It's so good. “I did like the sonnets. You read them beautifully." She smirked up at him and pressed the volume against his chest. “I want to see this secret talent of yours. Please, Fitzwilliam? For me?” He is powerless against her and we love it.

He took the book from her with a rueful little smile.

“Thank you, dearest.”

Elizabeth settled into a chair and prepared to be entertained.

[hiraeth-witch-11]

Bond To Happen Part 11

Part 11: What if I'm a Mistake?

Warnings: the reader has passive suicidal ideation, lots of big feelings from trauma, mention of SA, canon typical content

Word Count: 3500ish

“You slept in the same bed as Billy Russo and nothing happened?” Karen asks in blatant disbelief, fingers stilling in your hair. You roll your eyes at her from your spot on the couch, head resting in her lap.

“That is what I said, Kare, 3 times now, I think. He’s a good guy, he’s never made me uncomfortable and he respects my boundaries.” Your tone is a little defensive.

“I know, sweetie. Honestly, he’s surprised both me and Frank with how he is around you. I just meant you both obviously have some sort of connection and I thought being that close might be what changes things up a bit.”

You relax at her words. “I was so tired, I passed out pretty quickly. I was just grateful the thunder wasn’t as loud after I fell asleep.”

“And if you both had been more awake?” Her words make you think.

“I don’t know if I’m there yet, Kare,” you say softly. “It’s not like he’s even actually said anything to show he’s interested either. There would have to be so much talking to even start anything romantic or physical and I haven’t told him everything about my magic. It would be too complicated and I don’t even know where I would begin…”

“Do you want me to just listen or do you want my thoughts?”

“Thoughts,” you mumble, focusing on the show the two of you have on in the background.

“I think you’re focusing on the obstacles instead of deciding whether or not you want to try,” Karen says kindly.

“What would I do if I did decide?” You ask earnestly.

“I think you gotta pick first, babe,” she answers with a smile.

“Ughhh, why can’t things just be simple. It would be so much easier if I actually got a real amount of energy from you and the rest of the gang,” you groan.

“Me too, but at least it’s been helping a bit, right?”

You nod, unable to voice the lie. You did feel better around your friends, especially when touching them, but it didn’t last. Even when you had tried opening your connection to their auras and actively feeding from them, the results had been disappointing. The moment they left the room, your fatigue would come crashing back down on you. You still spent as much time with your found family as you could, but it was about as effective as taking ibuprofen for a stab wound. You didn’t want them to worry, though, so you didn’t say anything. You kept yourself from truly putting words to it, but you had pretty much resigned yourself to your eventual death. Anything you tried now felt like it would be useless. A flailing of limbs as you ran out of air. You didn’t want that. You just wanted to be with your friends until you couldn’t anymore.

Billy was a fantasy, a white knight you were starting to daydream about swooping in and fixing all your problems. But you don’t think even he can help you at this stage. You’d probably have to be attached at the hip 24/7 to make a difference in your health. To be honest, you’d lost pieces of your will to live steadily over the last few years. The first when your parents disowned you. Another when a blonde man slipped something into your drink, a choice that led to his death. You think the biggest part of you gave up that night in the rain, surrounded by the bodies of men who saw you as less than an animal.

******

The days following you and Russo’s rainstorm adventure, he made a point to check on you twice daily. Often through a text in the morning and evening, but it quickly evolved into more. Billy stopping by your office to chat or share food became a regular thing. If he came into the office with a coffee, he always had an extra for you. Frank complained about being left out anytime he noticed. Turns out, you were right, Russo had a sweet tooth, so you would frequently find a tart or donut or some obscure miniature dessert on your desk during the week. 

Russo asked about your life, your family. A sore topic, it turns out, for both of you.

“They disowned me when I told them about all this,” You say, waving a hand and allowing a bit of your icy blue magic to be visible around the room.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Russo says earnestly.

“It is what it is. They told me I was as good as dead to them. They weren’t bad parents, though, so it was tough to accept they meant it. Up until they brought out the shotgun to make sure I moved all my shit out of their house. At least they waited until after undergrad to decide they hated ‘my kind’.” You leave out some details. Mainly that they called you a whore because of the details of your magic. At the time you thought you were some sort of succubus related witch. But you’d only ever had sex twice with a friend in college so you don’t think you can really claim either title.

“I grew up in foster care. Frank was the first family I ever had.” Billy admits after a few beats. His aura darkens at the memory, you can tell it’s painful for him, but the change in aura doesn’t feel uncomfortable for you like it should.

“Frank’s good people,” you say finally. “He’s a grumpy bastard, but he’s a real softie on the inside, I think, at least.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Billy laughs. “He’d pout for a week.”

“That is such a strange visual. Frank Castle pouting,” you snort, imagining it. “It’s weird to think that about this time 2 years ago, I didn’t have a single friend in the city and now I’ve got a whole little group. Never had that many people in my life before.”

“Surely you had friends in college?” Billy asks incredulously.

“Never more than two at a time, and most of them didn’t last long.” You shake your head. “It was okay though, I’ve always preferred the quiet.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt it then,” Billy says, jokingly moving to get up.

“No, no. You are a rare exception. Especially as talkative as you are,” you tease.

“Glad to hear you like me, sweetheart,” Billy says, smirking as he settles back into the chair. 

“I didn’t say that.” You feel your cheeks warming and rush to turn the subject back to him. “What about you? I bet you had a bunch of friends through school. You seem like a popular guy.”

Russo shakes his head non committedly. “I was just another pretty face in highschool. Same for the Marines, at the beginning at least.”

You can sense a little bitterness around that word. Pretty. He didn’t like it. His whole aura tenses as he says it. It was something you’d suspected before, but his aura had never confirmed your suspicions until now.

“Well, you started your own company from the ground up and you do a lot of good with it. I would say you have progressed past being just a pretty face.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” 

******

“Hey, Blue. Any plans for the weekend?” Billy asks, leaning against your doorframe.

“I was planning to get drinks with Karen tonight, but she has to work late so I’m deciding whether or not I still want to go.” You rest backwards in your chair and interlace your fingers over your abdomen, twiddling your thumbs as you think.

“Alone?” Billy arches an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah. Unless you want to come?”

“I’d love to.” Billy smiles at your offer.

Looking back, you probably should have just gone alone. With Billy next to you, you don’t really want to feed. Or you want to feed from him too much and have decided it wouldn’t be fair to do that to a friend without them knowing about it. Instead of feeding, you enjoy a strawberry daiquiri and tease Billy over his choice in beer.

“I don’t need to try it to know it’s gross, Bill.”

“So you’re judgin’ me without having anythin’ to back yourself up?”

“Objectively, I know my drink tastes better.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s sweet, can you even call it a real drink, sweetheart?”

“It has twice as much alcohol as yours does, and it actually tastes good. I swear you and Frank drink that shit just because you’re ‘too manly’ for anything else.” You use air quotes around the words and take another sip. “Try it and tell me you still think yours is better.” You offer him your drink. He raises an eyebrow and swaps drinks with you.

“Only if you try mine.”

You make a face, “Fine.”

The two of you drink at the same time and you grimace. “Yup, I stand by my statement. All beer is gross.”

“Yours is better,” Billy nods, taking another sip.

“I told you so.”

He hums and goes in for a third sip.

“Hey, get your own,” you say as you swipe your drink back before he can drink anymore.

“Why would I do that when I can just steal yours?” Billy grins.

“Absolutely not, William. I will fight you for it.” You finish your drink and the two of you talk for another few minutes before you are ready to call it a night.

An obnoxiously loud chorus of laughter comes from a group across the room and you wince at the noise.

“If you don’t like crowds so much, why do you go out for drinks instead of stayin’ in?” Billy asks curiously as the two of you get up to walk home.

You shrug, “I can’t become a hermit, Bill.” And you have to at least try to feed sometimes.

“Well I’m happy to come with you anytime you want company.” He eyes the room with disdain. “Or a buffer.”

He holds the door open for you and the cool night air hits you as you laugh in response to his words, “A buffer from what?”

“You haven’t noticed all the guys starin’ at you that whole time?”

“Like in a ‘thinking of harvesting my organs for the black market’ way or a ‘there’s something on my face’ way?”

“In a ‘jealous that you have company already’ way.” Billy moves to the outer side of the sidewalk.

You give Billy an incredulous look of disbelief. “In that case, it was probably meant for you, not me.”

“Most of them aren’t my type, sweetheart.”

“Most of them aren’t my type either.”

“What is your type then?” Billy asks.

You are my type, your mind supplies unhelpfully. “I’m not even sure if I know anymore. Most often, it’s women.”

“‘Women’ is a pretty broad category.” Billy grins.

“There are a lot of gorgeous women in the world and they all look different, I happen to appreciate different types of beauty.”

“I hear that. And when it comes to men?”

“My type gets more specific with men. Not that I’ve even dated one in years.”

“That specific, huh?”

“Yup. They have to respect boundaries for one, which feels damn near impossible to find sometimes. I can’t date anyone who’s sexist or racist or homophobic or threatened by me.They gotta be able to communicate their feelings effectively. They have to understand my whole weirdness with touch. And that’s not even adding in if I find them physically attractive. What about you?”

“I thought my type was anything on two legs,” Billy jokes.

“Come on, it’s not fair if I’m the only one revealing all my secrets.”

“So your type is a secret.”

“It might be.”

“In that case,” Billy chuckles. “I like fiery women- and men occasionally.”

You try not to let your surprise show at the admission. Sure, he had hinted, but he’d never outright said anything.

“If we’re talkin’ more than just a passin’ thing, I guess I gotta lot of the more specific descriptions too. I’ve just never really gotten around to a real relationship and figurin’ all that out. Frank keeps tellin’ me ‘quality over quantity.’”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never had a real relationship either. The closest I got was pseudo-dating someone for a month in college. It ended when I started flinching anytime they touched me. That was when this whole thing really got started,” you explain gesturing to your temple. “It sucked ‘cause I really liked them.”

“I don’t really like touch all that much either,” Billy starts softly. “There was this guy at the group home. I must have been ten, eleven at the time. When a grown man tells you that you're pretty, you know nothing good is coming. Let's just say, I wasn't interested in the kind of games that he had in mind. So I went after him with the stickball bat. Caught him good a couple times, too. Then he broke my arm. Got pissed off, ripped my rotator cuff in three places.”

You don’t know what to say, don’t know what you can say. 

Billy continues, “And the older I got, the prettier I got, and the more people wanted a piece of me in one way or another. When people want somethin’, they find a reason to grab it. Shit, you probably know what I mean better than most.”

You nod and look up at him as the two of you keep walking. “You didn’t deserve it, any of it, Billy.”

“Neither did you,” Billy insists, surprising you. You’d never told him what happened, never told anyone. Frank was the only one who you had even mentioned it to. You preferred to keep it buried. Maybe you’ve misread and he meant something else, but instinct tells you he knows, he sees you, he understands.

******

“It’s okay, Frank, it’s just a migraine. People get them all the time and still work,” you insist.

“How many days this month have you had a migraine this bad and still came in?” Frank asks, sounding pretty pissed at you. The lights in your office were as low as they could go and you had had an ice pack over your forehead when Frank came in unannounced as he had a bad habit of doing.

“I didn’t keep track. I don’t know why you’re upset, Frank, I’m getting my work done. This hasn’t affected the quality of my readings or reports.”

“Be straight with me, Blue. Are these migraines ‘cause of your magic?” He refuses to let you get out of this conversation with your excuses. The day or so after you’d returned from your trip with Billy, you had felt better than you had in months but that feeling quickly devolved into feeling worse. You’d had a taste of how good it could be and your magic was protesting. Even going out with him the other night was only a brief escape from the pain.

“Yes.”

“Shit, kid, I didn’t know things had gotten this bad. Does Bill know?”

“No and you won’t tell him. There’s nothing to be done and my job keeps me focused. I’ll tell him if it becomes a problem.” You keep your voice firm, trying to match Castle’s classic stubbornness. You didn’t want to bring Billy into all this, you don’t want him to worry.

“If you get any other symptoms. So much as a sniffle, you will tell one of us immediately. Tell me you understand,” he orders.

“I understand, Frank. I will, I promise.” You aren’t sure if it’s the truth.

Frank eyes you, as if he doesn’t quite believe you either. He eventually nods and leaves your office. Once he’s gone, you remove the ice pack from your face and sit up, reaching for your water bottle. Warmth trickles from your nose and you reach up to wipe it away absentmindedly, as if it’s an itch. You look down at your hand and assess the scarlet coating your skin.

“Fuck.”

******

You had a theory that Matt knew something more than he let on about your health. Sometimes he’d ask if you were okay, a deeper meaning in the words. Or he’d make a point to ask if you wanted to talk, if you needed any help. You didn’t realize how much his enhanced senses were picking up until he confronted you one night in the kitchen of his apartment while you helped clean up after game night.

“You aren’t okay, are you?” He states more than asks.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Matthew,” you reply coolly as you dry a dish.

“You’ve been brushing this off for too long, Blue, talk to me.”

“There’s no point, nothing is going to change this.” You gesture to your head, aura flashing.

“Bullshit. Have you even been trying? Have you looked for anything more concrete about your magic or your species?” Matt is struggling to keep from raising his voice in frustration.

“What is the point? I tried, but it didn't work. I gave up. There is no point in fighting anymore.” You aren’t as good at controlling your volume.

“The point,” he’s practically spitting in anger, “is that you have people who love you. You could have a good life. You just have to want it.”

“A life without real sleep? Without being able to sit in only my thoughts? Without any real chance of a life partner? In a country that’s would sooner collar me, or fucking burn me, than help me? What is the point, Matt?” You’re yelling now, tears slipping down your cheeks as you feel that quiet, ever present rage fill you. The rage of a queer person used to hearing slurs in hallways, bars, and family dinners. Of a woman who has been threatened and belittled and hurt by men who think they are owed something they choose to take. Of a witch who lost her family, her home, her dreams of the future, who was forced into becoming a survivor. 

And with this, you begin to face some of the pain you have forced so deep down into your mind. Everything you were, everything you loved, has been taken from you piece by piece. Your family was your only constant growing up, you’d always struggled to make friends. Your parents took that from you in an instant. You thought you would find freedom in your travels, but all you received was hurt and hate from the strangers you encountered. You finally finally settle in a city where you begin to feel safe, and then your rights are slowly stripped away. You hadn’t wanted to be alive in a long time. Even with your friends, your pain still festered within you like an infection you refused to treat. Sometimes you think death would be easier than this. Anything would be easier than this.

“You deserve to live, Blue,” Matt says softly, voice thick with emotion.

“You don’t know that, Matt. You don’t know what I’ve done to stay alive this long,” you shake your head furiously.

“Have you ever purposely hurt someone innocent?”

“No, but I-”

“Then it doesn’t matter. Do you think Frank deserves to die for what he’s done?”

“No, but-”

“Then why would you?”

“What if I’m a mistake?” You voice a fear that has followed you for so long, you can’t remember a life without it. Something that started small, when no one wanted to play with you as a little kid and grew as disaster seemed to follow you everywhere. “What if I’m wrong and that’s why this happened? Maybe this is nature’s way of self correcting.”

“Someone as good as you, could never be wrong, Blue.”

You break down at that. Full, heaving sobs as you lean over the sink, face in your hands.

“Can I?” Matt asks and you nod, feeling his arms wrap around you.You turn and cry into his shoulder, venting emotion that you’ve tried so hard to avoid, and he lets you. Rubs your back gently and murmurs kind words into your hair. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

After a while, your sobs taper off, turning to heavy breathing interrupted with sniffles. You try to apologize for ruining Matt’s shirt, but he won’t let you.

“How long has that been building up?”

“A while,” you admit.

“I know I'm not one to talk about the whole, you know, sharing things and talking about feelings, but you know we’re here for you. Right?”

“I know, Matt.”

“I found some older stories and documents, Karen helped but I told her it was a surprise for you. They look promising, Can I send the info to you? Maybe you can look it over and see if anything clicks?” He explains once you’ve calmed down.

“Okay, I’ll give them a look,” you agree. You aren’t sure if your feelings about dying have changed much, but for Matt, for Karen and the rest of the people you’ve become so close with, for Billy, you can try.

Series List

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[leatherfangs]

Moira Lafontaine.

Liddy has been married twice in her life, though neither was officiated in a church, nor legalized in any documents. Her first wife, Moira Lafontaine, was an artist from France. She and Liddy knew each other for a little over 30 years, and she died of natural causes following years of suffering mental degradation and PTSD. Their life together was a happy one, filled with music and laughter and beautiful women, and Liddy only regrets not proposing to her sooner.

She first met Moira in New York City in 1918. Moira was in her early 40s, fresh off the boat, and determined to enjoy herself after serving as a nurse in the Great War. Moira had talked her way into an assistant's position with the photographer who produced Liddy's pinups, so it wasn't a surprise that their relationship grew heated all too quickly. Despite Liddy's penchant for taking charge, Moira seemed to sweep her off her feet time and again, making decisions, taking her on dates, and introducing her to the joys of rouged knees and jazz clubs. And though Liddy was ready to purchase a ring, it was Moira who proposed first.

The wedding was filled with loud music and laughing friends, and Liddy came clean about her nature seven years in. Moira accepted it all in stride, never ready to stop for anything -- even a vampiric wife. She never asked to be Turned, never asked for anything except to be loved as deeply and earnestly as she loved Liddy. She was a burgeoning artist, in awe of the surrealist movement, and a lover of cinema. The women spent countless evenings together, huddled together in a dark theater, watching the latest film with delight.

But when one's wife is a vampire, and one's doctor only ever works during the day, it's easy to keep secrets. Though she didn't know it by that name, early onset dementia ran in Moira's family, and a head wound in the war had slowly been creeping up on her. The doctors knew about it. Moira knew about it. But Liddy was ignorant until the symptoms became too bad to ignore. She was determined not to leave Moira alone, and stayed with her until Moira's late 60s, when she couldn't seem to remember anything but the war. And no matter how many times Liddy tried to comfort her, dance with her, remind her of the times they had together, nothing lasted more than a few minutes at best.

And then, one day, Moira was simply gone. Liddy fell asleep behind her one morning in their windowless bedroom, and woke up that night. Moira hadn't moved. Her heart would never beat again.

She found a letter some years later after finally going through Moira's things. Moira had written it just a few weeks after she'd first been diagnosed, telling her everything. How much she loved Liddy, apologizing for keeping secrets. And asking Liddy to live life to the fullest, and do justice to her memory.

Though she never recovered from the grief, Liddy did as Moira asked. She lived. She enjoyed the new wonders of technology. She even tried to make those jello foods Moira had been so excited about, even if it would never get eaten. Her memories of Moira are fond, even if the warmth is tinged with sadness to this day.

[catolinewsdailyreadings]

Monday of the Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Readings of Monday, January 29, 2024

Reading 1

2 SM 15:13-14, 30; 16:5-13

An informant came to David with the report, “The children of Israel have transferred their loyalty to Absalom.” At this, David said to all his servants who were with him in Jerusalem: “Up! Let us take flight, or none of us will escape from Absalom. Leave quickly, lest he hurry and overtake us, then visit disaster upon us and put the city to the sword.”

As David went up the Mount of Olives, he wept without ceasing. His head was covered, and he was walking barefoot. All those who were with him also had their heads covered and were weeping as they went.

As David was approaching Bahurim, a man named Shimei, the son of Gera of the same clan as Saul’s family, was coming out of the place, cursing as he came. He threw stones at David and at all the king’s officers, even though all the soldiers, including the royal guard, were on David’s right and on his left. Shimei was saying as he cursed: “Away, away, you murderous and wicked man! The LORD has requited you for all the bloodshed in the family of Saul, in whose stead you became king, and the LORD has given over the kingdom to your son Absalom. And now you suffer ruin because you are a murderer.” Abishai, son of Zeruiah, said to the king: “Why should this dead dog curse my lord the king? Let me go over, please, and lop off his head.” But the king replied: “What business is it of mine or of yours, sons of Zeruiah, that he curses? Suppose the LORD has told him to curse David; who then will dare to say, ‘Why are you doing this?’” Then the king said to Abishai and to all his servants: “If my own son, who came forth from my loins, is seeking my life, how much more might this Benjaminite do so? Let him alone and let him curse, for the LORD has told him to. Perhaps the LORD will look upon my affliction and make it up to me with benefits for the curses he is uttering this day.” David and his men continued on the road, while Shimei kept abreast of them on the hillside, all the while cursing and throwing stones and dirt as he went.

Responsorial Psalm

PS 3:2-3, 4-5, 6-7

R./ Lord, rise up and save me.

O LORD, how many are my adversaries! Many rise up against me! Many are saying of me, “There is no salvation for him in God.” R./ Lord, rise up and save me.

But you, O LORD, are my shield; my glory, you lift up my head! When I call out to the LORD, he answers me from his holy mountain. R./ Lord, rise up and save me.

When I lie down in sleep, I wake again, for the LORD sustains me. I fear not the myriads of people arrayed against me on every side. R./ Lord, rise up and save me.

Gospel

MK 5:1-20

Jesus and his disciples came to the other side of the sea, to the territory of the Gerasenes. When he got out of the boat, at once a man from the tombs who had an unclean spirit met him. The man had been dwelling among the tombs, and no one could restrain him any longer, even with a chain. In fact, he had frequently been bound with shackles and chains, but the chains had been pulled apart by him and the shackles smashed, and no one was strong enough to subdue him. Night and day among the tombs and on the hillsides he was always crying out and bruising himself with stones. Catching sight of Jesus from a distance, he ran up and prostrated himself before him, crying out in a loud voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I adjure you by God, do not torment me!” (He had been saying to him, “Unclean spirit, come out of the man!”) He asked him, “What is your name?” He replied, “Legion is my name. There are many of us.” And he pleaded earnestly with him not to drive them away from that territory.

Now a large herd of swine was feeding there on the hillside. And they pleaded with him, “Send us into the swine. Let us enter them.” And he let them, and the unclean spirits came out and entered the swine. The herd of about two thousand rushed down a steep bank into the sea, where they were drowned. The swineherds ran away and reported the incident in the town and throughout the countryside. And people came out to see what had happened. As they approached Jesus, they caught sight of the man who had been possessed by Legion, sitting there clothed and in his right mind. And they were seized with fear. Those who witnessed the incident explained to them what had happened to the possessed man and to the swine. Then they began to beg him to leave their district. As he was getting into the boat, the man who had been possessed pleaded to remain with him. But Jesus would not permit him but told him instead, “Go home to your family and announce to them all that the Lord in his pity has done for you.” Then the man went off and began to proclaim in the Decapolis what Jesus had done for him; and all were amazed.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

daisy, chapter ten

A/N: I can not believe this is the last chapter! it's done! thank you for reading it, if you've been here since the start or if you just started reading it two seconds ago, thank you ♡

summary: “I don’t want the summer to end…”

warnings: private school!reader, perv!steve, kissing, this is technically scoops ahoy era steve, swimming, crying

word count: 1051

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previous chapter - series masterlist

In what felt like the blink of an eye, high school became a thing of the past. With the warmer months rolling by, not a day passed where you and Steve weren’t practically glued to each other. 

Even as he busied himself with what he considered to be a slightly embarrassing summer job at the mall, that still didn’t stop him from hiding you in the ice cream shop’s break room, poking his head in way too often simply to steal a kiss. 

Though on his days off, Steve always insisted on doing something quote-unquote special. Relaxed out by his family's pool as you read a trashy novel out loud for the both of you to enjoy, went out into the forest and had a cute little picnic, you even went on a road trip together one weekend, just the two of you. Packed up his little red car and zoomed out into the world. Stayed up way too late, sprawled out on top of the hood of his car and holding each other tight as you gazed up at the night sky. You’d stay there for so long that you’d eventually fall asleep, although Steve must have picked you up and carried you to shelter, because you always woke up in the back of his car, still secure in his embrace. 

But on this day, since the summer days were unfortunately running out, Steve took you out to lover’s lake. It was the perfect weather for a dip in the water and somehow, you’d gotten super lucky and didn’t see another eye out there all day. 

Running out into the water for what must have been the third time today, you glanced back at your best friend as he took his sweet time. Sending a splash of water in his direction, you giggled as it hit your target perfectly. 

Catching your eye with a small gasp of a laugh, his feet quickly found hast as he rushed towards you, “oh, I’m gonna get you for that!” managing to catch your waist before you could swim away. You yelped as he lifted you up and fireman carried you further out, the water quickly coming up to meet his ribs.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!” you giggled as he playfully tossed you into the blue depths. Rapidly getting back up, you briefly wiped the water out of your eyes and pushed your drenched hair back before launching another big wave towards him. The both of you laughing and splashing each other abruptly ceased as his long arms wrapped around you, simultaneously holding your arms down and stopping your attack, but also drawing you in closer to his sodden fuzzy chest. 

Looking up into his eyes, your laughter dimmed into a sincere smile, “thank you, Steve,” you uttered earnestly, the warm skin-against-skin contact your bathing suits allowed effectively shifted the mood, making you forget the game entirely. 

“For what?” his brows furrowed lightly through his grin, fingers tangling themselves in the strings of your red bikini. 

“These past few months,” you breathed, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed, “they’ve been perfect.” 

“You’re perfect,” he replied sweetly, though the affectionate answer only caused your smile to fall from your lips. 

“I-…” you averted your gaze, hands coming up for a bit of support against his chest, “I don’t want the summer to end…” you admitted, quickly crumbling into his sun-kissed skin, hiding your face from him, “I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna leave you.” 

Oh, how quickly the joy faded and made way for the tears you didn’t even realise had been building up and was now more than ready to tumble out. 

“No, no, no,” he swiftly cradled your face, tilting it back so you could meet his eyes, “you are gonna go,” he told you determinately through his quivering lip, “you have worked your ass off for this, so you are gonna go off and become a doctor.”

You knew, of course you knew it was stupid to even consider throwing your dream away for a boy, but you still couldn’t deny the truth, “I don’t wanna leave you.”

“I’ll be okay,” you felt his fingertips wipe your tears away, “I have a car,” that fact didn’t comfort you much being aware of the colossal distance it would have to drive in order to reach you, “and you know,” he bit the corner of his bottom lip, choosing his next words very carefully, “with you gone, there isn’t really anything tying me to Hawkins anymore… I’m not going to college, at least not now. I just need a job, a different job,” he added with a small wince, recalling the current uniform he had to wear, “and I could really do that anywhere…. I mean, if you’d like me to…”

Completely and utterly stunned, not truly believing his words, you blinked up at him, “are you-… do you-….”

“Only if you want me to,” he searched your glossy eyes, bending his knees in the water a bit to be more at your level. 

“Oh my god…” you uttered as you noticed the sincerity in his expression, “Steve, I can’t ask you to just do that,” you shook your head, your heart desperately wanting you to say yes, “move that far away?”

“You’re not,” he said quickly, “I’m the one asking,” tears blurred your vision once more, though this time they were accompanied by the smallest of smiles, “so, ace,” he took a deep breath and asked you, “do you want a roommate over there? I hear Boston gets really cold in the winter. Who knows, I might just come in handy.”

As quickly as your growing grin crinkled up your wet cheeks, that’s how rapidly you leaned in and kissed his lips. Practically climbing him like a tree, he eventually scooped you up, digging his fingers into your thighs and drawing you as close as he possibly could. 

“Don’t you dare ever break my heart, Steve,” you pulled back, a shaky breath escaping your lungs, “I don’t wanna lose my best friend.” 

Letting out a small, relieved exhale, he tilted his head and asked with a grin, “so, is that a yes?”

“Yeah,” you sniffled, just managing the quickest of nods before you felt his lips attack yours once more. 

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[mishkakagehishka]

Hiii <3 I was wondering if you could write something for Hiiro Amagi? If so then could you write one wherein ALKALOID hosts a physical meet and greet in a mall and he sort of falls in love at first sight with the gender neutral reader who just so happens to be passing by.

Ohh, and i also love the one you wrote with Leo :D Have a nice day!

Thankies! ^^ I enjoyed writing this a lot, love at first sight. It gave me a bit soulmate AU feels~

Word count: 1290 Summary: Hiiro ditches his job halfway through in order to talk to that mysterious person - he was simply drawn to them, he couldn't help it! Notes: I have no idea what a physical meet and greet entails, so it's a handshake event. I also have no idea what a handshake event entails. I'm just stringing words together <3 Also first time writing Hiiro!!

"Thank you for supporting us!" "You were at our live, too, right? I remember you!" "P-please, continue to watch over us…" Hiiro observed his unitmates shaking the hands of the fans who came to see them, offering words of comfort and appreciation. That day's handshake event took place at the local mall, one he was already familiar with as they also did most their shopping there themselves. It's already been some time since they managed to avoid being fired, since ALKALOID became an established unit, since Hiiro arrived in the city, but he still found himself lost, so to say, in certain situations. Although ALKALOID had hosted handshake events before, he still felt like he didn't quite get the gist of it, and so appreciated the fact that he had a chance to once more confirm how he was expected to act. He was grateful for his unitmates, in that sense, asides from serving as an example to him, they were also always quick to help him. In a way, he felt like he was the leader of their unit, but they held him firmly in that position, helping him, showing him the way when he couldn't see it. If he was the head of ALKALOID, they were the neck that supported him. His thoughts were cut short when another fan approached him, hands outstretched. He took them in his own, gave a firm squeeze, and with the friendliest smile he naturally held, he said, "We'll continue showing you the best performances!" And he meant it. He always did.

As much as they all loved interacting with their fans, giving them back for their support (and Aira especially seemed to almost cry every time a fan with an ita-bag dedicated to him came along; it would just be the two of them clutching each other’s hands and sobbing thank-yous), it was undeniable that handshake events were the ones that got repetitive quite quickly, and it's common for the idols' thoughts to start wandering after a while. For their eyes to start darting from place to place, everywhere except to their work.

Hiiro, who often found his attention span lacking, was in just such a situation. His eyes escaping, though he made sure to earnestly thank the fans and shake their hands strongly, he couldn't help his thoughts drifting away. Despite the fact that he was getting used to life in the city, he still found it fascinating to observe the diverse array of people and types who occupied the streets, the life of the city. He was doing just that in that moment; when he wasn't looking a fan in the eyes and thanking them for their support, he was looking at the people who walked around the mall, carrying bags, entering and exiting the individual stores. Couples, families, people who came with friends, people who came alone. In one of those moments, he noticed a certain person. He couldn't tell you what exactly made him notice them specifically, he simply… found himself drawn in by the air they gave off, despite walking quite a distance away from the area of the mall where ALKALOID were holding the handshake event. There was just something about them that drew him in – that hypnotised him.

He didn't hear Tatsumi's concerned questions, nor Aira's exasperated scolding as he sprinted out of the area, vaulting over the waist-high fence that separated it from the mall proper. His athletic disposition came to show in that performance, as he managed to cross the distance in mere seconds. In mere seconds - he was face to face with them.

"Excuse me!" He called out, skidding to a halt, barely out of breath. They jumped ever so slightly, a natural reaction to seeing such an energetic man running so quickly in their direction. "Um, hi?" And he… found himself at a loss for words. Although he made his move boldly, it was still made on impulse, and now he hadn't a clue on what to actually say to them. All he could think is that he had to say something charming, something witty, something that would impress them, but also endear him. Instead, he only stared at them for a few seconds, silent as a bug. "... Do you need something?" They shifted from one leg to another. "Uh," he snapped out of it, "My name is Amagi Hiiro, and… I saw you, I mean, I couldn't help but notice you!" "Yes?" "And, well, I was, uh," he was tripping over his words again, finding it harder to explain himself. Ultimately, he decided it would be best to be direct, "There was just something about you that made me want to come and talk to you!" "Well, here we are, talking." Though the interaction was edging on the side of awkward, they couldn't see in Hiiro any malicious intent. His smile and eyes seemed honest, and his body language was open, friendly. There was nothing about his carriage that would hint at any dangerous thoughts or plans brewing in his mind, rather, he came across as trustworthy. Furthermore, they couldn't deny that there was, similarly, something about Hiiro that made them want to get to know him better, too. "Fumu! But, I'd like to-"

"Hey, Hiro-kun!" Aira angrily stomped over, huffing and puffing (and slightly short of breath). "What's the big idea, huh?! We're in the middle of a job!" "Oh, my bad!" "Don't 'my bad' me! What was so important that-" He interrupted himself as he met eyes with the person, noticing the way they were holding the hem of their jacket, almost shyly. They waved to him with the other hand, a small wave. "I was just trying to get the chance to get to know them better! I saw them, and thought I just had to talk to them. I’m sure you understand, friend." But, unlike the charmingly oblivious Hiiro, Aira's read enough fanfiction to know what was going on. "Is it love at first sight…? Rabu~i!" He squealed, pushing lightly at Hiiro's back, pushing him closer to them. "Wait, no! Ugh, just exchange numbers and meet up for coffee or something later! We still have work to do!" "Fumu! … How do I exchange numbers?" The person’s eyes lit up. "I'll show you," they immediately volunteered, beyond happy that Aira gave the suggestion to him.

And while Aira quietly left to leave them to it (though sticking by some ways further just to make sure Hiiro actually comes back without dilly-dallying), they took Hiiro's phone, inputting their own phone number in it with ease. "And this is my name," they pointed at the newly made contact. "Call me when you're free," they said with a warm smile. "I will! Thank you!" "Of course, it's no problem. If you finish with your work soon, we can meet up for coffee today, too. There's this really good café that opened here a few days ago, and I've been dying for a chance to check it out." "That sounds great! I would love to-" "Hiro-kun!" The look and laughter they shared in that moment felt natural with them, Hiiro noted.

He thought about Aira's exclamation - love at first sight. And he noticed how much he wanted to keep his eyes on them as he walked away. And he noticed how nervous and impatient he was, wanting to see them again, as he was working. And he wondered. Love at first sight. As he felt himself cheer up the moment he saw them, as they got lost in conversation about everything and nothing on that sweetly innocent first date, as he went home thinking how much he already misses them… He thought that Aira might just have been right.

[cjsinkythoughts]

Right From Left

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 3085

Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, Zemo being a punk, Bucky getting a little scary, some feelings, Sam being his fantastic, amazing, caring for everyone self

A/N: Here it is! At long last! I’ve been waiting for this episode and it was…holy fuck. I barely have words. And I can’t start or else I’ll be ranting for pages. Anyways, I know this Part is a little on the shorter side - not by much, but it still is - and it doesn’t even cover half the episode, but I’ve had a long day and I’m tired, so I’m going to sleep. I wanted to stop before Walker entered the picture too, because then I’m just gonna get more riled up and I’m working later. I’ll probably have another part out today, and then I’ll finish it tomorrow. Unless I can finish it today. I’ll try, but no promises.

Feel free to rant to me about the episode or the show, too, guys! My friends and I have been going back and forth about it for the past few hours. I’d love to hear your thoughts! I think that’s all for now.

As always, this isn’t beta’d so please excuse any mistakes! Thank you for reading, be kind to yourself and others, enjoy this part and stay tuned!

FATWS Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

!SPOILERS BELOW CUT!

You were avoiding him.

When you first got to Latvia, he had pulled you aside, eyes wide and pleading. “Doll, listen-”

“I really don’t think right now is the time to have the discussion we’re about to have.” Shaking your head, you avoided his gaze, your stomach twisting into knots. It was too much for you to handle; you couldn’t focus on the mission at hand and try to unravel the emotions that were making your gut flip like a gymnast. There were too many thoughts in your head, and you needed a clear mind.

“But-”

“Once this is all done, and our lives aren’t in danger. Once we’re back home, then we can talk, okay? Just…please. Not here. Not now.”

And he dropped it. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk about it. You just couldn’t. You had always been a ‘leave your baggage at the door’ type of person. Don’t mix work with personal. Not like you had much “personal” anyways when you first decided that was how it should be. And then your coworkers became family and your motto got a lot harder to follow. But you still followed it. And you would continue to follow it.

But that made you start avoiding him. Whether you meant to or not, everyone noticed, but no one said anything. Sam shot you a look when you didn’t offer to go with Bucky when he had to check something out. Zemo raised an eyebrow when he came back and, instead of immediately questioning him, you sat still on the couch, eyes glancing up briefly, before going back to playing with the strings of your hoodie.

You were paying attention to their conversation, especially when Karli Morgenthau was brought up, you just didn’t join in. Not even when Zemo mentioned the Avengers, eyeing you to see your reaction.

Honestly, you were tired, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Your shoulder hurt, your brain couldn’t process what the guys were talking about, and your heart couldn’t take any more hits.

It was something you’d been thinking about…you just thought it’d come after this mission.

“She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her…or she kills you.”

“Maybe you’re wrong Zemo. The Serum never corrupted Steve.”

For the first time since he first walked in, your eyes met Bucky’s. “Touche.” Zemo pointed at Bucky with a pastry around his finger. “But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?”

But you couldn’t wait until after this mission. Not when he was so connected to it. “I think I’m gonna go home.” You blurted out before Zemo and Bucky could argue further, Bucky slumping down onto the opposite side of the couch.

The moment the words left your lips, Sam and Bucky shot up, staring at you in disbelief.

“Wait, hold up. What? Now? We’re so close-”

“Why? Is it your arm? Is it hurting? You should’ve told us-”

“I’m just tired.” You cut in, shaking your head. “That’s all. I didn’t expect this to be drawn out this long when you called, Sammy.”

Bucky’s hand twitched as he hesitatingly scooted closer to you. “Doll, if this is because what happened on the jet-”

“It’s not, Buck.” You tried to give him a convincing smile, but you knew by the look in his eyes that he didn’t buy it for one second. You reached over to squeeze his hand, and when you pulled back, he held on tighter, a sigh escaping his lips as he stared down at your linked hands.

“Okay…if you wanna go home, we can get you home. Just…” His head turned back to you, a pleading pout on his features. “Just…stay. Another day. Please. You can keep avoiding me, I won’t even say another word to you if you don’t want. But stay. Just for one more day.”

Chewing on your cheek, you finally nodded slightly. “Okay. One more day.”

His eyes lit up, before his face fell again when you took your hand back and curled into the corner of the couch. “Let’s talk shop, boys.”

“Okay. So, from my understanding, Donya is like a pillar of the community, right?” Sam easily changed the topic back to the situation at hand, giving you a reassuring wink when you smiled at him gratefully. “So when I was a kid, my Tee Tee passed away.”

Bucky screwed his face up in confusion, straightening his head from where he had it leaned back. “Your - your Tee Tee?”

Sam gave him a look. “Yeah. My-my Tee Tee, yeah.”

Bucky looked at him weirdly. “Who is your Tee Tee?”

The exchange made you giggle a little bit, shaking your head. “Bucky’s a city boy from the 40’s, remember, Sammy?”

“Fine.” Sam rolled his eyes. “When I was a kid my aunt passed away.”

Bucky gave a slight huff, making you chuckle again. You stopped when he smiled over at you, but your grin didn’t leave your face. Even when they were the ones to give you a headache, your fellas were damn entertaining, that’s for sure.

With a sort-of plan in place - the gathering for Donya being no more than a theory, but the only idea you really had - you stretched out from your spot on the couch, twisting to crack your back. “Zemo.” The man stopped his rummaging through the cabinets and looked over his shoulder at you, an eyebrow raised. “Go put some clothes on. We’ve got work to do.”

He gave you an unimpressed look, opening his mouth, but Sam beat him to the punch. “Do as the lady says, man. You’re already walking on a tightrope after you shot Nagel!” Zemo waved dismissively at Sam’s exclamation, heading into a separate room to change out of his robe. “That guy is gonna drive me up the wall.”

“Don’t let him get to that pretty head of yours, Sammy.” You hummed, standing up, wincing slightly as you stretched your sore shoulder over your head.

You could tell Bucky wanted to say something, the way he snapped forwards, hands moving down his thigh like he was leaning over to reach for you, his eyes locked on your injured joint, but, just as he said earlier, he didn’t say a word. But the part that made you upset was…you didn’t stop him. You didn’t tell him it was okay for him to talk to you. You didn’t reassure him that you weren’t purposely trying to avoid him. You simply moved over to the kitchen to get something to drink.

It hurt worse than your shoulder, but you couldn’t handle it. Not then. Not with such an important part of the mission coming up. So you didn’t say anything. You just sipped your water, switching into tactic mode as your mind ran through the scenarios of what could possibly go down in the next 24 hours before you went home.

*************************

Walking under the arch, you couldn’t help but feel saddened as Zemo told you about what the courtyard used to look like. Thanos messed the world up so much more than you realized and, as much as you hated to admit it, the Avengers did have a part in it. Not that they - you - were in the wrong, necessarily. You truly believed you did what anyone in that situation, with the skills and abilities and knowledge the team had, would do what you did. Or tried to do.

“I’m gonna take a look around upstairs.” Sam stated, looking up at the upper stories of the building, before glancing at Bucky. “See what you can find out here. And keep an eye on him.”

“I’ll come with you.” You said, turning on your heel to follow Sam. The back of Bucky’s gloved hand brushed against yours, and instinctually you turned your palm to link your fingers and squeezing. You let go quickly once you realized what you were doing, nearly tripping up the stairs to get to Sam, not daring to wait for Bucky’s reaction.

“You’re an idiot.” He stated simply as soon as you met him at the top of the stairs.

“Can we focus on finding Donya right now, please?” You grumbled, moving forwards cautiously, peeking around the corner. You frowned when you saw two guys at the end of the hallway, looking back at you and Sam warily.

“You need to hear what he has to say, cher.”

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “I know I do. I know. But I can’t. Not right now. I’m just trying to get this over with first. I don’t want too many things on my plate. I might choke.” It already felt like you were drowning most nights.

He paused at your words, giving you a once over, before nodding. “Okay. I can respect that.”

“Thank you.” You told him earnestly. “Now let’s try to get something from these people.”

He nodded in agreement and you two continued forwards with your search. Room after room, people walked out before you could get anything from them, locking doors behind them. The Flag Smashers logo was everywhere, but you expected nothing less from a refugee camp that practically worshipped what they were doing.

Even when you did get a guy to talk to you, he immediately shut you down, leaving you and Sam dejected. The fact that the world had gotten so bad that these people couldn’t trust you and Sam - Avengers; people who used to be heroes and bring hope to others - it made your heart sink.

“C’mon, Y/N.”

“Are we wrong?”

He froze at your question, his lips pressing together. “About what, exactly?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I just…I guess I can’t tell right from left anymore. I always assumed that the Avengers were the good guys. That the actions we’ve taken in the past were us making the world a better place, but…Sokovia and Ultron. Germany and the whole civil war thing we had going on. The entire world and Thanos. We don’t truly ever win. Do we?”

“I can’t answer that for you.” Sam shook his head. “I can’t tell you what to believe or who to believe in. But I can tell you that we’ve made a difference. Steve, Nat, Tony…they made a difference.”

“But was it a good difference? Was it a change? There’s a difference between changing the world and just making it different, Sam.”

He blinked at you, nodding slowly. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. And I don’t have that answer for you either. But they tried. They did what they thought was right. No matter if it was or not. And isn’t that all we can do? Try?”

His words made you think back to the conversation you had with Bucky once he learned about John Walker, which seemed so long ago. When you told him it wasn’t Sam’s fault. That he was just trying. That he did what he thought was right. 

And maybe he was wrong. But he made a decision. It was his decision. To do the right thing. And right then, not for the first time, you could see exactly what Steve saw in the man in front of you.

“You’re a good man, Sam.”

Sam grinned, slinging an arm around your shoulders and squeezing. “And you’re an incredible person, Y/N. Let’s go see if Bucky and the Baron got anything.”

You snickered at his mocking tone towards Zemo and nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

*****************************

You didn’t like it. You didn’t like it one bit. So far, Zemo kept proving you wrong. Even when it seemed like he was about to jump ship, he came back. No matter how many opportunities he had to escape, he never did. And it was making you even more suspicious.

You stayed out of Bucky and Sam’s conversation, although you had to agree with Sam’s point, especially with the conversation you just had.

Your thoughts were running a thousand miles a minute, only to be interrupted by Zemo information about the funeral this afternoon. Guess a snake will always be a snake.

“And you, uh, didn’t think this was important information?” You questioned, eyes narrowed and brow pinched.

He shrugged. “You have it now, don’t you, princess?”

Bucky growled at the nickname, leaning back on the couch, threatening Zemo with the Dora Milaje.

You can’t remember a time you’ve ever been scared of Bucky. Maybe a little threatened and intimidated by the Winter Soldier, but never scared of Bucky. And when he stood up after Zemo mentioned leverage, you didn’t expect anything from it; maybe another choke hold or something. So the glass hitting the wall, the clench in his jaw as he spoke gruffly to the Baron, for a mere second, he kind of frightened you. Maybe it was all the emotions you’d been through the past few weeks or maybe it was the adrenaline that seemed to be pulsing through your veins 24/7 nowadays. Whatever it was, it made you flinch, bolting up as Sam did.

You left the room quickly, hearing Sam say something about making a call, hoping to calm your racing heart.

“Doll?” You sat up from the bed you were laying on, legs hanging off the edge. Bucky stood in the doorway, nervously shifting his feet. “I know I said I’d leave you alone, but…”

You gave the bed a pat next to you and he gladly accepted the invitation, padding over to sit besides you. “I don’t want you to leave me alone, Buck. You’re my best friend. I-I just need to take it one thing at a time right now.”

He nodded. “I get it. I wasn’t…I wasn’t coming in to talk to you about that. You said we’ll talk about it later, so we’ll talk about it later.”

“I appreciate that, Bucky.” You smiled at him, before frowning. “What did you wanna talk about then? Are you okay?”

“Did I…did I scare you?”

You blinked at his question, tilting your head. “What?”

Jerking his head to the doorway he explained, “just then. With Zemo. Your heart spiked.”

“No.” You answered immediately. You would never ever admit that he kind of did scare you. It was just for a second and you knew how his brain worked; he’d beat himself up over it, go over his actions for hours instead of getting the rest he so desperately needs and deserves. He didn’t need that on his conscience right now. “I wasn’t - I just…you startled me. I wasn’t expecting that reaction-”

“I didn’t like the way he talked to you.” He spat out, glaring at his hands in his lap. “And then the smug bastard thought he was gonna get away with holding back information like that and I just…I dunno.”

His hand came off his thigh, but he hesitated. Before he could put it down again, you slipped your hand under his, linking your fingers, running your thumb in circles against his palm. “Don’t let him get to you, Buck. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

A sigh left his lips and he nodded. “I know, I know. It’s just…hard. After everything he put me through - put us through - I…I just hate that he’s really our only option.”

You frowned, shifting on the bed to face him, one leg bending beneath you while the other still hung over. “Why are you so obsessed with catching these guys?”

“I wanna do something right.” He murmured, playing with your fingers. “I’ve done so much wrong…I just wanna do something right. And I feel...responsible for it, I guess. In a way. It’s Super Soldier Serum. I thought I was the only one after Steve…” He froze at the blonde’s mention, giving you a side-eyed glance. You nudged him, silently telling him to continue, that it was okay to talk about him. “And Sam’s right, you know. She’s just a kid. So…I dunno. I wanna help. I wanna do something right. And catching them would help. It’s right. Right?”

You nodded firmly. “I understand where they’re coming from. Karli’s just trying to help the world. But she’s doing it wrong. And that I know for absolute certainty. Which is good, I guess. I was talking to Sam early and I mentioned not knowing my right from my left recently. It’s good I know something, huh? And for you it should be easy telling your right from your left.” You joked, tracing the gold lines on his metal arm. “I guess you’re just gonna have to stay besides me to help me remember.”

Looking up, you found Bucky staring at you with something you recognized in his eyes, but didn’t want to name. “Three hours, forty two minutes and thirty one seconds.”

“What?”

“That’s how long I didn’t talk to you. It was too long.”

You sighed, ducking your head. “Bucky, I’m sorry-”

“I’m sorry. For anything and everything I’ve ever done wrong. I won’t mention the plane or anything we’ve talked about until you bring it up first. I promise. Just…just don’t ignore me anymore? I'm not sure I can handle it for much longer.”

You nodded, watching your fingertips dance along his scruffy jaw. “I won’t.” He caught your wrist, opening his mouth, before shaking his head and closing it. “What?”

He shook his head again. “Not until you bring it up.”

“We will talk, James. I promise.”

“You don’t have to explain. I get it. I really do. It’s okay. As long as we’re okay for right now, I can hold it in a bit longer.”

You nearly asked him what he was holding in, but you quickly shoved the question out of your mind, knowing it would take you down a conversation you couldn’t possibly have right then. “How long do you think we have?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Zemo just said that it’s this afternoon. Why?”

“I started reading The Great Gatsby on the plane. I’ve got it on my phone. It kinda reminds me of you. Do you-do you think we have time to read some? Only if you want, I mean. Like we used to do in Wakanda?”

He grinned and nodded, scooting up on the bed and flopping down into the pillows. You smiled back, following his lead. Once you were comfortable, your phone out with the chapter you were on, Bucky scooted closer, laying his head on your stomach, hugging your waist. 

“Is this okay?”

Your fingers found home in his hair and you nodded when he looked up at you for an answer. “Yeah. It’s perfect, Buckaroo.”