#depending. like I’m a bit behind on her stuff but what i recall she doesn’t really have a civilian identity

[tanglepelt]

Dc x dp idea 18

Ghost are the embodiment of what they represent. An example skulker is the embodiment of hunting. Without skulker no one could hunt. It just doesn’t exist anymore.

In this a dc villain captures amorpho in order to find out hero’s identities. The villain has to figure out how to utilize amorpho. He’s only managed to trap him using tech from the fentons.

Danny cannot find him amorpho in time. The villain manages to take away disguise from everyone but himself. For Danny it’s not as big of a problem as it is for every other hero.

Danny has two whole separate identities not so much a disguise. (He transforms not just throws on a mask. Same would apply to captain marvel)

This leads to a pre teen and a teenager both pretending to be mature trying to find amorpho. They both have no idea what there doing.

After a bunch of nonsense they free amorpho. Disguises now exist again.

[tutuandscoot]

Favourite photo series

(I forgot which part I’m up to)

Bit of a story behind this one..

So I only just found this pic the other day, opened Pinterest and it was the first one to pop up and I gasped! It’s gorgeous!!! The sharpness, the symmetry, them in character.. it’s just beautiful.

Also as soon as I saw it, I recalled a moment from a fan meeting where VM are looking at this picture.

Here in this video from a fan meeting with Russian fans in Paris during TEB (Grand Prix France) 2013, they start with showering VM with gifts, followed by presenting them with the banners they had made from the previous season where they competed in Russia twice.

One of the banners is a red, black & white one (which sweet scootie notes that it’s kinda like a Canadian flag 🥰), and on the banner, is printed this above picture, as they are presented it and they pull it out, they each say:

Its quite hard to see what exactly the picture is from this angle (the camera) if you haven’t seen the actual photo (which I hadn’t until just the other day) but after watching this fan meeting a few times (and maybe pausing the video in the right spot) you can see it’s a picture of their ending pose from Carmen, a picture from practice from when they competed at COR 2012.

By what they each say, it seems maybe T hadn’t seen the picture before, but Scott had, or maybe not and in saying ‘I love that picture’ he means that moment in the program, not sure though.

So being able to finally see it properly, and now paring up their comments, especially his, I have some thoughts on it.

I lovveee when Scott said what he loves in ice dance (especially as they got older) is exploring characters and movement, the artistic side is what they really love to push (and given they were the best ice dancers in the world athletically they could be bold and push artistic boundaries). I really really loved when he said that he likes stuff (art) that is ‘kinda raw and chills you to the bone’.

That’s exactly the vibe I get from Carmen. It is so raw, so chilling, makes you uncomfortable in the best way watching to brilliant artists and athletes fucking go for it!

Depending on how you view the ending of Carmen (I’ve given a few examples in the past); they have said that in their story ‘Carmen doesn’t actually die but it’s Don Jose who’s kinda this ruined man’. There is so much in this final ending pose. It could be interpreted as her killing him- either literally or emotionally- she’s ruined him and there’s nothing left of him- he’s not but he may as well be dead.

Knowing that’s the kind of stuff they loved to perform and Scott especially saying that’s where he loves to be as an artist, him saying he ‘loves this picture’,- like he loves that moment in Carmen and the story that lead to that moment, he loves that T got to play this fierce, dominate woman and he got to play off that.

It gives ME CHILLS.

They weren’t just athletes, they truly were artists and weren’t afraid of that- pushing dark and disturbing themes even when it didn’t result in high scores. They get it and I feel so close to them hearing them say that they loved being artists and sharing these beautiful, unique experiences together! 💖

[tricksters-captain]

Helmut Zemo (TFATWS) imagines - Craving

AN: Okay I’ve given in and become a Zemo simp but Bucky is still my number one don't worry.

Summary: After playing the part as Zemo's arm candy in Madripoor, Zemo tries to confront you on your unspoken connection, only to be rudely interrupted...

Pairing(s): Zemo x Fem!Reader, very slight Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,326

Warnings: Some small spoilers for Ep3, lots of sexual tension 

“I still can’t believe I agreed to do this.” You grumbled as you climbed the stairs, falling behind at the fear the men could see straight up the skirt of the dress Zemo had chosen for you. 

“I, for one, think you have the easiest job of us all. James must be someone he detests, Sam must be a notorious criminal he doesn’t know and you must sit and look pretty.” Zemo spoke under his breath as you came to the entrance of Selby’s HQ. 

You glared at the man but he didn’t care. He was too busy worrying about Selby. 

The door was opened for you by one of Selby’s men. Zemo nodded curtly at the guard before entering. 

You went ahead of Bucky and Sam to stay close to Zemo, following your role as his current inamorata. 

It was a short walk into Selby’s office but with every step you could feel the fear rising in your chest. You weren’t convinced that you’d get away with this; Sam wasn't exactly the most kosher criminal and Zemo’s story didn’t quite add up on just how he managed to have the Winter Soldier in his mitts again. 

“You should know, Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.” Selby spoke as she came into view. She was an expensively dressed woman with a short white pixie cut. 

Zemo sat down opposite her but you remained next to Sam. 

“Not a demand. An offer.” Zemo waved his finger as he spoke. It was a small yet dominant motion directed towards you. You tried not to clench your jaw as you walked towards him. 

“A lot has changed since you were here last.” Selby’s eyes followed your every move as you made your way over to Zemo. “By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” Zemo held out his hand to you, guiding you to stand behind him.  “I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.” 

“You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger.” Selby cocked her head towards Sam. 

Sam’s only response was a quick nod of his head. Selby purred at Sam, a wolfish smile on her face. 

“What’s the offer?” Selby turned back to Zemo. Her eyes flickered up to you before landing back on Zemo’s face. You weren’t stupid you knew what her gaze meant. 

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum.” Zemo pushed himself out of his chair. You watched him cross behind Bucky, placing his hands on Bucky's shoulders. “And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.” 

Selby grinned widely as Zemo wobbled Bucky’s chin with his forefinger and thumb, showing just how under control the ‘Winter Soldier’ was. 

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately.” Selby seemed to be convinced. “Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right.”

Zemo returned to his seat before Selby continued. 

“The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or... condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but... things didn’t go as planned.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo asked. 

“Oh. The bread crumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute, don’t think you can find Nagel without me.” Selby rose from her chair, finding a place beside Sam as she very openly let her eyes roll down your body now that you were in her full view. 

“What else do you desire?” Zemo questioned. He had clocked onto Selby’s behaviour and didn’t really need to ask to know what the answer was going to be.  

“Her.” Selby pointed you out. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek as she awaited Zemo’s response. 

“No, no, no.” Zemo tutted, holding out his hand for you to take. “This little bird only sings for me.” Zemo guided you round the side of his chair and pulled you gently onto his lap. You crossed your legs as you tried not to seem uncomfortable. The scent of the Baron’s cologne, mixed with his strong grip on your waist was making your heart race. You had never been this close to Zemo before and now you were sat on his knee with his arm around you. 

“Well, you’ll make her sing for me or you won’t be getting what you want now, Baron, will ya?” Selby wasn’t playing games. She folded her arms across her chest, cocking her eyebrows at Zemo. 

Zemo titled his head as he thought. 

You felt yourself tense up when he placed a cool leather clad hand on your thigh. His fingers started to draw circles on your skin, edging your skirt higher, drawing Selby’s eyes down to your legs. 

“She is very dear to me.” Zemo stated. He retracted his hand from your thigh to brush your hair from your shoulder, his finger traced a line from your jaw down your neck to your collarbone. Zemo, being so close, could see the goosebumps that covered your skin at his touch.  

“Unless you have something better to offer other than your two play things, Baron, I suggest you hand them over to me... unless you don’t want the whereabouts of Dr Nagel.” Selby let her smile drop. 

“I will––” Zemo was cut short by Sam’s phone going off. 

“Answer it.” Selby suddenly lost all interest in the deal and only desired to prove the authenticity of the Smiling Tiger. “On speaker.” 

That’s where things went wrong. 

For the rest of the trip in Madripoor, you didn’t get the time to confront yourself and Zemo on what happened back there. 

You were so confused to why you reacted the way you did. You had never been attracted to Zemo before but you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he smelt, the way his breath tickled against your arm, the way the heat radiated out from under his thick coat. 

You knew he was thinking about it too. 

Every time you let yourself glance over at him, he was watching you and not in the same way as he usually would. You knew too well that Zemo often studied his surroundings like a hawk. He was silent and observant; he always knew where he would go next and he often watched you, Sam and Bucky as if he were calculating your next moves. 

It wasn’t until you arrived in Latvia that you were confronted by your feelings again. 

You were sat at the island in the kitchen as you ran your hands over your face and hair. You were tired. 

“You should rest.” Zemo’s voice suddenly snuck up on you. 

He had been so quiet walking into the kitchen that you hadn't even noticed he was there. 

“I should but insomnia kinda comes with the job.” You sat up, trying not to act any different from how you usually would. 

“Ah. My time in a cell has acquainted me with such the dilemma.” Zemo confessed as he moved towards the cupboards on the back wall. 

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t help but watch his hands as they reached for the coffee pot, his fingers gripping it lightly. You could still recall the feeling of the cool leather on your thigh, his touch climbing higher as he pushed your skirt up...

“Coffee?” Zemo offered, interrupting your thoughts as he raised a mug and an eyebrow at you. 

“Please.” You folded your hands together as you leant on the island. 

There was a brief comfortable silence as Zemo fixed up some coffee for you both. He could feel your eyes on him but he didn’t say anything. He just let the corner of his lips tugged into a smirk as he poured you a cup. He let the smirk drop when he turned to face you.

He slid the cup along the countertop and you thanked him quietly. He pushed a thin smile onto his face for a second before returning to his usual stoic expression. 

“There was something I wished to discuss with you actually.” Zemo announced as he picked up his own cup. 

You almost choked on your drink at the words but you hid behind your mug, hoping he didn’t notice. He did.

“About what?” You asked. 

“I wanted to apologise for Madripoor.” Zemo surprised you with that. 

“Apologise?” You were confused to what he was talking about. 

“I am aware that it was merely a role, that we were undercover, but I touched you without your consent. I wanted to apologise for when we were with Selby.”

You were completely shocked. You didn’t not expect this from Zemo at all. 

“It’s okay. We all have to do stuff we don't want to do on missions like these.” You tried to brush it off. After all, Bucky had to become the Winter Soldier and Sam had to drink a cobra’s heart back in Madripoor. There was definitely worse things that could’ve happened. 

“I never said I didn’t want to do it. I am simply apologising for not asking for permission first.” Zemo’s eyes were glued to your face as he sipped his coffee. He was watching for a reaction. 

You felt your mouth go dry, you tried to swallow as you began to rise from your seat. 

“Uh, t-thanks for the coffee, Zemo but...” You tried grabbing your mug but you only knocked it to the floor by accident. 

“Shit!” You hissed as you bent down, picking up the broken bits. You felt your heart racing from the look Zemo had just given you.

Zemo rushed around the island with a rag, he placed it over the split coffee before taking hold of your wrist to stop you from picking up the pieces. 

Electricity shot up your arm and your head snapped up to meet his eyes. 

“No use crying over spilt coffee.” Zemo muttered, a smile tugging on one corner of his mouth. 

“I-I wasn’t––”

“––Is there a particular reason you are so jumpy tonight?” Zemo inquired. 

You rose back to standing; Zemo let your wrist go as you did but followed your action. 

The air was thick between you as you withheld your answer. 

There was no way you could admit you were worried of being close to him because of the undeniable pull he had on you since that night. 

“I think...” Zemo stepped over the soaked rag which only made you take a step back. “...You enjoyed being touched and now you are confused to why.”

Your chest began to rise and fall heavily as Zemo continued to walk towards you until your back hit the wall behind you. 

“But forgive me if I am wrong.” Zemo held his hands up with a smile, taking his final few steps until he was close enough for his cologne to engulf the air around you.

“You are.” You whispered but your voice had failed you in sounding convincing. 

“Is that right, little bird?” Zemo used the pet name he had given you in Selby's office. He lifted his hand to brush your hair from your cheek behind your ear. “Because I believe you haven’t stop thinking about it. Just as I haven't.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You only just breathed out your words. If Zemo hadn’t been so close, he wouldn’t have heard them. 

“Don’t you?” Zemo titled his head at you. “Because I am at liberty to remind you that I once worked for Sokivian intelligence. It was my job for a long time to study people, learn them, read them.” Zemo let his eyes drop down to your body before coming back to meet your eyes. “I can tell how a person is feeling just from observing their body. The way they move. The way they are breathing.” Zemo placed his hand in the centre of your chest where your silver necklace sat. The metal burned against your skin underneath Zemo’s warm flesh. 

Your slow deep breaths lifted Zemo’s hand up and down as you stared back at him. 

“I can feel your heart racing.” Zemo uttered. “Are you afraid?”

“No.” You shook your head as your eyes flickered to the man’s lip for just a second. 

“Good.” Zemo smirked. 

Suddenly Zemo was ripped away from you. 

Bucky had teared Zemo back and pushed him across the room. Zemo staggered backwards before standing and adjusting his sweater from how Bucky had grabbed him. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bucky growled at Zemo with a look in his eye that could kill. 

“I was merely having a conversation with (Y/n).” Zemo shrugged, acting as if everything was perfectly innocent. 

“Oh yeah it looked like a real polite conversation with (Y/n) backed up in a corner and your hands on her!” Sam was stood behind Bucky. The both of them were squaring up in front of Zemo to protect you. 

“I didn’t need your help.” You stepped forward, trying to intervene. 

“You put your hands on her again; I won’t stop myself next time. I’ll turn you into a new coat.” Bucky warned Zemo as he ignored you. 

“I apologise.” Zemo lifted his hands up in defence. 

“No.” Sam pointed back to you. “Apologise to her.” 

Zemo turned his head to you. When your eyes met, he smirked just ever so slightly, you knew the boys didn’t notice at least. 

“I apologise, (Y/n).” The way your name sounded in Zemo’s mouth made your stomach flip. 

“It’s fine.” You said before pushing past Bucky and Sam. You hated it when they played protective big brothers and you didn’t even need saving... You think...

(PART 2)

[spencersmagic]

a knife twists at the thought - SR

Prompt: a knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark - Arctic Monkeys

Summary: Spencer is new to this, and the poor boy is terrified

Couple: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid (i picture season 2/3 Spencer but y’all do you)

Category: angst

Word count: 3086 words

Warnings: general criminal minds stuff, mentions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of loss, HAPPY ENDING!!, my 3am writing, tooth rotting love, uhmm spoilers for Orwell’s 1984 (if anybody hasn’t read it), humiliation, Spencer crying and breaking my heart (lmk if you need anything warned or trigger tagged).

A/N This is very loosely based on 2x15 (VERY LOOSELY). I’m quite proud of this one :)

masterlist // 505 series taglist

*****

They say you never see it coming.

When a tragedy occurs, and someone’s life is turned upside down forever, they never see it coming. It just... hits them. Like an oncoming car ramming into a bystander who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No one has time to prepare. In our time-starved lives, there is no place for such a warning.

One day, you just wake up. And they’re not next to you. They’ve disappeared, leaving the stickiest, most unforgettable parts of themselves behind for others to grieve to: the smell of their shampoo in the pillows they used to share, the seconds just as you wake when you still feel like you have them - only to gain full consciousness and realise they left you behind - even the fucking jars, which never seem to be open because he’s just not there to do it.

And you feel your heart breaking all over again as your soul sticks to the parts that couldn’t be erased with the rest of him as he left. Because you needed him, you had him, and now he’s gone. No warning, no letter, no signs which could’ve helped you foresee such a tragedy, because how could he? He didn’t disappear on purpose.

She doesn’t understand why he's so absent. So unequivocally missing. And the person she would turn to to ask these riddled questions isn’t there to answer. Because he’s gone.

But they’re not there yet.

And she feels so close to that feeling - the helplessness, the pain, the empty cups next to her bed because he always carried them to the sink when she was finished with her tea the mornings of those rare days they got to sleep in. Those days when they had time. She can practically touch, with the tip of her fingertips, the waves of pain that would surge over her if he was gone for one more fucking minute.

She has to remind herself, over and over again, like a mantra. He’s not gone yet.

The “yet” at the end of her mantra just breaks her all over again.

She was always the one to tell Spencer “if you worry before something happens, in case it goes wrong, and then it does, you’ve managed to suffer twice through something painful for absolutely no reason”. It usually worked. Needless to say, she felt like a hypocrite right about now.

Because Spencer is gone. And she doesn’t know how to bring him back.

She knows only to watch the monitor, never once blinking, taking in everything that happened in that damned livestream - every word, every sound, every reference. She can only try to hear anything over the whimpers and sobs her love was letting out as he’s tortured by that man. She can only hear the cracks of his knuckles against Spencers soft skin, the same soft skin she had kissed mere hours ago before telling him to “be careful”. Her own way of saying the three little words the couple was too young to hear. She can only see his lips parting, sobs rumbling out of his body as the unsub abuses his frame over and over again - same lips which had kissed her forehead before telling her “i always am”.

Then again, she isn’t sure if its his voice which is filling her head with painful sounds or if her mind is playing tricks on her, memorising the horrifying vibrations coming from his chest for her to ever consider anything else. She hasn’t stopped hearing him since she turned on that damned computer.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever stop hearing it.

**

As a man of great intellect, Spencer always recurred to knowledge to understand difficult occurrences in his life. Burying himself in textbooks, novels, poems, and even music to understand pain, and himself having a life filled with it, he was an incredibly knowledgeable man.

He knew much. But right now, he only knew one thing.

In Orwells’ 1984, as Winston was being tortured (much like Spencer is right now), Orwell described the following:

��Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could only wish one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes”.

And, as a man who had acquired most of his intellect by immersing himself in trivial content in the face of pain, he found himself doing the same thing as the unsub hurt him over and over again, each blow seemingly more painful than the last. As his skin bruised, a causality of his abusers torment, he analysed the seemingly logical quote.

It must depend on the person, he was sure. In fact, a number of factors must be taken into consideration at this statement. For starters, Winston lives in a society incapable of any human feelings. There is only dominance, and those who attempt, in vain, to challenge it. Surely, if he had felt happiness, like the one you feel when the first day of spring rolls around, or like the one that creeps up on you as you look into the eyes of your loved one, surely, he would understand that some things can outweigh pain.

Love.

If Spencer’s mind could make sense of what he was feeling right now, he would understand, something he would figure of were he to leave this damned place, that he was thankful to the Gods, were there any, for having the unsub kidnap him and not Y/N.

Winston hadn’t understood emotional pain because emotions weren’t dealt with regularly. They were discouraged. That’s why he believed that there are no heroes in the face of pain. Because he doesn’t understand emotional pain.

He knew he was suffering. He also knew that Y/N was at the other side of the blinking camera suffering more than he could ever imagine.

**

They say emotional pain lasts 12 minutes. Anything one feels after this would be the aftermath of the cause of the pain in question. Pure emotional pain, the one you practically feel in your chest, the one that says “i can’t think, feel or be. not until this feeling dissipates”.

She had learned this from Spencer.

And she wished it were true. As she watched that damned monitor, she wished that all the venom the unsub was spewing at Spencer, all the verbal abuse, was long forgotten. She wished he could only feel the physical pain. Because the mind is incredibly stronger than the body - it could keep him awake, alive, for just enough time for the team to rescue him.

The entire team had huddled around the monitor around her. She was painfully aware that other people were seeing this. Which meant it wasn’t her imagination. It wasn’t another one of those damned dreams she would have when she slept a little too far away from Spencer’s touch.

They had only been together for two months, but his touch was all that could get her to fall asleep.

She jolted as the unsub landed another slap on Spencer’s cheek, swiftly grabbing his hair for him to look into the camera. He had a cut above his right cheek, just where she would kiss him in the mornings, and bruises all over his neck, jaw and left eye.

“Say hi to your team!” he mocked Spencer, chuckling darkly as he moved his almost lifeless body around for the team to watch in horror. Spencer let out a heartbreaking sob, feeling so vulnerable.

“Why don’t we make this interesting?” he jumped, as if he had gotten an idea. The unsub reached behind himself to grab a pistol, clicking off the magazine safety to put one bullet in one of the eight slots, leaving the other seven free. He pointed it at Spencer’s temple.

Her entire body shook the thought of seeing Spencer’s lifeless body, held up only by the ropes and that sick man’s grip around his curls. The same curls she grabbed as she kissed his face when she wanted his attention.

“I’m going to ask you some questions...” he said, voice dripping with sickening sweetness as he turned the roulette, “and if i don’t like your answer i’ll pull the trigger! Let God decide what I do with you. Sounds good?”. He wanted to humiliate Spencer.

However, Spencer made the mistake of not answering him. He was quickly reminded as the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes, pulling the trigger, a loud bang! sound expanding through the barn.

“I asked you a question!” he suddenly yelled into Spencer’s face.

“Y-yes, Sir” he whimpered, shaking at the ease at which the man pulled the trigger.

“Good, you’re learning”.

**

She experienced it by bits. Hotch’s hoarse voice. “Talk to me Garcia”. “We’ve got coordinates”. Everybody rushing to the SUVs. Tripping over her own feet on the way to the car. Morgan’s voice. The iPad, which still carried Spencer’s whimpers and the man mocking tone.

“I’ve got your diary, Spence” his sing-song voice didn’t match the disgusting man she was looking at. Nothing made sense.

“And I wanna know why...” he drew out the ‘y’ as he looked for something between the worn pages between his hands.

Of course she knew Spencer owned a diary. But she was mature enough to keep her hands to herself and her eyes on her own pages as he wrote on his, eyebrows creasing as he recalled all which he had experienced during the day. His face would twitch slightly at the memories, both good and bad, as he basically described his day word by word.

“...why did you wait until you were 24 to lose your virginity?” he asked in a clear attempt to humiliate and ridicule Spencer in front of his team.

“I-I didn't-” he could barely finish a word before a sob wrecking through his body at the humiliation, chest rumbling and voice wavering. “I didn’t want to lose it before, i w-wasn’t in a hurry” he rushed out. The man brought the pistol to his own chin, tapping it as he thought. “Hmm... I’m satisfied with your answer. Let’s dig deeper, shall we?” he asked as he went back into the pages.

“ooh! This one is new” that sick bastard was having fun with this, completely unaware that the team was less than 5 minutes away from their location.

“Care to read what you wrote three days ago? Right here” he turned the pages so Spencer could read them, though he was painfully aware of that entry he was talking about. His body shook violently. “P-please. D-don’t ma-make me do t-this” he whimpered, body feeling defeated.

“Wrong answer” the unsub said before pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger.

A shriek was heard from the iPad. The SUV went silent.

“He’s alive” she whispered, unable to speak up. “He-” she swallowed. “He’s alive. We’re not there, yet” her mantra became a reminder that she hadn’t been quick enough to help him. She had the tools to save him. Every second she had the knowledge to save him and didn’t was another second she remained impotent at the risk of losing the love of her life.

Spencer’s voice spoke from the iPad.

“C-can you at-at leas-st turn off t-the ca-amera?” he said between sobs.

And it hit her.

What hurt him the most wasn’t the memories he had to relieve, but the fact that the rest of the team would have to hear his most intimate thoughts. His deepest secrets.

He could bare the pain. The humiliation? That broke him.

“Aww” the unsub chuckled mockingly, “are you embarrassed?” he said, slouching down to look into his eyes. “Well too fucking bad!” he screamed into his face, spitting with every word he spewed at him. Spencer’s sobs got louder.

“O-okay okay!” Spencer caved, accepting the journal that got shoved into his face.

“Read, pretty boy” the unsub sang. That son of a bitch was having fun.

“We’re two minutes away, Y/N” Hotch said. Maybe it was he sobs, which were barely audible to herself, having accepted them as second nature after all the heartbreak she was experiencing, but Hotch needed her to be okay.

His own heart thumped into his chest, feeling as helpless as he’d ever felt. Seeing a member of his team - someone he was supposed to take care of, someone he was supposed to keep safe - was sobbing as he was physically and emotionally tortured. But he was painfully aware of the feelings Y/N was experiencing. The sheer fear that was running down her veins at the idea of them running out of time.

After a few sobs, Spencer started reading, interrupting himself occasionally with his whimpers:

“It’s been three months. Today, three months, seven hours and forty-six minutes ago, she did what I didn’t have the courage to do. She asked me out. “I’ve been wanting to ask you pretty much since the day i met you” she had said. Those words keep ringing in my head like a beautifully written symphony, intrinsically designed to make me face my deepest fears. Opening my scars one by one, dissecting them and reaching the simple conclusion that i was a coward.

She didn’t say it, but what she meant was “i’ve been waiting for you to do it, but you never did, so i had to”. We wasted time - a time so precious and sacred - because i was a coward.

I’ve never felt like this before. I never understood a love so deep as to move something so stubborn as the human spirit. I’ve read textbook after textbook, and novel after novel, and still I’ve never learned more than with her. But I was a coward. And i wasted her time. I fear that I still am.

A knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark. It’s impossible for me to ever be enough for her”.

Her heart broke at this confession. Even worse at the thought that he wouldn’t’ve told her, instead inhaling fear and exhaling rejection at every breath he took next to her.

“We’re here” she heard Hotch, looking at her. She grabbed a bottle of water and dropped the iPad, not hearing the teams objections at the lack of vest and preparation and ran into the barn.

She isn’t sure if she’ll ever stop hearing his whimpers. As she runs closer, she hears them louder and louder, decorated with sobs and cries, and small, meaningless replies to his abusers’ mocking words.

She kicked the door down, the loud bang booming across the room, only helping in raising Spencer’s sobs as he feared the sound had been the result of a certain trigger being pulled. As she looks at him, she realises just how much pain he’s been put through.

She remembers Orwells words, much like how Spencer had remembered them mere hours ago. And disagrees, wishing over and over, praying to the Gods that she would be the victim of such atrocious abuse. She wished she could take his pain. Morgan joined her at her side mere seconds later, yelling. “FBI! Put the gun down!”.

Spencer used the last bit of energy to lunge forward, hitting the unsubs stomach with his head, successfully getting him on the floor for Morgan to apprehend. Y/N rushed to Spencer’s side, untying him, as his now nonexistent sobs grew louder and louder, not only at the prospect of getting out of that horrible place alive, but also at the knowledge that Y/N had heard what he had so dreadfully recited.

Spencer collapsed into her arms, crying into her in the same way she was crying into him, and she wondered just how to take away all his pain. So they cried into each other, desperately grasping each others hair, skin, clothes, anything that would make them feel like they wouldn’t have to spend another damned second without the company of each other.

Spencer was the first to break the silence.

“I need-” he stopped, coughing. She reached for the bottle of water she had brought with her because she knew he would need it. She always knew what he needed.

He chugged it desperately, stray drops falling down his chin at his eagerness. He took a deep breath trying to steady his lungs.

“I need to get out of here” he choked out.

She grabbed him under the shoulders, careful not to hurt him - not being successful, realising that there wasn’t much of him the man hadn’t hurt. Y/N pulled him out, sitting down on the grass with him. Their legs intertwined, pulling each other impossibly closer. They kissed, over and over again. Not as an act of any sexual relevance, but as a reminder that they had each other in any way, shape or form. That they weren’t out of time.

The team was certain they would stay there, never letting each other go for another minute.

After what felt like seconds in their time-starved little world, she broke the silence, which had only been filled with their own cries and occasional sobs.

“Spence” she grabbed his chin to look into his eyes. They were dull, red and hooded. He was exhausted. “Mhmm?” he let out, looking into hers. She was his solace.

“How could you ever think you were anything but completely and unequivocally enough?” she whispered the words he dreaded.

But as Spencer looked into her eyes he knew, better than he had ever known anything, that he was enough. And she was enough. He realised that which she had known for the past three months (possibly longer). They fit like two marvellous puzzle pieces.

Her hands grabbed his cheeks slowly, as to not hurt or startle him, pulling his forehead into hers. “Baby, I can’t imagine anybody else waking up to me every morning. You’re so much more than enough”, she planted a small kiss on his forehead before resuming her position. “I’ll remind you every day of the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to believe it”.

And with their eyes closed, foreheads and noses pressed together and legs tangled between each other, pulling each other close, closer - around grass and voices and his abuser pressed into the hood of a police car, they only felt each other. With their shaky breaths, even shakier voices, fearing any words that would leave them in case they triggered a cascade of tears down their oh so vulnerable cheeks, they were more than enough.

***

I hope y’all liked it!! Feel free to let me know by liking, reblogging, or sending me a message :) 

super cool kid taglist: @lady-anon-x​ @spencerreid-mgg​​ @eoupe​ @inlovewithbabygirl​ @galaxydefenderjulia​ @username2002​

[oitommothetease]

Invisible String (8/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Description: James Buchanan Barnes, the owner of the most expensive-looking club in town and your new apartment. He was a dick and you hated him. What could possibly go wrong when you, the new girl in town, start bartending at his club to pursue your dreams?

Word Count: 2.4k words

Your parents’ house was exactly how you remembered it, but again, it had been only two months since you last saw it. Contrary to your usual life, a lot has changed in two months. You aren't working in a cubicle anymore, you're not going on random blind dates that your sister and mother plot for you. What you are doing is bartending in a town far away from your family. You're fake dating your boss who happens to be the most dangerous person in the town, at least that's what you've heard of the rumors, but so far, James has been nothing but non-threatening to you. Yes, he was mean in the beginning, but a lot has changed since then. 

And now sitting in front of your parents with James beside you, eating lunch; you recall Barry's diner and you miss the food there. It's funny because you always thought that this was your home, your family and everything associated with them should make you feel at peace, but you were feeling everything but that. You were restless and anxious, and you wanted to go to that cozy dinner with James where Sally would tell you anecdotes about her life. You wanted to sit with James and watch him debunk the myths about his career that you believed were true your whole life. Turns out, he doesn't cut off people’s dick for disrespecting him. Who would have thought? And you decided that maybe you should stop reading those stupid mafia stories.

James sensed your discomfort, you don't know how he does that, but he always knows when something is bothering you. He brought his chair closer to you in hopes of providing you some relief. And it did, his presence made you feel at ease and you weren't sure how you felt about it. You knew you were dependent on him for comfort since the incident at his club, but being with him didn't make you feel caged.

You always thought that a relationship would make you feel stuck. That's why you never engaged in one, but with James, it felt liberating. Maybe because this wasn't real and the moment this turns real, it'll be a shithole. At least that's what you told yourself. 

“So, what do you do, James?” your father asked, and you nearly choked on your food. James's hand involuntarily reached towards your back, his thumb running soothing circles while his palms patted gently. 

“I own a club and a few other buildings in town,” your faux boyfriend answered, and you were thankful he didn't get into his other business. You wanted to ask about all the rumors in town and why people are so scared of him and why does everyone in the club carries a gun, but you were scared to ask. You feared that you wouldn't like the answers. Honestly, that's false, you weren't scared of the answers, you were scared that what if he closes himself again the moment you step into uncharted territory. And you really liked this fun, caring, swiftie James.

Everybody was sitting silently at the table which was unusual because usually family dinners were the place where everyone pointed out your faults. Carol kept glancing at your parents every few seconds and vice versa. Your brother-in-law, Nick, was focused on the food and their kids were taking a nap.

 You were going to thank your stars for this peaceful lunch when your sister broke off the silence. “So, how did you two meet?”

Every head on the table turned towards you expectantly, waiting for you to explain how you met James. What were you supposed to say? That you met when you interviewed for your current job and he clearly rejected you? 

Before the panic could make its way to the surface, James' palm landed on yours softly, grounding you. Your sister's eyes fell to your hands on the table and she scoffed.

 “We're glad you're happy, but at least don't forget basic table etiquette,” She commented. How could you forget the ‘no hands on the table while eating’ rule? Just when you were about to remove your hand from the table, James held your hand and placed it on his lap, lacing his fingers with yours. 

“Auntie Y/N!” A shriek made you turn behind, and you saw your nephew and niece running towards you with the biggest grin on their faces. Both the kids jumped in your embrace without a care of their surroundings and you stifled a laugh.

Bucky didn't like kids, hated them, to be honest. In his defense, what's there to like, they're always whining and crying, but seeing you attempting to straddle two 5-year-olds on your lap while their mother complained might change his opinions on the subject. 

You didn't like kids either, except your nephew and niece. They were perfect in your eyes, but maybe you were a bit partial because you sort of shared genes with them. You were so focused on the stories Alec and Izzy were telling you that you didn't notice the eyes that were fixed on you. James looked at you with not only adoration, but also devotion. He knew if he kept looking at you like that, he'd be deep in shit, but it was too late now. 

After dinner, you made your way to the bedroom, only to realize that there was one bed. Fuck. You really should have thought this through. 

Before the embarrassment could seep in, James started collecting a blanket and some pillows. “I'll take the floor,” He said. 

You frowned. “No, James. You've already done so much for me. Take the bed, please.”

James pretended not to hear you and started preparing his bed on the floor. 

“Seriously?” You queried, slightly huffing at his childish behavior. “You're gonna pretend you didn't hear me. How old are you, five?”

Without saying a word, James started humming a tune and situated himself on the makeshift bed on the floor and closed his eyes. 

You stomped your foot furiously, yeah, maybe you were a little childish too. Without muttering another word, you made your way towards the bed and tucked yourself in a comfortable position. 

“You were saying something?” James asked, his voice laced with tease, and you huffed at his tomfoolery. 

“Yeah, just how immature you are.”

“Sorry, I didn't hear that. What was that?” you couldn't see him, but you knew he was doing some theatrical actions by putting his hands on his ears for better listening or furrowing his eyes in feigned confusion. “That I'm so smart? Oh, why, thank you. You're not so bad yourself.”

“That's real mature, James,” you murmured, clearly not enjoying his antics.

A comfortable silence fell in the room. The only thing that could be heard was your breathing and the air conditioner that always sucked in your childhood room but your parents never thought it was a primary concern. Oh, yeah, also, you were staying in your teenage room with your boss. You tried telling your parents that you could get a hotel, but they insisted so now James could see one direction posters on the wall right in front of him.

You would have assumed that he fell asleep if he hadn't broken the silence. “I know it's not my business and you don't have to answer if you don't want to,” he paused, wondering whether he is crossing a line by asking you this. “But why do you let them treat you like that?”

You coughed in surprise, you clearly did not expect him to ask this. You thought maybe he was going to ask you who is your favorite one direction member. Anything really, expect this. “Wow, you do not beat around the bush.”

You could hear him shuffling and once he settled you were sure he was facing you. Well, the bed actually. You did the same, turning towards him. You couldn't see him, but it still felt so intimate.

 “I'm honest with people I trust,” he informed and you smiled, thinking about the time when he told you he did not trust you or your intentions.

“What do I get in return?” you teased, although you would have told him without getting anything in return.

“What do you want?”

You debated for a minute whether you should go forward and just ask him so you did. “What do you do?”

You didn't expect him to actually answer. You knew that your relationship (whatever that was) with James had increased from where it was a few months ago. You deeply cared for each other and had mutual trust in the other. But you still didn't know about the actual work he did. Your realtor told you that he was a criminal, a mobster to be exact, and had sketchy connections with the mafia but you didn't know the exact nature of his work. 

He signed heavily and you were ready to drop the subject, scared that it would only push him away again and you couldn't lose whatever you had this early. 

“We provide weapons to the government at a cheaper price, eliminate problems or shootouts that the government is too scared to take the blame for,” he said, voice unwavering but you could sense the tension. Bucky thought that telling you about his work would make you fear him, and he didn't want to risk losing the progress he made with you, but he also knew that if he wanted you in his life in any form then he has to be honest with you. “We don't do the kind of stuff you're thinking of, it's mostly assisting the government to do stuff where they don't want to get their hands dirty.”

“Why?”

“How would you feel if the leaders of your country were involved in shady business?” It was a rhetorical answer, of course, you would feel unsafe, but your sleep-dazed brain was about to muster up an answer but he quickly spoke. “So if it backfires then they don't lose their men and women and can blame it on us, the criminals.”

“So that's why you weren't scared if I went to the cops? Because you kinda work for them?” you asked. His reaction made a lot of sense now, but some part of your brain hoped that he did that for you. That he would defy the police for you. 

“Off charts yeah,” he answered, “Although that has nothing to do with why I wanted you to go to the cops. I wanted you to because what Rumlow did was unacceptable and he should pay for his actions.”

“Wow,” you didn't know what to say. Anything further could push him back to the 'I don't trust you' James and you couldn't risk that. 

Bucky didn't want to elaborate further, “Your turn.”

“Sir, you just set yourself up for the biggest disappointment,” you joked, already imagining his reaction and smiling to yourself. 

“I let them treat me like this because they are my family,” you replied honestly. “I don't have anyone else but them.”

Bucky knew all about the issues that come with family, but he didn't think you'd be the victim of it. Bucky realized that in his head, he had conjured up a version of you that was perfect, so if he were to know you better, it would decrease his crush on you, right? 

Wrong. The more Bucky got to know you, the more he realized you weren't some angel and were just a vulnerable human like everyone, and the more he wanted you, all of you.

“Where does Rumlow come in this?” you questioned.

“His work is dirty like drugs, sex trafficking so he doesn't work well with government or any sort of authority,” he explained, “He's one of the problems they wanna eliminate but can't because he's too powerful. He works with Hydra.”

“Wasn't Hydra a myth?” you queried. You have heard stories about Hydra too, how Bucky was their rival. You assumed it was about territory or money. You know, like in the movies.

“Nah, doll, it's real. He's part of that organization and that makes him shielded from us and literally everyone.” 

“So you're technically not… you know, killing people for fun like the mafia and all? You're like undercover agents,” you concluded and he shook his head, chuckling at the disappointment in your voice.

In your defense, you expected him to be the movie-type mafia boss who kills people for raising their voice but again, this is not a movie. 

“If it makes you feel better, we smuggle weapons for the government. We're still criminals and dangerous,” he articulated, his tone laced with amusement at your reaction.

 “No offense, but that's a horrible career. Is that what you wanted to do growing up?” you asked, yawning, your eyelids becoming heavy from the exhaustion.

“No,” he answered truthfully. “Not everyone gets a choice, doll. My dad was murdered when I was a kid and I was shoved into the business to protect my family.”

 “Where are they? Your family, I mean,” you inquired, hoping you weren't overstepping.

“Ma basically hates me and my sister maintains her distance, but it's for her own safety.”

You didn't ask about them further, realizing his family was a touchy subject for him. You could relate to that. “What do you want to do?”

Out of all your questions and weird assumptions, this took James by surprise. No one asked him what he wanted to do. Hell, he didn't even ask him that, and now someone finally asked him, he didn't know what to answer. You understood his silence, you always understood everything James felt even without it being voiced. He generally hated when people predicted him, he prided himself on being unpredictable but not with you. James wanted nothing more than to just be Bucky with you.

“Don’t worry, you'll figure something out,” you mumbled, already drifting off to sleep.

James turned towards the opposite side. “Sleep well, doll.” he murmured, his breath growing even, matching yours.

TAGS: @bananapipedreams​ @akkinda10​ @rivers-rambles21​ @emmabarnes​ @goodcleanfunsis​ @valsworldofcreativity​ @boofy1998​ @marvel-3407​

[yourmcu]

Mesmerized (ii)

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Request:

@lostaurorax​ said:

hii!! i love ur writing i was wondering if u could write a natasha x reader fic were reader is part of the guardians of the galaxy and they come to the compound and natasha is just starstruck but reader plays kinda hard to get and then just a bunch of fluff !

Word count: 2,551

A/n: basically a day out with Natasha. you like having her around. she likes having you around. Part 2/? (more notes at the end of the fic!)

Warnings: mostly fluff, but ending’s pretty angsty (help), some thor fluff in the beginning, jealous!nat if you squint

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

gif not mine!! credits to the owner^^

After Natasha left your room she immediately goes straight to hers. She barely falls asleep.

She stares at the ceiling, absorbed in her own thoughts. She tries to shake away the heat rushing to her face whenever the moment you kissed her on the cheek replays on her mind. All it took is someone like you to get one of the toughest people in the compound turn into mush.

She never believes in the ‘love at first sight’ bullshit because, well, it is bullshit. It’s impossible to love someone you just met. But who knows, right? You might just be an exception.

No, Natasha frowns. I just like her... a lot. It’s different.

The next morning, her run consists of her planning out the date day with you, where she’d take you first and stuff. She stops by the front gate of the compound, suddenly worrying. She wants to impress you. But what if you don’t like what she had in store? What if you think she's boring?

You're the type of person that almost likes everything and you’d express it kindly if you don’t. Boring you should be the last thing on Natasha’s mind.

Natasha walks into the kitchen to hydrate herself but halts once she saw the mess you and Thor had all over the counters.

“Wait, hold on- no, that’s - oh god, Thor, that’s too much batter!” You smack him on the arm and laugh, tilting your head a bit to figure out how you’d get the large pancake out of the pan.

“Oops,” Thor says sheepishly, turning around to put the bowl back on the counter, noticing Natasha’s confusion. “Oh don’t worry, Natasha, we’ll clean up after we’re done.”

The mention of the redhead makes you turn as well. “Good morning, Nat.” You beam. Normally, Natasha would sent a glare to anyone who calls her that, someone who isn’t a close friend, but with you... instead of a glare her eyes light  up. Giving you a small smile, she greets you back.

“I thought you were going out?” She questions, passing by you to reach the fridge.

“We were, but IHOP’s closed, under maintenance they said,” Thor sighs and you hum in response. “It’s quite alright. I heard you guys are going out anyway-”

Natasha lowers the water bottle from her lips, staring at him. “You heard?”

You spin around to clean up after turning off the stove. ‘I didn’t tell him anything,’ you mouth to her, which makes her think Steve somehow knows of it already.

Thor lets out a laugh, grabbing the whole pan and twiddling his fork, “you two have fun.” He winks and walks out of the room.

-----

“They were so cute,” you look back at the newly engaged couple near the window of the restaurant. “And really, you didn’t have to pay. I can pay you back.”

Later that afternoon the both of you headed out. Natasha parked her car somewhere and since it was a nice day, not too hot or anything, you both strolled around the city to find a place to have brunch.

“Y/N, it’s fine. I’m the one who asked you out.” Natasha chuckles, remembering the way you pouted in there begging her to let you pay at least for your own food.

You huff, smiling. “Fine. But I’m getting you back.”

So far you were having a good time with her. You got to know each other more, she told you stories about some of the team’s missions from other countries which were relatively rare, her first encounters with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, and in return you told her some about your out-of-this-world missions with the guardians.

And no you didn’t tell her about the history of moon rocks or some shit, nor did you promise to bring her back some. Who even collects those nowadays? Natasha was more interested about your early life, on Earth, which you were thankful for. You were taken away from your father (the only parent you preferred and loved) who was pure human one day by your alien-freak of a mother which you inherited your fire powers from.

You don’t like talking about it. But with her you're surprisingly comfortable.

Natasha smirks. “So we’re going out again sometime?”

“Of course we are.” After two seconds of pure confidence you wish you didn’t say that out loud. “Well, you know, I won’t force you to something you don’t want it’s - it’s your call.”

You're in the middle of telling her about your favorite bar and diner, the one your father always takes you as a child and you even paid a visit there the last time you were on Earth.

“Huh. Isn’t that the one that just closed?” She recalls

“No, really?” You drag out the ‘no’, sighing. “They’re the best. They make their own iced tea and beer and stuff... and - oh!”

You feel something rub against your ankle: a fluffy dog who's looking up at you with its tongue out and its tail was wagging wildly. Natasha raises her eyebrows, her eyes trailing to the abandoned leash behind it.

“Hey there,” you kneel down to pet it with caution just incase its intention is to bite you. But it seems to be happy and tame. “Look, Nat, s’adorable.” Natasha chuckles briefly and starts looking around for a person who looks frantic and is finding, calling a dog. 

“This fella belongs to the animal center.” You caress the dog behind its ear while you read the information on its collar.

It isn’t that far, it seems like the dog just escaped as well because the guy running the center was unaware of its absence.

“Thanks!” Said guy smiles in appreciation, reaching out to take the leash out of your hand. Natasha’s mind is focused on how the guy looks at you for the first time. It's the exact same look she gave you that night. Mesmerized, as if it was love at first sight. She doesn’t miss how his hand brushes yours, completely intentional. “I don’t know what I’d do if you hadn’t returned him. The pups here just grew out of their mom’s milk and are very hyper. It’s a lot of work.”

You're completely oblivious to this, you’re just glad the dog is back to where he belongs.

“No problem, he’s very sweet.” You smile politely. “Are they up for adoption? It would really help you out if they were, you know, and this one here is well behaved.”

At this point Natasha’s just eyeing the guy like he’d pounce on you any minute now. He’s definitely into you and she doesn’t like it.

“You’re welcome to stop by anytime,” he grins, ignoring your suggestion. “Can I have your number?”

“Oh, I don’t have a phone...” you trail off.

“That’s right, she doesn’t.” Natasha steps in and she catches the guy off guard and surprised that the Black Widow is actually with you the whole time. Natasha intertwines her hand with yours, pleased with his dumbfounded reaction. “We’ll be on our way now.”

You didn’t expect that but you weren’t complaining. Her hands were soft, and it brought this comforting feeling you couldn’t explain. But you clear your throat once the both of you are a few blocks away from the center.

“Sorry, he gave me an off vibe,” Natasha mutters and removes her hand from yours.

“Don’t be, I appreciate you looking out,” you smiles. Her car was getting into view now. “If it helps you sleep at night though, he wasn’t my type.” You joke.

Turns out you weren’t completely oblivious.

Natasha merely scoffs, getting in the driver’s seat and starting the engine.

After the dog incident you both drove around different parts of the city. You went to a different mall to stroll around, commenting on anything you both saw that would somehow lead to a stupid story that happened at some point in your lives.

A local artsy bookstore, not gonna lie Natasha liked reading a good book when she had the time. So did you. It was nice to know that she’s the type of person who liked reading. Quill always got annoyed with you whenever he saw you reading silently in the ship (but when was he not annoyed with you?). The only ones that was willing to try and read back in space were Mantis and Gamora, bless her soul.

“These are good,” you mutter to Natasha. “All my books are on the ship, I think, but if I get to them I’ll let you read my favorite one... if you want.”

Last stop of the day. Natasha claims it’s a surprise.

“I don’t do well with surprises,” you whine, holding back a smile. “Just tell me.”

“No. And besides, we’re already here.” Natasha chuckles.

Your eyes light up on how stunning the scenery was. An edge of the cliff and below is a beach that doesn’t look like it’s visited by people everyday. The beautiful sunset, the sky made up of purple, orange and almost pink magnifies the calmness of the waves crawling gently to the shore.

“I always come here whenever I need to,” she says silently and exhales, walking over to you. “It’s the perfect place to go whenever those idiots get on my nerves.” You laugh lightly at her reasoning.

Natasha pats a spot on the grass beside her. She holds her gaze on you as you sit down, sighing. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” she manages to stop staring at you and look up at the sky instead. It's getting darker by the minute, the orange and pinkness started to fade as the sun went down, all of it replaced by light purple, darker shade of blue.

You're used to different colored skies. It would always vary and depend on what planet you were on, plus you always see those stars shimmering up above, so your focus is on the water and the waves. The way they move calms you.

“Thank you for today,” you murmur. “I’m gonna be honest, I didn’t expect any of this happening.”

Natasha hums. “I hope I wasn’t too boring.”

“Of course not, I think you’re very interesting and you’re fun to be with.” You say genuinely.

Once the sun is fully down and the moon had taken over the sky, the both of you get up to head back to the compound. “Eating out here would’ve been nice but Steve’s in charge with dinner, he wouldn’t be too happy if he knew we already ate.” The car ride back is silent, but the good kind. A content, comfortable one.

Okay so, your stay took more than a few weeks. 

You grew close with the amazing group of people, plus your good relationship with Natasha just kept growing and... just got better.

Thor stayed too because he didn’t have a choice, but he didn’t mind. Rocket left one pod for both of you to use that’ll send you to wherever Quill’s ship was up there. 

You and Natasha went out when you had the chance, taking turns treating each other to stuff. You learned that Thor included your books when he packed you a bag, and now Natasha was borrowing one of them.

Sometimes you’d join them on missions. You did a great job every time, not wanting to be a burden to a team you weren’t officially in. Sometimes you’d join Steve into a sparring session at the compound’s gym.

Speaking of which, he’s treating both you and Natasha as if you’re dating.

“Would you look at that, your girl managed to give me a bruise. She’s a keeper.” Steve tells Natasha.

“You totally deserve that.”

You also started sparring with Natasha. And Tony caught on with the whole ‘dating’ thing from Steve.

“Oooh, am I interrupting something here?” Tony smirks. He's going back and forth visiting the compound and coming home to his wife and daughter at their cabin. It's working out though. “I think the mat’s unsanitary. Take this to the bedroom.”

“Oh shut up, Y/N was just working on her tackling.” Natasha grunts, leaving you sprawled  on the mat, exhausted. “It’s getting sloppy. We’ll go again in a minute.”

-----

“Y/N,” The devastating tone of Natasha’s voice makes you look up. “Quill’s calling. He’s looking for you.”

“What?” She doesn’t answer but instead motions you to follow. In her office is a hologram of your fellow half-human and he looks distraught.

You step in front of the hologram so he can see you. 

“What happened to a few weeks, L/N? It’s been almost three months!” Quill says. “Look, come back, bring Thor with you. Our distress signal goes off almost every day and we can’t keep doing this without both of you.”

“Alright, how much time do I have before you lose your cool?” You reply sarcastically, but you're also worried and didn’t want to leave. You know better than to argue with the guy.

Natasha doesn’t want you to leave so suddenly. There’s limited communication between you and her once you go back up there. She grew attached to you.

Quill gives you an obvious look. “As soon as possible! Just - just get back here, please?” Then he abruptly ends the call.

You roll your eyes and left the room to pack, barely noticing Natasha hunched over, visibly sad and anxious that you’re leaving.

She loves you, and now you’re leaving without that knowledge.

You told Thor about it when he passed by the open door of your room. He didn’t look thrilled to be leaving so suddenly. After packing everything up (on his part it wasn’t that much) he offered to carry your bag for you as you said your farewells.

“Sorry guys, duty calls,” you sigh, hugging everyone. “Seeing as Tony’s not here just tell him I’ll miss him or something.”

“Will you come visit soon?” Wanda asks as she pulls away from your hug.

“Definitely.” You turn your head when Steve nudges you, nodding his head to the direction where Natasha is shifting, pacing, avoiding any eye contact.

You walk over to her. She tries holding back tears as you did. She grew attached to you and now you’re leaving. “Hey Nat,” you cup her face, trying to get her to look at you. “I’m sorry. I don’t wanna leave either, not right now, but-”

Natasha kisses you, pulling you close to her as much as possible. Tears fully streaming down her face. She’s never felt this way before, about anybody, for a long time.

But let’s face it, you both know you loved each other. Maybe the both of you just knew that if you got together, it’ll be extremely hard for your relationship once you left. The long distance relationship thing. Even if you aren’t, it's already too painful for Natasha, like she's caught off guard or something. None of you knew that today's your last night on Earth.

“I’m gonna miss you.” Natasha whispers after pulling away.

You smile sympathetically, wiping her tears away with your thumb. “You know I’ll come back, right, pretty girl?” Natasha exhales shakily and pulls you into a hug.

“You better.”

----

I found a song for this fic-series whatever, please I’m so proud of myself the song reminds me of this story

I’M ANNOYED THAT I HAVEN’T PUT IN MUCH ABOUT THE READER’S FIRE ABILITIES IN THIS ONE BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOY ANYWAY (they’re on a date she wouldn’t need it for anything)

[taelme]

Enemies-to-lovers!Changbin

request: Hiiiii I read you bangchan enemies to lovers au and I swear if I could like a post more than once I'd like that one a MILLION TIMES I'm wondering if maybe you could write an enemies to lovers au for changbin pretty please? 🥺🥰 genre: enemies-to-lovers!au (again, not Super extreme, low-key clash bc they’re both stubborn), film club president!Changbin, childhood penpal!au (fluff, very mild angst, they bicker a lot, kind of cheesy bc changbin’s a sap and we know that) pairing/s: Changbin / Reader (ft some skz members)  word count: 17k+ tw: mild coarse language (they say shit a lot LOL)  a/n: THE ANON WHO REQUESTED THIS...IM PRETTY SURE you waited months for this so thank you for being so so so patient!! I decided to try something a little different from my usual style but idk if it’s That Obvious, but its more structure wise I guess, but nonetheless, I'll be getting a little busier soon so I’m not sure If I'll be able to put out Full one shots for the next few months but I'll try my best w those little shorter ones maybe! (I'll have to see how Tired I am) also p.s I love this gif thank u to whoever made it but changbin is blonde in this fic bc of Personal Reasons 

To: my penpal Y/N

How are you?

I had a good day today. Sorry if the paper is crunchy I am writing this on my bed because my mom thinks I am already asleep. Today I went out with my mom and we went to the park and ate some sandwiches at the park. We had a picnic but with no juice because my sister finished everything. And then we went to the toy shop after lunch. I saw a keychain of a camera and bought it for you because you like acting and cameras can take a video of you acting.

This is a picture of me next to the wishing well at the park, you cannot see it but i’m making a peace sign. I threw a coin in the well and made a wish that your audition will be good. I know you will do very well because you practiced a lot for it. That’s all. I’m a bit tired now. Goodnight, or good morning if you are reading this in the morning. Or afternoon.

I hope i’ll be hearing from you soon, Binnie.  

“So, do you wanna keep them? If not I can chuck them together with the rest of your old things,” your mom began, already reaching over to take the letter from you.

Your eyes widened just as quickly, shaking your head quickly as you gripped the envelope and its contents behind your back away from her reach.

“No, no. Don’t throw them away,” you said sternly, softening your gaze when you noticed the way her eyebrows had raised in amusement, embarrassment washing over your features.

“I’ll keep them. Gimme the box.”

Your mom set the beaten looking converse shoebox down onto the table, shaking her head at you as a small chuckle escaped her. Mental note to transfer the letters to a smaller (and more durable) box. 

“Alright, alright,” she waved her hands at you in dismissal, “hurry up or you’ll be late for school.”

She shut the door behind her with a light thud, leaving you to stare at the grainy polaroid your childhood penpal had sent you when you both were only eight and still exchanging letters every week.

Inhaling deeply, you shoved the polaroid picture back into the envelope, slipping it into the box of envelopes before getting up. You figured that was a box you wouldn’t have the time to delve into when you were already keeping Jisung waiting.

Driving as fast as you could (or as fast as you dared to) within the speed limit, you’d reached your campus soon enough. It wasn’t that long of a drive and it would be even shorter (walking distance to be specific), when you move into your apartment nearer to campus in a few days. But that didn’t change the fact that you were running late now, spotting Jisung standing by the fountain with a sour look on his face that had only deepened once he’d spotted you.

Before an utterance of apology could leave you, Jisung had pursed his lips, stretching out his hand that held your cup of drink, a small hint of a smile playing at his lips.

“I’m starting to wonder which one of us has worse time management,” he sighed deeply, shaking his head with feigned disappointment as he glanced at his nonexistent watch on his wrist.

Jisung was one to talk, for sure. His crumpled looking shirt over baggy cargo pants and a hat to cover his head of messy hair told you his journey to school wasn’t exactly ‘leisurely’ either.

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your drink and sighing at the taste, “it’s definitely you. I was only late today ‘cause my mom was showing me my old stuff she found in the storeroom.”

Jisung waved you off, “fine, whatever,” he fished his phone out of his pocket as you started walking towards the auditorium for a class you were both dreading.

“Oh, shit, Hyunjin says the professor’s already in class, we should hurry up.”

Quickening your pace, you were glad to have reached before your professor had started, Jisung directing you towards where Hyunjin was seated at the side of the auditorium, giving him a small nod as you sat down.

Not that Hyunjin noticed anyway, the said boy busy with messaging someone on his phone with a frown on his face.

“What are you doing?”

Jisung peered over Hyunjin’s shoulder, frankly not wanting to focus on the lesson as the professor played a video on boring business things he figured he could just ask you for later.

Hyunjin sighed, setting his phone down onto the table and pushing his laptop open further, going to his email with quick clicks on his trackpad, “gotta send the scene for the auditions later to Changbin.”

“Oh, for that film thing?” Jisung asked, earning a nod from Hyunjin, whose eyebrows furrowed as they remembered your presence.

“Y/N should audition,” Hyunjin nodded his head towards you, his mention of your name distracting you momentarily, but you’d brushed it off quickly as you tried to take down whatever your professor was rambling on about.

At your lack of response, Jisung nudged your shoulder with more force, “hey, did you hear what Hyunjin said?”

You tore your gaze reluctantly from your professor as your fingers finished typing whatever you had left in your memory, the confused look on your face prompting Hyunjin to take over.

“We’re having auditions later for the movie the film club’s gonna be making,” he started, nodding slowly as his eyebrows raised, “I was saying you should join, you’d be good for the role.”

You narrowed your eyes at Hyunjin, “what’s it about?”

Jisung huffed, “some cheesy penpal shit, the last I heard.”

Your quirked an eyebrow at that, Hyunjin rolling his eyes.

“Something like that, but it’s not super romantic. They’re childhood penpals who meet again in the future but they don’t end up together, I don’t know how to explain it to you as well as Changbin can, but will you come anyway?”

You scrunch your nose as you consider his offer.

Was there anything you needed to prepare? You didn’t even know exactly what you were signing up for. Or much less anyone in the film club. Well, other than Hyunjin, of course.  

“Is there any script I'm supposed to prepare with?” you asked, making Hyunjin’s eyebrows raise, his lips parting in realisation.

“I’m pretty sure it depends on what role you want…” he trailed off, making you scoff.

Not being able to help the laugh from escaping you, you narrowed your eyes at him, “you sound like you’re not even in the club.”

Hyunjin flashed you a sweet smile, “you know what? I’ll just send you what I sent Changbin. You can just prepare with that! Penny’s role!”

Jisung snorted, his hand coming up in a poor attempt to stifle his giggles.

“Penny? Is it because...she’s a pen pal?”

You pressed your lips into a firm line, finding it awfully amusing as well.

Hyunjin frowned, scrunching his nose up in distaste, “we couldn’t think of anything better, okay?”

You huffed, lower lip jutting out in a small pensive pout. You didn’t have much going on in terms of school productions as of now, anyway, you guessed there would be no harm in showing some support for Hyunjin.

“What time are the auditions?”

“They start from lunchtime until like five,” Hyunjin tried his best to recall, looking at you with his best pleading gaze.

Sighing again, you nodded, “this is my only class for today.”

Hyunjin was practically beaming now.

“Perfect.”

===

“I don’t like it.”

Hyunjin sputtered over his sip of coffee, an incredulous expression on his face, attracting looks from the other film club members in the dance studio. Excusing himself, he’d made his way outside, oblivious to the squeals and stares the girls waiting to audition were directing towards him, settling himself in the middle of the field outside the dance studio.  

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t like it’?” he asked you again, his eyebrows furrowed as curiosity took over him.

You sighed, rolling your shoulders back as you nodded at one of your teachers you were walking past, your grip relaxing on your phone as your arm had started to get tired.

“I mean, I read through the script, and something about Penny’s character just doesn’t sit right with me,” you told him, “it just… doesn’t make sense for her to come to that conclusion when she’d been having a perfectly good time with the guy before that, you know?”

Pausing, you’d waited for him to respond, his silence prompting you to continue with your elaboration.

“Okay, I’ll put it this way,” you started, adjusting your grip on your laptop in your arm, “If I were a reader, or like, a viewer in this case, I would wanna be able to pick up on these small moments or signs that Penny is actually thinking about her relationship, do you know what I mean? Because now the way it looks is that she’s just a plot device meant to hurt him, and that there’s no exploration of the development of their relationship at all.”

Hyunjin let out a deep sigh, “Okay, I know, I know, but the thing is… this was Changbin’s idea, and I don’t know if you’ve heard—I mean, you probably have, but… nobody really questions him.”

You hummed, following Hyunjin into the school building and tugging your coat tighter around yourself, the cold air in the building shocking you as you entered.

“Yeah, I get that, but you’re forgetting that I don’t have the same relationship with this Changbin guy that you guys do. I don’t mind telling him that I have a problem with it. I don’t wanna be acting out some two-dimensional love interest character if I can help it.”

Hyunjin grimaced, not seeming to be too keen on your insistence, “I really think it might be a little late for him to change the script.”

“It’s never too late.”

“Well to Changbin it could be!” Hyunjin insisted, making you roll your eyes, a small chuckle leaving you.

You huffed, “I still think the audience deserves a better film with better crafted characters.”

Hyunjin let out a sound in between a sigh and a groan, “Okay fine, you just have to make sure you get the role, and then you’re free to argue with Changbin all you want. Deal?”

“Deal,” You turned the corner and spotted Hyunjin standing in the middle of the field, already making his way back to the dance studio.

“Okay,” he spoke before you could end the call, “I gotta go, see you later.”

You didn’t expect there to be so many people at the auditions, mostly girls and just a handful of guys. Though you seemed to piece the uneven ratio together when you saw the not-so-furtive stares the girls would cast in Hyunjin’s direction whenever he’d peek his head out from the crack in the door to call the next person in.

You recognized one of the guys who’d come in later than you, one of Jisung’s upperclassmen friends whose name was Minho.

“Didn’t think i’d see you here,” he gave you a small smile as he took a seat next to you.

Shrugging in response, you let out an awkward huff of laughter, not used to talking to him about anything other than his cats and Jisung’s whereabouts.

“Yeah… well, Hyunjin asked me to come, so I figured I might as well,” you fiddled with the slip of paper with the scene printed on it, “not like I had anything better to do, anyway.”

Minho nodded slowly, leaning closer to you and dropping his voice to a murmur, “I’ve never seen any of these girls before.”

You huffed, “I’m pretty sure most of them are here for Hyunjin.”

“Oh yeah, makes sense,” Minho hummed, a small lilt of amusement to his tone, “where is he, anyway? He told me he would be here—”

Minho’s question was answered when the girls beside the both of you had erupted into harsh whispers and murmurs, tapping each other excitedly as Hyunjin could be seen through the window panel in the door, looking on seriously as one of the girls inside the room was auditioning.

You huffed, gesturing to the window.

“Found him.”

Inside the room, Changbin was distracted.

He knew he had a certain image in his head about what he wanted ‘Penny’ to be. But whatever the girls that had auditioned so far had been showing, that dramatic ‘i never loved you!’ emotion, that wasn’t exactly it. And it didn’t help either that they struggled letting go of the dramatics when Chan would prompt them to try a different angle.

Hyunjin cast a (mildly concerned) look at Changbin, trying to gauge his expression, figuring the pointed look Changbin had sent his way was enough to say he didn’t think this girl would be shortlisted.

“Who’s next?” Chan leaned over in his seat to peek at the clipboard of names of signups, Changbin leaning back in his seat and pushing the clipboard towards him, not finding it in him to be able to be more hopeful about the next person.

“Oh, Y/N,” Chan hummed, nodding with an impressed expression on his face, the name catching Changbin’s attention, “that’s cool, didn’t think they’d audition.”

“Y/N?” Changbin echoed, something about the name awfully familiar to him, yet not being able to make the connection in his memories yet.

So for now, he’d simply gestured to Hyunjin to signal that he could send the next girl in, Chan sweetly thanking the girl that had just auditioned as she left the room.

Making your way into the room, you scanned the ‘panel’ of judges.

You recognized Chan, the said pale-faced boy looking even more tired when he’d yawned as you made your way to the centre of the room. He came to your school productions often since he and Felix were friends, and Felix was always involved in some way or another. The other boy, though, you didn’t think you’d seen before.

The two of them seemed to exude completely different auras, with Chan smiling warmly at you and gesturing for you to come closer while the other boy sat with his arms folded across his chest, frowning at you as though you were a code to decipher.

“Hey, didn’t expect to see you here,” Chan broke the silence first, giggling.

You shook your head, “honestly didn’t think i’d sign-up either.”

You pressed your lips together in a tight-lipped smile, rocking back on your heels as you glanced at the boy next to him again, “I actually only heard about it from Hyunjin this morning,” you admitted, Hyunjin flashing Chan a grin from behind you as if to say ‘you’re welcome’.

Changbin cleared his throat, making Chan perk up.

“Right, sorry. So, we’ve obviously met but this is our club’s president Changbin,” he gestured to the boy sitting next to him.

Changbin nodded curtly, bringing his hand up to run it through his bleached hair and shoving his cap back on his head with habitual movements.

Now you were starting to understand why Hyunjin was so intimidated by Changbin, always having heard stories about him but only now being able to put a face to the name.

Nodding slowly, you gave him a smile, “nice to meet you, I’m Y/N.”

Changbin had to stop himself from faltering, his breath hitching when he realised why your name was so familiar.

After all, it had been the first candidate before they’d decided to go with ‘penny’. He wondered how cruel fate was to have brought you, someone with the same name as the person he’d practically based this story on, to be auditioning for the very role.

You tried not to be offended by the way Changbin had simply nodded at you, straightening up in his seat, “and you’ll be auditioning for the role of…?”

Would it hurt him to smile?

You inhaled deeply, trying to hide your amusement as you answered him, “Penny.”

Changbin nodded, Chan humming as he looked up from his copy of the script to give you another reassuring smile.

“Alright, whenever you’re ready. I’ll be taking the lines of the male lead,” Chan told you.

You understood that the scene was some sort of scene where the two romantic leads have some sort of confrontation, and you did your best to get into what you imagined Penny would be feeling, Chan reading the line asking if ‘penny’ had even loved him at all. Dramatic was the word to describe it, really.  

You softened your gaze, unintentionally letting it rest on Changbin but deciding to let it stay there, executing your lines all the while trying to ignore the way Changbin’s stare was unnerving you, making you want to prove to him that you were a good actor even though he hadn’t questioned your acting skills.

Hyunjin had been watching the exchange closely, Changbin’s grip on his pencil loosening as he’d let the pencil fall softly against the table.

Changbin wondered if it was some sort of coincidence, because whatever ‘it’ was that he’d been looking for in Penny’s character, you’d managed to convey almost perfectly.

And it was clear that Chan had felt the same way as well, since once your audition was over, the smile on Chan’s face was nothing but beaming.

Once you’d left the room, Hyunjin telling you that they would contact you by the next morning, Chan had turned to Changbin, the same stupid smile on his face.

“That was great!” he nudged Changbin, the younger boy still recovering from the shock of the coincidence of it all, managing to muster a small huff in response.

“Yeah,” Changbin reached over to grab his water bottle, prolonging his silence as he took a long sip, “I don’t think we’d even need to see the rest.”

Chris scrunched his nose up, grinning, “but you know we still will, of course. Just in case.”

Changbin sighed, glancing at the clock, agreeing with Chan even though he knew he’d already had his mind made up.

“Yeah, just in case,” Changbin mumbled, looking out the window and seeing you talk to Minho, tearing his gaze away and rolling his shoulders back.

“Okay, send the next one in.”

===

To: Binnie

How are you?

I’m okay. I like the picture you sent me of you using your scooter. My mom says you look nice. I think so too.

Today I went to the museum and I ate an ice cream for lunch. I don’t have a picture of it but it was a Strawberry ice cream.

I just finished reading your letter. Sorry to say it using a bad word, but i think what your sister did was stupid. I think you should still tell her to ask for permission to use your scooter. But if she still does not listen, maybe you should tell her again. Because my mom always tells me that if I want something, I have to ask for it. So you should do that. Maybe she does not know you don’t like it when she plays with your scooter. Or, you could buy a new scooter. Here is some money so you can buy a scooter. I drew you $50 because that is a lot of money. I hope you have a good day when you read this.

Till next time, Your penpal Y/N.

You weren’t the world’s kindest human alive, you had your petty moments. I mean, there were so many songs and literature and movies that highlighted that idea that no human was perfect, right? But you tried your best, surely.

So, you’d gladly complied when Hyunjin asked you to grab extra cups of coffee for Chan and Changbin (as reluctant as you were. You were strapped for cash as it was).

You figured that was the least you could do before the trouble you were about to cause the both of them. But hopefully, if office etiquette was anything to go by, the simple gesture would show that you were kind, and someone who appreciated the offer given to you, as much as you hated the superficiality of your character.

However, when you showed up at the room, you were reminded that Changbin wasn’t just anyone. And while Chan made his appreciation known, Changbin… was the same as ever. Intimidating, and very hard to read. The sight of it almost made you want to take back his coffee.

He wasn’t wearing a hat today. Instead, he’d let his blonde hair (which looked darker since the last time you saw him, or maybe it was just his dyed-black undercut) fall messily over his forehead in a slight side part.

His black shirt did nothing to hide his physique, every movement of his coming across as a subtle flex, making you have to remind yourself time and time again that you weren’t exactly here to fawn over him.

He would lean back in his seat, scrolling through whatever he was looking at in his phone with one hand, his other hand draped over his stomach and propped underneath his elbow to support it. The way he would look made it seem as if he was almost oblivious to the world around him, only paying attention to what was on his phone until he would laugh at something Chan said, Chan being the only person you’ve seen that managed to elicit seemingly uncharacteristic giggles from him.

Though it wasn’t as if you were given much time to get used to it. The moment Chan had murmured something in his ear, his expression had switched back to ‘strictly business’.

Chan straightened up, looking around the room with his eyebrows slightly raised in question, one hand adjusting the braided leather bracelet around his wrist

“So, shall we get started then?” Chan asked, gesturing to Changbin before typing away at his laptop.

Changbin took his cue, getting up from his seat and making his way around the table to the front of the room, pulling the overhanging screen up to reveal the whiteboard.

“So, first of all, we’ve finalised the actors playing the characters,” he gestured towards you and Minho, “Minho as Soobin and Y/N as Penny. So, we can start shooting about next week. I would say we’re working with a pretty loose deadline because we don’t have to submit it until a few months from now.”

Changbin rolled his shoulders back, his body language seeming fairly relaxed although his expression remained serious nonetheless, “but that doesn’t mean we should slack, obviously.”

His statement elicited a small groan from Hyunjin, who muttered a ‘figures’ under his breath, making you stifle your giggles for Changbin’s sake.

“But we will start with maybe going over the script once through, go over the technical stuff after we get any issues with the flow out of the way.”

He looked as though he were going through a mental list of things to cover, his gaze flickering momentarily to Hyunjin, as if his face would give him answers to the invisible question in his head.

“The people in charge of the props, have you started preparing the letters?” Chan stepped in, earning a shake of the head from the two girls sitting next to Hyunjin, making Changbin wave a hand dismissively in their direction.

“They could start on that after we confirm the script,” Changbin leaned over the table to grab his cup of coffee, proceeding to take a long sip from it.

“Alright, let’s start then.”

Changbin took the empty seat he was standing next to, pulling his laptop closer to him to pull up the script.

Throughout the reading, you tried to keep your comments to yourself, you really did. It just fascinated you how fearful the team was of Changbin (well, aside from Chan), the way everyone seemed to bite their tongues or withhold their comments caused a permanent frown to be etched on your face.

It didn’t make it any better that Minho seemed to have no problems with the script, not even when you’d occasionally leant over to whisper to him and ask if he found that part a little weird or a little abrupt. But you held your tongue for now, (and also because of the side glance Hyunjin would cast your way whenever you would let out a small sigh),  you wanted to give Changbin the benefit of the doubt, figuring maybe if he read through his script again he’d realise how one-sided it was.

But thankfully, when you were reading out the lines where the two main characters had ended their date, and on a particularly high note for that matter, it seemed the opportunity to voice your concerns about the script was presented to you when Changbin had spoken up.

“Okay, since the next scene onwards will be where their relationship breaks down, any questions so far?” He asked, though his tone didn’t sound like he was really asking for feedback. But, hey, an opportunity as an opportunity, wasn’t it?

You cleared your throat a little too harshly, raising up your hand as you leaned against the table to be seen better, “uh, actually, me? I mean, I have some feedback actually.”

Changbin looked at you curiously, his gaze landing on you with slight surprise, as if he hadn’t expected it to be you of all people. There was a slight hesitancy evident in the way he paused before giving you a short nod, prompting you to go ahead.

You smiled, ignoring the way Hyunjin had sighed deeply a few seats away from you, dreading the chaos that could have come with people like you and Changbin bumping heads.

“Well, it’s not really specific to this scene. It’s kind of about the whole flow of the plot in general…” you fiddled with the corner of the page you were on, “but I was thinking it would be better to show more of Penny’s point of view? You know, because when I was reading it it just felt a little… weird for them to suddenly break up if everything seemed to be going fine.”

Changbin narrowed his eyes at you, looking back down at his computer with a simple dismissive shake of the head, “That’s not necessary, they’re going to break up anyway.”

The room had fallen silent, everybody seeming to have taken that as a ‘end of the conversation’ kind of line, already beginning to bring their attention to the next scene.

You frowned, unable to control your expression as you made your dismay obvious, casting a desperate look to Hyunjin who honestly looked as though he would pay you not to pursue this.

“But that’s not the point,” you spoke, getting Chan’s attention as he looked at you, silently urging you to continue, “you wanted to show their relationship, right? So, shouldn’t you show… both their parts in the relationship? Since it’s not like this is told in Soobin’s point of view.”

Changbin pursed his lips, “the point is,” he brought his cup of coffee to his lips, taking a small sip before continuing, “their relationship was superficial so it doesn’t matter.”

You mirrored his expression. The way it sounded was that he was just trying to convince himself that it didn’t matter.

Your frown deepened, quick to respond to him.

“That’s the thing, if you’re so insistent on them breaking up, why don’t you just make their relationship lead up to that? The way they’re interacting up to this scene makes viewers think they’re just going to end up together,” you tried to reason, hoping Changbin would understand where you were coming from.

Minho took that opportunity to excuse himself to the bathroom, and as you gave the rest of the film club members a once-over, you hated the way they were all looking at you as if you were cussing Changbin out instead of just giving him constructive feedback, or just voicing your thoughts for that matter.

“Well, not everyone gets a happy ending, I guess.”

He was practically avoiding your message at this point, making you grow more frustrated.

“Okay, look, what’s your intention behind making this film?” you asked, watching carefully as Changbin huffed, looking fairly amused at your insistence, which only served to irk you more.

“Simple,” he shrugged, “to show people like you that not everything that seems so perfect ends up perfect in the end.”

Your lips parted, scoffing, resisting the urge to get up from your seat as you heard Minho re-enter the room.

“People like me?” you echoed spitefully, “okay, fine, whatever. But as you said, if that’s the point of your discourse, shouldn’t your message be to tell people that they can work through things like this instead of just giving up and leaving like Penny did?”

Changbin was annoyed now. To him, you seemed too idealistic to understand his reasoning behind the story. He wondered why it had to be you that was telling him this, you were the only one that was trying to find problems with his story, that he’d based on his own life for that matter.

“Well what if she did, huh? What if Penny did just up and leave with no warning?”

You rolled your eyes, hearing Chan struggle to stifle his laugh, your exchange with Changbin being just about the most excitement he had in the whole school year.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, “which is why I'm saying that your job as a storyteller is to shed some light on the reason behind that. Then your story wouldn’t be about showing how things don’t turn out the way they seem, it would just be telling you, but not showing you. You could just ask literally anybody to hurt Minho—”

“Soobin,” you heard Minho correct from beside you, making you huff, scrunching your eyes shut tightly before opening them harshly.

“—Yes, Soobin’s character, and it would be the same? The story wouldn’t show me anything other than the fact that it was Soobin’s fault he ended up that way. He didn’t question anything that happened, he just let it happen to him,” you sighed again, clenching your jaw, “Penny isn’t anything other than some 2-dimensional plot device designed as an excuse for Soobin to sulk about how cruel love is.”

Changbin scrunched his nose up, his brows knitting in annoyance as he stared at you, a silence falling again in the room. Changbin was about to interject when Chan had decided that would be a good time to step in.

“C’mon guys, let’s… calm down a little. We’re talking about penpals here, not the king’s lover betraying him.”

You cast Chan a questioning look at his example, making him shrug, continuing, “we’re running a little overtime anyway, we can just continue discussing this another time.”

Just like that, the rest of the film club members seemed eager to leave, either rushing for their next class or just not wanting to be in the same environment as an irritable Changbin.

Chan directed his gaze towards you as you were getting up from your seat, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“I’m sure Changbin will keep your points in mind, don’t worry,” he reassured you just as Changbin chimed in with a ‘no, I won’t’ behind him, leaving the room promptly afterwards, leaving you free to let out the frustrated groan you had been withholding.

“Thanks, Chan. Sorry I kind of made you guys overrun your time,” you sighed, watching Hyunjin making his way to you with wide eyes.

Chan shook his head, holding his laptop securely in one arm as he let out a burst of giggles.

“No, don’t apologize! I should be thanking you, I didn’t think about your point until you mentioned it just now,” he murmured, “but again, sorry about Changbin. He’s just a little… protective of his work.”

Hyunjin let out a low whistle from next to you, “Extremely.”

You nodded, shrugging, “It’s alright, I get it.”

Chan flashed you a smile, his hand reaching out to give your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “Thanks, again. See you around.”

Leaving the room with Hyunjin, you ignored the way he’d begun to chuckle to himself, “honestly, in this whole time i’ve been in the film club, i’ve never seen Changbin actually… argue with someone.”

You rolled your eyes, kicking at the stray pebble “well if he continues like this, you’re gonna be seeing a lot more of it.”

“You sure seemed like you were having fun, though, weren’t you?” Hyunjin was being sarcastic, knowing he was just doing this to dissuade you, his tone eliciting a scoff from you.  

You shook your head.

“You know for a fact I wasn’t. But it wouldn’t sit right with me if I just kept my mouth shut like you and the rest of your film club goons,” you shot him a pointed glare.

Hyunjin pressed his lips into a firm line, holding his hands up beside his head in surrender, prompting you to continue.

“If I want something done, I’m gonna ask for it. It’s as simple as that.”

===

To: my penpal Y/N

How are you?

Was your audition good? Thank you for the money. But $50 is a lot of money so I don’t think I should spend everything, my mom says I need to save money. Thank you for telling me what I should do, but in the end I didn’t buy another scooter. I did this because we were learning about needs vs wants in school and I think the scooter is a want. My teacher says this means I don’t really need it. But needs are things like colour pencils and pens and paper so I can write letters to send you. Maybe your mom tells you you cannot buy so many stickers because the stickers are a want and not a need.

Anyway, I think I can just let my sister take my scooter. Maybe I will just get another scooter for myself when I am older and I have more money.

I hope I will be hearing from you soon, Binnie.

As you said before, you weren’t perfect, but you surely did your best. But days like this you wondered if people like Changbin even tried.

After your interaction with said stubborn being during your meeting with the film club had put you in a bad mood, you were currently seated with Jisung in a booth at a popular burger outlet outside school, thankfully having managed to get a place in the midst of the anxious afternoon crowd. And even more thankful that you could eat your lunch in peace where you were very much away from Changbin.

“What did you say to him, again?” Jisung hadn’t bothered trying to hold in his laughter as he was almost shouting over the noise of the crowd, making you huff as you bit into your burger.

“I said it’s funny that he was talking so much shit about the main couple when he’s dedicating his entire movie to them,” you drawled, your annoyance returning as you recounted the spat you had with him during the small meeting you had with the film club just before lunch.

Jisung’s shoulders shook as he laughed, fumbling with his drink as his eyes shut tightly, giggles leaving him and seeming as though they would never end, “and that’s what you said word for word?”

You nodded, reaching over to press the lid of Jisung’s drink down firmer before he could spill it all over himself.

“I know you’re friends with him but I really don’t know how you work with this guy, he’s as stubborn as stubborn goes,” you huffed, taking another bite into your burger as Jisung’s laughter had died down, though his smile had only lingered.

“You’re worse,” he snickered, earning a glare from you.

Jisung remained unaffected, “Look, he’s honestly fine once you get to know him,” he tried to reason, sounding as though he were trying to convince a child to make friends, “I mean, we’re all still kind of wary around him when he’s in a mood but honestly, if not for the way you guys met, I’m pretty sure you two would get along well. He seems like he’s your type.”

Your eyes widened, scandalised at Jisung’s implication.  

“The only thing he has in common with my exes is being annoying, okay?” you rushed to push away the curiosity of what Changbin would be like as a boyfriend. Curse Jisung and his stupid implication.

“And plus,” you continued, hearing the doorbell chime for what sounded like the thousandth time to signal yet another entry into the diner that was now overflowing with people asking for take-out, “it’s not like he’s been very nice to me since I got involved with his stupid short film.”

Jisung sighed, his gaze momentarily distracted by something behind you, making you wave your hand in front of his face to keep his attention. He’d glanced back at you, an almost dazed look in his eyes before he’d given you a small smile, taking a bite out of his burger and not waiting to finish chewing before he answered you.

“I honestly think that he just needs a little more persuasion. Like, take this for example, something similar happened with him and Chan when they were composing something in the past, and trust me, if you don’t give up now, i’m pretty sure he’d agree to come to a compromise or something,” he gave you a shrug, his gaze returning to whatever was behind you (probably someone cute, you figured). You couldn’t say you blamed him; almost all your conversations revolved around you and Changbin’s squabbles these days.

You pursed your lips, narrowing your eyes at him, “you really think he’d be willing to rewrite his script?”

Your tone was skeptical, already imagining how Changbin would simply tell you to keep dreaming if you’d brought up the proposal to him.

At Jisung’s lack of response, you’d frowned slightly, seeing him turn back to you calmly as his smile widened, giving you yet another shrug.

“Maybe you can ask him yourself.”

If there was any feeling one would get just before something bad was about to happen, that was definitely what you were feeling now.

You didn’t dare to tear your gaze away from Jisung as you watched him turn his body, his hand coming up in a wave that had only turned into a hi-five, his behaviour only adequately described as boisterous as he welcomed the people you were hoping you wouldn’t have to see for another week until the next film club meeting.

Well, Chan was fine, you were simply referring to Changbin.

“Oh, hey, Y/N! Didn’t know you and Jisung were friends,” Chan gave you a sweet smile, gesturing between you and Jisung as he spoke.

Jisung chimed in with a nonchalant “Best friends, actually,” which had only made you shoot him a glare.

“Might have to re-evaluate that,” you muttered, turning back to Chan and Changbin to give them as warm a smile as you could muster.

“Are you guys eating here too?” you asked.

You were oblivious to the way Changbin’s gaze flickered from your face to the food in your hand, and then back to Jisung, looking perfectly unaffected as he joked with Jisung about something you didn’t quite catch.

“Well, we wanted to, but, you know, with the crowd and all we probably won’t be able to get a seat,” Chan’s gaze was pitiful, to say the least, making Jisung raise his eyebrows, and that sinking feeling within you had only intensified as his next sentence left his lips.

Jisung had barely glanced at you as he held onto Changbin’s hand.

“Well, our booth’s actually meant to seat four people, so you guys could squeeze in if you want,” he offered.

Changbin quirked his eyebrow, skepticism written all over his features, though mostly directed towards you, “you guys really won’t mind?”

You glared at your burger, scrunching your nose up as you avoided Changbin’s pointed gaze.

Jisung scoffed, giving Changbin a loud smack on the arm, “of course we won’t, right Y/N?”

He turned to you, giving you a smile you could only describe to be devious (and fairly amused).

“Yeah,” your voice took a pitch higher unintentionally, “go ahead,” you murmured, scooting into the booth to make space for them.

You took another bite from your burger, watching out of the corner of your eye as Changbin took a seat next to Jisung, Chan excusing himself to retrieve both their orders.

“Funny that you showed up, actually. Y/N and I were just talking about your short film,” Jisung spoke, earning a pointed glare for you, as if daring him to continue (and you should’ve known that wasn’t going to faze him at all).

“Oh, were you?” Changbin drawled, his eyebrows raised and a slight smile playing at his lips, “I’m sure Y/N had a lot to say about that.”

As you were about to speak, Jisung had interjected with a little giggle, “she did.”

Changbin didn’t seem to take Jisung’s comment as an answer, simply keeping his gaze fixed on you, prompting you to produce an answer of your own. You ignored the knowing look Jisung gave you.

You sighed, “maybe I wouldn’t, if someone just took my suggestions.”

Changbin had let out a small huff at that, leaning back in his seat with his arms folded over his chest as Chan returned to the table with his and Changbin’s food, casting curious glances between the three of you seated at the table.

“Hope you guys didn’t fight while I was gone,” he joked, making you sigh, and you missed the pointed look he cast Changbin’s way when the boy had scoffed, “what were you guys talking about before I came?”

You shrugged.

“We were talking about the short film,” you told him, “kind of.”

Chan had perked up at that, turning to you as he handed Changbin his food, “oh yeah, I wanted to ask if you had more feedback about the scenes.”

You nodded, “I do, actually.”

Changbin’s gaze lifted from his burger to look at you as he sighed, “what is it now?”

You huffed, “It’s not that bad. I was just wondering if the content of the letters were gonna be read out during the scene? ‘Cause if it is, then maybe we could kind of make it a little more relevant to their personalities or something.”

“Will that be hard? What do kids even talk about in their letters?” Jisung laughed.

Changbin’s lips parted slightly before pressing them into a firm line.

“Well, they’ll be like 9 when they’re exchanging letters, I suppose, so I guess they’d at least know how to have a conversation… ” He sounded almost hesitant, making you wonder why he made talking about childhood penpals seem like such a complex thing.

You thought about your own penpal, Binnie. You were about that age when you were exchanging letters with him too, figuring you could give some insight on that until Jisung had intercepted.

“At that age all I did was talk about hot wheels, to be honest. Much less talk to girls,” he snorted, making you scoff, using your shoe to nudge his leg under the table.

Chan, who had been silently thinking, had straightened up abruptly.

“Wait,” Chan’s eyebrows lowered, frowning slightly as his lower lip jut out in a slight pout. He directed his attention to Changbin, pointing his index finger towards him, “didn’t you used to have a penpal?”

You had to stop yourself from making your shock too obvious, your eyes widening as your gaze became nothing but accusatory. How badly did his penpal experience go for him to be so cynical about it now?

Whatever it was, the newfound information made you curious as to exactly how much of the story he’d changed, more importantly, how much he’d retained.

“You?” you couldn’t help yourself from blurting, though Changbin remained unamused.

“Yeah, I did,” he bypassed your incredulous stare, answering Chan simply.

Jisung hummed, bringing one hand up to fiddle with his ear piercing, not having expected Changbin’s response.

“Oh, well, what was it like, then?”

Changbin shrugged, resting one of his forearms on the table to support himself, his other hand reaching down to pick up a fry, “was nice. We would exchange letters every week. Talked about a lot of things, sent each other pictures, you know, all that stuff.”

“Do you still keep in contact with them?” Chan asked, genuine curiosity in his voice, not having heard much from Changbin about this penpal in the entire duration of their friendship.

Changbin shook his head, “nope,” he popped the p, picking up his cup to swirl it around noisily, the ice rumbling as it got tossed around in the paper cup, proceeding to take a sip from it as the rest of you looked on curiously at him.

“Well, why not?” you dared to ask, a million different possible reasons running through your mind.

Maybe they did something to piss Changbin off, or maybe they got into a big fight (which also made you wonder how heated fights could get over snail mail), or maybe one of their parents disapproved of the other. The possibilities were endless as you anticipated just why 8 year old Changbin would’ve cut ties with his penpal. And maybe, you were enjoying the dramatic aspect of it a little more than you should’ve been.

But something about the way he replied felt restrained. Maybe you were reading into it too much, but he almost sounded evasive. But, of course, you chose to ignore (suppress) it for now, watching intently as Changbin had once again shrugged, an air of nonchalance to his gestures as he met your gaze.

“Just… grew out of it, I guess.”

You huffed, memories of your own penpal making his response sting.

You don’t think you ever ‘grew out’ of talking to binnie. You remembered how frustrated you were when you’d stopped hearing from him after he moved, and every letter you’d sent to his new address had only been returned back to you. Maybe he grew out of it, but you wouldn’t have left it like that if you had a choice.

You rolled your eyes at his response, something in your response seeming to have irked Changbin.

“What?” he snapped, making you hesitate just the slightest bit, deciding to bite your tongue and shake your head.

“Nothing.”  

Chan let out a huff of laughter through his nose next to you, shaking his head at you goodnaturedly.

“Forgive us, you always seem like you have something more to say,” Chan spoke, apparent ‘damage control’ for Changbin’s abrasiveness.

“Wait, so, you’re really not gonna have a happy ending?” Jisung frowned.

“Well, Changbin and I were talking about it after the meeting that day, we figured since we have time we could afford to change the script a little,” he hummed, turning to you, “you know, since it could be a chance to kind of send a more hopeful message like you were talking about.”

Your eyes widened, your hand almost reaching out to touch Chan’s arm but realising you were still holding your burger, “really? You’re open to changing it?”

Changbin’s gaze flickered momentarily to you, observing your posture, noticing how open and comfortable you seemed with Chan, the sight alone enough to make him scoff. Call him a cynic, but he couldn’t tell if this was you acting or not just to get your way.

“There could be another meeting for you to discuss and work on the script together, but yeah, we’re alright with changing it.”

You turned to Changbin, a hint of distrust in your stare, making him huff again, putting down his drink on the table with a little too much force.

“He said it, not me,” he told you, pressing his lips firmly into a tight line, “you wanna change my script so badly? Fine. But your ideas better be worth changing it for.”

Jisung scrunched up his nose as you turned back to Chan, not wishing to look at Changbin’s face any longer, leaning over to whisper to Changbin, “you two don’t like each other very much, do you?”

If he was caught off guard by Jisung’s statement, he didn’t show it.

Changbin shrugged, picking his drink back up, “they started it.”

At the sound of his accusation, your eyes narrowed, turning to glare at Changbin, thankful for Jisung nudging you under the table before you could retaliate with a comment of your own. Chan simply casting you an amused look, his eyebrows raised in a silent question of what you were about to do.

You shook your head.

Whatever, you pushed your annoyance away in your head, as long as Chan was there during the rewrite meeting, you’d hopefully still be able to maintain your sanity.

Or at least, that was the hope that you were holding on to until that night when you’d gotten a text from Chan.

Chan 11:17pm - hey, i gave changbin your number if you don't mind... you know, since you guys have to discuss to rewrite the script and all -

You’d almost sat up from your bed in shock, frowning against the harsh light coming from your phone and the contents of the text, the latter obviously making you more disgruntled.

11:17pm - won’t you be discussing with us?? Why not just make a group chat??? -

Your heart was pumping with anxiousness as you awaited his reply, something about the sound of the clock ticking putting you in an even more anxious state, your heart almost sinking as texts from him and Changbin had come in at the same time.

You looked at Chan’s first.

Chan 11:18pm - oh i didn’t tell you? All script writing is done by Changbin. I’m just in charge of the other elements like props and directing and whatnot -

You shut your eyes, suddenly wishing you could travel back a few seconds back in time and not have checked your phone when Chan had texted you. Bringing your fingers across your screen reluctantly as you typed a reply to him.

11:18pm - ohhh hahaha right i forgot, thanks chan -

Now for the bigger menace at hand. You swiped over to Changbin’s message, your finger lingering on his chat as you decided to stop being petty and just open it.

seo changbin 11:18pm - just so you know, i’m doing this only because Chan asked me to. we can go over the changes at my house. is saturday okay with you? -

You pulled your notifications bar down. Tomorrow was Friday, and from what you knew you were pretty much free on Saturday. Fortunately or unfortunately for you.

You took another deep breath as you typed out your reply to him. For your own sanity, you tried to ignore the way he felt the need to clarify that he wasn’t doing it for your sake.

11:18pm - saturday’s fine. What time?-

Resisting the urge to go offline when you saw him come online, you felt as though you were in some sort of staring contest through your phone as you watched him type, his message coming in quickly.

seo changbin 11:18pm -1? We could order in and discuss -

You sighed, it wasn’t enough that he had to take away one peaceful lunch from you today, but yet another one on Saturday.

11:19pm -okay text me your address-

Another sigh left you when you read that the address he’d sent you was just a few blocks away from your apartment. Maybe he lived alone too; most of the apartments here were occupied by college students looking for affordable rent and shorter travel time.

seo changbin 11:19pm - don't be late -

You scoffed, shoving your phone back onto your bedside table as you slumped back against your pillow, burying your head into your pillow and kicking at your blanket that covered your feet uncomfortably.

Fine, if he wanted to be that way, that was fine by you. You would just do this for the sake of the short film. Yeah. That’s all it would be.

===

“Let’s make this quick and painless for the both of us,” you blurted the moment Changbin had opened his door to let you in, glad to see he was donning an outfit similar to yours (sweatpants and a t-shirt), your previous worries of being underdressed dissipating instantly.

He let out a sigh, his hand coming up to run it through his hair, his hair messy and sticking up at one place awkwardly, looking as though he’d slept on that side for too long.

“Hello to you too,” he grumbled, shutting the door behind you as he gestured to the living room.

You glanced around his rather plain apartment as he led you to the living room, his laptop resting on one of the cushions of the sofa, soft music verberating from the device.

“What food do you want?” he asked, earning a thoughtful frown from you as you set your things down on the floor next to the sofa, taking a seat on the other side of it.

“Fastest delivery would be if we order from that Chinese food place nearby, right?”

Changbin’s eyebrows quirked up in intrigue, “I was thinking of that place too,” he handed you his phone, letting you order what you wanted before handing it back to him.

It was otherwise silent between the both of you as you waited for the food to arrive, neither of you quite knowing how to break the silence. The tension slowly made you grow increasingly fidgety as time passed.

Changbin had sat down on the floor next to the coffee table, resting one hand on his soft rug as he pushed a stack of papers towards you, drawing your attention away from your soft copy of the script on your phone as you realised it was a hard copy of the script.

“Just use this, i’ve got a copy on my laptop,” he mumbled, making you nod, accepting it from him as you flipped to where you left off.

Changbin glanced at the clock, in disbelief that only 10 minutes had passed and yet he found himself feeling jittery at your silence. Turning his gaze towards you, he let out a small sigh.

He had expected you to say something by now, or let out some snarky comment about something he wrote. Your silence was unnerving him, it was almost as if he wanted you to say something, especially with the way you were scribbling notes beside the pages with a mechanical pencil he didn’t even recall seeing you take out.

“Which scene are you at?” he blurted, his anxiousness getting the better of him, making your head shoot up abruptly, surprised at his sudden outburst.

“Uh,” you glanced back down at the page, “I’m at the part where they find out they used to be penpals,” you told him.

“Okay,” Changbin murmured, thinking about where to go from there, momentarily distracted when he’d heard the doorbell ring. Pausing, he’d stepped out momentarily to retrieve your food, the rustling of bags getting louder as he neared the table.

Setting the food down on the table, surprising you when he’d pushed the food towards you, your surprise hadn’t gone unnoticed by Changbin.

“What?” he scoffed.

You shrugged, “nothing, just didn’t know you were capable of doing nice things,” you told him, a sarcastic lilt to your tone.

Changbin inhaled deeply, shooting you a patronizing smile as he broke his chopsticks, “anyway, I think we could start from there, since that’s kind of the turning point of their relationship.”

You nodded, pulling your food towards you as you began to eat.

“I was thinking,” you spoke, pausing to chew on your food, “this part has a lot of unanswered questions, like… I wouldn’t just let it go so easily if I found out someone was my penpal that I grew apart from. I felt like they should’ve had a bit more of a confrontation there.”

Changbin hummed, shocking you when he’d leant closer to you to look at the script, making you push it towards him, a small huff leaving him at your action.

“What questions do you think Penny would ask, then?” he asked you.

“I don’t know, maybe why they stopped talking in the first place?” there was a hint of sarcasm in your tone, making Changbin look at you over his mouthful of noodles.

“I told you already, Soobin grew out of it—”

You grimaced at his answer, your chopsticks halting before your mouth momentarily before you shovelled your noodles in with annoyance, “I don’t believe that.”

“I used to have a penpal, and I can guarantee you, the reason why we stopped talking wasn’t because we ‘grew out of it’,” you told him pointedly, having to stop yourself from growing too riled up about it, Changbin tensing up at your revelation.

Bringing his glass of water to his lips, he let his gaze wander around everything but you as he thought, curious as to what your penpal experience was like. Finally meeting your gaze, he almost sputtered over his water with how much he wasn’t paying attention to his actions, the only thing on his mind being to get his words out.

“You did?” It was pathetic, really, that that was all he’d come up with after such a long pause.

You nodded.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter, the story isn’t based on my penpal, it’s based on yours,” you attempted to draw the attention away from you, unsettling feelings of sourness building within you at the thought of how you left things.

“So, think. What would you be curious about?” you prompted him, seeing him purse his lips, a certain dazed look tinting his gaze.

Swallowing his mouthful of food, he looked at you as he thought. He would want to know if they were still passionate about acting, he would want to know how their family was doing, he would want to know if their personality had changed, if they were still the assertive ‘go after what you want’ character that had encouraged him so much. Or maybe, just how they are.

Changbin’s lips parted, shaking his head slowly, “... so many things,” he murmured.

An unexpected tension fell between the both of you, Changbin’s eyes meeting yours with a sort of unspeakable thoughtfulness, as if he was still thinking about your question.

You broke eye contact first, “write that, then. Who knows? Maybe they’re both as curious as the other.”

“You’re one of those glass half full people, aren’t you?” he huffed, making you click your tongue in annoyance.

“And what? You have no glass at all?” you retorted.

“Would you still be… curious too? Even If it didn’t end well?” he asked suddenly, a stupid question, Changbin thought, but still something he felt compelled to ask in the moment, as if he wanted the confirmation that you, someone with a penpal experience as well had shared the same sentiments as him.

You nodded, “of course I’d be. I could hate you and still be curious about you,” you shrugged.

“Me?” Changbin asked, making your eyes widen, the tension dissipating slightly as you shook your head vigorously, your hands coming up to wave at him dismissively.

“No no, not you. I meant-” you stopped yourself, glaring at him, “I just meant it as an example.”

And for what you were sure was the first time, Changbin had laughed, beginning to feel a bit more comfortable around you, his eyes forming narrow slits and the apples of his cheeks rounding slightly as he grinned, soft breathy giggles leaving him.

“Alright, I get it. It’s not a secret that you don’t like me.”

You huffed, not being able to help but feel the need to reassure him, “you’re not… that bad I guess. Jisung talks you up all the time.” you said, unsure why you felt the need to reassure him that you didn’t have a burning hatred for him, “you’re just stubborn as hell.”

He scoffed, “I could say the same about you.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him, reaching over to flip the page, “glad to know we’re on the same page, then.”

“Now that you said it,” Changbin began, moving on quickly from your bickering as he shoved his empty food packaging aside, “I do think Soobin would be curious about the things they talked about in their letters.”

You perked up at that, eyebrows raising, “That reminded me, I actually still have some of the letters from my penpal when we were younger, if you want I can loan them to you for some inspiration or something.”

Changbin nodded, flipping over to another page before pausing to type something on his computer, “yeah, actually that would be useful.”

You continued to look at the script for what had become hours, the both of you deciding it would be easier if you each assumed one of the character’s voices, speaking on behalf of the characters as you discussed. Coming up with a ‘what would soobin/penny do?’ process.

All the while during this discussion, Changbin had been scribbling down in his beaten up journal, the sides of the spine of the book peeling off when he’d set it down on the table, making you grimace.

“Do you think Pe—”

“Why don’t you just get a new journal? This one’s making such a mess,” you blurted out, frowning at the way the little brittle pieces of God knows what material covered his notebook had fallen onto the coffee table, making him tear his gaze away from what he was writing, looking at the mess on the coffee table you were gesturing at and letting out an amused huff.

“Oh, didn’t notice,” he smiled, “but that won’t be necessary, this journal’s been serving me fine.”

“It’s literally falling apart,” you pointed out.

“And you’re literally exaggerating.”

You scoffed.

“I mean, look at it, it’s such a hassle to use, since you have to keep cleaning up whenever you do so much as touch it,” you reasoned, seeing him shake his head.

“I don’t need a new journal, I’m perfectly fine using this one,” he told you, making you scrunch your nose up in distaste, Changbin looking at you with amusement heavily laden in his smile.

It seemed that there was something about the hours of bouncing off ideas and bickering that warmed the both of you up more, not feeling as wound up or hostile towards each other as you did a few hours ago, bonding over a shared want for the short film to be good.

“What?” he asked, leaning back against the sofa and resting his arm on one of the cushions, his other hand grasping his fingers as he awaited your response.

“You sound exactly like my mom,” you had a sour look on your face, continuing, “I bet you’re one of those needs versus wants people.” You huffed in amusement, shifting in your seat as you flipped through the scene you were about to discuss.

Changbin’s lips parted in shock, a breathy huff leaving him, “and what’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrugged, “You know, those people that decide on buying things through the concept of needing it or not.”

Changbin rolled his eyes, “yeah, like any other normal person.”

“It’s so boring! Ever heard of the concept of treating yourself?” you huffed, gesturing wildly. You were clearly very passionate about this.

Changbin shook his head, the smile lingering on his face, “I’m starting to understand why you’re Jisung’s friend. Sure, a treat once in a while is understandable, but i’d rather not waste my money on things I could do without.”

You huffed, a deep sigh leaving you, recalling a conversation you had with Binnie about his scooter.

“What’s up with boys and this need versus want thing? My penpal said the same thing even though he was only eight,” you mumbled, a small breath of laughter leaving your lips, leaving Changbin frowning at your statement.

Maybe other kids just talked about the same things he did with Y/N? He brushed the thought aside.

“He did?”

Changbin’s voice came out more hoarse than he’d intended, the intent in his stare making you falter momentarily, forgetting what you were doing just for a second.

Thankfully, you’d snapped out of whatever trance you were in, shaking your head dismissively, “nothing, it doesn’t matter.”

Changbin tilted his head at you, narrowing his eyes as he contemplated whether to pursue it or not, watching closely as you busied yourself with flipping pages just to look busy, even though the inside of your mind was spinning with an indescribable feeling that came with convincing yourself that the drift between you and your penpal was merely circumstantial.

You chewed on your lip, hating the way it felt as though your stomach was churning as you remembered the disappointment you felt when your letters had stopped getting sent through.

You were young, surely you shouldn’t blame yourself, you believed that. Your finger fiddled with the corner of the page, staring at Soobin’s dialogue.

‘Did our conversations even mean anything to you?’ the dialogue read, and you inhaled deeply as your head lifted to look at Changbin, your abrupt movement almost making him flinch in surprise.

“Why did you really stop talking to your penpal?” you sighed, curiosity getting the better of you. Though at this point you weren’t sure if it was curiosity or simply reassurance. Maybe even closure. All of which you needed to satisfy.

Changbin knew you weren’t going to accept his ‘grew out of it’ statement for an answer, deciding to be honest with you, you know, for the sake of the short film.

“I just… stopped hearing from them,” he began, heaving a sigh of his own as he shifted in his seat, picking at the imaginary dust on his sweatpants, “guess they had nothing to say.”

You couldn’t lie about it, you felt relieved. A part of you began to understand why he’d painted Penny’s character out to be like that, or furthermore why Soobin had seemed so affected by the revelation.

“Nothing to say…” you echoed, as if trying to wrap your head around his reasoning as well.

A small huff of amusement left him, though there was a hint of bitterness in his smile.

“I wouldn’t have minded, you know.”

He took his lower lip between his teeth, letting it go and you watched as the blood rushed back into his lips, looking redder than before.

Your eyebrows knit into a frown, “Wouldn’t have minded what?”

Changbin met your gaze, giving you a resigned shrug, “hearing it,” he continued, “nothing, everything.”

You could almost feel your heartbeat slowing down, the tense silence returning in the room and making you feel like you couldn’t breathe. Now that was some dialogue.

“Oh,” you broke the silence, your blank expression reading pure shock, your reaction catching Changbin off guard, “write that down, that’s such a Soobin thing to say.”

Changbin couldn’t do anything but laugh, shaking his head at you, “how opportunistic of you,” he teased, though he wrote it down nonetheless.

Maybe you being here was good, Changbin thought, it reminded him not to take himself too seriously sometimes.

===

To: Binnie

How are you?

I hope you are not still sad about your friends. I would tell you not to listen to them but i know that’s difficult sometimes because you can hear everything they say. But they were being very mean so they are not nice people. I don’t agree with what they said, because i think you are very nice and you have a nice smile. I don’t think you are scary. Sometimes my mom tells me i should smile more so people think i’m happy but I think you should just smile if you are happy. If you are sad then you can be sad. It is not a bad thing. I’m your friend because you’re nice to me and I like talking to you. If they’re going to be mean to you then they’re not your friends. If they do that to you again you can tell me their address and I will go and tell them myself!

Till next time, Your penpal Y/N

You’d shown up on the filming set on the first day absolutely buzzing from head to toe and ready to go (though, when you told Jisung about how you felt he’d insisted it was because of the lack of substantial sleep and the cans of energy drink you’d both drank the night before while he was helping you prepare your lines), but it seemed that everyone on the set was more tense than ever.

You found Hyunjin huddled with a few of them next to the sound cart, deciding to approach them to ask where Changbin was, having bought a coffee for him along the way.

“Hey,” you called, Hyunjin jumping in shock as he turned, his hand over his heart as he winced at you.

“Why do you move so quietly!” he groaned, making you dismiss him with a wave. 

“Did something happen? You guys look stressed,” you took a step towards them, possible reasons fluttering around in your mind but none seeming quite appropriate for the context you were in. Maybe the semester’s GPA results were out?

“Whatever, do you guys know where I can find Changbin?” The boy next to Hyunjin, a freshman by the name of Jeongin had sucked in a sharp breath at your question, making you grow even more confused.

“He’s… a little tense these days, so I’d suggest being a more careful around him,” Chan explained, earning nods of agreement from the film club members.

Your eyebrows raised, confusion showing in a slight pout on your lips. You didn’t remember him behaving out of the ordinary when you’d seen him the day before.

“Where’d he go?”

“He’s over there,” Chan pointed towards where the camera was set up and true enough, you saw Changbin seated at a bench there busying himself with his phone.

Nodding, you’d made your way over to Changbin, discomfort growing within you at the stares you were getting from the club members (some of which you didn’t even know the names of) as you made your way towards the blonde haired boy. It was a wonder why they all avoided him like the plague.

Changbin seemed to have sensed your presence, looking up from his phone and giving you a small wave as you reached the bench, sitting down next to him and holding out his cup of coffee.

Accepting it gratefully, he’d given you a nod.

“Thanks,” he glanced at your hands, “you didn’t get one for yourself?”

You let out a small burst of chuckles, “nope, figured it wasn’t the most logical thing to do since i’m already pretty alert from last night’s energy drinks.”

Changbin sucked in a sharp breath, clicking his tongue in teasing disapproval, “I figured as much, Jisung was way too hyper when I met him at the studio.”

Your expression was sheepish, “I’d say I was sorry but it was... important.”

Changbin huffed, “It’s alright, as long as you’re taking care of yourself.”

Before you could react to his statement, Changbin had acted as though he hadn’t said anything, an amused smile playing at his lips as he tore his gaze away from you, looking forward as he took a sip from his cup, “ready to film today?”

You nodded, regaining your bearings, trying not to think too much of his words.

“Pretty much, you?”

Changbin nodded, “yeah, even though we still have a little bit of the script left, I would say i’m pretty confident.”

You glanced behind Changbin, spotting Hyunjin looking at the both of you with sheer disbelief, making you roll your eyes, turning back to Changbin, angling your body on the bench so you could hug your knees to your chest, looking at him curiously.

“Are you feeling okay?”

He nodded, looking at you with confusion written in his features, clasping his hands around his coffee cup as he rested his hands on his lap, “yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”  

Maybe it was just his resting bitch face.

“Smile,” you commanded, nodding your head when he’d looked even more confused.

You watched in amusement as Changbin had laughed, shaking his head before looking at you with an all too sarcastic smile, his hand coming up in a peace sign next to his cheek, a smile unknowingly making its way onto your face at the sight.

“Okay now, don’t smile,” you continued.

Changbin had let his smile fall, looking just the same as he did when you’d shown up, making you press your lips into a firm line, a slight knit in your brows as your eyes narrowed.

Turning his head, he straightened up.

“Cool, Minho’s here,” he said, getting up and holding a hand out to help you up.

“Thanks,” you muttered, not expecting him to turn around and give you a smile.

“Let’s go, Penny.”

It was strange to you that there was something that felt so familiar about his smile, it reminded you of something that made you feel nostalgic. You liked seeing him smile. Changbin had a nice smile.

You brushed the thought away, nodding as you took his hand, letting him help you out.

“What, so you guys don’t hate each other anymore?” Jisung groaned later on that same week when you’d told him about the exchange you had.

He lifted his head from where he lay on your bed, “God, with you guys it’s like everyday’s something different.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him in amusement, “well… that’s because it is, isn’t it?”

You spotted the box of letters from your childhood penpal hidden beneath a stack of novels you had yet to unpack, your eyes glistening with triumph as you reached into your storage closet, fishing it out with a grunt.

“Come to think of it, Changbin hasn’t said anything about you since that day you met him to rewrite the script,” he murmured thoughtfully.

Heaving a sigh as you got up from your squat, you closed your closet, “which day? We met up a few times for the script.”

Jisung perked up at that, sitting up slightly and supporting his weight with his elbows.

“You did? Why am I only finding out about this now?” he scoffed.

You rolled your eyes, walking over to your desk to set the box onto it, “I told you about it, you just forgot.”

Making your way over to the bed, you flopped down onto your belly next to Jisung, looking at him curiously as he frowned at you. His mention of Changbin had made you curious.

“He… really hasn’t said anything about me?” you dared to ask, regretting it almost immediately when Jisung had taken the opportunity to twist your words.

Jisung’s expression had changed to one that you were all too used to, how his eyes would give away that he was thinking of saying something to tease you, his lips curving into a slight smirk.

“Why? Do you want him to be talking about you?”

You wrinkled your nose, a small panicked scoff leaving you, “yeah, right. Don’t get too carried away there.”

Jisung prodded further, leaning closer to you as he drawled, “well, why not? I mean, you said it yourself, you guys are on pretty good terms now, aren’t you?”

You purse your lips. The film club had been nice enough to give you a month longer to work on the script, you and Changbin ending up getting carried away and doing the whole thing over. And of course, within that month, you interacted with Changbin in some way or another almost everyday.

It could be meetings at his or your apartment, or spontaneous phone calls when one of you thought of an idea and you’d felt inspired to discuss it (even if you were on your bed tucked into your sheets when it happened most of the time), sometimes it was even just simple texts checking up on each other and asking what the other thought about the updates.

Nonetheless, you’d grown used to Changbin’s presence, finding that after that meeting at his house, it was like it had softened the both of you up to each other, especially when you realised your perception of Changbin was all wrong and that really, he was as soft as softies go.

You gave Jisung a shrug, tugging the neckline of your shirt down, feeling as though the room had gotten hotter, “I mean, yeah, I guess. He doesn’t annoy me as much as he used to.”

Jisung let out a chuckle, the laugh bubbling out louder as he continued.

“You know if you tell me you like him now,  I won’t make fun of you.”

“You’re lying.”

“So, you do like him?” His grin widened, making you sputter for a better response, figuring you’d dug your own grave with that one.

“Don’t stir shit,” you narrowed your eyes at him.

Your reaction had only tickled him even more, clutching his belly as he sighed, “I knew it. Remember? I told you he was your type!” his tone was triumphant, making you regret fuelling his suspicions.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re very happy about that,” you huffed, turning away from him and burying your face in your soft sheets, your hand coming up next to your head to smooth over the fabric.

You felt Jisung’s hand on your arm, his expression grim.

“Wait, so am I really right? You like him?”

You shrugged his hand away, though he hadn’t budged, giving up soon after.

“I mean,” you enjoyed your last moment of peace before you decided to reply to him, “he’s cute, I won’t deny that. And he’s become a lot nicer to me… he’s fun to talk to? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little attracted to him.”

Jisung snickered, “that’s cute, but gross. I can’t believe you like Changbin.”

Trust him to only get that out of whatever you’d just told him.

You turned to give him a wide-eyed look of disbelief, “oh, please, you were the one that kept fluffing him up to me!”

Jisung had simply shrugged, unfazed by your outburst, a small sound of hesitation leaving him.

“I would say I did a minimal amount of fluffing. I just called it before the both of you realised.”

You grit your teeth, “fine, enjoy your moment. But one word about it to Changbin and you’re dead. Got it?”

Jisung’s eyes widened, his hand coming up to mimic zipping up his lips.

“Got it.”

===

“Cut!”

You turned to cast a desperate look to Chan, the said boy looking apologetic as he called for a stop again. You watched as he leant down for Changbin to murmur something in his ear, Chan nodding before making his way over to you and Minho.

“We’re thinking maybe you could try that scene again but maybe with just a little more… in the moment? Maybe try not to rush through it,” Chan suggested to Minho, making the said boy groan.

“Sorry, it’s my fault. It’s just- we’ve been filming for hours, if I wasn’t so scared of Changbin I would’ve—”

“I know,” Chan reassured Minho, giving the both of you a small smile, “hopefully we can get this scene done quickly and then we’ll all be free to go, hmm?”

You nodded, letting Chan make his way back to where the monitor was as you got back into position with Minho.

Changbin watched intently as you and Minho acted out the scene again, something about the way Minho was delivering his lines seeming so unaligned with the picture Changbin had in his head. Was it the lines that weren't doing it for him? Was it because Changbin couldn’t quite tap into the emotions of the character in this scene?

He wasn’t sure what exactly it would look or sound like to be in love, but whatever ‘Soobin’ was showing, sure wasn’t what Changbin wanted it to be.

After you’d finished the scene, the film club members had waited anxiously for Changbin’s greenlight on whether they were free to go, all of them anxiously looking on as Chan went to talk to a few of them at props.

You taken the liberty of making your way over to where Changbin was, seeing him intently monitoring the scene that you’d just shot, the reason behind why he’d made you and Minho run through the same scene 15 times starting to become clear to you.

“That’s not gonna help you make it better, you know?” you spoke, shoving your hands into your pocket and scrunching your eyes shut as you braced against the cool wind that was blowing your way, the trees rustling loudly as Changbin’s head shot up, the frown remaining on his face.

“What?” Changbin figured he came off as a little too annoyed, but he stayed unwavering nonetheless, wanting to know just what you thought you knew about him.

“You know, I watched an interview once, and this actor said something that was so true,” you began, taking a seat next to him, feeling his gaze on you before you continued, your gaze falling on the image of you and Minho on the monitor, “he said that playback makes scenes seem a lot more dissatisfactory.”

Changbin’s frown deepened, “I don’t get it, just spit it out.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile, “I’m trying to give you advice here, okay? As I was saying, be in the moment. Not everything’s gonna turn out like how it is in your head.”

You inhaled deeply, a slight shiver running down your spine at how cold you felt, taking a hand out of your pocket to tap him on the arm.

“Now can you wrap it up and call it a day? The rest of them have been dying to go home but they’re too scared to tell you.”

Changbin hummed, “They are? Why?”

You nodded, seeing Changbin already making to stand up and call for the rest’s attention, with you taking the opportunity to lean over to him and mutter, “Dunno, maybe they just haven’t figured out what a softie you are yet.”

Changbin attempted to press his lips together firmly to contain his smile, though eventually giving up and letting the soft smile be shown on his face as he dismissed the club members, the rest of them already having started shifting their equipment back.

You’d decided to help them shift the equipment while Changbin talked to Chan about something, trying your best to ignore the way the weather seemed to be getting chillier as all the equipment had started feeling cold to the touch. Mental note to start wearing warmer clothes out after today.

“Thanks for convincing Changbin to free us,” Hyunjin sighed when you were coming down the stairs after locking the club room, making you huff.

“He’s not some dictator, you know. You guys could just ask him next time,” you reasoned.

Hyunjin scoffed, “I’d much rather keep my life, thank you very much.”

Rolling your eyes, you pulled out your phone as you thought whether to text Jisung if he’d wanted to meet for dinner.

“You’re so dramatic,” you told Hyunjin, “I told him and I got to keep my life.”

Hyunjin scoffed, “that’s cause he—”

He stopped himself abruptly, eyes widening for a split second before he shrugged, “that’s cause you fight with him all the time, it’s different.”

You saw a text come in.

Changbin 8:14pm - do u wanna go get dinner? I’m done talking to Chan -

“Speak of the devil,” you murmured, erasing your drafted text to Jisung and replying to Changbin to say that you would wait at the quad.

Changbin 8:14pm - i was thinking of eating some cold noodles -

You grimaced at the thought, Hyunjin pulling you out of your thoughts, “are you waiting for Changbin?”

You nodded, sensing his hesitancy to let you wait there alone, “you go ahead, I’ll be fine, he’s already on his way.”

Hyunjin frowned, turning to see Changbin from afar already making his way over, Changbin having spotted the both of you and given Hyunjin a wave.

Waving back, Hyunjin nodded, “alright, I’ll see you.”

Tugging your jacket tighter around yourself, you folded your arms, hoping Changbin would hurry up so you could finally go somewhere with heating.

Though once he’d met up with you, you were a little confused when he’d gone a completely different direction than you’d expected, leading you to a traditional restaurant that served mainly soups and broths instead.

Don’t get me wrong, you were thankful for the warmth of the restaurant, of course, but just a little confused about why he changed his mind.

You let him order for the both of you, looking curiously from where you were seated facing him, leaning back in the wooden chairs as Changbin ordered from the older lady running the shop.

“I thought you wanted to eat cold noodles?” you scanned the menu in search of the item, confusion increasing when you found nothing of the sort.

Changbin shook his head, “figured you might wanna eat something warmer,” he admitted, making your lips part in surprise.

“How’d you know?”

Changbin didn’t know how to explain that it was because he’d kept looking at you during shooting and he didn’t miss the way your hands would clench and unclench the fabric of your clothes, or how you’d fold your arms more and shake them out in between takes when you thought no one was looking.

“…  just a wild guess.”

You brushed his comment aside, the both of you talking about your upcoming classes or complaining about readings that had yet to be read, the sheer boiling temperature of the stone pot making heat rush to your cheeks and spread through your body, thankful for Changbin’s wild guess.

Leaning back in your seat with your hands over your stomach, you sighed at how full you were feeling, already anticipating your food coma as you let yourself zone out staring at the label of Changbin’s bottle of soju.

“Are they really scared of me?”

You’d dragged yourself out of your daze (reluctantly), your lips pursing, “sorry, what did you say?”

Changbin averted his gaze, fiddling with his fingers under the table. Smoothing his thumb over the soft skin at his palm, his tongue poking at his canines before he looked back at you, meeting your gaze with a certain determination.

“The film club people,” he repeated, “are they really scared of me?”

You shrugged, “yeah, I guess. Like, they talked about it before… I guess it’s because you have that serious expression on a lot so they might take it the wrong way.”

Observing his expression, his lips had parted, a blank expression on his face, “I have a serious expression?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, tilting your head at him, “I think It’s just your resting face. They’re kind of wary of how they act around you during meetings, you know, which is why they had that kind of reaction when I first spoke up about the script.”

Changbin let his grip around his spoon relax, whatever rice he’d scooped into it dispersing into the soup.

“Then why aren’t you scared?”  

You almost snorted with how immediate your laughter had bubbled out of you, a bout of chuckles leaving you as your shoulders shook lightly.

“Because,” you waved your spoon slightly, “there’s nothing to be scared of.”

Changbin’s blank expression had prompted you to continue.

“I have no problem with you being assertive about what you want,” you explained, “I mean, if it were my script, i’d probably be equally, if not more, assertive about how I want it. But that’s a good thing about you. You don’t just… shut up if something doesn’t sit right with you. That’s something I’ve always thought was really important.”

Call him crazy, but Changbin couldn’t adequately describe how your words had done more in spreading a giddy warmth in his chest than the food ever could.

He wasn’t always like this. If anything, he’d wanted to say that he’d pushed himself to be more assertive after countless conversations with his penpal about not being afraid to speak up for what you want.

Though he’d always been scared of whether he’d be doing a disservice to the people he worked with if he chose not to speak up, he was glad that you reminded him just why he started doing it in the first place.

Penny’s character in his head had started to look more and more like you. And he was glad.

“You wanna hear something crazy?” You blurted.

You didn’t know where you were going with this. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing, really. You just knew that saying what you said to him had triggered a sense of what you could only describe as love within you. If you knew anything about it.

“What?” he asked, the smile on his face making you stop in your tracks. How could he remind you so much of someone, yet seem so much like a mature, upgraded version of them at the same time?

You couldn’t possibly tell him that you were starting to be kind of glad that you didn’t meet Binnie, because you felt like you were looking at him right now. And childhood penpal or not, you were so much more smitten with the one sitting before you.

“Nothing,” you breathed, “nothing, sorry, forget I said anything.”

Your revelation reminded you that you’d brought your old letters from Binnie for Changbin to tap on for inspiration to write the last scene, shutting your mouth and turning to fish the box out of your bag.

“I just remembered, you asked for these right?” you pushed the box towards him, seeing him pick up the box gingerly (as though it were that brittle old notebook he uses), placing it into his bag.

“I’m assuming they’re the letters from your old penpal?”

You nodded, “but don’t laugh when you read them, okay? He was really nice to me.”

Changbin huffed, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips, “yeah, yeah, no promises.”

After you were done with your dinner (Changbin paying for it as a supposed ‘thank you’ for being patient during filming), you’d prepared yourself to fight against the cold night breeze as you stepped out of the restaurant before Changbin, not having expected to feel a warm weight being draped over your shoulders.

“I don’t know why you decided to come out without a coat when you know now’s usually when the weather gets colder,” he tutted his tongue, feigning disapproval, not giving you any time to be shocked at his gesture.

He stood in front of you, tugging the coat tighter around you as he met your gaze, giving you a tired smile.

“I’ll walk you back to your apartment.”

You bit down on your lip, your racing heart and panic making the best reply you could come up with to be a mere, “didn’t peg you to be so gentlemanly.”

To which Changbin shrugged, a small smirk playing at his lips.

“I can be pretty romantic if I want.”

You were gonna get whiplash at this rate.

That same night (or day, 3am was a fine line), you’d received an email from Changbin of the last scene for the film, reading through it and having to stop in between for breaths and water breaks because you had no idea Changbin was capable of encompassing such romantic sentiments in a scene.

Looking at what he wrote, you would never have thought he was the same person that kept arguing with you about happy endings going to shit.

Changbin had written the scene in a burst of inspiration, having felt an almost uncomfortably foreign giddiness within him after returning home from your dinner, feeling even more motivated when he’d watched the film footage they’d shot earlier that day (unconsciously rewinding more than once to watch you act) deciding to just go with whatever he was feeling and write down the scene he had in mind.

And if anyone was asking, no, he totally didn’t picture you as Penny and himself as Soobin the entire time while doing so.

By the time you were done, it was almost an hour later, the aftermath of reading his scene making you pick your phone up and send him a text.

4:02am - did something happen? What’s with the lovey dovey script? Did someone finally change their mind about Penny? -

Not long after, Changbin’s reply came in, feeling thankful that he’d only decided to open your box of letters, or more accurately his letters, after he was done with the scene, something about what he found putting him in an all too thoughtful mood.

Changbin 4:04am -let’s just say... i took your advice-

===

“What do you think, Changbin?” Chan’s voice had snapped Changbin out of his daze, the latter looking at Jisung with a shrug.

“I would say you’re just short changing yourself if you didn’t talk to her. I mean, you said you liked her, right? So what are you waiting for?” Changbin sounded almost impatient, his tone eliciting a grunt from Jisung.

“Yeah, you say it like you’re not the one hiding your hopeless crush on Y/N.”

Chan’s eyes widened, not having expected Jisung to say it so blatantly.

Changbin sputtered, looking at Chan for help only to be met with giggles.

“I’m sorry, dude, it was really quite easy to tell.”

Changbin wanted the cushioned booth to swallow him whole, scrunching his eyes tightly shut in a wince.

“Whatever, that’s not the point,” he waved Jisung off dismissively, “we’re talking about your love life here.”

Jisung pursed his lips, shaking his head, “it’s not fun anymore, I wanna talk about yours.”

Changbin glared at Jisung, “i’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Good, ‘cause you should be having it with Y/N.”

Chan raised an eyebrow at the younger boy, humming in suspicion.

“Why do you sound like you know things...”

Jisung shrugged, raising his hands to give a dramatic shrug, “Do I? I guess we’ll never find out since Changbin ‘isn’t gonna have this conversation with me’.”

Chan turned to Changbin, who currently looked as though he would rather die than be here right now, “actually, what are you waiting for?”

Changbin brought a hand up to massage his fingers on his temples, a resigned sigh leaving him.

“I don’t know, I’ll probably not do anything until the showcase. I still don’t know how exactly I wanna go about it.”

Jisung snickered, “you’ll be fine, seriously.”

“Yeah, whatever, I’ll just enjoy whatever time I have left to think about it till the showcase. Now back to your issue… ”

But obviously, Changbin didn’t use his 3 days of buffer time very well.

He was lucky the atmosphere of the showcase and the unexpected crowd of people had prolonged the time until he’d be in a situation where he’d feel compelled to talk to you about it. Whatever it was.

You hadn’t noticed, obviously, the way Changbin had been keeping himself busy talking to guests and teachers that had shown up, people from the media and publications club. You were too busy being whisked away by your own friends and a already slightly tipsy Minho who thought it was a good idea to pregame drinks before the afterparty later on.

It’d only been when things started calming down and people were actually watching the film that you’d been put in a position where you had no choice other than to think about the boy seated in front of you tapping his foot incessantly on the carpeted floor of the auditorium.

Once the show was over, you’d leant forward, about to congratulate him when you’d both been whisked up by one of the teachers-in-charge, pulling you together with Minho onto the stage to answer questions from the audience.

The questions were fairly simple, most of them from the media and publications club trying to get technical details for their article, allowing you to zone out from where you stood on the stage, letting Changbin smoothly answer all the questions they could possibly throw at him. It wasn’t like Minho was in any position to answer them, tipsy and zoned out of his mind.

It was only when you’d heard him fumbling around with his words that you looked up from the spot on the wall you were staring at, turning to look at Changbin with an embarrassing amount of concern on your features.

“I’m sorry can you repeat the question?” you’d spoken into the microphone, hearing someone that sounded almost identical to Jisung asking how he got inspiration from the story.

You looked at Changbin curiously, as if silently asking if he needed you to step in, only to have him look at you with a blank expression, his mouth opening and closing as he fumbled for an answer.

“Oh, well, I’m sure I can answer this on behalf of Changbin,” you began, “we’d worked on the script together, and it was inspired by a lot of things, like our experiences with pen pals as well as movies like ‘you’ve got mail’.”

Changbin’s shoulders slumped with relief, nodding towards you as a silent thanks, the moment cut short when you were once again whisked away into different crowds to take pictures or to carpool to the afterparty.

Though you were bored 10 minutes into the party, Minho having gotten drunk before you could even get past your second drink, you’d let Changbin have his fun. You figured it was a good thing that he was being recognized for his efforts, even if he didn’t look like he was enjoying the attention very much. He needed it, you supposed, to be forced to see how much people enjoyed the work he made.

But you didn’t stay to see it too long, adjourning to the porch of whoever’s house you were in to enjoy an environment away from the loud music and too many people you didn’t know.

“Already bored?”

You’d jumped at the sound of Changbin’s voice, his footsteps loud against the wooden porch as he took a seat next to you on the swing, holding out his bottle of soda to you, “do you want some?”

You shook your head, seeing him shrug, “suit yourself, then.” He took a long sip of his soda, sighing afterwards.  

A tired smile on your face, you let out a deep sigh, “didn’t expect you to find me here so quickly.”

“How could I not?” he laughed, shaking his head, “In case you didn’t notice, I was suffocating in there, figured I deserve a break.”

“Good job, though, I’d say you handled everything well…” you started, your smile growing, “... though there is one thing…  I didn’t think you were the type to struggle with public speaking.”

Changbin’s lips parted in shock, scoffing, “shut up, I don’t usually.”

“Sure, you don’t,” you teased, bringing your hands to your sides to support your weight, letting your legs lift off the ground as Changbin used his feet to move the swing gently.

You leant back in your seat, enjoying the silence you were able to get out here as compared to the chaos going on within the house, noticing how tense Changbin seemed, his posture anything but relaxed as he’d let out sigh after sigh, tapping his rings against the seat of the bench absently.

“Relax,” you chuckled, “it’s already over.”

Doing the opposite of relaxing, Changbin simply stopped moving the swing, angling his body to face you more as he fished in his blazer pocket for something, pulling out an envelope from his jacket, “I have uh… something for you.”

Holding it out for you to take, your gaze fell on the colourful envelope, the little strawberry stickers you remembered using your savings to buy as you frowned at the address written on the envelope in your old messy ‘princess handwriting’.

Your gaze darted from the envelope back to him, “how did you… how do you have this?”

“I have it,” he began, letting out yet another sigh, “because you sent it to me.”

If it could, your heart would’ve stopped in that exact moment.

“Read it,” he prompted when you’d stayed silent, your hands moving urgently to open the envelope, your heart feeling warm when you pulled the paper out, already being able to see the ‘To: Binnie’ written with your favourite scented marker.

To: Binnie

How are you? I’m fine. I am writing this very late in the night because I finished my rehearsal for my school play in the evening and I just finished taking a bath. I have to be quick or my mom is gonna scold me for not sleeping yet. I wanted to tell you that you should sign up for the competition. Which is why I have to mail this to you A.S.A.P as possible because you said the sign up closes in a few days. I think that you should just try it out, even if you don’t do well. Because then at least you can say that you gave it a try and you had fun. I saw this on a tv show, and they said if you don’t try, you will never know if it will turn out well, because you didn’t try.

So I’m telling you to try!!!!! Just try your best and have fun. I think you will do well.

Till next time, Your penpal Y/N.

“So this is me… trying… it. Whatever it is,” he sounded out of breath, almost, and your heart had begun to pick up speed at how it seemed as though this would be the time where he would confess his feelings to you (if Soobin and Penny were any guide to go by).

You should’ve known Changbin better by now, though.

“Thank you… for helping me with the film. You know, for giving me crap about it because I know that that wasn’t really what I felt. I was just… bitter, but for some reason, you giving me shit about it kind of reminded me why I liked being friends with my penpal- or, I guess, liked being friends with you, so much in the first place.” he was looking at you more confidently now, straightening up as he continued.

“It wasn’t because you gave me fake money to buy a scooter, or anything,” he laughed, “it was more because you were someone that was friends with me for who I was? You were kind, and you were honest.”

Changbin fiddled with the envelope in his hands as you tried your best to contain your smile.

“And you were especially supportive, you know, in your own argumentative way.”

You let out a huff of breathy laughter at that, your hand coming up to touch your necklace, finding something else to fiddle with to contain your anxiousness.

“I’m glad, though, that I didn’t know you were that Y/N,” he told you, “because I already grew to like this Y/N so much, that… finding out was just… a pleasant surprise.”

For the first time since you saw the letter, you’d spoken, a breathy, “me too,” leaving you, embarrassing you to no end.

“I’m glad it was you,” you murmured, averting your gaze, not having expected Changbin to have reached out a hand towards yours, hovering just momentarily before making the decisive action of grasping it gently.

“Me too.”

“So are you gonna explain why my letters—”

“Shh,” he shut his eyes, the smile on his face making you give in almost instantly, “don’t ruin it.”

===

“I didn’t know people even still sent letters these days,” Jisung snorted, sipping on his coffee that he’d just gone downstairs to buy, “here, you have one, but there's no name.”

You frowned, picking it up and finding the handwriting of your address awfully familiar, feeling as though you’d definitely seen it scribbled on a specific brittle old notebook before.

You flopped onto your bed, opening the letter as Jisung resumed playing whatever game he was busy with on your desktop computer.

Thankful for the distraction, you’d quickly unfolded it, scrunching your nose at his choice of pen name.

To: my penpal Y/N

This letter may just be over a decade overdue, but I wanted to firstly say I’m sorry for making you wait so long. That letter about my film competition, that was the last one I received from you, and one of my favourites. I figured it out, by the way, I gave you the wrong address. Phonics was a very tricky thing for my eight year old stubborn self that refused to cross check with my mom.

I figured sending you a letter was best, you know, since you know I'm not the very best at public speaking, or just speaking in general sometimes, I doubt I'd be able to say as eloquently what I wanted to say to you in this letter.

I wanted to give you a few updates. Firstly, I met someone in my film club. Well, technically I auditioned them for my short film so there’s no one to blame for the trouble they caused other than me. I didn’t like them that much at the beginning. I thought they were just trying to impose their stupid happily ever after beliefs on me, someone who thought I was a big bad cynical bitter man that didn’t believe in love stories.

As you probably guessed, they challenged me (a lot), and waiting to see them started to feel like the days where I would wait to hear my mom tell me that a letter came in for me, even better actually. They reminded me of the qualities in myself that I was always afraid of showing, and they reminded me what was so good about being unapologetic for who I was sometimes, because they accepted all of that, (but not without giving me an shit about it first, of course).

But i’m thankful, I’m thankful because I really grew to like them a lot. I liked how I could be comfortable being myself around her, and I liked how they would support me when I needed it, but also to correct me when I need to be corrected.

They were real, and I liked that, a lot.

So, the point of this was that if they ever happen to receive this, you know, (because I totally didn’t know your current address, obviously), I hope they know that I’ve grown to like them very much, to like the personality that i’ve come to know, and that i’m very excited to grow to know (and like) even more.

I’ll be seeing you, Binnie.

[duuhrayliegh]

Fuck Misogyny

request: Bucky uses his newly gained knowledge of feminism to squash misogynistic interview questions. @ptrs-prkrs

warnings: language, creepy men, feminist!bucky

a/n: hey babes!! i hope this lived up to what you wanted! i couldn’t find the exact video you were referencing but i know what you’re talking about, so i drew inspiration from a few others.

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

xoxo ray

full m.list

The set up was simple. A long row of fold out tables covered in black fabric, microphones in front of each seat. Black papers were taped to the backs of the microphones with each team member's name. Bucky had told Evie that he wasn’t going to be able to work out with her today because of this so it better be worth it. The PR manager for the team, Amanda, had set everything up. Hired the mediator, notified the press, everything. Ever since they announced that they were going to be hosting an Avenger’s Q&A Panel, the internet quite literally broke.

Of course Bucky had been doing lives on TikTok with the group of five for the past couple of weeks now, so he was becoming quite comfortable in this format. He’s become increasingly active on his social media accounts, gaining more and more followers everyday. Granted, there were still haters, as Freddie called them, but Bucky ignored them for the most part.

Bucky was actually excited for this press meeting. He was finally gaining traction in the media and he knew how to correctly answer their questions. As Amanda had explained, there was going to be several questions from the mediator, tons from the press that they had invited, and then some fan questions as well. They apparently were going to be live streaming the conference on YouTube allowing them to read the comments and questions as it went on.

“Okay, everyone. You have two minutes until we start.” The team was in an empty board room in the Hilton hotel. Tony didn’t want everyone on the compound’s grass because he just had it fixed. Bucky scanned his fellow teammates. It was impossible for everyone to dress for the same event. Steve was wearing a shirt that was almost bursting at the seams with a pair of jeans and sneakers.

Tony was wearing a lovely Tom Ford, three piece, two-button, of course. Natasha and Wanda were wearing ripped jeans and casual tops. Vision was wearing a sweater vest and slacks, Bruce was clad in slacks as well a jacket covering his shoulders. Sam was wearing a button-up shirt and pressed jeans and he couldn’t find Clint anywhere, probably hiding in the rafters again.

Bucky had his iconic leather jacket donning his shoulders, a pair of slightly ripped jeans. His outfit was picked out by Cassie and Penny. “You need to look like you care but like you don’t at the same time.” Is what they said, the phrase made Bucky shake his head. His hair had finally started growing back and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it.

He had gotten help from Evie before he left Cassie’s apartment. She had pulled back the top half, braiding back two sections into the bun at the back of his head. There were pieces dangling in front of his eyes, “to accentuate the facial features, trust me they’ll love it.” Was Evie’s explanation as they pushed him out of the apartment, so he wouldn’t be late.

“Alright guys! They’re calling your names!” The team filed out of the board room and into a large ballroom. Bottles of water were placed beside each placemat. Tony went out first, followed by Steve, then Bruce, Natasha, Clint, Wanda, Vision, Sam and ending with Bucky. They all settled into their seats, Bucky peeled his jacket off himself, placing it on the back of his chair. His black short sleeved shirt highlighted the gold inlays of his vibranium arm.

“Oh, I see we’re showing some muscle today huh, Buck?” Sam teased as Bucky took his seat next to him. Bucky groaned in realization, covering his microphone so it didn’t pick up what he planned to say.

“Good God, is this what it’s going to be like the entire panel? You just bugging the shit outta me?” They shared a laugh making the rest of the members look at the pair. The audience clapped as they were introduced and continued clapping as they assembled before them.

“Thank you. We would like to welcome everyone to the first, of hopefully many, Avenger’s Q&A Panel.” The female mediator, Stacey, read the assigned lines off the sheet on her podium. “We are going to start with questions we curated for the team and then open it up to the members of the press. After that we will turn to our live stream and answer some viewer questions.” The press rustled in their seats, pulling out pens and journals as well as their phones to record. “Okay, starting off with a question directed at the Avengers in general. How are you feeling about coming before the media in this type of format?” Glances were exchanged between the members, not sure on who was going to start.

“I feel that this is a great way for the general public to learn a little bit more about each individual team member.” Vision was the first to respond and Steve added on.

“Yeah, I definitely think that there’s a common misconception that we don’t want to engage with the media or the general public. We do, unfortunately due to the amount of research and training that we are doing behind the scenes, it just goes to the back of our minds.”

“Right. So Tony and Bruce, we all know that you two are geniuses. What are your feelings on expanding the teachings of STEM courses to not only high school, but as far back as elementary school or even kindergarten?” The pair thought about the question before answering.

“Well, I definitely think that offering STEM-based classes at a younger age would be beneficial, especially if we were to allow the kids to continue to switch what they want to focus on.” Bruce started. “It’s incredibly anxiety-inducing for teenagers to have to decide what they’re going to do with their life right before they are thrust into an unforgiving world.”

“Yeah, I’ll never understand why we do that to our future leaders, it’s honestly baffling. Why do American schools wait until high school to require our children to learn foriegn languages, they aren’t going to retain that information. The same applies for such comprehensive courses like STEM-based ones. If you wait until their brains are already developed so far, then they’ve already decided what they think is interesting and if they don’t find those courses interesting then they aren’t going to pay attention.” Tony finished Bruce's thought before nodding to each other smugly, obviously proud of themselves for answering the question so well.

“Interesting that you see it that way. This last one goes out to everyone and then we’ll open it up to the reporters. How do you deal with the stress and anxiety that comes with being an Avenger? Do you feel a certain amount of pressure to always do the right thing?” Stacey shuffled her papers, tapping them twice on the podium.

“We all have our own routines and ways that we decompress after missions so that really just depends on the person. Like I think that Bruce listens to opera music, and Wanda mediatates, Tony tinkers. It depends on the person.” Natasha answered concisely, making Bucky nod his head. He could recall all of those things to be true.

“Oh definitely, and it doesn’t hurt that we have a former VA Trauma Counselor on board to help us work through the harder stuff.” Steve added a gesture of his head to Sam.

“Speaking of that Sam, just a quick question before we open it up. How difficult was it for you to transition from regular Air Force missions to Avenger level missions?” Sam made a face at Stacey before answering.

“Um, I mean, it’s not that different. You’re always fighting one of the Big Three-- aliens, androids, or wizards, no matter what department you’re working with. The only transition I had to deal with was the Tony Stark-erized suits. Now that I think of it, Tony, can we make it tighter?” Sam quipped making the room laugh with ease.

“Alright, well now we’re going to open it up to the reporters. Starting with this gentleman in the front and then if we could also give a microphone to someone on that side of the room. Okay, thank you.” The first reporter stood up, holding the microphone in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Hello. John from Huffington Post. The Avengers inspire almost everyone around the world, so we would like to know who inspires you? Who do you look up to in terms of your idols?” He sat back down as the team contemplated their answers.

“Gandhi.” Bruce said, Tony snapped his fingers and pointed at him then added. “Pepper, she’s so amazing.” Steve looked down to Bucky, who shrugged.

“I would probably have to say that my sister, Sarah, inspires me. She raised her two sons, Cas and AJ, by herself after the Blip and was able to keep the family business going.” Sam’s answer made Bucky smile. Sam had brought him to their house in Delacroix, he remembered waking up to Cas and AJ playing in the kitchen, happy giggles filtering through reminding him of his time in Wakanda. By the time that Bucky had refocused on the conversation they had moved on without his answer. Several different questions went by, all directed to the team at large, until Chad.

“Hi, I’m Chad for the Daily Mail. My question is for Wanda and Natasha.” The pair of women perked up, excited to have a specific question. “Do you find that your equipment hinders you in doing your job as well as your male counterparts?” Stunned expressions settled over the womens faces, then annoyance. Bucky’s brows shot up to his hairline, appalled that someone had the balls to ask that. Wanda and Natasha handled the question with grace and much more restraint than Bucky would have.

“Well for me, I am able to move things with my mind so I can throw things randomly at people even if I’m not in the room. I’ve been very fortunate to work with Natasha who has Widow training, so my hand to hand combat is improving immensely. And being able to work with Princess Shuri in Wakanda to learn how to fully control my powers. It’s an ever evolving process that I’m always excited to take on.” Bucky nodded and turned his attention to Natasha.

“My favorite thing is training with either Steve or Bucky because they push me to do my best. We all have our specialties here and it’s nice to learn new skills or improve old ones with people who support you.” Natasha sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest, throwing daggers with her eyes at Chad in the audience, waiting for him to say something else. Chad stood again, yelling so he could be heard over the crowd’s commotion.

“That’s great, ladies, but forgive me, you didn’t answer the question I asked.” Bucky pushed forward in his seat, leaning into his microphone.

“I’m sorry, I think I misunderstood what you asked them then. I would like for you to clarify what you mean by equipment.” Chad balked, not expecting a male’s voice to respond.

“You know what’s implied by equipment, sir.” Bucky’s jaw clenched at the man.

“Did you just ask two of the most capable women that I’ve ever known, if their equipment, which I’m assuming you’re referring their breasts, made it to where they couldn’t do their job as good as the rest of their male counterparts. Just to be clear, that’s what you’re asking?” Chad stuttered as he answered yes.

“Right, well first off that’s disgusting. Just a bit of background for you, Wanda is the strongest Avenger here, plain and simple. As for Natasha, she’s the smartest woman I’ve ever met and she can take down every single male here.” Bucky took a breath before continuing. “So, what I think you really want to know is how they encourage their teammates to keep up with them.” He dropped his head to look at the two women down the line.

“Don’t worry Chad, I’ll ask them the right question, since you can’t quite seem to understand how to respect women.” The team was holding back snickers at Chad’s reaction. “Wanda, Natasha. Chad wants to know how the hell you push your male teammates to be just as good as you are. What are your strategies to keep us on our toes while training?” Claps sounded from the women press members and Bucky awaited the pair's response. The next press member stood and asked a question.

“Hi, I’m Chloe from Vanity Fair. This question goes to everyone on the panel.” Bucky settled in for another question that didn’t matter. “How do you continue to be aware of things happening in our society today? Do you keep up-to-date through new channels, or social media?” The answers were rather generic from the team, all of them rather uncomfortable from the tension that Bucky and Chad had created. Stacey interrupted after Chloe’s question.

“Okay, we’re going to open it up to viewer questions from our live stream.” An iPad was placed on the podium in front of Stacey and her eyebrows rose. “Okay, there’s quite a variety here. Here’s one for Steve and Bucky.” Bucky perked up, nervous to answer because his adrenaline had worn off.

“One viewer asks, ‘Steve and Bucky, being from the 40’s, women were treated like second thoughts and were talked about like objects. Now, you’re in the 21st century, not much has changed. What have you been doing to support feminist causes?’”

“I just want to say that everyone should be answering this. It’s true that during the 40’s women were not treated the right way, and they still aren’t today. An 18 year old can’t walk down the street at nine o’clock at night without being catcalled. I am a proud feminist, as everyone should be. I think that as a team we are doing pretty well in that department. As far as what I’m doing to support feminist causes, I’m doing as much as I can. I actually recently enrolled in online classes to expand my knowledge on many subjects, seeing as how I am from the 40’s and all.” The crowd laughed along with Bucky.

“Almost all of my classes have to do with either psychology or gender studies, it’s a fascinatingly haunting subject. One book that I’m reading right now was suggested to me by my friend Cassie, it’s called Hood Feminism: Notes from the Women that a Movement Forgot. The author doesn’t let up and I’m only halfway through it. Look, I’m still educating myself, but I’m a strong believer in doing what is right for everyone, so I’m trying. Thankfully I have a few people keeping me in check as far as my actions.” Bucky thought his response was well thought out for being an on the fly question. He was new to the concept of feminism but that didn’t change the fact that it made total sense.

“I’m with Bucky on this. The 40’s were a rough time. I remember the first time I met Peggy Carter, I was astonished that a woman could be in such a powerful position. One of the first things she did after I met her was punch out someone who made a sexual comment to her. I’ve been supporting feminist causes ever since working with Peggy.” Steve added, a sad smile spreading on his face reminiscing Peggy.

“This one says, ‘As a total fan of all of you, I love seeing what you post on your social media accounts. When are the rest of the Avengers going to follow Bucky’s lead and download TikTok?’” Bucky’s head flew back into a full body laugh. Tony shifted forward in his seat, pointing his finger at the laughing man down the table.

“I would just like to say he didn’t get that approved before doing it. However, it did go over really well, so we’ll consider it.” Wanda’s mouth rolled inwards, stifling her laughter.

“We’ll consider it, you’re such an old man. Most of us have TikTok already, we just don’t make content on it like Barnes over here.” Sam said, tossing his head in Bucky’s direction.

“I’ve got like three videos on there!” Bucky and Sam began bantering back and forth.

“Yeah and one of them is dancing to a Cardi B song! Who even showed you that? I thought you only like 40’s music?” Bucky made a face at the man.

“Uh, just because I didn’t like your suggestions for music doesn’t mean I don’t have taste. My Spotify playlist is filling out quite nicely, Wilson.” Bucky and Sam didn’t quit fighting from then on, just little jabs at each other under the table.

“Here’s a good one,” Stacey had a smile on her face, “Are you allies of the LGBTQ+ community?” Bucky responded quickly with no hesitation.

“Yes, many of my friends are members of the Alphabet Mafia. Why wouldn’t we be?” Wanda nodded at his question, laughing at his use of the phrase Alphabet Mafia.

“Yeah, absolutely. I mean, I’m dating a fucking android, I’d be pretty hypocrictal if I wasn’t an ally. Nat, Clint what about you?” Clint bobbed his head in response.

“Oh yeah. We all are, even the Star Spangled Man with a Plan.” Steve’s shoulders shook with laughter at Clint’s nickname for him. The team broke out into laughter, joining Steve. Stacey cleared her throat, commanding the attention of the room again.

“Alright, everybody! That’s it for today.” She glanced down at her papers. “We would like to thank everyone for coming out today and joining the Avengers Q&A Panel. At this time we are unaware, if we will be conducting another one of these, but the odds look good based on the response.” The team filed out of the ballroom and into the empty boardroom. Bucky was the last to get into the room and he was approached by Natasha and Wanda immediately. Wanda wrapped her arms around him in a bear hug.

“That was so sick, Bucky!” She stepped back and Natasha offered him a side hug as well. “Where’d you learn all that? And since when are you taking online classes?”

“That guy was being an asshole, he needed to be put in his place. I hope you guys didn’t feel like I overstepped or anything.” Bucky hung his arm over Wanda’s shoulder, leaning his weight on her. “And I started about two months ago. They’re going really well, I’m learning a lot and enjoying it surprisingly. It’s a good thing to do in my free time since I’m not always on missions.”

“I’m proud of you James, that was impressive.” Natasha complimented him, she wasn’t usually a woman of many words so that was a lot. Bucky smiled at her, nodding his head. His phone began buzzing in his back pocket, so he excused himself from their conversation. His screen displayed one of Evie’s senior pictures, signalling that she was calling him. He pushed the green button and brought the phone to his ear to answer her call.

“Hello?” She ignored his greeting with a squeal.

“Check your Twitter! Bucky, you’re trending! Here I’m putting you on speaker, we’re all here Buck!” Shuffling noises were heard through the speaker as Evie began reading the tweets to Bucky. Laughs from Cassie, Freddie and Penny could be heard behind Evie’s voice.

“Oh my gosh Eve! Just let the man get back to what he was doing!” Freddie yelled at an excited Evie, who retaliated with a scoff.

“Okay, okay! Just remember we have a movie night tomorrow! It’s Penny’s turn to pick so we don’t know what to expect.” Evie mumbled the last part into her phone speaker. Bucky heard the impact of a pillow hit Evie, causing her to grunt in pain. “Okay! We’ll talk to you later, Buck! See you soon!” She hung up the phone before he could get a word in edgewise. Bucky shook his head as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. Amanda approached Bucky asking to speak with him privately.

“So we’re getting a flood of interview requests from networks and papers. We would like to start running with this. We’ll have to go over everything with our PR guy, Ryan, but it should work out. As long as you’re comfortable with all of this.” Bucky smiled and nodded, following after Amanda as she continued explaining what would happen going forward.

He was nervous, of course, but he could tell these nerves were coming from a place of excitement instead of fear, which was a new sensation for the man. It wasn’t unwelcome, it was the same as when he first started hanging out with Cassie, Penny, Freddie and Evie. It was the same when he went on his first mission with the team. Bucky was ready to tackle this next adventure, whatever it would entail.

[legendary-alliance-stance]

have 🍒💛💧 for whoever you most feel like talking about! :D @kerra-and-company

i remember i Meant to send you an ask but i can't remember if i Did or not, so if this is a duplicate please ignore it asldjkf, but if it's not, have some free space asks! :D 🧡📙📀 for whoever you'd like! @kerra-and-company

DOUBLE THE ASKS, DOUBLE THE ANSWERS :D

Gonna talk about Myrr, because I’m predictable I love him

🍒 What kind of things do they expect from their relationships? Does this differ between platonic relationships and romantic ones? Is your OC “demanding” or a door mat? What kinds of things do people expect from them in a relationship?

Myrr... Doesn’t really expect much, he just. Hopes for things, I guess you could say. He’s not a doormat, or necessarily demanding... He just. Wants to be cared for, genuinely. He doesn’t expect it though, and honestly it’s more surprising to him that people do care about him!

I’m not entirely sure what other people would expect from him, though. A loyal friend/partner, probably? It’s the best he’s got to offer.

💛 In general, how in control of their emotions is your OC? Do they have a good hold on them or do their emotions control them, not the other way around? What do you think is the reason behind this and is your OC ever concerned about their lack of or good control?

Oh he definitely is more controlled by his emotions. Anger comes easily to him, especially after his fall to the Nightmare, and it’s difficult for him to control. He hates this fact, and is trying desperately to get a better handle on it.

He’s also not good at hiding or controlling even more positive emotions! He claims to hates this as well, but it’s pretty obvious that he’s just more embarrassed than anything else.

💧 What is the earliest memory your OC can recall? Do they know what their first words were or remember where they took their first steps? Do they have any mementos of their childhood they’ve kept such as a stuffed toy or tiny baby clothes?

He doesn’t remember much of the Dream, but he does remember waking from his Pod! It was nighttime, late in the year, and dark. Lonely, too, at least at first. It wasn’t long before he was found by some of the pod caretakers, but those few minutes of feeling all alone in this huge world that he only knew bits and pieces of, stuck with him.

Myrr doesn’t like feeling lost and alone like that.

🧡 Who is your OC’s favourite person? Why is this person the top of their list and have they actually met them (an idol or rolemodel or celeb can be someone’s favourite after all!).

Who does your OC absolutely hate, the one person who they’d sell to Satan for one corn chip? Why do they loathe this person so?

Myrr’s favourite is his Dearheart, Bryokbrann. They met after Myrr was brought into the Nightmare Court, and in Myrr’s mind, Bryok is the only reason he managed to get away from the Court alive.

Carys too, being his and Bryok’s adopted daughter. Her and Bryok are Myrr’s entire world, and he would do anything to keep them safe.

And the person he hates the most? Cerise. The Nightmare Duchess that seduced him into the Court. She is dead, now, but Myrr wishes he could kill her over and over again, for all the torment and abuse she put him and Bryok through.

📙 What kind of subjects (of conversation, of discussion, in school or whatever) does your OC find interesting or engaging or that they can talk for hours about? What kind of stuff do they just find fun?

What things bore your OC to tears and they couldn’t care less about? Why?

COOKING. Myrr goes absolutely HAM over the topic of cooking. It’s become his favourite hobby after escaping the Court, and he will talk your ear off about it.

As for things that bore him... It highly depends on who he’s engaging with at the time! He doesn’t have an interest in art or engineering, but if he’s listening to Bryok or Carys talk about those things? He can listen for hours on end, just happy to see his Dearheart or daughter excited about something.

If it’s someone he doesn’t care much about, and it’s not one of his favourite topics (cooking, guns, and more recently gardening), it will go in one ear and right out the other lmao

📀 How easy is it to shock your OC? To confuse them? To lie to them, to manipulate them? How are they with feelings of trust? Can your OC be trusted?

Due to his trauma involving his time among the Nightmare Court, Myrr is both extremely wary of the intentions of people, but also very susceptible to high amounts of distress if something triggers said trauma.

(There was a time, in the past, where Myrr was extremely easy to manipulate. It’s what got him so deep into the Nightmare in the first place.)

Trust is rough for him, as a result of the above. He has a small network of people that he trusts, and that’s it. He is not likely to trust anyone outside of those people, and can be waspish towards strangers because of this.

If you can get him to trust you though, Myrr is extremely loyal. While he would definitely answer “no” to the question of whether or not he can be trusted, anyone who does trust him would insist “yes”.

[riversofmars]

Sometimes 13 just poses as a student and attends rivers lectures.

Hellooo! I’ve been saving this prompt for a long time cause I love it so much and now finally did something exciting with it! This is actually a little collaboration I did with @serawalkerwrites. She keeps getting asked to write for DW and never has, so we decided to do a little thing together! Basically, we took turns writing paragraphs! She's written the River bits and I wrote for 13. Really fun thing to do because our styles are quite different but it worked :D Apart from the fact that she made me write in present tense which I hate lmao! Also, if you like American Horror Story or Ratched, check out her stuff!

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2300

Read on AO3 or below

Like The First Time

“I might be younger and far prettier than the other Professors at this University, but that doesn't mean I don't expect the same level of good behaviour from my students,“ Professor River Song barks up the rows of lecture hall seating, slapping her papers on the desk. She tosses her bouncing curls of hair and brings her hands to her hips, watching the chatting students in the back row and waiting for them to take notice. That blonde girl seems to whispering at some speed, with enthusiastic hand gestures to boot. “That means you in the back row!“ She raises her voice again, finally getting the young blondes attention.

The Doctor hadn’t been able to stop herself. When River had started talking about the Venusian tomb she’d visited not long ago, it had been a perfect opportunity to tell the other students about the time she’d been invited to a funeral service there. It’s an incredibly stupid thing to do, of course. She isn’t meant to interact with anyone - as strictly speaking - she isn’t meant to be here. For a start she isn’t actually a student at Luna University; for another, she could very well be causing some damage to the fabric of space and time. Visiting her wife earlier in her timeline is risky… but she hasn’t been able to stay away. Sometimes, when the Doctor misses her a lot, she sits in on her lectures, right at the back. She knows River won’t recognise her and she never speaks to her… there’s no harm no foul is there? However, a slip up is bound to happen eventually.

Now, as she looks at River, who is shooting her piercing glare from the front of the auditorium, the Doctor realises she’s messed up. The Doctor looks left and right to the other students, hoping it’s one of them River is scolding.

“Yes you, don't act like I cant see you -“ River lifts her eyebrows at the petulant student. “Forget it, I’m not shouting at you from down here, stay behind after class. Then we’ll talk, and believe me you won’t like what I have to say.“ River rolls her eyes away, a taut huff tumbling from her lips to find her inner calm once again, before continuing. “Now where were we…“

The Doctor shrinks back in her seat, her neighbouring students giving her sympathetic smiles. Others just snicker and smirk. River has a reputation for strictness, no-one messes with her…The Doctor’s made a big mistake. She glances to the exit; she can still escape this situation. But if she does, she’ll never be able to come back. Perhaps it’s time to face her wife at last. She gnaws her bottom lip anxiously and tries her best to sit still for the remainder of the lecture.

As a shrill bell rings out, signalling the end of class and an end to the Doctors torture, River watches the troublemaker while she packs her things. Students rise to their feet, stuff their bags with books and file out in an eager swarm, heading into the midday sunshine. But not this student. She’s bouncing down the steps to the front, an epic grey coat and too-short trousers have her piquing River’s interest before they start talking. “Ah, good. At least you decided to be smart this time and not run-off out the doors. I would have found you,“ River informs the girl, whose swinging her arms and looking guilty. If this were any other circumstance, then River might have bought her a drink. But as it is, she's her student, however adorable she is. “Care to tell me what is so pressing you had to take time out of my lecture to talk about it?“

“Ah well, you know, the whole thing about the Venusian tomb, just brought back some memories to when I was learning Venusian aikido. There was this one time when I was invited to a funeral at one, which - you know - is a big deal for any outsider and…“ The Doctor starts rambling, unable to stop herself. A grin spreads across her features, hoping to entertain River with her story, as she had done so many times in the past. River always liked to listen to recounts of her adventures.

“Venusian Aikido?“ River folds her arms, skeptical. “They don’t teach that to just anyone. I happen to be a black belt myself.“

“Oh I know.“ The Doctor grins.

“It’s not on my resumé,“ River parries, her eyebrows lifting into an arch. “So someone told you. Perhaps at this funeral, you supposedly attended?“ River laughs doubting the girls claims. “No-one just gets invited to a Venusian funeral, or a wedding, or any kind of ceremony unless you’re a honoured noble. Which you clearly cannot be, no offence Sweetie but -“ River pauses. She stares at the blonde and her mismatched clothing, then bunches her lips. “What did you say your name was?“

The Doctor doesn’t answer immediately. This is it, the moment of truth. She could just tell her… surely there’s no harm in it. This is River Song after losing her parents in Manhattan, and before Darillium; there is no real reason to keep her identity from her. Apart from the fact that she isn't sure how she will react. They didn’t see each other for so long in between Manhattan and Darillium, enough for River to come to doubt if the Doctor had ever truly loved her. Her words still echo through the back of the Doctor’s mind now. The Doctor doesn’t and has never loved me. - But you are the woman who loves the Doctor. - Yes I am. I never denied it. But whoever said he loved me back? Those words still haunt the Doctor, even after spending 24 years with her in which she’d done everything she could to convince her of just the opposite.

“Jane Smith.“ The Doctor answers at last with a thin smile.

River lets out a loud chortle. “Jane Smith? Of course it is,“ River replies not believing her for a second. Who has the most standard name of all names like that? River postures a little, shuffles her papers around into a neat pile already thinking of the lunch that’s waiting for her in the refectory, because she's not getting any truth from this girl. “I don't recall your name on my student register; so…how about you tell me the truth.“ River hooks her bag over her shoulder and takes a long stride forward, claiming the podium as her space, the lecturer to the student. River examines her, because if she’s not her student, then who is she? All beautiful round eyes and choppy blonde hair, River certainly doesn't recognise her. Should she, recognise her? “Or you can come to my office and explain yourself there.“

“I uhh…“ The Doctor swallows hard. Of course she doesn’t believe her, people rarely do initially; but usually she can use her psychic paper to back up her identity. She knows River would see right through that if she tried it, so that isn’t an option. “Well, I’ve actually got somewhere else to be. A really very important…thing. A thing that can’t wait, so…it was really nice talking to you, brilliant lecture. Slightly exaggerated in some parts but - you know - got to keep the students engaged…“ Her eyes flick to the door. She’s parked her TARDIS in a supply closet, so it’s not far away.

“Are you calling my stories embellished?“ River trails after this Jane Smith towards the door, flabbergasted. She’s a bone fide time traveller, she knows her subject matter better than anyone in the known universe, except  - “It’s not as though you can possible know better? How old are you anyway, twelve?“ She carries on trying to get under the girl’s skin, who is clearly hiding something.  “Where on earth are you going? You realise that’s the closet.“

“Why are you following me?“ The Doctor had hoped to simply shake her but River seems to have different ideas. She doesn’t dare open the supply closet door, River would see the TARDIS and she would be done for. But where else could she possibly go? She looks around anxiously for a way out.

“Mmm it seems you might be trapped…“ River drops her voice to a knowing whisper. She smirks, delighting in watching the girl fret.

“I just… forgot which way I… uhh…“ The Doctor struggles for a response suddenly aware of how close River is getting to her. And that smirk… She knows it all too well. Like a lioness stalking her prey. She can’t even think of a credible lie to get her out of her predicament.

“Which way you meant to go?“ River bobs her finger on her lip pretending to think hard about it. “My office is this way, if you didn't get the hint earlier.“ River ghosts her hands over the girls hips, rubbing into her hipbones with her thumbs and sucking her lips and humming. “Jane Smith. I appreciate the code name. You can slip me your paper later, I’ll be sure to mark it up a grade, well, depending on your performance of course.“ River winks coyly.

“I…“ The Doctor’s mouth suddenly feels really dry, she can’t speak. Flirting and reading innuendo isn’t exactly her forte but River can’t possibly be more obvious with her advances. Is this what River is like when she isn’t around? The Doctor isn’t sure whether to be flattered or hurt. They’re not exactly exclusive but she doesn’t like her nose rubbed in it like this. But at the same time, perhaps this is an opportunity… She could be with River without having to reveal her identity… but is that something she wanted to do under false pretences?

“Good talk, come along!“ River grins and leads the way across the lecture hall to the staff door, and unlocks it with a quick key-twizzle, then presses the door open wide to wave ‚Jane‘ through. River uses the opportunity to loop her arm around Jane’s waist and scoops her in the right direction down the hall towards her office.

The Doctor doesn’t know what to do. Things are moving fast, River doesn’t even give her a chance to protest. Her hearts seem to skip their beats when River pulls her along.

Once inside, River tosses the door shut and wastes no time in pushing Jane against it, roaming her hands up and down her sides and snapping the elastic braces. “These are retro, but I can go with the flow, off they coooome…“ River sings as she yanks them off Jane’s shoulders, then the coat, and where is the edge of this t-shirt? River is keen to feel her hands up Jane’s abdomen, and the flush of her skin. River knows her hands are rough - years of archeological digs will do that to a girl - but Jane is young and sweet enough to need a little roughing up.

“River…“ The Doctor tries to protest, this was moving too fast. Her breath catches when River untucks her t-shirt. The Doctor is still getting used to this new body and she suddenly feels very hot.

“First names already? My my…“ River tosses her mane of hair out the way as she leans in to kiss Jane on the neck, biting her and enjoying teasing her far too much. “Sweetie you do give yourself away, even in this body,“ River tickles her teeth along the Doctor’s collarbone searching for the next spot to bite. “I mean, I like it darling, but give me a heads next time -“ River explores the Doctor’s petite body with enthusiasm. “My apparatus is your apparatus and all that, got to get my head around it.“

“You knew?!“ The Doctor blurts out and pushes her off, holds her at arms length. “And you just played along?!“ She’s breathless from River’s kisses but her outrage overshadows her arousal.

River unbuttons her shirt confidently, tearing the sides apart and presenting her body to the Doctor once again, even if it’s all new for the Doctor, River is still River. “Well what did you think? I do this with all my students, Jane Smith?“ She smiles a broad, proud River smile and holds her hands out for the Doctor to take. “I’m married, remember?“ Mutually exclusive is…a bit of stretch, there might be other husbands here and there, but there is only one Doctor. “So, wife, how about a little ride on the merry-go-round with this new body?“

The Doctor just stares at her for a moment. It’s been a while since Darillium but she still recalls every moment, and River is just as beautiful as she remembers. And just as much of a temptress. She bites her lip, suddenly feeling very insecure. It would be her first time in this body…and it’s her first time being a woman as far as she can remember. That’s a lot to be anxious about.

Softening the come-on, River takes the Doctors hands and steps closer to her, squeezing her hands in reassurance. “I knew it would happen eventually, a wife and not a husband. It’s okay, you know.“ River takes a deep breath, and kisses her wife properly for the first time. Her lips are thinner softer and taste of cinnamon, but she kisses back just like her husband did. Her Doctor. “I love you. This adorable new body is just a bonus,“ she says gently, then kisses her nose for extra effect.

The Doctor can’t help but chuckle as she looks up to her. This was new. She is shorter than her! Though only due to River’s ridiculously high heels.

“I love you, too.“ She whispers nuzzling into her crook of her neck as she wraps her arms around her. River smells exactly the way she remembers, like sunshine on a spring day. “I’ve missed you so much.“ She confesses.

[away-from-anthills]

chapter two-

(prologue) (chapter one)

“Let all cats, old enough to catch their own prey…”

“Already?” muttered Stoatslink. A dash of doubt sat behind the white tom’s yellow eyes. “It’s been almost too soon for Shalestar to make a decision…”

Stoatslink’s tone stuck on Antstep like a burr. Had it been too soon? No- Shalestar had to know what he was doing. Antstep knew of Shalestar’s wisdom more than he knew of his own nest.

“Who do you think it’s going to be?” Russetfoot padded up next to him, his red tabby shoulder touching Antstep’s solid dark brown one. “I’d bet on Shadeflower, personally-“ -he beckoned with his tail to the dark gray tabby molly that sat at the edge of the nursery- “-but I think my brother could do a good job. My mate, too- but she wouldn’t want to follow her brother’s footsteps.”

Stripedwing and Rainleap had been close as kits, but had naturally drifted apart over time. She wanted to be a tunneler, and lacked ambition; he wanted to be a moor runner, and had had his sights on leadership since apprenticeship. There were no hard feelings between either of them- and Antstep recalled a dawn patrol not long ago where Rainleap said he intended to share tongues with his sister more.

Antstep had felt an envy towards Rainleap then. Rainleap, at least, had a sibling. Antstep had none.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Antstep realized Russetfoot was waiting on an answer from him. “So? What do you think? Did Shalestar tell you anything when he asked for you?”

“I- uh-“ Antstep tried to stall the conversation- but thankfully, Shalestar was already about to begin, and Russetfoot’s eyes had left Antstep to focus on the old scarred blue-gray tom.

“I realize it has been only a short while since I announced the loss of Rainleap to the Clan. However, we must follow the Warrior Code- even in unprecedented situations like this. I promised a new deputy by moonhigh, and my Clan shall get one. I have come to the conclusion of which WindClan member shall become your next deputy. I ask only that you be kind to him. He may not be an obvious choice, but with a bit of experience as deputy, he will learn quickly.”

It felt as all the Clan were eyeing each other. Half of Antstep wanted to puff out his chest with pride. The other half, meanwhile, wanted to shrink inwards and disappear.

“I say these words now, before StarClan, so our ancestors- Rainleap among them, now- may hear and approve of my choice. The new deputy of WindClan… is Antstep.”

There was a silence of deliberation for a moment, and then a gasp or two. Molethroat and Cherrycloud, who were near the back of the sandy hollow by the nursery, seemed to approve. Rockscratch and Russetfoot seemed to be in what Antstep could only assume was awe. He had never felt what it was like to cause awe before.

But there was a tense feeling among some of the others. Talonscar, their eyes still dimmed from mourning their former apprentice, sat in silence, shifting their weight from one paw to another. Sandwhisker looked pleased, but even she seemed to have some doubt about Shalestar’s choice, despite being particularly close to him. Antstep flattened his ears against his chestnut-colored fur as he scaled the rock to stand besides his leader.

“Again, I know he is perhaps not what you expected. But I mentored him myself, and it was I who brought him to WindClan when he was but a kit. I feel like I know Antstep particularly well- he reminds me of myself, when I was about his age. And I was about his age when Marigoldstar elected me as deputy, back before many of you were even born. It may take him a while to learn the ropes as deputy- but when he gets the hang of it, I promise you, he shall be a great deputy- and, perhaps… a great leader, once I pass on.”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” Antstep felt his spine coil. That sharp voice belonged to only one cat in the Clan- Sparkthistle. The ginger molly, with bright stripes and a snout that turned slightly upwards, pushed her way to the front of the hollow. “You’re telling us, Shalestar, that you’re replacing Rainleap with this sad sack? He’s not even a proper WindClan cat! He’s just your pet project! There’re so many cats in this Clan- and you choose that excuse of a warrior? He can’t even manage his own apprentice, let alone-“

“Sparkthistle, I am your leader,” Shalestar commanded, a fleck of anger on his tongue. “If you have any complaints, you can talk to me or Whitetooth in the morning.”

Sparkthistle opened her mouth as if she had something more to say- but, she began to flounder, and the shrewish molly backed away into the crowd. Cherrycloud rather embarrassed on Sparkthistle’s behalf, slinking back into the nursery den with Molethroat beside her.

“Meeting dismissed. Webwhisker, Stoatslink, remember it is your duty to keep guard over the camp tonight.”

As WindClan retreated to their dens, and Webwhisker and Stoatslink climbed the walls of the sandy hollow to assume the night watch, the coiled nervousness in Antstep’s belly began to loosen. He left the Tallrock and flexed his claws into the sand below. The moon- which was at the very center of the sky- looked downward upon him, and the hollow was filled with a certain stillness. The cicadas and crickets sang in the distance, and a curious hope began to flow through Antstep’s veins as his amber eyes locked with the moon’s pale one.

I’m WindClan deputy now… it’s my chance! They’re going to finally love me! I’m going to be the best deputy I can be…

It dawned on Antstep that he was not the only one there. He turned to see Whitetooth. The WindClan medicine cat seemed as if they were still analyzing him. They were nearly all white- the color of slightly stale milk- except for their ears, a spot or two on their back, and their tail, which was plumy and brown like a female pheasant.

“I look forward to our partnership and- if you’ll allow me to say it- friendship, Antstep,” they said simply. “As deputy and medicine cat. If you ever need anything- all you have to do is ask.”

Antstep nodded. Even the medicine cat wants to be my friend!

As Whitetooth slunk into their medicine den, where Marblepaw was already fast asleep, Antstep contemplated. He climbed the edge of the sandy hollow- away from Webwhisker and Stoatslink’s positions- and looked towards the east, where the sun would rise and where the marigolds grew.

 As sunlight crept into the clearing the next day, Antstep immediately began to try and plot out what his first patrol would be. This was, after all, one of the most important deputy duties. He had to get it just right. Suddenly, the confidence he had had earlier dissipated. What will the Clan think of me if I’m not able to plan this out right? They already hate me, don’t they…

“Well, you may be a good hunter- but I’m far better!”

“You’re not!” “Am too!”

There was a squeal as Twigpaw, in the heat of this little spat, launched himself onto Spiderpaw, grabbing onto her shoulder. However, she was too quick. The dark gray tabby molly shook herself, and Twigpaw let go as soon as he had latched on. She then jumped over and pinned the smaller brown tabby tom onto the sandy earth. As he grunted and tried to free himself, she stood triumphantly.

“Spiderpaw, let him go,” Antstep instructed. She gave it a moment of thought, and- after pushing down on Twigpaw for a moment- let him go. He stuck his tongue out at her.

“Well, just remember, Twigpaw- my mom’s the leading queen and my mentor’s the deputy.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” warned Antstep, curling his paw around her feet to make sure she didn’t jump back out at him. “If I mess up too bad, you wouldn’t want to even look at me, now, would you?”

“Depends,” she said slyly, her lips curled upward like the biting adder. “But it means I have two on Twigpaw.” She grinned. “Hey, maybe when you’re leader, you could make my mom Shadeflower your deputy! Then Twigpaw won’t even be able to lay a paw on me.”

“Don’t get too ahead of me,” said Antstep. “It’s my first day. …Say, would you like to go on the dawn patrol this morning? You haven’t been out on it in a while.”

Spiderpaw nodded enthusiastically. Antstep felt proud of himself- but then the worries began to nip at his paws again. There’s no way that’s going to work! They’ll all think I’m favoring my own apprentice over the others! What other apprentices are there… Goldenpaw was on patrol just yesterday… Maybe Milkpaw or Coalpaw?...

“You’re up early,” yawned a sleek blue-gray tom. His shadow was identical to Shalestar’s; however, he was a tad shorter and far younger. A white bib-shaped marking covered his chin and chest.

“Oh. Hello, Toadpool,” said Antstep, nodding to acknowledge the blue-and-white cat’s presence.

“I think you’re going to do just fine as deputy.”

“Wh- what makes you say that?” said Antstep. Was his anxiousness that obvious already?

“Deputy jitters,” explained Toadpool, shrugging. “Everyone gets it. Even Grandpa told me that he had them. You’ll do just fine- I trust his choices, after all.”

Toadpool was right. Shalestar had a good head on his shoulders, and neither of them had a reason to doubt him.

“I’m trying to figure out the dawn patrol,” explained Antstep. “I was thinking Spiderpaw and your apprentice Milkpaw could take it this morning. Would you- uh- like to come along?”

“Sure! But you don’t have to ask, you know. Deputies usually just kind of say who’s going on patrol or not.”

Right. Antstep already felt hot embarrassment on his face.

“I have an idea. I can come with you and try to calm your nerves a bit. We can bring our apprentices, too. Maybe you could also take Rockscratch and Sparkthistle? I know you don’t like Sparkthistle and she doesn’t like you, but maybe you could talk it out…”

It was a naïve suggestion. But Antstep didn’t have the heart to tell Toadpool that.

“Sure.”

“Great! I know Grandpa will give you some tips and stuff, but I can tell you if there’s anything I know. And we can train our apprentices together.” He looked over to where Spiderpaw was- she was busy chasing down a centipede that had weaseled its way into the den. “Be careful of her,” he joked. “She’ll eat you alive.”

“Takes a brave one to be her mentor,” Antstep joked back, puffing out his chest with pride.

 The sun’s lazy red eye began to peer over the earth, and Antstep’s first patrol slithered through the WindClan grass. It was a quiet morning, and the world seemed as though part of it had stood completely still since Rainleap’s death. Dew stuck to their pelts as they schlepped themselves along the trail.

“If Rainleap were here…” said Sparkthistle in the back of the small group, muttering something off-key to herself. Rockscratch, who was just in front of her, distanced himself.

But Antstep tried to keep his worries behind him, crowded around Sparkthistle instead of wandering to his head. It was his first day, after all. Anything could happen. He could worry later, with the comforts of Shalestar and Whitetooth there to listen.

Spiderpaw ran up to him with a fat mole in her mouth. “Look!” she said, in the muffled way cats do when their mouths are crammed full. “Milkpaw showed me how to catch it. You have to feel their tunnels beneath your paws, and you gotta have the right timing. She told me it’s a tunneler skill. Maybe I should show you how, someday…”

Antstep watched Toadpool sign a joke to Milkpaw, who responded with throaty laughter. He didn’t get the punchline- it was something to do with tunneling, which he had never been familiar with- but he began to think. Why hadn’t Shalestar chosen Toadpool? Shalestar was also fairly close to Toadpool, and had watched him grow up in a similar way as he had with Antstep, although the leader had not mentored him. Toadpool even had something Antstep did not: Toadpool was the son of one of Shalestar’s children, who had perished in that forest fire around the time Antstep had been found by a WindClan patrol.

But then it truly sunk into him, as he watched Toadpool and Sparkthistle converse. He was trying to let her on in the joke, but she responded with overdone apathy, flattening her ears tight like they were strapped to her skull to get him to shut up. Toadpool was too ineffective; too naïve. Tatteredstar and Pigeonstar could tear him apart with one word.

He would make for a great friend. Perhaps a deputy- but as a leader? He would fall apart like dried leaves in a fire, up there on that Great Rock.

Antstep knew Shalestar had to have chosen him for a reason.

But he couldn’t think of what that reason was.

 -

The next few days went by with little incident. Patrols were organized; patrols were sent. Occasionally, when he was out with them, Antstep would see the wandering eye of RiverClan or ShadowClan cats, from deep within their own territories.

Did they notice a change?

Could they tell something was different?

Antstep did not know what he wanted the answer to those questions to be.

The camp was quiet. Besides his few friends, Antstep found himself once again a stranger in his own- or was it ever his own?- land. Perhaps the death of Rainleap weighed his Clan down too much still- this is what Antstep wanted to believe. But there was always this great, nagging feeling that sat on Antstep’s haunches- do they like me enough? What if they hate me? What if, on the night I become leader, they’re all going to kill me together? What if-

But Antstep tried to take solace in the fact that Shalestar was always there. Shalestar knew what he was doing. Shalestar would teach him all he needed to know. He’d learn.

It was a briar that shattered that thought.

 It was an overcast day- the kind of overcast where the clouds look like a big, unraveling blanket; the kind of overcast that makes your head feel heavy with the promise of an oncoming storm. Antstep was taking a few of the apprentices out into the heart of the moors to learn some hunting techniques.

“Now, the key to catching a good rabbit is to know what way to chase it,” Antstep said. “Some of you have caught one of them before. And that is very good! But you need to have a plan.”

“You could raid a rabbit nest,” said Spiderpaw, in that sort of smart-alecky way that was practically her second language. “Bunch of little rabbits in there right for the taking.”

“Ah, but what about rabbits who live in burrows? And what about getting the proper taste of grown rabbit meat?” That- and Antstep always felt a bit of pity, raiding nests and newborns like that. He assumed an almost exaggerated posture and tried to project his voice towards them. “What you have to have is a plan. You have to know how to corner it. The rabbit’s always going to run away from you, and it’ll outrun you nearly all of the time. What you have, that the rabbit doesn’t, is strength in numbers. You need to drive it towards your Clanmates and pounce from all sides.“

The apprentices nodded in unison.

“Now- look, there’s one now. All of you, position yourselves here. Crouch down and hold steady. I’m going to chase it here, and when I give the word, leap.”

Antstep hunkered himself down into the grasses and slunk around it in a great circle. The rabbit turned its head, and for a short moment there was stillness between the two. Then it bounded away, slowly gaining momentum as Antstep broke into chase. Faster and faster, becoming rhythmic with the land below and the sky above- until Antstep recognized the shapes of the apprentices ahead, hiding below patches of Queen Anne’s Lace.

“Now!”

Goldenpaw and Twigpaw leapt from one way, and Spiderpaw and Coalpaw from another. Goldenpaw grabbed onto its chest and pulled it to the earth, Twigpaw grabbed its head by the front of its throat and pushed it back as far as he could. Spiderpaw grabbed its midsection, and Coalpaw pinned the legs to the earth to prevent the leporid from kicking further. There was a struggle, there was a finality, and then it was gone, as if the soul had slipped straight out of the meat.

“Very well done! Now, you see how I made sure to go in a big circle around it? That’s so it’s tricked into running this direction. If I went right towards it, it’d run away. If I went at it from the side, it’d run away. I’m going to show all of you how to chase rabbits one by one. Hopefully, we’ll make more successful catches, and we’ll have plenty to restock the fresh-kill pile with by the time we return to camp around sundown.”

He took the corpse of the freshly-killed rabbit with him, straddling it with his front legs, and the group quietly moved to another location a bit north of where they initially where. “Now, be careful,” said Antstep. “There’s a briar patch over there- the rabbit’s going to be smart enough to avoid it, so we must plan around it.” He pointed his tail towards where a big, bracken-colored mass of twisted thorny branches lay. The apprentices nodded- but not without Spiderpaw whispering a joke to Goldenpaw about how likely it’d be that Coalpaw or Twigpaw would get themselves tangled in it.

They can handle it.

There was the sound of a soft crunching of plant stems in the distance.

“There’s another,” said Antstep. “Here. Coalpaw, come with me.”

Coalpaw was bigger and heavier than the other apprentices- a cat built for fights, but not so much the hunt. Antstep figured he could go first, as he might take longer to learn the speed and stealth involved with rabbit-hunting. Antstep hunkered down again, Coalpaw followed, and carefully, slowly, the circled back around to the rabbit. Just like last time, they gave chase, and the two cats started to herd the rabbit. Antstep felt his paws go faster and faster, his muscles slowly easing to let sheer momentum swing his feet, the earth moving below him.

“Now!”

He leapt onto the rabbit, and again the other three apprentices leapt, there was a moment of struggle, a moment of release, and then Twigpaw and Spiderpaw declaring victory.

Antstep felt very, very pleased with himself until he heard a voice behind him.

“Help me! Antstep! Help!” He turned to see Coalpaw. Evidently, during the chase, the young tom had tripped himself on a pebble and sent himself flying into the briar patch, where he lay now. He was not particularly stuck, but Antstep could see he needed someone to pull him out.

“Hold on, Coalpaw, I’m…” He got a good look at the briar patch. The earth below it was lower than the rest of the ground, and there was a definite incline between the two surfaces. If Antstep were to pull out Coalpaw, he’d need to watch his step.

“I’m coming. Here, Goldenpaw, hold onto my back foot.”

He felt Goldenpaw grip his back ankle with her teeth. He grimaced at the feeling for a moment, and then leaned over the edge into the briar patch. He grabbed onto one of Coalpaw’s legs.

“Shut your eyes and make yourself go limp, so the branches don’t scratch as much.”

Coalpaw did so, and then Antstep thrusted him out in one quick motion. But as he did, he felt Goldenpaw suddenly let go of him on accident. Coalpaw managed to scramble out onto the grassy pathway as Antstep plunged into the briar patch backwards and belly-up.

Dammit!

Antstep wriggled himself back and forth to try and get back upright, but the briars further tightened around him. He clenched his teeth, trying to thrash himself free, but he only slunk deeper and deeper into the briar patch. Panic seized him as he watched the apprentices crowd around to watch their own deputy make an absolute fool of himself.

And then, finally, he gave up.

“Twigpaw, can you send for a patrol?”

 “Well, well. Look who got himself stuck,” said a familiar unenthused voice. It was Sparkthistle, accompanied by Webwhisker and Emberheart. “Our own deputy can’t even get himself out of a stack of twigs.” “It’s a bit more than that,” said Webwhisker, cringing with sympathy.

“Here.” Emberheart slowly nosed her way into the briars and grabbed Antstep’s right foot. “Sparkthistle, you get the other one. Webwhisker, help us pull him out.”

Sparkthistle hesitated, and then grabbed Antstep’s left foot. The two mollies yanked him free- Sparkthistle a bit more forceful- and Webwhisker pushed him as soon as they had pried out his torso. Antstep flipped over onto his feet, his head dizzy from having been upside down.

“You’ve got a lot of scratches from it,” said Webwhisker. “You should see Whitetooth, I think.”

“For just that?” snarked Sparkthistle.

“I worry about it getting infected, that’s all.”

“It is rather bad,” Emberheart said as she inspected Antstep’s flank. “He’s lucky his ears and eyes are in one place.”

Great- I’m not even leader yet and I’m already incompetent enough that I nearly lost my eyesight!

“I can continue on with the apprentices,” offered Webwhisker. The two mollies waited to see Antstep’s reaction; he responded with a nod after some contemplation.

And so, Antstep, Sparkthistle, and Emberheart walked back to camp.

 “’Tis not too bad,” said Whitetooth, inspecting Antstep’s myriad of scratches as they wrapped him in cobwebs. “You shall be on your feet within a couple of days. But it is important you rest so infection does not begin. Lie down on the nest Marblepaw prepared for you on the right. Avoid Shalestar, you don’t want him to give you illness.”

“Illness? Shalestar?” Sure, Antstep had noted the leader was a bit slow the past few days, but he hadn’t ever noticed he smelled of sickness. He watched as Marblepaw- a little brown tabby molly, nearly identical to her brother Twigpaw- carefully inspected the sleeping leader, who’s eyes were crusty and who’s fur had became oily from a lack of cleaning himself.

“Mild whitecough, with fever. We have enough tansy for it, but it is worrying given his age. …May I talk to you in private?”

The two cats exited the medicine cat den and sat on the edge of the sandy hollow. Droplets of rain began to fall from the sky, speckling the earth.

“…I suspect that Shalestar may not be long for this world. He may leave us sooner than he expected to.”

Antstep felt something inside himself, black and shivering, begin to coil. “You mean-“

“…This is mild whitecough, and it’s wrecked him. If he doesn’t pass of this- something else is going to come along, and it will be far, far worse.”

Antstep felt like he was going to vomit. He couldn’t even match wits with briars- and now, less than a moon since Rainleap died, less than a moon since he had become deputy at all, before he had even attended a Gathering, here he was. It felt as if a great shadow stood over him, one that only he could feel, who bristled the fur on his spine and clamped its paws on his shoulders.

“… What shall we do? I- I can’t be leader now! I barely got to be deputy! What will the Clan think? What will the other leaders think? What if they think I killed him? I can’t have that on my record, I can’t-“

“Calm yourself, Antstep.” Whitetooth’s voice was deep but smooth, like thick greenleaf tree-sap. “Take heart. You are not the first or the last cat to become leader on such short notice, and I am sure the other leaders will understand as will our Clan. Elsewise- I will be here for you. You know me to be very compassionate.”

The first thunders of a storm began to rumble in the distance.

“Please trust me, for the good of the Clan. …Now, rest. If our beloved leader passes within the next few days from this illness, take solace in that you will be there for him.”

Anstep nodded, and as the rain developed into downpour, the two cats headed back inside.

 Shalestar slipped away, later that night, long after all but Whitetooth and Antstep fell asleep; his last words were faint mumblings too obscured by the thunder outside to understand. It was a slow and very peaceful death- the eyes closed, the breathing stopped, the muscles suddenly went limp. Whitetooth placed two leaves over his eyes and positioned the body flat and compact, like he was crouching forever, so when the Clan would visit his body before the burial the next day he would not look too ill. When he died, there was a moment where the clouds unweaved themselves, and a small patch of starlight lit the center of the sandy hollow.

It was over now, and it had begun.

Antstep awoke as Antstar two days afterward.

[ilguna]

Redamancy - Chapter One (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, mention of trauma

wc; 8.4k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

Well, it’s been five years since you won the Hunger Games. 

What an anniversary.

It honestly feels like you won them yesterday. You can recall all your memories as if it hasn’t been years since you stepped foot inside of the arena. Which is no doubt a bad thing. Before you’d ended your therapy a while ago, the therapist told you that you’re holding onto trauma. It’s not going to go away overnight. In fact, they wouldn’t be surprised if it doesn’t go away at all.

Which Reed didn’t like to hear at all, of course. The whole reason he’d gotten you into therapy was to work at you getting better. Unfortunately, neither of you would be reaching that goal. Not with how demanding the boarding school would get as the years would come on.

At first, you thought that everything you’d written down at the very beginning would be enough to suffice. However, the more you think about everything that you’d been through, the more that the details become clearer. Suddenly you’re remembering things that hadn’t existed in the first place.

Reed and Mox hate this habit of yours. They thought you would have buried and left it behind by now. But it’s impossible to do. You’re responsible for hundreds of kids and teenagers. The more you remember at this point, the more they’re able to learn from your mistakes and fix it themselves.

With every passing year, and bringing home a new pair of coffins, you can’t focus on yourself anymore. You think that every year is going to be different and new, that the tributes going in that year are a pair of winners for sure. But then you’re stunned right back into embarrassed silence.

District Four is being forgotten. Once again, you’re questioning why it was ever considered a career in the first place. You can’t produce victors, no matter how hard you try.

It’s frustrating, and almost not worth your time anymore.

Anchor thinks that he’s fixed the problem, though. The both of you know better than anyone that the training centers in the career districts typically train their tributes for years. There’s a reason why their volunteers are seventeen and eighteen, rarely ever sixteen. It’s because they’ve spent years training to be where they are, and they’re sure that they’ll win.

So, you switched up the rules this year. No one under the age of seventeen that goes to the boarding school is allowed to volunteer to go into the Hunger Games. If you’re chosen by chance and want to go in, that’s their deal. The only instance where it’ll be ruined is if someone else volunteers over them. If anyone over seventeen wants to go in, that’s their choice to make. Not the boarding school.

Of course, there’s no guarantee what will happen because of this. You’ve been getting at least one volunteer a year since the boarding school opened. But they’ve always been on the younger side, and have only been in the program for a year or so. They could win, but they’re not nearly as knowledgeable as the teens that have been in the program for years.

They’ve been able to watch and observe the mistakes of others. You think that if one of the seventeen or eighteen year olds that signed up when they were twelve or thirteen were to volunteer, they’d blow the competition out of the water. Show the Capitol and the career districts that you’re coming back for a round two. Bigger and better than ever.

Then again, the seventeen and eighteen year olds never express interest in volunteering because they’re nearly out. One or two years and they’re finally free of the reapings. No one would willingly throw themselves into an arena when they’re on the brink of being away from it. The chances of accidentally getting yourself killed in the arena is always an outcome, prepared or not. 

Either way, you hope this year is different and you’re able to break the four-year streak of double coffins.

You head downstairs, fingers still securing the pin in a reliable spot in your hair. When it doesn’t budge no matter how you move your head, you call it good. 

Downstairs is already awake. Reed is cooking breakfast, Mox is probably sitting at the table. You can faintly hear the sound of Alyssum talking. It’s only as you reach the bottom creaking steps, does she realize that you’re awake.

“(Y/n)!” She shouts, abandoning what she was saying before.

You find yourself crouching to look into the tiny mirror in an alcove. The pin doesn’t look out of place, in fact you can’t really see it at first glance. Only when you go to touch it, do you find where it is.

Alyssum comes around the corner, a wide smile on her face. It’s clear she hasn’t done her hair yet, waiting on you.

“Where’s your stuff?” You ask.

“Bathroom.” She says.

“Okay, let’s get it done real quick.” You push her towards the bathroom, “We’ll be in there in a minute!”

“No rush.”

You carefully comb through Alyssum’s hair, being gentle when you find snarls. Even if she were in pain, you know that she wouldn’t voice it unless it really hurt. Doesn’t mean that you purposely go ripping the brush through her hair like Reed used to do. You tie her long hair to the back of her neck, and then you loosen it up to make it look better.

“Can you tie this over the rubber band? I’m trying to match with Laleh.” 

Alyssum holds up a silk white ribbon. If she had asked you to do this last year, you would have had to tell her no. Naida had to teach you how to do a variety of hairstyles for the boarding school. Sometimes the younger girls aren’t able to tie their hair back, and sometimes they don’t want it to be a ponytail.

Needless to say, you’re starting to feel like a mother. Once the bow is tight over the band, you hold her in front of the mirror, staring into her eyes, “If the bow comes undone, go to Naida or Calandra, stay far away from Reed and Mox, okay?”

She nods once, you let her free so that she can join your brothers at the dining table while you clean up the bathroom counter. It’s a quiet morning, no one really speaks at the table, which isn’t unusual for reaping mornings. Alyssum tends to get upset because you won’t be at the house for several weeks, and you’re already stressing out about what the arena will be like this year.

You know that things would be so much easier in the Capitol if you just had a partner that worked with you. Finnick does absolutely nothing, you’re not even sure if he stays in the apartment half of the time. You never see him, rarely in the morning, you think you hear him leave at night.

He won’t help, he won’t trade with Anchor. You’ve asked him, Anchor has asked him, even Mags has asked him. If he would just give up his mentoring spot to Anchor, you’re sure that you’d come out with a few victors. When you’re doing all the work by yourself, it’s chaotic.

It’s hard to hold a schedule. You’re running between the stylists and prep teams, constantly taking advice from Elysia. When you’re not keeping an eye on the tributes, you’re watching their odds on the scoreboard go up and down depending on how much the sponsors like them. And then when they’re actually inside of the arena, you’re staying up all hours of the night to not miss a single thing. Just in case you miraculously come across a sponsor that sees potential in one of the tributes.

Not to mention the whole boarding school, which is a whole new ordeal. He comes up with the idea, promises to be there to help train no matter what. But after he broke up with you that year, he gradually stopped showing up. So now, the future tributes of District Four are not only out of a valuable side of a story, but they’re also dealing with two overworked victors who just want one break.

It’s bouncing between you and Anchor, sometimes even Mags will have to take over for a day. Which isn’t much help, considering the stroke she had last year. She tried speech therapy, but figured out that it wasn’t working as well as it should early on. Mags gave up on it, the only way she communicates anymore is through notes.

How is that going to work? You’ve got hundreds of teens and preteens relying on an old woman that can’t even speak. Her techniques are out of date, as well as Luther and Scotch. The kids have better chances with you, Finnick and Anchor. Anchor hasn’t been inside of the arena for ten years, and the kids have heard your two strategies a hundred times by now.

If Finnick were to just help. Just a little bit, you’re sure that it would make a difference. But he has such a vendetta against you or the tributes because he won’t budge. You’re fucked, he’s backed you into this impossible corner. Every year since you two won, you’ve brought home double coffins. It’s fucking embarassing. You don’t know how District Four was ever considered a career.

It’s childish, he’s so childish. He hasn’t kept his promise and he’s weaseled his way out of it every single time. And you keep letting him get away with it.

It clicks.

You keep letting him get away with it, you’re not holding him accountable. He doesn’t fall through on his promises because you don’t push them onto him. And when he tells you no, you back off because you think that there’s no point in trying. He hasn’t made an effort in the past, why would he make one when you ask.

You press your lips together, smiling. This year is already supposed to be an experiment to see what happens with the tributes. If everything goes well with this year’s tributes, you think that you’ll try something new yourself. 

“We have to stop by Naida’s place before heading over to the stage.” Reed says, standing from the table, taking his plate with him, “We can take Alyssum with us.”

“Okay.” you agree, standing up too. Mox cleans up the rest of the table, taking it into the kitchen to help Reed.

Alyssum comes over, throwing her arms around you tightly. You hug her back, being careful not to ruin her hair, “I’ll be back in a few weeks. Promise me that you’ll be good for Reed and Mox.”

“I promise.” her voice is muffled, face pressed to your stomach.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” you lean down to press a kiss to the top of her head, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

She lets go of you, a frown on her face. But it doesn’t look like she’s going to be crying this year, “I’m leaving!”

“See you later!” Reed shouts back.

You leave the house, shutting the door behind you. As you squint through the bright summer sun, you head down the stone steps and to the left, towards the opening of Victor's Village. This year it’s Anchor’s turn to walk Mags to the stage, since you did it last year. Since they’re relatively slow, though, you’re sure that you’ll be able to catch up in no time.

You’re right, you come across Anchor and Mags more than halfway to the stage. It seems like Mags is doing just fine walking on her own, and Anchor is talking to her. Anchor hears you approaching pretty far back and glances over his shoulder to see that it’s you. 

“Good morning!” you jog to catch up, “I see you got an early start today.”

“Haha, shut up.” Anchor says, but cracks up when you do.

Anchor goes back to what he was talking about, and you quickly find out that it’s about the boarding school. It’s an in-depth explanation about your plan this year. Mags knew the basics, but now it’s all about details. You’ll be lucky if you get two tributes that showed promise during training. Otherwise, you’re left with the gamble of the reaping bowls.

Luther and Scotch have already beaten you to the stage when you get there. No Finnick in sight, which you can’t say that you’re surprised about. The five of you get on the stage, leaving the far left seat for Finnick to take when he gets here. Mayor Burrula comes on stage, getting ready to take his spot in front of the podium.

The reaping area in front of you fills. There’s familiar faces in all the age categories, in your mind, you count all the seventeen and eighteen year olds that you know go to the boarding school. It’s a fair amount, most of them are really good at what they know, especially the ones that have been with you for a couple of years now. None of which have ever expressed an interest in volunteering, though. And if they did, it was never to you or Anchor.

Finnick finally shows up when it’s five minutes out from reaping time. The moment after he sits down in his chair, he scoots it two inches away from you. It’s his own personal yearly tradition… on top of all the other ones of neglecting his mentoring duties. 

After the anthem, Mayor Burrula kicks off the reaping with the annual Dark Days speech. It’s boring, you try to look awake. As a joke, you can hear Anchor mocking soft snores. You crack a smile, shaking your head when you elbow him to get him to shut up. Burrula wraps the speech up, introduces Elysia as if she hasn’t been District Four’s Capitol escort for the past couple of years, and then sits back down.

She smiles as she does every year, standing in front of the microphone, “Good afternoon, and Happy Hunger Games. Ladies first.”

You hold your breath, all previous emotion draining out of your body. She heads over to the bowl, her gloved hand dipping into the bowl. She hesitates over the paper, trying to find one that’ll hold the golden tribute. If you have a girl volunteer this year, it’s not going to matter. She could pick a twelve year-old and they could be replaced by a seventeen or eighteen year-old.

She picks one, carefully pulls her hand out of the bowl, and resumes her spot in front of the microphone. She takes her time peeling off the black tape, not wanting to rip the paper. She reads over the name, and with the distance between you and her, you’re not able to see the name.

Still, you mentally cross your fingers. It’s a new year, a new plan. Please, please, please.

“District Four’s girl tribute is Shilin Brisby.” Elysia pronounces the name carefully, and then looks up to the section of girls.

The name isn’t familiar, and there’s no movement in the girl section. You wait, leaning forward slightly to see if the crowd will out her. But before that can happen, the magic words are being shouted, “I volunteer!”

In the eighteen section, out comes a brown-haired girl with a confident smile on her face. The peacekeepers escort her from the way back to the very front. She takes the stone steps easily, tucking her hair behind her ear so that she can see where she’s stepping.

Her name comes across your lips quickly, “Annie Cresta.”

She’s been with the boarding school since she was thirteen, which is five whole years of experience. Five whole years of training, of watching her start out small and hardly able to defend herself, to career-worthy. She’s still not very strong, but she’s resourceful, and smart. 

She stops in front of the girl’s bowl, standing up tall. She let’s Elysia ask for her name, which she repeats for everyone in District Four and in the Capitol. You can’t help the grin that comes across your face. This is the year of change.

“And now for the boys.” Elysia says, moving over to the bowl on the right. She carefully pulls out this paper too, not as hesitant as before. She when stops in front of the microphone again, the tape comes off easier. She reads over it, and then speaks, “District Four’s boy tribute is Paslee Milillio.”

There’s no gap this time. You can see a hand shoot up in the seventeen section faster than the words leave his mouth, “I volunteer as tribute!”

You breathe out a laugh, covering your mouth. This one is an easy guess, Marsh Milillio never stops talking about how his younger brother, Paslee, is going to be the next victor prodigy. Paslee’s thirteen this year, he’s been with you guys for a year. And he does show promise, so Marsh isn’t lying.

Marsh gets brought up to the stage, stops in front of his bowl and says his name clear into the microphone. Two volunteers, two very good tributes. This year, the golden beam of light is on District Four. 

Elysia wraps it up, wishes for a Happy Hunger Games again, and then backs up to allow Annie and Marsh to shake hands. They do, and you can see that Annie has this smirk on her face, something mischievous. You can only imagine how Marsh is looking at the moment, especially since they’re friends.

Once they’re done, they have to face the district again as the anthem plays for the final time. When the anthem is over, they’re brought inside of the building to say goodbye to their families. You’re supposed to take a minute or two saying your own goodbyes, or head straight to the train to make sure that you leave on time.

You stand, a bright smile on your face, “Holy shit.”

“Don’t fuck this up.” Anchor says, he’s got a grin going, “Please.”

“Holy shit!” you repeat, laughing, “Annie and Marsh? Talk about striking gold!”

It’s going to be an easy year. They understand the rules, they know how to color inside of the lines. You’re not going to have to baby them at all. Not even Marsh, even though he’s seventeen. You’ll be able to focus on more important things.

You give Anchor a hug, and then Mags too. You tell Anchor that he should probably visit the families, and then hold a celebration at the boarding school the night of the interviews. You wave goodbye to your family, who are hanging out on the outskirts of the reaping pen, and then go to meet the car that’s waiting for you.

Finnick is already inside, looking out of the window. The car takes off towards the train as soon as the door is shut. On the way to the train, you work on how you’re going to uphold the deal you made with yourself when it comes to Finnick. You’re not going to let him wreck it. He’s going to help, or he’s going to regret it.

You and Finnick head right inside. As Finnick does every year, he heads straight towards his room. He only makes it one step before you’ve got an iron lock on his wrist, keeping him from going any further.

He turns, confused, eyes trained on your expressionless face.

They say that time heals all wounds. That the longer you put the problem off, you’ll eventually forget about it, and it’ll magically evaporate and disappear like it never existed in the first place. But they’re wrong. Time has let you grow bitter and angry and tired and cold. 

The last time you talked to Finnick was years ago, when he told you for the final time that he wouldn’t be participating anymore. To leave him alone and let him do his own thing inside of the Capitol. The mentoring responsibility is now yours, consider him a ghost.

He owes you.

“Work with me this year.” The words aren’t harsh, and they even leave a little room for discussion. A part of you wants to add the word ‘please’ to the end, but you won’t be begging.

“What?” His face twists, and you can see the annoyance before it’s even appeared, “I thought we went over this already. The answer is no.”

You’re not begging. You’re also not backing down. You’re holding him to his promise this year. And if that means getting aggressive and mean, he’s about to meet a new side of you.

You face drops, hand tightening around his wrist. You lift, and pull him closer to you. Finnick might have height, but you have strength through persistence, “Let me rephrase; you’re working with me this year. It’s not a question.”

“You say that now, but you can’t make me do anything.” He twists his wrist, trying to get it free, “Let go.”

You inhale through your nose, keeping your voice quiet and level so that the microphones outside won’t pick you up, “You will help me this year, or you will wish you died in that fucking arena. I’ll make an example out of you, Finnick. You think it’s bad now, wait until I make you the punchline of the fucking joke.”

You yank him closer, he stutters to catch himself so that he doesn’t smack into you, “Your free trial is over. I hope you enjoyed it while it lasted.” He’s glaring, pissed. You let go, pushing him back in the process, “You can hide and wallow in your room now, but when we get to the Capitol, shit changes. Whether you like it or not.

“You’re under me. And you’re working for me, on my terms this year. Don’t like it? Cry me a fucking river.”

You hear the car doors outside of the train, slam shut. The tributes are here, you don’t need to be here waiting when they come inside.

“Clocks ticking, Finnick. You’ve got less than twelve hours to do what you want before your free time is mine.”

“You’re so fucking cocky. Last time I checked, I’m my own person. You can’t tell me what to do.” Finnick shakes his head, face scrunched, a slight shade of red, “Maybe this shit would have flown with Anchor, but I’m not your fucking boyfriend.”

“No, you’re not. And I’m ashamed you ever had that title in the first place. At least Anchor is fucking reliable.” You spit, and you physically see his face fall. Whatever he wanted to say next doesn’t appear on his lips, “I’ve grown up, Finnick. I’ve shouldered all of your bullshit for the past couple of years, and you’re telling me you can’t pull it together just once? It’s garbage.

“I’ve given you your space. Now it’s time to own up or get off of the fucking program. I’m not dealing with this for the next fifty years. I’d rather die before then.” You stop walking, “Once again, you’re helping me this year, or you’re going to regret it. You can think of it as an empty threat, but I’ve had years to get creative.”

He doesn’t say anything back, just leaves the train car. You let him get a headstart, not wanting to have to walk side by side with him to your rooms. By the time you start walking too, the tributes are just ending their time on the station. You leave before they see you, and take your time taking deep breaths to calm yourself down.

You don’t get angry often. It’s hard to be when you’re normally surrounded by people who take the circumstances you live in, seriously. Anchor helps and keeps you company, your family friends keep you grounded, your siblings are a reminder as to why you won in the first place. All of them are working for the better, the only one ruining the current is Finnick. Go fucking figure.

In your room, you lay down on the bed and close your eyes. Dinner will be ready in a couple of hours, and before midnight you should be inside of the Capitol. Tomorrow is the Tribute Parade, the starting point and the decider of how the rest of the trip will go. All you can do right now is hope.

You end up dozing off, only being woken when Elysia comes to the door to bring you to the table before the tributes. You get up, fixing your hair on the way to the dining room. You’re the only one at the table when you get there, and you don’t wait for everyone to show up. You’re no psychic, but you’re pretty sure that Finnick won’t be eating with you guys this evening.

Annie and Marsh take the only real seats that are offered to them. Annie to your right, Marsh to hers. The only chair that’s empty is the one across from you, where Finnick would normally sit. And of course, to your left is Elysia, always sitting at the head since she’s the escort.

Like how Elysia warned you during your train ride to the Capitol for the first time, she tells Annie and Marsh to ration out their hunger. The food will keep coming, and the portion sized will only get bigger as time goes on. You go ahead and tell them--like you tell the tributes every year--that the food is rich too, so they probably shouldn’t eat large portions anyway.

“Finnick didn’t look very happy.” Elysia says, she’s obviously talking to you.

“We spoke for a couple of minutes.” you dip your spoon into the bowl of soup, “If I were him, I’d be pretty pissed off too, but it’s just the way the cookie crumbles.”

Elysia nods, “Any big changes this year?”

You look at her, “I’m going to have an extra pair of hands, I don’t think that I’ll be running around this year.”

Elysia’s smart, she gets what you’re saying almost immediately. You watch the small smile spread over her face, but she doesn’t say anything more about the topic itself, “I suppose some attendants can run him some food.”

You finish up dinner, and then have a little bit of lava cave for dessert. Annie and Marsh are full, but not to the point where they’re going to be sick. So, you all pack it up and bring it to the next train car to watch the reaping recap. You let Annie and Marsh take the seats they want on the couch, but you stand behind it with Elysia.

You’ve grown to realize that sitting down during important events like this, makes you more nervous. It’s more or less the reason why you hate sitting during the reaping.

You watch and observe, listening to what Annie and Marsh have to say about their competitors. They don’t seem all that worried, honestly. They guess strengths and weaknesses, forming a plan of their own. A part of you wonders if they had the reaping planned out, if they made a deal to volunteer together. Like you said, they’re friends. It makes the most sense.

The obvious kids to keep an eye on, as per usual, is Districts One and Two. As the years go on, the more the tributes look vicious. Last year was a fucking nightmare when it came to watching them killing the other tributes around them. It’s no surprise they won, considering they were a fucking tornado in a playground.

“We’d like to be mentored together.” Annie says, looking over her shoulder at you.

Elysia left after the first time they played the recap, she saw all that she needed to. You vaguely remember her mentioning something about checking up on Finnick to make sure he’s eaten. It’s whatever, if he wants to start off on the wrong foot, it’s him that’s going to be regretting it, not you.

“Sounds good to me. Got a plan going on yet?” you cross your arms, eyes landing right back onto the screen in front of them.

“Marsh and I are allies, we think that’s going to work out the best.” she says, “Right?”

Marsh nods in agreement.

“This is your time to shine, not mine.” you raise your eyebrows, “We should arrive in the Capitol in the next few hours. We’ll start getting down to business tomorrow morning. Sounds good?”

“Yeah.” Marsh says.

“You should probably shower if you haven’t already, and get to bed. You’ll need all the sleep you can get, tomorrow’s going to be exhausting. You can find your rooms?” you get ready to go.

“Yes, thank you.” Annie says.

“Goodnight.” you start your way to the door, nearly leaving when Annie calls your name, “Hmm?”

She’s got a sheepish smile on her face, “Thank you for training us.”

“You’re going to be excellent inside of the arena, you two.” 

Back in your room, you lay out the clothes you’ll wear when you get to the Capitol. You take a shower, starting off standing and soaking in the warm water. Which you eventually turn hotter, and sit on the floor while it rains on you. For a while, you stare at the granite tile, but end up placing your head on your knees.

You can’t let these kids down. You’ve worked with them for four and five years, you’ve grown to know them. You watched them grow and become better at their chosen skills. You know their families, and you know that if you lose both of them this year, the whole boarding school is a joke. You’ve been working towards this idea for the past five years. You should’ve had it perfected years ago, yet here you are, still going through the trial and error process.

“Please, let one of them win this year.” you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut, “Just one of them, either of them. One of them has to come home. One beacon of hope to keep me going, please.”

You sit there for a while longer, until your fingers begin to prune. You dry your hair and gently tie it out of your face. After you’ve gotten dressed and brushed your teeth, you sit in the corner of the room, staring out of the window, watching as the sky darkens further. And then you see the lights of the city.

You gather your things out of the room, folding the outfit you wore, and then tucking it into a canvas bag. You make sure that the ring is on your finger before you leave the room behind. You’re the first to make it to the train car, arms crossed and still staring out of the window as you wait for the others.

Finnick shows up next, standing on the far side of the room, quiet as ever. Elysia brings Annie and Marsh around, just in time for the train to stop. The cheering of the Capitol citizens starts immediately, loud clapping and whistling and shouting their names.

Since there’s cameras, Annie and Marsh leave the train with Elysia first. You and Finnick follow, getting your own car. And even though the tributes left before you did, your car makes it to the Tribute Center first. Knowing that Elysia will make sure that they’re signed in properly, you and Finnick head straight to the apartment.

The elevator is quiet, tense, “Marsh is seventeen years old. He’s been in the boarding school since he was thirteen, just like Annie. They’ve decided to be allies, they know each other well. He’s good at fighting, I’ve seen him against the others, he’ll be able to measure up to the others in the gymnasium.”

You run your finger along the silver handle inside of the elevator, briefly wondering if people actually use it or not, “Annie is eighteen. She’s smart, quick on her feet. She’s reliable when it comes to recalling survival skills. She looks like she doesn’t have a lot when it comes to fighting, but that’s only the surface. Annie will never choose violence as her first choice, but as a last resort, she’s deadly.”

You look to Finnick to see that he’s already got his eyes on you, watching. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. Maybe he’s planning on telling you that he’s not going to follow your plans. He might as well save his breath, because he’s going to listen. He might think he has an option now, but you know how to work around problems.

The elevator reaches the Four floor, “Goodnight, I’ll see you at the table tomorrow.”

“Don’t count on it.” He says, following behind you loosely.

“You should be dressed and ready before noon. I trust you can find your way to the Tribute Parade by yourself.” You pause, and then look at him, “If not, I could walk you there.”

Finnick stops right next to you, angry and leaning over you like he’s trying to intimidate you. He opens his mouth to say something, but you slip out from underneath him. You hop up the last step, practically skipping as you round the corner to go to your room for the next.

You don’t scare easily.

You change into comfier clothes and then go straight to bed. With the blankets pulled to your chin, you’re out in no time. You wake up on your own time, since Elysia doesn’t really have to baby you anymore. After laying out your clothes, you take a shower and make sure to not touch your hair.

You’re the second person out in the dining room, with Elysia already at the table. She’s drinking her coffee quietly, eyes on the tv in the living room. It’s loud enough to hear from where you sit, and it’s just an overview of last year's tribute parade and costumes. The woman talking is definitely not Claudius or Caesar, so you know it’s going to be a good morning.

“Laurel sent word early this morning, said she’d like to see you as soon as possible before the Tribute Parade.” Elysia says, setting her mug on the table, “I’ll get the kids up.”

“Thank you.” you say to her, and then repeat it for the avoxes when they begin to bring out breakfast.

Annie comes out first, looking fairly put together. She gives you a polite smile and sits by you at the table, “Good morning.”

You nod, eyes on the tv, watching as the woman skips over the first two districts. Their outfits tend to be the same thing every year. It’s a comfort for District One to dress their tributes in expensive fabric and make them look as Capitol-ish as possible. As for District Two, it’s always a gladiator thing, it’s just a different variation this year.

And even with how boring it is, they still manage to come out as the favorite every single year. For a city that loves the adventure and the unpredictability of the Hunger Games, they’re pretty boring when it comes to allowing the careers to do the same thing every year. At least District Four has the brains to try something new, even if it doesn’t work all the time.

Elysia comes back out, taking a seat at the table, “Marsh will join us in a moment.”

If Laurel wants to talk to you, it’s probably about the costumes. She knows what she wants, but sometimes seeks out advice if she’s caught between two ideas. No matter what happens, Pleurisy will have to match her, and she won’t object to changes. Laurel is older than Pleurisy, which sort-of got her a certain amount of respect from Pleurisy.

It makes Laurel’s job a whole lot easier, you think. They have to match costumes at the Tribute Parade, and it’s better if you coordinate the formal outfits for the night of the interviews. Especially if the tributes are going to be working together inside of the arena. Laurel’s a sure person, if she wants it, she’s going to get it. She’s also a visionary, likes to see her works come to life. 

Right after breakfast, you should get down there quickly so she isn’t waiting for long. If you’re making a costume decision, then the prep teams are going to need to be able to shift to fit the new needs. As soon as Marsh is out here, you’ll say what you need to and then go. You can always eat later if you’re hungry.

Marsh comes out of the hallway, barely awake but he looks as put together as Annie does. You wipe your mouth with the cloth napkin, finish up your orange juice, and neatly stack up your plates for the avoxes to take. 

“Today is the Tribute Parade.” you start, catching their attention, “After breakfast, Elysia will take you down to the Remake Center. The prep teams will take care of you, no matter what happens, don’t resist or complain. Let them do their jobs, they have rules to follow.” you stand up from the table, “I’ll see you again before you get on the chariots.”

You’re about to tell them that if they have any questions, they should ask Elysia. But Finnick comes down the steps, heading straight for the dining table. It’s perfect timing on his part, you get ready to leave, “If you have any questions, Finnick will have the answers. I’ll see you later this afternoon.”

His eyes meet yours, already glaring. He doesn’t turn around and go back to his room like you halfway expected, but sits at the table and waits to be served. You think that he won’t let the tributes down, so you go ahead and leave. If Finnick doesn’t step up, Elysia will gladly do it.

Laurel and Pleurisy are standing in the hallway with the prep teams when you get there. They open up to make a space for you to stand, and you patiently wait as Laurel finishes telling Annie’s prep team what they’ll be doing with Annie. The basic stuff, some extra points if they have the time to later on. You know what the team will make room for the extra stuff either way.

Pleurisy is doing the same thing with Marsh’s team, but it’s not as heinous. They’ll find a way to draw out Marsh’s grooming so that Annie and him finish around the same time. Just so Marsh doesn’t sit around and wait for the Tribute Parade to come around.

Once they’re done, the magical opinion question is brought to the table. Laurel shows you the two options this year, and immediately you can see why she was caught between them. The first option is based off the coral reef, with bright colors and shelves that stick out in places that aren’t awkward. You know that this would be an eye-catcher, and there’s not a spot of blue to be found.

The second option is something less interesting; ropes. Brown nets that’ll be strategically placed around their bodies to make them seem dressed, but really they’ll practically be naked. The only reason this could ever appear to the Capitol citizens is because of a nearly revealed tribute. Which they’ve seen hundreds of times by now.

“Definitely the coral reef. The colors are bright and might even drown out everyone else a bit.” they back away from you, looking pleased, “It’s bold, though.”

“They’ll look amazing by the end of it. We’ve got big plans for them.” Laurel then turns to the prep teams, “Get ready to receive the tributes.” the teams scatter, leaving just you three in the hallway, “Elysia tells me you’ve got Finnick working this year.”

“Not just yet.” you admit, gently shaking your head, “He’s not very happy, I’m going to start slow but by the time the games roll around, he��ll be under my thumb. I can handle the week in the Capitol, but I start to spread myself thin when the tributes get in the arena.”

“Will he be at the parade?” Pleurisy asks.

“Should be. If not, it’s not that big of a deal.”

You spend the rest of the morning with the stylists, following them around, watching as they prepare the costumes. As it nears noon, you get word that the tributes are just about done, which means you three have to scatter. You bid them goodbye, and head back to the apartment to have lunch before meeting the tributes below the Remake Center.

The whole place feels empty, with no sign of Elysia anywhere in the common rooms, and lord knows where Finnick is. You turn the tv on again to hear what Caesar and Claudius have to say about last year’s costumes, and the predictions for this year. You sit at the table, and eat quietly, trying not to hate the Capitol anymore than you already do.

Even after you’re done eating, you sit at the table for a while. Which seems to pay off in the end, as the mystery of where Finnick’s been the entire time, is solved. Still leaves the question on where Elysia is. But if you were to take a guess now, when the Tribute Parade is less than thirty minutes off, she’s probably with the stylists so that she’s on time to the parade.

You lean your head against your hand and watch as Finnick takes his time making his way up the stairs. He’s obviously trying to avoid talking to you, because if he doesn’t look in your direction, you’re probably not going to bother him. At least, that’s what he thinks. Unfortunately, you know how to play mind games and have a fair amount of patience.

The constant silence seems to make him curious enough to look anyway. His eyes lock with yours, he stops moving up the steps. As the staring contest begins, you can see the guilt in his eyes. But as quick as it appeared, it’s suddenly gone. It doesn’t matter, because you’ve seen everything that you needed to already.

You give him a smile, “There’s fifteen minutes before the parade. Plenty of time to get cleaned up, and go, so you might as well.”

“You were waiting here for me?” he asks, face twisting.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I just ate lunch.” you roll your eyes, looking back at the tv.

He leaves, you watch as the stands fill with bright colors and animated Capitol people. To think that it feels like yesterday you were the one rolling through the street, dressed as a marble statue straight out of Atlantis. You can still remember the way your stomach twisted right as the chariots began to move.

As the years have come and gone, you’ve become more used to the cameras. Whether you like it or not, the Capitol will always be with you. They might not follow you around in District Four anymore, but they sure do keep tabs on you when the games roll around. What is (Y/n) doing this year? You’re sure they noticed your happy expressions during the reapings when Annie and Marsh volunteered. You wonder if they were suspicious that you weren’t really surprised.

You can’t say you’ll be as indifferent when the games roll around. It’s going to be harder to hold yourself together, as it is every year. And if Marsh or Annie win? It’s going to be a celebration, there’s not a single doubt about it. And depending on what happens in the arena exactly, especially with the other careers, you’ll be rubbing it in.

Finnick comes out when it hits ten minutes. He doesn’t look all that different, just less disheveled than he had started as. You and him take the elevator down below the Remake Center, and you’re able to see that there’s a handful of tributes here already, waiting by their chariots.

Annie and Marsh are dressed brilliantly. As always, Laurel knows what she’s doing, and she’s managed to make it look like they could easily blend into the reefs themselves, if they wanted to. Annie’s hair is done up in braids, with bright colors weaved in and out. As a headpiece, she’s got an orange reef hair comb tucked in neatly. 

The colors on their bodies are strategically placed to make them blend into each other. Annie’s got a dress that bells out at the bottom, with unique, hand-painted designs that must have taken hours. Even Marsh has brightly colored makeup around his eyes, smeared with colored glitter mixed in.

“Huh.” Finnick lets out, “You picked this?”

“This is not what was sketched out.” you look at him, raising your eyebrows, “But it’s pretty cool, huh?” 

You elbow him slightly, and then head over to Annie and Marsh, “You guys look amazing!” 

Annie turns, giving you a red-faced smile. Marsh on the other hand, rolls his eyes and picks at the coral band on his arm. Since they can’t do special effects on the tributes, as the chemicals might irritate his skin, the stylists have to get creative with how they get props to stick onto the tributes. It typically turns out to be tight bands like the ones Marsh is wearing. It doesn’t cut off circulation, but it isn’t exactly comfortable either.

With this, Pleurisy slaps Marsh’s hand to get him to stop fiddling with the band. If he messes it up now, it’ll have to come off completely. There’s absolutely no time to go back and fix anything that he might fuck up. Marsh seems to catch the clue though, because he laces his fingers together and tries not to touch anything else.

The opening music starts, notifying you that it’s time to get the tributes onto their chariots. Laurel and Pleurisy shift anything that needs to be moved, and then they’re making Marsh and Annie get onto the chariot. You watch as they shift around, finding the way they’ll be standing for the parade.

“Any tips?” Annie asks hopefully.

“Follow your gut.” you say, “If you feel like smiling or waving, do it. This is your time to set what you’ll be like for the rest of the Capitol trip. As soon as you’re in the arena, it can go away.”

They don’t ask any questions, and even if they had any, their time is up. The doors behind them have finished opening, District One’s chariot is starting to move. You and the others back off, wishing the tributes good luck. You’re all subjected to watching the chariots on the tv.

You cross your arms, yawning slightly. You’re ready for the day to be over, at least the next three days or so is going to be slow. All you really have to do is get up and make yourself presentable until they’re shipped to the Training Center. The only real working day is the one the day before the interviews. And that’s because you’re going to be figuring out how you can help them be ready for the interview.

Annie and Marsh seem to be in their element for the most part. Annie is obviously shy, Marsh doesn’t mind it at all. She waves and smiles and does just as much as Marsh does. They stop in the City Circle, the anthem plays, President Snow gives his speech, the chariots go around the circle one last time, and then come back.

“Not bad.” you say to yourself, “Not bad at all.”

You leave Finnick standing there, giving the tributes a wide grin. The prep teams are already singing praises, so there’s not much to say. Muchless room to say it. Elysia thinks that they’ve had an influence on the Capitol already, which is a relief. As long as they’re drawing in some attention, you’re good.

Back inside of the Four floor, your tributes head off to take their showers. Finnick meanders around the rooms, you settle onto the couch in the living room, watching the chariot rides again. As always, Claudius and Caesar have been captivated by District One and Two’s amazing stylists. They barely make a comment about District Four.

You end up with your head in your hands. You know that just because the moderators didn’t say anything, doesn’t mean that other people didn’t take a closer look. But their biased opinion tends to have an effect on people after a while. Continue to make dim comments about districts, and you’ll end up like District Twelve.

No one wants to be District Twelve.

Dinner with everyone--with the exception of the prep teams--is enough to keep you awake. You go ahead and indulge yourself in red wine, trying to seem like you’re enjoying yourself. As soon as the alcohol sets in, making your head spin a little, you go ahead and give it up. You’re not really a drinker, anyway.

As soon as the cake is served, you’re sure that dinner is pretty much over. You go and watch the replay of the parade again, Elysia goes ahead and tells you guys what the people she’d talk to said. It’s all very good things, and you begin to suspect that she’s just being nice for the tributes.

“Don’t give them false hope.” you say, cutting her off completely, “Claudius and Caesar did nothing for us. Annie and Marsh have to do good on their training scores, and even better during the interviews if they want to make a lasting impression.” you look at the tributes, “The pressure of performing well has only just begun.

“You guys should get to bed, we’ll see you at breakfast for instructions. Try to get a good night of sleep.”

Annie thanks Laurel on her way out, Marsh barely does the same. You absently watch the tv while you wait for them to be gone completely. Finnick’s already gathering his things, “I’ve got to go.”

“Be there at breakfast, I’ll fill you in the best I can.” you tell him.

“Sure.”

He leaves too, and you’re left there with Elysia, Laurel and Pleurisy.

“You know how to clear a room.” Laurel says, you crack a smile.

“Well you wanted to talk.” you look at them, “So let’s get to talking.”

--

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[mst3kproject]

The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues

I found this movie online while looking for From Hell It Came (which I haven’t yet found – someday I will and then you’ll all be sorry) and it looked bad, so I checked out the details.  Turns out it stars Kent Taylor from The Crawling Hand, Cathy Downs from The Amazing Colossal Man, and was written by Lou Rusoff, who was behind It Conquered the World, The She-Creature, and… oh god, he also wrote Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow.  This is gonna suck goat nads.  I must watch it right away.

You shouldn’t picture me groaning when I write stuff like that, by the way.  You should picture me giggling like a maniac and rubbing my hands together with glee.

A monster is killing people at sea near an incredibly bleak and depressing California college town, and the bodies and wrecked boats it leaves in its wake are scorched by radioactivity! Washington sends Agent Grant to find out what’s going on, and he soon discovers that the Pacific College of Oceanography is positively overflowing with suspicious characters.  There’s the reclusive and paranoid Professor King, who is working on weird experiments in his locked laboratory.  There’s King’s assistant George, who follows him around and hides in the bushes to watch what he’s doing.  King’s secretary Ethel blames the professor for the death of her son and wants revenge, and George’s girlfriend Wanda is a foreign agent.  Not to mention the visiting Dr. Stevens, a radiation expert with an unsettling habit of turning up just in time to discover the bodies.  Someone among this motley crew has created a sea monster… and someone else is planning to sell it to the highest bidder!

You know how some movies save their monsters until the last minute, in order to build suspense?  Or because what we imagine is always scarier than what we actually see?  Or because the monster sucks and they’re ashamed of it?  Or some combination of the above?

Phantom from 10 000 Leagues is not one of those movies.  Before we’re even a full minute into it, the monster has appeared on screen in all its ridiculous glory.  Stevens calls it a hideous beast that defies description but I think I can make an attempt.  It looks sort of like the lovechild of a saber-toothed tiger and the Horror of Party Beach.  There’s a ridge down its head and back like an iguana and a poorly-camouflaged window in its neck so the dude inside can see what he’s doing.  The whole costume is also rather buoyant, and the actor is having to work hard to stay underwater.  Sadly, this beast remains lurking in the depths and never shambles out onto the beach to menace sunbathers, which is the only thing it would have needed to make it a perfect bad movie monster.

The creature is not the only nuclear threat in this movie… or even the silliest one!  During an investigatory dive, Stevens discovers a glowing patch on the seafloor which he says represents an ‘activated’ uranium deposit with the potential to form a naturally-occurring death ray!  We finally get to see this in action when stock footage of a ship passes over it – and turns into a different ship that immediately blows up! I’m just sad this only happens once. The glowing stone itself is represented by a mirror with a light shining on it in underwater shots, and by the reflection of the sun when seen from the surface.

So the effects are not special and make an already silly threat even more hilarious.  What about the story?  Like all cheap monster movies, the focus of The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues is not the creature killing people but the investigation into it.  There’s a large number of potential monster-makers here, which could have made the movie a bit messy – but by the time the words The End appear, we know who all these people are, how they’re involved, and what they hope to accomplish.  Even the women are given distinct motivations and personalities, although those fall neatly into the ‘maiden, mother and whore’ tropes I’ve discussed in the past. The dialogue is not exactly subtle, but it seems like I can’t wholly blame Lou Rousoff for Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow.

It’s also nice that, despite the preponderance of White Men In Suits (Stevens and Grant both walk along the beach in suits and ties at all hours of the day and night), the characters all look different enough that I can tell them apart!  None of the cast are great actors, with a lot of stilted or awkward line deliveries, but then, a lot of the things they’re saying are completely ridiculous, so I probably can’t lay that entirely at their feet.

Unfortunately, the plot of Phantom From 10 000 Leagues is rather unfocused, and like so many of these films it’s not sure who its main character is.  It seems like either Agent Grant or Dr. Stevens, who are each conducting some kind of investigation into the goings-on, ought to be the protagonist… but both are introduced in contexts that make them seem potentially suspicious.  Dr. Stevens is actually significantly more suspicious than Grant, because when he first turns up he gives a fake name, and later proves to have actually performed experiments with mutating sea life in the past.  Yet for much of the movie, it’s Stevens we’re watching, as he cozies up to Professor King and flirts with King’s daughter Lois.  He actually gets far more screen time than Grant, with the latter sometimes being out of the movie for long enough that the audience kind of forgets he’s there.

Stevens and Lois’ love story is, as is probably inevitable for a movie of this kind, completely bland.  Kent Taylor and Cathy Downs have no appreciable spark between them, and one gets the uncomfortable impression that he’s about twice her age. The movie never offers even an approximate age for either character, but Lois is still unmarried and living with her father, which in the 1950s suggests she’s in her early twenties.  King describes Stevens as a ‘young man’ but between his appearance and his impressive academic credentials he’s obviously not, and when I looked up the actors I learned that Taylor was forty-eight when The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues was made, while Downs was twenty-nine.  That’s… well, they’re both adults, but he’s still old enough to be her father, and the younger we assume they both are, the worse the two decade gap gets.

Once we actually get to know the characters, the solution to the mysteries is fairly obvious, but this lets us spend some actual time with these men and find out what they think about the situation.  Stevens, who’s been down this road before, wants these terrible experiments to stop before any more people get hurt.  King, hearing about it for the first time, is more excited about what he might be able to learn by building on Stevens’ work. This represents an interesting inversion because if you’ll recall, King is supposed to be significantly older than Stevens (though actor Michael Whelan was actually born only five years before Taylor).

Usually knowledge and wisdom are both associated with age.  This is a very old trope and has some fairly sound logic behind it: the elderly have had longer to learn and to experience.  In Phantom from 10 000 Leagues, however, we have the older Professor King excited by the ground-breaking discoveries made by a younger scientist and wanting to learn more about them, even when the (supposedly) younger Stevens warns him about Tampering in God’s Domain.  Each assumes the role their ages might make us expect of the other.

This is reflected in their respective fields: depending on how you define it, oceanography is as old as mankind.  Humanity has been mapping the seas for as long as we’ve known how to sail across them, and marveling at the monsters we pull from its depths for as long as we’ve been catching fish.  That is the Professor King’s domain. Stevens, on the other hand, is a specifically nuclear scientist. Nuclear physics technically begins with the discovery of radioactivity in the 1890’s, but it seemed like a new and scary field in the 1950s, as the development of atomic weapons forced scientists to take a closer look at the phenomenon’s effect on living tissues. To King, who is an expert in another field, the possibilities of this relatively new work outweigh the potential consequences.

As sloppy and poorly-made as Phantom from 10 000 Leagues can be, this contrast between Stevens and King does make it a movie with something to say.  It of course has the standard moral for a fifties atomic monster piece, about paths science is not meant to tread, but it also wants us to think about that connection between age and wisdom.  On the one hand, King’s interest in Stevens’ work tells us that you’re never too old to learn something new.  On the other, just because somebody is young doesn’t mean they have nothing to teach. If King had taken in Stevens’ wisdom along with his knowledge, a lot of suffering need not have happened.

Even if you’re not into that, the crappy monster, the bad acting, the ridiculous science, and all the sneaking around and backstabbing that goes on makes Phantom from 10 000 Leagues plenty of fun watch.  It’s much like Beginning of the End in that it ticks all the MST3K boxes, while remaining coherent enough that you can enjoy the actual story along with the badness.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ― Chapter 9: The Arrival

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ⥽

They fled New York with one purpose. Find, hunt down, and return with a way to kill a vampire god. They abandoned their loved ones and survived the City of Shadows; had their trust broken and darkest secrets brought to light. All that... and Gaius still won anyway. But now that they have nothing to lose, Nadya and her friends are finally ready to do whatever it takes to see the King of Vampires overthrown.

They just have to avoid a vampire population eager to gain favor with their new monarch, the ruthless Order of the Dawn, and whatever plans Gaius has that involve Nadya captured and brought to him alive. So... easy-peasy, right? The worlds of both dark and light hang in the balance. The time has come for the Bloodkeeper to embrace her destiny. So if anyone wants to clue her in on whatever that means, now would be great!

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing reimagining project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere​, @cess02​, @hellyeah90sbaby​, @tayab12​, @saratustra4​, @imnotdonewiththeelementalists​, @thepotatobleh​,

*join the Tag List here!

⥼ Summary ⥽

It's the night of Vlad's masquerade ball, the most prestigious social event a vampire can attend. An entire ballroom full of faces and names every vampire in Europe knows... and apparently Nadya is going to upstage them all.

content warnings: language

[READ IT ON AO3]

A pretty big chunk of their plan relies on the staff of the Tepes Estate being just as snobbish and uppity as the man they serve.

So thankfully at least something is both easily predictable and surprisingly convenient.

Staff all around, and none of them pay the pair of them much mind. Beyond the fact that they get told by more than one footman that “guests really shouldn’t be back in the staff corridors” and receive multiple warnings about how “the Count has ensured all guests for the evening, (said while looking down the biggest snooty nose in all of Prague no less) no matter their prestige, will receive adequate time to sup on the serving staff,” and that they “really shouldn’t be allowing an undisclosed human on the premises but will look the other way this time,” Nadya and Cadence are pretty much left to their own devices.

Which means scurrying out of sight before any lone particularly loyal member of the Tepes household decides to go narc and everything ends up exploding in their faces anyway.

Because there’s no way on earth these full-face masques of theirs are providing any damage cover should their plans go KABOOM!

Nadya casts another look up at Cadence as they come across their umpteenth fork in the road. Watching him decide between right or left is starting to feel as nerve-wracking as actually choosing which direction they ought to go.

“You’re sure you know where we are?” You’re sure you know we’re going the right way?

“I’m starting to feel like you have less than zero faith in me, Nadya.” He probably thinks the glance down her way is a reassuring one. But the masque over his face is almost too neutral. It’s just a mask but it feels like it’s trying too hard, you know?

“That’s not it at all. This place is just…” A lot.

He barely remembers to reach back and take her by the hand before he chooses left in a hurry. Who knows how much time they’ve wasted just trying to find their way through this seemingly endless castle.

“It takes me a moment to recall the map Serafine showed me before we left, but I’m… ninety percent sure I know exactly where we are.”

“And the other ten percent?”

“Is trying to keep an ear out for party noises. So if you’ll zip it, thank you.”

Admittedly Nadya would have a lot more faith in this plan if it wasn’t just the pair of them, proven stumbling disasters that they are, relying on the apparently flawless memory of a man who literally introduces himself as ‘the one with amnesia.’ She understands the rationale behind it, just as she understands the rationale behind everybody else going through the front door like an entourage of normal party-goers. They have three prestigious faces and what Jax and Lily lack in clout they make up for in being practically invisible as nobodies to this upper echelon of attendees.

But shoving the two bigwigs of their gang — well, the most recognizable face in any room of vampires and the obviously human girl losing her freakin’ mind amid a cluster of the heartbeat-less undead — through the staff entrance with nothing more than simple masks to disguise them and trusting them not to mess up finding their way among the rest in time for some famed big reveal they still don’t know the full-on details of…?

Well if they live through this long enough to chronicle this part of their journey, nobody is ever allowed to even so much as imply via metaphor that Nadya never trusted her friends wholly and completely.

Actually if they’re talking about chronicling stuff, better they leave these more vague and improvised parts of their master quest to the footnotes. That way they can pretend they knew what they were doing the whole time.

For example Nadya isn’t gonna let anyone write down that she got so wrapped up in her thoughts about what may or may not get written down that she walked face-first into a brick wall.

OW.

Not a brick wall, actually.

Cadence turns around and catches Nadya’s mask just before it falls and shatters on the ground. Thank you vampire super-speed.

“Are you okay?” He asks, wide-eyed and worried, hesitant to give her back her disguise to take stock of how she really looks.

That’s such a loaded question though, so Nadya ignores it and rubs the redness on her forehead instead.

“Why’d you stop?”

The vampire takes a moment to look up and down either end of the corridor and even around the next corner. When he’s satisfied they’re alone he pries his own mask off with a groan; practically peeling his flattened hair from where its been stuck to his forehead the moment he put the darn thing on.

“Because,” with pursed lips he blows his fringe out of his eyes, “I’ve been talking this entire time… and even when I ramble you usually have some two cents or other to pitch in.”

That’s fair. Nadya takes back her mask with a sheepish shrug. “Sorry, got distracted.”

“That much is obvious. Care to share?”

“Not really. Care to keep going?” Not like they’re exactly full of free time, here.

He sweeps his arm in an after you motion, but keeps pace with Nadya’s shorter stride. “I can hear the string quartet by now. We’re close, but they haven’t begun the announcements Serafine told me to wait for.” So maybe they have a bit of free time. Got it.

Only now she can’t stop thinking about what will be on the other side of the big grand ballroom doors.

And Nadya without her set of note cards to at least help her through her dumb speech all because her dumb dress has no dumb pockets.

“You know I still don’t get why they wouldn’t budge about you not being discovered.”

“You don’t see me complaining,” Cadence says with a shrug; and actually now that he points it out…

“No, I don’t.”

He doesn’t need to look at her to know exactly why she says it that way, either. It’s not the first time they’ve had this talk. Probably won’t be the last either.

His sigh sags from his shoulders to his fingertips. “‘Surprise warmonger back from the dead’ might accidentally eclipse ‘reincarnation of the vampire Goddess.’ Can’t have that, now can we.”

“Cadence.”

“Nadya.”

They turn another corner in complete silence. Nadya’s ears strain to hear this quartet of his but nope, not close enough for her poor human ears quite yet.

Finally Cadence seems to decide on something. Gathering himself up all the way to his full height while fiddling with the porcelain in his grasp. “Actually… Serafine and Kamilah gave me the option. When they talked about prestige all this week it was largely assuming I might be able to pretend just enough to add to their collective fame. But they gave me the choice as to whether or not I wanted to try.”

“And you said no.”

“Of course I said no. I don’t envy you, Nadya. You have to do this regardless of whether or not you want to. But for the first time it feels like I’m not in that position, and I want to take full advantage of it.”

His face falls, voice going somber. “Surely you can see why.”

She can. She did, in the flesh, and while he’d been useful at the time she can still close her eyes and remember how easily Cynbel had threatened Jax, hurt Adrian and Serafine; how callous he’d been with her life even though she’d agreed with him at the time… Not to mention all the implied things that come with Serafine, always calm and cool and collected, losing her freakin’ marbles every time he ended up a part of the conversation.

He continues. “I don’t think I could have pretended to be him if my life depended on it. And if you think about it, your life does depend on it in a way. I couldn’t risk you like that. Not after how kind you’ve been to me.”

Her fingers brush over his arm. Cadence either takes it the wrong way or chooses to give a purpose to something so small; he bends his elbow and lets her arm slide into his like a proper escort to a proper ball.

“A lot of people’s lives depend on me pretending to…” Nadya can’t quite say it though, so she swallows it down. “I just have no idea what I’m supposed to do when we get there.”

“Understandably.”

“Seriously,” offering him a wry and dry smile, “that’s all the advice you’ve got?”

He mulls it over for a good and proper think. The effort is more than appreciated even if it doesn’t actually yield results. At least this way she gets to vent it out before messing up royally when the time comes.

Cadence stops first — their linked arms jerk her back and to turn and face him. “I wouldn’t call it advice, per se,” gee—great, “but maybe we both suck at pretending because we ought to be accepting, instead. Accepting who we… were. Possibly, in your case. That way we still have the chance to move on.”

It’s a sweet sentiment, but Nadya can’t help the way her nose scrunches up slightly.

“I don’t think that applies to this case, Cade.”

“Fair enough. Can’t say I didn’t try.” And that makes the pair of them laugh, no matter how weakly. Something neither of them knew they needed, nor how badly they needed it.

It doesn’t last long… but it doesn’t need to.

“You’ll figure it out when the time comes Nadya. You usually do.”

Usually.

In wordless agreement she and Cadence don their pretend masques with mutual reluctance. At least he doesn’t have to breathe in his. But it’s easier this time to see what his face really says beneath that neutral doll-like expression.

She smiles at him in return. Like many things these days they can’t quite see it, but the feeling is there.

When they get close enough that Nadya’s ears no longer strain to catch the occasional tittering laughter or melodramatic voice, Cadence diverts them yet again. This time for a staircase he just so happens to catch sight of out of the corner of his eye.

He keeps her close; closer than before. Practically hovering over her like a shadow less than a step behind her the whole way up. She pauses when he pauses, she waits when he waits, and trusts him enough to know her faith isn’t misplaced but some explanation would be swell any time he’s feeling his usual chatty self.

Crouched close to the ground (which is a feat for him, for her not so much) Cadence crooks a finger at Nadya to join him in inching steps along the carpet towards the railing overlooking the main foyer below.

Nadya is, understandably, hesitant. “What if someone sees us?” What if someone smells me, hears me, all-of-the-aboves me?

“Same principle as before.”

“Keep close and your blood will cover me up?”

He nods. Not like she really has any other choice. Well, that and the more snatches of conversation she plucks from thin air the more curious she is.

And when has her curiosity ever not won out?

Cadence’s cloak comes heavy around her other shoulder and all but smothers her. She grabs the edge and pulls it tight while making sure not to jostle it from his shoulders. For some reason she can’t shake the feeling like she’s hiding behind a curtain with her feet sticking out underneath.

But they’re here, so they might as well take advantage of it. So Nadya joins him in peering through the stone balusters to the hustle and bustle happening below.

The foyer had been beautiful already during her visit with Serafine and Jax the other night — Nadya would even go so far as to assume it was nearly completed. That assumption would have been vastly incorrect.

It’s not her contacts; she’s not seeing double. Every bauble and ribbon and glittering glassy gem brought along the entire family. There’s practically no surface without something shiny added in some form or another, and in many cases that shiny thing has a shiny thing has a shiny thing of its own on top.

On their own the decorations probably look gaudy and too-much. But when you fill the room with graceful vampires all dolled up in unique fashions and splendors everything else is lost in the background. Tasteful would probably have ended up the equivalent of a fifty-buck Party Town Supply budget. So at least the Count knows his audience.

She should be looking for their friends… and she is. But Nadya tells herself it’s being a good and thorough secret agent to observe all the other guests along the way. Two birds and all that. But it’s not easy to just sweep her eyes over the assembled masses in search of a few key faces. Not when each masque is a face all its own.

You’d think there are only so many combinations of colors, designs, and styles to make before they start getting repetitive. But that couldn’t be farther from the case. She gets it now, seeing everything and everyone from way up high and afar like this. The importance of not just the masque itself, but having the right kind of masque above everything else.

Masquerade balls are about hiding and blending in; being just another face in the crowd.

Les Visages de la Gloire is the exact opposite. And even that feels like the most watered-down way to put it she can think of.

A gentle weight falls on Nadya’s back and she shudders a gasp. When had she stopped breathing? Not for fear of being caught, but at the beauty of it all that could only be described as—literally—breathtaking.

Faceless in their full face-coverings and headdresses each more ostentatious than the last; not important enough to show who they are but still in competition with each other — still with deeds to announce and reputations to uphold. Half-masks covering the left side, the right side, the top of one and the bottom of another and all of them made uniquely for a single soul and nobody else.

Some vampires have masques that match their costumes. Others clash in a way that can’t be anything other than on purpose. Even from a distance Nadya can see the difference between carefully crafted metalwork and porcelain painted with glossy lacquer; can compare wood carvings with rich varnish and contrast that with the vast rainbow of matte colors on terracotta. Most are adorned with embellishments and jewels heavy enough to make her neck hurt just by looking at them.

Nearly all take full advantage of the fact their wearers won’t end up suffocating on the other side.

And I’m supposed to show them all up without so much as a sheer ribbon over my eyes? Yeah, Nadya’s confidence takes a knife to the gut just thinking about it.

“Over there.”

Not like Cadence’s finger isn’t pointing down to a massive crowd or anything, but that’s exactly the point — forgive the pun.

Though they can’t quite see double doors leading inside the castle from the exterior from their hiding spot, the sudden hush that falls over the idle crowd offers up an equally dramatic entrance.

It’s the kind of arrival that would be filmed in slow-motion. The kind that pans up from the purposeful echo of each expensive step; dragging over the exquisite details of their costumes in one long smooth glide all the way to the big reveal. And what a reveal it is.

Kamilah’s spindly masque may be made of steel but it curls over her sharp features with all the grace of a silken thread. It’s a face covering by only the thinnest margin of definition, with too many gaps in the framework to even pretend to conceal her identity. But after taking in the rest of the crowd… it’s obvious she’s the kind of face — the kind of presence — that simply can’t go unrecognized.

Everything about Kamilah, from her posture to her raised chin to her not-at-all-faked aura of superiority, demands recognition.

On the surface she’s the woman that Nadya knows; that she trusts and cares about so so much. But look beneath, something all too easy to do — like sweeping aside a mist, it’s impossible to miss how she’s so much more.

The Bloodqueen has arrived. And the entire foyer is speechless before her.

Without even moving a muscle the closest groups stagger back several more steps. Dozens of them nearly tripping over themselves and each other in their haste.

It’s no surprise that the space is quickly taken up by the two figures flanking Kamilah’s sides.

Serafine’s masque isn’t so much a mask as it is a scrap of lace just wide enough to earn the collective approval. As if anyone here doesn’t already know who she is regardless. But that’s how she can pull the look off if Nadya is remembering her explanation right.

No one would dare partake in Les Visages without knowing—without introduction—the woman who started it all.

Some final vestiges of their psychic connection tugs Nadya towards her; not physically so much as emotionally. Even without seeing Serafine’s features up close there’s a bittersweet ache in her chest that’s definitely not Nadya’s own.

The vampiress can offer up all the scarlet-lipped smiles she wishes. They are all hollow and fake. The simple act of being here causes Serafine nothing but distress.

And then there was Adrian.

Who, in comparison to Kamilah and Serafine, makes the women nearest him seem positively giddy and gleeful to be here tonight.

He wears his tailored costume perfectly; that wasn’t in doubt. It’s the masque that leaves him stony-faced. Gold rich and dark that catches every little flame on the chandelier over his head that covers his eyes but can’t hide the tension wracking his jaw.

He and Kamilah both wear near-identical rich crimson garnets inlaid just beneath their masque’s right eye. Shared stones for a shared Maker. But along his edges are thin metal spires, short but wicked sharp, that vary from the same gold, to steel, to a coppery hue.

A second glance confirms Nadya’s suspicions; Adrian isn’t the only one with those kinds of embellishments along the edges of their masques. Scouring a few of them from the crowd, the way they carry themselves and mirror Adrian’s ramrod-straight posture answers a question she didn’t know she needed to ask.

If the garnet labels him and Kamilah both as Turned by Gaius, then the spikes are the mark of the soldier. Any soldier; but one worth recognition for their service.

Which is everything Adrian doesn’t want. Everything he had worried over, and was working now towards overcoming in the wake of his past.

Nadya ducks her head hastily to catch her tear before it falls. Thankfully she’s quick enough. If only she could wipe away the reason for it just as easily.

Pull yourself together, girl, she scolds, and it’s just enough to do the trick and pull Nadya’s focus back to everything around them. All the stillness and nothingness and the way a room full of the undead hold their collective unnecessary breath waiting for what will happen next.

Which is exactly the kind of attention-grabbing showstopper the three of them are supposed to be. All eyes turned on the prestigious trio they are together, and away from Nadya and Cadence one floor above.

All focus on who they are, why they’ve come, what they will do; and away from the practically invisible dynamic duo that slips through the crowd towards the closed ballroom doors.

Behind her, Cadence lets out an impressed little “hah” when he finally manages to pick Lily and Jax out of the crowd. “I completely missed them. Did you see them sneak in?”

“No,” answers Nadya, but that’s actually a good thing. That was the whole point.

Without a word Kamilah takes one step forward. Her aura of command acts like an invisible shield that parts the rest; holding them at a respectable distance.

But the sudden shifting of the mass of faces and their masques gets dangerous when it turns right in their direction. If even one wandering eye looks up, they’re done for!

Without a word the vampire pulls Nadya backwards, letting the force of his bulk pull them out of eyesight in the nick of time. That was a little close, huh.

Nadya doesn’t get the chance to thank him though.

The moment she opens her mouth a loud echoing clang rings out below them, followed by the distinct shuffle of something heavy being dragged achingly close to the foyer’s marble floors.

Neither of them needs to risk sneaking a look.

Right on time. The ballroom doors have finally opened, allowing the first wave of prestige to spill forth out to the grand dance floor.

And though the shuffling of boots and sharp tapping of heels fills the vacuum of stunned silence as the attendees start to move, it’s not nearly enough noise to drown out the sudden and familiar exuberant laughter of delight that echoes across every polished surface below. The kind of laughter designed to be projected across adoring crowds; and carefully rehearsed to always seem full of intriguing promise.

What Nadya wouldn’t give to borrow a little of Vlad Tepes’ seemingly endless confidence for her own performance… looming ever-closer and starting to pick up real steam.

“Remember my lovelies! Faceless and no-names, see yourselves inside. New blood and the lucky virginal attendees right beside them!”

Her full-body shiver of discomfort is more than warranted. But Nadya only wishes she could be surprised at his… unsettling word choice.

“I’m suddenly very glad to be up here.”

She snorts at the wide-eyed stare looking out from Cadence’s mask. “You and me both.”

“Yes yes darling, oh you look a treat. And you there — you must tell me the story behind that engraving later, you simply must.” It’s really to their luck and benefit that the Count likes hearing himself talk so much. They can stay far away from the railing and still keep tabs on what gauge of prestige is next to be welcomed into the bal masqué proper.

They just have to wait until everyone—Vlad included—is inside. Everyone but the most prestigious of the lot of them. And when all eyes are (once again) on the Bloodqueen herself… they’ll have no choice but to witness Nadya’s arrival.

Having Kamilah by her side might just give her the kick in the metaphorical pants to do this thing. Not the literal though. There’s no way this practically bleach-white linen getup will survive a boot print, and especially not to the rear end.

Down below there’s a momentary lull; all but shattered by Vlad’s returning laughter now pitched higher than before.

“Why there you are, Serafine! Here I worried I had somehow lost track of your arrival in the excitement.”

His words are followed by two unmistakably wet noises; which Nadya prays are just over-dramatic kisses to her cheeks.

“Surely you jest,” she teases good-naturedly; said with all the humor of someone whose smile can’t possibly reach her eyes, “I see before me you follow the old traditions quite well. Showing the prestigious their due, their arrival witnessed by all who look to them in admiration.”

“Well of course! It makes for the grandest of entrances.”

“Ah, yes,” the elder vampiress croons, “and as the illustrious host yours would be the last, non?”

“Don’t worry darling — I would never claim credit for your centuries of contribution to our dwindling community.”

“Meaning?”

Somehow Nadya just knows Vlad throws his hair back unnecessarily as he laughs again.

“You can enter just before me, of course.”

“Then when, may I ask, might you suggest my blood-kin Adrian and I make our entrance known, old friend?”

Unlike Serafine, who at least pretends to smile while enduring the torture of his conversation, Kamilah’s question is cold and clipped. It rings with all the disinterest of the Kamilah that Nadya had met so long ago — and she’d place good money on the single raised eyebrow hiked high enough to be seen over her masque, too.

But if anyone could render Vlad speechless…

Nadya struggles to hear something, anything, until she catches the faint rustle of stiff and expensive fabric moving with haste. Vlad’s gesture of greeting, no doubt.

Just like she has no doubt that Kamilah and Adrian don’t humor him as long as Serafine has. It certainly explains the flustered, hasty way his next words tumble from his tongue with practically no filter.

“All the best surprises are the ones that sweep one off his feet. My humble gathering of our kind—nay, our family—from the nearest branch to the farthest root is made absolutely resplendent by the honor of your presence!

“Your Majesty, mon cherie —” —a beat, his attention likely shifting to Adrian— “— and Sergeant Adrian Raines, just when I had resigned myself to an evening of only the old and antiquated in renown. Here you stand before me, as handsome as the day we first met.”

Nadya quickly schools her bewildered expression — too long and it might get stuck that way. But that is flirtation if she’s ever heard it. Not good flirtation, but nevertheless.

“Vlad, as… lively… as ever.” Adrian just barely recovers, but now she’s dying to know what he had almost said instead. “Hard to believe it’s been nearly seventy-five years since last we met. Time… flies so quickly.”

“Oh pish posh,” replies the Count, “you wouldn’t know it but for the calendars. My memory of those chiseled features of yours obviously needed a refresh.”

He’s barely finished speaking when he gasps, clapping his hands together delightedly. “Speaking of memory! You’ll have to forgive my fright. As you all know surely, my recollection skills are of world-renown. Yet the sight of you all almost thrust me spiraling into self-doubt.

“And not without good reason! As I could have sworn you — the both of you, that is to say — had… cast aside your former titles.”

It’s just like before. Everything that pops into his head said without a filter all the way up until what he’s saying isn’t as vapid as it was at the start.

It must be so easy to write Vlad Tepes off at first glance. Just look at the public opinion of the guy. Nadya had, she’s humble enough to admit it. But the hard truth is that he is Vlad Tepes; he is Count Dracula.

But whether he’s all the things the myths and legends claim or not it can’t go ignored that he knows what he’s doing (even if it doesn’t seem like it). He knows how to play a crowd, how to stroke an ego. He’s a master of misdirection.

Has nobody pitched a Vegas residency to this guy yet? Seriously?

But if he thinks he’s going to out-wit someone like Kamilah he must have those leather pants on just a little too tight.

She doesn’t address his comment. Brushing it aside proves a much more important point.

“Shall Adrian and I wait patiently here while you and Serafine follow through, then?”

Vlad must be used to playing the ‘host with the most’ card, because he hesitates. But Kamilah wasn’t asking — she was just being polite.

“Yes,” he finally agrees, though surprisingly less strained than Nadya would have expected. “I would not dare nor dream of presuming your prestige. Nor would I separate the grand entrance of the progeny of our King.

“The three of you will have a most celebratory announcement, I give you my word.”

Did she hear that right?

Serafine offers a gentle tittering laugh. “I see no reason why you and I should not enter together, ma puce.”

“We shall.”

Vlad’s words die to the sound of heavy heels across the foyer floor. Too many steps to be one of her friends; but certainly more than enough for them to bring a person across the length of the room to where they are gathered.

Of course something is going wrong. They should have anticipated something going wrong. They had, her brain reminds her, and probably thinks its being helpful by doing so.

She dares to inch just close enough to catch a glimpse down below and spoiler alert — it isn’t helpful at all.

With his head held high, Marc Antony makes a bold statement in taking Kamilah’s hand without it being offered. Then he goes a step further with a half-bow and a kiss pressed to the back — or the ghost of one. He barely manages it before she yanks it from his grasp — in surprise, in anger, that’s not the part that matters.

With everyone fixated on the two oldest vampires in the room, Adrian dares to steal a glance of warning up to the railing. Wide-eyed and with pursed lips, the message when he gives the tiniest shake of his head is clear.

Nadya retreats, practically crab-walking backwards.

Cadence tries to help her sudden shaking panic with an arm over her shoulders. It’s the thought that counts.

“What,” he asks worriedly, “who is it?”

“Antony,” Nadya exhales, and the man goes rigid beside her. “It’s Marc Antony.”

[thattimdrakeguy]

I couldn’t finish Batman and Robin 2009. It was just... mentally exhausting and I stopped shortly after Bat Dick put fake Bruce in the Lazarus pit. Based on his appearances in Teen Titans, Bruce Wayne: Road Home, as well as his big fan base, I assumed Damian’s character development was executed nicely in his own series. But then again in Gates of Gotham (literally read it just for Cass) he’s impulsive, arrogant and rude to Cass both to her face and behind her back-even after she saved his life 1

Don’t get me started on the sexist things he’s said to Steph. I want to like Damian, but writers don’t make it easy. I got into comics because of batfam fanfics and he was a fave of mine. Dude was extra violent and displayed borderline sociopathic tendencies in his first appearances, cool beans. There’s a lot they can do with a character like that. I just felt like his bad behaviour was never properly dealt with before B&R, and I couldn’t muster the energy to see him through his own series. 2/2

IMO, Damian felt like a Gary Stu at times.

I don’t know if that last one was from the same person or not, but I just got the feeling it is, and if it’s not, then well it blends well enough and don’t feel the need to answer it separately.

Like all I can really say is that I don’t really like Damian. A lot of people confuse that for me thinking he’s an evil monster. I imagine cause I have a Tim icon and other Tims do rage on about that every now and again. As well as just plain taking things I say the wrong way (though I have probably said things in the moment I imagine). But I just plain don’t really like his writing, and if I can’t really read a comic he’s in that I actually like. Idk, I just find it weird to say I like him, when all I really like is what he could be. I don’t feel like that really equals me liking him, cause when I think about it, I kinda realized that meant the opposite, and didn’t wanna project the wrong idea.

But I wanna say this about Damian. He is insanely inconsistent as a personality and character. To this very day. So, as I do with every character, I start from the beginning, figure out what was meant to be by the writers that helped develop them, and figure out what’s in-character and out of character from there. I just feel like it’s the most objective way I can look at anything if I want to review things with standards that are more than just “I like this” or “I don’t like that”.

And in the case of Damian he’s never not been inconsistent. Like one of the main reasons I reread Batman and Robin (or at least Morrison’s run) was for plans of a post about flanderization in the Bat-Family, cause it was pretty rampant in the 00s and still continues often to this very day, and I think is the cause of a lot of lost sales and unhappiness and overall fandom diminishment.

However also to say it, I liked to see a lot of what Damian could be within B&R 09.

But anyways, basically just because I can’t really do a part of the post on Damian without trying to figure out what he was like to begin with, and what he was supposed to be per his creator.

Cause you can’t really tell in fandom. Cause his most popular comics are from stuff that isn’t in the main universe and was purposely a lot lighter, or in the main universe from writers that really surprisingly didn’t get the character despite the popularity--which continues my thinking on it was less about the quality of the writing and more about the lazy fan service. They honestly really flanderized him in a similar yet opposite way then what they did with Tim in the 00s.

And while I can’t act like the sexism and homophobia wasn’t an actual part of the character of Damian at the time--he shows both of those traits in the series (at least the homophobia, cause I’m now realizing that I might be thinking of another series for the sexism). He was flanderized even then by other writers from the different series.

Like how he’s written in Red Robin, is not freaking Damian. It’s not Damian to me. I don’t accept it as Damian. Even a lot of the content of him in Batgirl I even less feel like is Damian--besides unfortunately some of the sexist comments, but they never really proper developed him on that as far as like--actively showing that, at least that I can recall. So all I can really say is it’s uncomfortable, and how they don’t delve into it is the only real reason I say “That actually sadly does fit in with him”. But it’s not like it doesn’t make sense, he was raised to fight, not to handle emotions or feelings, he probably would do and say really creepy things when he has a crush--I just wish they’d actually acknowledge that what was going on rather than sacrificing a good story for more fan service.

The other writers make him too much of a bratty, snotty, kid. And I found that, that is an absolutely terrible interpretation of Damian, because beyond his origin, he isn’t a typical brat, and he doesn’t really act like a kid (in some ways yes, but general mannerisms and personality no). And even then he was a different kind of brat. He was entitled and bitchy in his origin, not immature (at least in the same way) and snotty. They have him act more like some spoiled brat from next door rather than a kid that was abused into being obedient to be what his abusive mother wanted (Talia shouldn’t be abusive, but like I said before, I think the series sucked overall for reasons like that and more).

(I also find that stupid line cutting scene in RR where I presume he was trying to kill Tim to be even stupider, cause Damian wouldn’t freaking do that at that point. They make Damian come off as so stupid in that issue, I hate it. Cause it was all just a cheap way to force sympathy for him, but it doesn’t even make sense when you think about it and is a huge stretch.)

Damian doesn’t make jokes when he’s written better--it’s like his thing. He’s got quite the temper, and understandably why of course. He’s violent with criminals, but he’s also mostly just stoic as his base state when not in a stressed situation, and even shows remorse (which is a big stretch from his origin, but I blame that on the writing which could be very rushed and lazy). He was treated like just another adult for the most part, and it had a weirdly endearing quality despite the maturity of it, and general edge of the series. It was Damian’s place and it worked really well. It just felt right for their dynamics. Damian’s a unique kid, and they respected him for who he was. He just needed help on his morals and stability.

But other series didn’t really get that. He would still be really rude like his origin, and not really the same tone of rudeness (I’m not sure if I can really explain what I mean by that), he’s aggressive, but putting him in Teen Titans never made sense to me, because I don’t see Dick doing that. Dick had a lot more respect than to force Damian to do something like that. Dick was more patient, and while he did lightly smack (not any kind to hurt him any. literally to demonstrate without pain. more taps really) him to teach him a point about aesthetical weaknesses in his costume like the hood, it was mostly done out of finding a way to teach him that would speak to him. So just forcing him to do something he didn’t want to do--which would clearly not work on him--was just contrived and plain bad writing wise. Something they did more as a stunt so they can say “TITANS NOW HAS THE SON OF BATMAN” than to use him well or continue his story in a natural way.

With Cass I can’t say anything, because that’s like the one time he talks to her, and that basically shows their dynamic. So that’s just them, I can’t really say anything on it. If he felt challenged by her I could see him being a total jerk. It really depends on the scenes themselves. I never read the series myself cause I genuinely really don’t like that Batman Reborn era of Bat-Family. Too much of it was just done for publicity and random changes, and for the most part didn’t work much to me.

But overall, at the same time, despite me singing the praises of what Damian could be, and was for a little while. The overall writing for the character arc was super lazy. Stuff just kind of happens, and way too quick to fit in with what they introduced. He just kind of goes “this is right, now”, which makes his whole brainwashing thing feel a bit--useless, and makes how he went from chopping heads off to that in very little time sort of cuts out depth that could’ve really made the series more rereadable. Damian actually comes off surprisingly as a very flat character for stretches of time in the issues because his character arc is never focused on as much as you’d think until they need to be like “Oh yeah...uh, here’s an emotional moment”. Which just felt really cheap to me.

So the series to me isn’t worth it if you want a good story. None of the stories were good to me, I think I was questioning each one cause it was either schlocky, out of character, or both. I know people like Grant Morrison, but they aren’t for me, I’m not a fan of their writing. Damian was a Gary Stu a lot, which they try to explain with the League thing--but having the League give him experimental surgery so he could walk the same day (or next) after being legitimately paralyzed was just way too freaking much to me. But he does make mistakes, so he’s not at base a Gary Stu really--the writing just really stunk badly sometimes.

This isn’t me putting in a bid to say “OH YOU JUST NEED TO READ THIS, AND YOU’LL FREAKING LOVE HIM”, because to be freaking honest, when you already have a bad taste in your mouth, it’s best to just wait a bit till trying again. I read the fandom recommended comics and felt there was so many problems that I couldn’t read Damian for literal months. And he still has a lot of the problems you said. I’m just saying Damian is surprisingly different when written by his creator than others, cause honestly nearly every single other writer for him has gotten him wrong. Like mind-blowingly wrong. He does not feel like the same character anywhere else. It’s nuts.

To put it another way, it’s a generally speaking bad series, but if you want to see what Damian was meant to be like before they kept regressing him, and diminishing him, and turning him into more a joke, and see what his dynamic with Dick and Alfred was meant to be like, it’s a brilliant and perfect series to read it for.

It’s better for learning about them--then it actually is to enjoy it. Because it’s most likely not a series I’m going to be returning too often unless to research something again.

[greekowl87]

From the kiss prompts #19: Kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing.

A/N: I am so, so sorry it took so super duper long to answer this prompt. Post ep “The Sixth Extinction II: Amor Fati” with a blooming MSR taking the relationship to the next level. Also, pure fluff. @today-in-fic @improlificinsarcasm @baronessblixen @suitablyaggrieved

P.S. Sorry for the typos; no beta.

In the dim light coming from his bathroom, Scully sat on the edge of Mulder’s bed and watched him sleep. His eyes darted beneath closed eyes, dreaming. She gently touched his brow, feeling the scratchy gauze beneath her fingertips. His lips moved wordlessly and his face frowned as if in a nightmare. She could see Mulder’s lips forming her name, calling out to her silently over and over again.

Over the past few weeks, she had mastered changing the bandage around without waking him, but this time, she simply removed it as he quietly called out for her. His surgical scars had held enough without any long term damage. She continued to watch him. His hands flexed as if trying to grasp for something. She took his hand and kissed his cheek. He relaxed slightly, almost sensing her presence.

“Scully,” he called.

“I’m here,” she murmured, “open your eyes.”

Mulder did as she requested. His eyes squinted at the intrusion of the bathroom light. The light haloed around her, making his partner look like an angel. “Did I die and go to heaven?”

“Depends on your definition of heaven,” she whispered softly, “but you won’t die. Or didn’t. That much I’m sure of. Sit up for me so we can get that bandage off.”

He sat up on his forearms and she shook her head again, helping him sit all the way up and rest against his headboard. “What time is it?”

“Shortly after seven a.m. It is Saturday. The weather is going to be rainy all day so I figured what better excuse than to come by to check on my favorite patient.”

He winced slightly as she unfurled the bandage with practiced ease. “Did you bring food?”

“I thought I would cook for you this morning or we could do it together,” she said. “It’ll be fun.”

This thing was new between them. After she had rescued him from the bowels of some unknown DOD building after botched brain surgery. She came by daily, often spending the weekends with him, while he healed. “Know what would be fun?” He murmured, squinting his eyes. “Not having to wear that bandage today.”

She snorted and gently inspected his head. “I think we could do that today.”

“Good. Am I allowed to shower by myself too, Dr. Scully?”

“As long as you don’t fall. Do you think you can do that, Agent Mulder?”

He chuckled and nodded. Deciding to catch her off guard, he cupped her cheek gently and gave her a morning kiss. “Good morning.”

She snorted in amusement. “Stop distracting me and go take your shower.”

Mulder smiled. Aside from his most recent near-death experience, this new thing between him and Scully was his most favorite thing. She disappeared from his bedroom and he felt his cheeks warm. Mulder got out of bed to take a quick shower and change into something a bit more casual.

Scully disappeared back out to his apartment. She could hear the shower turning on and could swear she could also hear him ‘Walking on Sunshine’ off-key. She bit her lip and smiled to herself. Despite her initial confusion on where to turn, she recalled Mulder’s words…his touchstone, his constant…and for the first time in their seven years, she had never been happier. Granted his situation warranted that they stay slow with their new development, but it wouldn’t be their thing if it didn’t go slow.

Before Scully had come there this morning, she had stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few things including a half dozen eggs, frozen hash browns, and orange juice. As his shower continued, she hunted through his cabinets for his coffee but instead settled on the tea caddy he kept just for her. She found his small steel kettle, filled it, and put it on the back of a small burner. As that heated, she rummaged through the cabinets and found what she needed: a skillet and bowl for the eggs. She was so focused on her task that she failed to notice Mulder come up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and kissing her softly.

Scully didn’t jump at the new intrusion but leaned back against him. “You’re distracting me again,” she murmured.

“It doesn’t look like you complaining,” he said. His hands rested on the curves of her hips. “What’s up, Doc?”

She smiled and shook her head. “Tea to start with.”

“Couldn’t find the coffee?”

He was already inspecting the kettle, placing his hand on the side of it. “It’s not hot yet! If you want something to do, Mulder, then crack these eggs!” She playfully swatted him away. “I was just about to start the hash browns.”

“Peppers and onions?”

“You know it.” He hummed in approval and Scully took this moment to break away, giggling as she did. “Make yourself useful, Mulder.”

He opened his antiqued fridge and dropped a pack of bacon and cheese onto the counter. “Good for you,” she smiled sarcastically. “You provided food! Do you want bacon in your eggs.”

“On the side.”

“Make yourself useful, Mulder,” she chided him. “Either cook the hash browns or crack the eggs.”

“Bossy,” he replied in a sing-song voice. “Remind me to tell you never to practice medicine.”

She heard him take the plastic bowl from her and she chose that moment to inspect his head. The haphazard haircut the Syndicate gave him made his hair stick out at all ends. Personally, she liked the spiky hair being a new constant. He hissed in surprise as she cupped his face, her fingertips tracing the new scars. “I don’t want you to bandage your head for the next 48 hours,” she told him.

“Do I meet inspection, Dr. Scully?” He bent forward and kissed her again. “Well?”

She burst into a fit of laughter. “Mulder! Stop distracting me!”

“I’m not distracting you!”

“I beg to differ.” She hummed, satisfied with his progress. “Anyways, get those eggs cracking.”

He moved his mouth, soundless mocking her. “I’m fine,” he promised. “No need to worry.”

“Are you sure? Do you want something to drink?”

“Stop being a mother hen,” he admonished her. He reached under the sink and pulled out his trash can. “I can crack a few eggs. And no, I’m fine. I think there is some orange juice your mom brought me.”

“When was my mother here?”

“On Tuesday while you were at the office. I told her she didn’t have to but she’s a lot like you in that respect.”

Scully laughed as she took out a bag of frozen potatoes from a grocery bag and dumped them into a skillet with butter. Mulder paused his egg breaking, wiped his hands on his jeans, and sneaked up behind her. His arms went around her waist, and taking advantage of their height difference, rested his chin on top of her head. Scully rolled her eyes and continued to prepare the frozen potatoes with Mulder still attached to her. “Not working, Mulder. And don’t annoy your doctor.”

His musical laughter echoed in his small brick kitchen and he kissed the top of her head, whispering, “I can’t wait till I get my doctor’s a-okay for extracurricular activities.”

“We’ve done…stuff.”

“Oral actives do not count. I am going to have my way with you…”

Some of the potatoes flipped out the skillet. “Mulder! Stop distracting me!”

“Not sorry. What else did you bring?”

“Bacon. But go through your fridge and get me what you want for the eggs.”

“Omelets?”

“Scrambled surprise. I may be skilled with my hands but omelet flipping is beyond my talents.”

“If you want omelets, I can do it,” he supplied. “You can cook the bacon. I’m still surprised you got it by the way.”

“I thought I would treat my patient.” Mulder chuckled and kissed the crook of her neck. “Is has these seven years have done to us? You can’t stop kissing me?”

“I love you too much, Scully. Besides, my goal is also to be distracting.”

“Well, you’re succeeding in your goal.”

Mulder went to his aged fridge and produced a bell pepper, onion, and spinach (which Scully raised her trademark eyebrow for). He chopped the rest of the ingredients as Scully finished the potatoes and stuck them in the oven to keep the bowl warm. She moved over to the next burner as he put two new skillets on there. She took the larger of the two and deftly started cooking the bacon while Mulder began their omelets. As they stood side by side cooking breakfast, he bumped his hip against hers. “Seems familiar, doesn’t it?”

“Like what?”

“We’re going over evidence…”

“For breakfast. Nice try, Romeo. Get cooking.”

He shook his head as they both began the bacon and the omelets. Twenty minutes later and one minor burn, they had two plates of fried potatoes, omelets, and bacon. They sat on his worn leather couch with their plates on the coffee table. She arched her eyebrow at him and asked, “Why can’t we use your dining room table?”

“It’s for stuff. Besides, don’t you feel more comfortable this way?” He waggled his eyebrows. “We can put on a movie.”

“I get to pick.”

Scully selected a classic, Alien. They wandered their way through breakfast, the plates were pushed and stacked to the edge of the coffee table, and Scully found herself lounging against Mulder as Ripley began to kick ass. He kissed her brow as she pulled down the Aztec blanket. “You know, I have this fantasy as you as Ripley,” he whispered. 

“I don’t get along with cats,” she whispered back.

“I know.” He wrapped his arm securely around her. His mind flashed back over the past few weeks. He knew she loved him and he was certain she loved him. Somehow, watching old sci-fi movies over breakfast with distracting kisses was becoming more appealing than chasing aliens. He just had to show her.