#does it feel shocking and are you tempted to say out of character? good! it's kendall doing logan! it IS weird!

[cakebatteronabrickwall]

My opinion on the hug kinda kept changing until recently, but I might have reached a definitive reading.

So, first of all: season 4 boils down the finale to be Shiv vs Ken and that is a good thing (!) it makes the most sense, mainly because Roman tends to go along with things. He can't win his father's favor anymore, so he tries with his siblings and, by extension, he tries holding on to Logan as long as possible by doing that. That's his objective. Shiv's thing is proving herself as the most viable candidate. She can't prove it to Logan, so she will do it for anyone else. But Kendall's thing used to be positioning himself against Logan, and since that can't happen anymore, he becomes Logan. Or tries to, bear with me.

Roman brings up Kendall "big brothering" him in ep. 8, but it's very prevalent throughout season 4. But it is also very reminiscent of what their father used to do; keeping them very close and making them feel trusted only to become violent (in some form) when questioned in his authority. Clearest example is Ken feeling the tides turn against him and attacking his brother.

But the hug comes before that, and there are two very important aspects to this--

1) It is cruel and I don't think it matters if you think Roman wanted/needed it because, crucially, Kendall's endgoal with the violence isn't within that line of thinking. He is asserting his dominance (as seen by the second physical attack later).

2) BUT much more importantly: imo, the hug starts with the intention of comfort (!!!) and only ends in violence. This is Ken at his most Logan; a last goodbye to his brother from his father by combining violence and a loving embrace. He learned from the best.

Though in the end, what it comes down to, is this: Does Roman push his wound into the shoulder? Does Kendall press him against it? Both. You don't get Roman's "i hate you" without Kendall's "i love you". It's both. It will always be both, but I will say this-- hate can't come without love, but love can very much stand on its own. So, even if it's both, one of the two weighs heavier. 4 seasons of story have shown how one weighs heavier, even if it's unintentional.

[ehh-is-the-name]

ii 15's live now... How we feeling?

Really how we feeling guys? I'm feeling-

(I'm feeling a lot of things, there's a lot under the cut, also hope your internet's alright 'cause there's a lot of beefy gifs)

I'm feeling inanimate insane- II 15 AM I RIGHT??

As per usual, I'm doing a post about everything and anything that comes to my mind regarding the new ii episode.

Starting off strong before I devolve into meeple nonsense (gotta show people I care about other characters from the show too) AHHHHH HGHH MY HEART!!! I KNOW- IKNOW I know it wasn't good for her to stay in the game, but a piece of me clings to her like a mite.

From when this happened and Paintbrush showed up, I knew it was jover. The Bright Lights are lighting up the hotel now, and you know what, I'm ok with that (no I'm not I love them </3)

-

I also love this part. In my heart of hearts, Bright Light ploycule is real and canon.

- - -

Ok it's mephone time 'cause I keep rewatching the ep and that's all I can FUCKING think about

My first reaction to Meeple being mentioned was literally the embodiment of this image

Going back to being serious:

This song is very inanimate insanity coded, and by that I mean MePhone specifically. (Of course, it's a song about Taco and I'm Making it about MePhone, that's what I do.)

Healing is a process, Mepad knows that well, and seeing everything that's happened is probably why MePad quit. Besides the terrible work conditions he's put through, MePad just can't stand everyone being dragged through the mud. Taco was so right, the game's getting really serious and it's taking a toll on everyone (including MePhone, which MePad definitely got front-row seats too). I wonder if he feels a part of the problem and is now trying to rectify it. I mean, it'd make sense why he's helping out Taco now.

I feel even more justified in saying it after looking at the resignation scene again. MePad is thoroughly done with MePhone's shit, and for good reason. Tempting to not REVIVE someone just to make sure the show goes smoothly is fucked up! MePad's had enough and AUGH FUCK YEAH AND AAUGHHH FUCK NO MEPHONE'S REACTION TO HIM RESIGNING-

Ok ok- lemme start from the top.

. . .

So…. what the fuck was s3?

He hints at it actually happening with the "'First without' you have no idea", being connected to him not having an assistant for more than half of s3, and the "for half a day the world actually felt peaceful" referring to the s3 finale. Or at least that's all I'm assuming. But to them, it's only been a couple hours..?

I'mm soooo fuckin' lost, but my theory is that he either alt-reality'd that season or time travelled, or something. That's just not makin' sense, especially with this happening tho

I just can't think of any other way that this would make sense and be canonical other than MePhone himself went into an alternate timeline to do s3. That does give me fic ideas though...

Anyways... Connecting it back to MePad and everything though, I find it both funny and saddening to see that he's gone back to s2 persona (when thinking about it in terms of my theory). It's so obvious that it's a front, from the turn of his heel to change topics away from his "vacation" with the pained "BUUUTTT ANYWAY", to the short pause before going "WELL!" after MePad's resignation, to the "And if you're ready to talk" thing being shot with his cover-up is another-

You don't need me to tell you it's a front, everyone and their mama knows, but I'll continue to do so 'cause I physically have to, or else I'll explode. You can tell it really tears him up from how MePhone reacted when he first saw MePad.

LOOK AT THE SHOCK ON HIS PIXELY FACE!! He probably thought MePad fully abandoned him or something before his "vacation" and this was whiplash that it wasn't THEN MePad ACTUALLY left?!? Of course it's gotta hurt, but s2 means he's got the host role to fill, and that means being a snarky sack of shit (I say that with love, of course).

That also paired with the look of guilt… shame in this scene…. AGH

She's so right here by the way, the years he spent on iii for "something new" shows that he's not trying to move away. Sure it got him to come back to s2 in the first place, but now that he's here, what did he actually learn? Actions speak louder than words, and so far, he's been just the same s2 asshole host we remember. Though you know what could change all that..?

Had to put the vid and not the gif of this scene because the abrupt phone call actually scared the shit outta me.

First things first, I love Knife's little gestures. They're all so sick of his shit, as they should be <3

Secondly, the whole way he's talking about them in the clip is giving his s2 persona hardcore

Lastly, and most importantly, COBS???? UM UH COBS???

I wanna give props where props are due, the sound design, the pacing- everything leading up to this scene was absolutely perfect would cry again 10/10

BUT ALSO COBS??? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING CALLING HIM DIRECTLY???

No seriously. We had him build generations of phones, specifically to take him out, send "insiders" like Toilet and Walkie Talkie (I assume at least) to also take him out in some way or another, and whatever the hell else was going on, all to indirectly take down MePhone, and now he just calls. Calls in the middle of the recording! I assume he knows about s3 and if so just what in the fuck could he want??? WHAT IS HIS PLAN??? I NEED TO KNOW WHAT THAT COB OF CORN IS TRYING TO DO- IT IS GOING TO DRIVE ME INSANE.

Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE in that scene is just as confused and concerned as I am. (I am just saying things, but you know what I mean.)

I'm so serious though, Knife is like "WTF?!", and Suitcase is like "WTF??" AND GOD DAMN IT LOOK AT HIM HE IS CONFUSED AND SCARED GUYS. If this doesn't shake that s2 persona outta him, I don't fuckin' know what will (besides the show just being over, but I digress).

Cobs is def gonna make an appearance next ep (I'm manifesting, let me cook), and it's not gonna be pretty, but MePhone's gonna get to turn him into a corn tortilla and everyone's gonna cheer and he's not gonna have daddy issues anymore and then everything will be ok. That's my prediction for ii 16.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk, I will give more random outbursts of tears for the next one.

[hopeymchope]

"Monarch: Legacy of Monsters" might've had a lot less kaiju action than the previous attempt to translate Godzilla into a TV series, but it more than made up for that in quality storytelling!

My sundry observations, gripes, praises and questions:

They really went out of their way to honor the Japanese roots of the source material, didn't they? We're in Japan for a ton of the show, dealing with Japanese and/or Japanese-descended characters for the majority of it, and have a surprising amount of Japanese dialogue throughout — it's nice.

I know Wyatt Russell is a Nepo Baby, but he's honestly still very good at what he does. I don't think the series has any bad acting... but the two Russells (because Kurt Russell is, ofc, amazing), Mari Yamamota (Keiko Miura) and Joe Tippett (Tim) are still the absolute highlights for most of the run, IMO. The Russells and Yamamota do the emotional heavy lifting with aplomb, whereas Tippett is so naturalistic and likable that it's hard not to find him engaging.

Cate starts off the series being such an asshole who doesn't show any empathy for people going through the EXACT SAME SHIT that she is, but I think the later reveal of her trauma on "G-Day" somewhat explains her attitude problem. She then manages to pivot to being much more likable JUUUUST in time for the episode where we get the flashbacks revealing she was a shitty person even BEFORE G-Day. LOL.

May ALSO swings between being likable and being a total ass, and while that sounds like a complaint, I actually sort of appreciate it. We're seeing the main female characters get the kind of nuance and depth to them that they aren't often afforde in mass-market media, and that's cool.

On the flip side, there's Kentaro. The fact that both Cate and May get to act both likable and dickishreally me expect the same thing for Kentaro. They're the trio of young people who make up the titular "Legacy," right? (Well, I guess that's mostly meant to refer to Cate/Kentaro.) So... I was shocked when Kentaro's chance to be a total prick never came around. He's pretty likable and understandable throughout! Even when he's being SUPER harsh on Hiroshi, I still understand it in light of what Hiroshi's done to their families. I feel like maybe Kentaro got something of a short shrift on this front. He gets adequate backstory, mind you, but he also never gets either A) as much focus time as May and Cate, nor B) a chance to come off like kind of a dick like May and Cate sometimes do? It's a little tempting to say that making him the more "pure" of the trio comes off as sexist, but... the way that he gradually is shoved into the background of the story's focus and doesn't even get to go on the big final adventure makes it pretty clear that this ISN'T because the producers favor Kentaro. More like the opposite....

In fact, take particular note of how nobody really gives him credit for how he was the ENTIRE REASON THEY SURVIVED Episode 4. They diss him and don't believe him, and when he's ultimately proven right in a way that saves all their asses? May gives the credit for her survival to Cate for some inexplicable reason. (Except for ONE later moment when neither Kentaro or Cate can know or hear her admit Kentaro saved them.) WTF. I found that frustrating.

That episode was the start of Cate and May becoming incredibly tight-knight with one another, and I'm still not clear on how/why that happened. Is it just because they both vascillate between being chlidish assholes and likable adults?? By the halfway point of the show, I was really getting strong shippy vibes off them. Which would be super cute and sweet if it wasn't also, y'know... kinda shitty. Because May used to be with her brother? Who clearly still had feelings for her when the series starts, just a few days prior? MMM.... not cool, May. To be fair, however, not always caring about their own hurtful/sketchy behavior is actually pretty in-character for them both, so maybe it works. And I suppose you gotta take that happiness where you can get it in this crazy, now-kaiju-laden world.

The character who shows up at the end of Episode 9 completely shocked me. They got me there. And in light of that twist — that character who disappears near the end of the finale? Perhaps this goes without saying, but there's no way we've seen the last of them. ZERO chance... unless the person portraying them doesn't renew their contract for season 2 or something. :P

This is, of course, a "Monsterverse" series. But the logic of how the Hollow Earth works in this show doesn't seem to REMOTELY align with how it was portrayed in Godzilla vs Kong, does it? Not even KIND OF. I wonder if Godzilla x Kong will get that disconnect to retroactively make sense.

At least one returning actor from the Monsterverse films shows up to provide a link... for one scene.

And speaking of the Monsterverse, that's hardly the only Continuity Sketchiness going on here! Serizawa only gets name-dropped ONCE in this series despite the fact that he's still presumably the HEAD DUDE IN CHARGE over there. They keep calling Verdugo the Deputy Director because Serizawa is the director, right?? Though Verdugo sure does make unilateral decisions about the whole-ass organizations multiple times in this show.

All of my prior point is especially goofy when the idea of HELPING Godzilla is treated as this shocking, bizarre concept ..... despite the fact that it's Serizawa's entire fucking philosophy since BEFORE this takes place???

Okay, let's shift back to positives: Takehiro Hira doesn't get as much screen time as many cast members, but his performances over the last two episodes are friggin' emotionally devastating. Fantastic.

The lack of more Toho monsters in the Monsterverse has been something of a downer for me personally, but they still do pull out some really cool original designs. That Frost Vark is pretty badass.

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

Susan Kay's 'Phantom' Read: Part VI (Erik-Christine Counterpoint)

Dear God.

I can now unequivocally say I hate this book. Some of you may have caught my vent post from earlier which I wrote in one of the many moments I had to put the book down and walk away for the good of my own health and sanity.

The badness of this book has now ceased to be amusing and is now just... bad. So bad in fact that I think it triggered my bronchial asthma and I had to get out of the bathtub and find my inhaler before I could finish this portion.

To sum up it really seems like Kay lost any and all interest in exploring Leroux's characters once she finished Erik’s back-story. Yes there were differences from Canon even there, but the story was still following Leroux's timeline and was by-and-large canon compliant.

This section, barring a few superficially similar details is virtually unrecognizable from the source material.

Yes Erik begins to teach Christine under the guise of the Angel of Music, and yes he takes her down under the Opera house for two weeks. And yes they go up for the masquerade and yes Christine and Raoul plan to run away on the rooftop, leading to Erik planning to blow up the Opera house out of desperation.

Carlotta croaks like a toad and the chandelier does indeed crash.

Yet all of these details seem like perfunctory afterthoughts. The intervening material is so wholly divorced from Leroux's story that when events from the canon are included, it felt almost jarring to me.

I hate the way Kay characterizes Christine, and Erik is just as bad if not worse.

Christine’s descent into the lair is clearly modeled off of the Musical/1925 movie, with Erik drawing her down into the tunnels in a trance. And Christine asks for the Angel to take her away! How convenient for Erik!

I would have been far more interested in seeing the abduction from the book as told from Erik's perspective.

This launches a self-indulgent two weeks of Christine essentially worshipping at Erik's feet, which is shattered only by a frankly ineffective unmasking scene (again based on the musical/1925 movie and less affecting than either).

This is no torrid, passionate, innately horrifying yet also emotionally heart-wrenching unmasking of Leroux. Christine simply snatches the mask and Erik has a heart attack(?) before he can fully choke her out.

Christine’s shock at discovering that her Angel is actually a man, and then her horror of his face is lacklustre, and completely insufficient to convince me that this is really a big enough stumbling block to prevent her from marrying him. She puts him on such a high pedestal and Erik does absolutely nothing to contradict her. He says he worships her, but in action, she is always deferential to him. He never prostrates himself before her, never treats her like a queen, like a goddess. He never follows her around like a faithful dog, as he does in Leroux. On the contrary, she follows him.

She's so obviously in love with Erik that her claims of confusion regarding her feelings for him come off as flaccid and disingenuous, and her obvious preference for Erik and her complacency with her situation sap any tension from the love story.

Don't misunderstand me, I like when a Christine has a preference for Erik. My problem is that Kay has completely lain all her cards on the table. Christine speaks freely and almost easily of Erik to Raoul who is basically a cardboard cut out. Kay's attempt at "exploring" whether Raoul's doubts in Christine's love for him are really founded in Christine secretly holding a candle for Erik is ultimately pointless because the READER already knows that she finds Raoul's love a pale comparison to what she feels with Erik! There's no mystery here!

(Its unfortunate that Kay wrote this before having access to Lowell Bair's translation, which provided us for the first time with Leroux's own answer to that Question: Why tempt fate, Raoul! Why ask me about things which I keep hidden in the back of my heart like a sin?"

It makes it feel even more incomprehensibly perfunctory when Christine decides to run away with Raoul when she knows that she could simply marry Erik for however long he has left (he's apparently not long for this world anyway) and then go on with her life. Gah!!

And then there's how Kay infantilizes Christine. While Leroux's Christine is eccentric and dreamy and credulous, she is not ignorant or "unstable". She's aware of the ways of the world

You would say that to me, Raoul? You, an old playfellow of my own! A friend of my father! You have changed since those days, Raoul. What can you be thinking of? I am an honest girl, M. le Vicomte de Chagny, and I don't lock myself in my dressing room with mens voices!"

Christine very clearly understands the implications here, and she's outraged and offended that Raoul would even imply that she would conduct herself with impropriety.

And it's not only Kay who infantilizes Christine, but Erik as well:

I'm beginning to realize just how much of a child she really is, how terrifyingly immature and vulnerable--even unstable. There's a fatal flaw running through her, like a hairline crack in a Ming dynasty vase, but that imperfection makes me love her with even greater tenderness. I don't suppose for one moment that that boy is aware of the never-ending care she'll need. Whoever marries Christine is going to have to play the father as well as the lover; if she lives to be eighty she may never be more than a child at heart, a lost and frightened little girl, bewildered by the demands of reality.

This is infuriating to me, because, as M. Grant Kellermeyer so astutely points out in his footnotes of the 2018 Old Style Tales Edition of the book:

"He confesses his cheat. He loves me! He lays an immense and tragic love at my feet... he has carried me off for love! He has imprisoned me with him underground, for love! But he respects me!*"

* - This, indeed, seems to be a unique experience in Christine's life: she is surrounded by people who despise her (Carlotta), dismiss her (the managers), idolize her (Raoul), infantilize her (Mama Valerius), and pity her (the opera workers)--Erik alone respects her. Erik alone sees in her the power and artistry that becomes increasingly obvious as her character grows in confidence and assertiveness. Erik fears her to an extent, and [...] it is likely that Christine is simply touched by Erik's belief in her, his confidence in her, and his devotion to her success.

And Kellermeyer's point about Christine growing in assertiveness is very very important. She wields power over both Erik and Raoul.

But Kay's Christine doesn't. Erik's treatment of her, both his actual treatment and his internal monologue is absolutely horrible, so again NOT AT ALL how Leroux's Erik treats her.

Let's start with the stretch where he's playing the Angel (Alexa play album "Playing the Angel" by Depeche Mode)

Christine says:

He's so stern and exacting in his demand for perfection; he never praises me, even when I know I have done well. He remains aloof and cold in his timeless imperishable wisdom, and I know that the worship of a mortal heart can mean nothing to him.

Kayrik said he wanted to be her angel who would make her feel confidence in herself at last, and yet none of his behaviour exhibits any desire to do that. I hate interpretations of Erik that take "stern" to mean cold or outright verbally abusive. That is terrible teaching method and never produces good results. Furthermore, in Leroux, Christine never mentions the Angel withholding praise, and when he is aloof following Raoul's reappearance in Christine's life, it even seems as though this is a departure from the norm.

Arguably one of the most iconic moments of the original novel is the scene where Christine is left alone in her dressing room after recovering from a fainting spell that saw her carried off the stage immediately after her triumph. Raoul, outside her room, hears Christine and Man's voice conversing and we are given some of the most iconic lines in the novel:

He had heard a man's voice in the dressing room, saying, in a curiously masterful tone:

"Christine, you must love me!"

And Christine's voice, infinitely sad and trembling as though accompanied by tears, replied:

"How can you say that to me? To me, when I sing only for you!"

[...]

The man's voice spoke again: "Are you very tired?"

"Oh, tonight I gave you my soul, and I am dead!"

"Your soul is a very beautiful thing, child," replied the grave man's voice, "and I thank you. No emperor ever recieved so fair a gift. The angels wept tonight."

Raoul heard nothing after that.

This important scene, deeply layered with romantic and sexual subtext, is completely absent from Phantom. Not only that Kay explicitly says that when Christine returned to her dressing room after her triumph, the voice wasn't there at all. He never congratulates her, never praises her. He's simply. Not. There. For her.

It's not just this that I hate though.

It's the number of times Erik calls her a "stupid child".

Funnily enough, Erik treats Christine with the exact same supercilious condescension that makes me hate Raoul in the musical.

Both Kayrik and Musical Raoul look at Christine and regard her as potentially mentally unstable, unable to trust her own senses or handle reality. To both of them she is a "scared little girl" and will never be anything more. Both of them look at that and say "No matter, let me wife that."

Interesting thing: Leroux Erik only calls Christine "Child" when he is in his guise as the Angel. Never does Erik, as Erik, refer to her that way.

Now I'll pause to say, there is one part of this episode I enjoyed and that is when Christine masturbates to Don Juan Triumphant.

And yet even this I have a problem with.

I've already covered the fact that though Leroux's Christine is innocent, she is not ignorant. She is very aware of the potential sexual danger Erik poses to her when he abducts her (though this, again was not a portion of the book available in English when Kay was writing). Nevertheless I still find it hateful and irritating that Kay's Christine is so ignorant that when Erik's music arouses her, she says she touched herself in a place "I had never known existed."

And the fact that Christine has remained insensible to her sexuality this far into her relationship with Erik is another thing that chaps my hide.

Both Leroux's Christine and Andrew Lloyd Webber's admit to fearing the effect that the Angel of Music and his tutelage have had on her. Leroux's Christine says "I hardly knew myself when I sang. I was even frightened." And Andrew Lloyd Webbers also says "He's with me even now, all around me--it frightens me" and in a short-lived alternative lyric used on the West End "I'm changing, Meg!"

And indeed, Erik's tutelage has changed Christine. Her singing under Erik's influence is not simply that of innocent euphoria. It referred to in deliberately orgasmic terms such as "Ecstasy" and "Rapture". And this so frightens her, because she is aware of what exactly these ecstasies are awakening in her. But Kay's Christine doesn't seem to be undergoing the same change. Instead of Erik's voice awakening her, Kay rather describes him as shrouding her in the fantastic, even shielding her from the very awareness and maturity that Leroux's Erik seems to be drawing out in her. Her final step into adult awareness is Erik revealing himself to her as a man, which seems to be something of a non-event here, not even of importance independent of the Unmasking. To Kay's Christine it simply is, while that simple fact is reacted to by ALW's Christine with undisguised attraction and by Leroux's with indignation.

Further sullying what is otherwise a very engaging (if somewhat short) scene of... self... discovery(?) Is Erik's perspective on the proceedings, an excerpt which prejudiced me against this book long before I undertook to read it:

I dared not think how near I had been to losing control, how terrifyingly easy it would have been in that moment to rape her. I'd raped her with music instead, and perhaps that crime was almost as bad as the one it had so narrowly prevented. Either way I'd violated her trust and destroyed a rare and precious innocence--soiled the delicate ambience that had lain between us all these weeks.

When I first ran afoul of this quote I had still been under the impression that this section of the book would be following Leroux's story and took this to be Kay's interpretation of the moment after the Unmasking when Erik, having lashed out in horrific fashion at Christine for exposing him, retreats to his room to express his anguish through music, and that music actually prevents Christine from taking her own life. In another travesty of censorship, though, the salient details of this moment (Christine's description of Erik's music) is yet another portion of the book Kay would have had no knowledge of or access to, yet is one of the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful pieces of prose ever put to print:

Troubled at the idea of the fate now awaiting me, and terrified of seeing the monster's uncovered face peering from the doorway to the room with the coffin, I had run to my own room and snatched up the scissors that could bring me freedom from this loathsome fate when I heard the sound of the organ.

At that instant I began to comprehend to Erik's strange rejection of what he termed "opera music". What I was now hearing was completely different from the music that had thrilled me up to that point. His "Don Juan Triumphant" (for I had no doubt that he was now losing himself in his Masterpiece to forget the horror of the moment) at first struck me as one long, dreadful, glorious lament into which he was pouring all of his bitter misery.

I visualized the manuscript with the blood red notes and easily imagined that they had been written in blood. His music carried me on a gut-wrenching journey through martyrdom and into the most hidden recesses of the pit which this hideous monster called home; it showed me Erik banging his poor, ugly head against the dreary walls of the hell where he took refuge from those whom he would otherwise frighten. I, listening, gulping for breath, besieged and pathetically broken by the Titanic cords which turned suffering divine: rising from the pit they suddenly rallied into a remarkable, menacing swarms, soaring up to heaven circling ever higher Like an Eagle toward the Sun. Listening to that Triumphant Symphony as it as it set the world of fire, I now understood that the work had achieved its apotheosis, and that the Beast soaring on the wings of love had dared to countenance Beauty.

Yet another iconic moment which Kay saw fit to axe from her work is Christine's visit to her father's grave at Perro-Guirec, where Erik plays for Christine unseen in the snowy graveyard at midnight, and after which Raoul comes face to face with Erik for the first time.

Kay weaves a frankly incoherent and disjointed tale that confounds in the original scenes and rushes through the ones that touch on canon.

But by far the most unforgivable omission

She cut out César, the White Horse from The Profeta.

See I was all set, back in part III to praise Kay's foreshadowing, because CLEARLY she put so much focus on Erik's affinity with his horses, having him tell Giovanni that he has no need to train them--they follow him because they want to, etc CLEARLY that was set-up for him carrying César off to transport Christine. RIGHT?

RIGHT?

RIGHT?

RIGHT?

Wrong.

As lovely as Erik's description of Christine's kiss is, by this point its so overshadowed by a cloud of shit, I couldn't really enjoy it.

Nearly finished now. I can't wait for this to be over...

Masterpost

[mollywog]

You open the door and see me dressed as The Hunger Games 10th Anniversary dvd collection. That’s right, I’m dressed as one giant cardboard box that has separate DIN A4 pages glued to it. I say: Trick or treat!

Pick three characters and tell me how you think they'd spend the night of Halloween! Do they like to have it cozy? Do they watch a horror movie?

Special request: A moodboard around one character's night :) Alternatively, give me some book/movie recommendations that they'd read/watch that night!

This is everything I could have hoped for in my first Trick or Treater @caesarflickermans !!

I wanted to complete your treat as requested, but a different idea took over and then ran away from me a bit…

So instead you get the outline for a Halloween themed girls night with Enobaria, Delly, and Katniss from the Wild Wednesday universe.

Set after Wild Wednesday (which still needs 1-2 chapters to wrap up, but Spoiler (not spoiler) Katniss and Peeta end up together

When Enobaria invites Katniss it’s more of a command than a request.

Enobaria insists it’s a Mellark tradition though none of them are actually Mellarks - she guesses Enobaria married into the name, but Delly is more like an honorary sister, and Johanna is Peeta’s business partner, and she and Peeta have only been dating for about a month. Katniss is so tempted to decline but though they may not share the name, they are Peeta’s family and she really wants to make an effort so she agrees (though she spends the days leading up to it in anxiety.)

Peeta appreciates the gesture and sends Katniss to the get-together with a box of the strangest assorted of baked goods based on each of their preferences.

It’s at Delly’s and girl LOVES a theme and is not afraid to be tacky - she doesn’t care that it’s just the 4 of them - she has spider webs, cauldrons, plastic spiders/rats/snakes, Halloween napkins, plates, cups - everything is themed black, orange, green, and purple

Johanna bails at the last minute- she apparently does this often and Katniss wishes she’d known that was an option.

Delly hands Katniss an unnaturally colored and sickly sweet ‘Margarita’ that matches the decor- Enobaria refuses- pulling out her personal bottle of jalapeño vodka. She says shots are less calories but also makes a comment about swearing off tequila and something about ‘not wanting to repeat last time’ - she laughs and Delly smirks, but Katniss has no idea what they’re talking about and they don’t elaborate.

Enobaria and Delly bicker over what movie to watch - Delly would prefer Hocus Pocus or Nightmare before Christmas while Enobaria wants horror. They ask Katniss’s preference and she claims she’ll ‘watch whatever’ and is relieved when it doesn’t turns into a ‘thing’ where she has to admit she isn’t a ‘Movie Person’: Growing up her family didn’t spend money on rentals, or TV channels for that matter and she never saw any of the ‘classics’. When they eventually had the money for streaming, Prim would have movie marathons where she’d watch the top 100 most iconic movies to try and make up for the years worth of pop culture she’d missed. It didn’t interest Katniss, so now it’s just something that makes her feel like an outsider. Enobaria eventually wins the argument because she’s child free and refuses to watch anything rated lower than PG13 - she puts on something she proclaims ‘a classic’ with lots of blood and little plot. Katniss is squeamish, but it’s all so cheesy and fake it doesn’t really bother her - It doesn’t matter - it ends up just being background noise

Delly begins setting up her nail supplies - Katniss isn’t surprised that Delly would want to do nails but is shocked when Enobaria sits down across from Delly to go first: Katniss has only ever seen her with the polish-less, neatly trimmed nails she’s currently sporting - anything else would get in the way at the gym. Enobaria somewhat defensively explains that she treats herself once in a while and Halloween is her favorite. Delly applies nail extensions, filing them into points and painting them a glossy black, embellished with gold accents (to match her teeth) Katniss nurses her too-sweet, electric green drink and watches in fascination as this terrifying woman allows herself to become defenseless in 5 minute intervals as her nails cure under the UV light.

Though Delly and Enobaria couldn’t be more different (at least in Katniss’s opinion) they’ve know each other long enough that they converse comfortably - they aren’t purposefully excluding her but she just doesn’t share the same common ground. She’s at least been to the bakery enough to know Johanna’s cadence but here she feels like a third wheel.

Enobaria must sense this because she asks about work specifically Haymitch - he’s her boss and kind of an ass, but she’s worked for him for 10 year and they’ve grown on each other so he’s her ass and she’s defensive of him. But Enobaria surprises her and doesn’t mock him - she tells a story about how he’d bested her in a budget negotiation a handful of years ago - she tells the story with amusement instead of bitterness

Delly insist they not talk about work so she asks Katniss about Prim, which is the easiest thing for her to talk about (not to mention her drink has kicked in.) Delly suggests next time they invite Prim and Katniss is feeling like she might want there to be a next time and that Prim would enjoy this too and maybe these not-real-Mellark women are onto something when it comes to family.

[llliiinnnaaa]

Reprisal | Chapter Fourteen

coriolanus snow x gaul oc

Summary: Ten years after the Tenth Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow is under Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s wing as a Gamemaker alongside her niece. Unbeknownst to either of them, they’re both being prepared for a much greater task.

Warning: This story will contain explicit violence against adults and children alike (I mean, it’s Dr. Gaul AND Snow) as well as explicit language, and sexual situations.

***This fic is in no way, shape, or form, me endorsing or co-signing the horrific shit Snow does, nor am I trying to romanticize it. Also, apathy and will be the main driving force of any remnants of a relationship between my OC and Snow’s character. So if you’re interested in something very romantic and fluffy…it’s not gonna be this.

Thank you for reading, I hope you like it!

   

It only takes a few seconds to realize what’s just happened, all the delicately proper and polite Gamemakers and scientists that grace the Citadel daily, turn chaotic and panicked, most of which hitting the ground as more shots ring out toward the stage. 

Those who don’t duck down are rushing to the doors, nearly trampling over one another. 

Tawny stays down, trying to gather her bearings. 

She looks to her left on the floor, eye to eye with Dayla who is in shock, staring off wide eyed where her husband has shoved her to the floor. 

He’s still covering her as more shots come. 

Tawny hears a familiar voice shouting in the ruckus. 

Dyess, covered in Ravinstill’s blood, is being dragged away by two Peacekeepers, while three more fire back in the direction of the gunshots.

Martia’s been shot, as well as Dr. Gaul. 

Upon this realization, Tawny’s springing up to rush to her aunt, but a harsh grip on her wrist stops and yanks her down. 

She’s nose to nose with Coriolanus who is far too calm at this moment. 

“We have to get out of here, we’re sitting ducks.” He grits out. 

“My aunt, Coriol — ” 

“ — She’ll be fine. We have to get out.” He speaks it so surely that it makes her mind swim further, relenting as she nods and allows him to yank her toward the closest door on the wall parallel to them. 

“Livia!” Tawny struggles it out in the midst of her heart pounding in her chest.

“Mr. Marius has her. She’s safe.” He states as they get free of the room. 

There’s too many people trying to cram down the hallway toward the front of the house, only making it more difficult on themselves, Coriolanus’ grip on her hand tightening. 

“This way.” He mutters, going the opposite direction, heading deeper into the house. 

They find one of many staircases, and she’s stumbling along as she follows him. 

Once they find an empty room, he’s locking the door behind them as she tries to catch her breath while more gunfire echoes through the Presidential Palace.

Tawny feels as if she’s unable to calm herself, the image of Ravinstill’s body hitting the ground, her husband’s face smattered in the President’s blood, Martia’s dead body collapsed beside Ravintill’s, her aunt. . .

The more she thinks of it, the more frantic her breaths become, Snow’s words becoming muffled in her ears as she struggles to get enough air in her lungs, grasping ahold of his arm to keep from falling down as her head feels too light, the floor sinking underneath her. 

“Tawny,” He says, following her to the floor, his hands grasping her face, gently shaking her until her eyes meet his, tears soaking the palms of his hands. “Slow breaths.” He states sternly, but it’s no good, Tawny feeling as though it’s impossible to do it.

He’s tempted to slap her, to bring her out of her episode and back to reality, recalling hearing that shock could disperse such spells.

Now certainly is not the time for her to be acting like this.

He doesn’t slap her. 

Instead, he tells her the truth, which he hopes will have a similar effect. 

“Dr. Gaul is safe – we planned this .” He hisses out to her, frustrated with her behavior, wishing he had told her sooner so she wouldn’t get in such a tizzy. 

It is a slap to the face, he can see it as she immediately takes in a breath, brown eyes wide in shock as she cries out, “What?” 

“Dr. Gaul is safe. You are safe. All of this has gone as planned.” He repeats as he assures her.  

“What?” It’s broken when it’s repeated, barely whispered out as she catches her breath, finally, her eyes darting back and forth as her mind digests what she’s heard. “Oh my. . . Coriolanus . . .you. . .my aunt. . .the President .” Now she’s nauseous, getting away from his hands, pressing her palm to her forehead as she steps deeper into the large room, pacing.

“ I didn’t. Dyess did.” He states to her, narrowing his eyes at her expression. 

She’s in shock, still, unable to form words when she tries to speak again, a steady stream of tears leaking from her eyes, reflecting in the dim lighting of the room. 

Her breathing once more grows ragged but he’s quickly moving to her, this time his palms grab at the soft skin of her exposed shoulders, his touch keeping her from being lost to her own rampant mind.

“It had to be done, Tawny. There’s already a rumor of uprising being thrown around in one of the districts. Ravinstill was losing his grip — we can’t afford even a sliver of a possibility of another war.” 

She wouldn’t argue. 

She couldn’t.

She knew it was true. 

“Dyess won’t just be shipped away to the districts – he’ll be put to death .” He continues, raising his brows just slightly. “You’ll be rid of him, Tawny.”

She realizes, now, that he hadn’t been dragged away by Peacekeepers because he’d been arrested for sabotaging her work. 

He had been dragged away for plotting the assassination of the President.

No. He had been dragged away after being framed for plotting the assassination of the President.

“Dr. Gaul had to be shot, too, so that it wouldn’t be suspected that she had a part in it.” He further explains. “It’s a flesh wound at best. . .she'll need surgery to remove it and repair the bone at worst, but she known this. It was her idea, and she’ll be okay.” 

“I. . .you. . . how ?” She chokes out, his fingers smearing the tears from her face. 

“Minute details that you don’t need to know. I won’t incriminate you more than I already have.” He replies smoothly. “But it’s seamless.”

“ How ?” Her voice is stronger, more demanding. 

How is this seamless? How is he so sure that they won’t face repercussions? That no one will suspect him nor her aunt of doing this? 

He stares down at her.  

He wants to inform her that Government officials were the ones to make the evidence against Dyess so seamless. . .that Ravinstill’s own cabinet had turned on him. 

But he can’t. 

“Trust me when I say that everyone will know that Dyess Crane is a treasonist in the most severe degree.” He promises her. 

Dyess Crane is finally out of the picture.

Snow finally has Tawny to himself. 

“They’ll kill him.” Her voice shakes when she speaks it, swallowing thickly. 

“They’ll kill him.” Snow repeats her, frowning when she nods, but is clearly holding something back. “Is that not sufficient?” He asks her, sharply. 

She had just wanted him to suffer as a Peacekeeper. 

No matter how many times she wished he had been dead, she now feels overwhelmed with the idea of him being executed for a crime he hadn’t even committed. 

“I don’t want him to die , Coriolanus.” She confesses, shaking her head. “Not for something he didn’t do.” 

“But he did do it, Tawny.” He tells her as if it’s the truth, as if it’s fact. “There’s evidence to prove as much. Him tampering with your work — with the Capitol’s property — is merely the icing on the cake.”

“I don’t want him dead , Coriolanus.” She repeats, her voice thick with grief at the thought. 

“Tawny,” He runs his hands up her shoulders, cradling her jaw, despite wanting to shove her away and spew out how ungrateful she is. “This is the bed that he has made. And you’ve been lying in it with him, unbeknownst to you. . .you need to get out of it." 

She doesn't reply.

He can guess what she’s thinking, he can sense just in the way she’s looking at him like a wounded puppy. 

She thinks he’s taken things too far. 

“Sweet, blameless, innocent , Tawny.” He whispers, his fingers wrap in her hair, tugging on it to angle her face toward his, the tip of his nose grazing along her neck, a small smirk tugging at his lips that brush against her full, parted lips as he adds, “Even though I fucked the innocent out of you months ago.”

She shudders at his words, wishing he’d close the sliver of space between their mouths and kiss her, but also wishing he’d release her and pull away. 

He doesn’t kiss her despite his hand tightening in her hair, pulling on the strands in his palm. 

“Your wife is probably in distress and needs her husband .” She states, imagining Livia in a meltdown, just wanting the comfort of her husband while he leers over his mistress upstairs, confessing to framing her husband in order to get him out of his way. 

Snow’s grip in her hair momentarily tightens, causing her breath to catch in her throat before he’s releasing her. 

    

It’s a fitting sight — five days after the President’s death — the tendrils of dark clouds rolling overhead, the low rumble of thunder sounding in the distance as specks of rain slowly fall, smattering against the black umbrellas the entirety of the crowd has dawned in preparation of the downcasted funeral service. 

Pias Pinnacle reiterates the last five days of grieving the Capitol has endured due to the tragic and sudden loss of President Ravinstill, and once more reads the obituary that had been plastered in every newspaper, magazine, and flyer in the city. 

Every now and then, Pias glances at Tawny where she is in the crowd, seated between her mother and father. 

Every now and then, at least a handful of people glance at her, watching her, lowly whispering.

They had been doing it anytime she had stepped out of the comfort of her parent’s apartment.

Looks of pity, looks of unease, looks of suspicion. 

Poor Tawny , most of them thought, blindsided by her husband’s ways . 

First betraying her by screwing up her hard work, then plotting the assassination of the President. 

Then the questions follow in their minds: 

Did she know about it? Did she help him plan it out? Did she know it would happen, when it would happen, and how? Was this some grand scheme for him to win the presidency someday? Is that the real reason she had resigned at the Citadel? Because she found it useless to have a job when she was soon to be First Lady?

Her aunt, bandaged back together after suffering her own flesh wound from the bullets that followed the shot that killed Ravinstill, delivers the eulogy that has so many in the crowd of colleagues, politicians, and Capitol citizens tearing up. 

At least the President’s son and he are reunited, perhaps. 

It’s a sweet thought that Tawny offers amongst herself.

When it’s time to lay him to rest in his family’s crypt, Peacekeepers conduct their ceremony, folding the flag that had graced his coffin before presenting it to his family, emptying their rifles on cue – each boom of bullets causing her to jolt just slightly. 

The last time she had attended a funeral with so much ceremonious pomp, it was the funeral of her four brothers, all buried at the same time – what was left of them, at least. 

Four flags, four rounds of medals presented to her father and mother by Ravinstill. 

She wanted to steal it all away and throw it into the ocean. The materialistic accolades were poor substitutes for her brothers. 

The whimpers of Ravinstill’s wife echo in the wind as she clings to the flag while Coriolanus offers his handkerchief to his wife, noticing a small, mascara ridden tear slip from Livia’s eye. 

She takes it with an appreciative smile to her husband, dotting at it. 

Once it’s done with, Tigris is finally able to track Tawny down, departing from Coriolanus and Livia as they head to their car in the procession of vehicles lining the cemetery. 

Coriolanus watches his cousin jog as delicately as she can in her heels to catch up with his former mistress.

“Tawny,” She says gently, Tawny turning to look at her. 

“Hello, Tigris.” She replies, furrowing her brows as she waits for Tigris to speak. 

“I tried to call you but, um. . .” She starts, a little awkwardly, not exactly knowing how to say what she was going to say. 

“I haven’t been staying in our – my – apartment.” Tawny says, trying to keep her tone casual despite the despair it’s enriched in. “I should’ve given you my parent’s phone number.” She opens her purse, scrambling for a pen and little shred of paper to scribble it down on but Tigris politely rests her hand over hers before stating, “I actually wanted to talk to you about something.” 

Tawny glances at her mother and father who wait outside the car for her as the rain starts to fall heavier. 

“I’ll be at the apartment in a little while.” She tells them, not wanting to keep them waiting. 

“Are you sure?” Tiberius questions.

“Yeah.” She nods. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“In a little bit.” He replies, motioning for the driver to stay in the car, opening the door for Minerva himself, the two of them slipping inside and pulling away. 

Tawny walks with Tigris.

“I don’t mean to intrude, or pry, and you absolutely owe me no explanation, but I wanted to ask if you needed a place to stay for a little while, until you can get back on your feet.” Tigris says, cautiously.

The moment the perimeter of the Presidential Palace had been secured and all were dismissed by the gaggle of Peacekeepers and security, Tawny packed her basic belongings and went to live with her parents once more, refusing to stay in the apartment her husband planned the murder of Ravinstill in. 

She had been heavily interrogated the day following his death, after Dyess was swept away during the chaos that unfolded in the ballroom, once the realization of Ravinstill’s assassination settled in. 

Tawny was cleared as a potential partner in the crime, Dyess refuting her own involvement while he refuted his own – but there was evidence against him, enough to incriminate him.

“I wouldn’t want to burden you, Tigris –”

“ – You wouldn’t be. I promise.” She assures her. “I can’t imagine the hard time you must be enduring right now, and I want to help you as much as I can. Truly, you would not be bothering me by accepting my offer.” 

Tigris knows Tawny and Minerva knocks heads too much for her to be having any real peace whilst living with her parents again, and truth be told, Tawny wasn’t exactly thrilled at the thought of constantly being around her mother once more, either. 

“It’s just until you’re able to find another apartment.” Tigris adds it in hopes of easing Tawny’s worry of intrusion.

Taking in a deep breath, Tawny finally nods, pulling a wide grin to Tigris’ lips. 

“Just until I find another apartment, and then I will be out of your hair.” Tawny adds. 

“You stay as long as you’d like.” Tigris assures her as they approach the car she arrived in, the same time Snow and Livia arrive.

Livia doesn’t even attempt to hide her expression, one of the suspicious ones of Tawny’s involvement in the hit on the President while Tawny completely avoids looking at Coriolanus.

He wonders if he had made a mistake in telling Tawny the truth.

She had already grown distant due to Livia’s pregnancy, but the most recent revelation had completely shoved her away altogether. 

Tigris’ apartment is the closest to the cemetery, the beautiful blonde squeezing Tawny’s hand before bidding Coriolanus and Livia, “Goodbye,” before getting out of the car.

“Wait, Tigris, do you have those curtains?” Livia reminds her, clearly wishing for her to say “yes” and allow her a few moments out of the car with this woman she’s weary of, now. 

Tigris’ blue eyes widen as she honestly pipes, “Yes! Thank you for reminding me,” not realizing Livia’s intentions of merely wanting to escape as she adds, “I can bring them down.”

“Not necessary.” Livia gets out of the car, peeking her head back in to look at her husband. “I’ll be back in just a moment, my love.” 

He nods with a tight, closed-mouth smile that immediately falls with the shut of the door. 

Tawny wants to leave the car and walk home, but with the rain now turning into a hard downpour, she stays where she’s at, being smothered by Coriolanus’ presence. 

It’s the story of her life, at this point. 

“Dr. Crane,” He starts.

“Dr. Gaul .” She corrects him bitterly, reminding him of the dissolution of her marriage that had taken place days prior. 

“Tawny –”

“Don’t.” She shuts him down before he can even speak fully. 

“You can’t loathe me forever.” He cuts his eyes at her. 

“Or what?” She mouths it so quietly that she can barely hear herself. “You and my aunt will kill the next President, and frame me for it?” 

He’s on her in the blink of her brown eyes, shoving the lock of the door down to avoid Livia randomly coming back in to Snow leering over Tawny in her seat, his nose brushing hers as he silently grits out, “You and I both know President Ravinstill was expired . He was President before the fucking war even started . His mind left him years ago, and he hammered the last nail in his own coffin with the taxes .” 

He’s being honest as he says it, the entire Capitol would probably agree and share his opinion of the dead President – they just couldn’t do anything about it the way her aunt and Snow could. 

Tawny ignores the ache between her legs, her black dress pushed up her thighs by his knee that rests on the seat between her knees. 

She’s disgusted with the intrusive thoughts about the man who framed her husband for murder, that shroud her mind and threaten to cloud her judgment. 

The longer she looks in his eyes, the longer their lips stay centimeters apart, the longer his leg maintains its place, only inches from the apex of her thighs, the more she craves to take her hatred out on him. 

He can imagine the slick between her legs, wishing his wife wasn’t just upstairs, or possibly on her way back down to the car, wishing he could at least pull Tawny on top of him, push her dress up, pull her panties aside and watch her grind her cunt against the painful bulge in his slacks until she’s making a mess on him.

But instead, he’s pulling away from her, his eyes holding hers until he sees Livia approaching the door of the apartment building, about to get outside. 

He unlocks the door before Livia gets outside of the apartment building, and the two of them are just as they were when his wife gets back in the car. 

        As soon as the car slows down in front of her parent’s building, Tawny’s quickly saying goodbye to Snow and Livia, rushing through the rain to the door, not even taking the time to use her umbrella. 

She lets out a sigh when she gets inside, the freezing air conditioning not mixing well with her wet skin in the slightest, her teeth nearly chattering as she heads to the elevator. 

When she gets inside, she’s pushing at the fourteenth button, the door gliding to a close before abruptly being interrupted by a hand. 

“Sorry.” Pias Pinnacle states, slipping inside without looking at her, poking at the button to his floor. 

She doesn’t speak a word to him, pretending he’s invisible just as he pretends she is, that is until he’s glancing her way — realizing it’s her . 

His eyes do a once-over of her soaked state, lingering just a little too long on her legs before flittering to her left hand. 

She somehow appears prettier without a wedding ring on. 

“I’m sorry about Dr. Crane.” He says to her, and truthfully, he was sorry, his pity outweighing any ill feelings of her career, though holding onto despising her seems pointless now, being that she doesn’t even work with him anymore. 

Who knows, perhaps they can somewhat be friends of sorts before it’s all said and done. 

It’s not too bad of an idea to him. 

The fact that Pias is even apologizing about her husband, lets her know that he had also been in on what was going to happen to the President, and who it was ultimately blamed on. 

He just doesn’t realize that she knows the whole of it, too. 

He’s plucking into his pocket and grabbing his handkerchief, offering it to her. 

She looks taken aback by his kindness toward her, knowing how he spurns her. 

“I might not be the founding member of your fan club but I can still be polite, can I not?” He asks, the comment successful at coaxing an inkling of a smile from her. 

“Thank you.” She musters up, mumbling, taking the piece of fine fabric from him and patting the water off her face. 

“What do you think they’re going to do about a new President?” He asks next, trying to strike up conversation. 

He had never had one with her before that hadn’t been work related. 

“I don’t know.” She replies, swallowing the lump in her throat. 

“Truth be told, I’m thinking of throwing my dog in the fight.” Pias says to her, next, looking at her with a soft smirk. 

His words spark something in her brown eyes that are framed by smudged mascara ruined with the rain as the gears in her mind start slowly turning.

“Is that so?” She raises a brow, handing him back his handkerchief and he folds it back up.

"If there even is a fight." He adds.

"With all the control freaks in the Capitol. . .I promise, Dr. Pinnacle, there will be a fight." She states, scoffing.

It doesn’t surprise her that Pias Pinnacle is interested in being President. 

Someone else she knows is also interested in the position. 

If that someone is going to gun for running the country, surely the time to seize that opportunity would be now, would it not? 

"Pias," He corrects her in a friendly manner, catching her slightly off guard. 

"Pias." She repeats, finding it odd to call one of her bosses by their first name. 

“Do you think I have a chance?” He asks next, a slight flirtatious tone to his voice, eyes roaming down her back as she steps forward to the doors as they open.

“I think you might have a fair shot at it, Pias.” Tawny says, truthfully before turning away. 

It wasn’t a lie. 

Pias was brilliant, well-rounded, and though he far exceeded her age by thirteen years — she had always found him handsome with his slightly graying brown hair and sea green eyes.

He wouldn’t be an easy competitor for Snow by any chance.

That thought amuses her.

Pias fights back a smile at her words, watching her walk down the hallway until the doors shut and obstruct his view. 

No , He thinks to himself, continuing to imagine the two of them being friends , Not a bad idea at all. 

[imaginepirates]

On the topic of a glorious age returning, what do YOU think the potc characters of your choosing would react to their s/o flashing their.. bare ankles?? Obviously they wouldn’t be able to flash their tits with those godforsaken corsets so I guess that their bare ankles would be the most efficient and provocative way to flash ppl for that time 😂 (Btw this is before they’re married maybe like courting or engaged?) Maybe they quickly turn away, try their best to pull the skirt back down, etc? -🦑

Jack – Obviously, Jack isn’t much shocked. He does, however, enjoy the display, and appreciates the effort. In fact, he encourages it. He teases about it, hoping that you’ll simply redouble your efforts. He’s pretty good at pretending he isn’t affected, but the implications of your actions excite him a little more than he’d like to admit. As a pirate, Jack isn’t bound by the same laws of propriety as other people, and he isn’t above indulging himself in you behind closed doors. Don’t be surprised when he wraps an arm around your waist and tells you how tempted he is to slide a hand up your skirt. Still, he’s playing the part of the flirt, and it may take you a while to see through the facade and figure out how much impact your actions truly have. 

Elizabeth – It surprises her a bit, that you would let her see you like that, but she finds it exciting. She’s the type to enjoy this sort of flirtation, viewing it like a secret game between the two of you to see who could get away with the most scandalous display. It’s an instant challenge. She’s going to pay you back as soon as she gets the opportunity, pulling up her skirt to fix the tie on her shoe or adjust a buckle. She makes sure to clock your reaction, too. She wants you to know that she’s equally interested, and that she’s willing to put in an equal effort. Behind closed doors, she’ll cave, stealing kisses and telling you just how pretty your little show was. 

Will – He’s flustered, to say the least. It has less to do with seeing your ankles and more to do with the idea that you’d flirt with him in the first place. Given the fact that Will grew up in poverty, he’s probably seen women's ankles before in taverns, so it isn’t something shocking to him. He’s much more surprised by your interest in him—he hasn’t really considered himself a person of much romantic potential, so he’s a bit perplexed by the effort you’re putting in. Even if you’re already engaged, he’s bashful about it, but views it as something more playful than seductive. He has a weapon of his own, though; he gets to roll up his sleeves in the forge or when he’s sword training and expose his forearms, so watch out. 

James – Let’s not lie: James is a little scandalized. It’s a true test of his self-control to not react, especially if this is in public. He’s a bit conflicted: on the one hand, he feels like it’s a part of you he shouldn’t be seeing; on the other hand, he’s flustered because he realizes that you want him to see you. He tries very hard to repress his thoughts concerning the matter, and is ashamed to have to admit to himself how distracted you can get him. He’s equally ashamed of his inability to face the awkwardness of bringing it up. He feels like he should ask you to stop, but in doing so, he doesn’t want to make you feel poorly. He also isn’t entirely sure he actually wants you to stop, and is mortified by that fact. If the two of you end up getting a little frisky when alone and you bring it up, expect him to flush bright red and bury his face in your neck with embarrassment, finally admitting in a hoarse whisper the affect you had on him. 

Beckett – He’s definitely smug. He’s more intrigued than shocked—he finds it interesting that you would choose to flirt with him in this way, but he isn’t going to discourage it. He’d never admit it, but it does have an effect. He’s curious to see exactly how far you’ll go to attempt a seduction. He wants to frustrate you a bit, see you try multiple tactics, test if you’re going to give up. If you persist, he’s honestly rather impressed, and he’ll make sure you know exactly how much he enjoyed your act; he’ll tease you and say that you really didn’t have to go so far, but since you were so insistent on being such a hussy, he wasn’t about to stop you.

Barbossa – Honestly, this has little effect beyond amusement. He can deal with seeing your ankles; he’s had his fair share of experience, and it doesn’t incite the same amount of arousal as it might have twenty years ago. Instead, his appreciation lies in the fact that you’re making your interest explicitly clear, and that you’re attracted enough to a man his age to actually stage a seduction. Like Jack, he doesn’t have to operate under the same rules of propriety on his ship, and can instead indulge a little. When the two of you are alone in his cabin, he’ll give you a wink and admit he liked the view. I think he leaves it up to you whether you want to take things further, or if you just enjoy flashing him for a bit of fun. 

[adamwatchesmovies]

The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)

For multiple reasons, The Nightmare Before Christmas has become a holiday staple: the bold visuals, memorable soundtrack & songs, art direction, inventive plot… there’s no wrong reason to call it a favourite. You’ll be tempted to pop it into your player on Halloween. You'll be tempted to watch it again on Christmas. I say, why not both?

Jack Skellington (voiced by Chris Sarandon) is the king of Halloween Town but he's grown bored with his crown. When Jack discovers Christmas, he and his demented cohorts decide to bring their own version of the holiday to the world.

Brought to life through state-of-the art stop-motion animation, you only need to see one frame of this film for it to be stamped in your mind forever. The shadows of Halloween Town evoke the horror films of the German impressions era and the stop-motion makes you think of Rankin and Bass’ Christmas stories but nothing we’ve seen before or since looks quite like this. The jagged edges of the architecture, the crooked postures of the witches, the vampires’ bulbous eyes, the ghosts, the pumpkins... every citizen of Halloween Town has emerged from the mind of someone who was thinking completely out of the box. Every year, I hear renewed rumours of Disney wanting to make a live-action adaptation - quite ironic considering the studio didn’t think the film would fit their brand in 1993 (early prints/releases were done through Touchstone Pictures). Whoever thinks a remake is a good idea should get their head examined. It doesn’t matter how many snapshots of fans in Skellington makeup we see, no one could move the way the Pumpkin King does - even with the aid of motion-capture effects. No one could sing the songs the way Danny Elfman does. No one could match Ken Page as Oogie Boogie. Every attempt to replicate Dr. Finkelstein's laboratory, the curved peaks of Halloweentown or the cheerful elves of Christmas Town would be just that: a replication. This is a movie that proves certain things are only achievable through animation.

The incredible soundtrack by Elfman (yes, he does double-duty) guarantees you’ll want to watch the film over and over. From the first number, you’re hooked. Whenever a song ends, you kind of wish it would go on longer. It feels as though you’ve just finally memorized all the words in the refrain and were getting ready to chime in. No worries. At a brief 76 minutes, you can squeeze many viewings into one evening. In fact, if there’s any criticism to give this movie, it’s that it could’ve been longer. Some elements of the conclusion feel a tad rushed (particularly the romance with Catherine O'Hara's Sally) even though the story’s final note is just about perfect.

Whether it’s for the songs, art direction & visuals, characters, premise or a combination, you’ll feel compelled to reach for The Nightmare Before Christmas over and over again. Multiple viewings allow you to fully appreciate the quality of the melodies and rhymes featured in the hit-after-hit numbers. Once you're over the initial shock of the ghoulish characters that strangely feel right at home next to Christmas critters, you're able to spot all of the intricate details in the tiny sets and models brought to life by the talented animators.

Though often attribute to Tim Burton, The Nightmare Before Christmas was actually directed by Henry Sellick (the story was inspired by his ideas but he was busy working on Batman Returns while Nightmare was being assembled). This film is a little twisted and a little scary. It’s also enchanting and warm. The hype around it is well-earned. (On Blu-ray, December 22, 2019)

[viscera-vital]

some nsfw headcanons for my characters cuz i can do whatever i want

cicero is naturally a switch and it really just depends on his mood what kinda role he'll play, but when he doesnt really care and just wants to fuck, he can adapt to his partner pretty well. so if he picks up that his partner is feeling more dominant or whatever he'll act more submissive for their sake teehee. obviously hes got a huge blood/weapon kink, sadomasochism type shit (wow wonder where he got that from COUGH) and honestly i think the more time he spends on the island, the more he dips into sadist territory. all in good fun tho

monty. thats all

jupe is really- no im just kidding roight. monty is a whore and he will never ever admit it. he prefers to top and prefers to dom most the time but he secretly loves bratty types, loves having his buttons pushed cuz he wants a reason to fuck harder. thats why scenarios with him and cicero are always so fun to imagine cuz they hate eachother, naturally that means the sex is wild. hes not receptive to praise really like he just doesnt care but DEGRADATION? whole nother story he'll get angry but deep down he looooves it. its super embarrassing for him

also he looooves being selfish, loves teasing and edging. he sucks

i wasnt gonna include jupiter since hes asexual and doesnt really care about that kinda thing BUT i will say that he does still get horny and is pretty sex positive, wouldnt mind hooking up with a coworker or something to help eachother out, you feel me? but otherwise he genuinely doesnt care much, hes got things to do!! hes a little nerd hes got plant stuff to do

mischa so incredibly touch starved and loves to cuddle. there is a high chance that the contact makes him so excited that he cant help but grind against whoever is sharing their heat with him. despite his incredibly unserious and lackadaisical nature, he'll always check in with a smile, asking if its alright for him to continue, if they want him to, if they want more.. he silly. sex with him is very lighthearted and genuinely fun he likes to joke and laugh.he so cute man grrrrr

since he literally lives in a cave up in the snowy mountains, he doesnt really have a lot going on? so he would be more than content to stay in bed with someone, rocking his hips into them and fucking his cum into them over and over again. hes the kinda bitch to say "i wanna be inside you forever" and genuinely mean it, doesnt care about overstimulating himself to feel it. hes sloppy also, likes to bite and suck and lick, sometimes he does it to bother his partner, he sillay

shark??? do i even need to say anything. complete sopping wet man, being the village nuisance he doesnt get much tail (or any at all tbh) so its really easy? he can be really easily tempted if you make any sort of sexual advance hes drooling. village be damned cannibalism be damned hes interested in you and what you got goin on now. when involved with cicero (which ive talked about before, he views cicero as some kind of blood god honestly), he is on his knees and ready to please bitch. the kind of man who could cum just from giving someone head. super whiny, very hard for him to control himself. hes cute i like him

yarrow..................... despite his very large stature hes very respectful, naturally prioritizes someone elses needs over his own. he could ALSO cum from giving someone head but in a less pathetic and desperate way compared to shark. very affectionate, and soft, like much more than you'd think for a big cannibal man. he has a lot of patience! he doesnt like to be mean or particularly rough, but if you want him to hold you firmly, that he can do :]

he sorta sees himself as lower than most people mainly cuz of how hard hes worked in their village so if yr very clear that you want him to feel good to he'll be sorta shocked and then indulge you. very grateful type, very sweet hes so. ughh

also IDK why i said headcanons, these are my characters this is just canon lmao

[amicidomenicani]

Question Good morning, Father Angelo, I hope you are fine. I have a question, and this time it's about my inner life. Until now I had never confided to anyone the story that I am going to humbly entrust to you. It is about my inner life. I started praying for priests in 2016. In practice, it was the year in which yet another story of sexual abuse had shocked the church and the world, especially the United States. I began to pray for the priests to thank Christ for the graces and the mercy he gave me. By praying for priests my spiritual life has progressively changed. I felt like Christ was acting and was more and more present in my life. I began to feel his presence more and more, and He began to provide for both my spiritual and material needs, and to guide my life along safe paths. It almost seemed that He, in his communication and in guiding me with his love, was addressing me directly. At first, I doubted it was true, but every time I delved through study and research, I realized that what I received in prayer was correct and real. Why does this happen, Father Angelo? Why did Christ suddenly start acting in my inner life? Over time my prayer for the priests increased: I started praying for my own priests, bishops, cardinals, to the point where I started praying for the Holy Father, Pope Francis. Like a small plant that turns into a big tree. And I didn't stop there. My prayers have extended to those who themselves pray and intercede, as nuns and sisters. And each time Christ responds with His providence. I ask for your opinion on this, dear father, and for advice on how to behave. Thank you very much. P.S. Since I came across this website, every time I pray for priests you are included too. Answer of the priest Dear friend, 1. I believe that there has been a positive turning point in your spiritual life precisely because of a particularly precious good work, which is the prayer done for priests. 2. Although conferred a particular sanctity by reason of the character imprinted on their soul in the day of their priestly ordination, they are not exempt from the temptations of the evil one. When St. Thomas wonders why Jesus Christ let himself be tempted, he replies that he did it “that we might be warned, so that none, however holy, may think himself safe or free from temptation. Wherefore also He wished to be tempted after His baptism, because, as Hilary says (On Matthew, 3): «The temptations of the devil assail those principally who are sanctified, for he desires, above all, to overcome the holy». Hence also it is written (Sir 2:1): «Son, when you come to the service of God, stand in justice and in fear, and prepare your soul for temptation»” (S. Th., III, 41, 1). 3. Your prayer communicates immense strength in the world. Alexis Carrell, a Nobel laureate in medicine who converted in Lourdes after a resounding miracle, said that "prayer is the most powerful form of energy we can arouse". After yet another scandal at the hands of priests, the Lord aroused in you the desire to pray for them. Indeed, it was the Lord who aroused this desire in you, “for God is the one who, for his good purpose, works in you both to desire and to work” (Phil 2:13). By reciprocating, it is as if you had opened the door to the Lord, who has entered even more into your life. St. Therese of the Child Jesus was right in saying that a well returned grace is followed by many others. 4. The temptations to which priests are exposed are of various kinds. I will just point out one: inurement to what they do. Accustomed to being in the Church and going around the altar, they may lose awareness of the greatness of their mission. I am writing to you on 23 September 2022, memorial of St. Padre Pio of Pietrelcina. Here is the advice he gave to one of his spiritual daughters: “Enter the church in silence and with great respect, considering and deeming you unworthy to appear before the Majesty of the Lord”.

The priest enters it all the time for a thousand reasons. And here he takes the risk of not thinking at all that he is standing before the Majesty of the Lord. Padre Pio also wrote to the same person: "When you leave church, have a collected and calm attitude: at first greet Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, ask him for forgiveness for the shortcomings committed in his divine presence and do not part with Him unless you have first obtained the paternal blessing”. Because of the constant coming and going, the priest is tempted not to think at all about the preciousness of that moment both for himself and for the faithful entrusted to him. If, on the contrary, the priest was aware of it, his life would be a continuous blessing: from the Lord to him, and from the priest to his faithful. 5. In a letter sent to his spiritual director, he wrote: “Pietrelcina, April 7, 1913. My dear father, I was still in bed on Friday morning when Jesus appeared to me. He was all battered and disfigured. He showed me a great multitude of regular and secular priests, among whom were several ecclesiastical dignitaries. Some were celebrating, while others were donning or taking off the sacred vestments. It was very painful for me to see Jesus in such distress, so I asked him why he was suffering so much. I did not receive any answer. Nevertheless, his gaze turned again on those priests; but soon after, as if horrified and weary of looking, he withdrew his gaze. And when he raised his eyes and looked at me, to my great horror I noted two tears coursing down his cheeks. He went away from that crowd of priests with an expression of great disgust on his face and cried out: «Butchers! ». Then turning to me he said: «My child, do not think that my agony lasted three hours, no. On account of the souls that I have benefited most, I will be in agony until the end of the world. During the time of my agony, my child, nobody should sleep. My soul goes searching for some drops of human compassion but alas, I am left alone beneath the weight of indifference. The ingratitude and the sleep of my ministers makes my agony all the more grievous. Alas, how little they correspond to my love! What afflicts me most is that they add contempt and disbelief to their indifference. Many times I have been on the verge of thunder against them, had I not been held back by the Angels and by the souls who love me. Write to your (spiritual) father and tell him what you have seen and heard from me this morning. Tell him to show your letter to the Provincial Father…»”. 6. This dramatic vision of Padre Pio leads to reflection. Therefore, continue to pray a lot for priests so that they are aware of their vocation and of the most holy realities of which they are ministers. In proportion to this prayer, the Lord will bless you more and more. Thank you very much for particularly including me in this prayer. I wish you well, I too bless you and gladly reciprocate a special remembrance in prayer. Father Angelo Translated by Chiara P.

[senjuushi]

Whumptober — Day 29

Prompt: Sleep Deprivation/Defiance

Character: Snider

Snider isn’t human. That statement is an easy fact, and yet, so many of the humans around him don’t seem to be able to understand it. 

As a gun, there’s no reason why he should have to behave as a human would. He’s a weapon. It makes sense for him to act like one, to be treated like one, not forced to conform to the standards of humanity. 

And he does just fine like that. Food is sickening going down, the flavors too intense on his tongue. Sleep is filled with twisting visions that leave him scrambled and tense. Showering is nothing but a creeping, awful sensation that makes his skin crawl until he scrubs it raw and near-bloody. Performing humanity is unnecessary; wrong. Even his body knows it. 

You try to force him to do it anyway. As his Master, you have some level of authority, but that doesn’t mean Snider will bow so easily. He’s a weapon, not a toy, and even if you order him to eat and rest and clean himself the way you deem proper, he’s not as easy to push around as your other tools. Snider knows what he is. He’s better. Since he can operate as both an Antique and a Modern gun, he’s worth more than the rest of them. 

There’s no reason for such a capable tool to behave like a person, but when you corner him, Snider knows that this isn’t going to end well. 

“Come with me,” you told him. It’s evening, around the time that Snider should be returning to the guns’ area of the base, not dealing with whatever whims his Master is going to try to inflict this time. 

And that’s how Snider winds up sitting in your room, at your desk, with a warm meal in front of him and you staring expectantly. You tell him to eat. Snider glares at you. The moment drags on, and when he doesn’t cave, you pick up the spoon, scoop up a bite of steaming, strong-smelling food, and hold it up to his mouth with a look that implies you’re serious. 

“Eat,” you tell him, and no matter how much Snider wants to refuse, there’s some horrible, weak part of him that preens under the attention.

“Why are you doing this?” he snaps.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” you reply calmly. Then, the far worse statement; “And if you won’t do it on your own, I’m going to help you. You’re my responsibility, so I’m going to take care of you.” 

In the hope it’ll make you leave him alone sooner, Snider opens his mouth. This is fine. He can choke down a meal and get out of here. 

But the meal isn’t the end of it. After making him eat until he’s close to gagging, until there are only scraps of food left on the plate, you then drag him into the bathroom and tell him to remove his clothes. Snider knows exactly where this is going— and now, he knows that he’s only encouraged it. He should fight this, but your warm hand resting on the lowest part of his back sends shivers through him even with two layers of fabric in the way. 

This much attention is the kind of thing normal guns would kill for. But Snider isn’t normal. He’s better. He doesn’t need to be spoiled, no matter how the gun-instinct parts of him are tempted by the very thought. Even when he rolls his eyes and tells you this is stupid, though, you don’t let him leave. Your hand just rubs slowly up and down, once, and Snider hates—

“Please? I just want to take care of you,” you say, pleading. 

He obeys with a barely contained snarl, utterly disgusted with himself, while you fill the bathtub with water so warm it steams. And while Snider has no shyness about humans seeing his body in any state, bare or not, it’s... different, somehow, when it’s his Master appraising his form. 

Getting into the water is torture. Especially when it doesn’t feel anywhere near as awful as it should. The steady, immersive heat doesn’t leave his skin crawling the way a lukewarm shower flow does, somehow. 

Instead, when you coat your hands with soap and bury them in his greasy, slightly matted hair, the only sensation is a sharp shock of good that nearly takes his breath away. The heat soothes pains he hadn’t known were there, and you’re petting him, rubbing his scalp well past the point of what needs to be done to get him clean. When your touch drags over the nape of his neck, slow and careful like you’re maintaining a beloved tool—

Something in his head slips. 

Suddenly, Snider is leaning into your hands with a small, sharp sigh. His nerves are doing things that he never knew they could, and that’s before you start to scrub the rest of him. The all-over touch has him melted, weak. 

It’s at that point that his refusal to sleep starts catching up to him; his body is exhausted, and under all of this attention, it’s getting hard to stay conscious. When you’re done and he’s clean, you help him out of the bathtub, not pointing out how he sags against you and whines, then dry him off and lead him back to the bedroom without a single complaint. 

Snider finds himself in your bed, with the soft sheets scraping against his nerves and making him shake. It smells like you, and he’s too dizzy with stupid, needy gun instinct to remember why that shouldn’t leave him beyond the thought of dignity. He’s a weapon, something meant for killing. Not this. 

But your touch is back barely a moment later, your fingers running gently through his clean, damp hair. You’re practically petting him, and it feels too good for Snider to hate how he shivers into it with a sigh. 

He’s tired. For once, he’s aware that his body is tired. 

You just keep petting him. Sleep is getting harder and harder to resist, no matter how much he wants to deny it. It’s far too easy to relax like this. He’ll be disgusted with himself later, but the same things that make him a weapon dictate that he loves his Master’s care too much for that to matter.

[itsdanii]

i loved the rejecting and regretting series!! could you do one with akaashi and osamu? thanks again!!

Hey, bub. Thank you so much for requesting. I'm happy that you're loving my works, it makes my heart soft 😭♥️ Here's your request! I hope you have a good day and stay hydrated. Mwah!

Rejecting you and regretting it pt. 5

genre: angst to fluff

warnings: rude behavior (resolved), cursing

a/n: Do read the warnings before you proceed. Warnings have been put there for a reason.

ft. akaashi keiji, osamu miya

Title says it all

Akaashi Keiji

With your grades in literature almost at the brink of destruction, you had to swallow your pride and ask one of your classmates to tutor you

While you're the best in most subject areas, you sucked when it comes to literature

You didn't see the point of studying articles, analyzing literary pieces and using poetic words

But for the sake of graduating, you had to take the subject

But it seemed like the subject hated you just as much as you hated it

And so, one afternoon, you slammed a limited edition book you knew Akaashi, your classmate and your crush, liked on his desk and stared at him with pleading eyes as you begged him to tutor you

At first, he rejected the offer, opting to pat your head before leaving the classroom

But you were persistent

It wasn't long then when he started taking pity on you

All your papers had red marks in them and everytime there was a test, you would stare blankly at your paper and jot down nonsense ideas

At the sight of you in the  brink of tears, Akaashi sighed and decided to help, given that you have to focus and not do random stuff during your sessions

And that's how you found yourself in this current situation - hand holding the pen tightly, your eyes focused on the man in front of you instead of the story analysis he's explaining, and your heart beating as if you just finished a 5km run

"Are you even listening?"

You blinked your eyes at him and smiled sheepishly before scratching the back of your head. You knew that a small blush was probably visible on your cheeks now but of course, you had to play it cool.

"Of course," you said with a confident nod. "You were uh, talking about young love."

Akaashi rose an eyebrow at your answer as if challenging you to elaborate.

"The main character was in love with the guy... and the guy doesn't like her? And she-" you paused for a moment and grabbed the book you were reading, eyes scanning between the lines before continuing your probably wrong answer. "She died?"

With a sigh, Akaashi stood up and sat beside you, your elbows pressing against each other as he leaned down to write something on your book.

"Okay, first and foremost, she didn't die. She left. This part here-"

As he continued explaining, you felt yourself getting lost once again. Your eyes scanned over his features, taking notice of how long his lashes were and how flawless his skin was that you were almost tempted to caress it. His scent surrounded you for being too close which tempted you to shut your eyes.

"I like you," you blurted out unconsciously.

The both of you froze as soon as the words escaped your lips, eyes widening and lips parting as you stared at each other with shocked expressions.

Fuck.

Aaashi, who was the first to compose himself, cleared his throat before sitting upright. "Y/n-san, I'm really flattered by your infatuation but you do know that I'm only here to tutor you, right? We agreed to focus. We're supposed to be studying, not flirting with each other."

"I know but..."

"I can't accept your confession, I'm sorry," Akaashi said before sighing. "How about we end this session already? I don't want your mind wandering while I talk here knowing that you're out of focus."

You immediately shook your head no. "It's okay, Keiji. You don't have to like me back, you know? Just let me like you. You can just pretend that nothing happened. I promise I won't do anything that'll make you feel uncomfortable."

Despite your facade, Akaashi knew that you were forcing yourself to act unbothered. It wasn't really hard to figure you out. Like a book, he could read you within seconds and know exactly what you were thinking and how you were feeling, and at this moment, he knew that you were just pretending.

For the sake of not making you feel uncomfortable and guilty, Akaashi nodded before continuing his explanation regarding the story.

Surprisingly, you stayed true to your words. You didn't say anything out of the line nor forced your confession to him. Akaashi admired you for that since most of the girls whom asked him for help from the past were only after his looks and the sake of getting in his pants.

As your session came to an end, you stretched your arms out. You released a breath of relief before smiling at him. "Thank you so much for teaching me, and I'm sorry for taking so much of your time."

You started keeping your things and piling up the books you're going to borrow from the library. Standing up, you gave him a small bow before grabbing your bag. "I'll see you around then?"

Akaashi just nodded and watched as you made your way out of the library, not knowing how hard you were gripping the books you had in your hand.

That night, you cried your eyes out. Sure, at your age, it may seem childish to cry over someone, but this was Akaashi we're talking about.

The Akaashi Keiji.

The one whom you've liked ever since your first year in college. The one you've liked the moment you saw him sleeping inside a nearly empty library, several cups of coffee and littered paper surrounding his table as if he had been studying the whole night. The one who never noticed you but you never failed to notice.

Your Akaashi, or at least in your dreams, he was yours.

You stared at the now empty tub of icecream on your lap and sniffled. Grabbing another roll of tissue, you began to wipe your tears and your runny nose before playing another cliche romance movie to soothe your broken heart.

-

Your study sessions with Akaashi continued for a couple more weeks but unlike your previous meetings, you weren't as enthusiastic.

You were focused and attentive, but it just wasn't the same. Akaashi noticed how you would try to put a bit of distance between the two of you, how you would avoid looking at him in the eye, and how you avoided touching him.

But what he noticed the most, were your swollen eyes the day after you confessed to him. He knew that there was only a 50% chance that it was because of how you were rejected by him, and yet he felt an immense feeling of regret. The moment he saw you, he realized that he never wanted to see you like that again.

But he didn't know how to approach you. No, you didn't ignore him like the other girls do. You also didn't say any nasty remarks nor talk shit about him.

What you did was pretend as if everything was okay, as if nothing happened. It felt normal... too normal.

And it terrified him.

One time during your break, you slipped a test paper in front of him, a big A+ written on the sheet of paper making Akaashi lift his eyes from the paper towards you.

"You did good," Akashi said with a proud smile.

"Mhm, I guess I did," you said before taking the paper from him. "I wouldn't have gotten this score if it weren't for you though. Thank you."

He shook his head no before leaning back on his chair. "That was all on you. All I did was guide you."

"This might be our last study session."

"What?" Akaashi said as he stared at you with an expression you can't quite decipher.

"I mean... I don't think I need any more help. I feel like I can manage on my own already and I've no one to thank but you." You looked away from him before continuing, "I think it would benefit the two of us if we stop this already. While I'm grateful for you, I don't think that it's good for me anymore. I thought that if I acted like it didn't matter then it wouldn't, but Keiji..."

"No," Akashi said with a shake of his head.

"What do you.."

"I don't want to stop this." Gripping his hair, Akaashi, took in a deep breath before reaching for your hand.

"Y/n, I don't want to go back to how things were before. I don't want to be just your classmate. I'll miss how you would stare off into space and daydream while I'm explaining to you and I'm going to miss how you would make up answers just to prove that you were listening when in fact you weren't. I'm going to miss you, and I know that if we stop this study sessions... I may never get the opportunity to be this close to you again, and I don't like that."

Akaashi squeezed your hand in his and intertwined your fingers. "I like you. I like you so much that it scares me."

"Keiji.. look at me, please," you said softly as you tried to take your hand back.

Feeling your movements, Akaashi tightened his hold on you and shook his head no. "Y/n..."

"I'm not going to leave," you assured him and smiled when he finally let go of your hand.

Akaashi watched as you stood up from your seat and made your way to his side. He was then surprised when you suddenly sat on his lap and wrapped your arms around him.

"Did you really mean what you said?" you asked which made him immediately nod.

"Of course. I really do like you." Akaashi carefully wrapped his arms around your waist, watching for any negative reaction, and pulling you closer when he didn't receive any. "You're sitting on my lap and basically hugging me. Does this mean that you still like me?"

"Of course, Keiji," you said with a smile.

"Then..." Akaashi collected your hair to one side and gently placed his hand on your nape, his eyes traveling down from your eyes to your lips. "Can I kiss you?"

With a simple nod from you, Akaashi pressed his lips against yours.

a/n: yes, you made out in the library. This is Akaashi were talking about and there's no way I wont take the opportunity to make out with him in the library lmao.

Osamu Miya

You were one of the lucky fans of the Miya twins, specifically Osamu's

Why? Because you're Aran Ojiro's sister and that meant that you can freely see your crush any time of the day

The team basically treats you as their own sister

Although it gives you a lot of perks, it also had its disadvantages

Because no matter how much you try hinting your feelings towards a certain Miya, he just won't acknowledge it

In fact, you didn't get along with him

Unlike the rest of the team, Osamu would always pick on you

You actually didn't expect it to happen because you thought that Atsumu was the playful one among them

But boy did Osamu prove you wrong

There weren't any time of the day that you won't pick at each other, spouting remarks here and there until the other gives up

It never went overboard though. You both knew your limits and when to stop

Or at least that's what you thought

Because today, he chose to target the wrong topic

You were currently seated in the middle of the court with the rest of the team. All of you were in the form of a circle with an empty bottle in the middle.

It was Atsumu's idea to play a game of truth or dare before you all go home. According to him, it would be effective on "cooling" off their bodies from the intense practice. Even Kita was forced to participate, thanks to Atsumu's constant whining.

With a wide grin, Atsumu spun the bottle which made most of you take in a deep breath due to the anticipation.

Finally, the bottle stopped. The tip was pointed at you while the other side was pointed towards Atsumu.

"Y/n! How lucky of ya! Truth or dare?" he asked with a wiggle of his brows.

"Truth." You couldn't help but roll your eyes after that, knowing that what's to come will probably be something silly.

Except it wasn't.

"Then... If yer given the chance to date someone from the team, who would it be?" Atsumu asked proudly, giving Osamu a side glance before focusing on you again.

You heard your brother groaning from beside you making you giggle. Placing his arm on top of your head, Aran gave each of the members a glare.

"Hm... I'd probably date 'S-"

Before you could even finish your sentence, Osamu let out a loud chuckle. All eyes snapped to his direction, watching him in confusion.

"Sorry, sorry," Osamu said after composing himself. "Did ya really have to ask that? Of course she'd pick Suna. Haven't ya notice the way she looks at him every practice?"

"Huh?" Suna muttered absentmindedly, his eyes lifting up from his phone towards Osamu.

"Don't even try denying it, y/n. Plus, even if ya try, I know Suna will basically reject ya. I mean, I can't even stand ya. If it were me, I'd reject ya on the spot. Yer annoying and too loud and that thing ya do with yer hand when yer explaining? Super annoying. Ah! And don't ferget the way yer nose scrunches when yer deep in thought," Osamu said without any pause.

Once he was done, he titled his head a bit to the side, trying to peek at your face that was now casted downwards, your hair covering most of your face. "Oh, are ya crying? Did I ruin yer confession?"

To his surprise, there were indeed tears streaming down your cheeks when you lifted your head up. Everyone grew silent, completely shocked at the sight.

"I was going to confess to you, dumbass." With that, you stood up, grabbed your bag and ran out of the gym.

Aran immediately stood up to follow you, but not before throwing a glare to Osamu.

Atsumu, who was the first to break the silence, turned towards his twin. "Okay, I know that I'm dumber among the two of us but that was a real jerk move right there, 'Samu."

Osamu could only stare at the gym doors with shock and regret written on his face.

"You're on the bench until I'm sure that you and y/n-san made up," Kita simply said before standing up. "Game's over. Let's all go home."

-

The following days, you avoided Osamu like a plague. It even reached the point that you have to eat lunch inside your classroom instead of eating with the team like you usually do.

Even Aran was pissed at Osamu. Aran knew that a playful banter was normal between you and Osamu but never had it ever reached this point.

You were basically crying all night when you arrived home and if not for Aran's patience, you wouldn't have went home in the first place. When you left the gym, your brother found you in a nearby park, your knees up to your chest and your head hidden from view.

He wasn't oblivious about your feelings towards Osamu but he never mentioned about since he wanted you to tell him or any of the members when you're comfortable enough. It was only unfortunate that the moment you felt confident enough to confess, Osamu had to pull that shit on you.

"C'mon, Aran. I need to talk to them," Osamu pleaded as he tried to get pass your brother.

Aran stood firmly infront of your apartment, his arms crossed over his chest and his figure blocking the door. "You really have the audacity to march your way to our apartment after the shit you put my sibling through? What, you got tired of sitting on the bench during matches? Can't impress your fanclub anymore? Go home, Miya."

"I'm sorry, okay? I wanted to apologize to them but they've been avoiding me. This is my last resort." Osamu said and gripped his hair in frustration.

Once he saw a peek of you trying to hide yourself behind a wall, Osamu immediately grabbed the opportunity. "Y/n, I'm sorry! Talk to me, please!  I... I don't know what to do anymore. I'm sorry..."

You soften at the pleading voice of Osamu and revealed yourself from behind the wall. Walking over to the door, you placed a hand on Aran's shoulder. "Give us space to talk, please?"

Your brother threw a glance at Osamu and sighed at the determined look on his face. "Alright," he muttered before turning towards you. "Call me if anything happens, alright?"

Upon hearing you hum in agreement, Aran placed a hand on your head to ruffle your hair, chuckling as he heard you whining before he went out.

You invited Osamu inside your apartment, making sure to close the door before settling yourselves on the living room.

"Water?" you asked out of courtesy but Osamu only shook his head no. "Talk then."

Osamu felt an unsettling feeling inside him at your dismissive tone. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"I was used to havin' banters with ya that I didn't realize that I was already sayin' too much. I didn't mean to hurt yer feelings, y/n. I know that it may sound ridiculous considerin' how harsh I was to ya but I really didn't mean those words."

You listened attentively to him as he continued to apologize, your tears once again flowing down your cheeks as you remembered everything that happened. "I really like you, 'Samu. I don't even know how or why but I just do and I guess I was hurt, not only because you rejected me but also humiliated me. I don't deserve that," you said and brought your knees up to your chest, clutching the throw blanket as you sobbed.

Osamu was beside you in an instant, his arms enclosing you as he pulled you to his lap. "I know...I know. I'm sorry," he whispered as he rubbed your back soothingly. "I guess I got blinded by jealousy. I thought that ya were going to say Suna's name so I assumed that ya like him."

Wiping your nose with the sleeve of the hoodie you're wearing, you looked up at him with a frown. "Jealousy? I thought you hated me. Why would you even feel jealous?"

"Do I really have to spell it out fer ya?" Seeing you nod, Osamu sighed and pressed your face to his chest in order to hide his flustered cheeks. "I like ya, okay? I always pick on ya because I wanted yer attention. I didn't actually expect ya to fight back but ya did. That's why I was intrigued by ya, and if ya still like m-"

"Yes," you answered without even letting him finish. With your face still buried to his chest, you could hear his heartbeat picking up. You pulled away from the hug and looked up at him, you cheeks still slightly damp from crying.

"Yer not kiddin'?" Osamu asked as he stared at you, his hand reaching up to wipe your cheeks with his thumb.

"I'm not. I'm still a little hurt so you have to make it up to me, but my feelings? They're still here," you answered honestly.

A smile made its way to Osamu's lips upon hearing what you said. Pressing his forehead with yours, he tightened his arms around your waist to hold you closer. "Thank ya fer givin' me another chance, angel."

After making up and stealing kisses here and there, you and Osamu decided to cuddle on the couch, your back against his chest and his arm resting against your waist.

It safe to say that when Aran came back, the most sour expression made its way to his face. It hadn't even been two weeks when he witnessed you literally crying your eyes out and now, he comes back to you sleeping on the couch with the man that made you cry.

"Fuck my life," Aran muttered with a groan.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated ♥️

[luvyanfei]

anon said. ooo a new blog! can you do confession headcanons where xiao, childe, and scaramouche react to reader confessing to them and the aftermath of it? thank you!  

a/n. xiao’s is kind of terrible ;; ue ue gomenasai

“i love you, [character’s name].”

SCARAMOUCHE.

huh? is this some kind of a joke? if so, it’s definitely not a good idea to mess with his feelings like this, especially when he also shares the same sentiment. scaramouche is almost impressed by your boldness. not everyone has the nerve to confess their love for a harbinger in front of their own faces, after all. when he’s hit with the realization that you’re serious, he secretly pinches himself to make sure he’s not in a dream.

the sharp pain that comes with his nails making contact with his flesh affirms that this is real. he stifles back a genuine smile, choosing to stay calm despite the bliss he’s currently feeling. “i guess it can’t be helped. hmph, you should be lucky i’m rather fond of you as well, [name].” he says that, but he’s the fortunate one to have successfully stolen your heart before others can claim you for themselves.

unfortunately, his time with you is quite limited due to his affiliation with the fatui, so any fleeting moments are captured in photos from the kamera to look back on. he secretly carries a picture of you while he’s out of town on important missions so that he won’t miss you too badly. he fondly looks at your still, yet smiling face to cheer him up after a tough work while everyone else is asleep. well, almost everyone.  

“hmm, who’s that in your hands, scaramouche?” childe asks, gesturing to the photo the harbinger is admiring fondly. scaramouche rolls his eyes to hide his slight embarrassment and hesitates a bit before he answers.  

“oh them? their name is [name], my... sibling.” childe almost gapes in disbelief as he looks at the blue-haired man in shock. 

“you have a sibling? why didn’t you tell me? they’re so cute!” the 11th harbinger squeals in delight, which honestly irks poor scaramouche. he scoots away to give himself some space as he tucks the picture in his pocket for safe-keeping. 

“you didn’t bother to,” he explains matter-of-factly. “now if you’ll excuse me,” he stands up from his crouched position and dusts himself, “i’m going to take a walk, alone.” 

he wanders through a dark forest and grassy fields, until he finds himself standing on top of a cliff, the moon glowing brightly above. he peers up at the twinkling stars in the sky and imagines you beside him, watching the breathtaking view together. humming an unfamiliar tune to himself, scaramouche muses over the past and replays your confession over and over again. if he could, he would respond differently than he did before. 

‘i love you.’ those three letter words echo in his ears like a melody and he allows himself to smile. 

“i love you too, [name].” 

XIAO.

he automatically perks up an eyebrow in confusion. what? is it just him or did you seriously admitted you love him? xiao stammers for a brief second, no words spilling out from his partially open mouth. what is he supposed to say? “thank you?” “i love you too?” 

when he pulls himself together, xiao shakes his head and frowns. his answer is clear and simple: no. you mortals don’t understand just how dangerous it is to get close with someone like him - a yaksha. drowning in the brink of debt and despair, he doesn’t need you to suffer all the same. the dejected expression on your face pains him to a considerable degree, yet he convinces himself, this is for your own good. 

since then, he avoids you like the plague in hopes that your feelings for him will disperse into flames. you deserve someone better, someone who won’t place you in harm’s way, someone unlike him. out of kindness, you still visit him from time to time while you go and do your daily commissions, but your interaction is heavily tense and an air of discomfort seeps through your gaze. why does his chest hurt as if he was impaled with a knife and so much more when you look at him like that? the thought of breaking down and revealing the truth that he’s also in love with you tempts him eagerly, but his pride and anxiety tides over his desires. 

you, on the other hand, is aware that xiao harbors feelings for you. you discovered this secret of his when you climbed the stairs to the spot on the balcony where he was to surprise him with a greeting, but your ears captured a faint voice in the night breeze and you couldn’t stop yourself from eavesdropping on the little conversation xiao was having with himself. he muttered about “rex lapis”, the fate of liyue, and etc. you were about to leave him to his own devices, but the next words he said stopped you in your tracks. 

“will [name] accept me if i say i love them? probably not, i suppose.” you left before he could spare a glance in your direction and a smile graced your features as you happily walked away. and being the persistent individual that you are, you inquire verr on why he’s acting so cold towards you, desperate to seek the answer you need. “xiao is, as you’re well aware, a yaksha who’s experienced hardships throughout his life, and probably lost loved ones along the way. i’m sure,” she turns to look at the setting sun in melancholy, “he doesn’t want to hurt anyone important to him again.”

you plan ahead of time for the best way to approach him without giving him any chance to escape. unfortunately, this is the only thing you can think of as you place a hand on either side of his head, trapping him between you and the wall. xiao looks at you curiously, devoid of amusement. he crosses his arms and frowns. 

“what are you doing?” your hands twitch and you chew on your bottom lip nervously before you explain yourself.

“i heard from verr why you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder, that you don’t want to hurt anyone important to you, but...” you trail off to blink back the tears threatening to burst. 

“it hurts, when you ignore me like this.” your voice is quiet enough that he needs to step closer to hear you. “it hurts how selfless you are. can’t you be selfish just once? i meant what i said and i’ll say it again. i love you.” 

xiao stammers, at a loss for words, before he starts sniffling and buries himself in your arms, crying out apologies as you stroke the back of his hair and gives a closed-eye smile. “it’s okay, xiao. i’m sorry too, for not realizing how much you’ve been suffering by yourself. you don’t have to carry the burden alone anymore,” you say, looking into his tear-filled eyes, “i will always be here with you, no matter what path you choose to take.” 

“even if that path may eventually hurt you?” he whispers in a cracked voice, fingers curling around your sleeves. you nod. 

“it’s worth the pain as long as i can hold you in my arms, like this.” he chokes out a bitter chuckle and wipes away the glistening tears. 

“i love you too, [name].” 

CHILDE.

the harbinger blinks his cerulean eyes once, then twice, and... you find yourself pulled into his arms, as his lips uplift into a jovial smile. “really? you love me? [name], i had no idea you held such deep admiration for me.” you playfully roll your eyes and chuckle as you wrap your own arms around his body, fondly reciprocating his affection.

he’s the fastest to accept your confession than the other two men. you’d bet he would scamper to where he’s staying at to tell every grain of detail to his adoring relatives. 

he writes letters to his siblings about your daily dates and the progress you two are making in your relationship. they tease him for the most part, but they’re happy that he’s found the love of his life and requests that he bring you along with him on his next visit. childe smiles in relief, content that they accept you already despite never meeting you and he asks you if you’d like to come with him to his home country where you can introduce yourself to his family. without hesitation, you agree instantly, eager to meet the siblings he gushes about. 

snezhnaya is colder than you thought, as you hug yourself to preserve your warmth, even with the layers of clothing wrapped around you. “we’re almost there, [name].” childe notices your trembling and rubs his gloved hands against your back. “sorry, it’s a bit chilly here, but please bear with me.” 

you nod and continue on. when a building enters your field of sight, childe stops and grins shyly at you. “this is the place.” breath materializes in front of you as he gestures for you to head on in. almost immediately are you greeted with a little embrace as a young boy wraps his fingers around your waist and grins up at you. 

“so you’re the one who big brother said he’s in love with? have you kissed before? when is your wedding?” the child bombards you with questions excitedly and a girl has to pull him away from you, tonia, you guess. 

“teucer,” childe scolds gently, a light blush colouring his cheeks, which does not go unnoticed in his siblings’ eyes, unfortunately for him. 

a wedding, huh? seeing the sparkle in your eyes, the laughter in your voice, and the warmth of your touch as you idly chat with his siblings makes him hope, that maybe in the distant future, he’ll brave himself to take the next step to further deepen your relationship, for he wants to be with you always. 

as he tucks away the last sleeping child, childe wanders in to your shared bedroom, surprised you’re still awake. “you really love them a lot, huh childe?” he nods seriously, as you pull him to lie down comfortably into bed. 

“but do you know something else?” his breath tickles your ear as he intertwines his fingers with yours, offering a meek smile. you shake your head and nuzzle closer to him. 

“i love you too, [name].” 

[ijustwant2write]

Fight or Flight-Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

(GIF credit to @ladycolinbridgerton​)

Requested by anonymous: ‘Hiii,Love your writings! Could you do something Bridgerton, Anthony x reader where the reader tries to stop the duel and gets hurt? Angst/fluff?!’

Characters: Anthony Bridgerton x Reader, Daphne Bridgerton x Reader (sister-in-law), Collin Bridgerton x Reader (brother-in-law)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Duel (guns, mention of death), injuries, angst, fluff

                                    *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Collin and I laughed as we both carried Violet through the foyer of the home, clearly someone had too much to drink. My mother-in-law continued to deny this through her giggling.

“Of course not, you are completely sober.” Collin joked as we made it to the stairs.

“And I’m sober enough to know when you’re being impertinent.” Violet said to her son, still holding my hand.“Good night dears.”

“Good night mother.”

“Good night.”

Collin and I shared a look as she went upstairs, failing to hold in our laughter. We both doubled over as we laughed, until we heard someone call us. Turning to our left, we saw Anthony and Benedict in the doorway.

“Come here.” Anthony hissed.

“Good God. Did someone die?” Collin whined.

“What? What’s happened?” I asked, suddenly panicking. 

“Collin, get here, now.” Anthony instructed, his younger brother complying. 

I followed.“Anthony, what’s wrong? Is someone hurt? Are you in trouble?” I didn’t mean for all the questions but I loved him too much for something to happen to him.

He shoved Collin inside, stepping out and shutting the door behind him.“It doesn’t concern you darling. Just go up to bed.”

“Wait,” I grabbed onto his arm before he could get away,“Anthony, please don’t shut me out.”

“This isn’t for women’s ears. Please, do as I say.”

Anthony kissed my forehead tenderly, before he quickly ripped his arm away, looking sympathetic as he did so. The door shut, and although I was tempted to burst in there, I knew this was something out of my league. Sighing, I reluctantly walked away, slipping off my heels before slowly making my way upstairs. 

As I prepared for bed, my mind was distant. I couldn’t stop wondering what their meeting was about. Anthony looked stressed (even more than usual), and the fact that the eldest brothers were together meant this business was serious. Once my maids were finished and gone, I sat up in bed, having left some candles lit. At first I thought reading might take my mind off things, but the romantic novel only made me think of my husband more. I was tired from the ball, feet throbbing from dancing, which made me believe I could fall asleep. I wasn’t able to fool myself, unfortunately stuck awake again. Groaning in frustration, I stood, making my way to the door. I hesitated, wondering if I should really go storming downstairs when Anthony told me otherwise. No, I had to check on my love.

Opening the door, I heard someone else do the same. Poking my head out, I looked down the hall, seeing Daphne also awake. She rushed towards me, grabbing my hand without a word and dragging me out of my room.

“Woah, Daphne, woah, slow down!” I exclaimed quietly, stopping her at the top of the stairs.“Why are you rushing downstairs? What’s wrong?”

“My brother is doing something terribly stupid, and I cannot stand by doing nothing.” She said, tugging on my arm as she continued her route.

That made my heart beat even greater, terrified for what my husband could be a part of. I kept up with her, still tightly holding her hand until we burst into the room the men had their meeting in. Collin was the only one in there, looking alarmed when he saw us.

“Where have they gone?” Daphne demanded to know.

Collin sighed.“Daph-”

“Tell me where this duel takes place.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Duel?! Anthony has gone to a duel?! With who?!” I exclaimed. 

“So that I may prevent it from happening.” Daphne continued.

“Hastings has done you a grave dishonour.”

“Can someone please explain what is happening?” I stood beside them, though neither took any notice.“What does the Duke of Hastings have to do with any of this?”

“Surely you wish to see him pay?”

“Not with his life.” Daphne snapped back.

“Anthony is dueling with Hastings?! What if they kill each other?”

“It will not come to that.” Collin finally addressed me.“The Duke will remember his honour once he finds himself on the deadly end of a pistol.”

“And if he does not?” Daphne said.

“They will both do the gentlemanly thing and fire their pistols wide. Now allow them to bring this ugly business to a conclusion themselves.”

Daphne groaned as I began pacing around the room.“Do you know how many times I’ve heard that said? Myself and (Y/N)? That we should leave the men to their business and to not concern ourselves with such weighty affairs? Whose affairs, right now, are my future, my family.”

“This isn’t going to end well, you know it Collin.” I stopped walking around, crossing my arms over my chest in frustration.

“(Y/N) is right. Anthony is too angry to fire wide and Simon is too stubborn to yield. You did not see them in that garden.”

“No, I did not, and neither did anyone else. You should be happy that no one saw anything.” Collin pointed out.

So something dishonourable happened in the gardens of the party. Something that has cause my husband to want to duel an old friend. Part of me felt slightly angered towards Daphne, she had been playing with fire around the Duke, it’s all Anthony went on about for the last few weeks.

“Only someone did see.” Daphne realised.

Collin and I stared at her wide eyed.

“Cressida Cowper. Collin, you must tell me where they’ve gone.”

“I’m coming with you.” I declared. 

“Neither of you are going, Anthony will have my head-”

“Collin.” I stood in front of him, putting on the angriest face I could.“My husband may be about to lose his life and I knew nothing about it. Believe me, he will be reprimanded for that, but if you do not tell us where these stupid men are right now, it will be me having your head, not Anthony!”

After pressuring Collin to reveal where the men were, we raced to the stables, both Daphne and I still in our nightgowns, with only a cloak to cover us from the wind whipping against us as we rode. Our poor horses were not expecting this early call, using what energy they had to gallop as fast as possible. My throat was dry, heart racing and mind drowning with thoughts about what could be happening right now. Had they even started? Were the shots fired? 

We rode out of the country and into large fields. It seemed that we would never reach them in time. I kept my eye out for any signs of people or horses, praying that my husband wouldn’t be bleeding out on the ground. Why hadn’t he told me? He hadn’t even said goodbye. All I got was a simple kiss on the forehead, nothing other than that. Even if he did survive, he would have to leave this place, but was he going to leave without me?

“There they are!” Daphne shouted to us, speeding her horse ahead.

“Daphne! Wait!” I yelled after her, but she was too far away.

There were multiple bodies up ahead, and it looked like the duel had only just started, they were taking their steps already. I urged my horse to go faster, screaming Anthony’s name, but he couldn’t hear me. The men turned, ready to aim and fire. Tears started falling down my cheeks, quickly drying from the wind hitting my face. I was getting so close, but it still wasn’t enough. Daphne had somehow made it to them, but as the gunshots echoed out, she was caught in the middle of it, her horse rearing up and throwing her off.

As she landed on the ground, my horse also got spooked, rearing up as hers did, though I managed to stay on. However, it went hurtling forwards, and I couldn’t regain any control. I screamed as I tried to grab the rein again, feeling my balance slip away. One minute I was managing to stay upright on the horse, the next I had fallen off to my left, with my foot still hooked onto the stirrup. My head hit the ground harshly, and I was dragged through the dirt and grass as my horse continued to gallop. I couldn’t make out where I was, or what was right or left. Suddenly, the horse started slowing down, the dragging finally stopping. As I figured out where I was, my head still spinning, I felt someone lift my leg out of the stirrup and slowly onto the floor. 

“(Y/N), (Y/N) can you hear me?” Anthony gently held my face in his hands, kneeling beside me.

“My head...” I moaned.

“It’s alright, my dear.” an older man appeared, and I only just realised he was also kneeling beside me.“You’ve hit your head quite hard, you’ll likely have bruises along your back, and your leg will ache. But it’s nothing rest won’t fix. If you have severe headaches, you should call upon me again to give you something for it. For now, I shall forget I ever saw any of this, just as we agreed.”

“Thank you doctor.” Anthony breathed out, helping me sit up as the doctor walked away. 

I clung onto his arm, using my other hand to pull his face closer to mine. I kissed him hard, relieved that he was still alive and unharmed. He seemed to be feeling the same way as me, until I pulled away and slapped him round the face. His mouth was open in shock.

“That’s for going to a duel without telling me.” 

“(Y/N), I...what?”

“I can’t believe you thought you could just go and get shot, or shoot someone and leave me behind! What would happen to me? I couldn’t bear it if you died, or left, either way, I am furious with you!”

“Darling, I had to do it. He dishonoured Daphne, therefore, dishonouring our name.” 

I tried to stand by myself, though felt dizzy, annoyed that I had to have Anthony to help me. He kept his arms around me, and although I loved the feeling, knowing he was safe, I had a hatred for him in that moment.

“But why wouldn’t you tell me?” I looked up at him, ignoring the throbbing in my head.

“We would have to leave society, make a life as...I don’t know what but we wouldn’t be allowed here anymore.”

“So? Do you really think I regard myself so highly that I would diminish my love for you to remain in society?”

“What?”

“Anthony, I would rather leave all of this behind, and be with you wherever you go in the world. That fact that you think I would prefer to live without you hurts me.”

“(Y/N), I didn’t mean-”

I slipped out of his hold, hopefully stable now.“I don’t want to speak of this right now. I’m finished with this topic of conversation.”

Anthony knew there was no point trying to reason with me in that moment. It was also no time to argue when there were more pressing matters at hand. He huffed, only walking away from me once Collin approached, letting me loop my arm through his for support. I watched as he glared at Simon, who was in a deep discussion with Daphne. 

“We must resume before someone should find us.” he said to Simon before taking a pistol from Benedict again.

“There will be no need to resume.” Daphne spoke up. We all looked at her, wondering how she was going to stop the duel.“The Duke and I are to be married.”

                                     *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

We had all ensured we were home before any of the staff could see us, slipping out of our dirty clothes and stuffing them under the bed. I had struggled, feeling nauseous as I rushed. But as I lay down in bed, my headache suddenly returning and my back aching, I heard the door lock. Anthony threw the key onto his desk in the room, hands on his hips as he paced. 

“Anthony.” I tried to stop him.“Anthony, please don’t do that.”

“I’m thinking (Y/N).” he mumbled.

“Then why don’t you think in your office? You’re making me dizzy. And nervous.”

“Do not speak to me like that. You do realise how this might tarnish our name?”

“They’re getting married, it will be fine Anthony.”

“It does not matter, he still dishonoured her, I saw it myself.”

“And you have not done that yourself in the past?”

That made him stop in his tracks. His head turned to me so quickly I though his neck would snap off.“They were not eligible ladies.”

“And that makes a difference? Anthony, I need to rest, please leave me.” I turned onto my side, pulling the covers higher so they almost covered my face.

He groaned, and I instantly regretted what I had said. His footsteps were loud as he made his way to the door, but I never heard it being unlocked. He sounded like he was now approaching the bed, and I found out I was right when the bed dipped in front of me me. I opened my eyes to see Anthony shuffling around, and I heard two light thumps on the floor from taking off his boots, before he lifted and covers; he shuffled in towards me, gently putting his arm under my pillow, moving as close as he could to me.

“You are right.” his voice was quieter now.“I, along with many men, have...done things in the past. Those women are, were meant for those things, but as soon as I saw you in the room, I knew I had to approach you. I remember that beautiful blue dress you were wearing, and how well you held yourself. But you were still so enticing, I found you to be so interesting, yet you only spoke with me for five minutes. You danced so elegantly, yet I still thought I could keep up with you.”

“If you are trying to make me swoon so I forget all about earlier, it isn’t working. You use the same story every time.” I said.

“Because it’s one of the best ones. I could retale about the time I saw you first promenading, the balls and social events we coincidentally went to, how I called upon your house-”

“Anthony, you may stop.” I tried not to giggle, but my smile was evident.“I am still angry at you for putting yourself in such an idiotic and dangerous situation. However, I deeply admire your love for your family, I know you would do anything for them. Just...if you ever do anything like that again, you are to inform me of your plans. I go wherever you go.”

“I promise. I was stupid to think I could do that to you. I just wanted to make sure you would still have a good life.”

“The only way I would have a good life is by being with you.”

Anthony smiled, tenderly kissing me.“You should rest darling. You’re hurt.”

“As long as you stay here with me.”

“I promise.”

[witch-hazels-musings]

Hey there! I wasn't sure if this was something you're comfortable writing, so if not, feel free to skip! I couldn't find anything in your faq but I just wanted to make sure!

Can I request a reader who never really drinks getting a little tipsy after a particularly stressful day? Just acting kind of giggly and clingy to their s/o? Nothing dubious ofc just some fluff 🥰 for Diluc, Xiao and Kaeya?

^ This made me laugh. I am a LIGHTWEIGHT, so I tend to get drunk after like ... one beer - haha! Anyway - enjoy ;) 

Tipsy, Touchy

Warning -> flirty, touching, fluff, mentions of alcohol, and getting drunk

Includes: Diluc, Xiao, Kaeya

Character x GN Reader  |  Anthology

Diluc

He’s a bit shocked when you go beyond your normal one drink, in fact, he’s a little surprised at your demeanor in general - normally you only had a drink if the event warranted it, but today, you seemed to be throwing them back all on your own 

“Did something happen?” he asks you, his attention on the third glass you’ve begged him to pour. 

“Today,” you groan, your words already slurring a little, “was … not. good.” He can see the alcohol already making an impression on your skin. Your cheeks were flushed and you kept fussing with your hair, little strands making their own decisions as if in defiance of your touch. 

“Hmm, well don’t go overboard.” 

Once you reach your fourth drink, we gotta cut you off, too drunky. And worse, you were starting to get a little handsy with the people around you. You’d already given a few of the female patrons a hug goodbye, telling them you were the designated “send-off committee”

In fact, you were having a hard time keeping your hands to yourself especially when it came to Diluc. When he forcibly switched you from wine to water you grabbed onto his arm, or tried to convince him to lean in close so you could share with him a secret - he wouldn’t 

You thought everything was funny, and he often caught you giggling to yourself or chuckling after the small conversation you and he shared 

He wasn’t really on board with your ostentatious behavior, but he did enjoy seeing you smile in the grandiose way you were - unreserved and relentless 

As the evening beings to slow and patrons leave the bar, you were trying to work out a thought in your head. It had been floating around for a while and you weren’t doing a good job keeping it off your face. 

“Hey,” you finally speak up. You wait to finish your thought until Diluc looks at you. He’s been gathering the final glasses from the tables so he takes a bit to react to you. “Come here.” You beckon, uneasily, with your finger for him to walk closer to you. 

When he does, you wave him down so his face is close to yours. 

“You.” You point your finger at him, “are my favorite person.” There is a smirk on your face and playful energy in your eyes. 

He scoffs at you and tries to retreat but you grab his face in your hands, “Wait. Wait. Diluc Ragnvindr ... “ he’s so close to you, his face, his eyelashes, his lips … it’s too much and in defeat you let him go, dropping your head in your hands. “Ugh, you are much too attractive for me right now.” 

“You are a lot of things right now.” You peek your eyes out from over your arms and see him rubbing the back of his neck, his head turned to the side. There is no doubt in your mind he is blushing. 

“You’re blushing!” you shout. The excitement of his reaction is too much to handle. 

“Shut up.” He tosses a towel your way and disappears into the back office. 

Diluc makes a mental note to not let you drink that much in public again, not only is he worried you might do something dumb, but he worries how he will keep his composure

Xiao

Xiao would have no idea what to do with alcohol. He doesn’t touch the stuff, so he wouldn’t really know the common behaviors of inebriated people 

He’d probably take whatever you were drinking and dump it out in front of you the drunker you became - he could barely handle normal humans, let alone a drunk one 

“What are you drinking anyway?” He looks at the bottle, turning it over in his hands. 

“I don’t know, I picked it up on the way out here.” You rub your hands over your face, the wine hasn’t fully hit you but you know with the amount you drank it’s only a matter of time. 

“Is it normal for humans to drink so much, all at once?” 

“Meh, maybe? Today was the worst though, so I’m giving myself permission.” 

It’s hard to tell if he would have any reaction to your tipsy behavior other than being exhausted by it

The way you laugh at things, that to him, aren’t funny or how you try to ask him really silly questions about things he wouldn’t know anything about 

Xiao is prickly, so you’d have to push through a lot of spikes to get to the gentle core he’s given you flashes of, so don’t get offended if he reacts to your clingy-ness in an irritating way 

He just doesn’t let people in very easily, and even though you two are together, and you’ve been physical before, this level of touch might be overstimulating for him 

You look at him from the floor of the inn. He is sitting on a pillow with his eyes closed. There were many nights you spent with him where you just fit yourselves into each other's space, like pieces of a puzzle nestled tightly together. He looked so regal, and you wondered how he would act if you poked at him. 

Carefully, you crawled your way over to him with wobbly limbs. When you got close enough you whispered his name. 

“Xiao…” He opened his eyes and is startled by how close your face is to him. His arms launched to his sides to steady himself as he leaned back away from your proximity. The reaction made you laugh.

“What?” 

“Nothing, I just wanted to get closer to you.” you desperately want to touch him: his cheeks, his forehead, his collarbone, his arms and hands, you wanted to touch them all. The alcohol emboldened you. You scoot closer to him, your sides practically touching, and, in an instant, you wrap your arms around his. The grip you have is possessive. 

He sighs but doesn’t push you away. So you tread onward. You slide behind him and wrap your arms around his chest, each of your legs on either side of him Rubbing your face against his back you breathe him in, he smells like rain after a thunderstorm. 

“I like you.” You place a kiss on his exposed shoulder before resting your cheek against him. 

It’s quiet for a time, all you hear is his beating heart and slow breaths. You don’t expect him to answer you, or say anything, you know he likes you by the way he lets you cling to him like this. That’s all you’ll ever need him to say. 

“Are you always going to be this clingy when you drink?” the question breaks the silence. 

“Mm, possibly, I don’t normally drink this much. Why.” You return his question with your own, slightly tilting his body to the side so you can strain your head to look at his face. 

“No reason.” Even in the dim lighting, you can see the blush on his face. 

Kaeya

Kaeya finds your behavior hilarious. He’d be so enamored with the way you were acting and amazed it happens with only a few drinks of alcohol in you

“You’re putting those away,” he’d muse over his own beverage. 

“Well,” you’d say as you empty yet another glass. “Today sucked! So i’m drowning my stress in sweet, sweet alcohol.” 

“Cheers to that!” 

When you laugh he melts, when you giggle he nearly passes out, and he’s having a hard time not fainting right now. Everything he says to you sends you into a fit of laughter and he just can’t stop himself - he’s obsessed with you and when he can see something new that he’s never noticed before he is filled with pride 

For instance, he didn’t know that when you laugh when drinking that you shield your eyes and nose and let out breathless laughter. He didn’t know that when you had several drinks you started to get louder and louder - which may have annoyed others, but he found it endearing

“... and after finishing the bottle he passed out for three whole days. And that is why our aloof bar owner doesn’t drink.” You can’t help but laugh, you’ve heard this story already but it makes you chuckle every single time. 

“Kaeya, how many times are you going to tell that story…” Diluc warns from behind the counter, his hands dangerously wrapped around the neck of a wine bottle. 

“Oh, come on. Look at how happy it’s made them.” 

“I’m cutting you both off.” 

“Hey!” Even with the cap on your drinking for the night, you couldn’t stifle your laughter. 

Normally, Kaeya is the overly touchy one. His hands cannot keep themselves from your tempting body. So when you cling to him he finds the action rather refreshing 

Wrapping your arms around his, leaning your head on his shoulder or digging it into his arm. Scooting closer to him, practically sitting on his lap, he finds it all a riot - don’t be shocked if he helps you into a comfortable position on or between his legs 

“Kaeya,” you look at him, your head bobbing around, your cheeks the color of pomegranates, and your hair falling out of place. 

“Yes, lovely?” He helps steady you, a possessive hand wrapping around your lower back and his other moving from your shoulder or lower arm, whichever one needs the most support. 

You giggle, and the sound pulls at his heart, “Do you know that you’re handsome? Like, really, really handsome.” 

“I’m glad you think so.” 

“No, listen, it’s kinda ridiculous how attractive you are. LIKE … WhO do you think you are with this face?? hmmM?” You wave your hand in front of him as if to drive home your point. You aren’t sure what answer you wanted from him, but his laughter seems satisfactory enough and you join in shortly after. 

He finds everything you do to be adorable, but multiplied by ten when you start drinking - he will always make sure you have a good time, and as long as you are safe and happy he will be there to join in on the fun

[whirlybirbs]

          (  this chapter’s gif by @ransomflanagan​ from this beautiful set !  )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  5/?

summary: your plan goes to asbolute shit.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 9k, please pray for my fingers

a/n: there’s action, there’s gunshot wounds, there’s canon appropriate violence! this one has a lot of plot, a lot of action, and i truly want to sleep for seven days after writing this. you should listen to the glass cannon’s club playlist while you read, though, for vibez.

       (   PREVIOUSLY   |    AO3    |    MASTERLIST   |   NEXT  )

You do have a plan.

Maybe it’s a little vague, a little messy, and a little up-in-the-air, but it’s a plan.

Get in, find Kiwi, avoid a handful of unsavory characters, and access the Alexandria Library.

Getting the hell out The Glass Cannon once you and Bucky were in was going to be a whole different plan entirely — one that was more improv than anything else. Hopefully, running a quick facial recognition program wouldn’t take long. With any luck, it would get a hit on any more recent aliases Innessa Sidrova was using after parsing the motherload of information Kiwi held onto with her life.

Kiwi wasn’t always known as Kiwi. She worked at SHIELD, like you, and back then she was known as Suji Awal. She stuck around longer — and she’d stayed on board during the active collapse to do heaven-sent work. It was an absolute Hail Mary, but while HYDRA had tried to purge all of SHIELD’s cloud data to protect their active agents and decades of progress, Suji had beat the hare in the race. Two steps ahead, she’d managed to pull nearly 97% of all confidential data including mission reports, agent profiles, and even electronic correspondence. While the metaphorical fire burned the documents behind her, she’d managed to salvage one of the only surviving, comprehensive looks at SHIELD before the curtain was pulled back to reveal HYDRA’s infection.

It had been used to try multiple HYDRA agents in the wake of it all in the federal courts. It was significant evidence, but after nearly all was reaped from the crop, Suji had taken the aptly named Alexandria Library and gone underground. Now, Kiwi was just another hacker in the thick of it and the Alexandria files were all but whispers.

It’s all about knowing the right people in the end.

Kiwi was a regular at The Glass Cannon. There was a nine out of ten chance you’d find her there. And if you didn’t find Kiwi, you’d probably find Climber and… Well, going to him wasn’t the most ideal situation, but out of the menagerie of acquaintances you’d gathered up throughout the years, you could trust Climber. He’d send you Kiwi’s way if you finally called in that favor he owed you. Either way, you’d find her and you’d get the files.

You just needed to avoid Alexei Gardzov.

Easy. Ish.

In truth, you barely get anything done Thursday — you’re too preoccupied in your head, running over the so-called plan even now as you fold laundry in the basement of your apartment complex.

You’d dug around in your closet, trying to find some semblance of an outfit. It was difficult. It wasn’t like the barely-there dresses and platform shoes were your thing anymore. Back then, your diet was mostly energy drinks and alcohol — in a way, it’s a relief to find that a good number of your staple outfits no longer fit. It made you feel like you really had put all this behind you.

You have.

Sure, it was the Rabbit you were going to have to be for tonight, but you’re not the Rabbit you were eight years ago. Good thing, too. You’re not too sure you and Bucky would have gotten along otherwise. Right now, your relationship with him was the biggest thing keeping you afloat — for the first time in a long time, you feel like you have some sort of purpose, even if it was a vague one at best.

You knew Innessa Sidrova was a threat — and you knew Bucky had to remedy that threat. You knew he felt responsible for creating her, for planting her in a position of power where she could manipulate and control. In truth, there was still a lot of vagueness surrounding his past. He’d made it clear he hasn’t been himself for a long time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wade through the muck of his trauma to pluck out your answers. It just felt wrong.

If you were to say you hadn’t been tempted to go out on your own and dig, that’d be a lie.

Even now, as you pull out the ink-black top from the dryer and fold it neatly on top of the other pieces of laundry needed for tonight, you can feel it sparking like a lighter in the back of your head.

He was keeping something from you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You nearly jump six feet in the air.

It’s Miss Bonnie — and she’s laughing when her feet touch the cold concrete of the unfinished floor. Her basket of laundry is balanced neatly on her hip, and she walks with a smirk on her face. Her hair is piled neatly on top of her head, and as she bends to plop the basket down, she offers a wink.

“I could hear you thinking from upstairs,” she ruminates, paisley and dyed skirts kissing the ground, “Like a little steam engine.”

You laugh quietly into your task. You duck your head and heft a black bra and jeans from the dryer. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

She looks up, eyes moving carefully from the laundry pile to your face. Her eyes glimmer with quiet curiosity. “And a big night planned, huh?”

You snort. “What was the giveaway?”

“It’s always the lacey bras,” she chirps and slides a smirk your way as she waggles a finger at your pile, “And the strappy little bodysuit was a good hint, too.”

You exhale with a laugh, bracing a hand against the dryer. She’s not wrong — you’d really forgone comfort with this outfit lineup. It was temporary, though, and well worth the efforts if it meant helping Bucky tick off a name from his list of amends. You knew how much those meant to him.

“So,” she continues, voice muddled as she continues to load the washer, “I take it this friend of yours is really helping you out of your shell?”

“I guess so. Yeah. It’s — It’s sort of a mutual shell-cracking, I guess.”

“Mm,” a hum, “You sound troubled, though.”

Your mouth opens as your fingers trace the line of the bodysuit. You pause, and you rock back on your heels. Miss Bonnie notices.

She waits patiently, bent at the knees.

“You ever just…” you wave your hand, “Feel like — I don’t know. He’s my friend. My best friend, honestly, and that’s… Really saying a lot. But, there’s stuff under the surface and I know it’s not my business but…”

Out comes a strangled groan.

“What? Like a crazy ex-girlfriend?”

“No, no — I don’t think so,” you mutter, “Wouldn’t surprise me, though.”

“Handsome?” she asks, smiling.

You close your eyes and ignore the smile on your face as you reply. “Yea, handsome.”

“Well, have you tried asking?” she shrugs as she stands, “Not about the crazy ex, but about the stuff you’re worried about? It never hurts.”

“Problem is, I don’t really think it’s too much of my business.”

Miss Bonnie hums at that and presses the start on her washer. She’s quiet for a bit, swaying slightly as she weighs the conversation and you watch — enamored with the older woman’s calm wisdom. She gestures openly with ringed hands.

“I think it’s normal for us to want to know everything about those we care about,” she says, “We want to know how we can protect them, how we can comfort them. But… it comes in due time. All of it does. You’ll find a time when he does open up about the ex, or whatever it is on his mind. You’re friends, after all.”

You’re nodding, chest tight with thanks.

Miss Bonnie’s face is soft.

“You got a picture?” she chirps like a bird looking for a worm, “I wanna see who this little friend is. And if he really is as handsome as you’re suggesting...”

You scoff and lean to dig out your phone.

“Cut it out,” you mumble as she moves closer, “No playing matchmaker.”

“Sure, sure,” she waves, leaning to watch as you scroll through your camera roll.

The only photo you have of Bucky is there from Tuesday night — after he’d housed nearly an entire container of noodles and promptly passed out during the third Lord of the Rings movie. You’d woken up around one in the morning to find that Poke had unceremoniously curled up on top of the supersoldier’s chest. Bucky’s hand was still in the calico’s fur as he dozed, the colors of the TV painting his face all sorts of peaceful. You’d taken the photo, shoving it in his face after gently nudging him awake.

He’s laughed.

You gesture to show Miss Bonnie.

Like ice, she freezes.

You notice a microexpression dart across her face, but it’s gone in an instant. You can’t pin it, but the way she bends to pull the phone closer and zoom in on her face comes off as interest. You blink, label it as shock, and move on.

Her voice sounds different.

“Handsome,” she mumbles plainly, preoccupied with the sight, “I get it now. What’s his name?”

“Bucky,” you say as she hands the phone back, “He’s… He’s a good person.”

Miss Bonnie just nods.

You tuck your phone away and plop your laundry into your basket. Ignoring the sudden quiet that had crept between you both, you haul up the stack and offer her a gentle smile. She’s fiddling with the washer’s timer.

“Thank you, Miss Bonnie.”

“Of course,” she rushes out, smiling gently, “And be safe tonight.”

“I will.”

With your promise, you ascend the stairs.

In that basement, Bonnie McLayne is no more, and instead, Innessa Sidrova remembers that night in Moscow, back in 1975.

She remembers the Winter Soldier.

                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Bucky calls you three times with no answer.

Normally, he’d just give up — but it was Thursday, and you weren’t answering the buzzer to your apartment either. He tries his best to ignore the strike of panic that sparks in his chest. It could stoke a wildfire, really, but he pushes it down and remembers to breathe. He doesn’t let himself think about what he’d do if something happened to you.

After all, you’re probably fine. Sleeping, maybe. The both of you had a long night ahead.

(Longer than either of you realize, really.)

It’s nearly seven o’clock, and after trying your cell one more time from his perch on your apartment’s stoop, Bucky decides to say fuck it.

A well-adjusted person might frown upon what he was about to do, but Bucky wasn’t exactly well-adjusted, now was he?

He rounds the back alley with long strides and easily finds that, with a little maneuvering, he can hoist himself upwards on top of the nearest dumpster. With a well-timed hop, he can also snag the bottom of the fire escape’s ladder and haul it downwards. The rest is easy, and he’s scaling the fire escape to the third floor with ease before he even knows it.

There’s even a smug little smirk on his face the whole time he does.

Finding your window is a little harder, but Bucky eventually spots Poke’s round little body smushed against the glass — it’s a dead giveaway, and after some prowling, he finds the window to your living room and unceremoniously throws it open.

It’s unlocked, for whatever reason, and he makes a mental note to have a conversation with you about safety and security in the city. After all, you never knew when an ex-assassin supersoldier was going to break in and pet your cat.

Upon opening the window, he pieces together pretty quickly why you’re not answering. Could be the music coming from your bedroom, or even the singing that’s coupled alongside it. From the bathroom across the hall from your room, steam has settled above on the ceiling. The whole apartment smells like fruit and soap and perfume and Bucky’s not really sure how to parse through all the sensory experiences that greet him with he shimmies in through the window, legs first.

All in all, they make him smile.

Bucky shuts the window behind him as he’s quickly greeted by Poke — the calico offers a gratuitous little chirp when Bucky bends to scoop up the cat. Easily, he melts. Poke is purring loudly in his ear as Bucky takes a moment to survey your apartment a little bit closer. Mr. Poke Bowl rubs his face against Bucky’s stubble as the man weaves through the kitchen.

It’s very you.

He isn’t really sure what that means at the end of the day, but all he knows is that he feels at home here. He feels safe. He feels comfortable. He feels like he can be himself. Not James, not Sergeant Barnes, not The Winter Soldier. Not even Steve’s Bucky, but just… his Bucky. Himself. Sarcastic and exhausted and a little cynical.

Bucky lets Poke down on the counter and moves to the fridge.

There’s still beer from the other night in there, tucked in the back, so he makes easy work on popping open a bottle and busying himself with petting a very adamant Poke.

As he sips the Leinenkugel, it’s no small coincidence that his phone buzzes again — for what feels like the hundredth time today — with a message from Janelle.

She was nice — pretty, too. Once upon a time, she would have been his type.

That was before he met you, though.

There’s a little pinprick of mortification at that quiet confession that’s been slipping into his heart more and more in the last few days. You are, after all, his best friend. He’s your best friend. Guilt swims with the feelings that have begun to pluck his heartstrings and he has to admit he’s not too comfortable with the song they play.

His biggest fear is fucking this up.

Fucking you up.

Honestly, his track record isn’t great. The whole defrosted-international-threat bit made it a little difficult to date. Janelle seemed to think the date had gone well enough, though, hence the handful of texts he’d been getting every few hours asking if he’s free.

Like usual, he ignores them.

Exercising his own free will is hard sometimes. Especially when it comes to saying no.

Taking another swig of the beer, Bucky shoves his phone back into his pocket and tucks his fingers back into Poke’s fur. The calico’s tail swings patiently as he sits and watches — and it’s a little weird how human his eyes are for a second there. He mmrrps and lunges for Bucky’s hand when he comes close, bonking his head eagerly against the cool vibranium.

It’s a different sensation.

That’s another big adjustment — learning how things really feel with this new arm. It’s not just handling recoil or gripping knives or throwing punches. It’s the soft tickle of fur, the gentle pressure of a warm rag to clean the joints. Meticulous upkeep wasn’t something HYDRA did often. He doesn’t miss the twinge of pain and molasses-like stickiness that came with a dirty arm. Blood was the worst. Always sat deep in the cracks.

He flexes his fingers. Poke meows again.

He moves to plop down on the couch. Poke follows.

You’re singing, still, to some song that Bucky’s never heard, when you push open your bedroom door and move towards the living room.

You jump six feet in the air and scream when you see him just sitting there, clutching a beer and petting Poke like he fucking lives here rent-free.

Bucky’s reaction is muted, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with your outfit and your jewelry and the pink eye shadow that creeps up your brow-bone. There’s glitter on your eyelids and lip gloss on your mouth and he can smell some sort of candy-sweet perfume coming off you. The plunging neckline of the jet-black top is enough to leave him shifting his gaze back up to your startled expression with a tight jaw.

His face is blank.

Then he offers that stupid fucking smile he does. Y’know, the tight-lipped one where he somehow maintains a dead-eyed look the whole time. If you weren’t trying to calm your racing heartbeat, you might have laughed. You hate the white-hot flare it sparks in your chest.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” you hiss, waving your hands.

“We need to have a serious conversation about locking our windows,” he says as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table and wags a finger at you, “Also, what are you wearing?”

“You — You fucking broke in through my window?”

“Yea, well, you were too busy pretending to be Britney Spears to hear me try and buzz up, and my phone calls.”

Sheepishly, you cross your arms. “Nice reference—”

A shrug from Bucky. “Thank you.”

“—Also, what are you wearing?”

He looks down at his usual t-shirt, leather jacket combo. He squints back up at you.

“I’m sorry,” he chirps, “You’re talking to me? Did the department store run out of fabric, Rabbit?”

You self-consciously adjust the plunging neckline of the bodysuit as you frown deeply. “I think I’m gonna skip on the fashion advice from the man who lived in a time where ankles were seen as scandalous.”

“I was born in 1917,” he mumbles as he stands, actively avoiding another pass over your outfit because as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad look on you, “Not 1817.”

“Point being, we’re going to a club. And you look like you’re going to the local Home Depot,” you move to snag a set of dangly earrings that are sitting on the coffee table, “We’ve gotta look like we’re there to party, nothing more.”

Bucky sighs. He finishes the beer, places the bottle down and sheds his jacket. “So, what?”

You pry your eyes away from the flash of skin — his arm, flesh and blood, speaks to how strong he is. And, undoubtedly how easy it was for him to fucking scale three stories of the fire escape to bust in.

“So,” you mumble as you thread the earring in, “I have some of Jaimie’s old shirts. There’s probably something you can use… If they fit.”

Bucky exhales softly. “You kept them?”

“Didn’t have the heart to throw them out,” you reply as you gesture for him to follow you into your bedroom.

The back of your top is arguably more crisis-inducing than the front — it’s an open back, and Bucky settles on admiring the decor rather than the curve of your spine. He has to. For his own fucking self-composure.

Your bedroom is nice — and like the rest of your space, it makes him feel comfortable. It’s all warm colors and posters and plants in the corners. Across from your queen-sized bed, there’s a large desk with a triple monitor setup. That’s where the music is coming from. The little knick-knacks on your shelves and desk make him chuckle.

Then, he stops, halfway to the closet, and stares.

You blink over your shoulder as you bend, digging to the back of your closet to pull out the clear bin you’d piled most of Jaimie’s stuff into after the funeral. After you’d cleaned out his apartment on your own.

He’s looking at the poster — the one from Cap’s USO tour. It’s framed nicely, set up on the wall beside your desk. It’s got a gold frame, and Bucky can’t help but wander closer to look at the signature.

It’s Steve’s alright.

“How much did you pay for this?”

You scoff. Your necklaces tinker together. “Don’t even go there.”

“The jerk signed thousands of these,” he mumbles, crossing his arms as he leans closer, “And still, the fame didn’t go to his head.”

You smile softly, leaning back.

“Jealous?” you chirp, raising your brows as you pretend to swoon, “Oh, Sergeant Barnes, I’d just love to meet your dear friend—”

Bucky’s laughing as you swat at his knee, leaning back on the carpet like a damsel in distress.

“Shut up,” he snorts, “It’s a sore subject for me.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious — do you know how many dates I had to set up for the chump? And then, boom. I’m invisible.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter with a smile, unclicking the lid, “Some people just like blondes, Buck. I’m sure there were plenty of eyes on you. Stop being so dramatic.”

“Yea, the best friend, sure,” he mumbles at the poster, “Hell, he was taller than me. You know you don’t need to lie to me—”

“Listen, if I was some Lauren Bacall-looking nurse back then,” you wave your hands, “I’d have gone for you. Alright? Stop lamenting and get over here.”

He goes quiet and ignores the warmth in his cheeks. He squats by your side. “Shut up.”

“We seriously need to work on taking compliments,” you groan, throwing your head back, “I’m being serious, y’know, for once. And I’m not just saying it as your friend. You’re handsome and everyone knows it except you, apparently. My neighbor agrees that’s for sure.”

He squints.

You wave it off and gesture to your outfit. “She saw me doing laundry.”

“That explains nothing,” Bucky deadpans, “Literally nothing.”

“I showed her a picture,” you cry indignantly, moving to shuffle through some of the old t-shirts sitting on top of the bin, “Relax.”

He moves to plop down, crossing his legs beneath him. He decides to let the topic die — again, for his own self-composure more than anything. The compliment, though vehemently denied by the worst part of him, is tucked neatly in the homes of his heart. The idea of meeting you, before now, is a little intoxicating. What would it have been like?

Would you have even spared him a dance?

Bucky rubs his cheek. Poke meows and buts the door open with his head.

You’re wrist-deep in the bin when you speak. “He’s obsessed with you, y’know.”

Poke has already taken up a post in Bucky’s lap. Bucky smiles, petting Poke gently with his vibranium hand. The cat seems to like the cool metal. Bucky mumbles softly down to the calico, scritching his cheeks. “I like him, too.”

You pause long enough to try and remember the sight.

Bucky’s eyes find yours, and you’re quick to turn back to the bin.

“Here we go,” you exhale as you pull out the shirt you’d been looking for.

It’s a long-sleeve button-down, one that you can distinctly remember Jaimie wearing to his engagement party’s after-party — a real typical night of Jaimie being Jaimie. It’s black with a barely-there red floral pattern. It’s flashy enough that Bucky won’t look horribly out of place.

The only problem is Jaimie was a little smaller than Bucky.

“Try this on,” you mumble as you dig around trying to find something else in case it doesn’t do the trick.

Bucky catches the silk shirt and gives it a once over. He raises an eyebrow, and deciding against debating this, he simply nudges Poke off his lap and stands.

He moves to your bed, laying the shirt out. On your closet door is a full-length mirror. You want to snap it in half when you accidentally catch a glimpse of Bucky hauling off his black, cotton t-shirt and anxiously fumbling with the buttons on Jaimie’s old shirt. You have to breathe — and remind yourself that that’s Bucky.

Your Bucky. Your best friend Bucky.

When he calls your name, it sounds far away. You’re busy angrily sorting through old clothes.

“I look ridiculous.”

When you turn around, the first thing you notice is that it’s a little tight. Not in a bad way, but the buttons are gapping along his chest, and it’s tight around his arms.

Your eyes widen a little and you swallow. You tilt your head.

Bucky’s frowning.

“Let me see,” you offer gently, standing and moving close, “It’s not that bad.”

“You don’t sound too sure right now,” he mumbles as you enter his personal space.

You’re nimble with undoing the top three buttons — it gives him enough room to move his shoulders, though, and the dip of the shirt along his sternum brings dog tags into view. You reach, momentarily entranced, and read them to yourself.

You smell like vanilla and sugar.

Bucky shifts in his boots.

“Y’know,” you say, moving to the sleeves, “I think this works.”

You roll the sleeves, stopping at his forearm.

When you step aside, Bucky can see himself in the full-length mirror. He looks less than enthused.

It’s not an entirely bad look — he’ll admit that much — but he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s too much chest and skin and… Christ, this shirt is tight. He does, though, look like some of those trendy folks he sees at Izzy’s bar every now and again. Hipsters.

“I look like a douchebag.”

“That’s the point,” you chirp as you close the box and shove it back into your closet, “Now the outfit matches the personality.”

He swats at your head on the way by. You laugh.

You’ve got boots in your hand, and you land on the bed with a bounce. Bucky is busy fixing his hair in the mirror while you zip up the thigh-high boots. When he turns around, you’re about three inches taller. He blinks, yet again entranced by the outfit.

Then, you’re muscling on the jacket.

It’s neon pink — and shaggy and cropped. It falls just above your waist and swallows you whole. But, Bucky’s attention is mostly on the back.

There’s a large, white embroidered Playboy bunny there, with RABBIT written across the shoulders in a chunky, blackletter typeface.

His brows are high on his face when you turn around.

You freeze.

“...What?” you ask, “Something on my face?”

“Playboy bunny, huh?”

You could smack him. “Weren’t you busy being a frozen dinner when Playboy came out?”

“I’ll have you know,” he says tightly as he follows you out of your bedroom and to the living room, “The Russians enjoyed their fair share of editions.”

“The Russians? Sure, what’s that saying? There’s no sex in the USSR?” you chide, “You can just say Bucky Barnesenjoyed his fair share—”

The tips of his ears are red. You notice. It makes you split into a grin that worsens the pink shade that’s crawling up his neck.

He coughs. “Have you ever considered never opening your mouth again, Rabbit?”

You nudge his arm. “Nah. Bothering you is more fun.”

He shrugs on his jacket, sighs, and decides that keeping quiet is just easier.

However, that’s not entirely your plan — and you speak quickly as you pull your purse over your shoulder. You’re rummaging quietly, stacking your wallet and phone inside. You glance up at him.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he mumbles, bending to pat Poke one last time as you move to the door of your bedroom. He watches you flick all the lights off, and before you leave, you double check the calico’s food and water. He’s got enough for a few days. Bucky leans against the door frame, “Care to run me through the plan?”

Nodding, you move to open your front door.

“It’ll be easy,” you explain as you make room for him, “If we play our cards right—”

Bucky’s stopped, though, and is digging in his back pocket as his cell phone rings. You watch him exhale tightly, eyes on the screen the entire time he squeezes by you and starts down the hall. You make careful note of the delicate scowl on his face, only before you catch Miss Bonnie out of the corner of her eye.

Her door is half-cracked across the hall, and she’s watching.

She offers you a smile.

Bucky keeps walking.

You wave, lock your door, and jog to catch up to Bucky.

“Hey,” you call, “Earth to Mr. Claw Machine?”

His head snaps up. “Sorry.”

“Who was that?” you ask carefully, nudging his arm with yours, “Falcon?”

“I wish,” he mutters as he muscles the cellphone back into his pocket, “I wouldn’t feel so bad sending him to voicemail.”

“Yeesh,” you wince, “Lemme guess, was it the owner of the coral lipstick that was all over your face on Tuesday night?”

Again, that temptation to feel jealousy flares up in your heart. But, he’s here, isn’t he? With you. Ignoring her calls. And probably texts judging by the guilty look that’s on his face. You feel a little bad — but at the same time, Bucky’s a grown man. Maybe a grown man who needs to create some more transparent lines of communication with the poor woman, but still.

“Bingo. I mean — it’s not that she wasn’t great an’ all but…”

You raise both hands. “I’m not judging.”

He sighs raggedly as he bounces down the apartment’s stairs. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“What?” you ask with a laugh, “Dating? Yea, it’s pretty fucking terrifying, Buck.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

You hold the door open for him and slide him a pitying look.

“Because I am.”

The walk to The Glass Cannon is spent walking Bucky through the plan — and for the most part, he makes a point of nodding along and listening. His only real anxiety pops up at the mention of Alexei, which is relatable to say the least.

It’s dark, the streets are relatively quiet, and the spring chill has pricked your skin. Your heels click against the pavement, and you stalk along. Shoving your hands in your pockets of the pink, shag jacket, you huff.

You’re starting to feel the anxiety.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re both approaching the blue glow of the storefront.

Computers & Stuff was a family-owned and operated computer shop from the 90s that was taken over by a lesser-known hand of the Russian crime family in New York, the Gardzovs. Alexei’s father is the formal owner of the shop, and his son runs the lucrative activities of the underground club that lay beneath the graphics cards and motherboards.

Bucky, as you both near the entrance, speaks quickly. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Just follow my lead, okay?” you whisper.

The bell above the door dings when you pull open the glass door.

The lighting is sterile and if you’re real quiet, you can hear the dull hum of the fluorescents. The store is empty, save for one man behind the register.

You almost duck out the entrance at the sight of him.

Igor has been a bouncer at The Glass Cannon for as long as you’ve been a patron — and he’s also one of Alexei’s dogs. This part of the plan was something you’d considered only briefly, and for a second, you’re thankful you worried over the million and ten ways this would play out for days.

“Well, if it isn’t the little bunny.”

It’s said with malice. Igor’s tattooed hands land on the counter as he leans.

You, however, hold your head high. Bucky watches as something changes in your posture.

“Good to see you, Igor.”

“Is it?” he growls, stalking around the counter and quickly encroaching on your personal space, “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not welcome here, bunny.”

Bucky gets a good look at the man now — clearly an enforcer. He’s got prison tattoos, a shaved head. The long beard is a weak spot. Doesn’t seem to be armed. Blue eyes flick to you and the way you don’t even flinch when the man leans to breathe right in your face.

You just smile.

“I thought you’d say that,” you mumble, moving to swing your bag to the front and dig your wallet out, “But, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Suddenly, there’s a hundred-dollar bill slipping from your well-manicured nails into the vest pocket of the bouncer. There’s a tense pause, then, while the two of you size one another up.

“Fucking your way through college paid off, huh?” he hisses.

You stay quiet.

Bucky, though, moves between you both with a quick shove. Immediately, Igor’s attention goes to Bucky as he sizes him up — he laughs. His nose is nearly touching Bucky’s.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“You should watch your mouth,” Bucky says evenly, “Or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

You’re careful to hide your expression; the feeling the words stir isn’t one that you’re happy about. This sudden protectiveness, though, makes you feel some sort of invincible.

Igor settles back on his heels.

He steps back.

He gestures to the back room with his head.

You keep walking when he calls out: “Careful, bunny, the dogs are going to be looking for you.”

You grit your teeth tightly and push through the fabric curtain.

He barks, taunting you.

Bucky is by your side in an instant, gaze still rooted over his shoulder at the hulking bouncer. He waits until you’ve settled down until you’ve said his name. His eyes fall to you, then to the stairwell before them.

Above it, in curled neon tubing, reads The Glass Cannon.

The windows are blacked out, but from his spot at the top of the stairs, Bucky can feel the rattle of a deep bass vibrate his ribs.

“Come on. We’re on a time crunch now.”

“Alexei?”

You nod as you lead the way down the stairs. “Word travels fast. We need to be quicker. Stick to the crowds. Remember, we just need to find Kiwi — then we bail.”

Bucky nods tensely.

Then, you open the doors.

Immediately, his eyes adjust to the darkness — neon and strobes and the pulse of purple and pink LEDs make his vision swim. It’s warmer down here, and the stairs leading down into the sub-basement is lined with people sipping drinks and chattering over the loud music. It smells like piss and beer and tobacco.

Again, Bucky watches as the person he knows melts away.

The Rabbit in front of him is different.

You reach, as if on reflex, for his hand.

When you turn around and flash him a smile, he has to swallow down a sudden rise of sheepishness.  

The sea of people part around you, and Bucky realizes quickly that people recognize you. He can see their painted lips moving, muttering things into curious ears about the pink-clad woman in front of him; there are smiles there and frowns, and shock. You’re slow in your descent, making a show of the arrival — all while Bucky begins to piece together that The Glass Cannon is larger than he originally suspected.

As they near the bottom of the landing, he can see out across the floor.

There’s a square-shaped catwalk around the dance floor, laden with dancers on their designated poles. Tables line the outside of the cavernous room, and the bars along each wall are crowded — even still, these glimpses of his surroundings come in temporary flashes of light. The music coming from the center of the dancefloor is loud. The entirety of the scene is raucous.

He can’t imagine you finding solace here.

He tightens his grip on your hand. You squeeze back.

When both of you reach the bottom of the stairwell, the sea of people swallow you in a current of dancing and drinking and laughing, and you crawl into Bucky’s personal space to shout in his ear.

You’re still holding his hand tightly, pressed to his chest, as you lean upwards to brush your cheek with his.

“Follow me, okay?”

He nods.

You begin the methodical crawl through the dancefloor, working your way to the bar — there, you pause long enough to be served a drink that’s as pink as the glitter on your eyelids. The flecks dance in the lights, and Bucky graciously accepts a shot from the bartender who smiles sweetly like honey at you.

You bat your lashes, thank her, and stand gracefully from the barstool.

You take a pointed swig and scan the floor.

Kiwi would be in one of the private booths, you suspect — she was enough of a high roller here. But, with the crowded club bursting at the seams, it was nearly impossible to get to the other side. You sway a bit on your feet, still tightly gripping Bucky’s hand in your own. You refuse to let go.

For your sake and his.

Bucky is a silent shadow, eyes roaming the club — he watches a dancer dip down low and snag a green bill from a patron. Someone beside him laughs loud, another bumping into his backside as you continue to weave to the outer rim of the room. The music is so loud his heartbeat could be mistaken for an 808, and he feels the thrum in his bones.

If he wasn’t so overwhelmed, if he was drunk, maybe it could be fun.

Finally, out of the haze of bodies, Bucky can breathe.

You’re leaning over again, speaking quickly.

“I don’t see her.”

“I can’t see shit in here,” he calls back, eyes moving along the ridge of the room. He scans the booths set into the walls, set up on platforms, and roped off with velveteen, “Where would she be?”

“Hard to tell,” you mumble, “But I think I might need to go to Plan B.”

Bucky follows your solid stare.

In the booth directly across the floor from you, there’s a man in black — black everything, save from his hair. That’s the brightest blue Bucky has ever seen. He’s swallowed by a harem of men and women who are laughing and drinking and dancing, and he’s entertaining. Ringed fingers wave in the air, face split into a laugh so wide he swears it’s a mile long. He’s got glasses on and they’re tinted blue.

Bucky watches carefully as you move to his booth.

It’s like a prey surveying a trap — you’re careful.

Finally, when you stand before it, you let go of his hand.

“Hi there, Climber.”

The whole booth falls silent. The man stiffens, back turned to you totally. Bucky watches as his hands fall and slowly, the man you’d called Climber turns around.

His expression is stone cold.

His voice, however, is as warm as a hot poker.

“Oh my goodness, is that Rabbit?”

He ascends from the booth, platform boots leaving him to tower over you — he’s no small man, either. Bucky watches as he bends to kiss both of your cheeks and hug you tightly. He, however, doesn’t pull away entirely.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he hisses, “You want to be roadkill?”

“I need to find Kiwi,” you whisper quickly, expression almost begging, “Please.”

He pauses, dimpled chin wavering a bit. Bucky watches him sniff, push his glasses back, and readjust his posture. Climber licks his lips and his eyes dart to Bucky. He’s thinking, Bucky realizes, and after a quick moment of deliberation, he seems to cave.

“Only because I owe you.”

“I know,” you say, raising your hands, “I know.”

In a dash, his demeanor changes once more. He’s flying over to his harem, waving his hands and blowing kisses and promising he’ll be back in a flash. They whine, they moan, but Climber appeases them with another round of jello shots from strobing syringes that a waitress is carrying by.

“Come on then,” he says, “And stop looking like such a prude.”

He begins to weave.

You follow hand returning to its spot in Bucky’s like a lifeline.

You’re sipping your drink, moving through the crowd easily. There’s a slight sway in your step now, and at one point you and Climber even get noticed by a pod of people who recognize your faces. It’s met with laughing and squealing and in the fray, the both of you slip back into the crowd. Bucky is taking it all in, desperately ignoring the tingle of a panic flaring in the back of his head.

Too many people.

Soon, though, Climber is moving towards a side entrance.

It’s a back room.

Suddenly, the dim lights and neon dissolve, and instead, Bucky is flashed in the face with the abrasive sting of fluorescent lights. It no longer reeks of spilled beer, and his boots don’t stick to the ground. No, there’s quiet chatter back here — Climber continues to lead the two of you through a maze of supply crates full of booze and soda.

Then, a right turn. And a left turn.

Someone is taking inventory.

“Kiwi, I know you’re going to hate me for this—”

The woman who turns around is beautiful. She’s in the midst of eyeing an open crate that looks just like the others but fitted with a hollowed center, marking off what looks like an inventory of burner cell phones. Her brown skin is decorated with glitter, her eyes streaked with the same green shade of her tightly shaved head. The green is bright and it reminds Bucky of summer.

Suddenly, her expression sours.

“What the fuck.”

“I know—”

“No,” she snaps, raising her hand and waving to the assistant beside her to take her tablet and make themselves scarce, “You need to get out of here.”

“I need your help,” you say finally, tone heavy.

It’s enough to make Climber sigh. Kiwi watches you, scratches her neck, and swallows.

She meets Climber’s eyes.

Then she breaks.

“Where the fuck have you been, Rabbit?” she asks, worries seeping into her eyes as she pulls you into a rough hug, “We thought you were dead.”

“No,” you shake your head, “But you know I couldn’t be around here anymore.”

“Yea,” Climber snorts, “Not good for your health, huh, love?”

“Alexei still wants your head,” Kiwi chimes in, crossing her arms, “Does he know you’re here?”

“Igor was on the door, so I’m sure he’s heard by now.”

Both of them curse.

Guilt flashes across your face as you screw your eyes shut and nod. “I know. I know, I just… I seriously need your help, Kiwi. It was worth the risk. It’s — HYDRA. I need to tap into the Alexandria Library.”

Immediately, the woman stiffens.

Her eyes flash to Bucky in the corner. He stares back.

“He waits outside.”

“You can trust him—”

“No,” she snaps, “I can’t. And I don’t. And I won’t.”

You give Bucky a pleading look. Between the two of you, a negotiation happens between your eyes. It’s a compromise, and finally, Bucky relents.

“Fine,” Bucky barks, tilting his head and giving you a tight-lipped smile, “Fine. I’ll wait out here.”

“He’s cute,” mumbles Climber as Bucky rounds the corner, long legs carrying him out of the supply room, “Boyfriend?”

“Shut up, Climber,” you mumble, waving your hand, “Just listen—”

“Who is he?” Kiwi asks, eyes still watching the doorway, “And why did you bring him along?”

You sigh, rubbing your brow. “He’s the one who’s trying to find this HYDRA agent. He knew her before.”

“So he’s HYDRA.”

“No,” you snap cooly, “He’s not.”

“So, just handsome, then?” Climber asks, hands waving, “Right. Great. Really making a case for yourself, Rabbit.”

“He’s trying to find a woman named Innessa Sidrova. She was one of the original agents who helped form the American HYDRA cell,” you explain quickly, “I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and… And he’s a good person. He’s my friend. I’m trying to help him, but I can’t do it without you. Both of you.”

Kiwi hums. She sighs. “That explains why you went MIA.”

“Aside from putting Alexei behind bars?” you scoff, “Yea, the GRC played a part in it.”

The three of you are quiet for a moment.

“Fine.”

You look up at Kiwi. Her hands are on her waist.

There’s an immense wash of relief that floods over you at that moment — and from the looks of it, Kiwi can tell. You move to grab her hand, and she grabs back. Both of you smile, and the hug that follows is warm. You’ve missed her. A lot.

“Thank you, Suji.”

Then, footsteps.

That relief is traded in for an anxious backfire of fear in an instant.

It’s slow. Dress shoes on polished cement.

Then:

“Oh, bunny, bunny, bunny. Tsk, tsk.”

Climber and Kiwi’s faces upturn to the doorway and they tell you everything you need to know.

So, you decide at that moment that you won’t be the prey tonight.

You turn around and come face-to-face with a man playing devil.

Alexei Gardzov is a handsome man — a beard and piercing grey eyes. His hair is tightly cropped, and intricate tattoos decorate every inch of his skin. Some of them are new, you realize, and there’s temporary pride that bubbles up at them. They’re from prison.

You almost smile.

Behind him, three goons loom.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d come hopping back,” he croons as he enters the room with the swagger of a man who trapped his dinner, “Well worth the wait, I think.”

His cologne hangs like smog in the air. He strolls up to you, and in a flash, he’s got your hair in a vice grip.

He yanks it back, you grit your teeth.

The barrel of a gun digs into your cheek.

“Climber, Kiwi, and Rabbit,” he sing-songs, “All in one room again like it’s NYU’s 2014 hack-a-thon. Isn’t that cute?”

Kiwi speaks. “Alexei—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, gun moving to flash towards Kiwi, “And stay out of my business, Sujina.”

The gun’s muzzle is cold. He’s rough, and you try to ignore the twinge of pain that comes with his unceremonious yank of your hair. Once more, he tsks. His breath is hot on your face. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey.

“I spent seven years behind bars,” he bites, “All because a’ you.”

“Me? I wasn’t the one trafficking girls—”

“SHUT UP!”

The pistol cracks across your cheek and the cement floor hurtles towards you. The gasp that falls from your lips is from shock; your fingers dig into the cold ground as you try to blink away the blurriness. Your ears ring. Blood drips from your cheek between your fingers.

Again, there’s a hand in your hair.

Now, the fight begins.

Climber and Kiwi are stuck, frozen in fear.

You don’t blame them, because Igor and the others have guns already drawn. One of them, one that’s young and you don’t recognize immediately, has a baseball bat in his hands.

Alexei drags you by your hair as you grimace, refusing to scream. Your heels scrape against the ground as you try to get purchase, but he’s quick to throw you back against the far wall.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he smiles, “I won’t kill you. Not right now.”

Then, a kick.

Right to the ribs.

You can’t breathe — you gasp earnestly at the white, hot shot of pain.

“Get up.”

You’re not listening, you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

“I said,” comes a growl as he reaches, hand in your hair again as he drags you up the wall. Your legs buckle, and you try to hold your chin high as you stumble upwards, “Get up.”

Then, there’s a hand around your throat.

Tight. Too tight. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t get his hand off your neck, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t fucking think, can’t stand, can’t see, can’t breathe —

“Boss!”

A new voice.

The pressure is relieved for a second.

A new face has run into the room — he looks frazzled, hair askew and gun out. He’s eyeing the scene before him in a moment’s pause.

“Can’t you see I’m a little bit busy?” Alexei snags as you gasp, clawing at his hand. He swings his head to the figure in the doorway with an annoyed bark, “What is it?”

“The cops, boss,” he stammers, “They’re here.”

“What?”

“They’re here for her, boss.”

A slow turn to where his finger is pointing. His gaze lands on you. Alexei laughs.

“Well,” he says as the goon disappears, “Isn’t that just peachy, bunny?”

The choking starts again.

Then, a metal hand.

Vibranium.

You watch it swing, you watch it grab Alexei’s throat.

Suddenly, you can breathe.

Suddenly, Bucky Barnes enters the fight.

You make friends with the ground again as you duck, just as Alexei is rammed into the wall above your head by his throat. As you cough while Kiwi calls your name — you can hear a fight. But everything’s moving slow, and it’s not until the first gunshot that you’re kicked into action. It’s loud. Your skin pricks alive.

Someone screams.

You stumble to your feet, eyes finding Bucky’s form moving quickly between the three goons — the gunshot had come from the pistol that had somehow found its way into Bucky's flesh and blood hand. One of the men is on the floor, suit pants stained with a bullet wound through the thigh. He’s wailing. Bucky doesn’t notice. Or he doesn’t care. Maybe both.

His face is cold.

Another gunshot is fired off, this time richoting between you and Kiwi and Climber and embedding itself into the cement wall overhead. The three of you scream, ducking reflexively.

That’s when Bucky snaps.

“Now would be a good time to go!”

Kiwi’s hands are on your arm as you quickly break through the doorway through the storage room. Climber is following, checking over his shoulder at the carnage that Bucky begins to reap in the room.

He’s hysterical, trying to jog in his white platform boots. “What the fuck, Rabbit!”

Your voice is hoarse. You’re clutching your ribs. “Not now, Climber!”

“I’m parked in the back,” Kiwi says, ducking through plastic flaps as she helps you through the back of the club, “Come on, we’ll go through the trucking entrance.”

You hear Bucky call your name — he’s jogging to catch up, gun drawn in his hand. Seems like he made good work of the others, sporting nothing more than a split lip. You turn, pausing for a moment to take inventory of his well-being.

And that’s all it takes.

Alexei Gardzov, limping, steps in front of you and Kiwi and Climber at an intersection in the hallway.

There’s a gun in his hand.

The first thing you feel is the impact.

Like a truck slamming into you at full speed. For the fourth time tonight, you have the air robbed from your lungs. It’s instant confusion.

Then comes the pain. Hot. Hotter than the sun. Hot like white flames. It tears through your shoulder and all you can do is gasp; you’re sent into a stutter step — and while the world around you continues to move, you’re busy reconciling with the fact you’ve just been shot.

A bullet flies by your head.

Alexei Gardzov drops.

You’re grasping at your chest, staggering, when Bucky breaks into a sprint — but you’re okay. You’re okay, it’s just your shoulder, it’s just your arm, you’re okay, you can feel your fingers and you can breathe and the pain is nearly unbearable but you’re okay.

Then, a baseball bat.

It clocks Bucky directly in the skull. He’s clotheslined.

It’s Igor.

The gun from Bucky’s hands clatters across the ground to your feet, and you’re too busy trying to get to Bucky to realize — but, you’ve got tunnel vision and adrenaline and at that moment, you think a good sidekick doesn’t need anything else in this life.

Igor goes to swing at you, but you duck. Your stiletto crushes through the top of his shoe. He screams and in a flurry of pain and panic, you manage to snag the bat quick enough to turn and clock him under the chin with a roll of the wrist.

His teeth clack together and he falls backward, unconscious.

“God, I really wish you could have seen that, Buck.”

You spit. Blood paints the ground.

The bat clatters to the cement as you fight through the pain. Kiwi and Climber are by your side in an instant.

“No, no!” she screams, “We do not have time for this—”

“I am not leaving him,” you snap, nearly screaming at the woman, “Come on and help me with him. Now.”

After a sigh of resignation, Kiwi shoves the gun she’d snagged from the ground into the back of her jeans. You’ve got your hands around Bucky’s ankles as Kiwi and Climber take his torso — and the four of you make a break for the back entrance. You can hear the cops outside now, and there’s the chatter of Russian following you into the back parking lot.

“Hurry up!”

“He’s not exactly light as a feather, you know!”

“Shut up, Climber!”

You’ve got Bucky halfway into the back seat of Kiwi’s white Cadillac when another bullet whizzes by your head.

“Fuck.”

Kiwi hops into the driver’s seat as Climber scatters to hop the hood and throws himself into the passenger's seat. You lean, clinging to the door of the backseat as Kiwi peels out of the parking lot. It swings wide open and you curse loudly. You can see Alexei’s men watching from the back entrance, shouting in Russian — so you muster all your strength to pull back and throw the door closed as Kiwi’s car bounces over a speed bump and rams through the parking meter’s gate.

In the rear window, the front of the club is surrounded.

Red and blue lights illuminate the street — but Kiwi is quick.

No one follows.

And when she finally makes it to the Manhattan Bridge, you exhale.

Bucky’s head is in your lap. He still hasn’t come to — there’s blood coming from his nose and you’re worrying. You lace your fingers into his thick, brown hair and chew your lip.

Kiwi’s voice pulls you from him.

“When were you going to mention the vibranium arm, huh?”

You laugh. It’s more of a breath of air than anything. Your head rests back against the seat. Your shoulder is still on fire. You’re hot, but cold. You’re bleeding still. Your ribs aren’t right. You know that.

“I can’t believe he shot you,” Climber mumbles, “He fucking shot you.”

“And your boy toy shot him,” Kiwi says, sparing you a look in the rearview, “So you better pray he’s dead.”

You ignore the commentary.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” she says, accelerating into Manhattan, “Where I can get you those files and you can keep your head down.”

Sounds like a plan.

Better than the one you had, anyways.