#electric bike bell

[elixirfromthestars]

Usual

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Florist!Reader

Summary: Bucky keeps to his usual routine every week. On Mondays, it includes you.

Word Count: ~700

Warning(s): none. fluffy goodness <3 established nickname ⟶ tulip

a/n: This Bucky has been swimming in my head for a while, so this little drabble came out as a result. Hope you enjoyed reading! Feedback is always appreciated 🤍 Also I'm hosting a little writing challenge if you want to check it out. 🤍

the whole collection ♡

The bells above your shop door chimed a short melody as it opened. The steady thud of heavy boots followed suit. You turn to face the entrance with your usual welcoming demeanor. 

It was Monday. He always comes on Monday. 

“ Hey, Bucky. Here for the usual?” You ask like clockwork, already knowing the answer. 

“ ‘Course, Tulip,” he replies, smiling at you with that usual twinkle in his eyes. The one that only shows up when he talks to you. You can’t help the way your heart skips a beat when he uses that nickname he gave you months ago. 

“ Coming right up,” you respond, turning to the small shelves behind the counter. The ones lined up with your homemade jams and honeys. Every Monday he buys three of each to serve at his bar in a mix of different snack dishes. 

His favorite happens to be the one he named after you—Tulip’s Sweet Special.  

Bucky strolls over to the flowers that align the walls adjacent to the front counter. Rows upon rows of an array of colors and different-sized petals. A rainbow of the prettiest blooms nature has to offer. 

Meanwhile, you’re putting the mason jars of sweet spreads in a small wicker basket. Glancing at him briefly to stare at his side profile and the way he looks at the flowers intently. Almost as if waiting for them to speak to him. 

You wonder what flowers he’ll choose today. 

You don’t have to wonder for long as he walks over to the counter with a bouquet of white and pink daises, adorned with a touch of lavender. You look at them with a knowing smile on your face. The rugged biker almost looks comical—in the sweetest way—with the bouquet in hand. 

“ Will that be all?” You ask him, motioning to the flowers and the goods in the basket. Bucky nods, lightly scratching at the stubble on his face,“ That’s all, Tulip. And I’ll get ya that basket of yours later. Forgot it back at the bar,” he mentions the basket he borrowed a week ago to transport last week’s items on his bike. 

Of course, he forgot it. He always does. 

“ No need. I’ll just come by the bar later and get it,” you say to him—this little forgetful exchange an excuse to see each other again. It's about the fifth time you’ve done this little rendezvous in the last two months. 

Bucky grins in a way that would make any woman swoon,“ I’ll be waitin’ on ya then.” You can’t help the warmth that finds its way to your face. 

You ring him up, and as you’re getting his change ready he places the flowers in the empty vase on the counter. The one you leave for whatever flowers he buys for you that week. You look at them and the way he delicately places them inside, with a tender care you were one of a handful of people who’s ever seen him dawn. The action envelopes you with a doting affection.

“ Thank you for the flowers, Bucky,” you say with a soft sincerity. No matter how many times he buys you flowers the action still causes your heart to flutter.

“ No need for the thanks—or the change,” he says, lightly closing your fingers around the change in your hand with his calloused one. The slight touch is electric and it makes you both yearn for more. 

You give him that look. That usual look that says you’re doing this again and he replies with a look that conveys hell yeah I am.

You know better than to argue with that look. 

“ Come spend it at my bar later instead,” he suggests shrugging nonchalantly—but his eyes and grin reflect everything but nonchalance. There’s a deep rooted sentiment there that is desperate to be freed and brought to the surface.

You hum, pretending to think about it,“ Alright, deal.” Bucky responds to your agreement by giving you a pleased nod.

Bucky grabs the basket of goods. The rough exterior of his hands contrasted with the gentle almost tender way he held the basket. He was always delicate and careful with anything that belonged to you.

The basket looked so much smaller when he held it. 

Bucky sends you a farewell wink,“ See ya later, Tulip,” and then he turns to leave with a small wave of his hand.

“ See you later, Bucky,” you reply before leaning on the counter, hands resting in your palms. You watch him walk back out to his motorcycle with a longing stare. 

When he was out of sight, you listened intently to the revving of his engine bike, anticipating the day you two would go past the usual.

Until then you’d cherish this routine affair.

[pisupsala]

Hitchin' a ride

Or two times you told John Egan no, and the one time you said yes.

Part 1 of Are You Going My Way?

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader Words: 7k Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, hospitals

It gets dark early in winter in East Anglia. By the time you leave the ward, it’s pitch dark despite it barely being past dinner time. Huddled in your dark blue wool cape, you trudge along the side of the road, holding a small torch to light your way. There’s a cold, biting wind tonight, and it feels like it’s going through every layer you’re wearing, straight through your bones. Breath shuddering, you pick up your pace, the gravel barrier between the road and the grass crunching under your standard-issue brown boots. The faster you get back to the nurse’s barracks, the faster you’re out of this wind and soaking your sore feet and cold toes.

Thorpe Abbots sprawls strangely, but you usually don’t mind. The quiet walk at the end of the long shifts in the operating room, rounds on the intensive care ward, cleaning, and inventory is your moment of solace. A moment where you can finally let the smile fall off your face, where you can grit out the curses you've bitten back all day, the crinkle in time when you are allowing the tears to well up and drip down your face silently.

There is no textbook or training to prepare you for the horrific reality. Torn flesh, burns, and the blood. The fear and agony. The pained screaming. The blind panic.

You have never felt more that you are where you need to be, yet you are so completely and utterly powerless.

A light catches your eye, reflecting on the trees around you in a ghostly flicker. Glancing over your shoulder, the light floats through the darkness, gliding towards you. The soft ding of a bicycle bell pulls you out of your reverie. Turning fully, the light casting off your torch finally illuminates the figure on the bicycle. 

“Major Egan,” You greet him, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice. He has no reason to be here. There’s nothing down this road but the building with the nurses’ quarters. It’s not the first time you’ve encountered Major Egan somewhere he has no reason to be. But you, as an army nurse and merely a first lieutenant, are not about to question him on that.

“You shouldn’t be walking here alone at night, lieutenant,” He tells you, stopping next to you. You stop, too, taking a good look at him—because why wouldn’t you—as he gets off his bike. 

A little too friendly, a little too forward. His bright, sharp blue eyes are contrasted by luscious dark curls and that devilish smile. Tall, broad-shouldered, and moving with a confident grace, he is hard to miss. And if you were to somehow overlook him in a crowd, he commands, demands, attention. There is something dangerously magnetic about him, something electric.

You best keep your distance.

“Don’t worry about me, please, Major,” You reply politely. “It’s not late, and I know the way,” 

“Are you done for today?” He asks conversationally, smiling, his eyes crinkling happily. The tips of his ears are red from the cold. In the middle of a quiet road, in the dark, in freezing temperatures, it’s an odd place for polite conversation.

“Yes, I’m heading back to my quarters,” You smile. “Long day,” You add, hoping to cut the conversation short, desperately trying to suppress the full body shiver from the cold. You notice with some envy that Major Egan seems wonderfully unbothered by the biting wind in his sheepskin jacket. You nod at him, turning back in the direction you had been heading, gingerly taking a step. Hopefully, he gets the hint.

“I could give you a ride,” 

You stop dead in your tracks, looking back at him wide-eyed. 

“I’m heading in the same direction, so you’d get there quicker,” He beams at you with that brilliant smile, patting the carrier at the back of the bike. Instinctively, you start shaking your head, trying to keep yourself from vocalizing your thoughts.

You’d be out of the wind. You’d be in the warm faster. You’d have to get close to Major Egan and hold on to him. You bet that that sheepskin jacket is nice and warm. You bet Major Egan is nice and warm.

“Isn’t that the bike you almost lost an eye for?” Your sense of self-preservation is stronger, has to be stronger, than any magnetic force or joking flirtation from Major John Egan.

“Almost?” He seems surprised you brought it up but recovers quickly. “I remember it differently — it was a bullseye, not my eye,” 

He looks at you like he’s expecting you to laugh with him, but you just blink in disbelief. That’s an awful joke. For a mere second, in the reflected light of your torch, you see his smile falter—he’s smart; he knew that was a dud. You purse your lips.

“I suppose I like my rides without stories of near-eye trauma attached,” You muse. It’s such a flimsy excuse.  

“Do you think it’s bad luck?” It’s a chillingly honest question, and all cheer has suddenly disappeared from his voice. You pause to think. It hadn’t really occurred to you that Major Egan might be a particularly superstitious man; somehow, he didn’t seem the type. But in these times, superstition creeps up on even the most staunch rationalists.

“Luck has nothing to do with it, Major,” you finally admit, eyeing him carefully. He frowns, suddenly unsure of the gravity of the conversation through his own too-candid question. “I would just hate to encourage any of that sort of behavior,” You add lightly.

“So, you would have accepted if I had a different bike?” He sounds on the precipice of hopeful, but the laughter in his voice is evident again. He changes so quickly and bounces back from everything in a mere second — it’s all a joke, after all. He’ll do you a favor and then jokingly ask for a kiss. And then maybe another. And then he’ll move on to whatever or whoever catches his eye next. 

You wrinkle your nose. No. You’re not interested, you repeat to yourself. If you were, you might as well have stayed at home and practiced your good graces at dinner parties. You joined the Army Nurse Corps because you wanted to do something, mean something.

“I’m going now,” You clench your jaw to stop your teeth from clattering. “Good night, Major Egan,”

“Suit yourself, lieutenant,” He grins, undeterred, as he watches you turn on your heel, huddling into yourself to protect yourself from the wind. Truthfully, Bucky wasn’t expecting that you would accept his offer. If anything, he wanted to see how you’d react: your replies are always calm and composed, so very proper, but you have a bad poker face. From the way you scrunch up your nose in annoyance to how the corner of your mouth sometimes threatens to pull into a smile at his jokes. And Bucky notices that your gaze lingers just slightly longer than would be polite, although nothing coming out of your mouth would corroborate that. It’s adorable. It’s intriguing. And he knows you won’t make it easy on him.

But that’s not why he keeps thinking about you. That’s not why he goes out of his way to look for you.

You suddenly took root in his thoughts only a few weeks back. It had been a bad day. Worse than Bucky had seen in a while, there had been many bad days lately. 

Being Air Exec has some perks, mostly that other people don’t really question why he’s wandering the halls of the infirmary at the dead of night. In the hallway, set up on provisional cots, medics are asleep, still fully dressed. They just collapsed on the first soft spot the moment they could. He can hardly blame them.

His footsteps echo through the dark rooms. The wounded men in the beds are fast asleep — it’s eerily quiet except for the occasional snore. 

He’s not sure why he’s here. Maybe it’s to assuage some of the guilt he’s feeling — he’s fine after all. He didn’t go up with them, after all. Maybe because he needs to see the pain with his own eyes, afraid that he’ll forget.

The doctor on duty is doing rounds, his desk empty, when Bucky slips through the swinging double doors to where the heaviest casualties are put up. The air in the room feels different—heavier. It’s not quiet—labored breathing, raspy, sometimes gurgling, groans of pain in artificial sleep. He really shouldn’t be here. 

All beds are full.

It’s been a really bad day.

It’s there that he notices you first: sitting on the floor, arms crossed and tucked up against yourself, head leaning against the wall, and legs bent at an uncomfortable angle. In the first second, he thinks someone fell out of their bed. But as Bucky gets closer, he recognizes you — the seersucker cotton dress, the matching cap now crumpled and skewed on your head, and the clearly scuffed and dirty white oxfords. You are one of the OR nurses.

He’s seen you around, just in passing. In chaos between casualties, just from the corner of his eye. Sometimes, you showed up at dances or parties, and Bucky had noticed your cute laugh from across the room, the way your entire face lit up when you smiled. And he knows he’s not the only one who has noticed the delightful sway of your hips as you walk, evident even through your dress uniform. But you made damn sure to make yourself unavailable by sticking with your girlfriends. He’s never seen you accept a drink or dance with someone.

Your mouth is slightly open as you breathe deeply, your form cast in the pale moonlight peeking through the sides of the blinds. Bucky wouldn’t let a woman sleep on the floor in normal circumstances, but in this case, waking you up would be cruel — there isn’t a bed free in the whole hospital. And even bad sleep is better than no sleep.

He moves past you carefully, mentally putting names to all the men here. Those that made it. That’s a good thing, right? They made it. Bucky doesn’t recognize the figure moaning in pain louder and louder, hands desperately grasping at the neatly tucked-in covers —  his entire head is covered with a thick layer of white bandages, not even leaving a slit for his eyes, just a small opening for his mouth. He hesitates before his curiosity takes over and moves by the side of the bed to look closer. It’s a good thing, right?

He should do something to help him.

Bucky is so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice you brushing past him. He almost jumps out of his skin when your torch suddenly clicks on at the foot of the bed. You are bleary-eyed, blinking rapidly as your eyes fly over the patient chart. 

“He is due for a new round of pain medication,” You state softly, voice still thick with sleep, before looking up at Bucky. “Major,” is all you say in acknowledgment of him.

“Nurse—lieutenant,” He mumbles in reply, increasingly on edge from the patient’s distress. “What are you—” Before he can start running his mouth in confused ramble, you trust the torch at him.

“Hold this, please, Major,” Your voice is barely above a whisper, yet it cuts through the noises easily in its steadiness and calmness. The small torch is now in his hand, your fingers brushing over his palm unintentionally as you move through the dark. It’s like a small spark burned the spot where your fingertip touches his skin. “Up, please,”

Bucky complies, shining the light from a high angle as you prepare a syringe. You look exhausted, but nothing in your movement betrays that. Clinical, precise, and so calm. He watches you speak softly to your patient, your free hand wrapped loosely around his wrist, a syringe poised in the other. But the patient is struggling harder, too panicked, and in too much pain. 

It happens in a split second.

The patient sits up so quickly that Bucky almost stumbles back in surprise. The patient now has an iron grip on your lower arm, white knuckles, moving in a blind frenzy, pulling you clean off your feet, half over the bed. You yelp in as much surprise as in pain as your knee collides with the metal bed frame. Your face is contorted in pain as you struggle back, trying to regain your footing. 

“It’s okay, I’m here to help you,” You keep repeating patiently. Never let them know you are scared: they can’t calm down if you are not in control.

Your voice doesn’t waver one bit. Bucky clenches the small torch between his teeth, trying to free your arm from the patient’s grip. 

“N- no” You breathe, clearly in pain now. “Please, Major, just help me to hold him still,” 

You are still holding the syringe, poised to strike. Grabbing the patient by the shoulder and forcing him back against the pillow. In the struggle, the torch falls from his mouth. It clatters on the tile floor and rolls away. He is so focused on his task that it’s almost by surprise when the struggle ends within a few seconds, and the patient drifts off again. He never saw you give the injection.

You both stand there, breathing heavily. Bucky bends down to retrieve the torch from the floor. It’s still shining, although it flickers uncertainly with every move. When he straightens back up, he catches you looking at your arm, the brown sleeve of your vest rolled up messily. When you realize he’s looking at you, you pull the sleeve back down and busy yourself tucking the patient back in. But Bucky has seen the angry red fingerprints imprinted on your forearm.

“Thank you, Major Egan,” Not a quiver in your tone, although your breathing has barely slowed down. “It’s probably best you go now,” 

“Are you alright?” He cannot help but ask, gaze traveling to your arm. He can’t help but notice you must have been issued a vest a size up, as the sleeves are a bit too long on you. It’s adorable.

“Please don’t worry about me,” You reply, smiling, but it’s clearly a deflection. The corners of your mouth are quirked up, but your eyes just spell tired. “You should try to get some rest, Major. The sun will be up soon,”

There is a certain sense of irony in you telling him that. At least he has a bed to go to, you think wryly. You start walking towards the ward exit, signaling he should follow you. 

“Will you be okay here by yourself, lieutenant?” It’s not his place to worry about you, but you are just… you. And these men are in pain, scared, and -

“The doctor will be back from his rounds soon,” Your soft voice pulls Bucky from his thoughts. You stand at the door, holding it open for him. If he hadn’t just seen that chaos happen, he would have never guessed by your demeanor anything happened.  As he passes you, you salute him. He salutes you back, gazing over to you. The tips of your fingers are shaking. 

The thought is sudden and overwhelming: he wants to lace his fingers through yours, pull you against him, and hold you until you stop shaking.

“Goodnight, Major,” You whisper with a pointed look. You want him out of here so you can check on your throbbing knee and painful arm away from his prying eyes.

“Goodnight, lieutenant,” He replies, tearing his eyes away from you.

***

In early spring, it seems like the rain never stops, from semi-permanent drizzle to raindrops rhythmically ticking against the window pane to the torrential downpour you find yourself in now. The drab-colored trench coat is putting up a valiant fight to keep you dry.

You’re holding your purse over your head but to no avail. The cold trickle of water from your sodden hair travels down your spine. You’re trailing behind your friends, who are making good time through the storm. Water sloshes in your left boot, making it heavy, the drenched woolen sock rubbing painfully against your foot. 

Then you hear it. The all too-happy ding of a bicycle bell. 

You try to walk faster, gritting your teeth, but Major Egan has caught up with you in just seconds. You don’t stop to greet him, just glancing over at him with narrowed eyes. Gracefully, he jumps off the bike, matching your pace by foot easily. His dark curls are plastered to his forehead, his cap sagging under the weight of the water it must have absorbed. He shouldn’t look this good, sopping wet, especially when you feel so wretched.

“Lieutenant, I could get you where you need to be a whole lot quicker,” he calls out.

“No, thank you, Major,” Your tone is polite, but you keep walking, falling behind further and further from your friends as your left boot squelches with every step. You know he noticed. 

“You’re really not going to take me up on the offer? Even in this downpour?” 

“Most drops miss,” You can’t keep the scowl off your face as you march on. 

“You are so unbelievably stubborn,” He laughs. You don’t think you’re stubborn; you just don’t like feeling like your hand is being forced. 

“I don’t need you to save me, Major.” You tell him evenly, finally stopping and turning to him. You know your friends noticed you stopping but probably figured they were doing you a favor and kept going. 

Bucky regards you carefully — you look miserable. The curl has long been rained out of your hair; rivulets of water running down your face, dripping on the collar of your trench coat. The steep downturn of the corners of your mouth pretty much just seals the deal. But despite all the evidence, you would never admit you’re anything but fine. 

“Save you?” He sounds incredulous. Like the thought never even crossed his mind. 

You bite your lip — you might have said too much. But you are afraid that he might ask you for something if you owe Major Egan a favor. He will ask you for something. And you won’t be strong enough to tell him no maybe because you want him to ask. Who wouldn’t?

You’ve seen him look at you from across the room before, and when you scrape together the courage to meet his gaze, it’s like electricity. Short, intense, and almost painful. And then he looks away, his attention turning so fleetingly. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Forget it,” You mumble, clearly embarrassed. Closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, you wish nothing about this moment was happening right now. When you peek through your lashes at Major Egan, you note he looks concerned.

“For what it’s worth,” He clears his throat, not a trace of humor in his voice. “I never considered you to require saving, lieutenant.” 

You keep looking at him sharply, finally shaking your head. “You have a funny way of showing it.” 

There is something deeply absurd about the whole conversation. Just tell him no. Just bid him goodnight and leave. Why are you even entertaining him with your feelings on this? And it’s clearly entertainment to him.

“I’m going to my quarters now, Major,” You state, feeling the need to be polite despite your increasingly impolite feelings about the situation. “And you’re going in the wrong direction,” You add pointedly as you start walking again. It feels like you have an entire puddle in your boot now.

“So what would you prefer, lieutenant? A more classic approach?” That devastatingly handsome grin is back on his face again as he walks beside you. How is that what he took from your last statement? Your shoulders sag when you feel the butterflies in your stomach. “At the next dance, I buy you a drink and sweep you off your feet on the dance floor?” 

“I might be more agreeable when it’s not freezing or raining,” You sigh like it’s paining you to admit it. Maybe he’s imagining it, but Bucky likes to think he saw the shadow of a smile pass over your face as you say it, even though your voice is painfully neutral. 

“Is that a yes?” Again, that hopeful edge. 

“No,” You reply curtly, but you feel bad the moment you say it because you see his smile fall — he’s staring at you somewhere between confusion and growing frustration. It’s making you feel bad. A horrible little selfish part of you wants him to only smile at you. Major Egan could light up a room with that smile — he regularly does. The selfish little monster in you wants to be the reason that he smiles like that. 

“Ask me again at the dance, Major,” You amend carefully.

The way his face breaks out in that broad, beaming smile makes you weak at the knees. 

***

Bucky is on pins and needles tonight. Even Buck, usually so even-tempered, is getting irritated with him. Drumming his fingers on the bar, tapping his foot not to the beat of the music but to blow off some of the anxious energy. People are flittering in and out of the hall, but there is no sign of you yet. He’s going through his whiskey too quickly, and it’s doing very little to calm his anticipation.

After an hour of only half-listening to the conversation going on around him, constantly glancing at his watch, he finally sees the pack of nurses come in. Bucky’s heart drops a little because you aren’t with the group. You’re always with that group. Knocking back the rest of his drink, he resolutely makes his way to the table now occupied by five gossiping nurses. All eyes are on him as he approaches.

“Good evening, ladies,” He smiles, eyes searching the table. All chairs are occupied — clearly, your friends aren’t saving you a seat. A chorus of good evenings and giggles comes in reply.

“How can we help you, Major Egan?” A blonde nurse asks, peering up through her lashes.

“I’m actually looking for my favorite nurse,” He replies easily, holding his smile despite feeling mildly annoyed. When he mentiones your name, another chorus of giggles. 

“I thought I was your favorite nurse,” One of the girls pipes up. The girls burst out laughing.

“She’s on the night shift,” An earnest, young-looking nurse cuts in, pushing up her glasses. Bucky doesn’t really recognize her — she must be quite new. “I asked to switch shifts because I haven’t been to a dance here before.”

“You should have found someone from the afternoon shift,” the blonde nurse sighs in a bored tone. “The poor girl is putting in a double shift now,”

“No one else would switch with me,” The bespectacled nurse defends herself with a small voice.

Bucky should be annoyed. Did you scheme this out on purpose? You run so hot and cold between your lingering looks and thinly veiled barbs. But then again. Of course, you would switch shifts with the new girl out of kindness. You slept on the floor to stay close to those most needed care. Doc sang your praises in the officer’s mess regularly for staying late to finish inventory, covering in emergencies, and keeping the OR running smoothly. Kindly caring for everyone around you.

He should be annoyed. But instead, he feels jealous. It’s a horrible feeling. But you cared more about the new girl than him? Is it really so bad that he wants your kind attention aimed at him? That he wants to be your choice? You wouldn’t even give him a shot. 

It just won’t do. But now, at least, he knows where to find you.

At the end of the dark hall, a faint light. A lone lamp on a lone desk, with a lone nurse sitting at it. You hear him coming, of course. Your bright eyes look straight at him as he emerges from the darkness. You are already getting up out of your chair, ready to greet him, notes and medical textbook forgotten on the desk.

“Good evening, Major Egan,” you greet him, your voice soft. Your gentle tone carries sweetly through the quiet hall. You didn’t expect him to come find you. It feels far too serious, far too earnest. You haven’t seen or spoken to Major Egan for over a week now, and for your own sake, you decide that he hadn’t been serious—that you hadn’t been serious. It was just banter.

Truthfully, you were slightly relieved the new girl asked you to switch shifts. But as you sat at the duty desk by yourself, blankly staring at the pages of your medical textbook, your stomach twisted painfully with regret. 

“Good evening, lieutenant -” you cut him off with a sharp shush, tapping your index finger against your lips. You step a bit closer to him, voice a sweet whisper. “Please keep it down,” 

A beat of silence as you’re both clearly uncomfortable in the strange situation you have suddenly found yourself in.

“How can I help you, Major?” You whisper politely as your eyes nervously, guiltily, dart around the room—anywhere but him. He looks sharp in his dress uniform. He smells nice. He clearly made an effort. And you’re standing here in your day-old hospital uniform. Self-consciously, you try to straighten the standard-issue white and brown stripe wrap-around dress. 

“I came looking for my favorite nurse,” Bucky replies sincerely, eyes boring into yours. 

“Then you must not be looking for me,” The words tumble out before you can stop yourself. Bucky nearly bursts out laughing at the pained look that crosses your face as you clamp your mouth shut. 

“I was waiting for you to show up at the dance,” He says with that same heavy sincerity. His stance is casual, hands in pockets and shoulders relaxed. But the way he fidgets — tapping and shuffling his foot — as he waits for you to reply hints that he is not nearly as calm as he’d like to appear.

“I had to stay,” You reply, still avoiding his gaze. It’s a half-truth. You could have said no. But the new girl seemed to want to go to the dance more badly than you did. It felt unfair. And you had convinced yourself quite thoroughly that Major Egan wouldn’t care or notice anyway.

Another silence falls. Neither quite sure where to go from here.

“How are the boys doing?” Bucky asks conversationally, reaching out to the large doors leading into the intensive care unit. On a whim, you grab his hand before he touches the handle, your fingers gently wrapping over the top of his large hand. He stills, and for a moment, you think he’ll shake your hand off his. But instead, he waits in acceptance.

“It won’t help you,” You whisper. It took you a while to figure out why Major Egan was in the hospital that night. When people spoke of him, they spoke of how much he cared for his men — a heavy burden to bear.

“Help me?” His voice is suddenly loud. He is offended at the notion that he’s doing it for himself and offended that you called him out like that. He opens his mouth again to argue with you.

Startled by the volume, your brain misfires fully, and instead of replying, your free hand reaches out to his face, your index finger landing on his soft lips to silence him. He stares at you wide-eyed. You are sure you look as shocked as he does. You try to gather your thoughts quickly.

“I - I understand,” You implore him in an urgent whisper, finally looking at him. Bucky sees his own sorrow reflected in your eyes. 

Sometimes, you can only wait. There is no next round of medicine; there is no operation that will help. Waiting for the body to do its work can be frustrating and maddeningly slow.

“But there is nothing you can do now, so going in won’t help you or them,” You swallow. Why is your finger still on his lips, and why is he letting you do that? “They need to rest. You need to rest.”

His fingers lace through yours as he steps closer. It’s inappropriate how close he is standing to you. It’s inappropriate how the tips of your fingers caress the seam of his lips. It’s inappropriate how your hand has latched onto his, his thumb drawing lazy circles on the pulse point of your wrist.

“I don’t need rest.” His voice is soft and close. The intimacy of his lips moving against your fingers is intense, each breath setting your nerve endings on fire. He leans into your touch, trailing from the corner of his mouth to his jaw. Finally, you look at him.

“Then what do you need?” Your question comes automatically. Always looking for how to help. Always so kind. He could melt into your soft touch, warm voice, and how you look at him so sweetly.

“I need to know when you’re done here so I can sweep you off your feet,” His eyes meet yours, keenly following your every move. 

You want to take a step back and break the increasingly feverish connection, away from his oddly earnest confession, but Bucky pulls you closer with a small tug on your hand. Your head is swimming; your heart is hammering in your chest. You shouldn’t entertain any of this, but it feels like your heart is pouring out of your mouth.

“My shift ends at 0500,” 

Bucky grins at you—not in a teasing way, but with that infectious broad smile—the one you cannot help but smile back. It gives you butterflies. You’re smiling at him now, beautifully, genuinely. It feels like a victory to Bucky.

“I’ll keep the party going if you promise me the last dance.” His voice is low and inviting; he is reeling you in further with every word.

“Don’t torture everyone on my account, please,” You feebly try to inject some levity into the situation. You know yourself well enough: you are no match for John Egan and his attentions. From sparks across the room, now it’s like you’ve touched the live wire, and the current has a hold on you. That’s why you always avoided him so.  

“Torture? Darling, it’s a party,” He needles you gently, eyes glinting merrily. “Only you would equate that to torture.” 

“Major -,” “Bucky,” He interjects. You blink at him, biting your lip. 

“Bucky, please,” The moment you utter his name, so beguilingly, so breathlessly, he presses your palm against his face fully, his hand covering yours. He needs you closer. The golden buttons of his jacket brush against the front of your dress. His lips press against the soft flesh of your hand as he studies your reaction. The hitch in your breath is embarrassingly loud to your ears. 

“Please, what?” 

“Don’t torment me like this,” It sounds even more pathetic when you say it out loud. And exactly as you’d expect, the admission of your weakness, the slightest chink in your armor, is an in for him. 

“How do I torment you, exactly?” His voice is so warm, so encouraging. 

“You take far too much pleasure in making fun of me, for one,” You try to play it off in a last-ditch attempt. But under his heated gaze, his breath brushing on the sensitive skin of your wrist, you falter. You frown before you utter in a small voice: “It’s not nice how you toy with me, Bucky, because it’s obvious that… that it’s just a joke to you, and your idea of a joke could get me dismissed, and sent home,”

You look down at your shoes, embarrassed. You want to pull away, but Bucky is not allowing you an inch of slack.

“It’s not a joke to me.” He sounds surprised. You look up at him, unable to keep the skepticism off your face. “It wasn’t a joke from that night I saw how calmly you handled that panicked patient, the moment you saluted me with those shaky fingers, and then every time you denied my help, you stubborn, stubborn girl,” His face is so close to yours now; a finger tracing down the side of your neck, down, just along the collar of your dress, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The way your hand rests on his cheek, you could pull him even closer if you wanted to. “I’ve wanted to grab hold of you, wrap you around me-”

Footsteps. You pull back from Bucky with a jerky movement, who mercifully releases you immediately, stumbling back two steps, almost hitting the desk with your legs. It’s strangely cold suddenly without his hands wrapped around yours, without him so close you could feel the warmth radiating off his body. Blood is rushing in your ears. Bucky looks too collected, but to your relief, you spy a faint blush creeping up his neck. 

So it wasn’t just you.

Hands folded, you take another furtive step back behind the desk, making sure there’s a respectable distance between you as the doctor on duty turns the corner. Bucky and the doctor start talking in low voices, but you are not listening. In your mind, you keep returning to his words, trying to put the puzzle pieces together. 

That night on the ward. That was the first time you spoke and saw each other in more than passing. That’s when Bucky suddenly formed this habit of popping in places he had no business of being. Places you happened to frequent. You really hadn’t been vain enough to consider that the common denominator in those situations was you. It had to be a coincidence that he had just turned into a joke. 

“Nurse,” The doctor turns to you, handing you his clipboard. You nearly jump out of your skin, being so lost in thought. “Please update the log,”

“Yes, doctor,” You nod, trying not to look as flustered as you feel. The men start leaving, still talking. 

“Good night, lieutenant,” Bucky turns to you, unable to keep the cocky smile off his face. Before he turns, he winks at you. It makes your knees so weak you nearly collapse back into your chair. Covering your face with your hands, you try to focus, but the smile won’t come off your face.

Seven more hours until your shift ends.

***

It’s a misty summer morning, dew covering every inch. The sun is just breaking through the clouds, and it’s promising to be a beautiful day.

When you leave the infirmary, you blink against the early morning sun. It’s still so early that few people are around. You hesitate. Surely, the party is not still going on. You wouldn’t put it past Bucky to actually do it. Rubbing your eyes and yawning, you’re unsure if you could even stay on your feet long enough for a dance.  

Luckily, you don’t have to make a choice. 

The sound of the bicycle bell makes you smile now. Bucky’s looking remarkably fresh and well-rested. The party clearly didn’t go that far into the night. He dressed for duty, his signature sheepskin jacket hanging open.

“Are you going my way, darling?” 

You purse your lips because you’re fighting to keep the smile off your tired face. You don’t stand a chance. You dart over to him like you are pulled by a magnetic force, the live current arching between you.

Sliding onto the back of the bike, you grab handfuls of the thick sheepskin to steady yourself, trying to find your equilibrium. Bucky’s large, warm hands encircle your wrists and easily pull your hands off his jacket. Instead, he gently nudges you forward by your arms, tucking them under the side of his jacket, wrapping your arms around his waist. The side of your face is resting against his back. You can feel his heartbeat under your palm, resting just under his sternum; you move along with his every breath.

“Ready?” Bucky peers over his shoulder. 

“Hm–mh,” You hum in reply, face buried in the folds of Bucky’s jacket. “Drop me off before the last turn?” You mumble, gazing up at him pleadingly. “Matron will be awake and on the prowl by now,”

“Don’t worry, darling,” His free hand wraps over yours, pressing a kiss on your knuckles. “I’m not going to get you into any trouble,”

“I’m holding you to that,” You yawn, wrapping yourself around him tighter. You’re going to make the most of this moment — the quiet morning, the soft sheepskin, the smell of Bucky’s aftershave. 

You drift in and out of sleep, even though the trip by bike is tortuously short. After almost twenty hours on shift, you should be allowed this comfort. Whining in protest as Bucky starts to unlatch your arms from him, you feel his chuckle as much as you hear it. 

You slide off the back of the bike, ignoring where the metal was jabbing into your backside on the bumpy road, and rub your eyes, trying to get rid of the haze in your vision. A small yelp escapes you as Bucky tugs you against him by the tie at the waist of your wraparound seersucker dress. The bike lays forgotten in the grass by the side of the road. All the tension and anticipation from last night are suddenly back — you feel wide awake again.

Bucky’s fingers are resting lightly against your waist like he is testing the waters, slowly, gently guiding you closer to him until you are inches away from him. Automatically, your hands sneak back up his jacket, running up his sides to the front of his chest. He is so warm against the crisp morning air. 

“Are you going to ask me for a kiss now?” It comes out almost naively as you look up at him. God, you hope he says yes.

“I promised not to get you into trouble,” He teases gently, grinning, inclining his face closer anyway, his lips just ghosting over the corner of your mouth. He is rewarded with a shuddering sigh from you — his grip on your waist tightens, prompting you to close the remaining distance between you. 

“This, of course, is perfectly innocent,” Only you could be looking at him with those big eyes, full of want, your curious fingers roaming over his chest, and still speak so earnestly. Bucky buries his face in the crook of your neck, shaking from laughter. You wrap yourself around him, head buzzing. It’s like you’re short-circuiting, sparks flying with every move, every breath. 

Bucky nips at the sensitive flesh of your neck, hoping to elicit more of those small sounds from you. If it weren’t for the quiet morning, remnants of mist dissolving in the first light, he would have missed the softest moan of his name that falls from your lips. He could do this all day. Just explore every move of your body against his, every way you can say his name, every touch that brings you closer to him. You move in effortless synchronicity with him, purely on instinct. 

“Then it’s trouble you want, darling?” Bucky murmurs, pressing kisses along your jaw.

“It’s only trouble if we get caught,” You reply breathlessly. 

His finger is under your chin, tilting your face up to him, and finally, Bucky’s lips find yours. For a second, it’s just that: his lips pressed softly, almost chastely, against yours. You push yourself up on your tiptoes to get more leverage, wrapping your arm around his neck. Your other hand stays pressed against his chest, fisting his shirt, feeling how his heartbeat speeds up as you open your mouth for him with a sigh. Bucky doesn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, cupping your face. His other hand is roaming boldly over your back, applying light pressure on your spine so you arch into him, skimming just over the curve of your behind, playfully tugging at the ribbon of your wraparound dress. He knows exactly what he is doing and how to get exactly what he wants from you, and you’re more than eager to please.

Your mouth starts to tentatively explore the column of his neck as he whispers your name longingly, encouraging your little adventure. When your lips touch a particularly sensitive spot right under his ear, Bucky hisses — you can feel his muscles clench. It’s exhilarating; he feels the sparks as much as you do. Bucky doesn’t allow you to bask in your small victory too long, greedily capturing your mouth with his again, wrapping you around him, tucking you against him. His soft touch turns feverish, grasping at your hip. You match in kind, nails grazing the nape of his neck, just along his hairline — anything to keep the tension, the current arching.

You can feel the sunshine on your skin and see it through closed eyes. Breathlessly, you pull away just a fraction — Bucky’s lips are still ghosting over yours. 

“What’s wrong, darling?” He asks so softly you’re unsure if you heard or felt the words against your lips.

“I have to go,” You mumble as you move to stand feet flat on the ground again. It’s like waking up from a dream. Time is getting away from you. You’re not ready to pull away from Bucky yet, wanting to stretch the moment out. You gently fix his collar, running your hands over his front once more, as much in an attempt to straighten out the wrinkles you left on his shirt as to feel him move under your palm again. When he steps away from you, you release a shuddering breath. You feel like you’ve just been hit by lighting. 

“I’ll come find you,” He winks at you, grinning. Bucky presses a kiss to your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture feels intimate, more personal, than you could have imagined.

It was everything you feared happening when you said yes to John Egan. It was everything you dreamed it to be. As you watch him leave, you know that you’ll have a damn hard time giving that up. 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

note: this was literally supposed to be a quick 2k words fun meet cute kind of thing, just a quick adventure Morty, but oh god I'm in too deep. forgive me for this detour from Of All The Stars in The Sky, but it was necessary, you understand.

[reaper2187]

Jade west x masc female reader

The sky above Hollywood Arts was a perfect blue, its clarity interrupted only by the occasional wispy cloud drifting lazily by. The iconic school of performing arts buzzed with its usual electric energy, a tapestry of creativity and ambition woven together by the eclectic student body.

Y/N walked through the main entrance, her combat boots thudding softly against the polished floor. She adjusted her leather jacket, glancing around the hallway filled with colorful lockers and bulletin boards plastered with show announcements and club flyers. Her short hair was artfully tousled, and her strong, confident stride drew a few curious looks from her classmates. But Y/N was used to it. She knew her butch style stood out in a sea of trendy fashionistas and aspiring stars, and she embraced it.

Her eyes scanned the hall for a familiar face. She spotted her friends by the lockers, deep in conversation. But it wasn’t them she was looking for. It was Jade West. The girl with the raven hair and piercing eyes who had a way of making Y/N's heart race and her palms sweat.

Y/N found Jade by her locker, her usual scowl in place as she fiddled with the combination lock. Jade's dark, enigmatic aura was what had drawn Y/N to her in the first place. There was something magnetic about her intensity, her refusal to conform to anyone's expectations.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N walked over, trying to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. "Hey, Jade."

Jade looked up, her expression shifting from annoyance to mild curiosity. "Y/N. What's up?"

"Not much. Just wanted to see if you’re free after school. I was thinking we could hang out."

Jade raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on her lips. "Hang out? With you?"

Y/N chuckled, used to Jade's sharp tongue. "Yeah, with me. Unless you’ve got better plans."

Jade closed her locker with a metallic clang. "Actually, I don’t. What did you have in mind?"

"I thought we could head over to Nozu, maybe grab some sushi and chill for a bit. Then, if you're up for it, there's this indie band playing at the Black Box later. They’re pretty good."

Jade's eyes lit up slightly at the mention of the Black Box, a small, underground venue known for showcasing raw, edgy talent. "That doesn’t sound terrible."

Y/N grinned. "Glad to hear it. Meet you by the front entrance after class?"

Jade gave a curt nod. "Sure. See you then."

The rest of the day passed in a blur of classes and rehearsals. Y/N found it hard to concentrate, her thoughts constantly drifting back to her upcoming date—if she could call it that—with Jade. When the final bell rang, she grabbed her backpack and headed to the front entrance, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves.

Jade was already there, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She looked effortlessly cool in her signature black attire, her hair falling in perfect waves around her shoulders.

"Ready to go?" Y/N asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Ready," Jade replied, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside Y/N as they walked towards Y/N's motorcycle.

"You okay with riding this?" Y/N asked, patting the sleek, black bike.

Jade's eyes gleamed with interest. "Definitely."

Y/N handed Jade a spare helmet and mounted the bike, feeling a thrill of adrenaline as Jade climbed on behind her. Jade's arms wrapped around Y/N's waist, sending a warm shiver down her spine.

They sped through the streets of Hollywood, the wind whipping past them as they made their way to Nozu. The ride was exhilarating, a perfect start to their evening together. When they arrived, they found a quiet corner booth and ordered a variety of sushi rolls, the conversation flowing surprisingly easily.

Y/N found herself laughing at Jade's dry wit and sharp observations, and Jade seemed to relax, her usual defensive demeanor softening. As they finished their meal, Jade leaned back in her seat, a rare smile playing on her lips.

"Not bad, Y/N. Not bad at all."

Y/N chuckled. "Glad you approve. Ready for the next part of our adventure?"

Jade's eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Lead the way."

They made their way to the Black Box, the small venue already buzzing with energy. The dim lighting and graffiti-covered walls gave the place an edgy, underground vibe. Y/N led Jade to a spot near the stage, the close proximity to the performers adding to the thrill.

The band started their set, their raw, powerful music filling the space. Y/N glanced at Jade, who was completely absorbed in the music, her eyes closed and a content smile on her face. Seeing Jade so at ease made Y/N's heart swell with affection.

As the night wore on, the music grew louder, the crowd more animated. Y/N felt a rush of happiness being there with Jade, sharing something they both loved. When the final song ended and the applause died down, Y/N turned to Jade, her voice almost lost in the cacophony of departing concert-goers.

"So, what did you think?"

Jade opened her eyes, her gaze locking onto Y/N's. "I think tonight was… amazing. Thanks for inviting me."

Y/N smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. "Anytime, Jade. Anytime."

They left the venue and headed back to Y/N's bike, the night air cool against their skin. As they rode back towards Hollywood Arts, Y/N felt a sense of contentment she hadn't felt in a long time. She parked the bike and turned to Jade, who was removing her helmet.

"Hey, Jade?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you want to do this again sometime?"

Jade smirked, her eyes softening. "I'd like that."

Y/N's heart soared as she watched Jade walk away, her confident stride as captivating as ever. She knew their relationship wouldn't be easy—Jade was complicated, fierce, and often difficult. But Y/N was ready for the challenge. Because underneath all that, she saw the real Jade: passionate, loyal, and capable of great love.

And Y/N was determined to be the one Jade let in.

[samthestrangerthingsfan]

Out of The Woods

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: A look back into our reader's past, and a run-in with one, too.

chapter warnings: slow burn,mentions of grief, parental loss, motherhood, swearing, alcohol(ism), child neglect, childhood trauma. Maggie fluff to fix it all <3

a/n: EEP EEP EEP, i know i know its a slooooow burn but we truly are just getting started. Enjoy!

chapter two: Tell Me A Lie || series masterlist

SEPTEMBER 17th, 1982

Freezer-burnt Egos sit three high on the olive green plate in front of you.

“Great.” Syrup hasn’t been purchased in weeks, so you slather each one with a smear of grape jelly. All served up with a side of tap water.

One bite in, and the sound of shattering glass startles the appetite out it you.

“Dad?!” You shout in a panic.

The sight that greets you on the living room is one that’s become familiar in the few months since your mom’s passing. Your father, slumped over in his beat up recliner, a shattered vodka bottle on the floor next to him.

“Shit…” you’re frantic as you rush to grab the broom and dustpan. It’s become a routine, clean up dad’s mess so that he doesn’t hurt himself when he wakes for his night shift at the Plant.

While it may be routine, it’s certainly not normal. No fourteen year old should be shopping for groceries, and doing laundry and writing checks to the electric company with a letter begging for them to give her a little more time with the lights on.

Every payday, you’d wait for Dad to pass out in his chair, and you’d take most of the cash from his wallet. It was just enough to get yourself food for the week and pay what you could. If he noticed the missing money, he never said anything, but you assumed he did notice that debt collectors had stopped calling so much.

“Bye, Dad.” You whispered. No response—then again, there never was.

The bag of glass was thrown into the trash on your walk to the garage. Hopping on your rusted out silver bike, you started the 2 mile ride to Hawkins High.

In truth, this has become the only slice of peace in your day. You could shut your damn brain off and just breathe. Not worry about the inevitable chaos that waited for you at home.

It was Friday, which means a meeting with the school counselor to see how you were doing since your mom died. June was…it was a time you’ve tried to block out. To suppress any memories or feeling from that awful day.

“Did you hear me, hon?” Ms. Kelly’s soft voice pulled you from your dissociation.

“What? Oh, mhm.”

She looked at you softly, tilting her head as a sign she absolutely did not believe you.

“Listen,” she pulls the file off her desk and turns it for you to see. “Your grades…they’re not at all reflective of your abilities. Your teachers think you’re brilliant, but the lack of effort on homework and tests is something of a concern.”

The pain of holding back tears began to prickle your throat. “I know, I’m—I’m trying. I’m studying as much as I can—“

“You’ve got such a bright future, just work a bit harder, hm?” Her smile was one of reassurance and confidence.

It’s not Mrs. Kelly’s fault. She didn’t know about what was happening at home, so she certainly didn’t know the impact of her advice.

“Work harder,” you whisper, venom coating your tongue. “Got it.”

The smile on your face is only there to keep the tears at bay. She excuses you to get back to next period, and you practically sprint from her office.

Where your legs take you, you’re not exactly sure. But the room is empty and dark and at this point you’ll take any refuge you can get.

So you sit and sob, heaving breaths and crying into your palm to muffle any sounds. How long you were there you have no idea, but it was long enough to hear the bell for end of the school day.

The door to the room opened, pouring in light from the hallway.

“Shit…you okay?”

His voice was so gentle and unsure. Backlit as the door closed, the shadow of his silhouette almost made him look like an angel.

Long shaggy hair, denim and chains and leather.

An angel--dressed like a devil.

You attempted to stand quickly, muttering a half-hearted apology, but you stumbled. Luckily for you, the stranger caught your elbow and waist.

“Whoa, hey just—here, sit for a sec, okay?” He guided you to the table across from where you’d sat, and ushered you towards one of the chairs.

“You’re not hurt are you?” His voice was so soft; a kindness you hadn’t heard in a long, long time.

You shook your head, “No, no. I’m fine.”

He laughed softly, “You sure about that?”

The tears in your eyes put holes in his chest.

“I’m Eddie,” he sat next to you on the table, “Who might you be?”

You whispered your name, and he smiled, then whispered it right back.

Eddie was gentle with you. He sat in silence for a few minutes, waiting for your breathing to return to normal.

What you didn’t know was how he watched you. The way he recognized the pain in your eyes—a kind of sadness that only people who’ve experienced it can understand.

He knew a bad home life when he saw one, and It made him angry.

Angry that someone could look in your eyes and hurt you. That people could see how broken you were and take advantage of it. Worst of all? He was angry there was no one there to protect you.

As far as he was concerned, that changes today.

Eddie cleared his throat, and your eyes found him again. “Look at us,” he nudged your shoulder. “strangers a couple minutes ago, now we’re acquaintances. Who knows? Before we leave we might even be friends.”

A genuine and true laugh escaped you. It’d been so long since you’d heard your own laugh, the sound alone was foreign.

Though for Eddie, it was a sound that made his heart beat faster and face turn rosey, even under the gross fluorescent bulbs.

“I’d like to be your friend, I think.” You smile. Crinkles formed by his umber eyes as he mirrored your grin.

Your hand juts out, extended to him for the taking. “You’re not a serial killer, right?”

His warm grip finds yours, “Not to your knowledge.”

There’s a pain in your cheeks from smiling so hard. “That’s reassuring.”

Eddie jumped up, offering you his elbow. “Whaddya say, kid? Care to cause some chaos and debauchery with your new pal?”

It’d be easy to say no. To allow yourself to return to the shell you’ve built around yourself in order to protect your heart in a way no one else would.

But you didn’t hesitate. Linking arms with Eddie, his scent invaded you—nicotine and weed and…vanilla? Whatever the combination, you’re sure it was uniquely and perfectly him.

“Whatcha got in mind?”

Eddie could have said anything and you’re pretty sure you’d have agreed. “Oh, sweetheart. Just you wait.”

“Mama! Do we have any straw’bies?” Maggie asked from the kitchen.

The smell from the chemicals you’re cleaning the shower with make your head throb and the sweat on your brow itches you for the ten millionth time.

Deep breathes. Deep breathes.

“No, Mags. C’mon, get your shoes on. As soon as I’m done here we’re going to the store.” You throw the yellow gloves down into the sink, giving them a quick rinse.

The weekend has brought some seriously good progress. Friday you’d managed to get Maggie registered for school, and start cleaning out the house.

Boxes of old newspapers and tchotchkes your father had kept sat stagnant, collecting dust and taking up far too much space. None of it mattered to you, so you’d trashed it.

All of it.

Saturday was spent taking trips back and forth to the Goodwill, hoping and praying your little car would survive after all the driving she did. You’d bought a few cheap gallons of paint from Melvald’s, this house was your home now—Maggie’s home. It was time to wipe the slate clean and create a place the two of you could fill with love and laughter and memories

“Mom?” Maggie mumbled, mouth full of banana as she watches you slink into your jacket.

You grabbed your keys. “Yes, angel?”

“Can we get ice cream? Wouldn’t that be a fun way to ce-bre-late me going to big girl school tomorrow?”

I need to find a damn job.

You do some quick math, adding and subtracting based on what you had left in your savings, and what you’d set aside for bills.

You drop to your knees in front of your daughter, getting right down to her level to place a big kiss on her forehead. “Of course we can. Good idea, Maggie-moo.”

Her dimples were so deep from her big wide grin, you poked a finger in each of them.

“Moooom!” She laughed, swatting your hands away.

“Whaaaat? I just love you! Now c’mon, we gotta go get your asparagus.” You hold the door and Maggie jumps onto the porch.

“Ice cream!” She shouts, making a mad dash to the car.

You chuckle. “Right, right. Ice cream.”

The store is a mere 10 minutes drive from home. If you ask Maggie, she thinks 10 minutes is the perfect amount of time to throw an impromptu concert from the back seat—room for encore included.

The moment your hands grasp the shopping cart, Maggie’s arms are up. “Assuming the position, I see.” You smile proudly.

Scooping her up, you plop her right on her bottom into the cart. Maggie wiggled, gasping as the two of you strolled past the chip aisle. “Don’t forget! We have to get some snacks for school too!”

“Right,” you braked, and turned down it. “Let me guess, Doritos are the perfect school snack?”

Her eyes are wide, clearly overwhelmed at the selection the Pete’s Grocery has to offer. “Can we gets the cheese ones?”

“Sure thing, Sunshine.”

Shopping is entirely uneventful. It’s mainly you budgeting and planning on dinners for the week. Everything bought has to have more than one use or purpose, or you don’t get it. A few jars of pasta sauce, some spaghetti, a loaf of bread, peanut butter and jelly. Chicken, canned corn, strawberries and bananas and a few boxes of mac n cheese. No the shopping spree Maggie thinks it is, but you’ll make it work.

“Alright kiddo, now the piece de resistance…the ice cream section!” You use your best announcer voice as you scoop her from the cart, and let her roam free.

She squeals. “Mom! There’s so many kinds!”

You watch her, taking in how the littlest things in this life make her the happiest you’ve ever seen her. You’re so engrossed in your daughter, you almost don’t hear it. The familiar tone that had engrained itself in your memory, the sarcastic “Sure, Robin.” that had been a staple in his vocabulary since High School.

Any calm feeling you’d had vanished, stomach churning inside you. “Mags,” you called in a hushed tone. “Maggie! C’mon, baby, just choose—“

The voices were an aisle away, and moving closer to you.

Maggie was in her own world, running back and forth to different doors in careful deliberation.

You could feel yourself start to tremble, calling her a bit louder this time. “Maggie-moo, please hurry—“

“Ho-ly shit.”

Of course Robin was the first to say something. She stood with her mouth agape, Steve perplexed next to her. When he’d followed her gaze, the two bags of chips he was holding fell to the floor.

He called your name like he was unsure. Questioning if the ghost in front of him was really his friend from all those years ago.

“Mommy! I founded the one I want!” Maggie screeched as she barreled toward you, clutching a box of Bomb Pops to her chest.

Your two old friends’ eyes went straight to your daughter.

Robin’s eyes were so wide, you thought they’d burst from her skull. “Mom?” She questioned.

Steve followed her up with, “No freakin’ way.”

Maggie chucked the pops in the cart, and stood by your side, your arms instinctively reaching for her. She must have followed your eyes, because soon, she too was in the middle of the staring contest the three of you had started.

She was quiet for a moment, studying them, and it wasn’t that long before she started giggling the tiniest bit. She covered her mouth, making herself laugh with whatever joke was rolling around in her little mind.

Maggie walked up to Steve as she laughed, and smiled her big toothy grin at him. “Hiya, Cheeseball!” She spoke through her giggles.

Robin’s laugh caught her so off guard she started coughing, and Steve was all smiles. “Excuse me? Who told you about my nickname?”

Maggie laughed, “My Mommy! She said your name is Steeb and you’re a real cheese ball!”

“Steve, Mags. Steve.” You were laughing, thankful for your daughter for saving you and for easing the tense moment you were seconds away from having to address.

“Nope, uh-uh. He’s Steeb now, from this day until his last.” She looked at you, get big smile taking up her face. Her eyes were soft, softer than they’d been moments ago. She looked back to Maggie, “And who’re you?”

Pride filled Maggie’s voice, “My name is Maggie and I’m six years old, but I’ll be seven soon! Mommy telled me birthday is Star Wars day.”

Robin’s brows pinched together, “Star Wars Day?”

“May the 4th.” You and Steve answered in unison.

The hazel-eyed boy looked at you, offering you a small smile.

Robin went back to talking to Maggie, asking her about Star Wars and her why she chose Bomb Pops. Steve walked over to stand next to you.

He plopped the chips in the top of your cart, and without any hesitation, pulled you in for a hug.

“God, I missed you.” He whispered into your hair.

You could feel the emotion squeezing your throat, “I missed you so much, Stevie.”

He held you a few more seconds, using Robin as a distraction. “Is…is she—“

You gripped him tighter, “Not here. Please not here, Steve.”

Steve Harrington was many things, but dumb wasn’t one of them. A bit of an airhead, and clueless sometimes, but not dumb. He’d seen it immediately, the resemblance between the two of you, and the one of Maggie and his other friend.

Steve let you go, looking over your face. “Does, um…does he know?”

With shame in your heart, you shook your head. “No, and I need to keep it the way.”

The for now went unsaid.

Steve nodded. “You haven’t ran into him yet then, I take it.”

“No,” you whispered. “I don’t even know what would happen if we did. Can’t think about it, not right now.”

Maggie approached the two of you, yanking Robin by her arm. “You were right, Mom! I do like this Robin lady.”

When the laughter died down, it was then Robin asked the question looming over the four of you.

“So, and pardon-my-french Little Miss M, but what the hell are you doing back in Hawkins?”

And with that, the floodgates opened.

You told them about what you’d been up to the last seven years, and what brought you back. Granted, you kept everything very Maggie-friendly—meaning most of your words were very PG friendly.

It was a weird feeling, admitting to all of the half-truths you told yourself, and how you had to push them out of your life. You wanted to tell them anything but the truth. To spare their feelings and the thought that you too could just as easily abandon the people who, at one point, were some of the most important people in your life.

"That's...that's heavy shit." Steve breathed.

You nodded, fully aware of the hanger-ticking-timebomb Maggie was becoming.

"We'll, uh...we'll catch up soon. Gotta get the grouch dinner."

"I am not a grouch." Maggie crossed her arms, and turned away.

"Of course you're not! You're just a girl who knows what she want." Robin high fived Maggie, and your heart melted.

You hugged them both one more time before loading Mags back in the cart, "Stop by anytime," You said with a smile. "You know where I live."

[heart-forge]

the other is looking stuff up like "parts of a scooter" for accurate language as if anyone has thought about scooters since 2002.

the many agonies of being an IF author involve writing five lines of branching text and code for it to translate to less than a line of actual player-viewable text.

[insanelyadd]

(Image ID: Two pictures from different angles of the same collapsible, dusty purple, four wheeled walker with a seat, detachable basket, orange bike bell, and black bike cup holder. There is black electric tape at key points to keep the basket from rattling or rubbing the paint off. It is sitting in my cluttered living room. End ID)

Happy Disability Pride Month! Here's some pictures of my cool rollator that I took to the bike store to add a bell and cup holder to. I use it for my random occasional vertigo that the doctors don't know the cause of.

Also, a shout-out to all of my fellow people with various mental illnesses (what I prefer to call them). Hello, fellow experiencers of mood disorders, trauma disorders, anxiety disorders, behavior disorders, and anyone who experiences psychosis. I hope you have a lovely month and good things happen.

Additional shout-out to people who are on government assistance due to disability of any kind! <3

[pastafossa]

Re: your dad accompanying you on doctor visits—we stan Papa Pasta in this house 🙌🏼

HE'S THE BEST! He's so big and scary and gruff looking, he has scared the shit out of people for decades, and yet he is also Aggressively Supportive Of His Girls.

Has gone repeatedly to the doctor with me since I got sick at 13, and stood up to every last doctor and teacher that treated me like shit. Standard accompanier on doctor's visits and ER trips

Went toe-to-toe with my Jr. High's principal when she decided to close the library directly after the final bell because us volunteer kids and the librarian were selling snacks to help fund book purchases, and the principal claimed the sold candy would 'encourage bad behavior' somehow. He got the library reopened after arguing with her for two hours that she was forcing kids out of a safe space where they could do homework and read when they had nowhere else to go

When I got sick, he retired (since mom made more) and became the stay-at-home parent, took charge of meals, doctors visits, homework, all of it

Literally argued with other parents when they insinuated he was 'babysitting' his own kids

The cook in the family, including holiday meals, he is very proud of his Christmas/Thanksgiving stuffing (in his defense it is REALLY good)

So supportive of me being childfree that when I got my tubes tied he helped my mom make a cake that said 'YOU SHALL NOT PASS' with a picture of sperm falling into a crack in the cake (a crack that was sliced by a massive Deadpool action figure).

Has joined the Free Dad Hugs squad at Pride

Would bike with me to the library when I was a kid so we could pick books together

Still games with me and sis despite being in his sixties (we're all playing BG3 at present)

Proudly shows off his cat mug to guests - it has a picture of Fig on it, and he tells people Fig is his Bro Cat

Has accidentally irritated other parents by teaching their babies to make funny GRR faces and go BA-BA-BA-BA-BA

Has a growing collection of LGBT+ positive shirts

Will drive my mom to the park and unpack the little electric scooter for her (she has bad knees and can't walk great) so that she can zoom around the park

Has been married to my mom for thirty plus years and still accidentally takes pictures that only show the top of her head with him cause she's like 5'3 and he's 6'2

[count-a-w-k]

Going through my mind before setting off, I felt like Bilbo Baggins going on adventure. Jumping up and down getting ready, warming up for the ride, while waiting for my friends to come outside and see me off. On my phone I was getting likes and good luck messages from friends on twitter. I knew the encouragement from them was sending positive vibes through me. I then set up a playlist of music, which would help me on my first leg.

Then at 11pm my friends came out, with her boyfriend; I went over to them, and they gave me their blessings. I hugged my friend goodbye, and her boyfriend went with me to film me starting off on my journey. He started the recording, and I said, “see you all in Portsmouth”. Then off I went, into the dark heading west. I started iTunes, ready to press play on playlist. What I didn’t realise was that I had forgotten to save the playlist, so I stopped and picked out a couple of songs. The music kicked in and off I went, knowing I wouldn’t be home till later the next day.

Receiving comments on my phone from friends on twitter still wishing me luck inspired me as I was going at my own pace. The progress along the A13 was going fine, first came the railway bridge nice and easy to get over and once over I could freewheel for a bit. Then onto the second, this time a bit steeper as it crosses the River Rodin. As I was freewheeling down and made sharp ‘S’ turn, off the main road and onto a dedicated cycle path. Halfway down the path I noticed a four-legged animal standing there on the cycle lane. So, I came to a complete stop so as not to disturb it. To my surprise, three more appeared - it was a family of foxes foraging around for food. I kept still and watched, thinking ’just don’t disturb them’. So, for ten minutes I waited.

Then a nutter on an electric bike whizzed by me, giving me a shock, and straight into the path of the foxes. I thought ‘Mad sod!’. The foxes noticed what was coming towards them and quickly scarpered. So, I took off, pedalling slowly to see if they were still around, but the family were gone. Oh well I thought and carried on, knowing I knew was pushed for time as I wanted to get Westminster and be within sight of the tower as Big Ben struck midnight. However, that wasn’t meant to be, because it took me thirty minutes just to reach the edge of the City of London, 2 ½ miles from the tower. I kept looking at the time on my phone. Could I get to Big Ben before midnight? I had five minutes. So, I sped up doing my best.

Then, cycling down Castle Baynard Street, I saw three men on publicly rentable ‘Boris bikes’ up ahead in a narrow tunnel. They were cycling erratically and there was way to overtake them. I thought ‘Great people who can’t ride a safely.’ Looking at the time on my phone, I realised there was now no chance of making it in time, so slowed down waiting for the opportunity to pass them.

After a couple of minutes, where the Embankment passes under Waterloo bridge, the cycle lane widened and I went into high gear flying past them, ringing my bell to warn people on the side pavement that I was about to pass them. When I finally reached Big Ben, it had already chimed midnight, so I pulled over outside the main gates to the Houses of Parliament.

I took the opportunity to look at the notifications on my phone, then took a photo of the clock, showing the ‘ten past twelve’ on its face. ‘Maybe next time I will get here in time,’ I thought.

Five minutes later I was back on the road, for the next leg, heading for the Thames path at Richmond bridge, where I intended to take a break. My usual route to Richmond takes about an hour. The warm night air was making my throat dry, and I was sweating like mad so, about half-an-hour, passing a pub next to Parsons Green, I decided to stop. Unfortunately for me, the pub was closed, and the staff were cleaning up ready to go home. Seeing a woman sweeping up outside, I explained what I was doing and asked if I was too late to get a drink. She said that I was too late, but kindly she went back inside and got me a full pint of water. I drank most of it and poured the rest over my head to cool me down. After thanking her, I got talking to these young gentlemen, who must have drunk the pub dry as they looked totally paralytic. We chatted for about fifteen minutes. I told who I was and explained to them what I was doing. They thought it was a kind act and after that I was back on the road, heading over Putney bridge and along Putney High Street, before turning right at the lights for Richmond.

The travel-time between Putney and Richmond didn’t feel as long as it had done in the past. The roads were very quiet, mostly people walking along the street after a good night out. Then I finally made it, pulling off the main road into a small park then down the ramp onto the Thames path.

Making my way to the park bench I usually sit on, I stopped and got off the bike. Sitting down, I got my food and drink out of my bag and tucked in. I thought it was going to be quiet, however the sound of people still enjoying themselves filled the air. After finishing, I recorded an update video for twitter, stating were I was. Then I decided to move to a different park bench and try and get thirty minutes shut eye.

I called my mother to let her know where I was and after a few minutes, this random stranger approached me. But you will find out more about what happened next in part two…

[xhikers]

hi! do you think you could write a hyunwoo imagine? it’s okay if not :)

like a rockstar - c.hw

pairing- choi hyunwoo (xikers) × reader

synopsis- you have had a crush on hyunwoo for forever and when you go to his bands show, something unexpected happens!

warnings- one use of y/n (sawryy), Imk if i missed anything! (lowercase intended)

word count- 1k

notes- this was a struggle Imaooo sorry it took forever and thanks for requesting!! i had no idea what to make the title so i just named it after a chase atlantic song💀 that's why it doesn't make sense lol

choi hyunwoo has always been popular. it was most likely due to the fact that he is the keyboard player and vocalist of a well liked band at your school, or maybe it was just because most of your classmates found him and his bandmates to be very good looking. now, you wouldn’t admit this to anyone, especially your friends, but you were one of these people. your heart skipped a beat every time you saw hyunwoo in the hallway or you went to see his band perform, which was every time you could. 

     you were walking through the hallways of your high school, backpack hanging over your shoulder as you passed the large peg board. as you passed it, you noticed a new poster hanging there. the neck of an electric guitar took up the majority of the paper, the poster was advertising hyunwoos bands next show. you pulled your phone out of your back pocket and snapped a photo of the poster, saving the date written at the bottom in the back of your mind as you continued to walk to your class.

     you made it into your classroom just before the bell rang. as you sat down at your desk in the back of the classroom, you looked ahead at the desks closer to the front of the room. the first person your eyes found was of course, hyunwoo. this class, history, was the only one that you shared with him. 

     you watched him talk with his friends casually before your teacher finally walked into the room and began to teach. you pulled your notes out of your backpack, staring at the back of hyunwoo’s head until you had to continue taking notes. 

     you continued this routine up until the day of hyunwoos bands concert. your mom had taken the car to the grocery store so you were only left with your bike. as you walked out into your garage to find said bike, you could barely remember the last time you had used it. you must have been ten years old. luckily, you hadn’t gotten too big for the the bike considering the fact that you hadn’t grown too much since you were around that age. you hopped onto the bike, headphones in your ears blasting loud music. 

     the map on your phone led you to a local cafe that you recognized after you entered the address you found on the poster days before. you parked your bike by the side of the building before slipping into the door. it seemed like the concert had already started as the band was playing. the lead singer, jinsik was singing while hyunwoo was playing his keyboard. the other members of the band, sumin, minjae, and junghoon were playing lead guitar, rhythm guitar and bass respectively.

     you made your way to the back of the crowd, trying to avoid bringing too much attention to yourself. your eyes were glued to hyunwoo for the entire show. you admired him as he played with a smile on his face the entire time.

     after the concert ended, you decided to order a drink at the counter of the cafe. you walked up to the woman behind the counter and ordered your usual drink at this specific cafe. you grabbed your drink from the lady with a smile and turned around looking down at your phone. you were surprised when you made contact with someone’s chest. 

     “oh my goodness i’m so sorry!” you exclaimed, inspecting the strangers shirt for any sign of spilled coffee. after you had confirmed with yourself that their shirt was still in fact dry, you managed to look up at the person’s face only to find that he wasn’t a stranger at all. it was hyunwoo, the exact person you came here to see. after you saw his face, you couldn’t even manage an apology out of your mouth. luckily he beat you to it. 

     “sorry! i should have been paying more attention…” he said, awkwardly scratching his head. 

  “yeah i’m sorry too.” you nodded at him as your grip on your drink tightened. you were about to walk away from the obviously tense atmosphere before he stopped you. 

     “you’re in my history class right? with mr. kim?” he said looking at you. 

     you couldn’t believe this. he knew who you were. 

     “yeah…” you replied quietly, still in shock that he had recognized you. 

     “your name is y/n right?” he asked walking towards the stage an motioning for you to follow him. he must have seen the look of shock on your face because he said

 “sorry if that’s weird, i’ve just seen you around and-” 

     “it’s not weird” you replied quickly. “ i just didn’t think you knew me”

     “why’d you think that?” 

     “i don’t know. i guess because we’ve never talked before.” you looked back at him as he cleaned up the stage.

     “i’ve actually been meaning to.” he responded, looking away from all of the chaos on the stage and down at you. 

     “really?” you said, beyond shocked. ten minutes ago you didn’t think that he even knew that you existed. 

     “yeah! i mean, i’ve seen you around at school and even at a few of our shows before and you seem pretty cool.”

     “oh wow…”

     “i mean you can totally say no, but maybe we could hang out sometime? you seem really nice and stuff so it could be fun!” 

you couldn’t believe what you were hearing! was the choi hyunwoo asking you on a date? 

     “that sounds great!” you responded, showing the boy your bright smile as you did. 

     “good! i’ll get your number at school, okay?” 

     “sure! i’ll see you then.” you said as you walked out out of the coffee shop heading back to your old bike. as you made your way back to your house, the only thing you could think about was the conversation you had just had with hyunwoo. the more you thought about it, the less real it felt. for the first time in years you were actually excited for school the next day.

[ace-and-ink]

i think it’s funny when people think

they have me

all figured out. they forget

i’m going to tell stories, and i’m getting pretty good

at telling pointless lies, as some would put it.

i first tasted death

when i was young. but i couldn’t tell you

what it tastes like, because it was just

like scraping my tongue across the asphalt and i couldn’t

taste anything but the red. i can tell you that it should’ve sounded

like people screaming for me, but all i could

hear was a dented bike bell.

i’m a good friend of gravity. she hasn’t

killed me yet, but she’s already broken

the same bone twice. i know one day she’ll snap

something more important, but i’ll be here

right-handed until that day.

my grandmother thinks i’m depressed. i don’t

talk to her anymore because she also thinks

my father killed my mother. she calls him

the traitor, not her cells that duplicated

wrong all the way up to her brain.

i drowned

when i was a toddler. with a grin

on my face, i walked right into the deep

end. and i enjoyed every second

i was cradled by the water. i’ve had

my fins and gills ever since.

my body is electric and my breath is

smoke. lightning never strikes twice, but two can

strike at once. when you’re young you have nowhere

to go but your childhood home, so i saw nowhere

to go but up in flames with it.

the warmest embrace i’ve had

was from the cold. how can anything be

more comforting than when it seeps

through your muscles and holds your bones?

lady winter stripped me to my skin

and caressed my cheeks with my own

warm breath. laid there in the snow, all

purple and white and blue, i’ve craved

no other lover since.

send a cluster of children

to camp, you can’t expect it to go

smoothly. not with a lake that enticing. he

beckoned so gently, hanon had never

sounded so thrilling. eleven little skeletons

joined the choir at the bottom that night.

i hate the color pink

because that ribbon took my mother

from me. she was wrapped in it,

mommy looking like a mummy

as they wheeled her out of here. it can’t

catch me if i tie it around my neck

first. old faded bricks are pink

until my knuckles are, both the same

shade beneath the blood. hurting’s never made me feel

whole but it comes pretty fucking close.

trees taught me a lot

of things, like how nice a shaded shelter

is in the summer, or how brutal that

branch cage can be when you’re in

its hands. if its tearing grip didn’t

do it, then the red it drew from my ankle

probably ruined my good socks. i had a good

conversation with the ground before all

i knew i knew was a red rush. for some

agonizing minutes, i was the hanged man.

never ask a writer to

never lie to you. we live to push

our pens to stretch the extremes.

and

then

stretch

some

more.

— liars love to do it

[nevadas-night-time-novelist]

Some more ideas cus why not.

Underneath all that bloodlust, dissonance and makeup Triky will forever and always be a nerd, and what is a nerd's natural predator? A jock.

—----------------------------

A grunt made a deal with the neon clad vampires, the deal was that they don't get eaten and in return they entertain other grunts to stay and watch their performance past sundown. Forcing them to leave the safety of the rave and into the hungry jaws of the night. (Said grunts method of entrancing other grunts is by hula hoop dancing, there stage name is Saturn, because Saturn's got rings)

—----------------------------

Whispers on the street speak of a new anomaly stalking Nevadas streets, or more like burning rubber on them. Witnesses of the aloof biker say that they wore all black, and although it's hard to identify exactly what clothes they wear they are commonly told to be sporting a leather jacket along with a pair of fingerless gloves. But the most striking aspect, and most retold, was the empty space where their head should be. Thus they gain the name, the Headless Biker, the only thing you'll hear before their arrival is the sound of a roaring motorcycle engine.

Aw shit here we go again /ref

Auditor is 1000% done with Tricky and his shit, and he knows deep under the rot and madness is that pussy ass nerd. Introducing MAG Bully. A MAG retainer, built with incredible speed, brute strength and a healing factor that makes him near impossible to kill.

Remember, nothing is impossible, it's just incredibly improbable.

Bully has two spikes in his head, sticking out like bull horns, a giant golden ring in his nasal area, and carries barbed wire wrapped in one hand to make brass knuckles, and an electric cattle prod. Audi took the bull theme quite seriously lol.

He's got one of those american jock jacket things idk the name i aint murican with a bull and his name on the back.

He's equipped with a reverse improbability drive, so if Tricky pulls some shit, he won't be affected by it. Bully's got one goal in mind and it IS to eviscerate that clown and bring him into Stygian's cold hands. That is after shoving the nerd into a locker.

-

They're known in the Vamps circles by a few names, Saturn, Rings, Siren, Dinner bell. The beasts of the night come to each beck and call of the ring spinner, some entranced by their movements and skill with their neon performance pieces, others already pulling away unaware targets to feed on nectarous blood and rich innards.

It's a breeding ground of debauchery and feast for the undead. Some are just torn apart and devoured to nothing but bone, others are lured in and corrupted, birthing new vampires to continue the cycle of consuming and creating.

Be they alive or undead, all fall into the hypnotising rings of Saturn, for they are children of the night.

-

Beware criminals of the dark streets of Nevada, for the roaring engine of a bike may be the chimes of doom. A headless monster rides at night, cloaked in pitch black leather, silver studding and chains, one who bears the weight of justice so many can't.

A creeping man corners a young woman in an alley, brandishing a knife and demanding her purse or her life, yet seeking to steal away both, when the machine calls out, the only warning sign before chains wrap around the criminal's body.

The headless legend has arrived, but aren't they meant to be on a horse? Nevermind.

No face, no voice, but swift justice follows. Strapped to the back of the bike, body torn apart by the rough road and terrain, a fitting punishment according to the headless hero. A serial killer captured and put to death by torture.

A vicious vigilante trying to make cities safe one criminal at a time. Stygian keeps an eye on this monster, perhaps he'll have a new employee before too long.

[shelly-ya]

Study 8

Part1 | part2 | part3 | part4 | part5 | part6 | part7 | part8 | part9

Previously

"One, two" he handed you his back pack and jacket which you took "three, run!" You turned and ran towards the bike shop again. You heard a quick zap and them felt a sharp and electrical feeling. It was indeed an electric shock coursing through you, to which you screamed dropping everything you were holding because of the pain.

Baji lazily strolled into the bike shop to see it was only shinichiro today taking a cigarette break. Upon hearing the bell over the door clanking shinichiro spoke up.

"Welcome to s and s motors, oh it's just you keisuke" shinichiro sat back down on a closed tools box and inhaled his cigarette. "Where's the golden retriever and your "tutor"?"

"Seriously I will not look at chifuyu the same again! They're right behind me" he said pointing his thumb back over his shoulder to which shinichiro glanced over.

"No they aren't" shinichiro deadpanned

"What the?" Turning around quickly noticing the space behind him was empty "I swore they were right behind me" he almost yelled.

"Relax keisuke he is probably gonna walk name Chan home" shinichiro said stubbing the cigarette out in a nearby ashtray.

"Oh man I assumed we were gonna hang out here for a while" baji said walking into the shop completely and leaned on the workable.

"Can't you kids find another hang out besides my shop?" He asked as he stood up stretching "back to work" in the distance a few engines were purring closer to the shop. Eventually they stopped at the front and the bell over the door clanked again. "Wel.. ah it's just you guys" shinichiro scrunched his nose.

"Hey what kind of reaction was that?" Mikey asked.

"I'm just wondering if you guys have nothing better to do"

"If we did you wouldn't have been blessed to see all this handsomeness."

"Is that even a word mikey" darken asked walking in next followed by kazutora and mitsuya. When baji laid his eyes on kazutora the tension between the two was severe.

The bell clanked for the third consecutive time that evening.

"Welc...." shinichiro stopped mid sentence as his eyes opened wide.

"B-baji ngh ah baji san" chifuyu was on the floor still holding the door handle. "They took name chan."

"What are you talking about? Why are you beaten to a pulp? Where's name Chan?" The questions were never-ending when baji saw chifuyu's state. His face busted and bruised his clothes in arrays and he could barely hold himself up. He was holding onto your bag like it was a part of him as he dragged his own bag and jacket alongside him.

"We were ambushed by ten guys. They say they're from gang name and they took name Chan because they think name Chan belongs to kazutora" he couldn't hold up much longer. "They tased us. Then beat me up and took name Chan. Help them baji san help them" draken and baji both took an arm and helped the boy inside the shop causing him the drop the things he was carrying. Kazutora emptying the contents of the bags onto the floor. The book mark baji gave you fell onto the floor with a clink.

"What are you doing?" Mitsuya asked.

"I got the first aid kit set him down here" shinichiro said pointing to a sofa he set up for customers to relax and wait.

"Looking for clues on where those assholes took name Chan. Since they tased chifuyu he must have been knocked out and they beat him while he was unconscious. They would put a clue in their belongings as to where they took name Chan." He picked up the text books one by one from the ground and fanned through them until an instant photo fell to the ground. Bending to pick it up he looked at it and showed mitsuya " like this" it was a photo of you and chifuyu knocked out cold you lay face down on the asphalt as someone's foot was seen mid kick on chifuyu's body. Turning the pic around he saw an address. He then felt his jacket and shirt being grabbed from the side. And made to look at one of his childhood friends.

"Kazutora you better start praying for your sake those punks don't do anything to my name Chan you got that" it was baji and although he still had his nerdy guise you could plainly see why he was the first division captain. "Mikey leave this to kazutora and me"

The still silently blonde just hummed his approval and then spoke "I'll let you handle this because it is someone you know but if you fail you will die by my hands. You both will be representing toman today."

Kazutora who was still in baji' s grip and baji himself just nodded at their commander. Baji finally released kazutora and walked out the door as kazutora dug into his pocket for his keys.

"Mikey I'd like permission to go as well." Mitsuya said pulling his keys out his pocket.

"Yeah go ahead make sure those two don't kill anyone" Mikey said moving to clear up the mess kazutora made on the floor.

Meanwhile

You were coming out of the darkness. Squinting you tried to adjust your eyes to the light of the room you were in. You realized quickly your hands were bounded over your head and that you were really struggling to keep yourself up.

"What happened to me?" You whispered feeling a cool breeze on your torso. Looking down your buttons of your shirt was opened and pulled from your skirt/pants.

"Don't worry I stopped them from going any further." A gruff voice said in front of you. Looking ahead was an older man sitting on debris from the warehouse playing with a pocket knife. He wore the same uniform as the men who attacked you and chifuyu.

"What do you want from me?"

"You're just the bait to reel in toman"

"Well today is your lucky day asshole toman just arrived." You thought you were hallucinating because you thought you heard baji speak behind you. The older man got up and placed his hand on your waist turning you towards the voice knife on your stomach. You were shocked to see just three individuals baji, kazutora and the one they called mitsuya. Baji's glasses was gone, his hair open, his jacket unbuttoned and tie hanging loosely around his neck. His eyes red with rage.

"Welcome to the show Toman" as he knicked your skin with the knife causing a droplet of blood to glide down your stomach. Gasping and ready to pull away. "I wouldn't do that I could give you a mortal wound if you struggle like that."

To be continued

Those who wish to be tagged in this fill out this form. Correct spelling of your user name please. Guys you can reblog and comment and show your love. Just don't take and claim my work for your own please.

Done for :@angelsdevils

Special tags: @stxrmylxve @animechick555 @ihavestrawberryjam @the-witch-of-one-piece @zero38

[drreamgirls]

‣✽.  𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

MIZUMI (currently ACTIVE) & ISABELLE

MIZU

basics:

full name:  Mizumi Uzui (Caddel) nicknames:  Mizu gender: genderfluid  female sexuality: lesbian pronouns:  she/her aesthetics: I'm only happy when I am on the run, I don't belong to anyone; turns herself into a weapon; the smell of gunpowder and whiskey on the tongue, distant thunder crackling like electricity, blood on your lips,  the soundless running of fingers through her lover’s hair in the dark, a woman held underwater, screaming. age:  30 date of birth: December 21 zodiac sign:  sagittarius residence:  manhattan occupation:  boxing / Kendo instructor (in reality: paid assassin involved in various underground illegal organisations)

appearance:

faceclaim: Mylène Jampanoï height:  1,78 ethnicity: half japanese, half American. build:  toned and muscled, tall and very athletic. biceps all hard with muscle and legs for days eyes: blue hair:  dark brown / wolfcut (wears her hair cropped short) piercings:  0 tattoos:  an X mark and 3 dots on her forearm / sprawling tiger tat on her back style:  excessively masculine, jeans, sleek black suits and white shirts, tank tops and sports bras with low cut jeans. shades on all the time, day and night, leather jackets, combat boots. voice: very deep and rough, like smoking bourbon and thunder.

personality:

traits:  ruthless, unpleasant, bitter, unfriendly, angry 80 per cent of the time. cold, stoic and sarcastic. doesn't give a fuck about you or what you think. loyal. selfish. obsessive. unpredictable. sharply witty and funny. mental health: completely obsessive. major anger issues. physical health:  always bruised up for some reason... (reasons in her bio) likes: music, boxing/kendo/swords/guns. sports. extreme sports. motorcycles and she only rides japanese bikes. dislikes:  talking to people. cooking. fears:  failure phobias:  fire hobbies:  Kendo, fencing, working out, motorbikes skills:  she is extremely athletic. skilled with guns and swords; kendo and box are her lifeline. speaks several languages. quirks:  Always wears her shades even when it's dark outside, she'll take them with her; does not drink. does not smoke. perpetually snarling. pet peeves:  people.

faves:

ice cream flavour: she doesn't like ice cream. she likes lemon sorbet. time of the day / night:  night weather:  fog breakfast food:  hot tea and rice dinner food:  ramen or soba. probably instant unless her girl cooks colours:  blue and black songs:  Paul Wallen feat. Gigi Nally - Smells Like Teen Spirit

other random stuff:

a cherished item:  the amethyst ring isabelle (her partner) gave her. her mother's silk blue scarf which she has given to isabelle. usual mood: pissed off 1 thing they want to do / experience before they die: hurt the people who hurt her family defining moments:  her mother's violent death/murder / her house burning down / losing her entire life in the blink of an eye. & meeting her girfriend.

ISABELLE

basics:

full name:  Isabelle Annesley nicknames:  Belle & Elle gender:  female pronouns:  she/her aesthetics: a venus fly trap closing around its prey, lipstick stains on your collar, leaving red kisses and confusion everywhere you go, watching dusk break into dawn from the small of your window, a lingering whiff of expensive perfume, cold hands, needing perfection, the way light hits cascading velvet. the desperate search for love. age:  28 date of birth: 17/11 zodiac sign:  scorpio residence:  staten island  (in a small flat) occupation:  photographer / part-time waitress

appearance:

faceclaim:  janet montgomery height:  1,68 build:  slim & delicate, she did ballet growing up but hasn't in years eyes: black, bright, tender eyes hair:  long full ebony curls that she's recently cut a bit shorter piercings:  just her ears tattoos:  stars on her wrist style:  jeans & silk shirts, layered necklaces, excessively tightened belts, thigh high boots, loose frothy shirts. always silver and not gold.

personality:

traits:  spiteful, vindictive, arrogant, extremely neurotic, sacrastic / exceedingly witty, charming, loving, passionate. pride issues. easily provoked & annoyed. mysterious & aloof mental health:  hanging in there in spite of the fierce stress of it all. her photography cures her crippling, strange melancholia. the kind of girl to say she's okay when she's not because no one will see her be anything less than perfectly strong & poised. daddy issues galore. quite depressed. physical health:  feeling kind of perpetually tired. likes:  photography, painting, art, the sunset, her sister; car rides with her listening to music, trips to the beach in the winter where everything is quiet and grey-silver and they can read and light a fire and be at peace. dislikes  everything that does not mean something to her. people. liars. lack of control over every aspect of her life. fears:  death, loneliness, loss phobias:  deep water & the dark (she always sleeps with some kind of light shining faintly somewhere in her room) hobbies:  she likes to paint and work with ceramics. her photography of course. skills:  being able to open a beer bottle with her teeth, of course. (photography, painting, enduring Fools and their Stupidity. Exceptional at pool and an amazing kisser.) quirks:  Always wears her mother's amethyst ring; can smell her before you see or hear her: she smells extremely deliciously. Short-tempered, especially when irritated. Almost never wears a bra. Perpetual smirk. Smokes menthol cigs. pet peeves:  people. more seriously; people who are one-uppers. loud voices. Lack of an Oxford comma. Justice for the Oxford comma!

family:

mother dead in a car accident / father absent, has disappeared & made himself a new family, a second chance at getting it right / she's got a 12 year old sister (Chloe) whom she's been raising after turning 18 & adores / much loved aunt (dad's side, who had been the proverbial scapegoat of the Annesley family) who helps as much as she can.

faves:

ice cream flavour:  strawberry & vanilla time of the day / night:  night weather:  moody rain to match her soul breakfast food:  black coffee with cream, no sugar dinner food:  dessert colours:  black & white songs:  bang bang - Nancy Sinatra

other random stuff:

a cherished item:  her mom's old vintage camera & her mom's amethyst ring usual mood: apathetically impassive and detached. Sufferer of chronic, resting bitch face. Optimistic despite all appearances. 1 thing they want to do / experience before they die: to be important to someone (surprise surprise). A family. defining moments:  her mother's death, her father's absence, becoming her sister's guardian, moving to New York hoping for something better for the both of them and to be near her aunt.

‣✽ BIOGRAPHY HERE ! (ISABELLE)

‣✽ BIOGRAPHY HERE ! (MIZUMI)

[zacharyja]

Sunday, June 2, 2024

Daishogun Hachi Shrine, Taishogun Shopping Street, and Onsen

Today began late again at around 11am followed by getting ready for the day and then going to my friends house to meetup for lunch. We decided on a Shabu Shabu place called “Washoku Sato”, Shabu Shabu is a popular Japanese form of dining, which is similar to hotpot. You choose your raw meat from options such as japanese beef, ribs, chicken, beef tongue, and much more. You then can pick from different types of broth and you then dip your food into the broth for about a minute until it is fully cooked and ready to eat. This usually makes it very juicy and adds the flavor of the broth to the meat. This particular place had an option for all you can eat which I was pretty excited about. They had an ipad at the table where you could order whatever you wanted, ranging from all sorts of types of thinly sliced meat, to yakitori, to dumplings, to vegetables, and even a few types of desserts. We had 80 minutes to eat as much as we wanted with no limits. I feel like I gained about 10 pounds from this meal alone as we continually ordered meat and other various ingredients until i could not longer physically stuff food down my gullet. The dessert was good as well, as we ordered mango gelato, churros, and sesame dumpling with red bean paste inside to conclude the delicious meal.

After this delectable meal, we rode our bikes over to Taishogun shopping street, which is a famous street known for having statues and other depictions of Japanese folklore monsters, unfortunately the weather was subpar and rainy so we didn’t see much. However, we stumbled upon a random aquarium store which I was pretty stoked to see.

I had been hoping to find myself at a fish store in Japan, and today was my lucky day. They had a massive assortment of goldfish and koi, in all different shapes sizes and colors. Ranging from telescope, oranda, pearlscale, ranchu, shubunkin, and everything in between. They also had a massive amount of Japanese Medaka Rice fish, which I am a massive fan of. Naturally, they are also very popular here in Japan and you can often find them in large bowls outside of houses along with aquatic plants and moss. They also had quite the selection of tropical fish including angelfish, danios, convict-parrot hybrids, corydoras, and many others that i’m too lazy to list.

After having my fair share of aquarium store time, we happened upon a random shrine nearby, called the Daishogun Hachi Shrine. Which was originally built in 794, and commissioned by Emperor Kanmu at the north-west corner of the Imperial Palace, to break evil of what was considered an unlucky direction. This shrine was pretty cool and I enjoyed ringing the many bells they had which are meant to get the attention of the gods similar to clapping before prayer, as well as to bring the gods down for protection.

After this, we decided to hit up an Sento to relax our muscles and recharge. If you don’t know, Sento/Onsen is the traditional Japanese public bathing facility, which has multiple different heated baths, showers, outdoor baths, and even low current electric baths which contain live metal electrodes that induce a slight shock through your body giving a minor tingling sensation. The onsen was an interesting experience, but it is so uniquely Japanese that I felt like I would miss out by not doing it. I did not expect to see tons of old naked Japanese men when I woke up today, but nonetheless here I am. The bath was actually pretty relaxing after I got over the whole being nude around other people part of it. I chilled out in multiple of the baths for a while, though my favorite was the outdoor one as the dichotomy between the cool rainy air and the warm sento water was pretty nice.

After the onsen, I went back to my hotel to do laundry as I was fresh out of clean clothes. Once my laundry was all done, I went to get Boba tea with my friend, as I love boba and have not had any since i’ve been in Japan. We went to a Boba place nearby called “Ben Gongs Tea”, I ordered a brown sugar milk tea with tapioca, and finished as fast as it came out.

Once the boba was all gone we headed back to hangout for a bit and have some honeycomb toast. This reminded me of the scene from a Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, where Snoopy and the gang are going crazy making tons of toast beast mode style. https://youtu.be/Jgcib3g5Zgg?feature=shared

That pretty much concluded my night and we will see what hijinks i get up to tomorrow 😎

[angelbymadonna]

Marinette's heart was beating in her ears. She'd spent hours on end sewing the suit she wore, talking herself up. But this was the moment she'd really know. If she could do it.

A deep breath in. Marinette opened her eyes, cast a line to a building at the end of the street, and jumped.

The street fell from under her feet and the row of buildings sped past her vision. Marinette's stomach seemed to get left behind once she started to turn, doing a complete 180 around that building on the end. She pulled the string, flinging herself upwards above the rooftops.

Honestly, the view was really great. That one moment was golden and could've lasted forever.

Unfortunately, it was overshadowed by the hour Marinette spent vomiting. Traveling by web was going to take some... getting used to. Maybe she'd get a glider or bike one day, but until then, she'd show up nauseous to save the city.

---

Marinette clung to her pillar, trying to be still so the intruder wouldn't see her. Sure enough, he sauntered through the door, stepping around the guard's limp body disdainfully.

He made his way to the center of the room, inspecting the emerald. So he was after Tsurugi's trinket, then. What would he want with it? He could sell it, sure, but the same was true for every treasure in the room, and the others weren't on loan from famously cautious, well connected people.

Marinette wasn't sure she'd even have to do anything. She'd followed the thief in, but the precautions on the gem itself would catch him. As soon as the boy moved to lift the emerald, an alarm would alert every other guard, not just the one unlucky guy he'd managed to subvert.

But he moved to the pedestal instead. Marinette couldn't see exactly what the jewel thief did, but she could hear an electric pop as the mechanism broke. It seemed she must get involved anyways.

She cast a web line to the ceiling and swung down straight to the center of the room. Around halfway, the boy turned to look at her.

It was at this point Marinette realized the burglar was dressed like a cat. For some reason. Ears, nose, even a bell! Her surprise was probably why she crashed into the boy.

Once Marinette for her concentration back, she looked closer at the boy. He wore a plain black masquerade style mask over the top half of his face, but it didn't cover his eyes. Greener than any jewel, they almost popped out at her, and had creepy cat-like slit pupils. He was about the same age as Marinette. How strange for a teen to steal a jewel alone, Marinette thought. Well, no stranger than a teenage arachnid to leap forth from shadows and thwart him, she supposed.

"Pleased to meet you, webs. I wasn't aware they hired such pretty guards here!"

"Not funny. I'll tie you up and call the guards!"

"Oh they've all had accidents. Such unlucky folks! Seems to happen often around me!"

So he must have some type of power he used on the guards... and probably the warning mechanism too! So nobody would know he took the emerald until it was too late!

"I must be really lucky though, to make your acquaintance, Miss..."

"Spider-Woman." Marinette's tone must have revealed some annoyance, much to the pleasure of this stranger.

"Spider-Woman. Black Cat, at your service." he bowed and everything, enjoying his charade.

Black Cat, as he called himself, made his way back to the emerald. Marinette tried to follow, but she tripped and fell on her face.

Great. First time meeting this guy and she'd fallen over twice already. Clearly fighting a guy who's power gave her bad luck was going to take some... getting used to.

----

Marinette stared into his pupils, ones wide enough she could see her mask reflected in them. Maybe she was too hopeful, or the long night and several hits to the head had gotten to her. Or maybe she was getting through to him.

Black Cat wasn't a bad dude, he just liked being into trouble. Marinette couldn't for the life of her figure out why, but she knew there was no grand plan. He had a taste for it or something.

It wasn't the first time they'd been like this. Face to face in a quiet moment, waiting for the other to make a move. Other times, he'd let slip that he looked forward to meeting the Spider-Woman. He liked her company. And the thieving cat sounded like he believed it himself, too.

Her hand still rested over his on the mask. Some theatrical deal didn't seem.. right somehow for revealing his identity. Marinette didn't entirely know why she cared.

Plus she was so not going to reveal her own. But.. a little earnesty might go a long way in convincing him.

Marinette felt her free hand along the seam of her mask, not hesitating to pull the hem over her nose. "Is this enough?" Marinette had meant to sound cocky, more confident in herself than she was, but it was for the best that her voice shook. Better than another mask.

"Now we're even." She added instead, with a breath of relief. She studied Cat's face, trying to gauge his reaction. Let that show him who doesn't care.

"Not even close, milady!" was Cat's answer, complete with a kiss on the nose as he swung upwards, breaking the web around his ankle to make his escape.

Black Cat lingered on the wall above Marinette for a moment or so, and she didn't go after him. She simply stood, realizing she didn't only care about that boy because he was a citizen, but that her feelings about him were personal.

Yeah, putting her heart on the line hoping it'd be seen only to be disappointed would take some... getting used to.

link to Adrien pov

[wetsteve3]

The beauty of this VW-powered motorcycle is that the VW engine is a very reliable, very powerful low-revving engine with a lot of torque. Parts are cheap, it is low tech and easy to maintain. The majority of VW bikes utilize the BMW motorcycle as the basic frame to start with, particularly the 1960 to 1969 years. The fact that the BMW is an opposed engine, the VW is a natural for an engine swap. BMW opposed engine has a big flywheel with a single disk clutch that allows the VW to easily mate with the BMW transmission via a custom built bell-housing.

Californian Doug Whitson purchased the tooling and parts from early developer Rodger Willis and created a new company, calling his bike the Webley-Vickers. Now retired, Whitson created and sold complete motorcycles and kits, the last person to do so. However, he took things to a new level by performing the transmission modification via CAD/CAM versus jigs and creating a new, aluminum billet bellhousing with an electric starter. He also continued to make other parts for the conversion, such as the rear exhaust manifolds, generator mount, clutch button, improved clutch arm and oil-filled intake manifold. His story is documented on VBMW Motorcycles Facebook page.

Owner John Landstrom of Blue Moon Cycle bought this motorcycle from Whitson in 2018. It had been Whitson's personal bike since the 1970s and was the test mule for many of the innovations he developed while making his Webley-Vickers branded bikes. Whitson rode this bike from his California home to Sturgis many times. According to Whitson, it has a 2000cc motor, dual S&S carburetors and his own intake and exhaust manifolds, and he reworked the BMW gearbox for higher gear ratios and improved reliability. The modifications are too many to list. This motorcycle comes with a California Title, and it is titled as a Webley Vickers, with Whitson choosing his birth year, 1953, as the year. This hand-built custom motorcycle has an interesting history that goes back nearly 50 years, and as for VW-powered motorcycles, it is among the best. This is a rare opportunity to own one of the most unusual and high-performance touring motorcycles of the 1970s.