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bloggerspam · 19 hours ago

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Jason is not afraid to admit he's wrong.

Jason is not really afraid of much of anything, really.

Which is a lie, because he's currently sitting at a table across from Bruce, having breakfast and he's not sure what's worse: the silence, or the fact that he agreed to have breakfast with the man in the first place.

It's just that something about Bruce felt different when he had asked Jason yesterday if he would be willing to have breakfast with him before he went to WE to check on his project's progress.

So he unthinkingly said yes, and now Jason doesn't know what the hell he's doing here.

"So how are you?" Bruce's voice hits him like a shot of caffeine. "What do you do nowadays to fill the time?"

"You know what I do." Jason answers, glancing at his motorcycle helmet seated beside him. It's no Red Hood helmet, but it's got red accents, and Bruce is smart enough to know what he means anyway.

"What else, though?" Bruce is not deterred, waving his fork around. He had chosen a burger, and is eating it with a knife and fork like the heathen he is. "You and your siblings have so many hobbies it's hard to keep track of."

Jason gives Bruce a disbelieving look. He knows for a fact that Bruce and Alfred have some kind of spreadsheet tracking system on every single one of the Batkids. He knows they update it obsessively.

He also knows his section is horribly out of date and the smallest of the bunch.

"I'm an old man, Jay—" Bruce coughs. "Jason, have pity on me and my terrible memory."

That gets Jason to raise an eyebrow. Slow, because he's an asshole like that. He stuffs his face with a pancake just as equally tasteless as the one from before—the one he couldn't focus on the taste of for vastly different reasons.

He really needs to summon Phantom again, but he's afraid Phantom won't answer.

"Indulge me?" Bruce practically begs. Jason huffs, swallowing his bite.

"I…read, still." Jason reluctantly answers. "And I've been building a bike with Roy. For Lian. An actual bicycle, not==not a motobike. When she's older obviously."

"How is she?" Bruce's eyes sparkle, the way it always does when children are involved. "I haven't seen her in a while, she's big now isn't she?"

"Four years old." Jason confirms, smiling almost reflexively. "She swore the other day, gave Dick a heart attack from what I heard. He didn't know Roy was the one that taught her."

They share a laugh at that, and it feels…it feels good. It feels normal, in an unfamiliar way.

For some reason, the newness sets him at ease.

"And the books?" Bruce encourages. "What have you been reading lately?"

"YAs, mostly." Jason quirks a smile. "Mysteries. I've been…I just finished this book, Thursday Murder Club."

"Interesting title." Bruce raises an eyebrow over a bite of his burger. "Was it good?"

"Yeah." Jason grins. "Kind of reminded me of you, actually."

"Yeah? How so?" Bruce encourages. Jason recognizes the look in his eyes—he's calculating something, no doubt immediately making a note to read the book when he has the time. It reminds Jason of when he was younger, when Bruce would watch Gray Ghost with him and would talk about the finer points of the plots and clues.

It makes the already warm core in his chest burn a little hotter, warms him from the tips of his head to the soles of his shoes, and it's hard not to feel good as he talks about the lastest book series.

It goes on for the rest of breakfast, Jason sinking into this new and not-new-before feeling of connecting with Bruce in some way. Just talking about this whacky, tender, and deeply fascinating view on growing older and being not only different but the same—a culmination of experiences of who you are and who you weren't and how all of those become you, all wrapped in a murder mystery.

It makes Jason yap.

And Bruce listens.

He always listens, even if he doesn't hear, and even though nothing is the same anymore it's like Jason's 13 years old again, comfortable for once in this huge Manor of a house, getting used to the idea of having not just a brother and a father again, but having a grandfather, of having family and a place to sleep and not being alone.

Before either of them can really know it, it's time to pay and get to WE. They've just stepped into the elevator when it all sort of clicks suddenly in his brain.

"Why did you invite me to breakfast?" Jason asks as the elevator doors close. The elevator music isn't quite soothing, but it's familiar in that way that all classical music seems to be. "Usually…"

Jason trails off, Bruce humming in that way that lets Jason know he's carefully picking his words.

Everything about Bruce is familiar and aching. It guts him, scares him with the possibility of routine.

Because no matter how familiar and comforting everything is, Jason's never going to react the same way as before. He's always going to be different, do things different, and he's already a walking reminder of things passed.

They keep trying to find Robin in him, and he doesn't know how else to show them that Robin is dead—Robin is in Damian, in Steph, in Tim, in Dick.

But the Robin Jason was choked on smoke and is still sitting in the fire.

That Robin is never coming back.

"I got some advice." Bruce finally settles on. "And I realized that I'd been unfair to you."

Jason raises an eyebrow, but before they can really dig into what all that means the elevator dings for Jason's floor. Bruce pats a heavy hand on Jason's shoulder, squeezing.

"I'm sorry, chum. It's not nearly enough for how much I've pushed and prodded and…and not done, but…for what it's worth, I'll do better." Bruce gently pushes Jason out, and god fuck it all, he's sincere about it too.

He's always been sincere, but this time…this time it feels different.

Jason doesn't want to hope, he's outgrown hope the way he's outgrown pixie boots, but somehow he can't help himself.

"Have a good day, son," Bruce waves with a little quirk to his lips. "It was nice getting to know you again."

Jason, baffled, waves back as the doors slide shut.

"Jason?" Jason blinks, turning to see Tucker and Tim at the end of the hall, just outside the door to the lab. Jason's been there a couple of times, but he's mostly been confined to meeting rooms and office areas for the more administrative side of the equation.

"Timbit." Jason greets, still a little thrown. "Tucker, morning."

"Hi, Jason." Tucker greets with a wide smile. "You have impeccable timing—my buddy Danny just ran off to do some field testing on the latest prototype!"

"Yeah?" Jason smiles back as he meets them at the door of the lab to enter with them. "Last I heard the prototype was still brittle even if it lasted longer."

"Abigail and Danny figured it out last night." Tim grins proudly, "There was an odd chemical reaction happening between two ingredients that was easily fixed with a substitution."

"Henri got the new batch mixed 30 minutes ago," Tuck continues as they walk into the lab to hustle and bustle. "Danny volunteered to get his legs stretched out, until then we can chat with Penelope about color pigments. Eventually we're going to have a wide array, but right now we want to choose a color that's recognizable but doesn't stand out."

"We need it to be distinct enough for us to recognize from a distance," Tim explains, "But won't stick out as targets to the Alley."

Jason hums as he's brought to a table of swatches, a variety of colors laid out on the table. Colors of all shades are arranged in rainbow order, though some have been marked future releases.

His eyes catches on a dark forest green, almost black in nature from certain angles.

He reaches for it, slides it closer to him, turns it this way and that in his gloved hands.

It's the color of Phantom's cape, a little darker to compensate for the different materials being used. It's matte, and looks almost velvet, despite being smooth to the touch.

His thumb rubs over it, back and forth, as if trying to trick itself into feeling that thick, soft fabric. All he can feel is the slight catch of plastic against the leather of his gloves.

"This one." Jason mutters, handing it over to Tim. He makes sure not to touch him when he does so, rubbing his thumb and index finger as if to try and keep the sense-memory of Phantom in his arms. "I want this one."

Tim's eyes light up in curiousity, but blessedly, he doesn't pry. He hands it over to Tucker, who tucks it away in the pocket of his tablet protector.

Jason is dragged away to choose other things—locations for the first building to be painted, logo designs, names.

He goes through them in a daze, rubbing his fingers and remembering.

Remembering the feel of Phantom's hands, of how he felt in his arms, on his chest, in his lap.

Something about today—the way Bruce has changed, the way the colors look brighter, the way he feels some cliche'd weight on his shoulders becoming infinitesimally lighter…it all makes him feel reckless and bold.

He'll summon Phantom tonight, try to talk it out. His plans of slow and careful wooing, of subtlety and letting Phantom make the decisions and moves get thrown out the window.

Tonight.

Dear Darcy...

Another AU borne from the HHD server--Touch-starved DoM with identity shenanigans. Follow here on AO3!

===

It isn't until well into their acquaintanceship that Jason notices something odd about Phantom.

That's not exactly true—Jason noticed it on their third mission together in a passing thought, but decided to not care about it on account of all the bullets and daggers being thrown at him and his team at the time.

Phantom is an ally, of sorts. A consult, perhaps, Jason doesn't really know.

It's hard to really say when they still don't really know what he does.

Though, again, that's not exactly true—Jason supposes it's more accurate to say they still don't really know what he can't do.

They go to him when the supernatural is involved, introduced to them via Zatanna when Jason expressed an adamant dislike of needing to ask JL Dark for anything (needing to ask Bruce for anything).

The ghost, a big name in the so called Realms world, is friendly and happy to help most of the time. He's a delight to work with in Jason's book, seeming to use his so-called ghost sense to read the room empathically—filling in the spaces when the quiet is too dark for the team, trailing behind silent as a shadow when even breathing is too loud, staying mostly out of the way and chiming in when necessary.

It helps that if shit hits the fan, Phantom can do something about it—it helps that that's the only time Phantom will ever butt in.

The Outlaws, Jason, is still to raw to handle playing nice, but Phantom makes it easy.

Phantom makes it effortless.

It makes Jason's gut roil in ways he's not sure how to deal with, beyond shooting it.

Either way, Jason, Red Hood, isn't supposed to be here in the Realms.

It's not that he's not allowed, per say, it's just that he wasn't exactly invited to this particular corner and Jason's a Bat, sure, but even he knows the supernatural have rules.

Jason was trying to summon Phantom for a quick mission, an in and out kind of deal that may or may not have had a cult involved in it that made Jason a little leery.

Except the summons was denied, which can happen sometimes when Phantom is busy.

Only instead of the circle simply going dark, like usual, Jason got pulled in instead.

So now he's here, in what he assumes to be Phantom's lair.

It's nice, the lair, if a little dark and mood-lighted. It has a dome-like structure, with stars and constellations all over like a planetarium. There's even one of those big ass telescopes peeking out the roof like one, though it seems to only point outwards towards the green of the Realms. Symbolic, or decorative in nature.

There's bookshelves of astrology and astronomy and all sorts of science and space related things littered throughout the shelves. Every now and then the stacks of books are interrupted with some kind of LEGO space creation, or a miniature of a rocket, or some of those weird weapons Phantom sometimes pulls out.

There's a work area, neat and messy at the same time, with a work table and a large toolbox drawer set. Metal detritus is piled neatly next to it, a project or two laid out under a heavy dark blue cloth on the table to keep it from getting dusty or be moved around if Jason has to guess.

In another area, there's living room-like space with a big monitor and beanbags and soft chairs surrounding it, typical of a college dorm room-esque gaming set up. Just beside it there's a large computer that hums softly, a picture of a female werewolf acting as a screensaver.

In yet another, there's a gathering of plants of many varieties growing this way and that. Jason spots a couple he recognizes from his run-ins with Pamela, and spots a copious amount of plants he doesn't recognize of this Earth. Ghost plants, he's assuming, from the glow of them.

There is even, curiously, one of those "at-home" basketball games that can fold away reminiscent of the ones you can see at the arcade with a couple miniature basketballs. Beside it, some kind of sleek mechanical looking surfboard rests against the wall in metallic reds and black with another toolbox set hidden just behind where it leans.

The kitchen area has a fridge that's absolutely covered in magnets from all over the world, a picture in crayon that is disconcertingly good pinned up here or there signed by someone named Ellie.

And then, of course, the main draw at the center of the room: a bed of sorts, stacked with pillows and blankets and assorted plushies of varying sizes.

Buried within is Phantom himself, huddled up in a nest of pillows and breathing heavy, angelic face flushed green the way a human would in fever. Jason, for the first time since meeting the halfa, truly wonders extensively how much the he isn't telling them.

Which brings Jason back to the odd thing.

Well, the odd thing that Jason is focusing on right now:

Phantom, contrary to his self-proclaimed ghostly nature, is very solid.

More than that, he's very, utterly, alive.

It's all the more apparent when Jason takes off one of his gloves to feel Phantom's forehead, the way Bruce would when Jason was Robin.

The way Jason wishes he could with his family.

Jason realizes, with the kind of starkness that comes from a photo flipbook of memories cascading through him, that he's never touched Phantom before. Not skin to skin or outside of a spar, and never like this.

He realizes, as the pocket book extends to not just him but his team-mates as well, that Phantom's never touched anyone before.

Always hovering just 6 feet away, like quarantine.

Like the depth of a grave.

Phantom is not quite hot to the touch, as Jason expects he would be. He had suspected a fever, of a sort. But he supposes it makes sense that a ghost would run cold, considering.

In the first place, Jason's not sure what possessed him to touch the ghost—he doesn't even have a baseline temperature to compare to so there's no real point.

He's not sure what possessed him to think this was okay, touching an ally like this without consent.

Not when his touch has never been welcomed, especially not when he's Red Hood.

He's just about to pull his hand away, careful not to wake the ghost, when Phantom starts to purr.

It rattles through him, like it's not used to being let out, as Phantom nuzzles at the tips of Jason's fingers.

As if Jason's touch was wanted, as if it comforts the ghost, as if Phantom wants nothing more.

As if this very hand didn't burn buildings to the ground, didn't shoot men into the fathoms, didn't carry bloody duffle bags, didn't fucking hurt hurt hurt.

Jason withdraws his hand carefully, gliding as gently as he can manage, breathing slow and deep.

He's been trained bloody enough to know pulling back in knee-jerk reaction can give things away.

He does not want Phantom to know he touched him.

Jason puts his glove back on, tight and unforgiving, and steps back.

He flexes his hand once, twice. Shakes it, before forcefully relaxing every muscle, trying to melt away the cold traces of Phantom's skin on his.

He clears his throat once, twice a little harsher, until Phantom mewls and blinks glowing green eyes up at him. His gaze is hazy with fever, soft like feathers, child-like in confusion.

And here, another odd thing Jason has not noticed until now:

When did Phantom's Lazarus green eyes become comforting?

When did Phantom's watery green eyes become forgiving?

#Just so you know #Thursday Murder Club is a phenomenal series #highly recommend #it's about a group of senior citizens solving murder scooby doo gang style (but not really bc theres murder)#but make it tender and fascinating #you just want to learn the lore of these old people sooooo bad #touch starved dead on main #my writing #danny phantom #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny fenton #dead on main #jason todd #red hood #darcy au #bruce wayne

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glubglubgurgle · 5 hours ago

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stuck bunnies

xaviermc where your vibrating egg gets stuck and only your helpful neighbor xavier could save you

pairings: xavier/unnamed afab [mc/you]

tags: smut, shameless smut, neighbors, stuck vibrators, he helps you hehe, DRY HUMPING, fingering, p and v sex, kissing, praising, jealous xavier, charlie mentioned, sex confessions, drunk in luv hehe

word count: 7k

a/n: first part to stuck vibrator series !!!!! YIPPEEEEE !! i hope u guys enjoy, no beta but i worked hard to pump this out before i leave for my tip, thanks for the excitement shown for this series! im excited to write more eheh

pings!: @rurushow @straykidslvr @mcdepressed290 @otomegamesforlife @liz9898 @cherriesinoctober @dummiebunny @cecxliia @rikissaurus @ophelia-ophelian @youkoden @zaynetism @auroranavi [IT WOULDNT LET ME TAG SOME OF U TT IDK HOW TUMBLR WORKS TT]

CROSS POSTED TO AO3

“You need to get laid, girl…” Tara said to you before taking another sip of her martini. She scanned the bar, surely looking for a proper suitor for you.

You sighed, following her gaze. “I do…but I don’t know about a one-night-stand. I want to at least know them or something.” You looked back at her and she already had her tarot cards in hand, shuffling them. “No way your tiny purse fits that…where the hell did you pull those cards out from?” You gaped at her.

“Hush. You’re looking for love, and I’m trying to help you.” Tara continued to shuffle the cards more before fully facing you. She pulled the card from the top and placed it on the bar, hovering it face down for a moment before flipping it over. She gasped.

“What? What does it say?” You panicked, looking at the random card with a large goblet being held that seemed to have water flowing out of it. Despite having had your cards read at random, multiple times, the meanings have never stuck with you.

“You like Xavier.” Tara smirked at you.

Your ears felt hot and you scowled. “What? N-no! What are you talking about?” You push her shoulder playfully. “The card does not say that.” You huffed.

“Nooo, but your face says it all whenever he talks to another girl at the academy!” She giggled, glancing back at your card. “Hm…but judging from this, I think you’ll have some good luck in the future with your silly crush…hm, it might be a little bit of a bumpy road buuut, it seems kind of positive!” She shuffled the deck again.

“You think he knows?” You asked her, chewing on your lip. It was very much true that you were into your work partner. Not only was he your partner and friend, he was even your upstairs neighbor. Xavier was everywhere, but he still wasn’t close enough for you. Although at times you thought there was the start of something, he would disappear at times and it would feel like you were back at square one. Even if you two were partners at work, he had higher strength levels and clearance than you, which meant he would be put on a lot of solo missions.

Tara snickered, pulling another card and placing it face up besides the other one. “You’re so obvious…but who knows? I have a hard time reading that guy, sometimes. He has been to more employee dinners after you got home wasted that one time…So at least we know he cares about you!” She looked at the card and then slyly smirked at you. “I think you’ll be getting luckyyy soon.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

You looked at the card, a queen-like woman sitting on a throne. You cocked your head up at her as she ordered two tequila shots.

“One more shot!” She screamed.

One became two. And then another. And then you were stumbling on your way home. You put Tara on a taxi to her place and texted her roommate that she was on her way. Since you ate a lot while drinking, and since you were a pretty good drinker, you weren’t as drunk. It was still hard to walk a straight line but it was manageable. You stopped by a convenience store on the way for a sports drink and then sat outside in the cool night air to sober up even more. Your body felt warm from the alcohol, despite your dress revealing a lot of skin.

A hand reached out to the bottle you were struggling to open. “What are you doing out here?” You hear a familiar voice ask.

You looked up after flinching at the sudden interaction. Xavier. He was wearing a gray hoodie and matching sweatpants. His fluffy hair had tufts sticking out as if he had just rolled out of bed. He easily opened the bottle before handing it back to you.

As you grabbed the drink from him with a nod of appreciation, you took a sip before answering. “I was just coming back from the bar with Tara.” You took another sip, looking away from him. Your cheeks burned as he stared down at you. The alcohol felt like it was giving you another round of being drunk, your head was spinning and your heart was racing.

He put his hand on the top of your head, turning you back to face him before letting go. Xavier looked like he was studying you. You saw his eyes roam at your outfit and you swore the tips of his ears turned pink, but you quickly brushed it off as the cold air’s doing. “You were walking home alone?” He crossed his arms, as if to judge you, and then pointed his chin upwards while looking down at you with a slight tilt.

Another sip of your drink, the cool liquid sending a small shiver up your spine as it contrasted with everything else feeling hot. “It was just me and Tara, she was a lot drunker than me so I put her in a cab…I’m fine. Just a bit wobbly.” You answered sheepishly, a small giggle bubbling out of your throat. “Was I supposed to find a guy at the bar to take me home instead?” You cocked your head at him, taking another sip. You had no idea where the sudden confidence came from, maybe the cards from earlier made you want to test the waters.

His jaw clenched slightly. “Is your phone broken?”

The question threw you off and you looked down at your lap where your phone was, confused. “N-”

“So, why didn’t you just call me?” He sighed, looking away before looking back down at you.

Another shiver, this time from his annoyed demeanor. It should have been a little upsetting, but you were quite honestly turned on. The way his blue eyes darkened when he was upset. It’s a sight you saw often when you came back from a solo-mission bruised and battered. You grasped at every shred of worry he showed, letting it feed into your hopes and delusions. Still, you couldn’t find an excuse.

He sighed again, his arms crossing and his fingers gripped at his sweatshirt, slipping it off. His shirt came up with his sweater for a second, his bare abdomen flashed you and time seemed to slow down. You couldn’t help but stare. Each crease and crevice of his muscles almost made your mouth water, but you could feel the place between your legs get a lot warmer. You quickly looked away, blushing, hoping that he didn’t see you staring since his sweater covered his face. You screwed the cap back on the bottle and placed it by your side. Then his sweater was held out in front of your face.

“Wear this. You’re shivering.” He motioned for you to take the sweater.

With a slight hesitation, you reached up to grab it from him. You couldn’t tell him that you were actually feeling really hot because of him. You thanked him before slipping it on. It smelled like it just came out of the wash and it felt really warm. You wanted to keep smelling it, but he was right in front of you. Surely he would think you’re some sort of pervert if you just sat there and sniffed it. The fit was larger than you and since he was so tall, it went past your dress even. Which wasn’t very hard considering your dress was short already. You stood up, a bit too quickly, and stumbled.

His arms wrapped around your shoulders to steady you, “Hey…you’re still drunk.” His mouth was near your ear, his voice deep and you shivered again. You hoped your lacey underwear would be able to hold in how wet you were, because the proximity was getting to you more than usual.

There was something about the Xavier in front of you that was making you more feral and needy. You were already in a drought as is. It’s been hectic at work with long hours, to the point that when you got home, you couldn’t even take care of your needs yourself. The last time you dated someone was back in college, and you were terrible at hooking up with strangers; in the sense that you chickened out before anything went further ever.

You were so extremely sexually frustrated, and you wanted to get home to take care of it before you jumped him right on the street to confess. “Th-thank you.” You said, slightly panting from feeling his breath on your neck. You hoped he passed it off as your reaction to almost falling. You straightened yourself up and he dropped his arms, standing up straighter as well. You grabbed your drink from the bench and shoved your phone into the pocket of his sweater.

The two of you started to walk towards the direction of the apartment building you both resided in.

“What was the occasion?” Xavier asked after a few moments of silence.

Since he was normally the soft-spoken type, you have always been worried about yapping his ear off. You normally waited for him to make the first conversation move, yet besides that, the silence that fell between the two of you was comfortable. You shrugged, shoving your hands into the hoodie pocket. “Nothing really, just needed a drink after those spatial anomalies made it nearly impossible to rest for two weeks.” You let out a sigh while looking up at the night sky. The city was quieter, no random car alarms being triggered, no sudden screams from surprised civilians. “I’m glad I’m not too drunk though. It’s really nice walking with you on a peaceful night like this. You must be tired too, right? I barely saw you even though we're technically partners.” You tilted your head up at him, a small smile on your lips.

He was already looking at you and your eyes met. A small blush formed on your face. The corner of his lip twitched and a chuckle escaped him. “Yeah, it’s been a few days since we last saw each other…are you sad?” A teasing smile was on his lips as he bent over slightly to meet eyes with you, still walking. “Is that why you drank?” The question was a joke, but it was the truth.

You loved being a hunter, it was all you ever dreamt about since you were young. Although there were times where you would get tired, yet whenever he was around, it would feel like you could work for longer. As cheesy as it was, he felt like sunshine. You just let out a laugh and playfully pushed his arm away, “Don’t be silly.” His arm felt firm under your touch. You’ve had to patch him up before so you weren’t too surprised, but it still gave you butterflies. You knew that under his soft fluffy exterior was a very strong figure. The heat felt strong again, on your cheeks and under your clothes.

“Hm, you’re blushing. Are you still drunk?” He asked, stopping the both of you in your tracks. His hand came up to your face, the back of it touching your forehead. “Or…are you getting sick?” His eyebrows knitted together with a concerned look.

Your eyes widened at the sudden touch as you stopped walking. You looked away from his touch and saw that you were already at the front of the apartment. “N-no! But we’re home!” You forced out a laugh, “I’ll take some medicine before I sleep, just in case.” You ducked under his arm and in through the gate of the building, quickly walking to and through the front entrance.

The elevator ride felt quiet, but it also felt way too long. He stood too close to you and you wanted him. All you could smell was him: detergent, spring, citrus…it was driving you insane. You squeezed your thighs together and looked down, letting out a sigh through pursed lips.

“Are you okay?” He put his hand on your lower back, making you jump slightly, but you hoped it wasn’t obvious.

“Yeah,” you forced a laugh. “I think the alcohol is making me really tired or something.” You lied. Then the elevator opened on your floor. Thinking you were going to say goodbye, you finally looked up at him, but he stepped out. “Huh, this isn’t your floor.”

“Yeah, but it’s yours. It’s better if you pass out inside your home than the hallway. You never know if your neighbor is a creep.” He glared at the door closest to yours.

You walked out, still confused. “Hm, I think the only people that live on this floor are that mom and her kid…and the new one! What was his name…?” You racked your brain trying to remember, suddenly dropping the question of Xavier walking you to your door. “Carl?”

“Charlie.” Xavier responded sternly. “And anyways, just because he’s a baker, doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy. I just would sleep better if I saw you enter your home, especially in this state.”

You hummed an acknowledgment, trying to not look too swayed. He was being so considerate while he was looking so domestic and hot, you wanted to pull him into your apartment and kiss him right there. Instead you managed to open your door and step inside, turning to face him again. “Thank you…for walking me home. I’ll treat you to hot pot next time! Or a drink!” You looked down and saw his sweater still on. You were going to reach under and take it off until he placed his hand atop yours.

“Don’t worry about it, just return it whenever. Sleep well. Goodnight.” He smiled at you warmly, making your heart do jumping jacks. He walked away and then stopped to face you again, “I’ll be expecting that free meal soon, though.” He smirked at you before heading to the stairs.

“Goodnight!” You yelled back, hoping none of your neighbors heard. You shut the door and leaned against it, your heart racing a thousand miles. You made a mental note of not listening to anymore of Tara’s readings, it was making you more delusional and unstable around him. But you also thought that maybe you were just extremely horny, so you took a shower to get ready for bed.

You didn’t plan on sleeping any time soon that night, you wanted to finally take care of yourself. It was your first day off and you needed to cum as soon as possible. After your steaming hot shower, you slipped on a large shirt that you normally slept in and ditched the underwear. And then you saw his sweater on your bed. Since no one was around to judge you, you brought the fabric up your nose.

Xavier.

Images of him in the sweater, removing the sweater, holding you, and saying sweet words flashed through your mind and it was making your heart race and you started feeling your clit pulse as well. You slipped on the sweater again, feeling too warm but you wanted it. You walked over to the balcony doors and opened them to feel the night breeze. You normally touched yourself with the doors open, in hopes that he could hear you. It’s been many times since you’ve done it and since there had been no signs of any knowledge of your nighttime activities, you just do it out of habit and the breeze felt good especially after sweating all night.

You walked towards your dresser drawer and cursed. The vibrator wand you normally used had actually died two weeks prior, and you’ve been meaning to buy another one. It completely slipped your mind once work picked up and now you were left with a dead wand. You groaned, sifting through the drawer until you found a small drawstring bag.

It was the gag gift that your other coworker Simone had given you for secret santa a year before. A small purple vibrating egg. It had a little rubber loop as a handle and a small remote. Despite sitting in your drawer for a few months, you clicked the on-button and the egg came to life. Nearly bouncing from the vibrations in your palm. You never used this type of toy before from fear of losing it inside of you, but you were so desperate to cum that you couldn’t be bothered to worry anymore.

You turned the lights down and got into bed, setting the egg beside you. You dragged your hand in between your legs and put your fingers in your folds. You were already wet, despite just taking a shower, you were warm and pulsing. Your fingers pressed against your clit and a hissed breath left you through gritted teeth. “Fuck…” You grabbed the egg with your free hand while your other fingers rubbed circles on your own clit. You spread your legs further, lifting your hips up a little and planted your feet on the bed. You slowly inserted the egg into your entrance, the stretch wasn’t too much despite being inactive for years, but it was rather small anyways. You tried to push it further in, inserting your fingers with a moan. And then you clenched around it, squeezing it further in you. You tugged at the loop, making sure you can still take it out before grabbing the remote.

You took a deep breath before hitting the on button. A low hum began, which felt more like a massage than anything. You were worried that it was too weak to help with your needs, but then you pressed it again and it slowly got stronger. There were ten lights on the remote, and you knew you needed the strongest mode to cure you. Your hips started twitching as you kept raising the intensity, and once you reached the maximum, your lower body got warmer. You set the remote down and started rubbing your clit in circles. Soft moans were spilling out of you, and your leg even began to shake. You adjusted his sweater on you so the neckline was up to your nose, inhaling his scent. You felt like a pervert, but there was no one to see so you couldn’t care less. The coil in your stomach grew tighter and tighter, your legs started shaking, and your breathing got heavier. To reach your orgasm faster, you thought of Xavier. You wished he was on top of you, his hands replacing yours on your heat, saying your name. “Fuck…ngh…Xavier, please!” You moaned out. It was the first time you actually moaned his name, but you were too busy to worry about him hearing you through the open balcony as you were chasing your high.

Your hips gyrated against your own hand, the vibrations ripping through you and then you finally came. It felt like the egg was going to catapult out of you with the combination of how wet you were and how tight your walls were contracting against it. You looped your thumb against the hoop and tried to yank it out as you continued to orgaasm to relieve the liquids out of you.

And then you felt a snap. You cursed and sat up, your orgasm still making its way through you and your new position made the vibrator move inside. The flimsy rubber hoop snapped off.

You were so sensitive from having just come, and you reached for the remote to turn it off. The lights that were on were suddenly off, and you had a feeling there were even more problems. You pressed the off button and nothing. It was still vibrating inside of you and the panic made it seem like it was going even harder. You laid back down and took your fingers down into your entrance, hoping you could pull it out yourself. “Fuck! Ah!” You cursed as your fingers pressed against the egg, right into your most sensitive spot. The silicone body was slippery with all your juices coated around it, and you were losing hope. Another orgasm hit you like a truck as it was pressed against your g-spot, pushing you into overstimulation mode. You knew you could come ten times in a row in this state, and you were worried that you couldn’t control it. A string of curses lift your lips with moans in between, from pleasure and agony.

Suddenly you heard a slam from upstairs, like a heavy piece of furniture fell on the ground.

You ignored it as you had bigger things to deal with. You ripped your fingers out of yourself and rolled onto your stomach, pushing your ass up into the air as you buried your face into the pillow. Your body was shaking from the multiple orgasms, but the position felt like it was a little bit less pushed against your squishy spot. You wondered if there was anyone you could call that wouldn’t send you into years of embarrassment. You wished you kept the box for the toy to see how long the battery lasted, but you knew it would be at least an hour and you didn’t think you would survive that. Your last hope was Xavier, but…

Then, the doorbell rang. Once. Twice. And then multiple times. It was as if the person at the door was running from something. You pushed yourself up, getting to your feet, worried there was an emergency. Despite your watch not reading any fluctuations, it could have been something else.

You wobbled your way to your front door, doing your best to ignore the egg vibrating inside of you. You pulled the sweater and shirt down to cover your naked bottom fully. Each step made you clench yourself, making it rub up and down your sensitive spot. You gripped at the walls and counters as you finally made it to the door. As you squeezed your thighs together, you fumbled with the locks and then turned the knob.

The slight opening of the door was suddenly pushed further open from the outside.

Xavier.

He breathlessly said your name with concern laced through each letter. He was panting as if he had just run a mile, and his fingers were gripped on the door, looking down at you. His blue orbs were darker than usual as they searched your face for discomfort. Xavier raked his fingers through his hair, his black shirt lifting up as he raised his arm, revealing skin as his pants were low on his waist. You couldn’t help but stare and nearly drool. You felt your core get tight from arousal again, making it harder to ignore the buzzing inside of you. You wondered if he could hear it.

“Did something happen? I heard you..yelp. It sounded like you were in pain.” Xavier’s eyes looked around the living room, as if he was looking for signs of another person.

You looked down, scrunching your face together as you tried to bite back the moans threatening to come out of you. You wanted to curl into a ball and die from the shame of the state he found you in, and the face that he definitely heard you. Even though that was your goal before, the fact that it came true made you burn inside.

Desperation ate at you. “Fuck…” You cursed through gritted teeth. You pulled him in by his shirt and pressed him against the door to close it. You caged him in by planting your hands against the door by each side of his waist and looked at him. Your eyebrows were knitted together and your lower lip trembled. “P-please help me…I- ngh.” You stopped your sentence. The eye contact he held with you and the proximity of his body was enough to push you over the edge. You sank down to the floor by his feet, getting on your knees, as you tried to hold in your reaction as much as possible.

“What’s wrong?” Xavier asked, confused. He squatted down to meet you, his hand reaching under your chin to tilt up to look at him. “Use your words so I can help you.” The control he had was in heavy contrast to the control you had completely lost. Your thighs trembled and you felt your juices leak down your thighs. His words and the stern delivery made you bite your lip.

“Vibrator…ngh.” You panted, your hand reaching up to squeeze his arm. It was an attempt to focus on something else. “It’s stuck inside me…please help. I can’t-” You gasped as you clenched again, moving the egg inside of you. “I can’t get it out…” Your face burned with embarrassment.

In no time, he was up on his feet and he scooped you up in his arms. His arm hooked under your knees, and he carried you bridal style over to your bedroom. “Are you okay…with me? I have to reach inside of you.”

You could feel his eyes burning into you and you hid your face in his shoulder, gripping tightly on the fabric of his shirt. The position he carried you in pushed the egg inside of you and you were sure he could feel the vibrations from your legs. “Please…if it’s okay with you?”

“Of course.” He said instantly, placing you on the bed. “Let me wash my hands really quickly.”

You felt him leave and you rolled yourself back onto your belly, assuming that it would be easier if you weren’t facing him. You heard the water run in your bathroom and then stop before the footsteps were close to you again. You lifted your ass into the air again, waiting impatiently for him to get it out of you.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay? I have to move this up so I can see.” He said, playing with the hem of your clothing.

“P-please, just get it out quick.” You begged, slightly muffled by the pillow.

The skin on your bottoms was suddenly kissed by the cool breeze from the balcony again, cooling the liquid gushing in between your legs. You heard his breath hitch and the warmth of his hand near your entrance as the other held onto one of your cheeks. “I’m going in…I need you to relax a little, if you can. Breathe properly.” His voice, which was usually steady, had a slight break to it.

Uncertainty, you thought. Ignoring it, you moved your head to the side so you could take deep breaths, and then his fingers were inside of you. You could feel him push against the egg, and you twitched at his touch. You couldn’t help but moan. His long slender fingers were reaching areas you never could yourself, and two fingers instantly were stretching you even more as he tried to grab on.

“Fuck…you’re really tight.” Xavier said tensely. You could have sworn the grip on your ass got even tighter. “And you’re so wet…I’m having a hard time getting a grip on this thing. Can you take another finger?”

His words felt so dirty and it turned you on even more, you ended up gushing around his fingers, fluttering your walls around the egg and now him. “Ngh..fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m sorry.” Tears pricked your eyes as you came on the spot, in front of him with him inside of you. “Please, do whatever. I can’t do this anymore, Xavi, please.”

A breathy chuckle left him, “You’re driving me crazy, you know?” He said. Another finger inserted you. “Too…tight.” His hand rubbed circles on your lower back. “Relax…breathe.”

As you did your best to follow orders, you could feel him go into you deeper, spreading his fingers wider into your pussy. “Haah…” You sighed, trying to maintain your composure or what little left you had of it.

“Good girl…I almost…” He then seemed to have a good grip of the egg and then slowly pulled it out. “Got it.” His fingers, along with the egg left you with a squelch and you felt liquid drip out of you.

The room was filled with sounds of your heavy breathing and the louder buzz of the egg which was then silenced. You assumed he found the button on it. You fell onto your side, catching your breath. The multiple orgasms were taking a toll on you, and your mind was clearing up. The chain of events were replaying in your head and you started crying from embarrassment. You felt yourself being lifted by your shoulders and your head being placed onto his chest.

“Hey…why are you crying?” Xavier asked, rubbing your arms, wrapping himself around you.

You shoved your face into his chest. “I’m so embarrassed…you were just inside of me because I had that thing inside of me.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad it was me that you asked for help…if it was someone else at the door would you-” He started which you quickly looked up to deny.

You shook your head, meeting his eyes with your own teary ones. “I would rather die. I think I feel safe around you. You always help me when I need it, I knew you could help me. I don’t think I’d want anyone else to see this, either.” You explained, determined to let him know that you weren’t open to just anyone.

Xavier looked at you with wide eyes before his shocked face melted into a warm smile. “So, don’t be embarrassed. I know you were kind of stressed out just now, but I think you look really good. You sounded really good too.” His face lowered down to yours. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night, even before this. Since earlier.” His dry hand came up to your cheek, his thumb pulling your lower lip down softly. “Can I?”

You didn’t answer. Instead you pushed yourself up to meet his lips with a groan. While your lips were attached to his, you changed your position so you were on your knees on the bed, your body fully facing him. The kiss was so soft and warm, it was more than you imagined it would be. You gasped as he nibbled your bottom lip and he took his chance to explore you further. The feeling of his tongue mingling with yours made you light headed. Your hands moved to his thighs and then one roamed up from under his shirt.

He pulled you into his lap, making you straddle him.

“W-wait, I don’t have anything on. I’m going to stain y-” You tried arguing.

“Don’t care.” He stated before kissing you again, his hands held your hips and pushed you to sit on him fully. Your heat crashed into the bulge in his pants that you just noticed, making you moan loud into his mouth. Each of your sounds being swallowed by him and his groans. “Fuck…” He said against your lips, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

Your hands explored underneath his shirt, your hips mindlessly grinding against him despite how sore you felt from the vibrator earlier. Your fingers traced each bump of his muscles and grazed against his nipples. A whimper left his throat, making you buck into him from surprise. “Take it off…” You tugged at his shirt. “W-wanna see you.” You begged as you pulled away.

He smirked at you, his lips looking red. You couldn’t tell if it was leftover lipstick from you or just from the intensity of kissing. Xavier instantly slipped off his shirt.

You were about to take your tops off, but his hands grabbed yours. “I like you in my sweater.”

Xavier kissed your jaw and then your neck. Peppering more kisses until he reached your ear. “Were you thinking about me?” He asked, just above a whisper. “I heard you…” He held your hips and rolled himself up into you, groaning. “...saying my name. It drove me crazy. You never did that before.”

You gasped. “You heard me- mmmph. You heard me before?” You asked, shocked and embarrassed.

“Isn’t that why you opened your doors? Who else did you want to hear you like that?” His grip tightened on you, almost bruising, bringing you down to grind more on his clothed length. “It’s just me, isn’t it? You feel so good, even just like this. You already came, but you’re still soaking me.” He groaned into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and making you moan in return.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your knuckles turning white as you held onto his shoulders for dear life. All his words made you flutter your walls around nothing. You were just begging to be empty earlier and now you couldn’t help but want to be stretched out by him again. His heavy breathing, soft moans, and dirty words were pushing you closer and closer to another orgasm. If he blew air into your ear, you swore you wouldn’t have to keep grinding down on him just to come, he could unravel you without even touching you. “J-just you, Xavi…I like you so much…wanted you to hear me and like me too.” You took a sharp inhale as you felt his clothed tip rub against your clit just right.

“Fuck- ahng. Why didn’t you say so earlier, baby? I could’ve helped you out all those other times.” Xavier then repositioned you to lie on your back before climbing on top of you, reconnecting the two of you at the hip. The weight of his cock felt heavier as he was on top of you. Even through the pants you could tell it was big. The light gray fabric turned dark, the wet spot large as well from you constantly dripping onto him. “What if that- shit…” He cursed as he slowly trailed his clothed tip in between your wet, naked folds. He lifted the sweater you were wearing up, resting it above your belly button so he could admire you more. His eyes looked blown up and glassy from the arousal, you swore his pupils covered every centimeter of blue. “If that baker heard how you sounded….fuck. He doesn't even know that you can’t even remember his name,” he let out a dark, mocking chuckle. His hands roamed along your thighs, up your stomach, and played at the hem of the pushed up sweater. “Doesn’t even know how pretty you look, writhing underneath me, right now. How good you feel…and I’m not even fucking you….”

You arched your back up from the mattress, attempting to have his hand ride up further to touch you more. You shook your head, “W-wanted only you to hear me…please, touch me.” You were gonna babble, you knew it. You grabbed his wrist that was on your stomach and pushed his hand under the sweater, to touch your breasts. Your nipples felt hard and peaked, you needed him to touch them. As if he read your mind, his fingertips grazed them, making you stutter a moan out. Your other hand played with the waistband of his sweatpants. “Can you fuck me? Please, Xavi? I want you inside me. Please?” You begged, your eyes looking up at him, half-lidded and blurry visioned.

“God, you’re driving me crazy.” He groaned, rubbing his cock against your core once more before pulling away slightly, which earned a whine to leave your lips at loss of contact. Xavier panted as he pulled his pants down slowly. “Are you sure? I don’t know if I can hold back…or even last long.” He looked around. “Do you even have a condom?”

You didn’t know whether to shake your head or nod profusely as you had multiple answers. “D-don’t care, birth control. Want you to cum inside.” Your brain was mush, desperate to cum again with him inside. “Been dreaming of this, Xavi. Don’t- ahhh!” He rolled your nipped in between his index and his thumb, interrupting you as you arched your back again, squeezing your eyes shut. “Don’t you dare hold back on me.” You managed to grit out.

“Look at me.” He commanded and your eyes shot open again. He got up from the bed and pulled his pants down before scooting back in between your legs. His cock was an immense size. Large, leaking, thick. You’ve never seen one this big before, and although you wanted to be more nervous, you were too sex fogged to care. He wrapped his hand around his length, pumping himself without much care as he looked at you intently, his jaw tensed and his eyes were full of sex. You never knew what bedroom eyes were until you saw him. His other hand slid up your thigh again, the trail electrifying. He then pushed the sweater up to rest above your tits, tucking it under your chin. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful. I could cum just looking at you…” Xavier said, lust dripping from his words as he continued to pump himself.

You could watch him jerk off and cum right then and there too. Knowing that you were the reason was enough to make you whine. “Please, Xavi…”

He dragged his now bare tip in between your equally bare folds. You twitched at the touch and lifted your hips to quicken his proximity to your entrance, but his hand held you down. “Ah, ah…be patient for me, my star.” He hissed, yet his words didn’t match his actions as he already lined himself up to your leaking hole. “You’re already so wet, I think I could just slip right in…ahh.” He teased the tip in, pushing it in and out. The stretch was already bigger than you imagined, but you were so turned on, there was no room to be in pain.

You moaned and whined, begging for more. A mantra of pleases and curses left your lips as he finally slid more of himself in with a groan.

“Fuck…” He groaned as he was halfway in, heaving. “You’re still so tight…won’t ever get enough of this.” He slid further in. “This is just for me, right? You’re mine now, aren’t you?” His fingers had a bruising grip on your thighs, keeping your legs on his hips, opening you up to him. “Tell me…” He commanded as he slid further.

“A-all yours. Just for you…take- holy fuck…take all of me. Whenever…whereever…” You babbled, your head dropping back onto the pillow, your gaze moving the ceiling as you felt him even deeper than before. “F-fuck me.”

Xavier leaned over as he bottomed out with a gasp, his hand moved to the back of your head, forcing you to look at him and where the two of you were connected. “Keep looking at me, baby. Need you to see the mess we’re making.” The skin around where the two of you met was glistening. Either with sweat, cum, slick…you couldn’t give a fuck. He was finally inside of you. Even if you wanted to look away, your eyes were glued. Either at his dick or his eyes, it was the only thing you could focus on. And then he started moving. “Shit, you take me so well. I’m the only one who can make you this wet…can’t you hear?” Loud squelching sounds came from him moving in and out of you, you could even see tiny splatters of liquid. “You’re so fucking wet, I think I’m gonna drown, but you’re still so tight…are you nervous? Or are you just a perfect fit for me? Relax a little baby…” He was turning such mundane words into the dirtiest sentences and it was driving you over the edge.

You couldn’t respond, all that was coming out of you when you wanted to was choked moans and whines. And the only word you could force out was his name. “X-Xavi…hngh…Xavie-r.” His eyes snapped up to meet yours and then he leaned down into a bruising kiss, teeth clashing and drool spilling at the side of your mouth.

“Keep saying my name, I’m so fucking close.” He said against your lips before moving back again to watch him go in and out of you, you swore he drooled too. Then he licked his thumb and placed it on your clit, rubbing circles in a calculated manner. “Let me feel you cum around my cock like you did my fingers. So fucking pretty, I wanna feel you squeeze around me like that here too.” The pressure building was driving you crazy, nearly having you scream his name. You wondered if the entirety of Linkon could hear you. As if he heard your thoughts again, “Tell the whole city who you belong to, starlight.” He groaned, his thrusts turning sloppier by the second.

“Xavier! G-gonna c-” You couldn’t even finish before you felt yourself spill all over his cock, spasming around him. You tried to hold eye contact, but couldn’t take the multiple sensations and you threw your head back, your hips stuttering as he continued to pound into you. You swore your back could have snapped in half with how far and fast you arched it up as you came.

“Right-fucking-there…holy shit.” He groaned and said in between thrusting into you. “Fucking…take it…” He groaned before spilling into you. It was hard to tell which warmth was his which was yours, but the of him cumming inside of you was enough to bring you to another quick and short second wave. “God…you’re going to drain me…” He panted, falling on top of you, still softly thrusting himself through his orgasm and yours. His lips latched onto your neck, leaving marks in between his breathy whines.

He rolled the two of you over, still connected so you could rest on him instead of the other way around. Your head was on his chest, listening to his erratic heartbeat return to a more normal state as each minute passed by. The two of you were still heaving and still sticky. You could feel yourself leak around his softening cock. He finally let you remove his sweater as it was bunched on around your chest awkwardly, so you were fully connected in your purest, rawest form.

You giggled, thinking about the tarot cards Tara pulled.

“What’s so funny, starlight?” He rubbed your back softly, his chin on top of your head as he spoke.

“Just thinking that the stars are forever in our favor…” You mumbled, fully content with the night.

#lads #love and deepspace #lnds #lads fic #lnds fic #love and deepspace fic #lads xavier #lads xavier smut #lads smut #xavier smut #love and deepspace smut #xaviermc smut #lnds smut #lnds xavier smut #lnds xavier

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brainrotbee · 2 days ago

Text

Payneland Week Day 7: Free Day

“I have a question,” Crystal said, shifting her UNO cards away from Charles, who was discreetly trying to peek.

“Go on then,” Edwin replied. He placed a green eight on the table, causing Charles to swear.

“17 blooming cards and I haven’t got a single green,” he fumed.

“What did you guys do in Port Townsend?” Crystal continued. “You know, when you weren’t on a case or with me and Niko.”

Edwin and Charles exchanged looks.

Edwin held up one of Jenny the butcher’s knives, narrowing his eyes at it. “What on Earth does she use this for?”

Charles shrugged. “Maybe she has to kill cows too, not just cut them up.” He looked up at the stuffed cow’s head mounted on the wall. “Is that what happened to you?” When the creature didn’t reply, Charles flicked its nose. He pulled out a small watch and squinted at the glowing green numbers. “It’s two only in the morning. How long do you reckon they’re going to sleep?”

Edwin shrugged. He could barely remember what sleep was like, let alone what a normal sleep schedule was. “Likely until the sun comes out.”

Charles groaned and laid dramatically on the floor. “I’m so bored.”

“We could look for our own case.”

“Nah.” Charles put his hands behind his head. The floor looked clean but Edwin couldn’t stop thinking about the animal meat that had likely been absorbed into the tile. It was a good thing ghosts couldn’t get salmonella. “Crystal would get angry.”

“It’s almost as if I warned you about involving ourselves with the living.”

“I’m pretty sure Niko is ‘the living’ too,” Charles shot back, showing off his Edwin impression. Edwin rolled his eyes. Charles rolled onto his side and watched him for a moment before speaking.

“Come join me.”

Edwin arched an eyebrow. “On the floor?”

“Yeah.” Charles shrugged. “Nothing better to do.”

“While I share your bored sentiments, I would also like to hold onto my remaining dignity.”

“Come on, Edwin,” Charles begged. “Please?”

Edwin relented after a bit of glaring because he could never say no to Charles, who was now grinning ridiculously. They laid next to each other for a little while, listening to the faint buzzing of the neon cow diagram. “Do you think Tragic Mick is a good swimmer?”

Edwin blinked. “What?”

“Well he used to be a walrus and everything,” Charles explained. “That should give him an edge over the rest of us, right?”

Edwin stared at Charles, noting how close their faces were. “You confuse me at times.”

“I told you I’m bored.”

Edwin smiled. He loved when Charles was in those carefree moods of his, where he said anything that came to mind. It made Edwin let his guards down as well. It was a special time for them, one of transparency and comfort. He looked up at the ceiling. “I can’t swim,” he said thoughtfully.

“Really?” Charles frowned. “I thought you went on holiday as a kid.” He shook his head. “Rich toff.”

Edwin snorted. “Yes, but I never did anything but read on the beach.” The sea had always frightened him.

“Oh.” Charles looked away. “I can swim but you know I don’t like to.”

Edwin sobered. Of course. “Are you alright here?” he asked tentatively. “Being in a town surrounded by the ocean can’t be pleasant.”

Charles hummed. “The ocean doesn’t scare me as much,” he admitted. “Still don’t like it but it’s better than… a lake.” His voice caught on the last word. “But I still like it here—Port Townsend, I mean.”

“As do I,” Edwin found himself saying. “It’s far quieter than London.”

Charles wiggled his eyebrows. “What do you say about relocating?”

“Absolutely not.”

Charles laughed and checked his watch again. “It’s only been five minutes,” he agonized. He rolled over dramatically, his arm landing on Edwin’s chest. “Play 20 questions with me or something. I’m going mental just waiting.”

Edwin laughed. “Alright,” he agreed. “But you need to work on your patience.” He was very aware of the fact that Charles could just go back to the office where they had all their things but was choosing not to. That was why Edwin was willing to do anything for him, because he had chosen him.

It was a lovely feeling.

#payneland week #painland week #dead boy detectives #dbda #dbda fanfic #last one best one #I hope lol

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yazis · 1 day ago

Text

I'M NOT INTERESTED!!

二十 - opening gambit

wc: 1.8k words

note: if u don’t understand chess, just pretend they’re playing monopoly or smth..? 😭 (there’s not too much detail tho). I FEEL LIKE SUCH A NEEK WRITING THIS, also it ended up being a bit longer than i had expected oops

he was staring down at you, face blank and unbothered. it was difficult not to swoon for him there and then. it reminded you of your first encounter with him yesterday...

it was then you cringed at the memory from yesterday, where you had kicked a ball towards the back of his head and nearly died on the spot from sheer embarrassment.

hopefully he doesn't remember, it doesn't seem like he does...

you clearly spoke internally too soon. because you watched as sae's once blank expression soured into one of distaste, his nose scrunching up slightly.

great. he definitely hates me...

"i'm the uh, club president here!" you blurted to try and change the course of whatever he was thinking, "are you.. hear to play chess?", you smiled a little giddy at the thought of new members, especially one as attractive as itoshi sae.

though the longer you looked at his face, the more your hopefulness faded.

who am i kidding? of course he's not here to play chess.

...

unless..?

"i'm looking for someone. they said they go to this club" he said in a monotonous voice, crushing any hopes you had going on in your head. you didn't even attempt to mask the disappointment on your face.

"looking for someone?" you repeated still sulking, raising a brow, "who are you looking for-"

you tensed immediately cutting yourself off. remembering the texts you had with him. the way you had annoyed him, the information you had stupidly dropped...

wait a second.. he's ACTUALLY hunting me down??

your mouth nearly dropped in shock but you covered it up with a few coughs. you didn't even have time to think, panicking once you saw his sharp eyes scanning upon the pitiful number of people in the room and then straight at you.

i need to say something! quick!

"they might not be here yet!" you said quickly, "there are usually more people here, it's just.. no one really decided to show up today.." you lied. on a good day maybe five or six people showed up.

he didn't say anything.

"do you know anything about this particular person..?" you said, trying to sound as calm as possible.

"they're a second year." he said plainly

i told him i was a second year? oh lord-

"oh a second year? haha.. we have A LOT of those round here..." you said playing it cool.

"we do?" you heard a quiet voice whisper in the background.

NOW'S NOT THE TIME ITADORI.

you cleared your throat awkwardly, "a-anyway, you might as well wait here. there's a chance they might turn up late.. most people do that."

"do they..?" you heard yet another voice mutter.

MIDORIYA!

you shot a quick sharp look over your shoulder as itadori and midoriya burst unto a quiet fit of giggles. turning back to face the man of your dreams, you put on an awkward smile.

"you can play chess while you wait?" you said, gesturing to the table you were about to play yourself on from where the two of you still stood by the door.

"it's um.. really fun.." you added on trailing off, wincing at how pathetic and sad you sounded.

you honestly felt a tad bit bad lying to him. being the person he was looking for, it meant that realistically he wasn't really waiting for the person he was looking for to walk through.

then you dwelled on the fact that the question you were asking him. was actually quite pathetic, or at least it made you feel so. especially with the deafening silencing, making you want to shrink back and hide under one of the tables.

heck rin, yoichi and meguru won't even play chess with me... what makes me think itoshi sae will??

you were expecting him to walk out the door any second, maybe with a cold glare as he left the room (giving you a reason to cry yourself to sleep tonight). what you WEREN'T expecting was him to speak up-

"fine."

——————————

and that's how you ended up sitting across from the itoshi sae with a chess board between you two.

don't stress out y/n... you're only playing chess with your husband-to-be. no biggie, no biggie at all...

izuku and itadori had clearly read the room, opting for quiet whispers rather than their usual chattiness whilst they played each other.

meanwhile you shifted awkwardly in your seat, suddenly interested in the material of your skirt as the man sat across you stared down the pieces on the board on the table.

he was white and you were black, meaning he would be making the first move. but judging from the lack of movement on his part, you quickly realised he probably didn't know how to play.

so you looked up.

"um.. do you know how to play-"

he moved one of his centre pawns forward.

"oh." you said. looking down at the board. you were definitely not expecting that.

he knows how to play chess? i think i just fell in love all over again

you had to clear your throat.

"i didn't think football players would know how to play chess if i'm being honest, haha..." you said, moving on of your own pawns forward.

the game started to flow and you could tell with the moves he was playing that he wasn't exactly a beginner. your eyebrows furrowed slightly.

do i go easy on him then..?

you wondered. you'd probably be able to win. despite not having anyone to play for a couple of weeks due to the lack of attendance, you still tried your best to play random strangers online on chess.com. though...

if i beat him.. that'll give him another reason to hate me probably..

you then chuckle to yourself.

but if i beat him, i can assert dominance... hehehe..

as the game carried on silently. a few pieces were exchanged but your mind couldn't help but be distracted, trying to think of things to say, the silence was killing you.

i might never get a chance to speak with him like this, yolo i guess..

after a short while of mental conflict, you eventually spoke up nervously.

"my name's l/n, by the way. y/n l/n."

for the first time since he sat down, his eyes locked with yours. a bored expression on his face, unnerving. you gulped, but held eye contact nonetheless.

he didn't reply, and instead moved his next piece.

ok. i just got aired.

you were entering the midgame, it was around some point during that time that you could hear the defeated noises of itadori losing again. you didn't have to look to know that they were about to play each other for the fifth time.

it was actually a bit frustrating that you weren't winning by as much as you thought you would be in your game against sae, and you showed it with the frown on your features. perhaps you had actually gotten a bit rusty.

in actual fact, it was hard to pay attention to chess in front of you when you had a drop dead gorgeous man in front of you as well. one that seemed to dislike making conversation with you.

which was fine, you'd keep trying.

"how bout we make a bet? you know, to keep things interesting," you said trying to play it cool, your bishop taking his knight.

he looked up at you again. and you really couldn't tell what he was thinking, but you assumed he was intrigued. so you continued.

"if i win, i get your number." you grinned, a new found boldness to win emerging inside of you. sae looked as if ,not that you could see since you were smiling with your eyes closed. well you were until a split second later when you froze and realisation washed over you

wait a second... i already HAVE his number. if i win, WAIT-

"ACTUALLY... i don't want your number, now that i think about it.." you laughed awkwardly, moving one of your pieces without much thought behind it.

"good. i wasn't going to give it to you anyway." he said bluntly, glaring at you ever so slightly. you sighed quietly in relief.

right. that was way too close.. me and my stupid mouth.

"fine. if i win then.. can i get your autograph?" you asked. after all, according to yoichi, sae was quite popular in the football world. you could already picture the autograph pinned on your wall back home in your room.

he said nothing.

well. he didn't say no.

a few more moves were taken.

"and if you lose?" he said, you were mildly surprised he held up the conversation. a small smile made its way to your face at the thought.

'hahaha... me? lose to you?'

is what you wanted to say, but you decided after some thought that that wouldn't end up well for you. besides-

"check." he said, moving his queen forward, finding an opening that you were unaware of.

you frowned, you were hoping to get the first check yourself. having no choice but to move your king along a square, you did just that.

"um.. well if i lose. i guess i can help you find that person you're looking for." you offered, "i'm also a second year."

and then i'd get to spend more time with him.. without him knowing i'm the person he's looking for! it's a win win for me!

wait.

your mouth then formed a tight straight line as you realised you had just dropped the fact that you were a second year. you slowly looked down to avoid eye contact.

you'd like to think that sae didn't take note of the way you suddenly went quiet. but with your eyes glued down at the chess board, you failed to notice the way his eyes, narrowed, lingered on you for a second longer before too looking down at the table.

——————————

it wasn't until around fifteen minutes later when the endgame arrived. the two of you were down to your last pieces.

at that point you weren't really focused on the game, not anymore at least.

you found yourself prolonging the quick glances you were giving sae earlier, longing stares instead were sent his way.

clearly you were too busy checking him out, because before you knew it...

"checkmate."

you blinked. his deep voice breaking you out of your trance as you casted your eyes away from his and down at the board in front of you.

"eh?"

surely enough, he had used his rook and queen and cornered you in checkmate.

you were completely stunned, looking down in disbelief and widened eyes.

two overdramatic gasps could be heard in the background, accompanied with some not so discreet whispers.

"no way..."

"he beat l/n..?"

"but l/n never loses!"

you ignored them, of course. when you finally found your voice-

"I LOST!?"

prev | masterlist | next

SUMMARY: in which 2nd-year y/n l/n one day turns up at their high school and falls heads over heels with a certain 3rd-year, one who has a strict ‘no-dating’ policy.

taglist i: @bluerskiees @ilovechuuyaa @bloombb @silly-ez @urdesaintess @hugs4shizu @saeswifeeee @kiopanxp @azharyy @winterpein @sarah-saystuff @krnsluvvie @biaonww @morgyyyyyyy @simpingmyassoff @aerisevx @giasssslife @tamimemo @unknown-lab @90s-belladonna @localgirlywithnolife @purriodsblog @shokiren @yxruxp @lumiambrose @mizukiblogs @cayl33n @riwliane @rottingvxmpire @megumifushigurooo @ellebasy-sabrinaa @swagkittybear @unknown-lab @bubybubsters @nevvynev @mrsitoshiss @cielcho @lotusofia @matchablossomsss @chuurinnie @cheriiepies @sus0daddy @randomhumans-blog @megumismyhusband @kaidostwin @ysvanielle @f1zzyecola @realrintaro @kyeeeeeeeweeeeeeewi @kaz-0e

#blue lock #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #sae itoshi x reader #blue lock smau #sae itoshi x you #blue lock x reader #sae itoshi #itoshi sae x reader #bllk sae #blue lock sae #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #bllk itoshi sae #bllk sae itoshi #sae itoshi x y/n #itoshi sae smau

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offdxty · 1 day ago

Text

With the relief of waking up in Arthur's arms rather than all alone, possibly with another man by his side that reeks of death and decay, the three days that had followed after were... a bit easier to endure.

Kane had mostly rested, lying in bed while allowing time to pass; Sleep didn't come easy to him the first night, even though Arthur had stayed in his room for as long as possible, promised that the other man, the security guard, wouldn't return.

Kane had believed him, and yet he'd barely managed to sleep for longer than an hour at a time. With no clock existing within his room, he hadn't exactly known - but could tell nevertheless by how often he'd opened his eyes and stared at the dimly lit ceiling before someone finally brought in breakfast for him, telling about another day having started.

In between each of those moments where he'd been awake, dreams had haunted him - more vividly than before, more colorful, more... real. Dreams of foliage growing in grotesque shapes, of deer with flowering antlers watching him making his way through the dense forest. Dreams of a fire that burned, burned, burned - a fire that ate itself through his own flesh, exposed muscles and sinews to the naked eye, followed by the color of bones---

With the second night came better sleep, but only to a certain extend; Eyes kept opening at random times, sometimes followed by a gasp, a cough and pain that shot through his body in return. Whenever those eyes remained closed, the dreams returned - dreams of a bright sun shining through what appeared like colorful glass, of a stomach being cut open, revealing intestines moving and curling like snakes, like animals eating themselves through tissue and flesh. Dreams of brown eyes gazing at him, lips slightly parted, a grenade held between fingers; Ever wondered what a phosphor grenade looks like? ---Don't look, it's very bright, it will hurt your eyes. Find Lena, if you ever make it outta here.

Breakfast came, and the light above Kane's head increased in intensity - not too much, but enough to bring the illusion of a new day across. He'd requested soup, he'd been served soup, he'd eaten the soup - easy on the stomach, easy on a sore tongue, a split lip. Comfortable, warm, a hug served in a bowl made of broth and vegetables.

Kane had asked about the ingredients this time, out of curiosity - gotten to know what carrots, green beans, canned peas and potatos are. Decided that he enjoys said potatoes a lot, because they soak up the broth so well and become soft and mushy when cooked long enough.

And then, Arthur had entered his room - had returned, just like the days before. By now, Kane should feel confident about the fact that it becomes less and less likely for the other to not be there, all things considered - that Arthur will be there, will return in the morning and make his way over - and yet, when dark brown eyes find their way to him, they seem to lighten up with pure emotion, relief; A sun rising from behind the line of the horizon, bright and intense, a sky void of any clouds.

"Hey." A greeting, as always, and yet... it's different. Good morning, that's what's usually being said - Kane decides to use another word today, something less flat, more... himself.

And even though the other acts a little sterile, perhaps, Kane is still just happy to see him - so he takes it, watches Arthur make his way over, shifts a bit on his bed to make space; He does as he is told, lifts his shirt over his head without hesitation, the movement a little easier to execute now with the pain having lessened...

"Did you sleep okay?"

True curiosity, one that Kane allows to express itself - with things having... happened, not too long ago, it seems that he himself has changed once again. Feels... different, somewhere inside his own chest, his head, his heart.

"---I think it's getting better. Coughing still hurts, and... well, inhaling too deeply is also quite uncomfortable..." A small, sheepish smile, telling of Kane having tried to do exactly that, just to cause himself pain. "...But I think... I think the bruises are getting smaller. Less sensitive as well. It was easier for me to shower this morning - had to be less careful with my movements."

A nod, a brief lift of brows as Kane sits a bit more upright to give Arthur better access of his own upper body while his eyes linger on the man, taking in the sight of him.

"...Looks like your self-made ointments and balms are really effective." Another smile, soft but genuine. "They smell good, too."

Arthur stilled when Kane spoke his name. He didn’t flinch, didn’t twitch, didn’t even shift in any way that could be called significant; he just allowed the sound to exist near him, allowed Kane to utter it. It had been years since he had allowed anyone to use his name like that; it almost made him feel like Kane was talking about someone from the past, rather than the doctor sitting so close to him.

Arthur.

Kane had said it nicely - Arthur had liked how the word had been formed. Low, careful, like it mattered - Arthur hadn’t asked him to, and yet Kane had given his name a deep respect.

He felt the whisper of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips again, barely there. The way Kane had said it settled in his chest, flickering like a gentle fire - it warmed a part of him that had gone cold a long time ago, lost to the familiar aches and twists of time.

Arthur let out a soft exhale at the feeling of Kane resting his head against him. It wasn’t a heavy thing, not physically; Kane’s body had a weight to it, yes, but it was a gentle kind of weight. One that asked to be held, rather than forced - an opportunity, rather than a burden.

Arthur shifted just slightly, enough to make it easier, letting Kane rest gently over him. He relaxed as well, finding it easier to when lured by the drug.

It was a moment he would have to justify later - but this was something that could be justified with the simplicity of building rapport yet again. He was making Six into the ‘bad’ man, and making himself into the ‘good’ man.

It was almost comical, how much this looked like manipulation. Perhaps it was - it wasn’t like Kane would know any better. Arthur could lead Kane just about anywhere, and he felt fairly confident that Kane would follow. It wasn’t a relieving thing to know. It wasn’t right, that Kane’s fate relied on someone like Arthur. Despite knowing that there was no manipulation here, that there were no deeper or darker desires to his actions, it as easy to feel as if he were still somehow taking advantage of the other.

Kane was a good man. A very kind man, even as he talked about the man he had been created from; even as he he talked about carrying his name as if it were an honor as much as it were a curse. Kane talked about being chosen, about not knowing whether he’d earned it, about hoping that the one before him had been okay with the gift.

Arthur stared past him, looking instead toward the camera in the corner. He didn’t see it, his eyes unable to focus; all he could focus on was the slow unraveling of something quiet in his chest. Something that Kane was causing, whether he knew it or not.

It ached, deep behind his ribs. Nothing sharp, nothing obvious - just a dull echo that only ever came up when something old brushed against something in the present. He found that a lot, with Kane; a man who was far too innocent, who was trapped in a world that was far too cruel.

This wasn’t the first time he’d held someone who would die.

Arthur’s fingers twitched as he held the other man, at the memory of another weight. One that hadn’t been so gentle, one that hadn’t been asked to be held - that body had been limp in his arms. The weight had been awkward and heavy, a body that didn’t know how to rest only because the soul had long since slipped away.

They had been alive, when he’d picked them up. Still breathing, even if just barely. When he’d laid them down again, into a grave scraped out by his own hands, they were not.

Despite knowing that it wouldn’t be the same with Kane, there was still a part of his mind that was panicking. Alarm bells that were going off over nothing, fear over a recurring trauma.

Don’t let go. Don’t look away. If you stop watching, you know what will happen.

He had thought that they were only sleeping, too. That the blood had dried because it had clotted, that stiffness was just exhaustion. Everything had an excuse, denial overwrote reality. Every movement was proof of breath, proof of life, even if there hadn’t been any movement at all; it had been the last time Arthur had truly cried.

That day had planted something inside of him, something cold and permanent. Love had become unbearable, friendship was unwanted. Even joy had been reduced to obsession; hobbies were compulsive, connection was repetition. The world was too loud, too sharp, and the only safe space away from it was somewhere deep inside of his own head.

The ground had been hard, that day.

He hadn’t buried them deep enough.

Arthur didn’t cry, but his throat tightened in a threat to do so. His breaths were shorter, a quiet form of grief; Kane was asleep on him now, but Arthur found himself watching the man’s chest too closely. Watching for every breath, every shift, needing to see that he was still alive.

The drugs made it too easy for past and present to blur. After Kane had woken up, had been given a smile in relief, Arthur had gone to discuss it with the superiors.

Of course, his request to be removed from the medication had been denied.

─── ⋆⋅⚖️⋅⋆ ─────────────────

Three days later, the lights overhead were raised a bit again, though they were still fairly dim. The hum of the facility was just as cold, but the room now held a bit of warmth to it; Arthur hadn’t been pulled off of the job, and Six hadn’t been allowed to return thanks to Arthur’s discussions with those more in charge.

Six was damaging to the subject, he’d protested. They didn’t want to keep Kane forever, the program was expensive - so Arthur’s methods were superior, because they got information faster.

It had been a few hours in an office to get Six banned from the room, but Arthur was good at getting his way.

He wasn’t in his usual outfit, today. The button-up had been replaced with a dark grey sweater, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. It was exposing, but only in a minor sense, showing off the medical cuff around one wrist and a beaded bracelet on the other.

His inner left forearm held a tattoo, one in elegant hand-written calligraphy. It was slightly imperfect, suggesting that someone else had written it; and it was faded by the sun, suggesting that whoever had written it had done so long, long ago.

فَإِنَّمَعَالْعُسْرِيُسْرًا

Indeed, with hardship comes ease. A line from the Qur’an; one that had earned him more than a few looks over the years.

He wasn’t Muslim, and he never had been. It had been pointed out to him before, with curiosity as much as with irritation, and even something close to offense. He had listened each time, quiet and understanding, never defending himself too strongly - either people were satisfied with ‘I was twenty-one and didn’t know anything other than that I liked it’, or they weren’t.

The only other tattoo was an old dot pattern, one that circled the outer elbow on his right arm, hand-poked and slightly uneven.

He made his way carefully to Kane’s bed again, his hands clean and a tray being placed down beside the other. He had nothing but more balm for the bruises, more warm pads, another clean cloth to wrap the worst of the swelling. It wasn’t bad, it was just deep bruising - something that hurt, but nothing that he had to worry about becoming infected or getting worse.

Arthur wasn’t speaking much, though not for any real reason. He’d given a greeting as he’d entered, and he had walked over to start working - he hadn’t pulled his mind from the bruising ever since he’d last seen it. It was his most pressing concern, wanting to look at them just to make certain that nothing was behaving oddly.

“Get your shirt off for me, please,” Arthur muttered - his voice a bit more clinical than it typically was, though with no true malice. Nothing but a deep focus for the man in front of him, needing to do his best to tend to him.

#preemptivejustice #interactions; shimmer!kane #plotted verse; preemptivejustice (kane)#(kane seeing arthur: *turns into cute kane immediately*)#(he doesnt know it yet but he likes arther a... not normal amount. B) )

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bueckersipad · 5 hours ago

Note

paige x pwhl reader, and it’s basically just paige going to all her games, being her #1 fan, super fluffy

front row. always.

pairings: paige bueckers x pwhl!reader (minnesota frost)

tw: fluff, horrific knowledge of hockey and the pwhl.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜

you’re not used to being the one watched.

paige is usually the star. uconn was one thing, but now it’s dallas. real deal, real league. her name on jerseys, her face on banners, highlight clips with millions of views. she’s the one dropping defenders, hitting step-backs, making arenas roar.

but at your games? she’s just paige. just your girl, sitting front row in a frost hoodie, waving at you during warmups like she’s not fresh off a wnba road trip.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜

tonight’s a home game against toronto, and you’re buzzing. not just the usual pre-game nerves, but the kind of jittery feeling that comes from knowing she’s in the building. she flew back in this morning—tired, probably—but still here. front row, same seat. every time.

your teammates joke about it sometimes. how you skate harder when she’s here, how your passes are cleaner, how you hit people into the boards like you’re trying to show off.

you don’t even bother denying it.

you’re lacing your skates when your phone buzzes on the bench next to your stall.

paige: don’t trip during warmups. i’ll laugh so hard.

you huff a quiet laugh, typing back fast with your thumbs.

you: maybe i’ll trip on purpose. give you a show.

paige: please do. front row tickets are expensive. i expect entertainment.

you roll your eyes, but your lips curve anyway. she always does this—gets you out of your own head. keeps you light.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜

when you step on the ice for warmups, she’s already there. hoodie on, hood up, her phone pointed at you like she’s filming for some secret highlight reel.

when you skate by, she mouths don’t fall again.

you mouth back, shut up.

her grin gets wider.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜

the game is fast. toronto’s physical, taking cheap shots in the corners, but you hold your own. you bury a shot in the second period, glove fist to the glass—because that’s where she is.

she’s standing now, clapping, eyes bright under the hood. she taps the glass twice. it’s your thing. you tap your stick back.

your chest feels warm under all the pads.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜

after the win—4-2—you head toward the tunnel. she’s already waiting there, arms crossed, a soft smile on her face. her dallas warmup pants are tucked into nike socks, but the top half of her outfit is pure minnesota frost. your jacket. your logo. her hood pulled down now, blonde hair loose around her shoulders.

“look at you,” she teases, stepping in to hook her arms around your waist. “goal scorer. crowd pleaser. glass tapper.”

you lean into her without thinking. “you love it.”

“obviously. i’m your number one fan. i’ve got merch and everything.”

“you are merch.”

“wow.” she gasps dramatically, but her grip on you tightens. “disrespecting me right after a win? couldn’t be me.”

“couldn’t be anyone else.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜

at home, it’s even softer.

you’re both curled up on the couch, her legs over yours, the post-game replay muted on the tv. she’s scrolling through her phone, showing you the videos she took.

“look at this pass,” she says, handing you the screen. “disgusting. you’re so good it’s actually rude.”

you glance at the clip, then at her. “this is you recording while also yelling. i can hear you in the background.”

“multitasking. i’m literally an athlete.”

“you? an athlete?” you fake a gasp. “since when?”

she grins, flicking popcorn at you. “uh, dallas wings, ring a bell?”

“barely.”

“wow.” she rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing. “okay, mister frost. let’s not forget who crossed you up in the driveway last month.”

“you tripped me.”

“same thing.”

“it’s really not.”

“whatever,” she says, kicking her foot lazily against yours. “i could’ve gone pro in hockey if i wanted.”

“sure.”

“i’m serious.”

“you can barely skate.”

“details.” she grins, softer now. “besides, i like watching you play more.”

you go quiet at that, heart thudding slow and heavy in your chest.

“you’re at, like, every game,” you murmur.

she shrugs, brushing her foot against yours again. “of course i am.”

“but you’re busy. you have practice. flights. games.”

“doesn’t matter.” her voice drops, but it’s still light. “i’d still pick this.”

you look at her then, really look at her. eyes soft. cheeks flushed from the cold rink air. hand tangled in yours under the blanket.

“you’re stuck with me, y’know,” she whispers.

“yeah?” you whisper back.

“yeah,” she says, thumb tracing slow circles against your palm. “front row. always.”

and you believe her.

because it’s not about the goals. or the wins. or the highlights. it’s just about her being there. hands warm. heart steady. eyes on you. every game. every time.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜

a/n: i really loved this request and i don’t know much about hockey so i hope it's alright. the other requests are being written!

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #uconn x reader #wnba x reader #uconn #wlw #dallas wings #paigebueckers wlw #pwhl #minnesotafrost #pwhl!reader

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thepinkpanther83 · 7 hours ago

Note

Imagine Reader saying the following bellow to Eddie, and it just wrecks him, causing him to fall even more in love with reader, and at the end of it all, she confesses she too is in love with him.

Please and thank you 😊 ❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️

Not So Simple

One-Shot Request: “Friends to Lovers Reader x Eddie Munson”

Eddie Munson x Reader

💌 Author’s Note: Huge thanks to @meankenna for this lovely, poetic prompt. 🥹 It melted my heart and was such a joy to bring to life, simple, tender, and full of soft Eddie Munson feels. I hope this leaves you smiling like he does. 💋

~Pinkie 🍒

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

👁️ 👁️ Summary: Eddie’s always been the loud one. The weird one. The one nobody looked too closely at. But you’ve been looking all along, and tonight, under the quiet hush of low lights and half-eaten snacks, you finally tell him what you see.

A love letter wrapped in late-night conversation, soft confessions, and a pair of eyes that were never just brown.

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

“Not So Simple”

The night doesn’t ask for much. Just a half-empty bag of kettle corn, the familiar buzz of the VHS player, and the gentle hum of a film neither of you are paying attention to.

Eddie’s trailer smells faintly like clove and the shampoo he washed his hair with that morning. The space is warm, dim, a single lamp casting sleepy amber light across the couch where the two of you have melted into your usual sprawl, your legs thrown lazily over his lap, his arm slung across the back cushion behind your shoulders. He’s picking at the label on a root beer bottle with his thumb, and you’re curled into your favorite hoodie, socked feet tucked under his thigh for warmth.

It’s comfortable. Unremarkable. And for you and Eddie, completely routine.

You’ve lost count of how many nights have looked like this. How many times you’ve dropped by with snacks and sarcasm, only to fall asleep an hour in with your head on his shoulder and his flannel draped over your legs. Somewhere along the way, being with Eddie became synonymous with home.

“You ever notice how every single movie dad from the seventies sounds like he smokes gravel for breakfast?” Eddie murmurs, eyes half-lidded as he points vaguely at the TV screen. “Like, what happened to vocal cords back then?”

You snort. “Think it’s all the suppressed feelings and unfiltered Camels.”

He gives an exaggerated nod, mock solemn. “Truly the deadliest combo.”

Another moment of quiet. The kind you only get with someone who knows you so well, right down to which song you listen to on repeat. His fingers trail down to absently tug at a loose thread on your sleeve. You can feel the heat of his palm through the fabric. Feel it settle in your belly like something warm and unspoken.

You shift slightly, resting your cheek on the edge of the couch cushion against the side of his ribs, looking up at him. “This okay?”

Eddie blinks, like the question surprises him. But then he smiles, soft, crooked, honest.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “This is real good.”

You can tell when the air starts to shift, when the warmth of the jokes gives way to something quieter, older. The movie’s long forgotten, the root beer’s gone flat, and Eddie’s head is tipped back against the cushion, eyes tracing the ceiling like he’s somewhere far away.

You’ve both been talking for a while now. About nothing. About everything. The usual, weird customers at the gas station, Gareth’s tragic attempt at a goatee, the time Jeff chipped his tooth on a mic stand. But then it drifts, like it always does, into heavier waters.

And Eddie’s voice gets softer. Edged with a kind of practiced detachment you recognize too well.

“Y’know,” he says, stretching his arms behind his head with a forced yawn, “it’s fine. I’ve always been the weirdo. People don’t exactly line up to look closer.”

He chuckles like he means it, like it’s a punchline. Like maybe if he says it out loud, it won’t sound so sad.

“Freak, burnout, trailer trash… whatever flavor of the month it was. I always gave ‘em something to point at.”

His fingers toy absently with the hole in the knee of his jeans, picking at loose threads, like maybe that’s easier than holding eye contact.

“Got used to being the guy nobody got. Kinda made it a whole brand, y’know? Leaned into it.”

And Eddie’s voice gets softer. Edged with a kind of practiced detachment you recognize too well.

The words land with a shrug, like he’s tossing out old gum. Like it’s no big deal.

But you see the way his mouth tightens after he says it. The way his eyes flick to the side, like he’s waiting for you to laugh, to nod, to agree in the way most people have over the years.

You don’t.

You just keep watching him, gently, curiously, with something warm blooming behind your ribs. You’ve always known he said things like that to protect himself. Like if he makes it a joke first, it won’t sting so bad.

But tonight, it stings anyway.

And he knows you see it.

The deflection. The shrug. The way his smile doesn't reach his eyes. You don't call him out, not directly. Just shift a little closer, like you’re adjusting for comfort, though really you just want him to feel less alone.

He tosses out another half-hearted joke, something about scaring off PTA moms with his eyeliner and scary music, and you just… go quiet.

Not distant. Not cold. Just thoughtful.

Your voice, when it comes, is quiet. Measured. Like you’ve been carrying this thought around for a while, waiting for the right moment to offer it.

“It blows my mind,” you say, eyes locked on his, “that after all this time you've spent on earth, nobody ever bothered to tell you that your eyes aren't brown.”

Eddie blinks, caught completely off guard. He frowns, a breathy little laugh escaping as he tries to recover.

“I mean…” he chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, “pretty sure they are, sweetheart.”

But you don’t laugh. You don’t tease. You lean in a little, letting your fingers brush his cheek, light, feather-soft, grounding.

“They’re copper against honey and sage,” you murmur. “And when they water, they glow… like two perfect orbs the same shade as nature after it rains.”

His breath catches. You feel it before he says a word. His whole body goes still beneath your touch, like you’ve just struck something holy.

Eddie Munson, silenced, not by embarrassment, not by nerves, but by awe.

By you.

The air thickens, caught somewhere between your heartbeat and his silence.

He’s still staring. Still trying to process the weight of your words like they’re lyrics he can’t quite catch the rhythm to. And you let him have that moment, but not too long.

Not when there’s more he needs to hear.

Your thumb brushes his cheek again, this time not for emphasis, but comfort.

“You’re not as simple as they wanted you to be, Eddie.”

His eyes flicker, something like pain, something like disbelief. But it’s too quiet in the room to pretend anymore.

“You never were,” you add, voice soft as a vinyl's hiss, sure as thunder. “You’re loud and brilliant and so much more. You’re power chords and sketchbooks and thunderstorms and movie nights and… kindness when no one’s looking.”

His mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

“I’ve always seen it,” you say. “Even when they didn’t. Especially when they didn’t.”

His eyes are shining now, and you don’t know if it’s the soft lamplight or the fact that he’s blinking fast to keep any possible tears at bay.

You don’t push. You don’t tease. You just look at him like he’s the most natural wonder you’ve ever seen.

And maybe, for the first time, he starts to believe he might be.

His throat works like he’s about to speak, but nothing comes out.

You watch the gears turn, the static behind his eyes, the way his mouth opens just a little, closes again. He looks stunned. Wrecked. Like he just got hit with a lyric that rewired his entire bloodstream.

He lets out a laugh. A small, breathless one that sounds more like disbelief than amusement. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, raking a hand through his hair like he’s trying to ground himself. “You’re serious?”

You don’t blink.

You just smile, calm and sure, as you lean a little closer, heart in your mouth, love in your eyes.

“I love you, Eddie.”

Three words, small and steady. They don’t echo in the room, they settle there. Sink deep. Like they’ve always belonged between you.

And that’s when he finally breathes.

His whole body relaxes. Shoulders dropping, hands unclenching, eyes softening as something melts out of him that he’s been holding too tightly for too long.

He leans in, rests his forehead against yours, and exhales like your breaths are the only ones he’s ever needed.

“…You’re killin’ me, sweetheart,” he whispers, so close his nose brushes yours. “I’ve been in love with you since you first asked to borrow my Dio tape.”

The smile you give him, yeah, it’s the kind that finishes his unraveling.

Because he’s gone. Totally, stupidly, blissfully gone.

When he kisses you, it’s not tentative or shy. It’s relieved. Like he’s finally letting himself have something he thought he’d never deserve.

He kisses you again.

Not wild. Not rushed. Just soft, slow, like you’re the final chord to a song he’s been humming his whole damn life and just now figured out the lyrics to. He holds your cheek with one calloused hand, thumb brushing just below your eye, like he's memorizing the shape of your smile with every tiny shift of his own.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. Just enough to rest his nose against yours again, whispering, “holy shit” under his breath, but he’s grinning now, grinning like he can finally breathe.

The rest of the night unfolds in silence. Not the awkward kind. The kind that speaks in glances and shared breaths.

His arm drapes around your waist as you curl into him on the couch, limbs tangled, a soft blanket pulled up lazily over your legs. The TV plays something old and fuzzy, but neither of you are watching. You’re too busy tracing your thumb over his knuckles. He’s too busy watching you like you’re a star he just named.

Eventually, the candles gutter out.

The TV’s a quiet hum in the background.

And Eddie Munson falls asleep holding your hand to his chest, heart steady and full.

You’re both smiling when the lights go out.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list! @justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @ash-stardust, @meankenna, @kellsck, @chronicles-of-koystee, @micheledawn1975, @fckyeahlames, @cantstandya2000, @totallysocially, @exasperatedsighohmy, @marianaissocool, @boggerslide, @sheneedsrocknroll92, @n3lly-h3artz, @comeonatmebruh, @goingxsteddie, @msmimiandrew, @cpnsteverogers, @quinnophile, @exploding-bonbon

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kiwisandpearls · 1 day ago

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walpurgisnacht rising theory time

we’re just gonna go straight into it lol (depending on how many photos I add I might have to make a part two of this)

for a second I thought that this was Homura’s doppelganger but looking at her socks it seems like this is Homura herself. I think this moment in the trailer is when homura transforms into her devil outfit, as in the Side Homura trailer right before the salamander runs into her it kinda looks like she has blood on her? But that could just be me.

(here’s a picture of Homura from the Side Homura trailer for reference)

then we see of a shot of the half-moon, which is how it looked by the end of rebellion, even more proving that this will be a continuation from rebellion. Which like,,,im sure everyone and their grandmother knew at this point that would be a continuation of rebellion but i think it’s still good to point out.

we see kyoko kicking down some doors to…somewhere? I have no clue where but im assuming it’s either where madoka and that green-haired magical girl (who im just gonna call Green for now) were or where sayaka was going. Something is happening in the background which kinda looks like it’s being caused by a witch, so maybe this is after Sayaka takes off her bandages? Since we know now that under her bandages is the eye of one of her witch. Also, slight note, this side view of Kyoko’s head shows us her new magical girl design has her hair done in braids, which is cute!

speaking of which, these two scenes seem to happen close to each other, and im willing to bet this is the exact moment sayaka remembers who she is. Which means that maybe those bandages were there by homura so that Sayaka couldn’t remember who she was, and so that her powers were kept in check. Because without her memories she couldn’t use her witch form, but with her memories back she could.

This seems like a continuation of the last scene with kyoko, and with the little circle symbols around her im thinking that she’s in some altercation with Green? Maybe this is actually during that scene with Madoka and Green?

Speaking of Green, this shot proves a few theories but also disproves others. I saw some people theorizing (myself included) that Green might have been a witch in the same vein as Sayaka, and her witch form might have been Gertrud, it seems like, with these little things crawling around, while she still has a witch form like Sayaka, her witch form is actually be — if not its own original witch — the Rubber Witch Paola.

the things crawling around the look very similar to Paola’s familiars, just missing some of their features.

of course, this could all be wrong, and Green might have a completely movie original witch form, but it was something I noticed. Speaking of witch forms, the fact that Green can even control her witches and familiars is interesting as that implies she has her full memories. So, did she somehow manage to gain her memories back by herself and is working on her own accord, or, if we go the theory that she’s working for Homura, did Homura grant her the special privilege of having her memories? If she is working for Homura though, why does it look like she’s trying to drown Madoka? Is she fully working for Homura or does she have her own secret goals Homura doesn’t know about?

in the first trailer of WnK we got, there was montage of phone calls by presumably the Clara Dolls saying different things. But in this trailer, the phone calls go ignored, and paired the symbolism of phones being all around Madoka, this all seems to symbolize something — maybe the Law of Cycles — calling out to Madoka and telling her to remember her past self. Madoka seems to know something is up which maybe is the starting point of WnK, not only is Homura noticing that her grip on her new world is crumbling, but also Madoka herself is starting to realize something it up and wants to look into it.

going more into the symbolism of phone calls, maybe not only is the Law of Cycles calling out to Madoka, but the other Clara Dolls as well, maybe for one reason or another the Clara Dolls want to actively work against Homura and reunite Madoka with the Law of Cycles. Especially since in one of the first trailers I remember the Clara Dolls saying something like “free that girl” or something. Which means that not only to the Clara Dolls maybe want to “free Madoka”, but also since the Clara Dolls are representative of Homura’s inner thoughts, somewhere in there Homura regrets what she did. This is all presuming this even is one of Homura’s Clara Dolls, it could very well not be.

then we see this building which seems like the full view of the building Madoka and Green are in. Maybe this is a manifestation of what Green’s full labyrinth used to look like? Or maybe there’s another reason this building exists?

This is the same place Sayaka was in, in a different trailer, and interestingly enough, while they’re are books there, maybe books on magical girls and witches, they’re incased in the glass in such a way that it doesn’t seem like you could easily just grab a book and start reading. Maybe this is symbolic of how much Homura doesn’t want the girls to remember their past before creating her new world?

And just for a couple of frames, we saw the fated Witch, the one mentioned in the title of this movie, and in this trailer…Walpurgisnacht. Which does mean she will play a role in this movie. Maybe this is just a flashback? Or this happens at the climax, and something happens causing Walpurgisnacht to come back.

here are — along with the poster — some shots showing off the two new girls magical girl outfits. I will say while the orange-haired girl’s (who im just gonna call Orange) pins look kinda silly to me personally, they do make me wonder if her witch form might be might be the Needle Witch Quitterie, since Quitterie has those same pins throughout her design.

Also interestingly enough, in a previous trailer we see a scene of Orange holding Kyubey. And what Quitterie’s familiars? Literally just Kyubey dolls.

again tho, I could be stretching.

This scene makes me thing Sayaka being in that room with the glass statue should not have been she was doing, because it looks like she has spotlight on her. But also…look at her shadow. It kind of reminds me of her reflection in the water during her talk with Homura after Homura fought Mami in rebellion.

I think these scenes takes place during the one with Green. But why is Madoka so scared? Is Green telling her something she doesn’t like? Or is Green actually trying to kill her like im guessing?

THE LITTLE FUCKER’S BACK. But seriously tho, what happened? By the end of Rebellion, Kyubey disheveled and all around messed up, but he looks perfectly fine here! So either this Kyubey isn’t actually Kyubey or something happened that caused him to turn to back to normal.

now we have a full shot of Homura’s design in the movie itself! And also, the head behind Homura kind of looks like the glass statue. In fact, it looks like she’s in the same room Sayaka was. Are they together? Is she trying to catch Sayaka in the act of remembering who she was?

I just added this because I feel like while Kyoko is usually symbolized with fire, it’s not usually with these colors. But the thing is, Madoka herself pointed out that Homura’s name means “flame”, and these colors fit her much more I think. So take that as you will.

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mutopians · 12 hours ago

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the more closely i reread fullmetal alchemist's manga as i write ripple effect and my good!homunculi au, the more i appreciate all of the narrative decisions that hiromu arakawa made. i'm rereading ed and hohenheim's first reunion right now, and i'm fascinated by the way she frames hohenheim in some of the panels.

one of my hands down favorite moments of this is when hohenheim confronts edward about burning down their family house. hiromu arakawa does an excellent job not showing what hohenheim is really thinking then. he isn't looking at ed. when he turns to him, the reader (and ed) can't clearly make out his eyes because of the glare of his glasses. he physically towers over ed and casts him in shadow and we STILL can't see his face. this is a man who hasn't been here for YEARS during all of ed's most horrible moments, but he immediately clocks the one thing i think ed was already aware of himself.

but then ed gets pissed at him, and we suddenly see hohenheim's face behind his glasses. he just looks like a guy. he doesn't seem frightening at all. we watch him follow ed and try to have small talk with him, and we once again don't really fully see his face. instead of a threat to ed's self-identity, hohenheim is the nuisance that ed was seeing him as when he first noticed him by trisha's grave. we don't see hohenheim's eyes when he remarks that ed was just like him when he was that age. if it's your first time reading this manga, you assume that ed is right in thinking hohenheim doesn't know anything. how could this guy ever be the same as him?

the next scene, we see hohenheim look at ed as ed is supposedly sleeping. this is the next time that we get a glimpse of his eyes, which is also the moment that we get a brief panel flashback of ed and al as kids. even without knowing the full story, you can tell he's thinking about how fast ed and al grew up. we don't see ed's face (or even a front body shot) in this scene until right after hohenheim decides to leave the room. and the way that his eyes are brighter than the rest of the room really draws attention to the fact that ed was very much aware of hohenheim being in the room the entire time.

within a single pair of scenes, the reader gets an idea of just how complicated their relationship is, while also getting the inkling that hohenheim isn't just the monster under the bed.

(as a side note, besides ed and al being absolutely ADORABLE in that little flashback shot and ed's exasperation with his dad forever being entertaining to me, i genuinely can't get over how funny his failed bonding attempt with ed is. ed braiding his hair IMMEDIATELY after hohenheim comments that they have the same hairstyle made me giggle. hohenheim truly is the best accidentally funny character of this manga, that's for sure.)

#van hohenheim #edward elric #fma #fmab #fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fma manga #fma brotherhood #ripple effect #good!homunculi au #didnt expect this analysis post to go on for so long but GOD do i love this manga

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literallypyro · 2 days ago

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Hi :)

I have a suggestion. The mercs accidentially friendly firing at their s/o and respawn malfunctions so they’re in a coma for a while. How will they react?

Maybe Sniper, Engineer and Soldier (and Spy if you feel like doing one more merc) :)

Ooo, this is an interesting spin! We love angst in this house

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

I just can't take it

Sniper:

-No one can get him out of his camper. At best, they can set food on the steps and it'll be gone by morning. The team just has to hope it's him eating it and not a random animal who was attracted by the smell

-Sleeps as much as possible. He gets about an equal amount of dreams and nightmares, but they're all about you

-The dreams give him a new feeling of loss when he wakes up, and the nightmares just amplify his guilt

-After a couple weeks and a few positive reports from Medic, he decides he needs to take care of himself simply because you would want him to

-It takes a few months before he's actually able to visit you. He just wouldn't be able to handle it before then

-Even after you're out of your coma, it'll take years for him to get past it. There will still be times when he wakes up in the middle of the night because of a nightmare about what happened

Engineer:

-It didn't fully set in at first. He's not even supposed to be able to shoot you, let alone put you in a coma

-It doesn't fully sink in until he sees you hooked up to all the machines monitoring you and keeping you alive. After that, the first thing he does is fix the respawn machine

-He barely eats or sleeps until the respawn machine is good as new

-With the machine fixed, he just doesn't know what to do with himself. He ends up drinking with Demoman and talking to him and Heavy about it

-Demo and Heavy are literally the only reason Engie keeps a firm grasp on reality. Without them, he would spiral into a bedrotting depression and no one would be able to pull him out of it

-When you wake up, he cannot stop himself from bawling his eyes out

-Bro like actually clings to you and bubbers endless apologies

Soldier:

-As shown in a previous post, he would at least be able to function and handle himself decently if you were in a coma, but if it was his fault? He would shut down completely

-Part of him refuses to accept that it even happened, but the other part is screaming at him that he needs to pay for what he's done

-He goes through his days like a ghost. He's not fully there, no matter what he's doing. "The lights are on, but nobody's home" in the worst way possible

-He does the bare minimum to take care of himself, but literally the only reason he can even do that much is because his body's on autopilot

-Whenever he sees you, he completely dissociates. He gets flashbacks of the shot that put you in the coma and the events immediately after

-Yeah, he's not allowed to see you anymore. Not until you wake up, at least. Once you do, he's still not quite back to normal, but you'll be able to help him heal a lot faster than he ever would if you died

Spy:

-He is screaming commands when he realizes what happened. You are not already in the med bay and that is a problem

-He visits you a few times, but he has to stop after a while because of how horrible it makes him feel to see you like that

-Oh, would you look at that, alcoholism. Genuinely starts being able to keep pace with Demo and that's not good

-Every single night he has a dream of domestic life with you that turns into a nightmare of you yelling at him and blaming him for what happened. He knows you would never, but it still makes his mental state worse

-Self care? Who's that? The team ends up forcing him to eat and take a shower. Bro is skin and bones now

-No body can even mention your name around him otherwise it'll trigger flashbacks and he will get exponentially worse

-When you wake up, he's shaking. He almost can't bring himself to face you, but he knows he should. He knew you wouldn't be mad at him, but he was still scared

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #team fortress 2 fanfiction #team fortress 2 x reader #tf2 x reader #tf2 sniper #tf2 engineer #tf2 soldier #tf2 spy #sniper x reader #engineer x reader #tf2 soldier x reader #tf2 spy x reader

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monsieurcipher · 19 hours ago

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this is a delusional spamtenna yap of mine + spamtenna song vision

I have never been so delusional for a ship in my whole entire life until spamtenna came in (ITS REAL BAD, ITS BADDER THAN NOELLE’S CRUSH ON SUSIE) l liked spamtenna a little bit because I thought it was a silly and fun ship ya?? but then all of the sudden the fricking demons in me started getting high on those little gay guys and here we are.

I been listening to a song from LALA LAND MY BELOVED which is called “Epilogue” AND I SWEAR I CRASHED OUT BC THAT TV AND MAILMAN SPAWNED IN MY HEAD WITH THAT SONG AND I HAD A VISION WITH THE MOST MOUTHWATERING, MOST THEATRICAL, MOST BEAUTIFUL, MOST BITTERSWEET, THE MOST TASTEFUL THING EVER and what makes me so upset is that I CANT ANIMATE FOR [profanity] AND IM NOT WELL AT DRAWING YET. SO THEY ARE STUCK IN MY HEAD UNTIL I MAGICALLY LEARNED HOW TO.

What I visioned basically in words with the song

“Epilogue” from Lala Land

0:00 — 1:00 *~ Basically just Spamton and Tenna going on with their lives apart, yk? Tenna as tv host and Spamton living in the damn garbage being silly and depressed and they seem happy but you know memories go back in their free time but they swear they have moved on, probably hating each other, right?

1:00 — 1:15 *~ They get like dramatic black and white flashbacks when things were good and whatever, happier together and being so majestic, a nostalgic theme

1:16 — 2:12 *~ a super clean smooth transition and it’s all vibrant AND THEY ARE BUSINESS PARTNERS AND ALL GAY AND HAPPY TOGETHER RAGHHH BACK IN THE OLD DAYS ITS ALL SO JAZZY and they dance together in some scenes and their business or whatever is growing and all that jazz they have so much fun and joy LIGHTS, BILLBOARDS, CASINO, BIGSHOT ERAAA!!!!!

2:13 — 2:47 *~ they spend some quality time outside of work and like they give each other happy loving glances when they hang out together, thinking if this is what love is like out of business. Could this be real? Maybe this could be something more, he does make me feel like I belong and needed—-

2:49 — 3:32 *~ It then cuts to the parts of the darkest moments, Tenna trying to comfort Kris as he sees them cry alone while the yelling echoed through the halls, the arguing of their parents. Tenna inches closer and closer to Kris after it switches to Spamton struggling as well with big shot issues (spamton lore and stuff yk the wild drill) while Tenna continues to try and get closer, reaching his hand out and Tenna holds little Kris close from behind while his screen flashes with many channels to try and distract Kris but Kris wasn’t looking his way anymore when they turn older—

3:34 — 4:32 *~ CUT back to the vibrant business big shot days, Tenna and Spamton are in casino, bar or whatever nice fancy place that have alcohol idk, but uh they drink and giggle and be fricking GAY. Laugh at jokes that aren’t even funny but they are laughing their souls out bc they’re drunk and singing. And like are like VERY CLOSE RIGHT NOW 🤨🤨🤨 but whatever it’s drunk people, what are they supposed to do, not make out with the nearest person that is the one in front of them?

4:33 — 5:40 *~ well that’s too damn bad you gooners and goonettes, we’ll do the making out part later. Now we have Tenna and Spamton being all fricking majestic and wholesome and they are under a super massive sky full of stars and lights and whatever, their love for each other is REAL NOW OH YEAH CONFESSION TIME GET MARRIED probably get flashed with scenes of them being FREAKS and making out and eating each others stuffing and wires out as the music intensifies BUT ITS SUBTLE BC THE MAIN SCENES ARE THE MAJESTIC ONES RN.

5:43 — 6:35 *~ Back at the present and both are overwhelmed with the memories but they suck it up because they are COWARDS and have better [profanity] to do (jk) anyway, Tenna gets called out of his host room to go back on live on TV so he goes and as the door closes, it transitions to Spamton hanging out in the garbage or waking the streets and being all upset and whatever, meeting Kris for the first time and back to his usual nothingness.

6:35 — 7:39 *~ then it gets dim and Spamton finds Tenna’s armless body and just…stays next to Tenna as they lay or sit together, not knowing if Spamton is talking to Tenna or himself while the screen darkens and goes to black and that is

$📺~Epilogue.~📺$

#deltarune #yapping #fandom #kris dreemurr #little kris #spamtenna #SPAMTENNA #spamtenna for life #Doomed yaoi #i love old man yaoi #tenna deltarune #spamton g spamton #bigshot era #dawm you made it to the end? Thanks 💀💐#lala land #epilouge #Delusional spamtenna #This is like prolly my dream animation when I get better

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tobiasdrake · 2 days ago

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Digimon Adventure 02x33 - Today, Miyako is in Kyou no Miyako/ A Chance Encounter

Previously on Digimon Adventure: BlackWarGreymon had a heart-to-heart with Agumon while Mummymon flailed helplessly at a rock. It was so sad and embarrassing that the Chosen Children came by to offer Mummymon moral support in these troubling times, and BWG eventually did it for him.

The Japanese title for today's episode is really fun in a way that doesn't translate to English. The title is 今日のミヤコは京の都 Kyou no Miyako wa Kyou no Miyako.

The first half, 今日のミヤコ Kyou no Miyako, is calling out the character Miyako. 今日 Kyou means "Today" and ミヤコ Miyako is Miyako's name spelled out in Katakana. Though it's worth noting that she did say her name is supposed to be spelled with the kanji 京 for Kyoto. But that might be confusing if they spelled it that way for this wordplay.

The second half, 京の都 Kyou no Miyako, is an older name for Kyoto from when it used to be the capitol of Japan. It uses the kanji 京 Kyou which means "capitol" and 都 Miyako which... means capitol. This has resulted in 京 being pronounced "Miyako" as a person name. I don't know why.

To my best understanding, they both mean capitol and can be used interchangeably. But when you put them together, you get the city of 京都 Kyoto.

So if Kyoto is Capitol Capitol then what the hell is Tokyo? It's 東京 Tokyo, using the kanji 東 Azuma which means "East". The East Capitol.

In any case, that brings us to 今日のミヤコは京の都 Kyou no Miyako wa Kyou no Miyako. A fun and playful way of saying "Today, Miyako is in Kyoto".

Additionally, today, the dub narrator has promised us the answer to two questions: Was last episode's cliffhanger the end of the Digital World, and will BlackWarGreymon ever find his heart?

Wasting absolutely no time, we open with Miyako in Kyoto. She sprints out of the Kyoto Station and cheers.

Miyako: YAAAAAAY!!! IT'S KYOTO!!! KYOTO!!! Girl: Miyako! We're leaving! Miyako: Coming!

Miyako hurries to join her class. A shot of the bus establishes what's going on; There's a shot of a sign with Miyako's class identified on it: Odaiba Elementary 6th grade, Class A. She's on a field trip.

We saw Miyako playing cards with one of her friends on the bus, then taking pictures in front of various landmarks with two friends. Punctuated, of course, by the shutter sound of a camera snapping each picture as we move from shot to shot. Throughout it, she dictates what I assume is an email.

Miyako (V.O.): Are you doing well, Poromon? Hello, Koushiro-san! (Snap) Miyako (V.O.): Thank you so much for looking after Poromon. (Snap) Miyako (V.O.): The second day of our school trip is in Kyoto! (Snap) Miyako (V.O.): The character for "Miyako" is the same as the "Kyou" in Kyoto! It's that Kyoto! Kyoto has more new places than I thought it would and the food is great! Poromon, I'm going to buy you....

Koushiro's in the middle of something, though, and Miyako's voice slowly fades out before her message is finished. But she is clearly hyped about finally getting to visit the city she's named after.

In the dub, Yolei's lines don't line up quite as well with the snapshots, but the dub does include the shutter clicks. No missing sound effect this time around.

Yolei: Yay! I'm finally in Kyoto! Girl: Yolei! Hurry or you'll miss the bus! Yolei: I'm coming! (Yolei gets on the bus) Yolei (V.O.): Dear Poromon and Izzy, how's it going, guys? This is the second day of-- (Snap) Yolei (V.O.): --our school trip and we're finally in Kyoto! (Snap) Yolei (V.O.): I'm having a great time with my friends! What a-- (Snap) Yolei (V.O.): --cool place! And the food is fab. Poromon, if you're good, I'll bring you a souvenir. Ciao for now! ~Yolei.

Yolei actually gets to finish her message instead of being tuned out by rude jerks. Which is ironic since usually it's the English version of Koushiro/Izzy who's the rude jerk.

I jest. Koushiro hasn't actually noticed the email yet. This is why he doesn't have to go over the cliff again. I still haven't forgotten how you snubbed my kid, you little....

So what's more important than listening to Miyako dictate her email across time and space using Purity Magic? Uh. Finally sitting down to talk to Ken victim-to-lore nerd about what the fuck the Digital World did to him.

Koushiro: I see... So it was the dark ocean that changed your Digivice into a D-3. That was when this incident began. Ken: Ah! Koushiro: To compete with your D-3, Daisuke-kun and the others would need to have D-3s of their own, the same as yours.

Koushiro holds up his Digivice to show it to Ken.

Koushiro: Not what we have. The D-3's shape must have been something that you wanted.

In flashback, we see Ken dipping his Digivice into the dark ocean as it transforms into the Dark Digivice.

Koushiro: Then Takeru-kun and the others later had their Digivices changed to match it. Ken: I wanted that shape? Koushiro: In the Digital World, when data is collected, there is a system that initially determines what shape that data will take. It can also read the shape of a person's thoughts and organize data accordingly. This is likely the reason that Daisuke-kun and the others have their clothes changed. Ken: I see... So then the Kaiser's outfit was the image that I wanted it to be. Koushiro: Subconsciously, yes.

This is the true nature of the world-crossing costume switch. Daisuke, Iori, and Miyako's clothes are a reflection of how they perceive themselves and what they want to express. Hikari and Takeru, meanwhile, are boring and just shruggingly went with what they had on at the time they got their D-3s are already expressing themselves that way both in the Digital World and out.

As for why the "system that controls shapes" lets the regular Digivice-having veterans come and go wearing whatever they happen to have on at the time? Uh. I. Guess. You need to have a D-3 before it pays attention to you? It's snobbish that way.

Maybe it tried changing the shapes of the veterans once long ago during a team reunion but the dress Mimi had on was so fucking cute and now YOU'RE telling her she has to wear THIS instead, and HOW DARE.

Not repeating that mistake.

In the dub, Izzy is here to explain the plot badly as usual.

Izzy: According to everything you've just told me, this whole mess started when your Digivice changed into a D-3. If my calculations are correct, it's all your fault.

Whew! I was worried when Koushiro tuned out Miyako's magic voice email. But, not to be outdone, Izzy firmly establishes which one of them is the real asshole here.

Ken: ...huh? Izzy: The others needed D-3s in order to compete with you so their subconscious minds must have somehow willed their Digivices to change. Although I'm not sure Davis has a subconscious mind... (Izzy holds up his Digivice) Izzy: As strong as these Digivices are, they just weren't enough. Of course, that also means you must have made a wish for your Digivice to change into a D-3. Ken: (thinking) I don't remember making any wishes.... (Flashback to dipping the Digivice in the dark ocean) Ken: (thinking) In fact, I always got the short side of the wishbone from the turkey. Izzy: Like I said, it must have been your subconscious. We geniuses have pretty big ones. In the Digital World, data is formed into shapes usually based on whatever a person has running through their mind. Kinda like a VCR for the brain. And that's the reason why everyone's clothes change every time they go into the Digital World, and why Davis looks the way he does; Like a fighter pilot on a safari. Ken: I see... So then I must have wished for that Digimon Emperor outfit. Izzy: So you're not perfect!

Never change, Izzy. I get so much entertainment value out of how confidently wrong you often are. Holy shit, where do we even begin?

Izzy speculates that Davis and the others willed their Digivices to change by themselves. Koushiro says nothing of the sort; Only that their Digivices had to be changed to match Ken's so they'd be able to compete with him.

Even Izzy disagrees with his own interpretation, using it as a chance to dunk on Davis for a cheap laugh.

Koushiro says that there's a system that governs the way data forms into shapes in the Digital World. He seems to be describing how data gets accumulated into the form of living monsters; Why does x data result in Agumon while y data results in Piyomon? There is a system that governs it, and it also is what shapes their Digivices and the outfits that they manifest into the Digital World wearing.

Izzy misses the forest for the trees and gives the oversimplified explanation that the Digital World just reads your mind and changes your clothes accordingly. It's not incorrect, but wildly incomplete.

Izzy says that they needed the D-3s to get a power boost. Koushiro never says that. It can be inferred by Koushiro saying that the D-3s were made to 対抗 taikou, to rival or compete with Ken's. And the D-3s do have properties the Digivices don't, such as being able to open the Digital Gate.

But a linear Super Saiyan vs. Super Saiyan 2 relationship hasn't been established between them; Only that Ken designed the new Digivices, and the others got new Digivices to rival his for what may be practical reasons but could just as easily be symbolic.

After all, it was the Digimentals that let the D-3 holders fight when the Digivice holders couldn't, not the D-3s being strong enough to just power through Ken's evolution suppression. There's no indication that Aquilamon is in some way vastly stronger than Togemon or something. So while he's not necessarily wrong on this one, I'm gonna label that inconclusive.

Dub Ken gets confused by the word 望んだ nozonda, which can be translated as "desired" or "wished for" or "expected to see". The dub goes with "wished for", and Ken wanders off-track trying to figure out what the hell Izzy's on about. He's pretty sure he never made a conscious wish to the Dark Ocean as if it were a genie from a lamp.

That's not Izzy's fault, though; He goes on to explain himself despite the fact that Ken was using his reverberating internal monologue voice and his lips weren't flapping. So Izzy just fucking reads Ken's mind in this scene and responds to his surface thoughts. Not a psychic premonition but cut from the same cloth.

Izzy criticizes Ken for his fashion choices, and is also pretty snarky about Davis's too. Because he's not only inadequate as a lore guy but also a jerk, as he established with his conversation opener.

Moving along, next topic: the mysterious forces that reached out to Ken.

Koushiro: The question is, who on Earth could possibly have sent you that email? Ken: I still don't know that either. Could it be related to that woman-shaped Digimon? Koushiro: Arachnemon, right? She's probably involved, yes. Not to mention, there seem to be features of the Dark Towers that we still don't understand. There is much still to learn. Ken: I'm sorry. My memory of all that is still hazy.... Koushiro: That's okay.

Not much to really talk about on that front. We don't know and at this time, we don't have the information we'd need to even begin to speculate.

The dub doesn't even fucking bother talking about it.

Izzy: You should read Simbault's "Theory of Ultimate Brainpower". You might be able to pick up a few pointers. Ken: Actually, I taught a class on it. But don't you think Tosaro's "Strengthening Your Mind" was more effective? Izzy: Uhhh, yeah. But of course, Korski's "My Brain, My Buddy" is the quintessential masterpiece when it comes to exploring the inner workings of the human mind. I'm sure you read it a dozen times. It's a best seller in the school's psychology department bookstore. Ken: I'm sorry, Izzy. I can't believe I've never heard of that one. I feel so ashamed of myself! Izzy: Oh, don't worry. I've got an extra copy you can borrow. After all, we high IQ types gotta stick together, right?

The dub completely disregards this entire line of discussion. Instead, Izzy and Ken just have a dick-measuring contest about how well-read they are. Ken is ultimately doomed to come up short because of the sad face Original Ken makes when he apologizes for his hazy memory.

Next topic: The Chosen Children.

Koushiro: In any case, we should have been the ones to find you before the sender did. We were careless. We didn't anticipate that there would be a Chosen Child so close to us. Ken: So close? Koushiro: We are not the only Chosen Children. There are a lot of them all around the world, though we still don't know all the details.

Koushiro flashes back on the strips of reality that appeared in the sky following VenomVamdemon's defeat.

Koushiro (V.O.): Most of them were activated by meeting the Digimon that manifested in the real world back in 1999.

We then see Mimi's friend Michael evolving his Betamon into Seadramon.

Koushiro (V.O.): Rather than being chosen, they're just children who have Partner Digimon.

Finally, we come back from flashback to find Ken looking over Minomon on the table.

Ken: Me too. In August 2000.... Agh, I can't remember that clearly either.

Ken's fairly sure he knows the month and year of his own Digimon encounter that activated him as a Chosen Child. But the details escape him because of the memory fog he has around all this stuff.

Note that the Diablomon incident happened in March 2000, so Ken's activation incident happened some time after that. Which makes the fact that he has a Crest kinda weird. Does everyone have a Crest and they just haven't gone and retrieved them? Is the Digital World fucking littered with hundreds and hundreds of unclaimed Crests? Is there a lost and found?

In any case, this gels with what we already established around Michael, when his existence got the team talking about their own activation encounters. If you become a Chosen Child by encountering a Digimon in the real world, then that time when the sky fucking split open and spilled Digimon into the world would logically have activated a lot of Chosen Children. And so would participating in the Diablomon fight, as Miyako can attest.

Koushiro also specifies that most of them are not going on an epic adventure of ultimate destiny like he and his team did. They're just. Hanging out with their V-Pet. Like what you're supposed to do when you have a Digimon. There is no expectation that Michael will be a key piece in any sort of battle for the fate of the world.

In the dub:

Izzy: Besides, of all the other DigiDestined I've met, you're one of the only ones as smart as me! Ken: Other DigiDestined!? What are you talking about!? Huh!? Izzy: Oh, I guess no one told you that we're not the only ones around. Actually, there are quite a few of us all over the world. I haven't met them all yet but I'm working on it. (Flashback to the sky splitting open) Izzy (V.O.): It seems that most of us have one thing in common... (Flashback to Michael evolving Seadramon) Izzy (V.O.): We had some kind of encounter with the Digimon when they invaded the real world a few years ago. And now we each have our own Digimon Partner. (End Flashback) Ken: I see... That means that I must have too. Everything from that time is still such a blur to me.

Izzy continues to ignore the email sender and instead segues this topic out of their contest of intellects. Consequently, he offers no regret for the veterans not being here for Ken like they've tried to be for other activated kids.

Though he does, at least, still mention that they're trying to reach out to the other kids.

Izzy uses "we" when talking about kids being activated by the cross-world Spiral Mountain event as if this was what activated his team too. As with the Michael episode, the dub seems pretty sure that the veteran team and all the other kids activated at the same time. They have been consistently wrong on this point.

The veterans were activated by the fight between Greymon and Parrotmon in Hikarigaoka/Heighton View Terrace, and the subsequent activation events were encounters with Digimon that they were participants in as Chosen Children/DigiDestined. "We" did not get activated by the Digimon invading the real world in 1999. "We" were involved participants in that. "Y'all" were activated by that.

And by Diablomon/Diaboromon.

And by whatever the hell happened in August 2000 that's being blocked from Ken's memory. Dub Ken mentions it but doesn't give a date and assumes it was the reality strips incident that got him.

With this depressing break in the conversation, Koushiro takes a moment to check his D-Terminal. There, he finally sees it.

Koushiro: Ah! Poromon, you've got an email from Miyako-kun. ...what's wrong? Do you feel sick?

Koushiro finally notices that Poromon's been sulking on the floor for this whole scene. We briefly saw him when we transitioned in from Miyako but he's been out of sight and out of mind since.

Poromon: Ugh...gugh.... Minomon: It must be because he's been stuck in this world separate from his Partner for days. I also get worn out from being here as Wormmon.

Koushiro picks up Poromon off the floor, considering Minomon's words.

Koushiro: I see. It's been three days since Miyako-kun left him in my care for her trip. So even though it's only been three days, just being apart from Miyako-kun is tiring him out. It's already hard enough for Digimon to even be here in our world. Ken: Then I'll take him to the Digital World. Motomiya-kun and the others should already be there, right? Koushiro: That's right. Could you please do that?

Koushiro hands Poromon off to Ken.

Koushiro: Also, while you're there, please be alert for any distortions in the world. Ken: Understood.

This is an interesting exchange. Minomon implies that for Digimon to sustain themselves in the real world, they have to sort of feed on their Partner's energy.

The relationship between Partner and Digimon has been well-established at this point. The children have a holy light inside of them which can be concentrated and drawn out via the Digivices and Crests.

It's never been said outright but this light is probably the manifestation of their 気 ki, their own spiritual energy that governs their emotions and feelings and senses. When they get emotional, either terrified or fired up or some other strong feeling, their 気 ki erupts and pours through the Digivice into their Partner Digimon, causing evolution.

Minomon suggests that in order to exist in the physical world, Digimon have to remain in close contact with their Partner. Poromon's fatigue is being caused by... essentially being starved of Miyako's 気 ki. This has never come up before because even though the kids leave their Digimon in the computer clubroom, they bring them home on weekends. So the Digimon have never been apart from their Partners for a full day, let alone three.

This also implies an explanation for why Patamon and Tailmon don't regress the way V-mon, Hawkmon, and Armadimon do. A Partner Digimon's strength and a Chosen Child's strength is the same. Their Partners' 気 ki is stronger than Daisuke's, Miyako's, and Iori's is. Because this isn't Hikari and Takeru's first rodeo.

Hell, Hikari once powered up WarGreymon with her own 気 ki and he isn't even her Partner. Hikari is nuts like that.

...though it does seem to create a plot hole with Vamdemon's invading army. Even if you assume the rules are different for non-Partner Digimon, there is the problem of Tailmon. This was not how the rules worked in the first series. But the veil between realities was being shredded to bits in the first series so it might just have been easier to exist in the physical world when they were literally bleeding into each other.

In the dub:

Izzy: Oh! Poromon, there's an email here for you from Yolei on her trip. ...hey, what's wrong with you? Are you sick? Poromon: ...nrrrrr... Minomon: Oh, he's just really tired because he's been here in the real world for a couple of days without Yolei. I know sometimes when Ken's not here, even my naps make me exhausted. (Izzy picks up Poromon) Izzy: Yolei asked me to watch him while she was on her school trip and it's been three days since she left. I've noticed that, as each day passes, he seems to get more and more tired and he's not very hungry. You know it's really gotta be bad when he'd rather sleep than eat a bag of chocolate gummi chews. Ken: Well, then I'll just have to take him to the Digital World so that he can regain his strength. Davis and the others have already gone on ahead, haven't they? Izzy: Yeah, you're right! That's a good idea, Ken. Here you go. (Izzy gives Poromon to Ken) Izzy: Things are kind of crazy there now so be careful of any warps. Promise me you won't talk to any strange Digimon. Ken: (appreciatively) I'll be fine.

Izzy claims to have noticed Poromon's condition steadily worsening over time but he also gets confused and asks Poromon why he seems ill all of a sudden. Which is it, Izzy? I think he just lied. He's trying to take what Minomon said as his own observation.

Other than that, I have no qualms with this part.

Before he can get going, Ken has a question.

Ken: In any case, why did you want me to tell you all of this, Izumi-san? Koushiro: Because I wanted to understand.

Koushiro flashes back on the shortcut tunnel in Etemon's desert that they took shelter in, which connected an unremarkable stretch of sand to Nanomon's pyramid. The conversation where he told everyone that they were digitized avatars of themselves, and Taichi got the wrong impression that they were consequently invulnerable.

He remembers demonstrating the properties of the Digital World to the other Chosen Children by conjuring a map in thin air using his laptop, then converting it into a globe.

Koushiro (V.O.): The first time we went to the Digital World, I formed a hypothesis about what that world actually is. But I was even younger than you back then and I didn't have much information to work with, so I couldn't form a complete understanding. (End Flashback) Koushiro: I want to know the full truth of the Digital World. That would also help me better understand our own world.

This speech gives us a complete picture of where Koushiro's at and why he's so invested in our Digital World activities these days. And is also a blank check for any retcons to the Digital World lore that contradict things Koushiro said last series. So, y'know, two birds with one stone.

In the dub, Ken has a different question in mind. I bet you can guess what it is.

Ken: Hey, Izzy? Do you think I can ever make up for all the trouble I've caused? Izzy: Oh, look, Ken. We all make mistakes. (Flashback) Izzy (V.O.): When we first went to the Digital World, I came up with a bunch of theories. Not all of them were exactly right but I was only a kid then. I eventually realized that you have to have all the facts before hypothesizing. We need to learn everything we can about the Digital World. (End Flashback) Izzy: I know that somewhere down the road, we'll be called on again to help the Digital World. Let's just make sure that, this time, we're both totally prepared.

The dub takes its first commercial break here.

Yeah, getting the lore wrong is definitely the same as enslaving and murdering people to raise a fascistic empire. This time it's Izzy's turn to trivialize the Emperor's actions by comparing it to how bad he is at delivering Koushiro's infodumps. Which. Like. At least he's self-aware about it, even if only because the original topic twisted his arm.

He also takes Koushiro's motives about being curious and wanting to learn and moves that over into the "Atonement for My Knowledge Crimes" category. Then he scrawls heroic valor into the "Motivation" column in its place.

Anyway, enough about these two nerds. Back to Miyako! In Miyako! Who... is also a nerd.

Teacher: Alright, class, I want you all back here in two hours. Class: Okay!

Once the kids are given permission to split up, Miyako and her friends visit a local shop.

Miyako: When you're in Kyoto, you should buy this first!

Miyako enters a shop and grabs... Uh....

To be perfectly honest, I'm coming up blank on that one. I'm not sure what she bought. Is that a cosmetic? Confectionary? Calligraphy stuff? The writers clearly expect you to just get it so it's probably common knowledge circa late-2000 Japan but I am rolling a 2 on my Knowledge check.

But if you're ever in Kyoto, make sure to buy one!

Miyako: Next is nama yatsuhashi, right? And oil blotting paper!

Suddenly, Miyako sees a swirling distortion in the air. It forms into the image of BlackWarGreymon frozen in place, seemingly on the attack or being knocked away or something.

Yatsuhashi is a confectionary from Kyoto. It's basically sugar, cinnamon, and rice flour baked into a rectangular cracker shape, but it also comes in nama yatsuhashi form. This is an unbaked triangle of yatsuhashi dough molded around a bean paste center.

This is the "eating cookie dough" of yatsuhashi and, to my understanding, it's very popular.

In the dub:

Teacher: Alright, listen up. I want you all to meet back here in two hours. Students: Okay! (Yolei and friends go to the first shop) Yolei: I told my whole family I would bring them back souvenirs. (Yolei finds the small item) Yolei: There. Friend: That was fast. Yolei: Okay, now we can see the sights! ...huh? (Yolei sees the distortion) Yolei: Tell me I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing!

The dub sidesteps the "Okay but what is that?" question by just calling it a souvenir. They also send Yolei sightseeing to avoid talking about the other Kyoto specialties she's interested in.

Miyako doesn't say anything when she sees the distortion appear. Yolei gets a throwaway line.

The sudden appearance of this phantom BlackWarGreymon serves as our transition to the actual BWG.

BlackWarGreymon: GAIA FORCE!!!

While Arachnemon and Mummymon look on, BWG fires on what appears to be another featureless rock embedded in the ground, but is likely a Holy Stone.

BlackWarGreymon: I have to destroy it! As soon as it's destroyed, I'll be free of this pain. Arachnemon: Heh. Whatever you say, just keep at it! Destroy it completely! Mummymon: Even left to his own devices, he's still doing it. BlackWarGreymon: GAIA FORCE!!!

BWG fires again and this shot finishes the work. The Holy Stone explodes into pieces which then disintegrate into pixel dust.

In the dub:

BlackWarGreymon: TERRA DESTROYER!!! (BWG shoots the rock) BlackWarGreymon: I'll demolish them all! And once I do, my suffering will finally come to an end! TERRA DESTROYER!!! Arukenimon: Yeah, whatever. Stop the talking and keep destroying! I've got a deadline to meet; I haven't got all day! Mummymon: I'm so proud of that boy sometimes, it just makes me want to cry. BlackWarGreymon: TERRA DESTROYER!!! (BWG obliterates the Destiny Stone)

What deadline? This is basically a side quest from... Uh... Whatever they were doing with the Dark Towers.

The end goal seems to ultimately be the destruction of the Digital World, though. This is just a different means to accomplish that. So maybe it's not fair to call it a side quest. Alternative story branch would be more accurate.

In any case, Arukenimon suggests they're in a race against time to get the Digital World destroyed that Arachnemon never mentioned.

Moments after the Holy Stone is destroyed, Daisuke shows up in the back of Raidramon. Hikari, Takeru, and Iori come in behind him, riding Nefertimon and Pegasmon. Iori's on Pegasmon with Takeru.

Daisuke: Shit! We were too late!

Around the spot where the Holy Stone was, reality begins to waver and distort.

Takeru: Wh-What the--!? Hikari: A distortion!? Iori: Is he out-of-balance? Before, whenever BlackWarGreymon would move, the world around him would appear warped. Destroying these stones is most certainly causing that distortion to intensify. Takeru: Ah! BlackWarGreymon is....

As if on cue, the distortion intensifies. BlackWarGreymon suddenly lights up in overlapping red, blue, and green impressions of himself that momentarily separate, then recombine. Then he fizzles like TV static and is eaten away out of reality.

Arachnemon: What...?

Good question. That was definitely not supposed to happen.

In the dub, Davis does not curse but he does have a PG-friendly expletive to share.

Davis: Rats! We got here too late! (Reality wavers around the destroyed Destiny Stone) T.K.: What's that!? Kari: It's warping! Cody: The area is starting to become unbalanced! I saw a warp when he destroyed the other one too! But it was smaller then. It seems like every time BlackWarGreymon destroys one of those Stones, the warp just gets bigger and bigger! T.K.: Hey! Look what's happening to him now! (BWG fizzles out of reality) Arukenimon: What...?

The dub seems confused on what Iori meant. There wasn't a "smaller warp" around the other destroyed Holy/Destiny Stone. It produced a colossal tornado that we had to flee from. This is arguably a smaller distortion.

Iori is talking about the trail of distorted reality that BWG leaves in his wake when he travels, even before the first Holy/Destiny Stone was destroyed. Like Apocalymon, BWG seems to be breaking reality just by existing in it. And the effect is getting worse with each Stone he destroys.

Back in Kyoto, a ray of purple light explodes from a well.

Miyako races towards the sound, then runs into BlackWarGreymon emerging from an alleyway into the street.

Miyako: I knew it! BlackWarGreymon!

As BlackWarGreymon stomps through the streets, he's followed by amorphous blobs with red eyes. Miyako looks around and quickly realizes that nobody seems to be reacting to them.

Miyako: Why!? Is nobody even noticing this!?

Sure ennough, they aren't. As if moving automatically, BWG and the amorphous blobs march straight down the street, undetected by all the people around them.

There is some precedent for this, back in 1999 when the two worlds were leaking into each other. Vamdemon's army and Tailmon's mercenaries were physically present in the human world after crossing through a Gate, but the invading Digimon that fizzled in and out of existence weren't. They seemed to behave mindlessly and could only be seen by children.

In the dub:

Yolei: I was right! It's BlackWarGreymon! (BWG and the amorphous blobs stomp through the streets) Yolei: Why is everybody standing around like nothing's happening!? What's wrong with you people!?

Pretty much the same.

Continuing through the city, BlackWarGreymon leads the amorphous figures over a bridge. Miyako frantically chases after them.

Miyako: WAIT!!! WAIT, DIGIMON!!!

The figure in the back stops suddenly and turns towards her.

Miyako: (out of breath) ...wait....

The shroud around the Digimon peels away, revealing a golden ape with a massive bone club on his back. The color around him fills in and he rears up to his full height.

Hanumon is an Adult-stage Vaccine-attribute Beastman Digimon. He's the last Adult evolution for the Nightmare Soldier V-Pet to debut. The other Vaccine next to WereGarurumon, opposite Data types Meramon and Wizarmon and the Viruses Devimon and Bakemon.

If your first thought is that his name sure seems to imply a reference to the Hindu monkey god Hanuman, you're correct. That's what he's referencing.

Narrator: Hanumon! Adult level. A legendary Beastman Digimon with golden fur. His special attack is Dohatsuten!

怒髪天 Dohatsuten is another rare attack name to not be in English. It means to explode with uncontrollable rage. The kanji 怒 Do signifies anger. 髪 Hatsu means hair. And 天 Ten means Heaven. So the imagery this word conjures is your hair standing on end while you scream blood fury at the heavens.

Is Hanumon a Super Saiyan? I guess only time will tell. What's more important is that he is now cognizant.

Hanumon: Where am I!?

Dazed and confused by his unfamiliar surroundings, Hanumon leaps away before Miyako can say anything.

Miyako: I need to tell the others now!

She does just that, sending out an email and dictating it as she does.

Miyako: EMERGENCY!!! DIGIMON HAVE APPEARED IN KYOTO!!! QUICK!!! SOMEONE DO SOMETHIIIIIING!!!

Sure does suck that not only is her Partner not with her but Ken just took him all the way into the Digital World.

The dub refers to Hanumon simply as Apemon.

Yolei: WAIT!!! STOP YOU, UH, DIGIMON!!! (Figure in the back stops) Yolei: (out of breath gasping) (Digimon reveals himself) Apemon: (rundown) I am Apemon! I swing into action and use my Mega Bone Stick attack to demolish my enemies! (Apemon looks around, then jumps away) Yolei: I've got to let the others know what's going on! Yolei: (Email) Emergency! Digimon are now in Kyoto! Hurry! Having a wonderful time. Yolei.

Pretty sure that last part is supposed to be a joke but it fell flat for me.

Apemon only speaks in his diegetic rundown, so we don't get to hear his bewildered confusion upon suddenly waking up here. Consequently, American audiences are deprived of the startling realization that, oh shit, that is an actual Digimon and not an artificial monstrosity.

Not that the line between those things has ever been clear in the dub.

Miyako sends out her message but, unfortunately, her team is presently indisposed.

Across two sides of a ravine, the Chosen Children stare down Arachnemon and Mummymon.

Arachnemon: Are you sure about this? You don't have the numbers. Daisuke: We won't lose to you! Let's go, V-mon!

V-mon and Armadimon evolve to their Adult forms XV-mon and Ankylomon while Tailmon and Patamon opt for their Armor forms Nefertimon and Pegasmon as usual.

No, no, she's right. We should probably back down. We're only missing two right now and one's not technically part of the team anyway. But with Miyako and Ken both gone, we have zero Jogresses that we can perform.

Which means right now, we probably shouldn't be tangling with two Perfects. Come to think of it, I can't believe we actually came here to fight BlackWarGreymon short-staffed. We are making terrible choices today. Even if we weren't too late when we got here, there was never going to be a positive outcome to that altercation. We were gonna watch him destroy the Stone vertically or horizontally; Those were our options.

Daisuke woke up this morning and decided that it's been too long since the last time someone bashed his head in with a rock. So he set out to rectify that.

In the dub, Arukenimon has less of a hill to stand on.

Arukenimon: When will you children ever learn? You can't possibly beat me! Davis: Ha! We'll see about that! Let's go, Veemon!

Arachnemon saliently points out that they're down a couple people while Arukenimon conveniently forgets all the L's she's taken.

In Kyoto, a film crew catches a glimpse of an imperceptible Digimon.

And then a perceptible one!

On camera, the two actors for the film stare lovingly into each other's eyes.

"Emiko": Hiroaki-san.... "Hiroaki": Emiko-san....

Discontent with being the third wheel, BlackWarGreymon-san tromps by behind them. His presence causes the camera's contrast to go haywire, then turns the picture into a photo negative.

"Hiroaki": I-- Cameraman: Nyagggh, hang on a second! "Hiroaki": What's wrong, Shuu?

Shuu looks, but there's no sign of the creature he saw on camera.

Shuu: H-Huh...? Something was there just now....

Before he even has a moment to write it off as a trick of the light or something, Hanumon leaps from a nearby rooftop and lands right on the camera, smashing it to pieces.

"Emiko": AHHHHHH!!! WHAT IS THAT!?!?

Suddenly, Miyako appears from around the corner.

Miyako: I made it! ....but what do I do now!?

She'd better think of something fast. Hanumon brandishes his bone club at Shuu. This is about to get ugly.

In the dub:

Actress: It's just a legend. Actor: I'm not so sure. (BWG sends by and the camera fritzes out) Cameraman: Huh!? Wait a minute, what was that!? Actor: What do you mean!? It was a rehearsal! Cameraman: That's not what I mean! I just saw... something.... (Apemon goes apeshit) Actress: AHHHHHH!!! GET MY AGENT!!! (Yolei rounds the corner) Yolei: Good, there he is! Of course... Now what am I supposed to do? (Apemon brandishes bone club at Cameraman) Cameraman: Uhhhhhh, good dog...?

The characters are not given names here, but it's nice to see Cameraman keeping up the cartoon tradition of assuming obvious monsters are dogs. Unless they are wearing trench coats or hoodies. Then they are people. Agumon and Tentomon can attest to this.

Do they normally bring a camera to a reserved public space to film a rehearsal? That doesn't sound right but I cannot say with certainty that it's wrong.

Before Hanumon can attack, another beam of light suddenly appears over the tree line.

As Show Me Your Brave Heart suddenly kicks up, Stingmon emerges from a nearby canal carrying Ken and Poromon. Stingmon sets Ken down on a bridge, where he checks his D-3 for Miyako's blip.

Ken: She's close.

He points down the canal.

Ken: That way, Stingmon! Stingmon: Got it!

Stingmon shoots down the canal, gunning it for Miyako. Hanumon senses him just before he erups from the treeline. Hanumon leaps and meets Stingmon in the air briefly before they separate onto rooftops across from each other.

Miyako: Stingmon!? Ken: Miyako-san! Miyako: Ken-kun!? How!?

Catching up, Ken hands Poromon off to Miyako.

Poromon: Miyako-san! Ken: I'll explain later.

The obvious answer is that someone did get Miyako's email. How Ken managed to open a Digital Gate into the bottom of a canal is beyond me, though.

In the dub:

Ken: There it is! Alright, Stingmon, do your thing! Stingmon: Right! (Stingmon flies to Yolei and attacks Hanumon) Yolei: Stingmon! Ken: Yolei! Yolei: Ken!? I don't get it! (Ken hands Poromon off to Yolei) Poromon: Haha! Ken: I'll explain everything to you later.

One small note and that is pronoun confusion. Japanese sentences often don't bother with them. What Ken said when he checked the blips from his D-3 was "近い Chikai!" Literally just the word, "Nearby!"

The dub made a judgment call as to the object of that statement, but the context clue of him looking at another child's blip on his Digivice Radar implies that he means Miyako is nearby. She's what he's tracking, not Hanumon.

It's not entirely wrong; He still sends Stingmon on the attack, taking it on faith that Miyako is pursuing Hanumon. She practically said as much in her email. But the blip, specifically, is Miyako. He doesn't have a radar for enemy Digimon.

Ken: Stingmon! That's not a Dark Tower Digimon so you can't go too hard on him! Stingmon: I'll manage, Ken-chan.

Stingmon and Hanumon meet in the air once more. Hanumon takes the first swing and misses; Stingmon maneuvers around him and punches him in the back, knocking him to the ground. Stingmon then follows him down and picks him up in a full nelson to keep him from struggling any further.

There's our old friend 倒す taosu which means to defeat, vanquish, or bring to ruin. I've talked before about why you want to be careful translating it as "kill" because that's an easy translation to make, and there are contexts where it means that, to be sure. It means to meet someone in conflict and overcome them, and that can be lethal.

But there are key differences of intent between 倒す taosu and the killing verb 殺す korosu. 殺す Korosu is unambiguously deadly in its intent. It means to kill, to murder, to shove this knife into your fucking throat and make you bleed out on the metal. I'm not here to fight you; I'm here to put you in the fucking ground.

So I would consider "You can't kill him" to be a translation that is accurate but incomplete. A more literal but awkwardly phrased translation of this idea, I think, would be "You can't finish the fight." We don't want to kill Hanumon, but even setting that aside, we also don't want to brutalize him unnecessarily either.

He's telling Stingmon to softball it. We have to restrain Hanumon, but Hanumon is just lashing out because he's scared and confused and doesn't know where he is or why. So we don't want to go too hard on him either.

In the dub:

Ken: Stingmon! Remember, he's not a Control Spire Digimon so you can't destroy him! Stingmon: Don't worry, Ken!

The dub goes for the simple "Don't kill him", which the fansubs also went with. I'm the odd person out.

With Hanumon restrained, it's time to go.

Stingmon: Ken-chan, hurry up! Ken: Miyako-san, I'll leave the rest to you. Miyako: W-Wait, you're leaving the rest to me!? HANG ON!!!

Ken does not. He joins Stingmon and they return to the Digital World through the Gate in the canal, taking Hanumon with them. By the time Miyako reaches the canal, the Gate's already closed.

Poromon: What should we do now? Miyako: That reminds me, why are you even here? Poromon: Why? Well-- Shuu: Aha! OVER HERE, PROFESSOR!!!

Miyako looks up to see that the guy manning the camera earlier is now standing right across the bridge from her. He's soon joined by an older man.

Professor: You there! You're the kid that was talking about Digimon, right? Miyako: Uh... Yes! Professor: (intrigued) And what you're holding right now... That's a Digimon, isn't it? Miyako: Um... yes...?

Miyako is very confused right now and so are we! Though one of these guys does look kinda familiar. No time to dwell on that because we're going to commercial!

In the dub:

Stingmon: Ken, I've got him! Ken: Alright, Yolei. The rest is up to you now! Yolei: Wh-What are you talking about!? COME BACK!!! (Ken and Stingmon leave with Apemon)

Small sound effect note: As they enter the portal in the original, there's a sort of warpy energy effect to signify they're going through a portal. In the dub, the sound effect is a big splash of water. I guess because the portal is in the canal

Poromon: Okay, Yolei, I'm ready for action! What should we do first? Yolei: Hey, I thought I left you with Izzy. What are you doing here? Poromon: It's a long story. Cameraman: I found her! She's over here, Professor! (Cameraman and Professor approach) Professor: Excuse me, Miss. Are you the girl who called out "DIGIMON" before? Yolei: Uhh, maybe? Professor: I have one more question to ask. Yolei: What is it? Professor: That's a Digimon you're holding, isn't it? Yolei: ...oh boy.

The dub also takes its second commercial break here.

She did not call out "DIGIMON". The only time Shuu could have overheard her talking about Digimon was when she and Ken were chatting just before resuming Stingmon's fight with Hanumon/Apemon. Stingmon intercepted Hanumon from attacking Shuu; He was right there, just offscreen, for that whole conversation. But at no point did Yolei shout "DIGIMON" during it.

But I'll cut them some slack on that one because the specifics of what Shuu overheard, Shuu running to get his Professor, and Shuu still then being able to track Miyako/Yolei down are difficult to parse. This man jogs.

Coming back from commercial, we find Miyako now in a car. The Professor's in the back while Shuu's up front driving.

Professor: Sorry for the late introduction. My name is Takenouchi Haruhiko. I teach the study of folklore at a university in Tokyo, but I've been doing research here in Kyoto for the past year. And this is.... Shuu: Kido Shuu, second-year university student. I was actually studying medicine, but after listening to a general education lecture by the Professor, I transferred over to the humanities. My older brother is interning and my little brother is also studying to become a doctor. Miyako: (nervous) I... I'm a 6th-grade elementary student from Tokyo. My name is Inoue Miyako. I'm here on a field trip.... Shuu: I KNEW IT!!! I've heard all about you from my little brother! Miyako: Ehhh!? Haruhiko: Ahaha! I've heard your name from my daughter as well. Miyako: Um... by any chance... Um, are you talking about Kido Jou-san and Takenouchi Sora-san? Haruhiko: (English) BINGO!!!

Haruhiko throws Miyako's own Bingo right back at her, demonstrating exactly how much Sora's told him about her.

Absolutely wild that Miyako got in the car with them without even knowing their names. Early 00's Japan is a very different place from mid-2020's United States.

In the dub:

Yolei: Who are you guys? Professor: Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Professor Takenouchi. I teach folklore at the university in Tokyo but I've been spending the last year doing research right here in the city of Kyoto. And this is.... Cameraman: My name's Jim, Joe's brother. I'm one of the Professor's students. I was pre-med and had to study everything from brain surgery to bedpans. And then I took one class from the Professor here. I changed my major to ghosts and goblins! My kid brother still wants to be a doctor, though. Yolei: How nice... I'm Yolei Inoue and I'm in eighth grade. I live in Tokyo too, but I'm not sure what I'm doing here. Jim: I knew it! My little brother told me all about you! Yolei: Huh...? Professor: Hehe, yep. And I've heard a lot of good things about you from my daughter as well. Yolei: And, uh... I guess that means that... you're referring to Joe Kido and Sora Takenouchi? Professor: BULLSEYE!!!

Shuu is the middle child, between Shin and Jou. Shin was the one that participated with Jou in Vamdemon's siege. He's the brother that gave Jou the heart-to-heart about following his heart about who he wants to be even if their dad doesn't approve.

The dub here composites Shin and Shuu into the singular character of Jim. Which is kinda fucked because Jim previously had Shin's aspiration to travel to somewhere remote where his medical knowledge and expertise could be put to real use.

But now Jim is Shuu so fuck those desperate and needy folks, I guess; He's a ghost-chaser now. Hunting down spookers is way more fulfilling than providing medical care to the disenfranchised.

Jim literally identifies himself as "Joe's brother" which would be a weird thing to say if he didn't mean "The Joe we have in common" but Yolei still doesn't clock him until the JP script says she can. Oddly, Jim also isn't sure of who Yolei is until later in the conversation so I guess he just walks around introducing himself as Joe's Brother to strangers.

According to Yolei, she's in eighth grade, which puts her two grades ahead of Miyako instead of just the one from the four-year timeskip. This is probably because a summer vacation has come and gone; Americans start a new school year after summer vacation, so she would have reasonably have moved up a grade from where she was at the start of the show while Miyako would not have.

Yolei was at the end of 7th grade when Miyako was at the start of 6th. That makes sense. In retrospect, kinda awkward that T.K. transferred schools in, like, the last month or two of the school year. But that happens.

The dub took Miyako's "BINGO" exclamations away from Yolei; She has no catch phrases or verbal tics for Haruhiko to reference. Consequently, his "BULLSEYE" exclamation comes straight out of nowhere and is a total nonsequitur.

In the Digital World, the fight with Arachnemon and Mummymon is going... Well, it's certainly going alright.

XV-mon: X LASER!!!

It's unclear what, if anything, XV-mon hit. But Mummymon emerges from the smoke with gun in hand.

Mummymon: Now it's my turn!

He shoots wildly into the air but it's hard to hit a mobile flying target with an uncontrolled plasma stream. Before long, backup arrives.

Stingmon: XV-mon! Ken: Motomiya! Daisuke: I've been waiting for you, Ichijouji! Jogress time! Ken: Yeah!

With one pair reconnected, Stingmon and XV-mon evolve into Paildramon.

In the dub:

ExVeemon: VEE LASER!!! (Mummymon emerges unscathed) Mummymon: And now it's my turn! (Mummymon shoots at ExVeemon; Backup arrives) Stingmon: ExVeemon! Ken: Davis! You alright? Davis: Where were you!? I've been waiting! Are you ready? Ken: Let's do it!

Dub Ken considerately asks how Davis is doing after... Is he soloing Mummymon right now? I guess the others might be busy with Arachnemon/Arukenimon.

Somewhere offscreen, they've probably got a completely livid 絡新婦 Jorougumo wrapped up in Sanctuary Bind while Ankylomon sits on her. It's taking all three of them to hold her down but at least Iori chose this form so she doesn't have to go into Digmon's Big Crack.

Anyways, that's sweet of him.

In any case, Paildramon's here to the ripping sound of Beat Hit and this fight just took a turn! So enough about that, let's get back to chatting with Sora's dad. We have never met this guy! This is so cool!

Haruhiko: I travel all over Japan for my research. Hell, sometimes I end up going abroad. So I can't always get home easily. It would seem that this caused my daughter to rebel against my wife. Then, three years ago, my daughter's behavior suddenly changed. When we talked about it, I learned it was all thanks to something called Digimon. Miyako: Thanks to Digimon? Haruhiko: How to put it....

While Haruhiko talks, we flash back on the final episode of the first series. Sora sitting in a tree with Piyomon, saying goodbye and offering her gratitude for everything Piyomon's done for her.

Haruhiko: When she was with the Digimon.... (Flashback) Haruhiko (V.O.): ...she had a lot of new experiences, and it caused her to grow up a lot. She learned to see things from a broader perspective. (End Flashback) Miyako: Uhhh... Haruhiko: I owe much to these Digimon. Poromon: (blushing) No, please.... Miyako: I don't really understand but I'm happy for you!

XD Right over her head. Haruhiko is explaining himself more to the audience than to Miyako, and Miyako puts a spotlight on that fact by going "Uh, whatever you say, bruh!" at the end of it. The energy of "Two thumbs up while awkwardly looking around for someone to rescue her from this conversation."

Haruhiko's assertion here is a little confusing. The conflict between Sora and Toshiko had nothing to do with him. It was about Sora's resentment of the expectation that she would give up soccer and take up 華道 kadou, and Toshiko failing to adequately convey to Sora that she was worried for Sora's safety, not for the future of the art.

But the impression I get is that Haruhiko was the family peacemaker. Nurturing Sora's interests, reassuring Toshiko, making sure they both feel that they're being heard. And that's hard to do from Taiwan.

That's how I read it. Otherwise, it's just a really awkward retcon to insert Haruhiko into a conflict he has no place in.

In the dub:

Professor: I've studied legends all over the world. The Loch Ness Monster, Bigfoot, the Bermuda Triangle... You should see my frequent flier miles! Anyway, I don't spend much time at home. I guess that's what caused Sora to be so angry. Then, three years ago, she suddenly turned into a whole new person. She and her mother became best friends. I thought maybe she had a boyfriend or was going through one of those teenage things but she simply said that she owed it all to her friends, the Digimon. Yolei: Her friends, the Digimon? Professor: That's right. Her adventures with them forced her to grow up and... (Flashback) Professor (V.O.): ...change her outlook on everything, especially the stormy relationship with her mother. You should see them now, shopping every Saturday! My credit card's at the limit! (End Flashback) Yolei: Uhhh.... Professor: So, thanks to the Digimon, our family is a lot closer now. Even though I'm still never around. Poromon: (blushing) You're welcome! Yolei: That's a beautiful story. Thanks for sharing!

Yolei's more invested in the story than Miyako.

This is all solid, with the caveat that the awkward quasi-retcon is still an awkward quasi-retcon. Though I did wince at the Women Be Shoppin' joke. 90's middle-class comedy, my beloathed.

Shuu's turn to share.

Shuu: So that's a real Digimon? I never thought I'd get to see the real thing. Three years ago, I was away from Tokyo at training camp for a club.

Flashback to the reality strips appearing in the sky over the world.

Shuu (V.O.): I saw those images projected into the night sky. But I was too far away and had no idea my younger brother was there.

As the flashback shows, his older brother was kinda there too.

The dub, of course, changes this story to suit him being Jim.

Jim: I'm glad I'm getting to see a Digimon on a friendly basis. I've had a run-in with them before, you know. When everything happened three years ago, I was right in the middle of the battle! (Flashback) Jim (V.O.): Actually, my brother Joe was a little more involved. I was sort of helping out from the sidelines. It's not that I couldn't have helped them fight; It's just that I wanted to give the kid a chance to learn on his own!

Whatever you say, Jim.

The dub's banking on the images going by fast enough that you won't notice that Jim at the front of the group shot has a yellow shirt while Jim in the final shot has a white shirt.

With introductions and catching up out of the way, it's time to move on to business. Miyako has questions.

Miyako: Still, though... I wonder why Digimon would suddenly appear in Kyoto? Haruhiko: Ever since it first became our capitol, Kyoto has been a place with a deep connection to 狐狸妖怪 kori youkai. Miyako: 狐狸 Kori!? Haruhiko: It means 狐 kitsune and 狸 tanuki.

As he speaks, an animation appears onscreen showing how the words きつね kitsune and たぬき tanuki are replaced by the kanji 狐 and 狸, then join together into a single word 狐狸 pronounced こり kori.

狐 Kitsune and 狸 Tanuki are foxes and racoons, respectively. In folklore, they both have a reputation for being shapeshifting youkai tricksters and are often depicted as rivals to each other. For that reason, they get categorized together as 狐狸 kori.

Haruhiko: My current research is about trying to discern the basis for stories about these kinds of youkai.

Continuing on, we see what looks to be an ancient map of the territory surrounding Kyoto.

Haruhiko: When Kyoto first became the capitol, it was chosen based on the land's suitability for the 四神 Shishin. Have you heard about that? Miyako: A little....

That's fair. They're a Taoist concept and most people in modern Japan are primarily familiar with Buddhist, Shinto, and/or Christian mythology. The 四神 Shishin, literally "Four Gods", refers to a group of four deities said to govern the four cardinal directions and the four seasons.

They are not to be confused with the Four Heavenly Kings, which the Dark Masters were a representation of. And I say that as much to myself as anyone else because I totally misremembered this 02 plot point as another set of Four Heavenly Kings when I was talking about the Dark Masters last series.

The Four Symbols, as they're called, share some elements in common with the Four Heavenly Kings. There is as much overlap between them as there are differences. They're similar in concept, but the Symbols are Taoist while the Heavenly Kings are Buddhist.

They're cool, obscure hipster folklore for your anime if you don't want to go with the Mainstream Heavenly Kings like some kind of normie!

Haruhiko: To the north, Genbu of Mt. Funaoka. To the east, Seiryuu of the Kamo River. To the south, Suzaku of Lake Ogura. To the west, Byakko of San'in Road. In other words, it can be rationally interpreted that this location at the foot of a mountain had easy access to rivers and roads and lots of open area to develop to the south. Miyako: Whoa....

Miyako doesn't really say a word here, so much as a slow intake of breath acknowledging that she's following along and that her mind is kind of blown right now.

For context on what he means about developing the south, Lake Ogura largely doesn't exist anymore. It was made into farmland for rice paddies. Get fucked, Suzaku.

As Haruhiko moves onto his next topic, the map returns. This time, it shows various temples and shrines on it.

Haruhiko: Furthermore, to protect the Imperial Palace's 鬼門 Kimon as well as the capitol's judiciary, many vital Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples were constructed. They believed they had to do this to keep 魔物 mamono away. Miyako: 鬼門 Kimon... 魔物 Mamono.... Shuu: Professor.... Haruhiko: Agh, sorry! Sorry. It just comes out. Well, in any case, Kyoto has changed a lot. It's nothing like what it used to be.

You should be sorry. This is a lot to dump on a 12-year-old!

The 鬼門 Kimon or "Demon Gate" refers to entryway by which the 鬼 oni can invade your home. They come in the form of infectious diseases or fires or freak accidents; Various things that can destroy your property and kill your family.

And it's believed that the way they enter, the 鬼門 Kimon, is through the northeast direction. That's why those two shrines are just up there guarding the northeast. Northeast is a cursed direction that evil comes from, and you must take great care to never give the northeast access to your home.

The imperial palace, in fact, doesn't even have a northeast corner. They cut a little divot out of it to keep the 鬼 oni out.

魔物 Mamono, meanwhile, is an umbrella term meaning "wicked things". It uses the devil kanji 魔 Ma meaning evil, demonic, wicked. You can even see 鬼 Oni at the bottom as one of the kanji's component pieces. Though it also means magic in any general context. See: the entire genre of 魔法少女 Mahou Shoujo/Magical Girls.

Then it combines it with 物 Mono which is... things. Stuff. General term for miscellany.

The wanted to keep out supernatural stuff of any kind.

So. That was a lot of fucking complicated Japanese mythology. Good luck with this one, dub.

Yolei: I still don't get it. Of all the cities they could have picked, why did the Digimon start showing up here in Kyoto? Professor: Ever since Kyoto became the capitol, residents here feel the city has developed a very strong connection with animal spirits. Yolei: What!? Professor: That's right. Different animals like raccoons and foxes. One reason I'm here in Kyoto is to determine if these stories are based on facts. Another reason is there's an outlet mall where I get my socks for half price! Yolei: I... see.... Professor: Kyoto was chosen to be the capitol partly because the four gods were in harmony surrounding the city. Have you heard that story? Yolei: I'm not sure. Professor: It's quite interesting! You see, the mountains to the north are for Genbu, the Turtle. The river to the east is for Seiryuu, the Dragon. The lake to the south is for Suzaku, the Phoenix. And the road to the west is for Byakko, the Tiger. So the city was protected by the mountains, had the convenience of a river and roads nearby, and was open to the west. A perfect scenario! Yolei: Cool! Professor: There's also the Spirit Gate and the fact that there were many temples built in all four directions. They believed that, without those temples, it would be too easy for the magical creatures to get in. Yolei: Spirits? Creatures? Jim: Professor! Professor: Hm? Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you. Sometimes I get a little wrapped up in my own stories. The city has changed a lot since those days.

Honestly? Solid B. I have some notes but overall, way better than I anticipated.

Dub Professor gets the direction of the open space wrong; It's the southern lake, not the western roads.

I like that he gives (Accurate!) descriptions of which animal each of the Four Symbols represents. That is a level of detail I do not expect from the dub.

But he does break down when he tries to make sense of 鬼門 kimon. He offhandedly mentions the "Spirit Gate" while offering zero context as to what the fuck that's supposed to mean to a Western audience that didn't grow up learning about 鬼門 kimon.

If you watched the dub, you probably came away from this thinking there's just like a giant doorway constructed in the middle of Kyoto that spirits come through or something. XD Which, y'know, isn't necessarily wrong; 鳥居 Torii are a thing.

Also, without the context of 鬼門 kimon being the cursed direction of northeast, it's a little confusing when he says temples were built in the four cardinal directions but then never says anything about those two up in the northeast corner. What are those? Why are those there? Is that the Spirit Gate on the front of that one shrine?

So it's not perfect but it actually does a reasonably good job of presenting history and mythology to an audience that's probably sitting there going "Wait, aren't Genbu and Suzaku those guys from Yu Yu Hakusho?" and tuning the rest out anyway while they try to figure how these things cross over.

Moving along from his folkloric history lesson, Haruhiko gets to the point.

Haruhiko: In any case, whether 魔界 Makai or 異界 Ikai, the place where this world comes closest to any other sort of world is Kyoto.

In Shinto, 魔界 Makai or the Evil World is the world where the 鬼 Oni dwell.

Note that this is not the Japanese equivalent of Hell. To my best understanding, Shinto tradition states that the dead go to the Spirit World 霊界 Reikai and the Dark World 冥界 Meikai which more closely map to the Christian conception of Heaven and Hell but not completely, while other traditions such as Buddhism have their own life/death structures. The demon world 魔界 Makai is a whole separate place.

Japanese mythology is a cultural mishmash of Shinto, Buddhism, and miscellaneous other influences like Taoism, Confucianism, or Christianity so specific elements can be difficult to parse at times.

異界 Ikai means "Different World", and is generally used to refer to the afterlife. Similar to the usage of あの世 Anoyo or "That world". But in this context, Haruhiko might just mean "other worlds". Whether Demon World or Other World, they overlap most cleanly with ours in Kyoto.

Miyako: 異界 Ikai... 魔界 Makai.... Haruhiko: The Digimon you saw and the distortions in the Digital World may have a stronger influence on Kyoto than Tokyo. Miyako: (chuckling) You make it sound like Digimon are somehow related to 妖怪 youkai! Haruhiko: (serious) Are they not? Miyako: Huh? Haruhiko: If they're capable of existing here, then they can't just be a bundle of data. They say that the items that people use, after a period of 100 years, become a 妖怪 youkai called 付喪神 tsukumogami. They may originally have formed from data within a computer, but they now have a life force of their own. Is that not similar to 付喪神 tsukumogami? Miyako: ...

Miyako has no response to that. She and Poromon simply stare at each other in mutual bewilderment.

And so do I because this was a lot. You broke my brain, Sora's dad! I hope you're proud of yourself! This is why you weren't allowed into the first show! You're here for five minutes and I already want to cry and punch things!

In the dub:

Professor: What I'm trying to say is that Kyoto is close to the spirit world. In other words, any world other than our own. Yolei: Like the Digital World? Professor: I have a theory that those Digimon you saw running around found it easier to travel through the warp to the Digital World to Kyoto rather than trying to go to Tokyo. Yolei: (chuckling) Wait a minute, are you trying to tell me that Digimon are some sort of magical creatures? Professor: (serious) Well, aren't they? Yolei: Huh? Professor: It's not like they're just a collection of data. I believe Digimon are actually legends that people have spoken of for hundreds of years. And, with time, have gained a level of consciousness and become a reality. I think that Digimon may have started as data in some old computer but have since come alive. Just like those old legends. Do you agree with my theory? Yolei: Uhhh... Huh?

Professor has a hard time explaining 付喪神 tsukumonogami and ends up implying that Digimon themselves have been crossing over to the human world for centuries, despite also clearly stating that they started as data from a computer. I don't think ancient Kyoto had computers, Doc. You want to go back and try that again?

He's on the right track but he's fumbling over his words really hard.

He also says that "the spirit world" is a euphemism for any world besides our own. Which. Uh. No. It is not. That's just wrong. He's definitely tripping over the possible interpretations for his own usage of 異界 Ikai here.

But again, I'm going to cut the dub some slack because this section was really fucking hard to translate and explain. I kinda hate Sora's dad now for this thick-as-fuck mythology dump he just threw in Miyako's lap, and I am sure I'm missing pieces from my explanation.

But enough of all of that because Miyako suddenly notices the wandering half-real Digimon on the side of the highway.

Rolling down her window, she tries to get their attention.

Miyako: HANG ON!!! WAIT JUST A SECOND!!!

Unfortunately, she succeeds. As with Hanumon before, the one in the rear takes notice of her. It turns and uncloaks, morphing into a Digimon representation of a samurai warrior who leaps atop a walkway over the highway.

Shuu slams on the brakes and the car screeches to a stop.

Shuu: Whoa! What is that!?

Great question! Mushamon is an Adult-stage Virus-attribute Demon Digimon. He's classified as a 魔人 Majin-type, combining 魔 Ma with 人 Hito, which means people, persons, individual living entities. Mushamon is a magical/demonic individual.

Mushamon is the second-to-last Digimon who can trace their origins to the Wonderswan V-Pet. The last, Asuramon, we will not be seeing in this series. His name comes from the Japanese word 武者 Musha, which means "Warrior". Kind of weird that he's classified as a demon, huh? We'll get to that.

Their name gets Romanized as "Musyamon" as a literal translation of the Katakana ムシャモン or "Mu-shi-ya-mo-n", which is pronounced "Moo-shah-mon".

Some sounds in Hiragana and Katakana don't have a full set of five vowels for them. In these cases, lower-case y-vowel letters are used as modifiers. There is no letter for the sound "sha". The only sh- letter is し or シ. That's shi in Hiragana and Katakana respectively. So a lower-case ャ ya can be applied to シ shi to create the sound sha. Together, シャ Sha are functionally acting as a single letter.

A common translation convention is to carry the 'y' over, but I find this unnecessarily confusing. In "Musyamon", the 'y' isn't even silent; It's standing in for an invisible 'h'. If you don't already know, you're not going to assume that you're meant to read the letters 'sya' as 'sha'.

Narrator: Mushamon! Armored 武者 musha Digimon! His form is that of an 落ち武者 ochimusha. He uses his enchanted sword 白鳥丸 Shiratori-maru to deliver his special attack 切り捨て御免 Kirisute Gomen.

Alright, let's get the easy one out of the way. 白鳥丸 Shiratori-maru means "White-feathered Bird" or just "Swan". The 丸 -maru at the end is a common suffix that people affix to signify that the name belongs to an item.

His special attack, 切り捨て御免 Kirisute Gomen, references an old Japanese right that samurai held that permitted them to cut down peasantry with their swords for being disrespectful. Mushamon's special attack is executing the lower-class for not properly acknowledging him as their better. Starting to get the picture of why he's a demon? Well, we haven't even gotten to the clincher yet.

An 落ち武者 ochimusha is... The fansub describes him as "fallen warrior" which is a literal translation that doesn't really capture it well. Sounds like the spirit of a warrior who died in battle and has come back from Hell to kick some more ass, right?

No. An 落ち武者 ochimusha is a warrior who has fallen from grace by fleeing from battle. When the tide turned against his army, he broke ranks and fled, taking all his expensive taxpayer-funded gear with him. These deserters were named 落ち武者 ochimusha and the general public were incentivized to hunt them down, either to reclaim their equipment or sell their heads to the opposing army.

So the design behind this guy is a coward who fled the battlefield but still claims to hold the right to murder civilians for making rude comments about it. That is Mushamon.

In the dub, Yolei rolls down the window to yell at Jim instead of the Digimon.

Yolei: HEY, STOP THE CAR!!! THERE THEY ARE!!! Shadow: Huh? (Musyamon emerges from the shadow and leaps onto the walkway) Jim: Ah! What's that!?

The dub goes to our third commercial break without answering that question. When we come back, Poromon explains.

Poromon: (rundown) That's Musyamon, a warrior Digimon who can take different shapes! I've seen him use his Shogun Sword attack to make mincemeat out of his enemies.

A lot of notes for such a short bit of dialogue. Technically, the window that gets rolled down is Jim's, not Miyako's. She moves her arm to imply that she reached forward to roll it down, which is kinda rude. In the dub, there's no clear reason why she would do that, but maybe Jim just rolled down his own window because he needed air.

Either way, since she's not yelling at the Digimon, they just. Like. Overhear her. Because either she or Jim rolled the window down for no reason.

The dub gives Musyamon a fabric tearing sound effect when he emerges from the darkness shroud, which makes me think that they think it's a literal cloak.

They pronounce his name "Moo-see-yah-mon" which is exactly the kind of confusion I was talking about when you translate the 'y' modifier that way. That's not their fault; It's the official Romanization that was provided onscreen during the animation for the rundown.

They also say Musyamon "can take different shapes". He does not; This is a mistranslation of him being "in the shape of" an 落ち武者 ochimusha. Because all Digimon are not literally 'thing' but masses of data compiled into the form of 'thing'. So don't hold your breath for some wicked combat shapeshifting to come.

We're about to have a fight on our hands. Fortunately, this time, Miyako is armed for one.

Poromon: Miyako-san! Miyako: Poromon!

Those are the only words they exchange before Poromon evolves into Hawkmon.

Miyako: Get him, Hawkmon!

As Hawkmon flies into battle, Haruhiko gets out of the car to see this for himself.

Haruhiko: Oooh! So this is Digimon evolution! Hawkmon: FEATHER SLASH!!!

Mushamon easily deflects Hawkmon's feather, with the same energy as any trained samurai slapping away a child's attempt.

By this point, Shuu has joined Haruhiko outside the car, watching the battle with jaw slacked. Miyako is the last to get out, holding up her D-3.

Miyako: HAWKMON!!! ARMOR EVOLVE!!! Hawkmon: Right! Miyako: DIGIMENTAL UP!!!

She could go for Aquilamon but Miyako has a form in mind that's much more appropriate for cutting down an 落ち武者 ochimusha.

In the dub:

Poromon: Should I? Yolei: Go for it! (Hawkmon evolves and flies into battle) Yolei: You can do it, Hawkmon! Professor: Do you think Hawkmon will let me interview him? Hawkmon: FEATHER STRIKE!!! (Deflected) Yolei: HAWKMON!!! ARMOR DIGIVOLVE!!! Hawkmon: Glad to! Yolei: DIGI-ARMOR ENERGIZE!!!

Professor's question isn't as contextually relevant to our immediate situation as the remark Haruhiko makes.

Alright, time to literally take the Kid Gloves off. It's go-time with Mushamon.

Like I said, who better to hunt an 落ち武者 ochimusha than a 忍 shinobi?

As soon as he's finished evolving, Shurimon goes on the offensive.

Shurimon: 紅葉おろし MOMIJI OROSHI!!!

Mushamon raises his sword to block the attack, but the momentum carries him backwards off the walkway.

Shuu: Amazing! To actually see an evolution with my own eyes...! Haruhiko: K-Kido-kun! After them! Quickly! Shuu: R-Right!

The humans get back in the car to follow the fighting. Moving away at a quick pace, Mushamon and Shurimon race across rooftops, finding opportunities to lock blades here and there.

Miyako: Professor, is there a laptop here? Haruhiko: Huh? Yeah....

Finding a chance to get above Shurimon, Mushamon prepares to cut down this upstart peasant.

Mushamon: KIRISUTE GOMEN!!! Shurimon: KUSANAGI!!!

But Shurimon's attack is swifter. As giant shuriken collides with katana, it buys Shurimon a moment to ascend. Then, once he's gained enough height, he slams down into the Kusanagi, using momentum and gravity to crash Mushamon into the lake below.

Miyako comes running with Haruhiko and Shuu. Shuu has the laptop with him, and he opens it for her.

Miyako: DIGITAL GATE, OPEN!!! (Gate opens) Miyako: SHURIMON, THE GATE'S OPEN!!!

Emerging from the lake, Shurimon hurls Mushamon into the Digital Gate, returning this deserter to where he belongs.

Miyako: Close it! (Shuu closes it) Shuu: ...it disappeared...? Haruhiko: No, it didn't disappear. It returned to the Digital World.

Finally, with the fighting over, Shurimon regresses all the way back down to Poromon.

In the dub:

Shurimon: DOUBLE STARS!!! (Shurimon blocks) Jim: Professor, do you suggest I start taking notes about what I'm seeing? Professor: Never mind the notes! Drive! The! Car! Jim: Right! (Car chases the fighting Digimon) Yolei: Professor, do you happen to have a laptop computer? Professor: Uh... Yeah...? Musyamon: SHOGUN SWORD!!! Shurimon: DOUBLE STARS!!! (Shurimon takes down Musyamon) Yolei: DIGI-PORT OPEN!!! (Digi-Port opens) Yolei: SHURIMON, THE PORT IS OPEN!!! (Shurimon tosses Musyamon through) Yolei: Jim! Close it! (Jim closes it) Jim: He's vanished!? Professor: No, Jim. He didn't vanish. He's returned to the Digital World where he belongs.

A little awkward that Jim has to do all of Shuu's "WHOA DIGIMON STUFF" as if he's experiencing this for the first time even though he was supposedly also the guy in Odaiba during the VenomVamdemon battle.

But, to be fair, that is still only one encounter.

Triumphant, Poromon returns to Miyako's arms.

Miyako: Good work. Oh, wait! What about BlackWarGreymon and the others!?

As if in response to that question, BWG and his contingent go to static and disappear into thin air as mysteriously as they came.

Shuu: They're going back? Miyako: How did they even come to the real world in the first place? And why? Haruhiko: Though it may seem random to us, there must have been some great reason behind it.

That's cool and all but you just got here ten minutes ago and no one cares what you think. Miyako starts puzzling over this before Haruhiko even finishes speaking, loudly thinking over him.

Miyako: (thinking) We now have the ability to open the Gate and send them back, but this wasn't the case for Taichi-san and the others back then. Shuu: Miyako-chan! Miyako: Ah! Shuu: It's time to take you back. You need to make your check-in time, right?

Oh shit. Yeah, Teacher did only give us two hours. Miyako checks her D-3 and freaks out.

Miyako: EH!?!? AHHHHH, LOOK AT THE TIME!!!

What time is it? That's right. It's time to fucking go before Shuu and Haruhiko officially become kidnappers, that's what time. I don't know what Japan's laws are regarding two adult men making off with an unaccompanied minor not related to either of them during a field trip but I imagine it's probably not a great look.

In the dub:

Yolei: You did a good job. But we have to figure out a way to stop BlackWarGreymon! Poromon: Look, Yolei! Something's happening to them! (BWG's contingent fizzles) Jim: They're all returning to the Digital World. Yolei: Yeah, but I've got a question. Why did they come here to the real world? I don't get it. Professor: It may not make sense to us but there must have been a reason. Yolei: (thinking) That was really strange. I was able to open the Digi-Port and send Musyamon back to the Digital World, but Tai and the others weren't able to do it. Jim: Yolei! Yolei: Huh? Jim: We'd better hurry up and get you back to your class. After all, you don't want to miss the rest of your school trip, do you? (Yolei checks time) Yolei: Oh! I almost forgot about that!

It's weirdly convenient in both versions that after all that fighting and chasing we've done, BWG and the others just happen to show up right next to us so we can see them vanish. The dub tries to patch this convenience by at least having Poromon call everybody's attention over to them.

Yolei considerately lets Professor finish speaking before going on her own train of thought.

Yolei has the right idea for what she's puzzling over but gets the tone wrong. It's not a mystery why we can do it. That's a property the new D-3s have over the old Digivices. Miyako never draws a conclusion or even really outlines a specific question; She just finds it interesting that the Junior Team was prepared in advance for this scenario while the veterans had to make due without.

The dub version also sounds like it's suggesting that Tai and the others couldn't send Musyamon back. No one else has taken a crack at Musyamon. She's referring to Tai and the others having no other option but to kill all the Digimon invading Tokyo way back when, but that's not really clear with the dub dialogue.

Suddenly, as mysteriously as he came, BlackWarGreymon returns to the Digital World.

Arachnemon notices the distortion dropping him off and sees him walking into the distance. He pays her no heed, since he's not actually on their team.

Arachnemon: He's back.... Mummymon! Let's go! Mummymon: Got it!

Mummymon disentangles himself from the fight, returning to his human guise. He leaps down to join Arachnemon in the car and gun it, while Paildramon breaks free of his Snake Bandage.

Daisuke: You're running away!? Arachnemon: We don't have time for you kids! You hear me? Don't let this go to your head! We're on our way to destroy the five remaining Holy Points! Daisuke: What did she just say? Takeru: She said there are five Holy Points left. Iori: And if they destroy them all.... Hikari: ...then the balance of the Digital World will continue to collapse. Ken: (thinking) This is what Izumi-san was worried about. If the balance of the Digital World were completely destroyed, the result would be catastrophic.

Weirdly convenient that she just threw that out there. Also we have this new terminology, Holy Point, which I guess is the same thing as a Holy Stone.

In the dub:

Arukenimon: Huh? They have returned.... Mummymon, let's go! Mummymon: Right! (Arukenimon and Mummymon withdraw to the car) Davis: Going somewhere!? Arukenimon: I don't have time for small talk with small children! I wouldn't get too comfortable if I were you. There are still five more Destiny Stones out there and, when I destroy them, there goes the Digital World! Davis: Is she serious!? T.K.: She won't stop until she finds all of the Destiny Stones! Cody: And if she destroys them all.... Kari: Then the balance of the Digital World will be destroyed as well. Ken: (thinking) Now I finally understand. This must be what Izzy was worried about. If the balance of the Digital World is destroyed, something terrible is going to happen.

Arukenimon says "they" have returned but the only person that she was missing was the singular BWG. It's not clear what the deal with those shrouded figures that turned into very confused and disoriented Digimon was, but they aren't part of her team or anything like that. I'm not sure what that was about and clearly neither are the dub writers.

The dub sticks with the Destiny Stone terminology instead of switching to Destiny Point or something.

The dub overlooks that the children didn't know there were five Holy Points out there, and just learned that from Arachnemon right now. They don't react at all to the number Arukenimon throws at them. Without that specific topic, they spend their lines just. Like. Being shocked that the cruel villain who wants to destroy the Digital World is cruelly trying to destroy the Digital World.

Back in Kyoto, Shuu and Haruhiko drop off Miyako just in time for her check-in.

Haruhiko: Well then, say hi to Sora for me when you get back to Tokyo. Shuu: Jou too. Miyako: Will do!

Once she's said her goodbyes, Miyako returns to her class.

Friend 1: You're late! Where have you been? Miyako: Sorry, sorry. Just around, really. Friend 2: Huh? What's that?

It's at this moment that Miyako suddenly realizes she's still holding Poromon. Panicking, she starts patting Poromon's head a little too hard.

Miyako: Uhh... Just a plushie! A plushie! Poromon: ...ow.... Friend 2: NO WAY!!! IT'S SO CUTE!!! LET ME SEE!!! Friend 1: Just a quick look!

Miyako's friends take Poromon from her and start a tug-of-war with the poor Digimon.

Miyako: (thinking) Stay strong, Poromon....

This is the same joke as when Taichi watched Agumon try to swallow that humongous fish. With nothing else she can say or do to solve this situation, Miyako silently urges "頑張れ Ganbare", the Japanese spirit of perseverance against hardship. We close on this comical acknowledgment of the great ordeal ahead of Poromon.

In the dub:

Professor: Nice meeting you, Yolei, and be sure to say hi to Sora for me when you get back to Tokyo. Jim: And to Joe too. Yolei: Sure! Nice meeting you! (Yolei returns to her class) Friend 1: Yolei! Where have you been? Yolei: I had to take care of a couple of small things. Friend 2: Hey look! What's that!

Instead of one "Ow" at the end, Dub Poromon makes little grunts of pain each time Yolei smacks him.

Yolei: Uhhh, just a souvenir! (pointedly) A very quiet souvenir! Friend 2: Aww! It's so cute! (Friends take Poromon) Friend 1: Heeeey! Friend 2: Where'd you get him? Come on! Yolei: (thinking) Urgh... Sorry about that, Poromon.... Narrator: What are the mysterious Destiny Stones and will Arukenimon be able to destroy them all? Find out next time on Digimon: Digital Monsters!

We're gonna find out if she can destroy them all next episode? That's a pretty tall order, Narrator.

On that note, we had two questions to answer this episode. First question: Did the big tornado at the end of last episode destroy the Digital World completely? I feel like we can conclusively say no. It did not. QUESTION ANSWERED.

Second question: Will BlackWarGreymon ever find his heart? At no point in this episode did they ever even touch on that topic, so we're gonna have to call that one a broken promise.

Assessment: This might be the driest episode the show's had thus far. It is so plot-driven it hurts. We open the episode with plot exposition from Koushiro, then send Miyako off to meet Haruhiko and get more plot exposition from him. And then Arachnemon inexplicably tosses some extra plot information to the kids at the very end to help them keep up.

The battle taking place mostly offscreen in the Digital World is completely inconsequential. The Chosen Children and Arachnemon are basically just killing time until the plot returns. This is the most "Just here to cash my paycheck" the cast has ever been in the series thus far.

Ken, meanwhile, spends the whole episode possessed by the Spirit of the Writer's Hand. He facilitates exposition from Koushiro, then he shows up inexplicably in Kyoto to tutorial Miyako on how to fight Mushamon, and then he pops over to Daisuke's crew to make Paildramon happen and keep them from being slaughtered in their inconsequential exhibition bout.

We don't even find out how he knew Hanumon was in Kyoto, how he knew what Hanumon's deal was and how the mechanics of this conflict work, or how he even ripped open a time/space distortion into the canal without using an actual Digital Gate. There are so many questions about what the fuck just happened that Ken waves off with a "Tell ya later".

It's a Miyako-centric episode where Miyako barely gets to do anything or express anything interesting about her character. She gets rescued by Ken and then lectured by Haruhiko while only understanding like half of what he's saying. Then, at the very end, she gets to fight what amounts to a Random Encounter.

Between this and the previous episode, this has not been a great start for the Holy Stone/Point arc.

#digimon adventure #digimon adventure 02 #revisiting digimon #revisiting digimon adventure 02

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annabanana2u · 3 days ago

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Thinking bout Victoria celebrating her 21st birthday out in a bar with her coworkers. Mateo and John being invited and sharing shots with the birthday girl. Victoria tipsy (not drunk, she knows better) somehow ending up sandwiched between the two, missing the understanding look they shared with each other before turning their attention back to their favorite girl. Victoria who was currently laughing at Trinity and Dennis who was playing pool a couple of feet away (both of them suck) being suddenly aware of the heat radiating off of the two men’s thighs as they were pressed up against her. Her being hyper aware of Mateo’s arm that was stretched out behind her head and John’s hand that had found its way to her thigh. Victoria suddenly starts feeling warm all throughout her body while the two men acted as if they didn’t know what they were doing; mindlessly chatting with each other from Victorias point of view (they know damn well what they were doing). A song comes on and the two invite the bambi eyed MS to dance with them; victoria goes along for the hell of it cause it’s her birthday right? The dancing started seemingly innocent enough, the three just swaying to the beat of the music, the two absolutely bewitched by the way her body was moving. Them taking turns spinning her around till she was giggling, then finally them sandwiching her between them once again. Her back pressed up against John’s front while her and Mateo were face to face; him being just as close as John was. John’s hands confidently sliding up and down the sides of her body while Mateo is leaning down to push his face closer to her neck smelling her. The three of them grinding on each other as the music continued forgetting where they were. Everything else seemed to fade away as they continued to dance. The two not shying away from Victoria when it became evident that they were hard; in fact pressing against up more so she could feel just what she does to them. Victoria feeling a sudden boost of confidence taking her hands to feel their crotch and just how big the two of them are. This causes the two of them to release the most amazing sounds Victoria has ever heard. John finally taking the initiative to ask if she would like “to get outta here and take this back to his apartment”. Victoria looking up at him and Mateo , eyes glazed over, quickly nodding yes. Them scurrying out of the bar to his truck not caring about the wide eyed looks shared between their coworkers. Mateo and Victoria hop in the back seat while John drives quickly, not caring about the possibility of getting pulled over. Him looking up at the rear view mirror to see Victoria straddling Mateo’s lap, while the two were deep into making out, Mateo’s hands roaming around Victoria’s ass gripping it hard, surely leaving marks that will stay on her for days after; making John clench the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white and stomping on the gas even more. A 10 minute drive magically turned into 5. Them stumbling out of the car, getting into the elevator while John grabbed Victorias face kissing her like his life depended on it. One hand coming up to the base of her hair to pull on it while his other found it’s place around her throat; the right amount of pulling and squeezing elicited a moan and whimper from Victoria while her eyes rolled to the back of her head in pleasure, almost causing the two to black out. The elevator opening, the three of them trying to make themselves presentable as an older couple passed by them giving them side eyes. Looks that said “we know what you’re up to”. Them finally reaching John’s apartment door, the two not able to keep their hands of Victoria licking and sucking on her neck or whatever body part they were closest to. Clothes start coming off getting strewn about without a care in the world. The two working together to give Victoria a mind blowing orgasm followed by 4 others because dammit it’s their girls special day and she deserves a damn good gift. Victoria considers her 21st birthday the best birthday ever if she might say so herself!

#the pitt #victoria javadi #john shen #mateo diaz #shenvadi #mavadi #mateo x victoria #john x victoria #jack abbot #robby robinavitch

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crybabycabin · 14 days ago

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pressure points | b.b.

✮ synopsis: bucky's gotten good at keeping his distance from his harmless, sunshine-y neighbor. but when you get taken because of him—because someone figured out you're his weak spot—he realizes how spectacularly that plan backfired. turns out the winter soldier's soft spot is a lot more dangerous than he thought.

✮ pairing: post-thunderbolts!bucky x fem!reader

✮ disclaimers: violence, kidnapping, blood and injury, torture (not graphic), angst with a happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, established feelings but complicated relationship, second person POV, fem!reader, miscommunication, intense yearning, emotionally constipated!bucky, past trauma, mild language, fighting sequences

✮ word count: 10.6k

✮ a/n: first fic on this blog and it's basically just 10k words of soft bucky yearning xoxo

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The first time Bucky Barnes sees you, you're trying to shove a couch through a doorway that's at least six inches too narrow, and losing spectacularly.

He's coming home from another pointless congressional hearing—the kind where everyone talks in circles about defense budgets while carefully not mentioning the alien invasion from three months ago—when he spots you in the hallway. You're wedged between the arm of what looks like a vintage velvet monstrosity and the doorframe of 4B, hair escaping from whatever you'd tried to contain it with, muttering a stream of increasingly creative profanity.

"Fucking—come on—you absolute bastard of a—"

The couch shifts. You yelp. Bucky's halfway down the hall before he realizes he's moving.

"Need a hand?"

You twist around, and something in his chest does this stupid, inconvenient flip. Your face is flushed, one cheek smudged with what might be dust or maybe yesterday's mascara, and you're looking at him like—well. Like he's not Bucky Barnes. Like he's just some guy in the hallway who might know how geometry works.

"Oh thank god," you breathe, and the relief in it makes his mouth twitch. "I've been battling this thing for twenty minutes. I think it's winning."

He assesses the situation with the same tactical precision he'd use for a Bulgarian arms deal, if arms deals came upholstered in emerald green and smelled faintly of vanilla perfume mixed with fresh sweat. The angle's all wrong. You've been trying to force it through horizontally when it needs to go vertical, then rotate.

"Here." He steps closer, and you shift to make room, your shoulder brushing his chest in a way that absolutely doesn't make his pulse stutter. "If we flip it—"

"Oh, you're strong," you say, like an observation about the weather, as he essentially deadlifts one end of your couch. The metal arm whirs faintly. You don't flinch. "That's convenient."

Convenient. Right. He maneuvers the couch through the doorway in three efficient moves, trying not to notice how you smell like coffee and something floral, how you hover just inside his peripheral vision like you're trying not to crowd him but can't quite stay away.

"There." He sets it down in what's clearly the only spot it could go in your tiny living room. The space is chaos—boxes everywhere, art leaning against walls, books stacked in precarious towers. "You just moving in?"

"Yeah, from—" You wave a hand vaguely eastward. "Nicer neighborhood. Turns out freelance graphic design doesn't pay for Manhattan rent. Who knew?" The self-deprecation comes with a grin that transforms your whole face, and Bucky has to look away, focus on the box labeled 'KITCHEN SHIT' in aggressive Sharpie. "I'm—well, you probably don't care what my name is."

He does, actually. Cares in a way that makes his teeth ache.

"Bucky," he offers, even though you clearly already know. "4C."

"The grumpy congressman." Your grin goes wider, teasing. "I've seen you on C-SPAN. You look like you're being held at gunpoint during those hearings."

"Feel like it too," he mutters, and the laugh you give him hits like a shot of whiskey—warm and slightly dizzying.

"Well, Congressman Barnes of apartment 4C, you've just saved my Saturday. Can I pay you in beer? I've got—" You dig through a box, emerge triumphant with two bottles. "Hipster IPA or hipster IPA?"

He should say no. Should maintain boundaries. Should remember what happened the last time he let someone get close—the scar on his ribs from Belgrade still aches when it rains.

Instead, he finds himself accepting a bottle, listening to you chatter about the neighbor who warned you about the rats (definitely real) and the ghost (probably not real but who knows), watching how you gesture with your whole body when you talk, like you're too much for your own skin.

It's dangerous, how easy you are to be around. How you look at him like he's just Bucky, not the former Asset, not the killer, not the congressman who can't pass a single fucking bill. Just a guy who helped with your couch.

He stays too long. Drinks two beers. Helps you unpack exactly three boxes before some long-dormant self-preservation instinct kicks in and he makes excuses about constituent emails.

"Thanks again," you say at the door, and there's something in your eyes—curiosity, maybe. Interest. "For the couch. And the company."

"No problem."

He's halfway to his own door when you call out: "Hey, Barnes?"

He turns. You're leaning against your doorframe, backlit by the disaster zone of your apartment, smiling that smile that makes his chest tight.

"I make really good coffee. You know. If congressional hearings ever drive you to caffeine dependency."

It's an offer. An opening. Everything in him screams to close it, lock it down, maintain operational security. Instead, his traitorous mouth says, "I'll keep that in mind."

He's so fucked.

The thing is, Bucky's gotten good at keeping people at arm's length. Seventy years of being a weapon teaches him that distance equals safety—for them, not him.

When you're already dead, what's a little more damage?

So he shouldn't notice when you start leaving your apartment at 7:23 every morning, shouldering a bag that's always slipping off your shoulder. Shouldn't time his own exits to avoid those encounters, then feel like an asshole when he succeeds. Definitely shouldn't lie awake listening through the thin walls as you sing along to whatever pop music you play while cooking, off-key and enthusiastic.

But here's the other thing: you make it really fucking hard to maintain distance.

You leave cookies outside his door with notes that say things like "for emergency constituent-induced rage" and "survival fuel for C-SPAN." You knock when you know he's home, ask to borrow sugar or vodka or a screwdriver, then stay to chat like his apartment isn't just bare walls and a couch Sam made him buy. You touch—casual, constant. A hand on his arm when you laugh, fingers brushing when you hand him things, like physical contact isn't something that makes his brain static out.

"You're a really good listener," you tell him one evening, three weeks into whatever this is. You're sitting on his floor, back against his couch, because you'd knocked asking for wine and then somehow ended up staying. Your knee presses against his thigh. He's catastrophically aware of every point of contact. "Like, actually good. Not just waiting for your turn to talk."

"Not much of a talker," he says, which is true and also easier than explaining that he's memorizing everything—how you twist your rings when you're nervous, the way your voice drops when you're saying something real, how you look in his space like you belong there.

"Bullshit." You bump his shoulder. He doesn't flinch anymore, which is either progress or a sign he's completely fucked. "You're just selective. Quality over quantity."

You say things like that—observations that feel like being seen, really seen, not just looked at. It's terrifying. It's addictive. It's going to get you killed.

Because here's the thing Bucky knows down to his bones: everything he touches turns to ash. Everyone he cares about becomes a target. And you—with your sunshine laugh and your disaster apartment and your way of looking at him like he's worth something—you're exactly the kind of light that attracts the worst kind of dark.

He should stay away.

He doesn't.

"So," Sam says, watching Bucky check his phone for the third time during their coffee meeting. "Who is she?"

"What?" Bucky pockets the phone. You'd texted asking if he knew how to fix a leaky faucet. He knows seventeen ways to kill a man with a faucet. Fixing one can't be that different. "Nobody. Work thing."

"Uh-huh." Sam's doing that face, the one that means he's about to be insufferably perceptive. "That's why you just smiled at your phone. Over a work thing. You. Smiled."

"I smile."

"No, you do this thing with your mouth that's like a smile's evil twin. This was an actual smile. So. Who is she?"

Bucky takes a long drink of coffee, considering how much lying is worth the effort. "Neighbor."

"Neighbor." Sam leans back, grinning. "Cute neighbor?"

The memory of you last night, paint in your hair and gesturing wildly about your latest client, flashes unbidden. His silence is apparently answer enough.

"Buck. Man. This is good. You need—"

"I need to not get people killed," Bucky cuts him off. "I need to remember that anyone who gets close to me ends up hurt. I need—"

"You need a life," Sam interrupts right back. "You need to stop punishing yourself for shit that wasn't your fault. You need to let yourself have something good."

Bucky's jaw works. The phone buzzes again. He doesn't check it.

"She doesn't know what she's getting into," he says finally. "She's—" Bright. Warm. Good. "She's not part of this world."

"So keep her out of it." Sam makes it sound simple. Like there's a way to compartmentalize, to have you without putting you at risk. "Be her neighbor. Be normal. Be happy, for once in your goddamn life."

Normal. Right. Because nothing says normal like a centenarian ex-assassin with more kills than most armies and a metal arm that could crush a skull like an egg.

But then he thinks about your smile when he fixed your garbage disposal last week. How you'd said "my hero" in this teasing, fond way that made him want impossible things. How you treat him like he's just Bucky, not a weapon someone else aimed.

"I don't know how," he admits, quieter than he meant to.

Sam's expression softens. "Nobody does, man. You just try anyway."

The faucet thing turns into a whole production.

You answer the door in tiny pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt that says "FEMINIST KILLJOY" in glitter letters, and Bucky's brain shorts out for a solid three seconds. Your hair's piled on top of your head in what might generously be called a bun, and there's toothpaste at the corner of your mouth, and he wants to—

"Oh good, you're here," you say, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside. Your fingers are warm through his henley. "It's making this noise like a dying whale. I tried YouTube tutorials but I think I made it worse."

The kitchen is a disaster. Tools scattered everywhere, water pooling on the floor, YouTube still playing on your laptop ("—sure to turn off the water main first—"). You've clearly been at this for a while.

"Did you turn off the water?" he asks, already knowing the answer from the growing puddle.

"I turned off a valve," you say defensively. "Several valves. None of them seemed to be the right valve."

He finds himself fighting a smile as he locates the actual shut-off. You hover behind him as he works, close enough that he can feel your breath on his neck, keeping up a running commentary that's part apology, part stand-up routine.

"—and then the wrench slipped and I maybe screamed a little bit, and Mrs. Nguyen next door started banging on the wall, and I had to yell that I wasn't being murdered, just defeating by plumbing—"

"Hand me the—" He turns to ask for the wrench at the same moment you lean forward to see what he's doing. Your faces end up inches apart. Time does that thing where it forgets how to work properly.

Your eyes are very wide. There's a water droplet on your cheek. Bucky's hand twitches with the urge to wipe it away.

"Wrench," he manages, voice rougher than intended.

"Right. Wrench. That's a—" You scramble backward, nearly slip on the wet floor. He catches your elbow automatically, steadying you, and your skin is so warm under his fingers it feels like a brand. "Thanks. I'm not usually this much of a disaster. Actually, that's a lie. I'm exactly this much of a disaster, you've just caught me on a particularly disastrous day."

He fixes the faucet in under ten minutes. You insist on making coffee as payment, which turns into leftover pizza, which turns into three hours on your couch watching some reality show about people making elaborate cakes. You provide running commentary that's funnier than the show itself, and Bucky finds himself actually laughing—not the dry chuckle he's perfected for public appearances, but real laughter that comes from somewhere deep in his chest.

"See?" you say during a commercial break, grinning at him. "I told you this show was addictive. Next week they're making a life-size dragon cake that actually breathes fire."

"Next week?" The words slip out before he can stop them, too revealing.

Your grin softens into something else, something that makes his chest tight. "Well, yeah. You can't miss fire-breathing dragon cake. That's un-American."

It becomes a thing. Thursday nights, your couch, increasingly ridiculous cooking shows. You always have too much dinner ("I'm terrible at portions, shut up"), he always fixes something that's broken ("it's not broken, it's just temperamental"), and somewhere between cake disasters and your laughter, Bucky forgets to maintain distance.

"Your boyfriend's here," Mrs. Nguyen announces loudly when Bucky knocks on your door a month later, because apparently the entire floor has decided they're invested in whatever this is.

"He's not my—" Your voice cuts off as you open the door. You're wearing a dress, which is new. Red, which is newer. Lipstick, which is going to kill him. "Hi."

"Hi." His brain's stuck on the curve of your shoulder, the way the fabric clings. "Going out?"

"Wedding. Old college friend." You're fidgeting with your earring, a sure tell that you're nervous. "I hate weddings. All that optimism and overpriced chicken."

"So don't go."

"Can't. I already RSVP'd, and I'm a good friend even if I'm a wedding-hating gremlin." You pause, still fiddling with the earring. "Unless..."

He knows what's coming by the way you're biting your lip. "No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!"

"You were going to ask me to go with you."

"...okay, so you did know." You lean against the doorframe, giving him a look that's probably supposed to be convincing but mostly just highlights how your eyes catch the hallway light. "Come on. You're a congressman. You must love overpriced chicken and small talk."

"I really don't."

"There's an open bar."

"Still no."

"I'll owe you one. One big favor. Anything."

That makes him pause, but not for the reason you think. The idea of you owing him anything makes his skin itch. You already give too much—your time, your laughter, your casual touches that rewire his brain. But the idea of watching you navigate a wedding alone, of other people getting to see you in that dress...

"Fine," he hears himself say. "But I'm not dancing."

The smile you give him could power Brooklyn for a week.

He's absolutely, catastrophically unprepared for how you look in candlelight.

The wedding venue is one of those rustic-chic places that thinks exposed beams equal personality. You're at table eight, which puts you safely in "college friends but not close enough for the wedding party" territory. You've been providing whispered commentary all through the ceremony ("five bucks says she wrote her vows the night before"), your shoulder pressed against his in a way that makes paying attention to anything else physically impossible.

"See that bridesmaid?" You nod toward a blonde who's definitely already three champagnes deep. "That's Amber. We were roommates sophomore year. She once tried to seduce our RA by leaving Post-it poetry on his door."

"Did it work?"

"Depends on your definition of 'work.' She did get his attention. Also a conduct violation." You're playing with the stem of your wine glass, fingers tracing patterns. "Thanks for this, by the way. I know wearing a suit and making small talk isn't exactly your idea of fun."

He could tell you that wearing a suit is nothing compared to tac gear, that small talk is easier than Senate hearings. Could mention that the way you keep unconsciously leaning into him makes any discomfort worth it. Instead: "It's fine."

"Such enthusiasm." But you're smiling, soft and maybe a little fond. "Dance with me?"

"I said no dancing."

"You said that before you had champagne. And before they played—" You tilt your head, listening. "Oh my god, is this Bon Jovi? We have to dance to Bon Jovi. It's the law."

"That's not a law."

"It's a law of wedding physics. Come on, Barnes. One dance. I promise not to step on your feet much."

The thing is, he can't say no to you. It's becoming a problem. You want him to fix your sink? Done. Need someone to hold your laptop while you Skype your mother? He's there. Want him to dance to "Livin' on a Prayer" at some stranger's wedding? Apparently, that's happening too.

You're a terrible dancer. Genuinely awful. You have no sense of rhythm, keep trying to lead, and you're laughing too hard to even pretend otherwise. It's perfect. He spins you out just to watch your dress flare, pulls you back too close, and for a moment—your hand in his, your face tilted up, surrounded by fairy lights and other people's happiness—he forgets why this is a bad idea.

"See?" you say, slightly breathless. "Dancing's not so bad."

His hand is on your waist. He can feel your pulse through the thin fabric. "No. Not so bad."

Someone bumps into you from behind, pushing you fully against his chest. Your hands come up to steady yourself, one landing over his heart, and he knows you can feel how it stumbles. Your smile falters, shifts into something else. Something that looks dangerously like realization.

"Bucky—"

"They're cutting the cake," he says, stepping back. The loss of contact feels like losing a limb. "Should probably watch. For your show."

You blink, then recover. "Right. Yeah. Cake."

But you're quiet for the rest of the reception, and he catches you looking at him with this expression he can't decode. Like you're working through a complex equation and not liking the answer.

He drives home. You spend the ride fiddling with your phone, uncharacteristically silent. When he pulls up to the building, you don't immediately get out.

"I'm sorry if I—" you start.

"Don't." It comes out harsher than intended. He tries again, softer: "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Feels like I did." You're still not looking at him. "I forget sometimes, that you're—that we're—"

"Friends," he supplies, even though the word tastes like ash. "We're friends."

"Right." You finally meet his eyes, and there's something careful in your expression now. Guarded. "Friends."

You're out of the car before he can figure out what to say to fix this. He watches you disappear into the building first, red dress like a wound in the grey evening, and knows he's fucked everything up without quite understanding how.

You pull back after that.

It's subtle—you still smile when you see him in the hall, still text him memes at inappropriate hours. But you stop knocking on his door for impromptu dinners. Stop touching him casually. When he offers to fix your eternally-dripping showerhead, you say you'll call the super instead.

"You're moping," Sam tells him two weeks later, during one of their mandatory "make sure Bucky's not spiraling" brunch dates.

"I don't mope."

"You're the Black Widow of moping. The Michael Jordan of emotional constipation." Sam pauses. "That neighbor you mentioned?"

Bucky's silence is damning.

"What'd you do?"

"Why do you assume I did something?"

"Because you always do something. You get close to someone, panic, and pull some self-sabotaging bullshit." Sam's voice gentles. "Talk to me, man."

Bucky stares at his coffee like it holds answers. "She wanted to dance."

"...okay?"

"At a wedding. And I—we danced. And it was..." He doesn't have words for what it was. How you felt in his arms, how the world narrowed down to just the two of you, how for a moment he forgot he was dangerous. "And then I shut it down."

"Why?"

"Because." He sets the mug down too hard, coffee sloshing. "Because she's sunshine, Sam. She's late-night cooking shows and glitter pens and leaving snacks for the delivery guy. She has no idea what I've done, what I'm capable of—"

"Did you ever think maybe she does know and doesn't care?"

"Then she's naïve."

"Or maybe she just sees you better than you see yourself." Sam leans forward. "Buck, you can't protect people by pushing them away. That's not how it works."

"It's worked so far."

"Has it? Because from where I'm sitting, you're miserable, she's probably confused as hell, and nobody's actually safer."

Bucky wants to argue, but then his phone buzzes. Your name pops up: my smoke alarm is having an existential crisis. is it supposed to beep in morse code?

He's already standing before he realizes it.

"Go," Sam says, shaking his head but smiling. "Fix her smoke alarm. Talk to her like a human being. Maybe try not to fuck it up this time."

Your door is already cracked when he gets there, smoke rolling out in lazy waves.

"I'm not on fire!" you call before he can knock. "Well, the oven mitt was, but I handled it."

He finds you on a chair, ineffectively fanning the smoke detector with a dish towel. You're wearing those little pajama shorts again and his brain still isn't prepared for the sight.

"How does an oven mitt catch fire?" He reaches up, disables the alarm with practiced ease.

"Well, when you forget it's on your hand and rest it on the stove burner..." You shrink a little at his look. "I was distracted."

"By what?"

You don't answer, just hop down from the chair. This close, he can see the flour in your hair, the way you're worrying your bottom lip. "Thanks. Sorry for texting, I know it's late—"

"Why are you apologizing?"

"Because—" You make a frustrated gesture. "Because I'm trying to give you space. Because you clearly regretted the wedding thing and I'm trying not to be that neighbor who develops inconvenient feelings—"

"Feelings?" His brain snags on the word like cloth on a nail.

You go very still. "Shit. I mean. Not feelings. Just. You know. Neighbor...ly concern. Very platonic. Super appropriate."

"You're a terrible liar."

"Yeah, well, you're terrible at—" You stop, visibly collecting yourself. When you speak again, your voice is carefully level: "I like you, okay? More than I should. And I know that's not what you want, and I'm trying really hard to be okay with that, but you standing in my kitchen looking all concerned while I'm having a feelings crisis is really not helping."

The words hit him like a physical blow. You like him. More than you should.

"You don't know me," he says, defaulting to the easiest argument.

"Bullshit." There's heat in your voice now. "I know you reorganize my bookshelf when you think I'm not looking because the chaos bothers you. I know you bring me coffee on Tuesdays because you noticed I have early meetings. I know you have nightmares—yeah, the walls are thin—and I know you pace afterwards like you're trying to walk off whatever you dreamed about."

Each observation feels like being flayed open.

"I know you're careful," you continue, softer now. "I know you think you're dangerous. And I know you've probably got reasons for that. But Bucky? I also know you'd never hurt me. Ever."

"You can't know that."

"Why? Because you're what, too damaged? Too dangerous?" You step closer and he should step back but he's frozen. "You carry my groceries. You fixed my faucet. You danced with me at a wedding even though you hate dancing. Really dangerous stuff there, Barnes."

"You don't understand—"

"Then explain it to me." Your chin juts out, stubborn. "Give me one good reason why we can't—"

He kisses you.

It's the wrong thing to do. Selfish. Stupid. But you're standing there in your flour-dusted pajamas, looking at him like he's worth fighting for, and his self-control just...snaps.

The sound you make—soft, surprised, maybe relieved—shorts out every rational thought in his head. Your hands come up to frame his face, fingertips cool against his burning skin, and then you're kissing him back like you've been waiting for this, like you've been drowning too.

You taste like smoke and whatever you were baking, sweet with an edge of burn, and he's dizzy with it. His hands find your waist, fingers spreading wide against the soft cotton of your shirt, and he pulls you in until there's no space between you, until he can feel your heartbeat hammering against his chest. You're so warm, so alive, radiating heat like a small sun, and he wants to map every degree of it with his mouth, his hands, his—

Reality crashes back like ice water.

He jerks away, but his hands won't let go of your waist, like his body's in revolt against his better judgment. You're both breathing like you've run miles—harsh, ragged pulls of air that fill the space between you. Your lips are swollen, kiss-bruised, and he did that, he marked you, and the savage satisfaction of it wars with the knowledge that he's just made everything infinitely worse.

Your eyes are huge, pupils blown wide, and you're looking at him like he's just rearranged your entire understanding of the universe. One hand is still on his face, thumb pressed to the corner of his mouth like you're trying to hold the kiss there, keep it from escaping.

"That's why," he says roughly. "Because I want—because you make me want things I can't have."

"Says who?" Your eyes are very bright. "Who decided what you can have?"

He doesn't have an answer for that. Doesn't know how to explain the mathematics of survival, how everyone he's ever cared about becomes a liability, a target, a grave.

"I should go," he manages.

"Or," you say, "you could stay."

The offer hangs between you like a lit fuse. He can see the future unspool in both directions: leave now, go back to safe distances and polite nods in the hallway, watch you eventually move on with someone who doesn't come with a body count. Or stay, and risk you realizing what a mistake you're making. Stay, and selfishly take whatever you're willing to give for however long you're willing to give it.

You're still looking at him, patient and terrified and hopeful all at once.

He leaves.

The word echoes in his head all the way back to his apartment. Coward. Coward. Coward. But it's the right thing to do. The safe thing. You'll hurt for a while, maybe hate him a little, but you'll be alive to do it.

He doesn't sleep. Just sits on his couch, staring at the wall that separates your apartments, listening to the muffled sounds of you cleaning up. The shower runs at 2 AM. He knows you cry in the shower when you think no one can hear—learned that three weeks into being neighbors, when your freelance client stiffed you on a big project. He'd wanted to break the fucker's legs then.

Now he wants to break his own.

You're a better person than he'll ever be, which is why you still smile at him in the hallway.

It's careful now, contained. The kind of smile you'd give any neighbor, not the one that used to light up your whole face when you saw him. You don't knock anymore. Don't text about your smoke alarm or your leaky faucet or the rat you're convinced lives in the walls. You just...exist, parallel to him, in a way that makes his chest feel like it's full of broken glass.

"Fixed it myself," you say one morning when he catches you wrestling with a new deadbolt installation. Your drill slips, gouging the doorframe. "YouTube University, you know?"

He could fix it in under a minute. Could show you how to align the strike plate properly, how to test the throw. Instead: "Good for you."

Your smile flickers. "Yeah. Good for me."

Mrs. Nguyen gives him dirty looks now. The whole floor does, really. Like they know he's the reason you don't laugh as loud anymore, why your music's quieter, why you started getting grocery delivery instead of making three trips up the stairs, arms overloaded, dropping things and cursing cheerfully.

It's fine. It's working. You're safe.

He tells himself that every night when he hears you through the walls, moving around your apartment like a ghost of the person who used to dance while cooking.

Three weeks post-kiss, Valentina calls them in for a mission that's barely legal on a good day.

"Weapons shipment," she says, sliding photos across the conference table with her usual theatrical flair. "Enhanced tech, off-market, very much not supposed to exist. The kind of toys that make governments nervous."

"So we're stealing them," Walker states, not asks.

"Recovering," Val corrects with a smile sharp enough to cut. "For the safety of the American people, of course."

Yelena snorts. Alexei's already studying the compound layout like there'll be a test. Bob's doing that thing where he shrinks into himself, trying to become invisible. Bucky catalogs exits, counts guards in the surveillance photos, and tries not to think about how you looked last night, hauling groceries with your hair falling in your eyes.

The mission goes sideways in minute three.

"Intel was wrong," Ava's voice crackles through comms, too calm for the situation. "Triple the guards. And—"

The explosion cuts her off. Then another. The "barely defended warehouse" is a fucking fortress, crawling with military-grade security who definitely got the "shoot to kill" memo.

"Fall back," Bucky orders, but Alexei's already charged ahead, yelling something about Soviet glory. Walker's trying to flank, Bob's panicking, and somewhere in the chaos, Yelena starts laughing like this is the best thing that's happened all week.

It takes two hours to fight their way out. By the end, Bucky's left arm is sparking, his ears are ringing, and he's pretty sure at least three ribs are cracked. Yelena's favoring her right leg, Walker's bleeding from somewhere he won't admit, and Bob—Bob's dissociating so hard Bucky has to physically guide him to the extraction point.

"Well," Val says over comms, observing from her safe distance, "that was bracing."

Bucky doesn't trust himself to respond.

They limp back to New York in sullen silence. No debrief—Val's already spinning the disaster into something palatable for the brass. Bucky goes straight home, ignoring Sam's calls, ignoring everything except the need to get somewhere quiet before he starts breaking things.

His hands are still shaking when he reaches his floor. Adrenaline crash, probably. Or the delayed realization that they'd all nearly died for some bureaucrat's idea of asset recovery. Or—

Your door is open.

Not open-open. Cracked, like it didn't latch properly. Like someone left in a hurry. Or—

The deadbolt is broken.

The one you installed yourself three weeks ago. The one he'd watched you struggle with, pride keeping you from asking for help.

Bucky goes utterly still.

His body moves before his brain catches up. He's through your doorway, cataloging details with mechanical precision: lamp knocked over, books scattered, coffee table shoved sideways. Signs of a struggle. Signs of—

Blood.

Not much. Just droplets on the hardwood, leading toward the kitchen. But enough. Enough to make his vision tunnel, his chest compress until breathing becomes theoretical.

"Sweetheart?" The pet name slips out, raw. No answer. He clears each room like he's back in Hydra facilities, except his hands won't stop shaking because this is your space, your things, your—

Your phone is on the kitchen floor, screen cracked. There's a handprint on the wall—bloody, smeared. Too small to be anyone's but yours.

Something inside him breaks. Clean, sharp, like a bone snapping. The careful distance he's maintained, the walls he's built, the conviction that keeping you at arm's length would keep you safe—all of it crumbles in the face of your empty apartment and that small, bloody handprint.

He's already moving, phone out, calling in favors he's been hoarding. Because someone took you. Someone came into your home—the home he was supposed to be protecting by staying away—and took you. And they're going to learn exactly why the Winter Soldier's name still makes people flinch.

His phone rings. Unknown number.

"Barnes." He doesn't recognize his own voice.

"Ah, the infamous Winter Soldier." The voice is male, amused, completely at ease. "I was hoping we could talk."

"Where is she?"

"Safe. For now. Though that really depends on you, doesn't it?"

Ice spreads through his veins, familiar as an old friend. This is what he was trying to prevent. This exact scenario. You, hurt because of him. You, taken because someone figured out—

"What do you want?"

"You've been playing house, Barnes. Getting soft. Forgetting what you are." A pause, calculated. "I'm going to remind you. And your little neighbor? She's going to help."

The line goes dead.

Bucky stands in your ruined apartment, surrounded by the evidence of his failure, and feels something fundamental shift. Not break—he's been broken before. This is worse. This is the cold clarity that comes after, when there's nothing left to lose.

Someone made a mistake today. They touched you. They made you bleed.

He's going to paint the city red for it.

"Buck, slow down—"

"No." He's already moving, gathering gear with brutal efficiency. The weapons he's not supposed to have. The tech that's definitely illegal. Every favor, every resource, every skill Hydra beat into him over seventy years.

Sam's on speaker, trying to be the voice of reason. "You can't just go in guns blazing—"

"Watch me."

"This is exactly what they want. You, isolated, operating without backup—"

"They have her, Sam." The words come out raw, flayed. "They took her because of me. Because I was stupid enough to think distance would keep her safe."

Silence on the other end. Then: "What do you need?"

That's why Sam Wilson is Captain America. No more arguments, no more trying to talk him down. Just immediate, unwavering support.

"Intel. Cameras in my building, surrounding blocks. Last twelve hours." He straps a knife to his thigh, then another. "And get me backup."

"I can rally your team. Get Walker, Yelena—"

"No." The word comes out sharp. Another knife. Extra magazines. "The Thunderbolts are compromised. That clusterfuck of a mission proved it."

"Buck—"

"They're not ready for this. Half of them can barely work together without Val pulling the strings." He's checking his tactical vest, muscle memory taking over. "This isn't a government op. This is personal."

"So what, you're going in alone?"

Is he? Bucky stops, considers his options. The Thunderbolts are a mess on a good day—Walker's still trying to prove something, Bob's hanging on by a thread, and Alexei treats everything like a performance. They're not who he needs for this.

"They touched her," he says simply.

"I know, man. I know. But—"

"Get me what intel you can. I'll handle the rest."

"Buck, come on. At least let me—"

"They have her, Sam." His voice cracks, just slightly. "Every second we waste talking, they could be—"

"Okay. Okay. Intel coming your way. But Barnes? Don't do anything stupid."

"Too late for that."

Bucky stops in your doorway, looks back at your apartment. There's a photo on your bookshelf—you and him at the building's July 4th party. Mrs. Nguyen had insisted on taking it. You're laughing at something, leaning into him, and he's looking at you like—

Like you're everything he never thought he'd get to have.

"I'm coming for you," he tells the empty room. A promise. A threat. A prayer to whoever might be listening.

Then he disappears into the night, and the Winter Soldier goes hunting.

The trail goes cold in six hours.

Whoever took you, they're not amateurs playing at being dangerous. They're ghosts—professionals who know exactly how to disappear in a city of eight million people. Every camera angle's been scrubbed. Every witness suddenly develops amnesia. Even the blood in your apartment leads nowhere; cleaned of DNA markers by something that makes Bucky's teeth ache with familiarity.

"Talk to me, Buck." Sam's voice through the earpiece, carefully level. "Where are you?"

Bucky stands on a rooftop in Queens, staring at another dead end. Another empty warehouse that should have had something, anything. "Nowhere."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I've got." His metal hand clenches, servos whining. Below, the city keeps moving, oblivious to the fact that you're somewhere in it, hurt, taken because of him. "They're good, Sam. Too good."

"We'll find her."

We. Like this isn't Bucky's fault. Like his past isn't bleeding into your present, staining everything he tried so hard to keep clean.

He drops from the rooftop, lands hard enough to crack pavement. A passing couple startles, hurries away. Good. He doesn't feel particularly human right now anyway.

Hour twelve. Yelena finds him in your apartment, sitting on your couch like a grieving statue.

"This is pathetic," she says, stepping over the crime scene tape he'd ignored. "Even for you."

"Get out."

"No." She perches on your coffee table, uncharacteristically serious. "You think sitting here feeling sorry for yourself will find her? You think guilt helps?"

"I said—"

"I know what guilt looks like, Barnes." Her voice cuts, precise as the knives she carries. "I know what it is, failing someone you—" She pauses, searching for the English word. "Care about. But this?" She gestures at him, at the apartment, at the bloody handprint he can't stop staring at. "This is just... как это... self-pity? No, worse. Useless."

The laugh that tears out of him is ugly. "Thanks for the pep talk."

"Someone needs to knock sense into your thick skull." She leans forward. "Whoever has her, they want you like this. Emotional. Sloppy. Making mistakes."

"I know that."

"Then stop giving them what they want."

Easier said than done when every surface in this apartment carries your ghost. The mug on the counter with your lipstick stain. The book splayed open on the side table, marking your place. The sweater thrown over the chair—his sweater, actually, stolen three weeks ago when you'd claimed your apartment was freezing.

"Keep it," he'd said, trying not to notice how it made something primal in him satisfied, seeing you wrapped in his clothes.

"Just until I fix my radiator," you'd promised, but you'd worn it three more times that week, and he'd never asked for it back.

"Barnes." Yelena snaps her fingers in his face. "Сфокусируйся. Focus."

"I am focused."

"You're spiraling." She pulls out her phone, shows him surveillance footage he's already memorized. "Look again. Really look. Use your brain, not your bleeding heart."

He wants to tell her he's looked at nothing else for twelve hours. Instead, he watches you leave your apartment at 6:47 PM, mail in hand. Watches you come back at 6:53. The timestamp jumps—7:31 to 8:15, forty-four minutes missing. By 8:15, your door's ajar and you're gone.

"Professional crew doesn't need forty-four minutes for grab," Yelena says, her English getting rougher as she thinks. "So why take so long? What were they doing?"

Bucky's phone buzzes. Unknown number.

His blood turns to ice, then flame.

"You're going to want to watch this alone," the familiar voice says. "Though I'm sure your friend is lovely. Hi, Yelena."

She stiffens. Bucky's already moving, putting distance between them, some instinct screaming danger.

"Just me," he says. "Let her go."

"See, that's your problem, Barnes. Still trying to protect everyone. Still thinking you can control who gets hurt." A pause. "Check your messages."

The video file is already there. His hand shakes as he opens it.

You're in a concrete room—could be anywhere, everywhere, the kind of place that exists in every city's bones. Sitting in a metal chair, wrists zip-tied but not apparently hurt beyond the cut on your temple still sluggishly bleeding. You're still wearing his sweater.

"Say hello, sweetheart." The voice comes from behind the camera.

You look up, and the defiance in your eyes makes his chest seize. "Go fuck yourself."

The slap comes fast, snaps your head sideways. Bucky's phone creaks in his grip.

"Language." The camera shifts, focuses on your face. "Try again."

You spit blood, manage a smile that's all teeth. "Hi, Bucky. Nice weather we're having."

Another slap. Harder. Your lip splits.

"I told you he made you weak." The voice continues conversationally as you work your jaw, testing damage. "The Winter Soldier, reduced to playing house with some nobody. It's embarrassing, really."

"You talk a lot for someone hiding behind a camera," you mutter.

This time it's a fist. Your head rocks back, and when you look up again, your nose is bleeding. But you're still glaring, still unbroken, and Bucky loves you so fiercely in that moment it feels like drowning.

"Here's what's going to happen," the voice continues. "Every hour Barnes doesn't come alone to the address we'll send, things get worse for you. And before you get any ideas—" The camera pans to show three other men, armed, professional. "—we've planned for contingencies."

Back to you. Blood drips onto his sweater. You notice the camera returning, look directly into it. "Don't you fucking dare," you say, and despite everything—split lip, bloody nose, zip-tied to a chair—you mean it. "You hear me, Barnes? Don't you—"

The video cuts.

Bucky stands very still in your empty apartment, phone in pieces at his feet.

"That bad?" Yelena asks.

He can't speak. Can barely breathe around the rage threatening to tear him apart from the inside. Somewhere in the city, you're bleeding because of him. Hurt because he was selfish enough to let you close, stupid enough to think distance would be enough.

Another text. An address in Red Hook. Come alone or we start cutting.

"Is trap," Yelena says, dropping articles like she does when she's focused. "Obviously trap."

"I know."

"You can't just walk in there like idiot."

"I know."

"So what's plan?"

He looks at her, and whatever she sees in his face makes her step back. "I give them what they want."

"Barnes—"

"They want the Winter Soldier?" His voice sounds wrong, mechanical, like something dredged up from permafrost. "They've got him."

The address leads to a warehouse because of course it does. These people, whoever they are, lack imagination. Bucky counts heat signatures through thermal imaging—six outside, unknown inside. Doable, if he's what he used to be. If he's willing to be what he used to be.

"Don't you fucking dare."

Your voice echoes, but it's drowned out by older programming. By muscle memory that never quite faded, no matter how many therapy sessions or good days or shared dinners with someone who looked at him like he was worth saving.

"In position," Sam's voice, because fuck going alone. Fuck giving them what they want. "West entrance."

"Rooftop," from Yelena.

"Back door," Walker, surprisingly. "For the record, I think this is stupid."

"Noted," Bucky says, and walks through the front door.

The space is exactly what he expected. Concrete floors, exposed beams, the kind of place that swallows sound. They're waiting for him—five men in tactical gear, no identifying marks. Professional contractors, not ideologues. Which makes this personal.

"Dramatic entrance. I respect that." The voice from the phone materializes into a man in his forties, military bearing, forgettable face. He's standing next to a metal table laid out with tools that make Bucky's scars ache. "Though you were supposed to come alone."

"Yeah, well." Bucky spreads his hands, easy target. "I've never been good at following orders. Ask anyone."

"Funny." The man circles him, predator studying prey. "That's not what your files say. 'Perfect compliance.' That was the phrase, wasn't it?"

Old wounds, precisely targeted. These people have done their homework.

"Where is she?"

"Close. Alive. For now." The man stops in front of him. "You know, I studied you. The Winter Soldier. Hydra's perfect weapon. And then you just... stopped. Became this." He gestures dismissively. "James Barnes, failing congressman. Playing superhero. Pretending you're not what we made you."

"We?"

The man smiles. "Not Hydra, if that's what you're thinking. Hydra was sloppy. Cult-like. No vision beyond control." He pulls out a tablet, shows Bucky a logo—a chimera, three-headed. "Cerberus. We're more... refined. We deal in weapons, not world domination. And you, Barnes? You're a weapon pretending to be human."

"Cool speech." Bucky's cataloging angles, distances, how fast he'd have to move. "Must've practiced in the mirror."

The man's smile tightens. "Bring her out."

Two more men emerge from a side room, dragging you between them. You're conscious but barely, feet stumbling, head lolling. They drop you on the concrete, and you don't get up.

Everything in Bucky goes very, very quiet.

"So here's the deal," Cerberus continues. "You're going to work for us. Exclusive contract. Your particular skills in exchange for her life."

"No." Your voice, cracked but clear. You push yourself up on shaking arms, meet Bucky's eyes across the warehouse. "No deals. No trades."

"Sweetheart—"

"Don't you 'sweetheart' me." You manage to get to your knees, swaying. Blood's dried on your face, but your eyes are blazing. "You think I don't know what they're asking? You think I'd let you—" You have to stop, catch your breath. "I'd rather die than be the reason you become that again."

"How touching," Cerberus says. "But not your call." He nods to one of his men, who pulls out a knife. "Barnes? Your answer?"

The knife moves toward you.

The world explodes.

Flash-bangs through windows, smoke grenades, the distinctive whine of repulsor beams. Cerberus shouts orders, but it's too late—the Avengers don't do subtle when one of their own is threatened.

Bucky moves. Not the measured approach of a soldier, but the brutal efficiency of a weapon. The man with the knife goes down first, arm snapping under metal fingers. The second barely has time to scream. He's not thinking, just reacting, just removing threats between him and you.

Someone shoots him. Barely feels it. Someone else tries hand-to-hand, which is adorable. He puts them through a wall.

"Barnes!" Sam's voice, sharp. "Shield up!"

He spins, catches the thrown shield, uses it to deflect a spray of bullets meant for you. You're trying to crawl to cover, leaving bloody handprints on the concrete, and the sight shorts out whatever restraint he had left.

When the smoke clears, Cerberus is the only one left standing. Backed against the wall, gun trained on you because of course it is. These people are predictable to the last.

"Come any closer and—"

Yelena drops from the ceiling, lands on him like gravity given form. The gun goes flying. Cerberus goes down choking on his own blood, Yelena's knife finding the gap in his armor like it was designed for it.

"Predictable," she says, wiping the blade clean. "I told you they were predictable."

But Bucky's already moving, dropping to his knees beside you. You're conscious, breathing, alive. That's all that matters. Everything else—the mission, the cleanup, the questions—fades to white noise.

"Hey," he says, hands hovering over you, afraid to touch. Afraid to hurt. "I've got you."

"Took you long enough," you manage, then promptly pass out in his arms.

He catches you, holds you against his chest, and something in him breaks. Or maybe it finally, finally mends. Either way, he's done pretending distance keeps anyone safe. Done acting like he deserves to make choices about your safety without you.

"Med team's three minutes out," Sam says quietly.

Three minutes. He can hold you for three minutes. Can keep you safe for three minutes.

After that? After that, everything changes.

But for now, in the blood and smoke and aftermath, Bucky Barnes holds the person he was stupid enough to fall in love with and makes a promise:

Never again.

Never fucking again.

The medical bay at the Tower is too bright, too sterile, too full of people who keep looking at Bucky like he might snap. Maybe he will. He's been sitting in the same chair for four hours, watching machines monitor your breathing, and every beep feels like an accusation.

"You need to get that looked at," Sam says, nodding at the blood seeping through Bucky's shirt. Gunshot wound, probably. He honestly can't remember.

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding on their fancy floors."

"I'm fine."

Sam exchanges a look with Yelena, who's been uncharacteristically quiet since they arrived. She's cleaned the blood off her hands but keeps flexing them, like she can still feel it.

"At least change your shirt," she says finally. "You look like extra from horror movie."

He doesn't move. Can't move. Because what if you wake up while he's gone? What if you open your eyes and he's not there, again, like he wasn't there when they took you?

"Barnes." Dr. Cho's voice cuts through his spiral. "She's stable. Three broken ribs, concussion, various contusions, but nothing life-threatening. She's lucky."

Lucky. The word tastes like copper in his mouth. Lucky is winning the lottery, not surviving a kidnapping because you had the misfortune of living next to him.

"When will she wake up?"

"Soon. The sedatives should wear off within the hour." She pauses, studying him with that look medical professionals get when they're about to say something pointed. "You, however, need treatment. You're actively bleeding on my floor."

"Sam already made that joke."

"It wasn't a joke." But she moves on, knowing a lost cause when she sees one. "I'll send a nurse with supplies. Try not to die before she wakes up. The paperwork would be tedious."

She leaves. Sam leaves. Even Yelena eventually wanders off, muttering something about vodka and terrible life choices. And then it's just Bucky and you and the steady beep of machines he'd tear apart if they stopped working.

Your hand is smaller than his. He knows this—has known it since the first time you grabbed his wrist to drag him to see some neighbor's new puppy—but it feels more pronounced now. More fragile. Your knuckles are split from fighting back, and there's still blood under your nails. His blood? Theirs? He doesn't know, and the not knowing makes him want to put his fist through the wall.

"You're spiraling again."

Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it might as well be a gunshot for how hard it hits. His head snaps up to find you watching him, eyes half-open but alert.

"You're awake."

"Mmm. Kind of wish I wasn't." You try to sit up, wince, immediately abort that mission. "Fuck. Did anyone get the number of the truck that hit me?"

"Don't—" He's hovering, hands fluttering uselessly, afraid to touch you. "You shouldn't move. Dr. Cho said—"

"Dr. Cho can kiss my ass," you mutter, but you stop trying to sit up. Your eyes track over him, cataloging damage. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing."

"It's literally dripping on the floor, Barnes."

"It's fine."

You stare at each other. Four hours of practiced speeches evaporate in the face of your actual consciousness, leaving him with nothing but the memory of your blood on concrete and the sound you made when they hit you.

"So," you say finally, voice carefully neutral. "Cerberus. That was fun."

"Don't."

"Don't what? Make jokes about my kidnapping? Process trauma through humor? Acknowledge that you're sitting there bleeding because you decided to Rambo your way through—"

"You could have died." It comes out louder than intended, raw. "You almost died because of me."

Something shifts in your expression. "Bucky—"

"No." He's standing now, needing distance, needing space between him and the way you're looking at him. "You don't get to—to act like this is fine. Like this is some funny story you'll tell at parties. They took you because of me. They hurt you because of me."

"They took me because they're assholes who thought they could use me as leverage." You're struggling to sit up again, ignoring whatever pain it causes. "That's on them, not you."

"You're only leverage because I was selfish enough to—" He stops, runs his hand through his hair. "I knew better. I knew what would happen if I let someone close, and I did it anyway."

"Let me get this straight." Your voice is gaining strength, and with it, heat. "You think you 'let' me get close? Like I didn't have any say in it? Like I didn't practically force-feed you cookies until you acknowledged my existence?"

"That's not—"

"And what, you think keeping me at arm's length would've magically made me safer? News flash, Barnes: I live in that building because it's what I can afford. That makes me a target for regular criminals on a good day. At least with you around, I had someone who actually gave a shit if I made it home."

"Don't." The word cracks. "Don't act like I was protecting you. I'm the reason you were bleeding. I'm the reason they—"

"You're the reason I'm alive!" You swing your legs over the side of the bed, bare feet hitting the floor with determination that makes his chest tight. "You think they took me because they wanted leverage? They took me because they were cleaning house. Because they knew you'd gotten soft, gotten close to someone, and that made you unpredictable."

You stand, sway, catch yourself on the bed rail. He moves forward instinctively, and you hold up a hand.

"No. You don't get to touch me right now. Not when you're about to do something stupid and noble and self-sacrificing." You take a step, then another, closing the distance between you despite your own warning. "They were going to kill me either way, Barnes. Whether you came for me or not. The only difference is that you did come, and now I'm alive to be really fucking pissed at you."

"You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly." You're close enough now that he can see the bruises forming on your throat, the way you're holding your ribs, the tears you're refusing to shed. "You think you're poison. You think everyone you touch gets hurt. You think the best thing you can do is be alone forever because that's what you deserve."

"Stop."

"No. Because here's the thing, James Buchanan Barnes—you don't get to make that choice for me." Your voice breaks, just a little. "You don't get to decide I'm better off without you. You don't get to kiss me in my kitchen and then run away like a coward. And you sure as hell don't get to sit there bleeding and act like it's some kind of penance."

The medical bay feels too small suddenly, like all the air's been sucked out. You're looking at him with eyes that see too much, that refuse to let him hide behind the careful walls he's rebuilt in the last three weeks.

"They hurt you," he says, quieter now. Lost.

"Yeah. They did." You reach up, slowly, telegraphing the movement. Your hand cups his face, thumb brushing over the bruise on his cheekbone. "And it wasn't your fault."

"How can you say that?"

"Because blaming you for what they did is like blaming a bank for getting robbed." Your other hand comes up, framing his face, forcing him to meet your eyes. "You're not responsible for other people's evil, Bucky. You're only responsible for what you do about it."

"I should have protected you better."

"You literally threw yourself between me and automatic gunfire."

"I should have never let them take you in the first place."

"Oh, so you're psychic now? Can predict the future?" Your laugh is watery. "Add that to the resume. Congressman, ex-assassin, part-time fortune teller."

"This isn't funny."

"It's a little funny." But your smile fades, replaced by something fiercer. "You want to know what's not funny? Spending three weeks watching you shut me out. Sitting in that chair, knowing you were hurting, and not being able to do anything because you decided I was better off without you."

"You are—"

"Finish that sentence and I swear to god, Barnes, concussion or not, I will punch you in your stupid, self-loathing face."

He almost smiles. Almost. "You could barely stand five seconds ago."

"Adrenaline's a hell of a drug." But you're swaying again, and this time when he reaches for you, you don't stop him. His arms come around you carefully, mindful of injuries, and you lean into him like you've been waiting for permission. "I'm so fucking mad at you."

"I know."

"Like, incandescently furious."

"I know."

"You don't get to leave again." It comes out muffled against his chest, but he hears the steel underneath. "I don't care if the entire population of supervillains decides I'm their new favorite target. You don't get to leave."

His arms tighten fractionally. "Sweetheart—"

"No." You pull back enough to glare at him, and even bruised and exhausted, you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "No 'sweetheart.' No soft voice and sad eyes. You're either in this with me or you're out, but you don't get to half-ass it anymore. You don't get to knock on my door at 2 AM because you had a nightmare and then pretend we're just neighbors. You don't get to dance with me at weddings and then act like it meant nothing. You don't get to—"

He kisses you.

There's no grace in it—just collision, pure physics as his mouth finds yours with the same brutal efficiency he'd use to take down a target. Except this isn't violence, it's something worse. It's capitulation. It's three weeks of want compressed into the space between one heartbeat and the next.

The noise that escapes you—half gasp, half sob—unlocks something feral in his chest. Then your teeth catch his lower lip, sharp and unforgiving, and his vision whites out entirely. You kiss like you fight: dirty, determined, taking no prisoners. Your tongue slides against his and his knees actually buckle, what the fuck, he's faced down alien armies without flinching but you're going to be what finally kills him.

His hands fly to your face, metal and flesh cradling your jaw like you're something precious even as he devours your mouth like you're anything but. You're pressed so tight against him he can feel every hitch in your breathing, every shudder that runs through you when he angles his head and deepens the kiss into something filthier, something that has you making these broken little sounds that he wants to bottle and keep.

The medical bed hits the back of your thighs—when did he walk you backward?—and you use the leverage to pull him down, down, until he's curved over you like a question mark, like gravity itself has reorganized around the heat of your mouth.

When you finally break apart, it's only because biology demands it. You're both wrecked—breathing like you've run marathons, lips swollen and spit-slick, staring at each other like you're not quite sure what just happened.

Your pupils are blown so wide he can barely see the color of your irises. There's a flush spreading down your throat, disappearing beneath the hospital gown, and he has to physically stop himself from following it with his mouth. His hands are trembling where they frame your face, thumbs pressed to your cheekbones like he's checking you're real.

"That's not an answer," you manage, but your voice is thoroughly fucked, and your hands are still twisted in his vest like you'll shoot him if he tries to move away.

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's really not. It's a deflection. A really nice deflection, but—"

"I'm in." The words feel like jumping off a cliff. Like defusing a bomb. Like coming home. "I'm in. Whatever that means, whatever that looks like. I'm in."

You study him for a long moment, and he tries not to fidget under the scrutiny. Finally: "You're going to therapy."

"I'm already in therapy."

"You're going to actually talk in therapy instead of just staring at the wall and hoping Dr. Raynor gets bored."

"...fine."

"And you're going to let me have a say in my own safety. No more unilateral decisions about what's 'best' for me."

"Okay."

"And you're going to teach me self-defense. Real self-defense, not just how to throw a punch."

"Deal."

"And—" You sway again, this time more dramatically. "Oh. Okay. Maybe sitting down now."

He guides you back to the bed, hands steady even if nothing else is. You let him fuss, let him adjust pillows and pull up blankets, and he tries not to think about how easily you fit into his hands. How right this feels, even with blood on his shirt and bruises on your skin.

"For the record," you say as he settles back into the chair beside your bed, "I'm still mad."

"I know."

"Like, really mad. There's going to be yelling. Possibly throwing things."

"I can take it."

"And groveling. Lots of groveling. I'm talking flowers, chocolates, the works."

"Noted."

You reach for his hand, lace your fingers through his. "And you're going to tell me you love me."

He freezes. You squeeze his hand.

"Because I know you do. I've known since you reorganized my bookshelf by genre and then pretended you didn't. And I love you too, you absolute disaster of a man, but I need to hear you say it. When I'm not concussed and you're not bleeding. When we're both safe and no one's trying to kill us and we can actually have a real conversation about what this means."

His throat feels tight. "I can do that."

"Good." You close your eyes, exhaustion finally winning. "Now get your gunshot wound treated before you bleed out on my watch. I'm not explaining that to Sam."

"It's not that bad."

"Bucky."

"Fine."

But he doesn't move. Not yet. Instead, he sits there holding your hand, memorizing the way your fingers fit between his, the steady rise and fall of your chest, the fact that you're alive and here and somehow, impossibly, still want him around.

The sun's coming up by the time a nurse finally corners him, threatening sedation if he doesn't let her treat the gunshot wound. You're properly asleep by then, fingers still tangled with his, and he lets the nurse work around your grip rather than let go.

"She's tough," the nurse comments, applying what are probably too many bandages.

"Yeah."

"And stubborn."

"Definitely."

"Good." She pats his shoulder, maternal despite being half his age. "You're going to need it."

He doesn't ask what she means. Doesn't need to. Because you're right—he's a disaster. A work in progress on his best days, a barely controlled catastrophe on his worst. But you looked at all that and decided he was worth fighting for anyway.

The least he can do is try to prove you right.

When you wake up again, he's there. When Dr. Cho kicks him out so you can rest, he goes to therapy and actually talks. When Sam asks if you're together now, he says yes without qualifying it.

And when you're finally released, when you're back in your apartment with its new locks and its carefully cleaned floors, when you knock on his door at midnight because the nightmares found you too—he opens it. No hesitation. No distance.

"Hey, neighbor," you say, and the smile you give him is worth every risk, every fear, every moment of doubt.

"Hey yourself."

You step inside, and he closes the door behind you, and for the first time in longer than he can remember, Bucky Barnes stops running from the possibility of happiness.

It's terrifying.

It's everything.

It's enough.

feedback is always appreciated! ♡

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