#like i couldn't sit here and explain 'oh this was a metaphor for that and this was specifically symbolizing that' but like

[facetsofthecloset]

just watched the boy and the heron for the first time and fuck man i started crying from the start because WWII air raid scenes just make me bawl, and then i just kept crying intermittently. and then for like ten straight minutes during and after the credits

so i recommend it if you haven't seen it yet lol

[hyuny-bunny]

Hi Rose!

Can you do a fic where SKZ are in an interview and one of the questions for each of them is, "If you have a sister, whom would you want her to date?" And Minho vehemently objects to his metaphoric sister dating his friends, then notices Changbin looking all suspicious. Turns out Changbin has been chatting up Minho's cousin. Juicy, juicy.

Thank you! But please, please don't feel obligated if you're not comfy writing this, okay?

of course ! thank you so much for the request and i hope this does it justice :') i did tweak the details abit and kinda ran with it 😅. i hope not too much to disappoint. if you want something a little more spicy feel free to submit again and i can do a follow up pt 2☺️

i'll wait | C.B. ft minho

genre: fluff overload, friends to lovers, slow burn romance

content warning: cuteness overload, kissing, slightly upset minho, minho threatening to break changbin.

Minho had always been like an older brother to you. You weren't too far apart in age, you were glued to the hip at 3 and it's always been that way. Both sets of parents had to have a difficult talk with the two of you, explaining you weren't siblings. It didn't stop him referring to you as his sister and for you your brother.

Even during his time as a trainee, you were always there supporting. Whether it was dropping by the company building for a 15 minute break to have coffee and catch up, you'd always make time for him. When he was recruited by Chan to be a part of a group, you were ecstatic for him but your time together was cut down significantly when he went on to do the survival show.

After getting his big break to debut, he spent a lot of time out with his group doing street performances and advertising their group. You'd often join him with passing out flyers or just helping them record videos as they hadn't been supplied with staff just yet. You got more familiar with the rest of his group but you were always shy around them, not really knowing your place in how to interact with them.

Changbin and Jisung were the first ones you warmed up to. Han was always respectful but treated you like a friend, always making you feel comfortable around them. Changbin was much shyer with his approach. He found you pretty the moment Minho introduced you to all of them. He'd always crack jokes to you when you were around. Teasing your camera work when they were going back of their vlogs. It wasn't until one afternoon, you were supposed to be meeting Minho & Changbin for lunch, Minho had been running behind with his dance practice. This was the most nervous Changbin had felt in a long time, not even his performance review came close to he felt knowing he'd be alone with you until Minho would arrive.

All his worries washed away when he saw you sitting out on the terrace of that cafe. You were wearing a grey sweater with a black skirt. It was fall so the cold hadn't set it but he could see your legs shivering. Without thinking about it, he was already pulling his jacket off. He walked over to you seeing the way you beamed at him melted his heart.

"Here, for your legs." He extended the jacket out to you.

"Oh... it's fine, binnie," His heart skipped a beat at the nickname, "I'm not that cold! I don't want you getting cold either."

He cocked an eyebrow at you before laying the jacket over your lap himself, he didn't know where the confidence to do that came from. Your heart swooned at the gesture, your legs find a new found warmth from the heat that came from the worn jacket and the blood rushing in you. From that day on you had kept a close friendship to him, one Minho himself would've seen.

Much later down the line your friendship grew closer but never anything more. It wasn't until a few months before their new comeback, Changbin was stressing beyond belief. The pressure to have a big impact on the music charts this time around was getting to his head. He was practically calling you every night to talk. One night he couldn't take it anymore, he needed to see you. It was 2 in the morning, he was letting his legs were move and think for him.

He's standing at your door debating on whether or not to ring your bell, not a second is able to pass before you're already there opening the door. The next moment we're all a blur because once he's stepped into your apartment, his shoes kicked off, his lips are on yours. After a moment or so he stops, apologizing for not having asked for your permission but you're already pulling him back down to kiss him some more. After the night he swears off kissing, he wants to be able to date you properly. The other obstacle you face is your beloved cousin. You know the one who brought you two together, the one who doesn't know the details of your relationship with his group member.

From then, you both find time to sneak off for dates. Your dates mainly consist of eating dinner at his studio, or he's bringing you food to your place for a movie night. You're trying you best to make things work, away from prying eyes, deranged fans, and most importantly, from Minho.

The truth about the two of you comes spilling out suddenly and unexpectedly when SKZ is on a variety show. Their staff at this point had a vague idea of you relationship status to Binnie but it was unbeknownst to them that Minho did not know. Minho had invited you to come watch the variety show so you could all grab dinner afterwards. Things took a turn when the host was going around asking about the members siblings.

Lee Know candidly spoke about a cousin that was practically his sister, you could see Binnie glancing your way past the camera.

"Would any of you let your sisters date another member of the group?" The host asked.

Seung is the first to adamantly say 'no'. He's waving and shaking his head no in disgust, they're all laughing at his reaction but Minho soon joins in on him.

"Nope, never. Not happening, maybe when I'm dead." Minho deadpans looking across his members but his eyes land on Changbin who is dead staring at you.

He clocks it then. Minhos eyes are darting back and forth between you two. It takes Chan kicking the back of Changbins chair for him to snap out of his daze letting out a loud 'huh'. Minho's eyes are narrowed on him.

He knows something but he doesn't know for fact.

"Would you let your sister date any of the members?... Or better yet would you date any of the members sisters?" The host is laughing while repeating the question. Minho isn't laughing though.

Changbin flusters out a 'no' but his cheeks are a tint of pink now that he was caught staring you down. The filming wraps up and staff are asking the production to send them over the final product before they release it, just as an extra precaution. Minho says nothing when he brushes past you. He's pissed.

Shit maybe he does know.

You're standing out by your car waiting for Minho. It was supposed to be 4 of you. Jisung, Minho, Changbin, and you. You wave your goodbyes to rest of the members, finally seeing the three of them walking out together. You can tell Jisung is yapping about something based off the way he's moving his hands while talking. Changbin walks beside him head low and Minho walks on the opposite side of Han. He's staring you down all the way till he gets to you.

You're all standing outside the car but no one is moving.

"Do you have something to tell me?" Minho's never had such a cold tone with you, it makes you straighten up.

"I uh... We wanted to... I just..." You can't find the words but Changbin steps up.

"Take it out on me," He's stepped in between you two now. "We didn't know how to tell you, I asked to keep it quiet until the time came."

"And when was that time? Because I just had to find out in front an entire production crew and our staff. Was that your ideal time?" He's pissed but he's also hurt. Hurt that you would hide this from him.

"I'm sorry, Min. I am really. I was just scared that you wouldn't..."

"That I wouldn't what?" He snaps at you.

"You wouldn't approve of it."

beat

His eyes soften looking at you. He looks to Changbin.

"Do you love her?"

"I love her"

It was the first time you heard him say he loved you. It wasn't the way he imagined it going. Minho sighs looking at you again, he can tell it was your first time hearing this too.

"Okay.... If you so much as lay a hand on her or do anything to break her heart, i will break your fingers off one by one, and you'll never lift a weight again, got it?" Minho has a hand on his shoulder and a finger pointing in his face like a parent scolding a child.

Jisung has been stuck in same pose for the last 20 minutes with his jaw slack to the floor while clutching his hand over his heart. You're right there with him ever since you heard Changbin say 'I love her'.

Minho moves to open the car to put his bag in the back, unfortunately you're still frozen in place and haven't unlocked.

"You know the least you could do is feed me now?" He looks at you gesturing the car keys in hand. He grabs the keys from you to unlock the car now. He hugs you for a moment before patting changbin on the shoulder.

You look at Changbin who is matching the flush on your face. He kisses your forehead trying to bring you out of your state of shock.

" You know 'I love you, too' would've been nice to hear ," He laughs taking the keys and walking to the passenger side to usher you in "But I'll wait."

[tokoyamisstuff]

Could we get a fic where the reader is a simp for buggy? Like he overhears them

omg YES! sorry for the wait, I'm not quite satisfied with how it turned out but I still hope you'll enjoy. 💕

Synopsis: Is it just your imagination, or is your captain flirting with you?

Warnings: Tiny bit of insecure Buggy, but otherwise none.

Tags: GN! Reader, a bit of Misunderstanding, not proofread, Reader is downbad for the clown just like me tbh

"And for my next trick, I need a volunteer from the audience!"

The whole circus tent fell dead silent, all hostaged villagers facing the ground in hope not to be chosen. You sat among them, arms crossed in front of your chest and laid back on the chair as Buggy scanned the room.

Actually you had been ordered to keep an eye on your victims, but instead your gaze was permalocked on your captain - especially now that he had tossed away his coat.

Damn.

You bit your lip at the sight of Buggy's skin shimmering softly under the spotlight, highlighting how his muscles flexed as he confidently strode from row to row.

Oh, the things you'd to for him to take off some more clothes...

The clown came to a halt, clearly announcing something yet you were too caught up in some very impure fantasies to notice.

"What's wrong, Y/N? Stagefright?"

The prisoners insincere laugh started at your crewmate's sign, and you automatically went along with it, even though your mind was still currently stuck with adoring this trademark smile of his that made your knees weak even while sitting...

...wait- what the hell did he just say?!

"Y/N?" A severed hand floated in front of your face, waving frantically as it startled you out of your daydream. The man it belonged to followed shortly after, sounding almost worried. "You're alright over here?"

"I- uh, me?" you pointed to yourself with a puzzled expression, all flabbergasted at the situation you suddenly found yourself in. "Why me?"

"You'll see." Buggy winked and you already felt like fainting, dear god how were you supposed to assist him with anything when you couldn't even string together a whole sentence in his presence?

And yet the clown was stubbornly persistent in his demand.

When waving you over wouldn't suffice, he simply grabbed your wrist and practically dragged you from your seat and into the spotlight, his bright grin never faltering.

What shenanigan did he had in mind this time? And why would he want you of all people to help him out?

"A great applause for Y/N - tonight's top act!" You rose an eyebrow, knowing Buggy hated to share the spotlight, let alone give it to someone else...

...yet before you could end your pondering, Buggy took your hand as be bowed down to your height, kissing your knuckles as he looked up to you with an intense stare.

ShitshitshitshitshitSHIT!

Your mind went completely blank, stomach filling to the brim with metaphorical butterflies that made you wanna puke.

The act didn't even start and you already wanted the earth to swallow you before he'd become aware of the effect you had on him.

Buggy's eyes never left yours even when he spinned on his heels and strolling towards a giant wheel. "Our dear Y/N is a very skilled fighter, I'll have you know" he explained and you wondered what it was he wanted to imply...

...until he commanded two of the other performers to strap him to the wheel. "What kind of pirate would I be if I don't prove my fearlessness?"

Does he want you to do what you think he wants you to do? Is he for real?! Fuck, is he crazy? Of course he kinda is, you know him long enough to be sure of that - but does he have a deathwish or something?!

You were mentally debating whether to listen to your fight or flight instinct, however you decided to just walk up and confront him at least about the current matter.

"C-Captain, I can't-"

"Shh." A sole finger of his covered your lips to keep you from refusing. "This is gonna be great. I trust you with my life, sweetheart"

Your eyes widened for a split second as the nickname dropped from his mouth, but before you could make sense of it Buggy pointed somewhere to shoo you away. "The knives are on the barrel next to the entrance...

...Oh, and Y/N? Believe in yourself."

Gosh, hopefully people think you're sweating so much because of the headlights.

Maybe it is a test, you contemplated as you examined the blade in your hand, trying to get a good grip before starting the action. Not exactly a throwing knife, but it'll suffice.

Yeah, you haven't really been useful up until now, at least when it came to the circus.

Of course you worked as hard as everyone else and no one rushed you to find a talent you could show off in here, but sometimes it felt as if you were just not as special as the rest of the crew.

"They'll never understand your worth, Y/N - but I do."

Buggy's words echoed in your head, lifting up your spirits as you remembered the day your paths crossed. Like many of his crew you were an outcast, lonely and misunderstood - until he came along and reduced the town that abused you all those years into rubble and ashes.

Yes, he indeed saved you from a meaningless life. Gave you a home, a family, a purpose. And you'd do everything he'd ask of you to at least repay a fraction of this tremendous debt.

Buggy the Clown was your hero, your idol...

...and the man you had fallen head over heels for from the very start.

You took a deep breath, earning a proud nod of your superior as your stance became serious.

The first knive hit the right side of his forearm. Five more to go.

"C'mon, don't be so soft on me, love. I know you can go closer without doing any harm." Ugh. Your crush sometimes really made you forget how insufferable he can be.

Another, this time right between his legs. "Now that's more like it" he cackled, nervously adding "Be careful with that part, though. Still need it, if you know what I mean."

Would he shut up already instead of making you even more jittery?! Focus, Y/N, focus!

The remaining knives plunged into the wooden wheel easily. One by his foot, one next to his head, one right between his spead fingers.

Buggy wordlessly gesticulated as far as his restrained self could, and you immediately understood - you didn't like the suggestion, however.

Loud gasps mixed with horrified screams as your last blade had pierced his abdomen right in the middle...

...just for him to put himself together as if nothing happened, rushing to your side again through all the turmoil.

You nudged his side, unusually straightforwards for your standards. "I could've hurt you, killed even, idiot!" you scolded him quiet enough that only his ears would perceive.

"Childsplay" he whispered back, and only now you realized just how close his face was to yours. "I just needed to split myself in two before your knive would."

"How could you be so sure about it?"

"I'm an expert at human nature" he bragged cheekily, "And a great duo like us should know each other inside out, right?"

What? A duo, you and him?

Just a few minutes before you were certain that the captain was indifferent to your existence, asides from your function in his crew...

...if only you knew that your feelings for him were the complete opposite of onesided - Buggy was just way more discrete.

Out of a whim, Buggy kissed your cheek before twirling you around., presenting you to the audience one last time. "Another applause for Y/N, our new shining star!" he cheered along with your crewmates, squeezing your hand and bowing down together...

...only for you to flee the scene as soon as your captain released you.

The show went on for another few minutes, with Buggy unable to concentrate ever since you ran away before he could even react.

Of course your crewmates knew very well what was going on. Your not-so-secret crush was basically known amongst the whole team except for the man in question. But they had promised you to keep it to themselves - and honestly, they knew better than to involve themselves into their emotionally instable captain's private life.

After all deeds of the evening were done, the clown rushed backstage, ignoring the celebrating crew inviting him for drinks.

As if he could even think to enjoy himself before making sure you were alright!

"Did I do something wrong?" he still wondered, since all of his efforts were with only the utmost best intent. Maybe he went a little overboard, though.

"Calm down already, would you?" Buggy stopped in his tracks when he heared Cabaji's voice - out of your dressing room.

After he finally got so close to you tonight, this felt like a punch to the gut.

"How can I ever be calm again?!" you blurted out in response, and your captain couldn't help but eavesdrop what this is about.

"He kissed me" you continued, "I-I mean on the cheek, but that counts, right?" Dramatically throwing your hands into the air, you began frantically rubbing your still hot face. "I can never look at him again, ahh!"

Oh.

Guilt started creeping into his heart, alongside an ache that was all too familiar.

How could he have been so blind?

Of course you were just as repulsed and afraid of him as anyone else would. What was he thinking, kissing you just like that? It was the heat of the moment paired with months of unrequited longing, but nonetheless unexcusable.

He needs to apologize and make up for this, no matter how...

...but then, he heared Cabaji's answer.

"Wasn't this exactly what you wanted, though?" Your friend leaned against a wardrobe, half-irritatedly adding "Seriously, I can't listen to you vent about this little crush any longer. Just confess and get it over with, damnit!"

"Little? That's the understatement of the year!" you blurted out, grabbing the green man by the shoulders and shaking him softly. "I swear, this is getting out of hand. If the captain would ask me to suck him off while he's sitting on his throne, I'd gladly accept."

"Ugh, way too much detail" Cabaji shuddered, making you cackle with a bit of glee. "I'll never get this image out of my head."

"Can you blame me?" Without even being aware, your frown turned into a smile as soon as you began talking about Buggy. "The captain is so handsome. He's strong, talented, funny, and incredibly charming as well!"

"...if you're gonna start your usual dialogue, I'd rather leave" he retorted, already picking up and swinging onto his unicycle. "Want to join us, get a drink or something to cheer you up?"

"No, I'm fine dwelling in my self-made misery, thank you." Cabaji smirked at those words, patting your back as means of comfort befor exiting. "Dramaqueen. See you later!"

"Bye." You forced yourself to crack a smile for the man, nodding at him mutely as if to say "I'm gonna be okay."

However, it didn't take long after he left until another knock at your door made you jump.

"Forgot something?" you assumed it was Cabaji again, because who else could you expect while everyone else was partying right now?

No answer.

Sighing, you cocked your head to the direction oft the entrance, ready to cuss someone out...

...and ultimatively almost falling when you saw who was really lurking in the doorframe.

"C-Captain!" you almost yelled in shock, covering your mouth instantly afterwards, out of embarassment.

A smile tugged on the edge of Buggy's lips, his tone unusual gentle as he sheepishly let himself in. "The one and only."

"What-" you stumbled across every syllable, very awkwardly trying to act cool yet panicking on the inside. "Umm, what are you doing here? Drank too much and got lost again? Hahaha...oh god."

Your anxiety skyrocketed with every second passing that he failed to answer - instead chuckling softly at your cringeworthy joke.

"Nope" the clown finally answered, casually dropping down on the bench right next to you. "I'm exactly where I want to be."

"Wh-" Hesitating if you truly wanted to hear the answer, you took a deep breath to get at least a fraction of the composure he'd always, unknowingly, easily stole from you back. "Did you hear us talk?"

"Huh? No, why?" Buggy acted clueless to spare you the embarassment - but oh, if only you knew what thrill was boiling inside of him because of your earlier words. "Badmouthing your captain maybe?"

He winked and you felt yourself tremble in both excitement and relief. "Haha, never! We respect you way too much for that."

Yeah, you still have a chance to not fuck this up entirely!

"What else did you come here for, then?"

The pirate would look anywhere but your eyes, grabbing a random item from the shelf to fidget with, in order to calm then nerves. "Just wanted to congratulate you on the marvellous performance."

"Oh, most of it wasn't my work, right?" Not daring to look at him, you nervously rubbed the back of your head. "I-I mean I could only shine because your light shines so brightly"

Ohmygodwhatthehelldidyoujustsay?! This is the worst...

...or is it?

Stroking his ego like this is dangerous if you intended to keep your pants on tonight, or so he thought.

"My dear, I guarantee you: Together our star shines even brighter as the sun." Buggy would take both of your hands into his much bigger ones, his watercolor eyes scanning your face for any reaction. "As matter of fact, I want you to always be at my side from now on."

In the show, right? RIGHT?!

A chill ran down your spine when you felt Buggy's warm breath on your ear, his lips only inches away from yours. "What are you thinking about, love?"

Hellshitfuckohmygodisthisreallyhappening?!

"...you did hear us."

Even though he found your little pout adorable, Buggy couldn't help the outburst of laughter, seemingly enjoying your annoyance to the effect he had on you...

...well, it certainly fits his character. Asshole.

"Maybe so." A mixture of mischief and genuine joy was written on his face, managing to turn your frown into an almost-smile. "Would it be that bad?"

"Depends on-"

The man wouldn't even leave time to finish your answer before he pulled you into his lap, now grinning from ear to ear.

"You know, maybe it's time for a more private aftershow-party..."

[jamiesfootball]

Please tell me more about gender flipped Jamie because that seems like So Many Thoughts that I would love to hear

I have so many thoughts and yet they are so ephemeral and unspecific and this has been languishing in my askbox and this isn't technically what you asked for but here's what I wrote instead:

Chelsea sent Roy into retirement the way you sent an aging dog to be euthanized. Slowly and gradually, an inescapable march towards a day you knew was coming. Roy's agent gently broke the news to him that they wouldn't be renewing his contract, but there was no gently breaking Roy.

The retirement itself was an underwhelming affair; he stayed numb throughout the presser, answered questions, and left the spotlight. No bang--not even a whimper.

That was months ago. Now Roy Kent, former Chelsea star, was daydrinking at a bar in Richmond at half-three in the afternoon, wondering if he could convince the matron of the house to change the fucking channel.

"Rough season our girls have had," the proprietor, Mae, explained in a tone befitting a bartender cleaning a pint. In reality, she'd joined Roy at the bar with her own glass of chardonnay. "Lot of shake ups. New owner, new gaffer. Still, it could be worse. This new coach of theirs might be from the States, but we're sitting higher up on the table than we have in years. Does your lot keep up with the Super League, then?"

It was one in a series of loaded questions. Roy couldn't imagine you could be a bartender in London without knowing who Roy Kent was. Sheer wasted optimism, he'd had, moving out of Chelsea and assuming anything short of leaving the country would get him away from the haunting specter of his own fucking jersey.

"Yeah," Roy answered reluctantly. "Yeah, some of us keep up. All the teams in the Premier have sister teams, don't we?" Except for Richmond. The one outlier--the only team in the league without a big brother to speak of.

"Mm. Then you heard about the scandal?"

Roy grunted. Of course he heard. Everyone knew about Rupert Mannion ages ago; it was about bloody time someone did something. Awful for his ex-wife that it'd fallen to her to do it.

Mae topped off his chardonnay before pouring the remainder of the bottle into her own glass. "This new gaffer though, he's one of the good ones. He hangs around here sometimes, and you can tell just by listening to him--he respects those girls."

Since retiring, Roy had gotten used to living in a fog. He spent time with his niece, met with the yoga mums, let old ladies in bars talk his ears off to their heart's content, but anything he did between those events was a drudgery--a slow painful effort to drag one foot in front of the other, metaphorically and physically.

So he couldn't have said what it was about Mae's offhand praise for the Richmond Whippet's new gaffer that rankled him into talking back.

"Is he any good though?"

"What was that?"

"Their new coach," Roy gestured with his wine glass at the television in the corner. "The American. Is he any good?"

Mae shrugged one shoulder. "He's gotten better."

"So not really then."

The look Mae gave him could've scoured paint from a wall. "Well, talent isn't everything. Is it, Mr. Kent?"

She left under the guise of check on the three men in the corner. Regulars, by the looks of it; and the three of them the only ones aside from Mae wearing supporting colors for the local team.

He hadn't watched a match in ages. Oh, he'd caught highlights--it was impossible not too--but the few times he'd tried, unfairness ballooned in his chest like an atom bomb, and he gave up.

He hadn't bothered to watch anything from the women's league either. What difference would it make to try watching a different league. Sure, he didn't know any of them the way he knew the men in the Premier League, but football was football and envy was envy.

From what little he'd seen so far, he didn't envy Richmond at all. Everton had them on the ropes.

Roy winced as Number 14 knocked one off the crossbar. It'd been a good attempt. A solid cross from Number 9 had put it in the path, but with no one else nearby she'd gone for a risky shot.

From what little he'd paid attention to, only 9 and 14 were making any actual progress on the pitch, with 9 working double time to cut up the field. Every time the ball dropped back down the center, Richmond lost possession. Every. Time.

It was Number 6 that was the problem. McNally, that was it. Red-head, center-mid, captain. Roy knew her by reputation. A tough, seasoned player, who'd gotten her fair collection of caps for England. She had the experience; it didn't make any fucking sense why she'd be the weak link.

Roy looked away. He took a gulp of his chardonnay and relished in the unpleasant way it stung his nose. It'd be masochism to keep watching.

He kept watching.

Within five minutes, he'd cracked it.

Number 6 refused to pass to Number 9.

The gameplay split off like a branching tree. Either 6 got possession, crossed to another player, and they lost it to Everton's deep defensive line; or 9 got it herself and took it up the field, at which point the entire Richmond side narrowed down to the actions of 9 and 14.

What the fuck was going on?

In the aerial cameras showed two Everton players marking Number 9. Number 6 crossed to Number 24, and 24 took it to the net only for a defender to block her out easily.

A close up lingered on Number 24. She couldn't have looked more upset with herself. Young thing. Good talent, bad nerves. Fixable with the right support.

Number 6 got into Number 9's face and shouted. So where's her fucking support?

The camera panned in on 6 and 9 as what looked like a shouting match took place between the teammates. There was McNally, red-haired and red-faced and openly swearing even if the mics couldn't pick it up, and then there was Number 9. A cut of a girl, strong featured and iron-jawed, with her forehead set down like she intended to ram McNally like a bull if the captain came any closer.

What a fucking mess.

The camera panned to the gaffer, who stood with his hands in his pockets and a frown under his mustache. He called neither player off.

The match went back into play and almost immediately Number 9 took a foul. A blatant hit, tackled before she could grab possession again. Everton had singled her out just as clearly as Roy had.

Number 6 stood off to the side while 14 and 24 argued with the ref. The captain watched in open annoyance as Number 9 levered herself off the ground with a wince, her left side stained with grass and a limp.

Some fucking captain.

Number 9 took position for a free kick, and her name finally flashed across the screen in a font large enough for Roy to read. Jamie Tartt. Tartt lined up for the kick, for all the good it would do when she was a good forty meters back--

Tartt walloped the ball cleanly into the net.

A frisson of electricity ran down Roy's spine.

The lads at the end of the bar broke into cheers.

Half of the Richmond Whippets descended on Tartt. The other half shuffled around in discontent.

Number 24--Obisanya--nodded at Tartt, who nodded back. They didn't hug.

Extricating herself from (half) of her teammates, Tartt threw an arm around the only person she'd passed to all night--14, Rojas. Heads pressed together, headband to matching headband, they looked furtive and serious in their two-person huddle.

The camera panned back to the gaffer. He clapped but he didn't celebrate.

The whole thing was bizarre.

No, Mae was right; talent wasn't everything. Because Richmond had talent--what a spectacular fucking goal--and they were a fucking mess, like nothing Roy had ever witnessed before in his career.

If Mae was willing to put up with him, he might have to come back for the next match. Who knew, maybe he'd try swinging by on an off-match day to catch their gaffer and give him a piece of his mind.

Finally, something to look forward to. His sister would be so proud.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

The Twin Flame - Chapter 29: "You're On Your Own, Kid"

"So make the friendship bracelets, take the moment and taste it. You've got no reason to be afraid. You're on your own kid. You can face this…"

Pairing: Sunshine!Reader x Grumpy!Bucky Barnes The Twin Flame Chapter List | The Grumpy x Sunshine Universe

You smile proudly, sitting at the edge of the dock in front of the Wilson family boat as Sam directs some unfamiliar faces with a wide grin on his face. He claps a hand on the man's shoulder, walking away from him to move onto his next task.

He only stops when he sees you sitting on the edge of the dock, something he's told you not to do a million times before. You always rolled your eyes and balked at Sam's overprotectiveness extending to you accidentally falling in the lake.

Still, he watches you for a long moment. Your legs hanging over the deck, swinging just a few feet above the water. You hold your injured shoulder, absentmindedly rubbing it in a meager attempt to soothe what he knew had to be painful after that blow from John. 

Though your shoulder concerns him, not as much as the distant look on your face. Before, you were never one to people watch. Never one to sit on the sidelines while life passed you by. You twiddle your thumbs with a look of contemplation on your face as you watch people walk up and down the dock, never once engaging or interacting with anyone. It was a far cry from the person who used to jump at the chance to talk, even just meet, someone new. 

Without a word, Sam takes a seat beside you, his legs dangling off the deck in defiance of his own advice. The absence leaves your expression as soon as you become aware of Sam's presence. You turn to him with the best smile you can muster, "This is a great turn out, Sam."

"How's your shoulder?" Sam asks, his eyes flickering to the nasty bruise he knows lie beneath your t-shirt. 

"It'll heal," you blithely dismiss, dropping your hand as to not concern Sam any further. 

"You know, I gotta say I hate when you do that."

"What?"

"Acting like you getting hurt isn't a big deal. Like - I don't know, like you're expendable. Letting yourself get hurt. Refusing to fight back. And you do it a lot," he matter of factly points out. 

"I did fight back," you softly remind him, watching the water ebb and flow beneath the dock. There was something about the free flowing waves and ripples that captivated you, that almost made you envious. "I couldn't help you and Bucky and defend myself all at the same time."

"And I'd bet everything I have that you didn't consider yourself once. And you and I both know that's not the only time I'm talking about."

"I made a choice," you forcefully state, recalling the other time Sam was talking about very well. You also remembered how easily the decision came to you, to lie your metaphorical weapons down and take the consequences as they came. "Steve needed to get out. We were losing and-"

"And to save everyone else you just let yourself get shot," Sam finishes for you.

"I wasn't going to hurt Tony."

"That's my point! Choose yourself for once," Sam explains in exasperation. 

"I do. All the time."

"No, you don't. I can't think of a single time you've ever picked you." His words strike a particularly raw emotion. You didn't agree. You felt selfish. So much of your time was spent thinking about yourself. Thinking about what you did to other people. "Are you ever going to tell me why you're so miserable here?"

You look up at Sam to find him intently watching you like the moment he looks away will be the same moment you run away again. "I'm not miserable here. I'm happy."

Like you just said the funniest joke he's ever heard, Sam makes no attempt to smother his boisterous, clearly disagreeing, laugh, "You are not happy. Maybe you want people to think you're happy, but I know you're not."

"You can't just tell me that I'm not happy, Sam," you point out. 

"Oh, yes, I can. You know why? Because happy people don't run away. Happy people don't shut everyone out for six months. Happy people don't constantly try to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. But you know what, more than any of that, I know you. I know you, not the SHIELD asset, not the Avenger, not Sunshine, you. And you're not happy."

He was right. That much you both knew. It was like the happiness was leeched out of you, back into the world where you thought it belonged. Happiness was better utilized in the world than with you. All you could do was hope that maybe that would be mark you left on the world. It would be better that way. The only blood that would stain your hands would be your own. 

You'd done it all. Given your blood, sweat, and tears to the fight. You'd searched far and wide for something that wouldn't leave you, that couldn't run away, something that couldn't be taken away from you. You couldn't lose any more. You had nothing left to lose. You were on your own. And you were just now realizing that you'd always been on your own. "I'm trying, Sam. I'm really trying."

"I know." Sam stops himself from saying anything else, too worried about driving you away again. He pauses, staring out at the lake. "It feels like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?"

You don't need to look at him to know what he's talking about. "Yeah, it does."

"You miss it?"

"What? D.C.?" you ask.

He shrugs. "D.C., New York. You ever wish we could go back?"

"I don't miss being owned," you solemnly whisper. You realize you'd probably made the moment too heavy. Just to cut the tension, you add, "I don't miss you waking me up at 5 in the morning for a run either."

"Well, I know I miss it," Sam admits. "I miss when our biggest problem was trying to figure out how to get the receptionist at the VA to go out with me."

You chuckle at the fond memory. Despite knowing very little about social norm or customs, you were essentially one of the only people in Sam's day to day life that he could ask for help. It was one of the very last days of normalcy you had. You sent him to the VA with a large bouquet of flowers you bloomed that same morning along with Sam's phone number scrawled on a little card. The sweetness of the memory fades when you remember that he never went back to the VA after that day. He never got an answer. Phone numbers were  disconnected. Later, they were changed. Lives abandoned. It was all different after that. "There's no point. There's no going back. We have to move on."

“You’re still allowed to be grieve,” Sam informs you. "You're even allowed to be mad."

The words sound odd in your ears. It was strange. No one had ever given you permission to be anything other than happy. That was what everyone expected, what they wanted from you. 

Were you allowed to be mad? You didn't think so. It was a definitive part of your personality: not mad.

Happy.

Cheery.

Sunshine.

You'd come out the other side. Free to do as you pleased in the world - mostly. You survived being Blipped. Survived the battle with Thanos, a feat many others were not able to claim.

What did you have to be upset about? Your things were gone, friends dead, no real sense of belonging in the world. But you were alive. Sam took you in. You were surrounded by people that were kind and cared about you. So what was there to be mad about? 

“I’m not mad, I’m really grateful,” you reflexively reply.

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive. I hope you know that," he tells you. "You’re a person, feelings are complicated. You can be grateful you’re on the outside while also being mad at the situation you were put in.”

"This place is amazing. You guys are amazing," you respond, not really answering Sam's question. 

"But?" Sam urges.

"But it's not your job to take care of me anymore," you softly state.

"Alright," he interjects, holding his hand up to stop you. "That's like the third time you've said that to me. What the hell does that even mean?"

"It means," you pause with a choked up sigh, "Isn't it time for me to find me own place in the world? This isn't your job anymore, Sam. And I am more than capable of taking care of myself."

"No," Sam abruptly responds.

"No?" you questioningly repeat. 

"No."

"Yes," you indignantly insist.

"No," he repeats with a shrug. "I don't accept that."

"But I can take care of myself," you insist. "I should -"

"No."

"Will you stop that?" you demand. Sam opens his mouth, the 'no' at the forefront of his mouth once more. You accusingly point at him, "And don't say no again!"

Sam closes his mouth, taking a moment to think of some other way to convince you that you weren't the burden or job you thought you were, "What's your last name?"

"Sam, you know my last name," you mutter.

"I know," Sam agrees, clearly leading you right into a conversational trap. "But apparently, you don't know."

"Because it's a technicality," you easily retort. "And you know that too." 

"Technicality, my ass," Sam scoffs. He turns to you with an expectant look, "So what's your last name?"

"It doesn't mean anything," you whisper, wishing more than anything that you could believe that it wasn't a mere coincidence.

"Really?" Sam challenges. "Because you could've been a Stark, a Rogers, literally any other last name in this world, and there's a hell of a lot of them. But you're not. Wilson. That's your last name."

"I know that, Sam."

"Do you?" he questions. "Do you know that AJ and Cass ask about you all the time? 'When's Titi coming back? What mission is she on? What bad guys is she fighting?'"

"Are your pants gonna catch on fire?" you ask, your voice raspy from the knot forming in your throat. 

"No, because it's true. And I know that I don't get it. I know that I will never get it," Sam concedes. "But I do understand that you want to know and you want to understand, and if you really need those answers I will help you however I can. But you don't need to go looking for a family, if you don't want to, you've got a family right here. Sarah always wanted a sister. She liked having another woman in the house - said it was better than living with me again. And I - I didn't want you to leave. And I should've said that sooner. I'm sorry I didn't make that clearer."

"More clear," you correct.

Sam turns to you with an exasperated expression, "Did you just correct my grammar in the middle of my heartfelt speech?"

"Yeah, guess I did," you chuckle. "You taught me well."

"You gotta stop hanging out with Bucky, his sarcasm's wearing off on you," Sam grumbles, rolling his eyes. He lifts his legs back onto the deck, standing up in one swift movement. He extends his hand out to you, "Now, come on."

You take his hand with a confused expression, standing up from your spot, "Come on, what?" 

"We got a boat to fix." You look at him with an eyebrow raised. He laughs at your expression. "What, you thought I forgot? You're still grounded."

You roll your eyes at him. "You know I was going to help anyway."

"I know. I just like telling you what to do," he teases.

"Hey, Sam, if you're done gossiping, we could use a hand over here," one of the volunteers call from next to a fully loaded pick up truck. You both jog your way over to the truck to see a heavy piece of machinery. "So how do we get it off the truck?"

Sam's eyes knowingly flicker to you. You shake your head with an exasperated look, "Well, don't look at me."

"Sam," another man calls from behind you two. "We need another hand over here, there's too much water below deck."

You clap your hand on Sam's shoulder, "Now, that sounds like a job for me."

"Traitor," Sam shouts after you, already skipping down the dock to help on the boat. Sam and the three volunteers stare at the large piece machinery, a very heavy piece of machinery none of them stood a chance of getting off the pick up alone. "What if we all lift together?"

"Anyone have any better ideas?" the man chuckles. The next moment, the heavy engine shifts, slowly raising off the bed of the truck and onto the ground. The volunteer exclaims, "Oh!" 

The engine is gently placed on the dock without a sign of strain from the super solider. Bucky looks at Sam with an arrogant smirk, "You're welcome."

"Bucky?" Sam questions. "What are you doing here?"

"Just dropping this off," Bucky replies, placing a sleek silver case on top of the engine. "You can sign for it and I'll go."

"Well, what is it?"

"I called in a favor from the Wakandans," Bucky cryptically answers. 

"Sam! Oh, hey Bucky," you flippantly greet, barely noticing anything off with the super solider's sudden presence. You disappear back below deck for a second. It hits you suddenly. You immediately backtrack, literally walking backwards to confirm Bucky's presence with a quizzical look. "Bucky?"

"Oh, Bucky's here, by the way," Sam calls back to you. 

"Uh, well, we could use your help over here!" you urgently beckon Sam over.

Sam jogs aboard the boat with Bucky in tow to see a violent stream of steam coming from a loose pipe. He grimaces as he frantically battles with the wrench to try to close it.

"Hold on, you gotta go up," Bucky instructs, taking the wrench from Sam and closing the valve within seconds. 

With the steam finally stopped, you turn to Bucky with another question, "Why didn't you use the metal arm?"

"I don't always think of it right away," Bucky sheepishly responds. "I'm right handed."

"Makes sense," you agree. 

"So this is the boat, huh?" Bucky wonders with a scan of the Wilson family boat. 

"This is it," Sam proudly boasts, slapping the stern of the ship. 

"It's nice. Need any help?" Bucky offers. 

"Need all the help he can get," you mumble under your breath.

"I heard that!" Sam retorts. 

"Well, I'm glad your hearing still works," you slyly quip.

Bucky smiles to himself as the two of you descend into quick-witted bickering throughout the day. Even after hours, Bucky doesn't ever stop finding the bickering and never ending discourse annoying. It's strangely endearing to him, almost reminding him of the way he and Steve used to banter back and forth. 

Even as a hushed moment falls on to the three of you, he finds it no less comforting. The sun warms his face, the fresh air constantly blowing, it was almost second nature to be here. 

He also finds that his eyes constantly wander to you, to find out what you're doing, how you're doing. He looks over once more to find your face turned up o the sun soaking in the warmth that the day offers. 

He smiles to himself, finding comfort in the ease that paints your face. It's nice to know that the part of you that you swore was gone was still there. It's an ease to the guilt that hadn't quite left him since you confessed everything to him. 

"Do you guys think Karli's ever gonna stop?" you audibly wonder, breaking the comfortable silence that descended over the three of you. 

Sam inhales deeply, "Honestly, I think she's gonna double down."

"So how do we stop her?"

"Zemo says there's only one way," Bucky answers with a grimace.

"Since when do we take advice from Zemo?" Sam guffaws.

"I know he hates enhanced individuals and everything, and he would probably kill me the first chance he got, but I gotta say, he wasn't actually that bad. Think it'd be weird if I visited him in prison?" you ask.

"Yes," Bucky deadpans. "He also said to tell you hi. And thank you, didn't say for what though."

"No idea," you guiltily mutter. "Not a clue. Pfft.. I don't even know who Zemo is. Don't think I've ever met a Zemo."

"You know what? I don't want to know," Bucky flatly decides. 

"That's probably a good choice," you admit with a chuckle.

"What about the Power Broker?" Sam unexpectedly asks.

"What about the Power Broker?" you question.

"I mean, and not to be all doom and gloom about it, but something's not sitting right with me. He wanted to make some of the most powerful people on Earth-"

"Aww... thank you," you interject.

Sam shoots you a glare before continuing, "And he just gave up? I don't buy it."

"You think he's going to go after Karli?" you infer.

"I don't know," Sam lies, almost entirely certain of where the Power Broker would go next. Even thinking it sent fear straight to his heart, he was far too worried that speaking the words would make them true.

Silence once again descends over the three of you as you all ponder Sam's words. He was right. Something about it didn't make sense. There was a piece you three were missing. Something that didn't add up. 

The more you thought about the last week, the more wrong it felt. Karli. The Flag Smashers. The Power Broker. John Walker.

"Hey," Bucky nudges your uninjured shoulder with his. You're so lost in thinking about Karli and the Power Broker that you didn't even realize he'd come to sit by you. "You okay?" 

You shake away the thought, "Yeah, just thinking."

"Well, we need to get the rest of the water off the deck if we're going to finish the other side," Sam explains, tossing you a bucket. "Might want to grab a bucket, Buck."

"Guys, might be easier if I just," you interject, nudging them back with a gentle shove. 

The two men take a step back when the water pooled on the deck starts forming an unnatural bubble. The bubble raises in the air, only to gently fall off of the boat and into the lake with a small splash.

Sam bitterly scoffs, sarcastically muttering, "Well, if you have to show off, I guess."

Bucky snickers, an amused grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, "Thanks, doll."

Sam's eyes snap over to Bucky, his arms crossing with an angry huff. With a coy smile that tries its best to hide the furious blush on your face, you murmur, "You're welcome."

"Hey, uh, could I get your help for a minute?" Sarah calls from the deck. You three turn around to face her. She points at you beckoning you over. 

"Oh, me!" You begin to climb over the slippery edge of the boat. "I'll be back. Probably."

"You better come back," Sam grumbles. 

"Here, let me," Bucky offers, extending his hand to you. 

You take his hand. The feeling of his incredibly warm hands is distantly familiar, and yet you can't help but think that it reminds of you of home.

You smile down at him as you climb onto the deck, "Thank you."

Bucky's not sure what it is about being here. Something about the day spent with possibly the last two people in the world that still know him, brings his guard down just a little bit. Maybe it's just the sun beaming down on him that's making him slightly delirious. Still, something about it emboldens him, and with a goofy grin, he winks at you, "You're welcome."

You can barely keep yourself from giggling like a school girl as you let go of Bucky's hand. You both maintain eye contact with each other for a moment too long when Sam clears his throat from beside Bucky. 

"I should go see what Sarah needs," you state, though you make no move to leave with Bucky's eyes still locked on yours.

"Yeah, you should go do that," Sam forcefully states, causing you and Bucky to break eye contact and look at Sam with a confused expression. 

"Okay, I will, you weirdo," you scoff, rolling your eyes at Sam. 

Your heart still beats just a little too quickly as you walk toward Sarah at the end of the dock. She stands at the end of the dock just beneath the shaded wooden canopy, still looking down at her clipboard.

"What's up?"

Sarah juts her thumb over to the coolers over by the large working table off to the right. "Would you mind? The cooler's getting low on ice." 

"Oh, no problem."

She looks up at you from her clipboard with a wide grin, "And while I have you here, can I ask you something?" 

You shrug, bending down to start refreezing the coolers, "Sure."

"What was that?" 

"What?" you question, though you have a good sense of what she's taking about. 

"Doll?" Sarah chuckles, a knowing smile on her face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you deflect, staring a little too intently at the cooler. 

"Oh, come on," she cajoles. "You leave to go soul searching, and just happen to come back with a super-soldier making goo-goo eyes at you?"

"We're friends," you insist.

"Friends? Or friends?" Sarah teases, playfully nudging you with her clipboard. 

"Don't start," you wave her off, your eyes wandering down the dock and back to the boat where you see Sam and Bucky still working. "Besides, Sam would lose it."

"Forget Sam," Sarah scoffs. "His heart's in the right place, but can be a little..."

"Overprotective?" you supply.

"I was going to say annoying, but that works too."

"We are just friends," you repeat, failing to convince even yourself. 

"Well, if you're not gonna go for it," Sarah mutters, looking down the dock to where Bucky sits on the edge of the boat. "He's pretty cute."

"Hey!" you teasingly warn. "Get your own super soldier."

"Oh, so now he's your super soldier?" Sarah laughs, a mischievous, wide grin painting her expression. 

You dramatically suck in a breath, accusingly pointing at Sarah, "You did that on purpose!" 

"Maybe," she shrugs with a laugh. She places her hand on your shoulder as you both look back at the two men working on the boat, "Or maybe you just need to go for it. Let yourself be happy every once in a while."

"You're on your own, kid. You always have been."

The Twin Flame Chapter List AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

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[calculatesguilt]

i know nothing about protihex. pretty please explain it to me it sounds super interesting!!!!

Oh gosh okay so disclaimer before I say anything more that anything I say about Protihex here is From My Brain, there's not really much about it in (idw1) canon other than "it's on Cybertron's south pole" and "it used to be a gladitorial pit when ruled by septimus prime" and "in the Olden Days it was called Protohex but it's now called Protihex"

The Protihex I talk about is from my worldbuilding in my fic Expunge/Override which both explores Perceptor's past and how he's coping (or not) in the present after the war, themes of isolation and debts, as well as a mystery going on in the overarching plot are present. There's also something really LGBT goin on between Drift and Percy.

That outta the way, the concept I have of Protihex in my head is that it's essentially a city hanging in a cavern above an energon lake. It's got refineries below it that pump the energon directly up into the cities, and the upper class is at the tip of the city. Kinda like... a reverse Coruscant of Star Wars fame.

Here's a rough graphic for how Protihex is built.

In pre-war Protihex, since it’s rumored that it sits above the Well of Sparks, Protihex trends towards a military regime, with a “president” at the forefront of politics. There’s a council of senators that represent each Polity District. Very focused on spark research with the desire to weaponize an entire generation. Some level of functionalism lingers though gutted of its more fanatical religious aspects. Has strict curfews, but clearly losing its grip.

The glamor is very surface-level. (Think Art Deco for the architecture.) The lower levels of Protihex is where “the good life” is. Much more condensed spaces means there’s more to do, like enjoy music and art, being social, and studying academia. Lead by corrupt businessmen and senators alike, not everything is as shiny and golden as it appears to be. Some shady dealing goin on in the lower districts.

Closer to the crust it’s much more weathered and harder to scrape by. Energon is hard to come by. This is mostly run by architects and construction workers. They work to keep the City aloft. (The metaphors on this one are Potent.)

Below Protihex is an energon river, and beside it are refineries. Pipes lead up into Protihex, pumping Energon up. This is the true heart of the polity. Refinery workers typically spend weeks there then visit the mid-levels of Protihex during their shift breaks. Refineries also look pretty on the outside, though on the inside aren’t, much reflecting the state of Protihex.

Now, I know you might be wondering why they built down instead of up, to which I'll give you an excerpt from Expunge/Override to explain.

Drift looks impressed. “I have to ask. Why hanging?” “That's a more complicated question… Truthfully I'm not sure. My mentor said it's because they wanted to forget about the gladiatorial coliseums above. Others suggest it's because the energon reserves above ground dried up so they started looking in sub levels.” “And you?” Perceptor is quiet for a moment as he contemplates his response. “Being a southern pole, Protihex experiences harsh winters and even harsher summers. The surface temperature reaches extreme highs and lows, making it difficult to build upwards lest you risk worsening exposure to solar radiation, as well as unstable architecture from the temperature shifts. It's much more extreme down here than it is in Iacon. They couldn't build up, so they built down instead, effectively avoiding the harsh weather conditions on the surface.” “And building a city right next to a sub-level energon river would be a bad idea.” “Raw energon is extremely volatile. To say it would be a bad idea is an understatement.”

[pit-of-maggots]

young-botanical-genius:

Seymour squinted, utterly baffled by what was written upon the card. Was this some sort of joke? ...Faunette? ...Lord Barathrum? ...What does any of this even mean?

There was no information provided to contact the sender. This 'C. Faunus' person, whoever they were, had clearly entrusted him with the care of this creature, with seemingly no way to decline such a task. ...Other than perhaps killing the thing, of course, but it was unlikely Seymour could ever bring himself to do that; not when it hadn't done anything that warranted killing. Besides, he couldn't bear to imagine what its wails would sound like then when it had already wept so pitifully at the mere touch of a broom.

Seymour placed the card back down in the basket, letting out a long sigh as a flurry of anxious thoughts began to run through his mind. ...How on Earth was he supposed to take care of a strange maggot baby when he could barely even take care of himself in these impoverished living conditions? Heck, he didn't even know what this thing needed! At least when he took care of his plants, there were books and such to assist him in identifying their needs, but there had been no such guidance provided to him in this situation.

How careless. If the sender so badly wanted him to take good care of this thing, then they could've at least tried to help him out. ...But then again, he supposed he didn't know the entire situation. Maybe they had been in a hurry to drop it off here.

Unsure of what else to do, he walked over to the side of his bed, staring at the now-sleeping creature in silence. He hadn't asked it to use his little cot, but it looked so comfortable there that he wasn't going to dare try and move it. After a moment, he collapsed down in a nearby chair, sighing once again and placing a hand on his forehead in exasperation.

He had work in the morning. ...How was he going to explain this to Audrey and Mr. Mushnik? ...Was he even going to try?

"...Well..." he said, despite the fact that the faunette probably couldn't hear him within its slumber. "...I...I guess its just me and you now, huh?"

If it was a joke, saying it'd be in very poor taste would be the understatement of the century.

The one other thing left clear in that card, perhaps the only 'real' instruction, maybe, was the obvious scribbled threat that something would happen to him if the blasted thing wasn't properly looked after... all in all it seemed to be one of those situation where he was metaphorically pinned against a wall, kind of like having to watch Audrey go on a date with that Scrivello freak and come back with bruises and a black eye.

Oh well... how bad could this possibly be, really?

~

But... cut to a few hours later into work (or lack thereof) before a loud thud downstairs could be heard- like something heavy had been dropped. Of course, anyone in the shop would brush it off as Seymour being clumsy... if he wasn't standing right there, with his other two workers, just waiting for any poor soul to even so much as accidentally step half-a-shoelace into the shop.

Quite bad, as the man would soon realize. Turns out, diet instructions weren't exactly needed for this faunette creature... or so it seemed.

When he woke up, all sore and with both his legs asleep from having slept on a wooden chair, instead of a comfy, soft bed, the creature was still fast asleep- only thing to worry about being the small puddle of saliva that had formed next to the bed from the worm's perpetual salivating, so much had accumulated on the side where it slept that it went all the way down the covers maybe even the mattress, and started to drip on the floor... at least it slept soundly.

Should he go investigate the noise, he would be greeted by pure chaos in his humble home. Trails of saliva left all around like a giant slug had been traveling in the basement; bedsheets half-eaten, all things the beast could reach- lower parts of clothes hanging... books sitting in the lowest parts of furnitures or just laying around... shoes, all either had evident tears or they had been full on mutilated- the only proof they ever existed being a puddle of drool with scraps of their remains. And don't get me started on the trash bin, anything inside it was gone, and the bin itself had been twisted from so much persistent biting that it had become a modern surreal piece of art.

Wooden legs of tables and chairs coated in bite marks, the fridge fallen open on the floor where the perpetrator was currently gorging itself on all things edible it could find, it seemed particularly energetic, almost rabid given how viciously it tore into the food, when it found anything with meat and...

Oh geez... was that a damn hole in the wall in the corner?! Had it eaten concrete??!

STARTER FOR @young-botanical-genius 🌼🐛

It was the dead of night... two cloaked figures walked the streets of Skid Row until they reached the closed front entrance to the botanic shop they've been observing a while.

"I'm not positive I agree with using my children as guinea pigs, Beatrice." The High Priest hissed under his breath as the woman gently placed the basket, it's contents neatly hidden by the fluffy pink blanket inside it, in front of the door of the little shop.

The idea of one of his children potentially being killed, or worse, being poor looked after- infuriated the fly-man. And he wasn't fond of treating his spawns as if they were disposable objects.

"It is not a guinea pig, so you better watch your tongue before you question my actions, Concetto." The woman spat back with indignance in her voice, although it was quiet whispering- her words were still piercing. The man remained quiet, he and the woman had a staring contest for what felt like an eternity as if they were fighting eachother via who could give a more accusatory stare at the other.

Finally, Beata Maria spoke again: "I have kept my eye on the boy that... resides here. He will care for the youngin like he cares for the plants."

"And if he doesn't?"

With that insinuation that she was wrong, she remained silent, once again staring daggers at her co-leader. She inched close to the man until they were face to face, furiously staring at one another as they (quietly) fought verbally about who was righteous.

" Vedremo. ( ' We'll see. ' ) " She simply said, before one of her arms stretched out, adapting the form of a long, black tentacle and proceeding to... 'knock' on the door of the shop, calling it knocking was putting it lightly- the tentacle practically slammed against the door twice so hard it probably scared awake nearby homes, it was a miracle the door didn't break down. Concetto quickly went to hug the little basket, giving one last good bye, before he and his companion vanished into the shadows.

[echos-newlegs]

Kisses in the Rain - Matt Murdock x Reader

Also a reminder my requests are now open for Marvel Characters, too :D

Warnings: legit none, just some self indulgent fluff, mention of marriage and kids I guess. Idk guys, I'm sad rn and need some happy stuff

You stood by the window, staring out at the nearing clouds. A small frown settling on your lips. The date was ruined. The small walk to the park that was supposed to be amazing. Plus the trip to the diner that you both loved, but now you couldn't go with the approaching storm. Everything you planned had to literally take a rain check.

"What's bothering you?" His voice snapped you from your thoughts. Head turning to look at the ginger that now had an arm around your waist. A small smile on his face.

"Our little day out is ruined," you explained with a sigh. "A storms coming through, we can't go for that walk today or to the diner."

He hated hearing the disappointment in your voice. Kissing your temple with a small hum. Hand running up and down your side.

"Well, I can't see any clouds, it should be fine,"

"What do you mean you can't? They're right there Mattie-" You caught yourself. Looking slightly up to your boyfriend, who happened to have the biggest, shit eating, grin you had ever seen.

"Oh you ass, now I feel like a dick." You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. Both of you chuckling. Matt grabbing your hips with both of his hands. So you were now facing him, even if he couldn't see you. He always loved it when you faced him.

"Don't, I was only trying to get you to smile," He leaned in close to your face. You were in fact smiling.

"Did it work?" He asked with a raised brow. A small hum of thought leaving your lips. "Why don't you kiss me and find out?"

He didn't have to be asked twice for that. He loved kissing you. The feeling of his lips on yours? Oh, it felt indescribable. The way it made his whole body tingle. How he felt like he was orbiting in outer space. Having to hold you to be sure that he wouldn't wind up floating away. He wasn't sure if it was his heightened senses or what, but he wouldn't trade the feeling for the world. No, he wouldn't trade you for the universe.

You both were smiling into the kiss. Matt letting out a soft whine when you pulled back. As much as you both wanted to continue the kiss, you each needed to breath.

"So what now?" You asked, hands resting on the mans chest. Looking up at him with a quizzical glance.

"I think we could still go to the park and beat the storm. It's far enough away. I can barely smell the rain from here." You rolled your eyes. Kissing his chin.

"Matt, what if we get caught in the storm though?" He chuckled, rubbing your hips. "Well, I guess that's a risk we'll have to take. Now go get ready, beautiful."

Even though he couldn't tell that you were beautiful, it still made you smile. How sincere he sounded, because he was. He meant every compliment he said. Even if he couldn't see you, he knew that you were in fact one of the most beautiful people on earth. From your laugh, to your kisses. Everything about you was exquisitely perfect.

The two of you got ready, and soon enough you were on the walk to the park. Your hand in Matt's, his cane in the other. Your head leaning upon his shoulder with a small grin.

"What if it starts-" "Stop with the 'what if's and just enjoy the moment." Matt commented. Giving your hand a gentle squeeze before your comfortable silence fell over the two of you again.

Then a conversation started up once more. It was the two of you talking about Foggy. Making fun of your mutual friend, then thanking him for introducing you both to one another. Even if he wasn't there with you guys right now. Matt thanked him every second of the day. You were his light, the one thing he looked forward to every morning he woke up. Metaphorically, of course.

The walk through the park was relaxing. The two of you stopping to sit on a bench. You taking the time to describe the things around the two of you. Explaining how your surroundings made you feel. In attempt to help him see what you saw.

"Yeah, and there's a really hot guy here too." You told him, smirking at the way Matt seemed to shift. The small grin on his face. "Oh yeah?" "Yeah. An absolutely stunning guy. He has these beautiful eyes, absolutely gorgeous. They make him look nice, safe, even if they hide behind his glasses." You explained. Watching his cheeks turn a light tint of pink.

"What other things do you notice about him?" You smiled, leaning back. Looking Matt's face over with a coo. "What is there not to notice?" He leaned back now as well. Taking in the praise.

"A heavenly, angelic, smile. His smile makes me feel all warm and happy inside. Like a little kid being told they can get the toy they want. It makes me feel like it's Christmas Day, everyday. Simply because I have the pleasure of seeing it every morning I wake up." Matt gasped, placing a hand on his chest.

"You're sleeping with this man?" He knew you were describing him, and you knew he was playing around. Rolling your eyes with a giggle.

"Mhm, didn't think it would come out this way. But yes, I sleep next to the most handsome man I've ever laid eyes upon." Matt smiled, his hand finding yours again. "Can I at least know his name?" You scoot closer to him. Leaning towards his ear. His breath hitching when he felt your breath on his neck.

"Sure, his name's Matthew Michael Murdock, and I'm hopelessly in love with him." You muttered in his ear. Watching the blush creep up his neck and spread onto his face like wild fire. A shudder running down his spine as his eyes fell shut with a grin. "He sounds wonderful." "Hmm, you have no idea."

His lips found yours again. The two of you sharing a short kiss.

Later, when the both of you entered the diner. You were greeted by the familiar faces and voices of the staff. You two were their favorite couple, after all. They had practically witnessed the two of you fall in love. The moment Foggy invited you out for lunch with he and Matt to the diner you loved to eat at with your best friend.

So, Matt always demanded the two of you ate here when you both went out. Claiming the diner was good luck, since he got to meet the most important person of his life here.

"If it isn't my two favorite lovebirds," One of the waitresses cooed. She had been there the longest. "The usual's?" She asked, and the both of you nodded. Leading Matthew to the booth towards the back. Though at this point he didn't really need too much guiding. The two of you had ventured here so many times with one another. But he would never deny help from you, especially if you were touching him.

Your supper was good. The two of you ate and enjoyed a pleasant conversation. Another couple, older, sitting beside the booth you were in, at a table.

"How long have the two of you been together?" You felt your face heating up now.

"Going on three years, ma'am," Matt spoke with a grin.

"You proposed yet?" The husband ask. The both of you choking up this time.

"Uhm, no sir, not yet." Matt told him with a nervous chuckle.

"Don't worry, it'll happen when it happens." The wife added with a sweet smile.

It was a simple and harmless conversation, but the whole walk home it had you both lost in thought. Three years and the two of you hadn't even thought of marriage, or kids, or if you even want any of those things. Or moving into a proper home rather than Matt's shitty apartment. It just never seemed to occur to either of you. Or at least you.

The thought of marriage had crossed Matt's mind quite a few times, though. The thought of being able to call you his for the rest of your lives. Being able to hold you every night. Being able to wear a ring that told the flirtatious clients and people that he ran into that he was indeed a married man.

Oh, and kids? Well, he wouldn't mind one of his own. Maybe two. Though he preferred a nice church wedding more than kids. That could be a later conversation. Especially with his Daredevil persona. You were at enough risk, the last thing the two of you needed was kids being at risk as well.

"Hey," You looked over to Matt when he spoke. "Yeah, Mattie, what is it?" He cleared his throat, squeezing your hand. "What do you think about getting married someday?" He said it a lot easier than he thought he would be able to. He was always too nervous to ask, but the couple at the diner got him thinking about it, and when he got to thinking? Well, normally it led to him asking questions that he may or may not wind up regretting.

You stopped walking though. Staring at Matt with a dumbfound look.

"What?" You were shocked. A bit confused even. When the two of you met, Foggy told you he wasn't really too into long term relationships. That you needed to be careful with Matt. It shocked you that the two of you were going on three years of being together. But marriage? You never thought that would be in the question, really.

"Look, I'm sorry if I overstepped, I just got to thinking.. And well, I love you, and I know I do. I want to be with you for as long as you'll have me, but if you don't want to get married that's fine." He told you. Worrying at his bottom lip. "I just think about it a lot, is all. But again, I'm not trying to pressure you,"

You felt a few sprinkles hit your skin. But you couldn't bother to care. The rain wasn't on your mind anymore, a smile spreading across your lips. Wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him in for a kiss. The rain now pouring as the two of you stood in the middle of the sidewalk. Kissing in the rain.

Matt's hands hovered over you, then found there place on your body. One on the small of your back. The other on the back of your head. The kiss was deeper than the ones from earlier that day. Instead of floating away he felt like he was about to melt. Nearly forgetting what the two of you were discussing when you both pulled away in a pant.

"Whoa," Was all he could say, with a love stricken grin. The hand on the back of your head moving to caress your cheek. Which you happily leaned into.

"Matthew, I would love being married to you." You grinned, giving him another peck. "Even if you are a Murdock."

He chuckled, a nervous and excited one. He was in disbelief to what he was hearing. He wasn't sure if he was crying or if it was the rain.

"Yeah, but I'm your Murdock, and soon you'll be mine." He cooed with a giggle. Giving you another quick peck, before a loud crash of thunder had the both of you tensing.

"How about we get home, and we can celebrate, then?" You asked him with a snicker. Kissing his jawline, feeling his hand on your back shift to your waist to give it a quick squeeze.

"I love that idea."

And just like that, kissing in the rain became a new favorite for the both of you.

[zooophagous]

Ursula wanted a cigarette. It was a problem, as she hadn't actually smoked since the late nineties, it being a dirty and impious habit that was bad to show to children. All the same, the habit, like far too many other things in this line of work, died hard- and again, like too many other things in this line of work, had a way of coming back. It was a pity the craving had to hit now.

She didn't know enough German to really feel comfortable setting out in search of a convenience store. Did Germany even have those? Did they even sell tobacco? It didn't matter. She wasn't about to pester tour guides and translators for something that petty.

She carried the craving on her face in the form of a weary scowl. The cemetery groundskeeper was being difficult. It wasn't a language barrier this time, Trier apparently didn't actually have a shortage of English speakers. It was more of someone simply flat out refusing to do their job.

To be sure, even with the proper permits (which they had, and she had triple checked herself with the correct city officials) convincing someone to unearth a two hundred and thirty two year old crypt in the name of "research" or even "public safety" was a hard sell for the conservative types that were usually in charge of a cemetery of this age.

Ursula brushed off her shirt and smoothed the buttons. It was a crisp black blouse with a poppy red pattern of snaking flowers, accented with a matching string of red beads, and a pair of tall boots that clicked on the stone church path in a nice authoritarian drum. Looking professional often went a long way towards being taken seriously. At only 5'2", the soft, gray haired lady needed all of the help she could get to maintain the in charge appearance. For now- the scowl helped.

"So." She began flatly, using her best disappointed tone. "What seems to be the problem?"

The dig team had been avoiding her. She didn't need any help seeming 'in charge' with them. The huddled group of them became visibly agitated when she entered. One of them seemed to have drawn the metaphorical short straw of responsibility and stepped forward.

"The groundskeeper won't let us open the vault."

"Did you show him the permits?"

"It's not about the permits. He says he doesn't care if we have permits."

"Then what's his hold up?"

Her tone shortened. It wasn't the dig crew's fault, but they were the first line of earthen dams for Ursula's anger to break against.

"He says he won't let us kill it."

"Oh for the love of-" She paused and held her face briefly in her hands.

"Did you explain that we aren't here to kill it?"

"He doesn't believe us!"

The digger whined, his hands splayed in a feeble gesture of exasperation.

"We can have it open in ten minutes if you can get him to move. He's sitting on the damn crypt right now."

Ursula stomped past the poor earth mover with a huff. "Couldn't just start digging around him? I promise you the tractor would make him move." She was only half joking.

Through the chapel, out into the yard, a beautiful grey shitty day was brewing. She wondered quietly if it was always this rainy in Germany or if they held onto it for special occasions.

The crypt in question was easy enough to spot. The stone marker had worn down to a soft, cheeselike slab, covered in lichen and water stain from centuries of grey shitty days just like this one. It blended in nicely enough to the nearly identical graves around it- save for the fact that this particular grave had a bright yellow and black tractor lurching over it like a vulture, as well as a small crowd of people currently arguing over it.

A squat, balding man in the chattering group didn't belong to the dig crew. He had an air about him of a small dog trying to play guard dog, and realizing quickly it was about to lose. He sat cross legged and defiant on top of an above ground vault, one with a heavy stone lid that lay almost flush with the sea of unkempt grass it rested in. The heavy lid was marred with cracks, the likes of which the added weight of the guardian's body was only making worse. His shoulders visibly fell when his eyes met Ursula as she begrudgingly made the trek in soft grass in her sharp shoes, and scowled as she refused to wobble on them.

She smiled inwardly when she saw him shrink. The outfit and the scowl had done their job, she was in charge after all.

"Good afternoon. My name is Ursula Harker, head of the catch team for the Van Helsing Institute. Is there a problem?"

The man avoided her gaze. "I am Franz. The groundskeeper." He replied flatly. "And... I am sorry but I cannot honor your exhumation permits."

"Tell me why." She demanded, dropping her polite facade.

"I won't let you kill him." Franz looked up to finally look her in the eyes. "I don't know what you think you're doing but... he's been here for over two hundred years. He's harmless."

"Oh?" Ursula pulled out her phone. Doing so made her even more irritated- for one, smart phones were universally terrible. For another, using it internationally incurred data charges that always made accounting bitch at her.

"According to my file, it has at least two recent confirmed kills. One would be more than enough for us to pull a removal permit."

"You don't get it. One of those was self defense. Anyone would have done what he did."

"And the other?" There was a pause. Franz made a bitter face and once again looked away from her. She cleared her throat and pressed him harder. "And the other?"

"The other had it fucking coming."

She blinked in surprise to hear such a dark response, and one he so clearly deeply meant. "What do you mean?"

"You aren't a local and you wouldn't understand. But... the one who was taken. He had a "history," a long one. He'd done things to people... to women. To children." The groundskeeper clenched his fists as he spoke.

"Strauss didn't do anything except for what had to be done. We ASKED him to do it. We practically had to beg. It wasn't his decision. It wasn't his fault."

Oh, so it had a name now. "So you let it do your dirty work and just expected the hammer would never come down on anyone? Just because it doesn't exist on paper doesn't mean it can't get into trouble."

"If you're going to bother anyone bother me. I put him up to it. It was my fault and my idea!"

"Save it for confessional, Franz. I'm not a priest. I'm a courier, and I have a job to do. If it makes you feel any better..." She paused. "We weren't actually lying to you when we said we weren't going to kill it."

"Then what the Hell do you want from him?"

"Mostly, we want to talk." She replied coolly. No wonder he didn't believe them, the answer sounded stupid. Stupid and fake.

"You're lying."

"Trust me, Franz." She sighed. "I wish we were. If I'm perfectly honest I think it's a fool's errand. It is not, however, my decision to make. Neither is it yours. This plot is the legal property of the Van Helsing Institute and I am going to have to ask you to leave."

That was the closest thing the dig team had to a cue. Several of them stepped in and lifted the short groundskeeper by the arms, pulling him away. As bold as he was moments before, he had no fight in him now. Save for a final retort of "you're making a mistake."

Ursula groaned. Mostly because he was right, but not for the reasons he thought.

"Well, we're burning daylight. Get the tent over it and start digging. I want it in the deep freeze before four."

She retreated a short distance to sit down. She wouldn't ever show or admit it- but the shoes weren't much good for walking through the graveyard in. Even if they did make a nice bossy click when she walked. Her "business casual" outfits were never appropriate for field work. At least these days she was allowed to supervise. There was a distant time she would have been expected to help dig.

The backhoe made short work of the stone slab. It was impossible to do the job gently- as the lid moved it cracked deeper and deeper and eventually split in half. The dig team foreman was yelling. Ursula only snorted in mock laughter. With any luck the lid would kill the thing before they even needed to get their hands dirty and the whole stupid project could be canceled. No such luck. The two halves of the limestone slab parted and fell to either side, revealing a deep cavern into the earth.

Not so much a simple in ground vault. She got up and trudged over to it and peered down into the darkness. A tunnel had been dug in the space of the original vault and now sat below her like a mineshaft. Cold, stale air bellowed out of it. Well, she'd seen worse vampire dens than this one.

Unfortunately now it was her turn to get her hands dirty after all, the dig team was not responsible or competent enough for this. She wasn't even wearing the right shoes. The tunnel sloped downwards sharply. A few steps in and suddenly she fell, and slid. It went well below the other vaults in the yard.

Ten, twenty yards at least- and shored up on all sides with wooden beams. A good degree of craftsmanship for something this feral, she mused. The bottom of the tunnel finally opened beneath her. She stood up, mud covered and very frustrated, but too annoyed to be afraid.

There in the back of the chamber she could see what they came for. It was pale enough to be visible even in the deep darkness of the den. It lay crumpled, not unlike a dead spider; mercifully asleep. The beam of her phone's flashlight confirmed what she needed to know.

They'd found their target. She fumbled with her cellphone and finally opened it to make a call. "Artemis? Ursula. We have your test subject. Yes, alive, fully intact, and it will stay that way IF it can behave." She warned, as if the deathly still figure could hear.

"It needs a change of clothes... clothing in general really. Probably also needs a bath but I am NOT touching it. Tell the nurses' station to do it. I'll be delivering it cuffed and muzzled and I expect you to keep it that way." She chided her phone gently.

"I just hope you know what you're doing."

[morefandomscenarios]

Imagine plz? Cora lives au and law asks him to take the role as his father at his wedding?

I imagine if Cora lives, Law's personality would be different than what's in canon... So in here he's the one who proposed, he's more open & not as emotionally constipated, and he's still a pirate while Roci is a marine but they keep their relationship hidden really well (altho everyone in the navy knows that Roci CLEARLY favors the Heart Pirates, kind of like Garp with the Strawhats lol)

Imagine...

... Law asking Rocinante to take the role of his father at his wedding.

When Law decided that yes, he's a hundred percent certain he's ready to give you his whole (metaphorical and literal) heart and marry you, there's never a doubt in him that Cora-san would take the position of his father. It's the execution that makes him nervous; he may have slipped out and called him "Dad" a few times in his life, and the taller man cries every single time, but still. What if he refuses? What if he takes it the wrong way? What if, what if, what if???

It adds to his stress, he's losing sleep, and so of course you notice. Worrying that he's regretting his proposal to you, you figured it would be a good idea to sit down for a talk and ask your soon-to-be-husband what's bothering him. The moment he blurts his thoughts and puts it into words so he can explain it to you, he realizes how silly he sounds and how meaningless his worries are, and soon enough he's laughing with you at himself. If Law can propose to you, he can certainly admit that he thinks of Rocinante, the person who has raised him to the person that he is today, as his father.

So he asks Corazon, on one of their monthly hangouts (can't have too many of those or the Marines might catch on afterall) in some obscure bar of a small town. Law tells his father figure that he's getting married - nothing big, just his and your crews, maybe some other allied pirate crews - and of course Corazon sheds tears of joy. But when Law finally breaks the question with a slight blush on his cheeks, calls him with the title and not scramble to correct it this time? The blond is bawling.

In the end, Law has to drag him out the bar because they attract too much attention, but he couldn't have asked for a better outcome.

"[name]... My son is a handful, but you've taken care of him so well. I can't think of a better partner for him. Thank you. Going forward, since we're all family now, you'll tell me if you need anything, right? Oh, and feel free to call me Dad!!"

*proceeds to tear up when you actually call him Dad*

[oliviaischillin1204]

Tickle-Me-Logan

(olivia’s note: hey y'all! this is a submission from Anne Onymous, featuring lee Logan and ler Patton! thank you for the submission, sorry it took a few days to go up!)

Logan has been gloomy and sad all day and nothing was cheering him up. Well, when a Side isn't happy, there's only one thing to do: find Patton. Logan was about to knock on his door when Patton unexpectedly opened it. "Oh, hey Logan! What's..." Patton started, but he stopped when he noticed Logan's eyes were bloodshot and his glasses were fogged up. "Logan, have you been crying? You wanna come in?" Patton asked. Logan nodded and walked in, Patton closing the door behind him. "Here, sit down." Patton offered, guiding Logan to his bed and the two sat together. Patton wrapped an arm around Logan's shoulders in a comforting embrace. "You wanna talk about it?" he asked. "I feel...ignored. Unimportant. Invisible. Not only does Thomas not want to listen to me lately, neither does Roman or Virgil. Janus makes a mockery of me by impersonating me and Remus seems to take enjoyance in pushing me to my limits until I metaphorically burst. The only one who seems to respect me anymore is you." Logan explained, trying his best to stop his voice cracking.

"It's ok, Logan, keep going, you're doing a great job." Patton reassured, moving Logan down so he was lying on his lap. "I'm just trying to help, that's all I'm trying to do. But no one takes me seriously. How can I help or do anything useful when no one will listen to me?" Logan questioned, choking back tears. "It's ok to cry, Logan. Just let it all out." Patton encouraged. Logan bolted upright to hug Patton tightly, crying into his shoulder. Patton rubbed Logan's back as he returned the embrace. He hated seeing Logan like this. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Patton asked. "Honestly, I'm open to anything that might cheer me up." Logan confessed, his voice slightly muffled by Patton's shoulder. Patton thought very carefully about how to cheer up Logan when he remembered something. A game that he and Logan used to play to cheer each other up back in the day, before Thomas even knew their names. But first he had to make sure he wanted this. After all, it had been quite a while since they played this game and Logan became much more mature and serious since then.

"Remember that game we used to play when we were sad?" Patton asked. He could feel Logan faintly smile then suppress it. "You'll need to be more specific." he mumbled. "The "Me" game, silly. That always cheered you up. Wanna try?" Patton asked. Logan hesitantly nodded before lying down on the bed, his hands behind his head. "Okay, who wants to be tickled?" Patton teased, wiggling his fingers. Logan shut his eyes and didn't even fight his flustered smile. "Me." Logan blurted out with what little strength he had left. As soon as the word left his mouth, Patton spidered all ten of his fingers across Logan's belly which caused the usually stoic Side to burst into a fit of laughter. He couldn't even remember the last time he laughed like this. It felt good. "Aww, who's got a ticklish little tummy?" Patton cooed. "Mehehehehe! Hahahahaha!" Logan cackled, too lost in laughter to even care about how embarrassed he would usually feel about this.

"You certainly do, Logi-Bear!" Patton replied. Patton switched to skittering across Logan's ribs and he erupted into a fit of squeaky giggles. "Ehehehehehe! Hahahahaha!" Logan giggled. "Awww! Who's got the cutest little giggles?" Patton asked. "Hahahahaha! Mehehehehe!" Logan laughed. "Yes, you do, Logan. And who has ticklish ribs?" Patton cooed, poking and prodding each rib bone. "Ahahahahaha! Pahahattohohon!" Logan squealed. "Me? While I certainly agree with you, that's not how the game works. I ask questions and you always answer with the word "me", remember? After all, you made these rules yourself, Logan." Patton teased. Logan couldn't help but hide his face in embarrassment. It's true, he did make the rules. He actually invented this game, if you could even call it that, but it was usually Patton on the receiving end, although it wasn't exactly uncommon for him to be in this current position back in the early days.

"Now let's try that again. Who has ticklish ribs?" Patton asked. "Mehehehehe, mehehehe, it's mehehehehehe!" Logan squeaked. "That's right, you sure do!" Patton replied, smiling at the logical Side. He hasn't seen Logan this happy in a long time, it was good to see him smiling and laughing again. He was so caught up in taking in the view, he unknowingly stopped tickling and Logan's laughter died down. "Are we done?" Logan asked, disappointment trailed in his voice despite trying to hide it. "Hey, I'm asking the questions here, mister." Patton stated, tasing Logan's sides which caused him to let out a loud bark of surprised laughter. "Who's ticklish on his sides? Who's ticklish on his sides?" Patton teased as he kept going. "Mehehehehe! Hahahahahaha!" Logan cackled. "Yes you are, Logan." Patton said. He stopped before moving down to the end of the bed, taking off Logan's shoes but leaving the socks. It was a well known fact that Logan's worst tickle spot was his feet, so he had to make sure Logan was ok with this.

"You wanna keep going?" Patton offered. Logan hesitated before taking a deep breath and nodded, bracing himself for what's to come. Patton used one arm to keep Logan's ankles in a headlock and used his free hand to scribble all over both feet. Logan absolutely lost it. He was thrashing like crazy and shrieking with laughter so loud, Patton was tempted to cover his ears. "GAHAHAHAHAHA! OHOHOHOH MY GOHOHOHOD, PAHAHATTOHOHON!" Logan bellowed. "Wow, that's loud! I think somebody's ticklish on his feet. Who has ticklish little footsies?" Patton teased. "MEHEHEHEHE! AHAHAHAHAHA!" Logan guffawed. "You can say that again. And I bet you also have ticklish toes." Patton said as he started scratching under Logan's toes, making him go ballistic. Logan started banging his fists on the bed and attempted to kick Patton's hands away, but his grip was too strong. "PAHAHATTOHOHON, PLEHEHEASE STOHOHOHOP!" Logan shrieked. Patton immediately stopped and let go of Logan's ankles, the giggly Side curling in on himself.

"You ok, Logan?" Patton asked, concerned he might've gone too far. But Logan had never felt better. He was tired but happy. He couldn't stop smiling, he could still feel phantom tickles and was just overall feeling great. "Never been better." Logan reassured with a dopey grin, still slightly giggling. "Well, I'm glad you had fun." Patton said as he laid next to Logan for a cuddle. As they snuggled together, Logan finally got the remainder of his giggles out. "Thank you, Patton." Logan said. "I know you've been through a tough time lately, but I also know your time to shine is coming, Logan. And when that happens, everything will be ok. I know you're tired of waiting, but it will pay off. I promise." Patton reassured, running his fingers through Logan's hair. Logan smiled and relaxed into Patton's embrace. "Patton?" Logan questioned. "Yeah?" Patton responded. "I'm not usually good at saying this, but...I love you." Logan said. "I love you too, Logan." Patton replied, kissing his head. The two enjoyed their much needed moment of peace and happiness, feeling a sense of calmness the Mind Palace had lacked for a while now.

[nandysparadox]

song for the restless

Words: 1050

Pairing: Roman & Youngblood (wrote it as platonic, but if you interpret it in other ways that's cool)

cw: a bit of swearing

Youngblood felt like ripping his hair out. They had been searching through every inch of this damned barn and yet there was no sight of Fast Timmy, his crew, the nail, the honey, or the goddamned sword!  And it wasn't like they hadn't checked for all possible secret passageways, and guess what? Absolutely nothing.

He paced through the barn, boots hitting hard against the ground as he pressed the bottom of his palms to his eyes.

Roman, who stood in the middle of the place as if he was lost, simply hummed.

"Maybe we should rest for a bit.  I don't mean to offend but you're looking a little... stressed out," said Roman, as he fiddled with the band of his messenger bag.

Youngblood would comment on how that was certainly an understatement, but he couldn't help but stare at the other, completely baffled. Why wasn't Roman stressed out? It wasn't even his own quest and he felt like throwing something.

"You got your sword - a literal family heirloom - stolen, and you're worried about me being stressed out?"

"I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm thinking about the sword," Roman waved him off "But it's not here for me to worry about it right now, you are."

Youngblood blinked. That was a sweet sentiment, sure, but it did make him concerned about Roman's sense of object permanence for a moment.

However, he did have a point - somewhat. Losing his cool probably wouldn't help them at the moment - as it was more likely to make him miss more clues than anything else - so it was in Youngblood's best interest to calm down, he supposed.

He slid down to the floor, splaying his hands against the ground. Youngblood raised an eyebrow as Roman followed suit, moving to sit near him.

Youngblood tried to push the thoughts off his mind and relax. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Though, after a second, he couldn't help but tap his fingers against the ground, the complete silence made him restless.

Soon enough, his fingers started moving in their own rhythm, transforming the clicking into a beat. The tension bled from his shoulders as he let the rhythm take him away. He took advantage of the different parts of the wooden planks - the side, the center - to give the taps different pitches.

Before he could even notice, Youngblood sang under his breath, harmonizing with the melody he played on wood, voice carrying whatever worries he had left on his mind.

"You're doing the thing again," said Roman.

Youngblood opened his eyes, cutting off the song as he stilled his fingers. "What thing?"

"You know-" Roman gestured. "-the noise."

"Singing?"

"...Singing," said Roman, as if testing out the word. "Yes, that, you did it again."

It was astounding how Roman managed to throw him off the loop every single time. Either he was just incredibly committed to this bit or somehow he's actually gone his whole life not knowing what singing is. He never heard anyone sing? Ever? How did that even happen?

"Uh I mean yeah," Youngblood picked at the edges of his sleeves. "You seriously don't know what singing is? Like no one ever sang to you, not as a lullaby or on your birthday or in general?"

Roman tilted his head. "No? No one's ever made a noise like that to me."

Youngblood sighed. "Oh boy, okay uh do you know what music is?"

Roman lit up. "Oh, I know! Father had a lute, he tried to show me how to play when I was younger but it didn't go very well," He scratched at his cheek.

"Good, so you know how there's a lot of different instruments you play with?" asked Youngblood.

Roman nodded. Alright, so the metaphor would go somewhere. Youngblood didn't expect having to explain the basic concept of singing to someone when he woke up today but here he is.

"Basically you could say that singing is just like music, except that the instrument you play with is your voice."

"Oh," said Roman, "Oh! That really was what you were doing! Music... You were even tapping on the floor too." He leaned in closer. "How do you do it?"

Youngblood backed away. "I'm not sure how to explain it," He rubbed his neck. "Well, you could try humming first?" Roman simply tilted his head. "Uh, you know what, just copy me."

Youngblood began to hum lowly, he held a single note so Roman could follow. Roman did the same, though he struggled to hold it without wavering. When the other got the gist of it, Youngblood turned it into a little tune, nothing complicated, with a few tries, Roman managed to copy him.

"Wow!" said Roman, raising a hand to his throat.

"Yeah, that's about it," Youngblood shifted his weight to the side. "Now see if you can do the same, but with your mouth open."

As a demonstration, Youngblood sang to the same tune as before, a simple "ah" sound.

Roman's voice cracked as he carried the melody, but once he could hold a note, he was able to follow along with the tune, even if he had some issues getting the pitch right.

His voice was higher than his own, despite the wavering it sounded...sweet? Like the songbird he heard around his camp. It was nice to listen to.

Roman clapped his hands, a huge grin spreading across his face. "Oh, this is fun! Did I do good?"

"Yeah," said Youngblood, "That's was pretty good, especially since you're a beginner and all,"

Roman smiled, setting his hands on his lap. He was quiet for a moment, before speaking up.

"Can you-" He paused. "sing again? I'd like to listen, it sounds... pretty."

"Oh, I-" Youngblood looked away, wringing his hands together. He wasn't used to singing for people. "Sure, just uh need a moment."

He cleared his throat, closing his eyes as he began to carry out a wordless melody. Youngblood tried to forget Roman was listening, but he caved to curiosity, opening one eye.

Roman stared at him with stars in his eyes, light reflecting off the brown tones. Before he could even think to comment on that, however, they were both startled by a sudden noise behind them.

The haystack caught on fire.

Goddamnit.

[dreamiesdotcom]

celestial | h.rj

Summary: To attribute full sight and still have the ability to describe things to someone who's never seen them means that you've felt the world deeper than anybody else.

Word count: 2164

a/n: idk whats up with me and midnights

Renjun's first question goes like this: "What does the pool look like?"

Naturally, Jeno panics; how do you explain a pool to someone who's never seen it? He's been so used to seeing it on a daily that he didn't even pay mind to the details. He debates on describing a rectangle, and then describing the waters, and then whatever the hell his 12-year-old mind could come up with. Naturally, he fails.

For him, you saved everything that day. You grabbed Renjun's hand, intertwining your fingers before grazing the water. "Do you feel that?"

"What exactly am I supposed to feel?"

"The water. Do you feel that constant flow and the relaxing cold?" you laughed then, patient even for the moody boy. He huffs out his cheeks and nods, you let go of his hands. "That's blue, Renjun. The water reflects the sky, and a pool is like a little ocean. An ocean is like a world filled with blue."

He tries to think of it, vast and endless fields of freedom. He couldn't, though; all he's known about the sky is that it was blue, and that blue is associated with sadness. He takes advantage of the fact that someone's willing to answer his question, and he asks again, "Is it scary?"

"Mhm, for some, it is. I'll let you in a secret, come here." You nod, and then he tilts his head to the side. He hears a splash, and doesn't expect it once he hears your voice after — "I'm actually scared of swimming pools."

"Didn't you just go in?"

"No, that was Jeno. I'm here." You poked a finger on his left arm, and he could tell you're wearing that cheeky grin. His stance softens. "I'm just beside you."

###

It was morning, the sun was shining and the scorching summer heat was kinder than everyone expected it to be. Somewhere around the room, Chenle and Jisung successfully trapped a sleeping Jaemin in a domino prison, Jeno's trying to convince them why this is such a bad idea and Mark is getting scolded by Hyuck. The TV fades to background noise, the plan of cooking extra pancakes long forgotten. Renjun leans his head on your shoulders, "What does the night look like?"

It felt like an odd question to ask as the sun is halfway to its peak, but Renjun's curiosity piques in no time. You hum for a bit to think, "The night is very different to a lot of people."

Very different for a lot of people... yeah, many things in the world are like that. He figured it out years ago when you told him about the swimming pools, and the airplanes, and the rollercoasters. He figured it out when you talked to him about books, when you taught him about colors, about shapes.

He still doesn't know what different looks like, and what importance it holds.

"Hyuck loves the night. You hear his laughter, right? He likes going on adventures and feeling the wind. I think, to him, the night looks like a harsh passing of the breeze you felt when we went out on a drive." He takes in your words. These days, he gets better with understanding metaphors — he learned that blue is not just a shade of sadness, and that sky doesn't always mean blue — he understands your words better. "But me... I just sleep. I don't like the night very much."

"Huh?"

"Have you ever been in a silent place, Jun?" you asked softly. "Not the silence you can fill with music. I'm talking about blank, emotionless silence; the one that echoes. The one that haunts you. The one that makes you feel alone. That's what the night looks like for me."

Renjun wanted to nod, and he wanted to say yes because he's been in that silent place for the longest time. It's all he's ever known, and it's all that he's ever seen; it's the only thing he sees — black, echoing, loud nothingness.

He didn't, though.

Instead, he asks a question, "What do you think about the night?"

"I think it's a question." comes quickly in a reply. "I still don't know how a nightmare town gives life to dreamers, but it does. It's a question I do not want to know the answer to."

Renjun knows of the stars and the sky, and you'd tried to explain their light by telling him what blinding comfort was — think of all your loneliest moments being washed away by the fire I told you about, and that's pretty much it, 'jun — and he knows of the big, gazing moon that changes shape now and then. It's what makes up most of the night, Jeno had said, so he knows that too.

What he doesn't know is why it seems so vicious to you, and what he doesn't know is that if he could see, would he have chosen to close his eyes to not witness such complex sadness.

###

It's at times like this when solace blooms in his heart. The rest of the world seems to be fast asleep, but he's so awake, so aware, so alive. You sit beside him, yet again brought him to the place you and Jaemin frequents in, and he ignores the jealous feeling in his chest. It's at times like this that Renjun realizes he's falling.

"Your smile must look beautiful," he wonders out loud. "Can you please tell me how your smile looks like?"

"Me?" You replied nonchalantly. Your chuckle passes as cold as the night breeze, and he wonders how the poet would write themselves as poetry. The blankness of your words dulls the hope in his eyes, "I... don't like it. My eyes... they always look tired. I always look tired. I hate myself."

For a moment, he dwells on his thoughts — Jaemin's brought you here, and you're more frequent here together, and he's seen how you looked against the glimmering stars. Did he fall in love? Did he want to keep you all to himself, like a little secret? Did he want to kiss you until all spite of yourself vanishes from your soul? Jaemin must've, Renjun knows. He knows because even blind, he's aware of how beautiful you truly are; not only he's heard it from his friends, but he feels it strongly. He couldn't see the city lights that he's heard of so many times, but he knows you shine brighter than them.

Hell, he couldn't even see you — he couldn't even see anything, but he knows you do. He knows you are. You think he's wrong, that he's more gorgeous, but he reaches for your hands.

He doesn't know what beautiful looks like. He just knows that it's breath-taking, soul-stealing, ethereal, and you.

"I think you smile like euphoria. I think you smile like the sound of music boxes, those with lovely tunes," he says, eyes closed and breathing fast. "I think... "

'I love you.' oh, how he wished it's easy to say those words. He purses his lips. "...you're one of the most beautiful people I've ever met, right next to my mother."

Beside him, you chuckled and held his hands. "You're sleepy."

"I am. Right now, I'm sleepy and I know you're beautiful." He squeezes your hands, looking at the direction he knows you're at. He lets out a shaky smile, "Tomorrow, I will be wide awake and I'd still think you're stunning."

It's at times like this that Renjun realizes he's falling. It's at times like this that he fears how much he can't wait to crash.

###

Renjun's biggest fear among many is that he'll never feel like this again.

He fell too hard. He fell too quickly and too harshly and he's only noticing it now when the impact makes itself known and he couldn't stand up. He knew that he was scared, he knew that he was afraid then, but only now did he know what it truly meant to be terrified; when he's sitting beside you on the roof, feeling the wind pass by, and he couldn't help but wonder what if it's not us, but I can never love the person meant for me because they're not you?

It's a silly thing, maybe. He did not believe in many things and fate is not one of the few he believed in. He thinks that love is something you choose for yourself — it's something you decide on your own. He thinks that the only problem in 'not being made for each other' is that you relied too much on what the stars wrote, and didn't write your story on your own. What even are these stars, aside from unknown giant speckles of light? Why should they decide someone's life?

He adores them, he knows, and now he can't help his curiosity: "How do the stars look like tonight?"

"They're bright. Very bright."

He swoons at the content sigh you let out before speaking, and he lets himself indulge. It's at moments like this when he lets himself feel, where he relishes in the adoration he nestles.

"They ought to be," he whispers to himself. "They gotta be bright if they're trying to outshine you."

Giggles fades to laughter, and genuine words burn forced. He could almost taste the bitterness of your words, "You haven't seen me."

Does he need to?

"I don't need to," he concludes. "There's so much more to you than what I couldn't see."

Because it's true. All those years you held this something in you, a piece of an old soul and an unknown heavenly something you ignored just so you could spite yourself. You had this way with words, this certain understanding of the world that he's never found in someone else. Renjun thinks that to attribute full sight and still have the ability to describe things to someone who's never seen them means that you've felt the world deeper than anybody else, and to know that the world is cruel but still choose to keep your eyes open is something that should be admired.

Right now, you're the closest to him you've ever been, and he bathes in the feeling of your lips hovering above his.

"I'm a mess, Huang Renjun."

"You're an art in progress," he whispers back, eyes fluttering shut as you close what little distance you have left. "But even half-made, you're a masterpiece."

###

If somebody asked Renjun if he ever saw this coming, he'd say "Why the fuck would you even ask me that question?"

Alright, jokes aside, never in his mind did he think life would turn out this way. First of all, a lot of unexpected things have already happened, but he's stubborn so of course, that doesn't convince him. He should've felt it coming, but of course, he refused to. After all, why would he even think of his best friend laying beside him on his bed, talking about random things all night in every way domestic? Why would he even think of you two being together, whispering sweet nothings to each other? He's guilty of doing those, yes, but that doesn't mean that he knows the answer. In a spur of the moment decision, he asks another question — "Why'd you choose me?"

"You're the only one who wanted me—IT'S A JOKE! Hey, hey, I was only kidding," you laugh, finding so many things entertaining about the fact that he's unamused. He preens at the soft kiss you placed on the edge of his lips, and then even more when you whisper, "You're the only one I wanted."

Normally, this is where his heart would do those weird flips and antics. This is the time where he'd feel like he's in another world, like he's invincible and oh so lucky to be thoroughly adored by the person he loves so much.

It's only that sometimes, Renjun feels unreasonable. He's sensitive and insecure and it's so much easier to find flaws in himself than to appreciate the things that made him who he is. Sometimes, he needs to ask some things he's not exactly sure of, things much like: "Even with... even with my eyes... like this?"

And it's you, and it's never dull when it's with you, everything is always beautiful and poetic. He doesn't know where that voice was coming from, but he hears it in his mind, and it tells him to trust you.

A butterfly kiss on each of his eyelids. A hand warm on the top of his hands. The rain pours heavily outside but it's muffled enough that it's calming, and all that he can think of is warm, so warm, so loved. You hold your foreheads close and keep them close for seconds, before you press a soft kiss on his lips, "Your eyes are beautiful, my love."

And for once, Renjun's not afraid to ask — "How do they look like?"

Beautiful and so much more.

"As if something straight out of a magical dream, because you are. You are magical," you whisper, breathing in slow intervals. "You are the closest to celestial a human could be."

[jamiesfootball]

🌀 and ☔️ back at you!

🌀Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet. It can be hypothetical or something you really plan on releasing

I have decided to cheat! Here is a snippet from a fic that's so far away from being written it'll likely never see the sun, but it lives in my head.

From the Roy-Jamie-Keeley qpr where Keeley is poly and Jamie is aromantic and Roy has a lot of things bookmarked on his laptop:

Roy repeated, "The bar. It's on the floor." Jamie looked more confused. He shook his head, almost frantic with it now as the metaphors kept rolling out. "Look, I know it's a lot, but I was hoping maybe we could start there. Maybe. It's fine if we can't, I can move it if it's a problem. But just -- don't kick the bar. A lot of people kick it on accident, and some of them kick it on purpose because they don't think its fair that it should be there at all. So. Yeah. Don't. Don't do that." Help him if he ever met whichever teacher had taught Jamie metaphors in school. Roy said, "I love this bar." "What?" "Yeah. I love this bar. This is my favorite bar. I think it looks perfect where it is. In fact, I think we should redecorate the whole room around the bar. For feng shui and shit, so everything flows right. And we should make sure it has space, so if the bar ever wants to move -- wants to go higher or lower or just wants to sit out on the patio for a bit -- it can do that without ever being worried that someone is going to kick the fucking bar."

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

And here's a snippet from the Ted Lasso Leverage AU that I'm definitely not writing anytime soon (trigger warning for threats of gun violence, descriptions of regular violence, James Tartt Sr, etc, all below the cut for safe keeping):

"Or what, Junior?" he asked derisively, prodding Jamie's head with the gun. Roy's heart kicked in his chest. James still had the the finger on the trigger. He did it again, knocking the loaded barrel against Jamie's head as if he were using his hand to push him around. Everybody had a limit. Roy's was approaching with a speed that tunneled his sight down to the vision of breaking every bone in that hand. One by one. If he grit his teeth any harder, they were going to pop out of his skull. "Quit waving that thing around," he growled. Behind his back, the razor sawed away at the ropes, slipping in his grasp. Probably nicked himself. He couldn't feel it. James Tartt reeled back from his son with a mocking grin. Partially obscured behind the clot of his father, Jamie slumped against his ropes. "Oh, what, you mean like this? Huh?" He tapped the gun against Jamie's head, laughing dryly when Jamie flinched back. The gun went tap-tap-tap, each strike chipping the color out of Jamie's cheeks until he sat there, his expression gone flat and lifeless with bland disinterest as the the gunsight caught in his hair. Forget bones, Roy was going to kill him. Then he was going to pry each bone out of his lifeless hand and shove them down his throat.

[nolanhollogay]

❝ do you want some? ❞ + your choice!

introducing ant's new non band bestie!!!

also tw for mentioned underage drug use

also this got long so under the cut !

-

Lying in the back of Monty's ugly teal Volkswagen camper, on the shitty yard sale mattress made Ant understand the true meaning of friendship.

Don't get him wrong, Ant loved his friends. More than life itself. He'd die for them and all that. Blah blah blah. But the band was a unit, a bubble he could never quite break through. And that was fine.

But it was nice to not have to go through three people when he wanted to hang out with someone. It was nice to have something that was completely his own.

"How've you been Bambi? It's been, like, what? Six months?" Monty asked. He was sitting next to Ant - who was star-fished on the mattress - with his arms wrapped around his knees, smiling down at him. His blonde hair was a bit longer than when Ant saw him last, but his blue eyes were just as warm and kind.

Ant smiled. "Seven and a half. And I'm good. Missed you."

"Oh, you softie," Monty teased. "It's good to be back."

"Why are you back though?" Ant asked, turning to face him. "I thought Diet Soda was on tour until October? It's only July."

"Thank you for explaining how the months work, sweet cheeks," Monty said, and Ant rolled his eyes. "Tour got cut short cause Paul knocked up a groupie and he wants to, like, not be a shit dad."

"Jesus Christ," Ant said, unable to do anything but laugh. "Good for him. I think."

Monty nodded. "Yeah, we're all very excited. Baby shower's in a week. You're invited, of course."

Ant grinned.

"Now, c'mon, stop holding out on me. How's your band? How's our good friend, Reggie?" As he talked, Monty reached above his head into a compartment and pulled out what looked like a jewelry box.

Ant sat up, watching as he pulled out tiny squares of what looked like tissue paper. "What's that?"

"Acid, babe," Monty said, sticking a piece of it to his pointer finger. "Do you want some?"

"Uhh, maybe?" The only drug Ant ever had was alcohol. Mostly because he couldn't get his hands on anything else but that was neither here nor there. "What's it do?"

Monty smiled at him, always pleased when he knew something Ant didn’t. "It’s a psychedelic, a hallucinogen. D’ya know what that means?”

Ant scoffed. “Yes, dickhead. It makes you see shit.”

“It distorts reality,” Monty clarified. “It’s cool as fuck. And I, being the generous and loving best friend that I am, will give you some-”

“Sick.”

“-if, and only if, you spill your guts on the Reggie situation. Is he the one that gave you that gnarly looking hickey on your collarbone?”

Ant groaned, flopping back onto the bed. He lied earlier. He hated Monty.

Monty laughed and poked him in the ribs. “C’mon, fess up. Did you finally get your shit together?”

“We may have had a situation on the 4th..” Ant covered his face in embarrassment, blushing at the memory.

Monty shrieked, jumping on top of him. “God bless America! Tell me what happened! Set the scene! We’re their metaphorical fireworks? Did you do it under the real fireworks?”

Ant laughed, pushing him off. Monty kept their legs tangled because he was just as clingy as Ant was. “No, shut up. We just kissed. It was whatever.”

Monty honest to God cackled. “Nothing is ever whatever with you two. I bet you cried.”

“I did not cry!” Ant shouted, kicking him in the shin.

Monty laughed and kissed his temple. “Ok, fine. You didn’t cry. But you didn’t explain the hickey. You’re not getting this acid until you tell me everything.”

“You’re the nosiest motherfucker in the world,” Ant complained. “It’s from last night."

Monty screamed loud enough that everyone on the block had to have heard him. “You little whore! I’m so proud of you!”

[freddiefcknmercury]

A Promise(part 2)- Crimson & Clover

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader(Black coded/Genderless)

Word Count: 2.7+

Warnings/Disclaimer: SMUT. ANGST. cursing. mild depression/heart-ache. etc etc. if something needs to be tagged please lemme know.

A/N: LOL I'm back on my bullshit yall. heavy angst/depression from the previous Steve centered storyline so if you haven't read "You really think I didn't know?" I'll do some magic linky links here and at the bottom just in case. Also I'm trying something kinda different with the way I post the fics so feedback is welcome.

ALSO this one comes with a tiny playlist! there are Bolded lyrics throughout if you want to get a deeper sense of where I was emotionally writing this and where reader is as well you can Def give these songs a listen, they are in order of appearance:

Crimson & Clover- Tommy James & The Shondells

Every Time I Breathe- Arlissa

Navy Blue - Hasani

Summary: Bucky takes an extended leave for "work" related reasons and reader slips back into some dark places in his absence...

~*As always, be Nice to me I’m Delicate*~

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He said he might be gone most of the week. Sam called the day before and all you know is it's something important. He didn't go into detail, just packed a bag and you'd never seen him do that before. But he was also only gone a day or two at a time and never felt the need to tell you about it before now either.

Up until recently you'd tip-toe around each other. Not like you used to with Steve though, worse. Bucky is a lot better at making sure you don't know he's there until it's too late. It felt like you'd never get used to each other, or more likely that you'd never want to. You might've still been secretly hoping that he'd stop caring and go away... after a while you got tired of your own bullshit and realized he's giving off that vibe on purpose. Wordlessly telling you how you should feel about him, not wanting to get too close. You never much liked being told what to do.

It was only about two months before you became a Barnes' expert. You'd sit up at night listening intently for when he'd shower, get in bed, or wake up. He never slept more than five maybe six hours at a time, you'll never understand how he can function like that. You know how he likes his coffee, which angle he holds his cup. How and where he takes off his shoes, how much ice he puts in a drink, the way he likes to cut his toast, and what time he has to do all of it. There's an almost unnerving pattern to him, one that's always been there and you were just unwilling to notice for so long, and you're not sure if he's even aware of it.

You woke up to him already gone. You knew he was leaving but actually being left alone like that unsettled you more than you anticipated, a serious case of Deja vu. You went into your routine like normal, because everything still was, but by the fifth day... you stepped into the front room and got that empty feeling. One you hadn't really had since...

It stopped you for a few seconds longer than you liked and a large knot formed in your stomach. You spent the whole day trying to ignore the feeling but it only got worse. Like a hunger pain but much more vague, crawling through each muscle. You'd catch yourself staring at his room, Bucky's room but also... Steve's. It's the first time you let yourself admit to him fully crossing your mind in over a year.

You laid up in bed, trying to count the metaphorical sheep to no avail. Getting up thinking that a snack or a warm drink will stop the restlessness, you pause in the tiny hallway shared by your bedrooms. The low blue light from the moon outside dustily illuminating the space through  a cloudy bathroom window. You stare at the door like any second he's going to ask what you're doing up so late and you can tell him to mind his own business while pouring two cups of tea.

You just wanted to touch the knob; turn it to make sure it still works- that you're still "allowed in there if you want". But stepping inside was too far, an invasion of Bucky's privacy, and you felt it. But you couldn't help yourself. You needed to know.

They were definitely cut from the same cloth. Sparse furnishings and no decorations, save a few very small trinkets he'd held onto from who knows where. There is exactly one row on his bookshelf filled with composition notebooks that were beat to hell and back. Sticky notes lined the edge of most of the pages, so much so that they easily could've been mistaken for feathers on a quick glance. You dare not touch them. Observing someone with a past that checkered is very different to reading into the things they deem worthy of physically writing down.

Where Steve used to leave small drawings and notes Bucky left half empty ink pens and a few well used pairs of gloves. You saunter to the far corner of the room and caress a worn leather jacket hanging precariously on the lowest peg of a coat rack. Doing a slow sweep of the space something in the otherwise barren closet catches your eye. The knot in your stomach that had almost disappeared was back and it brought friends. Your shirt. His shirt. The big one that said BROOKLYN across the front, what you didn't know was your "going away gift." The one you balled up and shoved in the top corner of his closet, at the time hoping you'd never look at it again. You're amazed that it's still here, that Bucky hadn't tossed it out or tried to give it back to you when he moved in.

So you put it on. You're still not sure why but you needed to wear it. To feel it drape over your skin, enveloping you in warmth and that beautiful clean familiar scent you... loved once. It sent a shiver down your spine. The knots in your stomach were gone but now there's one in your throat. You can feel the tears seated right behind your eyes. You sit on the bed holding your face pleading with the water to stay put but it's too late. You miss him. You hate to admit it, but it's true and it always has been. You're angry and you should be, you loved him- you thought he might've loved you. Pulling the hem of the shirt up you wipe the tears off your face and fall into a pillow, trying to calm yourself out of your rage unintentionally drifting into sleep.

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

You wake up to the sound of music in the kitchen.

...Ah, now I don't hardly know her, but I think I could love her...

You sit up quickly checking your phone: 11:34am. You'd fallen asleep in Bucky's room, in his bed. A blanket had been placed over you and a short scan of the room returned a brown leather duffel bag and set of black boots that weren't present last night. He'd come back early this morning and found you here. You can feel your heart fall straight out of your ass, the void that was left being filled with pure embarrassment. Is he angry? He did tuck you in...

As slowly and quietly as possible you make your way towards the door, poking your head out just enough to assess the situation. You can see his back in the kitchen, he's hovering over the sink. You notice the couch, the spare blanket and pillow from the bathroom closet folded neatly on one of the arm rests, he had to sleep there. The void gets deeper. You pull the door open just enough to slip out of and there's a quiet creak. Steve never did fix that, and you just figured out why.

Bucky didn't turn around but definitely noticed. He steps to the side, now in front of the stove and you here something crack and sizzle. You're not sure what to do here. You can try to apologies and explain but there's no un-embarrassing way out of this one. You fold your arms over your stomach trying to hold all your very delicate pieces together while you attempt to speak up. Finally reaching the bar and fully prepared to say good morning when he quickly sets a hot bowl down in front of you. White rice and a fried egg- runny yolk. You'd make it for breakfast when you'd get up early or couldn't sleep, a friend from school put you on to it. Looks like he's been studying you too. You make eye contact but, just briefly. From what little of the expression you get on his face nothing indicates that he's mad. But he hasn't said anything to the contrary either.

How was your trip?  Dangerous I bet-sorry you couldn't come home and sleep in your own goddamn bed! Oh?! AND you made me breakfast!

You feel like a crazy person.

"Comfy last night?"

He's pouring himself some coffee, not yet turning your way. There's no hostility in his voice.

You chuckle nervously.

"Yeah.. sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it."

He sets a small glass of juice down in front of you. Heavy eye contact this time, but his expression is soft. He didn't ask for an explanation and you really didn't want to give him one. But you still feel guilt looming over you. You take the glass in both hands and nurse it.

He nods at you with a squint, taking a big sip of coffee.

"If I knew that was yours I would've given it back."

The shirt. You forgot you actually put it on. You hold your breath stroking the fabric gently. Contemplating your next words.

"It's not- well, not really."

He raises an eyebrow.

"It was a gift, so I guess it does belong to me..."

Glancing back down at it you can see him realize it says "Brooklyn." His expression changes to a knowing one and it reads like regret but he quickly tries to box it back up for you. This is a new move for him.

There's a much longer pause in conversation than either of you would like before he shifts his weight awkwardly.

"Sorry."

You push glass, now empty back across the bar towards him.

"Don't worry about it-"

You swivel in your seat quickly, taking your bowl and getting up to leave. He steps out from the kitchen after you.

"Thanks for breakfast."

The tears had been welling up and started to pour over as you left. You're still in no state to pretend to be a functioning person right now. Trying to save him from your ugly cry face by escaping but he grabs your shoulder gently suggesting you backwards.

You cover your mouth to hush a sob. You can see your chest start heave but there's nothing you can do to stop yourself. He grabs the bowl setting it down carefully, then you feel a warm metal sensation squeezing the back of your neck.

"You don't have to be over it."

He's been back a couple hours and already knows you're still a mess. You scoff, laughing at yourself really.

"What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing."

He whispered back quickly, exasperated, but tender.

You sniffle; pathetic.

"That's not how it feels."

"He fucked up. He just doesn't know it."

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders pulling you into his embrace.

It's nice to feel another person. A real solid human being; you can't remember the last time you hugged someone like this. You turn in his arms to face him. He looks tired. Not just 'had-to-sleep-on-an-old-couch' tired. Emotionally repressed. Maybe he has actually wanted to talk to you. He pulls you into him, it's just a hug  but it almost hurt how sweet this was.

Then a thought came to you, not really sure how, you can't handle more rejection right now; but you kissed him anyway, hard. Like him being gone almost killed you- because it did. He pulls away from you, just a little, reading your face his own expressionless. You search his eyes for any kind of hint as to what's going on inside his mind. You're not ready to admit this was a mistake yet. There's no real way to know how long you stood there like that. You only dare to move after you hear the song change in the background.

Words... thought they just fade away

but hurt... gave them a place to stay

"Do something."

You were sure it was just in your head but it creaked out past your lips in less than a whisper, pleading with him.

He covered your mouth with his, smoothing both hands down your neck to your shoulders gripping them gently, intently. You cling to his waist almost afraid to explore anywhere else, then slowly drag nails along his back. He pulls you back into him, you want to fuse with the warmth radiating off of his body, he bends and you collide onto the floor with a muffled thud. He cradles your head quickly so you don't get hurt but you wouldn't care at this point.

The way you fit into each other is unnerving, like your bodies weren't meant for anybody else. You both scramble to undress him in between breathy wet kisses and he's... magnificent. He pulls off his shirt and you swiftly run fingers from his neck down each arm. The metal one is warm, this surprises you for some reason. You watch as each "muscle" dances at your touch and you catch a small glimpse of something on his face that resembles insecurity... or fear. He shelves it quickly in response to you bucking your hips up to dismiss your underwear.

He buries his face in your neck, warm breaths ghosting your skin. Hooking his hands behind your knees he hoists your legs up around his waist. He bites down gently and you gasp. It's too much. He's everywhere, all at once. The last person to touch you event remotely close to this was-

"...Steve."

It just came out, you almost didn't notice it. Bucky stops, pulling back and away. He scans you, a pitiful, panting mess on the floor. The most vulnerable you've probably ever been and definitely in front of him. He shakes his head slowly once, chest heaving.

"No."

Knots line your stomach once again. He grabs your wrist to hold your arms in place up above your head and presses his forehead against yours.

"Look at me."

You hold eye contact there for a solid minute, you're sure of it. He leans forward delicately dragging teeth against your ear.

"You're gonna keep saying it until you can't forget."

He drops his hips and lines up with your entrance. You feel a thick wash of euphoria from the pressure, throwing your head back as much as possible given the floor. You roll your hips along to his, cradling each other perfectly.

His eyes didn't leave your face until you both feel your legs begin to tremble.

"Oh Bucky."

The only words you can remember.

You feel every stroke hasten and all his muscles tighten each time his name falls from your lips. He pulls your shirt up to your neck looking to spatter kisses and bite marks across your torso. You futilely dig one set of nails into the floor and the other in his shoulder as he hungrily growls into your stomach, cursing, longing for mercy.

"Fuck."

You pull him back up to your face demanding his tongue. You hear the floorboard creek from the pressure of a metal hand, the flesh one surely bruising your hip by now. There's a deep enduring moan from the back of his throat as he finds his release inside you. You gasp at the sensation and you both pant into each other, nothing but a mess on the floor now.

He presses a long, firm kiss into the bridge of your nose then falls gently on his back beside you. You roll your head up to look at his face, whatever it is he's feeling isn't immediately obvious as he stares up at the ceiling. You shift onto your side placing a light, cautious hand on his chest and he glances over at you, reaching to squeeze your thigh reassuringly.

The sky is Navy Blue soon to be baby blue and baby you got nothing but time...

He looks over your face in a deep sigh before retiring his gaze to the ceiling.

"I don't know him... The guy that left you like that."

You watch intently has his jaw clenched, he's never been able to hide that bit very well.

"I don't know what kind of..."

He trails off, clearly upset.

You sigh deeply.

"I was gonna die that night."

He rolls his head back to look at you.

"The day I met him? I had pretty much made up my mind."

You start to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. Almost reminiscent.

"But he found me in the staircase..."

You hate how subtly he did some things. If you weren't lying next to him. There's no way you'd ever be able to tell his breathing had changed.

"Essentially-"

You pick your head up, chin on his sternum.

"He saved my life."

You state matter of factually. You watch his body relax in a short, bitter way.

He rolls his head over just enough to look you in the eyes. You kiss his chest once tenderly before moving to stand up. You extend a hand down for him to grab.

"That isn't good for your back."

"You really think I didn't know?" Part1