#obviously this is an exaggeration but like. is it?
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Tomiko Moriyama (she/they) as my entry for the Total Drama Sims season 3 by @jonquilyst!! (thanks for letting me participate <3)
also huge wall of slightly amusing text below the cut (you've been warned!) cause i was caffeinated and ended up having some fun with this ৻( âąÌ á âąÌ ৻)
đ© Age: 14 đȘ Lives in: Strangerville đ Goals in life: to open a bug museum đ Orientation: thinks girls are cute, but doesn't want to waste their short teen years chasing them around (that's what the 20's are for!) đ¶ Hidden talent: encyclopedic knowledge of kpop girl group's songs and dances đ„ Honorable titles: -> 'Mighty Collector of the Fun Hats' -> 'Prestigious Ambassador' at the ''International Bug Diplomacy Federation'' (only actual human member, but it'll grow, just wait!) đLikes: iridescent beetles / cut rock hard candy / slippery mud you can draw on / putting googly eyes on random things đ Dislikes: homework / cleaning things that'll get dirty again / humans evil bug killing inventions (unless it's a laser shooting death ray gun for mosquitoes, cause yeah, even a bug loving girl hates those bastards!)
[RECORD 434, another sunny day in strange Strangerville]
đŽ ⶠâąáá||á|á||||áâââââá|âą
(sound of someone clearing their throat, followed by what's obviously a kid trying to speak in an exaggerated deep voice)
Tomiko: "Tomiko is a girl who didn't need a home with walls or windows - the roof to her 'home' has always been the sky above." (pauses, mutters to themselves) Ooh that's a good one! Wait, people will think i live in the woods, no? Wouldn't that be the dreamâŠ
(moment of silence as Tomiko daydreams, then remembers she just started recording)
"Tomiko doesn't have many friends, because she was destined to be a free-spirited loner. With the exception of Clarisse, a girl who dreams ofbecoming a marine biologist. Clarisse was made fun of by strangers on a dumb internet show she went to one day, all because she wanted to win the money and go on a trip to Sulani. Now everyone calls her the 'Dolphin Girl'. After Tomiko decided to console her at lunch in school, both of them ended up bonding over their crazy obssession with nature. They've been inseparable friends ever since."
(another pause, followed by an audible sigh)
"Well, they were inseparable, until Tomiko moved away. Now Clarisse is being weird for no reason... anyways, where was i?
(forgets why they went on a Clarisse tangent and starts to fumble with their unorganized notes)
"Oh yes, destined to be a free-spirited loner, ya-da ya-da. Unfortunately, Tomiko was forced to live in a boring house made of bricks, with white furniture, and a mom who was always mad about her muddy boots on the carpet."
(voice shifts to mimic the mom's screech)
- I'm not gonna raise a savage wild child! Since you love dirt so much, go live with your bum of a father in that Strangerplace world, or whatever it's called.
"Best thing to ever happen to me!" (voice switches to normal accidentally, then goes back to the fake deep one) - I mean - best thing to ever happen to Tomiko! Even though her dad looks kinda weird lately, walking around aimlessly at night in search of his mother. Classic dad, being a weirdo. No idea how this man got married..."
- Dad, I told you grandma still lives in Willow Creek. Why do you think she's in the middle of the desert? Also, she wouldn't be caught dead wasting away her fabulous heels in this god-forsaken place.
"Tomiko pretends she doesn't see it, because now she can do whatever she wants, why complicate things? The only problem is, there isn't much to do in Strangerville with the infection rumors going on, and all the damn sus soldiers. Also, the taste of travelling for the first time has left her wanting to see more. Imagine all the bugs she could find?! But you need money for that, sooo⊠what to do, what to doâŠ"
(voice returns to normal, a bit defensive)
"Okay, fine, I'm the one recording this⊠(sighs) I know what you're thinking - "just steal from your dad!". Seriously, who do you think I am? Anyways, I did something else instead. I heard there's this competition with other teens where you get to travel the world, and guess what? I signed up for it! Without my parents knowing, of course, but that is irrelevant. They won't even notice I'm gone, I fear. I just hope the organizers don't ask for their permission, because Clarisse was the one who knew how to fake signatures, but now she's hanging out with other kids at school, and thinks she's better than me."
(inhales, then proceeds to speak loudly at a wall, probably)
"Like... Nina? The enemy? Be so for real right now Clarisse! My life is just grand without you! I'll get to travel the world and educate people on how bugs are friends, and definitely NOT disgusting or too dangerous! Well, most times. I'll also prove that even if you're a weird bug loving kid like me, you can still have a chance at a game that requires you to make friends. It'll be eaaasy! In a few weeks I'll be like, Clarisse who? Hahah!"
(brief pause on their flex-rant, which is totally NOT a defense mechanism because she's hurt by them growing apart. They return, slightly worried)
"Do you think I can die in there? Cause gosh, let's hope not! Imagine going on an adventure of a lifetime and not being able to tell people about your heroic deeds... that'd be so lame! Anyways, I'll see you when I see you, whoever is listening to this⊠Tomi out!"
đ„ ⶠâąÄ±Ä±Ä±Ä±Ä±Ä±Ä±Ä±Ä±Ä±Ä±Ä±Ä±Ä±Ä±Ä±Ä±âą
[RECORD ENDS]
wow if you're still here, thanks for reading, you wonderful bean! here, have a cute snail
(ÂŽă»áŽă»)>~đ
#had no idea if putting these things â â in the text makes any difference but i hope its not too difficult to understand ;_;#what fish girl references?#TDS3#ts4#sims 4#ts4 edit#simblr#my sims
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i need to take a second because I've been crying so much while reading this and that ending... my god, that last line made me cry like a baby. i wish i was exaggerating but i can't even lie with things like this.
this was by far, one of the most, if not the most beautiful and perfect thing I've ever read. i think i always ramble about things i like and the last thing i would like to do is like, quote the most important things for me but this was just magnificent.
i am so glad i found this... or that it found me, i don't know. i really can't put into words how this made me feel.
it should be so lovely and pure? i don't even know if those are the right words but i feel so sad for bucky the entire time. he just wanted the love of his life back. it pains me so much because after everything he went through, the man was just looking for anything. something. even if that probably wasn't the best.
and she seems like a lovely woman. when she was completely alive, they were meant for each other. and you wrote her so well in her second chance because yes, something was dead. something definitely changed. and it's sad that she obviously knew and bucky as well but i guess his happiness was overshadowing the mess.
we just know he's never gonna be the same. he lost the love of his life two times but I think the good thing here is that he got the chance to say goodbye this time.
the thing about the star... oh god, i can't deal with it.
it's four am, i just finished this, so i am sorry for my bad english, the whole rambling thing but i felt i needed to say something. even if it was pure gibberish. if i could like this a million times more i would.
saturn
summary: you die. bucky tries to bring you back (or) close to a year after you die, bucky's desperation finally finds an answer. but it may not be the one he's hoping for.
warnings: angst. death. being revived from death and the processes that follow. sickness. war or something. swearing. there is also fluf here and there
a/n: im drunk as fuck <3 i haven't really looked at this since December. the title is taken from saturn by sleeping at last because i couldn't think of anything better. enjoy <3333333333333
He occasionally catches a glimpse of his face in the lake.
His skin is worn from months of sun damage, splotchy and incorrectly healed. His beard has grown well past the point of respectability, with strands of grey he didnât realise could sprout from him. Eyes sunken and half-lidded always.
Bucky waits everyday for the reaper to pull him underwater. Every day is another spent on dry, barren land.
_____________
It was closing in on a year and a half. Time moves like aged honey when you're punished, slow and grasping.
He steps off the bed and into the resolute silence of the cabin. There was a hole by his bedroom door after a regrettable night of alcohol. Mead. Something that had his head spinning and bile stuck to the walls of his throat, and of which he doesn't even remember the name of the next morning.
It's all fleeting, anyway. Names, labels, lives.
He cooks himself breakfast on an old pan. The room is bone-cold, and the floorboards creak when he drags the decades old chair from the dining room to the porch.
Paint peels under his feet, and his toe curls. A dull, faded orchestra of evergreens as far as he can see. He's had a target on his back since he was a kid, always under the gaze of something beyond his understanding. Always making sure he doesn't take a step out of line, or let too much life into his heart.
It's been a while since he's felt that. Like it had finally decided he learnt his lesson, that he wouldn't dare to take a new breath without considering if he deserved it. And so he doesn't wonder if there are irises staring back at him with the same lifelessness with which he watches them, day after day, hour after hour.
The outside cools his blood to a standstill, and he is almost entirely certain he is alone. The vast expanse of an empty sky, bearing no clouds, no birds. Some days, he almost thinks he can feel you when the winds move.
He thinks he's past the point of insane.
__________
His friends are kinder than he is. To a fault, almost. God knows he hasn't given them a reason to be.
After a couple of months of shifting to the middle of nowhere, there are fifteen fucking knocks to the door.
Bucky flings it open, ready to chew someoneâs head off. Raging, still in the ratty old t-shirt and sweatpants and socks with holes in them that you swore you would burn. He is armed with a battalion of curses and threats, only for words to die a quick death at the tip of his tongue.
âHey.â
Bucky's muscles tense to the point where they might crack, but he forces his arm to lower.Â
âBeen a while,â Sam says, arms crossed over his chest.
He doesn't know how he's hunted him down, given the nature of his disappearance, but Sam was nothing if not determined in his humanity.
With nowhere else to turn, Bucky silently pushes the door open.
________
âI like what youâve done with the place.â
Bucky glances around the house. There are cobwebs hanging from each corner he sees. Bulbs coated with dust. Fine china starting to fade with unuse, and utensils slowly beginning to gather rust.
He doesnât reply. Heâs offered him water, but Sam declines.
âYou get cell coverage out here?â
âDonât make a lotta calls,â Buckyâs vocal chords sound like theyâre lined with gravel.
âWe noticed.â Sam leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Talked to Dr. Canmore?"
"Yep." Not since the psychiatrist was forced to clear him after Bucky showed no signs of violence, or returning back to him. To him, that concluded the purpose of their relationship.
"And?"
"There's nothing to say, Sam," he rebukes, gruff. "'M fine."
Sam looks like wants to raise an eyebrow, but the patience he's grown over the years from dealing with those worse than the mess setting in front of him disallows him. "Get enough food?"
Bucky flashes him a thumbs-up, and feels the onset of a migraine.
"Sunlight? Water?"
"'M not a fuckin' plan--" he begins harshly, but clears his throat. "You?"
"Doin' alright." Sam shrugs. "Been training a buncha new recruits, getting in touch with new ones. Superheroes are poppin' up all over the place. Got a girl saying she can control squirrels."
Bucky nods absent-mindedly, picking at the hem of his shirt. He thinks you would have found that amusing, considering that you thought Scott Lang's schtick was a bit on-the-nose too.
âDo you want to?â
Bucky sharply shifts back into focus. âWhat?â
âHelp out,â Sam clarifies. âRecruit, train.â
Buckyâs jaw inadvertently tightens. âNo,â he says sharply.
"Could be good for you."
""M done with that life."Â
Sam's eyes reflect a reality that's different, but he still relents, "Okay. Whatever works for you."
Bucky canât say he retired, exactly. Heâd unceremoniously quit and had gone AWOL, but it had never been on paper. SHIELD was gracious enough to accept in whatever form they had, sending him funds every month as an unofficial pension.
âYou should drop by sometime. Compound's all re-done."
Bucky shifts in his seat like the chair is too small for him. ââM not exactly a joy to be around.â
âYouâre actinâ like thatâs somethinâ new,â he riffs, mouth curling into a smile. âStill.â
Sam's a good man who often lets his instincts lead the way, and if he's insisting on Bucky to return then something must be worth listening to. But his only company's been the thoughts in his head for a while now, and they're no good. What's impure about him surely wraps its tendrils around the world around him, poisoning them.
It's difficult, impossible, even to shake the suspicion growing on him, crawling up his back.
âAlright, wellââ Sam pushes himself off the couch â-- just give us a call if thereâs anything you need help with.â
Bucky may not have as many words as he used to, but he hasnât forgotten his manners. He walks Sam to the front, where his truck lay parked, all polished from the last time he saw it.
"You got everything you need?â Sam asks again, and something inside him ignites a spark.
âYes.â
Sam nods, hand on the hood of the truck, giving him a final look up and down. The few seconds of a leeway fans the spark into a red-hot anger, one that has Bucky's muscles painfully tight.
"Right. See you aro-"
"Why'd you come here?" Bucky interrupts. "To check if I'm losinâ it again? SHIELD couldn't get Dr. Canmore on the line so they send their next bet to tranquilise me?
Sam's eyebrows raise this time, and Bucky thinks he's finally managed to piss off the last person who cares if he's dead or alive, but everything in him is too hot, too scathing to bother.
He wants someone to get it, what it's like to claw at concrete walls with raw fingertips and broken nails. He wants someone to see what it's like, living like they've been injected over and over with needles.
"I know itâs hard, man," Sam replies, gentle like cool water on a burn.
Bucky's hands freeze, because he realises very quickly he wanted someone to hurt.
"Just thought you could use knowin' you had someone there," he continues. "Got flowers too, but I wasn't sure if you'd..."
Something in Bucky deflates, and he wants to cower into a ball. Bury himself so deep underground that he doesn't have to deal with how his ribs feel like they're cracking into splinters all over again.
Sam's already moved towards the passenger side door, and pulled from it a beautiful arrangement of evening primroses and jasmines. Of course Sam remembered.
You would have loved it.
"I don't have anywhere to keep it," Bucky croaks. He's turned the home he bought into a tomb, and he's closed the door to any remainder of life waiting to be lived.
Sam simply hands it to him, and Bucky takes it cautiously like it'll wither in a second. His touch is venomous and his want is a death-sentence, but the flowers stay alive.
"If you ever find a place," Sam says, squeezing his shoulder, "leave something there, too. Might help."
________
He'd add 'liar' to the list of words he's chosen to describe himself, if he said he didn't think about it every second since you died.
The idea initially comes to him like a snake, slithering and winding its way up his shoulder to hiss into his ear. He shudders the first time, jaws clenching, and dismisses it immediately.
But 'sinner' is a word he would use, and so on nights when he's awake too long and when your laugh sounds like a draft in his ear, he entertains the thought.
Indulges in it, grotesquely allows himself to think of an alternate ending, where his presence had not corrupted your fate, and you would have been alive and vibrant and trying out new flavours of gelato from the corner store. Stealing kisses from him, half awake, and dragging him to watch sunrises from the roof.
He thinks of things he'd do differently. Retire a lot faster. Took you to the National Parks like he said he would. Make sure your scent seared itself like a tattoo on all his clothes, because there's nothing on earth that replicated it and he's turned it inside out trying.
When the air is icy and the skin aches where his metal arm meets flesh, he thinks of how you always flicked his shoulder when he passed an off-hand comment under his breath, but muffled a laugh when his insults got more creative.
But soon, it will be closing in on two years since Bucky's last heard you groan at his stupid comments and the lake is just as pristine as the day he bought the cabin. The water glimmers like shards of diamond and there are days he thinks it's too still for even his liking.
"Have you ever been to Asgard?" you ask one night, legs splayed over his thighs.
He looks up from the book he's reading, pencil tucked into his ear. "I have not."
"Not even once?" you ask, distracted from whatever show you had gotten hooked on on TLC. Ever since you'd discovered the channel, you were convinced it was the best way to learn about "his culture". Sometimes he tuned in to learn about updates to "his culture" in the years he was gone.
"Strictly earthbound," he replies.
You nod, eyes drifting back to the TV. He watches you for a few seconds, hand gently squeezing the arm closest to his.
As it always was, your posture was pin-straight. Always ready. Like sitting still wasn't even an option. He used to think it was because you were never truly comfortable around him, until he realises that that was simply a part of you.
Bucky re-adjusts his glasses. He was getting old. His back pained and creaked like an old door hinge more each time.
He didn't think he'd get here. He's growing to love it. Mission reminders and target locations get replaced more and more with reminders that he still has to put the leftovers in the fridge from the date earlier that night, and that your shampoo needed a re-stock.
"Would you want to come with me one day?" you ask suddenly.
He puts the book down, and you turn away from the TV again.Â
He can always tell when you're thinking. The world buzzes a bit. When you're older than a few galaxies, the universe and you become not so distinct.
"Might be a bit too grand for a fella like me."
"I think you'd like it," you counter, "and you're in a relationship with me. You'd fit in as well as anyone could."
He's still not sure how he's managed to accomplish the second part but you must have liked something about his ragtag sarcasm and social isolating tendencies.
Bucky's growing older each day. You're the closest thing he's seen to eternity. He doesn't think he would fit in, not with his thrift shop t-shirts and unbridled insecurities.
"Do you want me to?" he asks, hesitant.
He's met Thor, and he's heard mostly about Loki through childhood tales and news reports. Thor didn't seem to mind him, but then again, Thor saw the best in everyone.
"I'd like to show you the place I grew up," you reply, playing with his metal fingers. "You showed me yours."
"That's a couple'a streets from here, sweetheart," he reminds playfully. "Not exactly another realm."
The corners of your mouth lift slightly. "But you feel connected to it, don't you? That it is a part of you?"
Bucky intertwines your grins and keeps it there. He's always felt something towards Brooklyn. Something that kept him going when Siberian frost nipped at his skin. Tethered.
But when he'd shown you the place he grew up in, it wasn't the same. Brickwall had been overlaid with plaster and paint. Doors ripped off their hinges, wallpaper a ghastly white instead of the stained floral print his sister and he drew on. It was unease, trepidation.
It didn't feel like his anymore. Probably because Bucky didn't feel like him anymore.
"Yeah," he replies after some thought, even though it's not entirely right.
"I feel that way about Asgard," you continue the thought. "Being here is lovely, and I love learning of all the things your people do, but--"
"It's not the same," he interjects gently. "I get you."
You look at him and smile, and Bucky feels the same gnawing feeling that this is something that's too good, too pure for him.
God of the Night Sky and the Mortal of Blood Stained Hands.
It shouldn't work, but you've already got a drawer in his shelf for your belongings. You've talked about moving to a cabin by the woods if you ever wanted to settle down. You kissed him that morning, and once more on his shoulder, and the last time he's laughed this much in one dinner was the one he had the night before with you.
"Whichever day you're ready," you promise. "I've got a feeling you'll be convinced."
Bucky presses a kiss to your fingers, and you turn back to the TV with a smile.
He watches you for a while. Your fingers continue to play with his. Bucky thinks getting older may just be worth it.
You made a dozen or so trips back to Asgard since the conversation, and he pushed his involvement on each one with the unfailing and ultimately misplaced certainty that he'd have time.
__________
You wouldn't approve of the way he'd kept the cabin. You wouldn't approve of the way he lived. He knows that, but he also knows if you were around then he'd have a reason to actually sow more than vegetables in the land he keeps digging up. He'd make sure of the table cloth that he found stashed away, leave the blinds open more to allow light to reach his room.
He looks at the bouquet of flowers by his feet and thinks that laying it by a boulder would be insignificant.
So for the first time in a long while, he prays the act of creation will bring him some respite and builds.Â
A little hut, with sticks he finds around the place, and makes it big enough to house Sam's bouquet from the wind and sun. He carves out your name onto the boulder, painstakingly with his pocket knife until each letter was guaranteed to last a century. He adds the year of your birth, and can't find it in himself to add the year you died.
He steps back and exhales. It's a memorial. It's a start.
__________
Bucky spends most of the day digging up dirt, sitting out on the porch and looking for firewood. Heâs learnt how to grow his own vegetables, and how to go into town unnoticed for other essentials.
And now he has something to tend to.
It starts with fickle sticks and grows into something sturdier. He brings the memorial stronger wood, and bands to hold it together. He looks for wildflowers and pretty leaves, bunches them together and leaves them under the protection of the small roof.
It's the most he's done in over a year.
Months go from crawling to a standstill when it nears October. Bucky leaves the house less often.Truth is, the sky has never entirely recovered since you were gone. It's never truly dark-- a faint navy blue or even azure in the days leading up to the anniversary.
He's seen people puzzle over it-- call it the newest effects of light pollution or climate change. There is no reasonable answer, but the one that exists is that you left and you took the constellations with you.
Still, evening always comes faster and he can't quite stand being out at that time, when there is a void where he used to feel you the most. Instead he stays asleep for as long as he can. He makes use of the brief time he has to fix himself some food, and bare minimum upkeep.
He gathers the last of the flowers he can see around, some leaves that hadn't entirely been lost and makes his way to the lake.
"Forgive me, sweetheart. Season's changin' and I don't got a lot of options," he says lowly and to the hut that's managed to stay up.
Bucky looks at the sparse flowers in his hands and thinks that he'll make the godforsaken trip into civilisation to get you better ones. Ones you really liked, colourful and dynamic.
For now, he tries tying them together with a blade of grass to make it look less pathetic. It breaks every single time-- he's never been very good at being delicate.
Something around his wrist catches his attention. Some days he forgets it isn't a part of him.
His hair whips rather majestically around his head. Heâs used to the sting when it strikes his skin, only reflexively reaching up to tuck it behind his ear.
âHair tie?â
His eyes snap to yours in surprise. You've never really talked to him before, just brief nods and smiles along the way. Bucky wasn't exactly the patron saint for socialising either. He's always thought something about you was otherworldly. He didn't consider himself significant enough to be going out of your way to talk to either.
âWould you like a hair tie?â you repeat. âItâs rather bad out there.â
âUh, yeah,â he replies, though heâs never considered that as a solution. âSure, if youâve got one.â
âWeâve learnt to carry them around when you fight alongside the likes of Thor and Volstagg.â You smile, reaching into the compartment of your belt. âLong hair looks good. Doesnât always work that way.â
Bucky gives you a tight smile, feeling slightly embarrassed but a voice in him compels him to accept the kindness youâre offering.
He quickly secures his hair into a lower bun, giving more show to cheeks dusted pink.
âIâll give it back after the mission,â he promises.
âDonât.â You pause, giving him a once-over. âIt suits you.â
Most days he remembers it's one of the only things he's still got of you. Still, he ties the flowers together with your hair tie-- and they stay this time.
"See you next week," he says, and a wind blows past him. Pathetically, he dares to hope it's a sign from you.
___________
Two sharp knocks on the door, but his eyes are open before the second one. It wasnât like he was getting much sleep anyway.
When his arm doesnât keep him up, itâs the ache in the rest of his body to be near you. Trailing kisses up your arm and watching wildfire heat spread through his neck when fingers tip up his chin. Lips trying to catch each other until panting breaths matched.
He flips over to the other side. Both sides of the pillow are drenched with his sweat. Christ, if this was how it was going to be in the days leading up to the anniversary, he can't imagine what would happen the day of.Â
Someone rapps intently at the door, only picking up pace when Bucky chooses to ignore it. By all means, heâs retired. That alone should entitle him to some fucking peace, but no.Â
He curses as he drags himself out of bed and pulls on a shirt, shuffling to the door. When he pulls it open, his eyes are probably murderous, but there is no one to catch the daggers. There is a simple brown cardboard box, labelled with his name.
Bucky, with a narrowed gaze, takes a step away from the box and instead heads into the open air. But there is not a soul, even as he stalks around the cabin and really stops to listen.
He comes back to the threshold and eyes the box. Using his foot, he swiftly kicks the lid off it and braces for an impact that doesnât come.
There are shirts. And a mug. He frowns, kneeling down to shuffle through the contents, only to find bits and pieces of things he justâŠleft behind when he left the compound.
Pictures he never really got framed. Socks with torn toes. Sweatpants. Laptop.
And thereâs a tiny box. His chest twists the second he lays eyes on it so much that he thinks heâs been injured.
Thereâs a ring in there. Not really even an engagement ring, since you were gone before he had a chance.
Just a ring. But itâs enough to make him suddenly feel the weight of the air around him and heâs forced to take a seat right there on the steps. Thereâs nothing else in there of you, just old mission reports that mention your active involvement. Maybe if the smell of cardboard hadnât permeated through the fabric of his shirts, heâd have traces of your scent.
Fragmented parts of his life, like snapshots of his history, running through his mind like an old film. It makes him question, for a second, if death was finally catching up to him.
Well, it was late. Heâd been kept waiting for years.
_____________
The day itself is grey and sullen. In crackles of electricity, he can almost feel Thorâs state of mind. He tries not to think that in a few years, youâd be gone for longer than he knew you.
He rounds up leaves as orange as mandarins and ties them together with the hairtie. He clears up the last bunch heâd left and takes a seat on the shore of the lake. Cloudless and barren. Chill.
He can sense the end of the battle is nearâ he sees Sam a lot less overhead, even his gun didnât require as many re-stocks. His pace slows to match the few that are left around him, and heâs already wondering how he can finish this quicker to get to help with search and rescue.
But Bucky didnât even have to be told. Mid-punch, something in the air shifts and a deep shiver runs up the curve of his spine.
Before he even straightens up the sky explodes from the early azure of dawn to a blinding white to a blood-curdling crimson. His body reacts faster than he does, because the speed at which his stomach drops is only rivalled by how fast he was sprinting to your last known location.
He yells names through open comms-- yours, Thor's, Sam's-- turning the corner and immediately feeling the full force of a blast shove him onto his back.
With a groan and the force of his left hand, he presses into his ears to stop the excruciating ringing. He feels someone pull him upâ blue, red and white kevlar against bruised skin and heâs already pushing away.
âSam, whereââ he blinks furiously, trying to read what wordâs Samâs got on his mouth because his head is still spinning. âSheââ
He hears something about Thor and building and searching and forces himself to look at the force of a multistory highrise thatâs collapsed into rubble on the street.
Something about impaled and sacrificed and he feels like vomiting violently, shoving Sam aside to stumble through the dust and smoke, teeth clamping down on his heart in his mouth.
Thoughts of you waiting under rocks, choking while fly ash turned your lungs to rock, suffocating. Every second of his incompetence is a second you spend wasting away where he couldn't find you.
It takes hours for Thor to give up searching through the rubble. It takes Bucky days.
It took a few seconds for the sky to turn red. It took weeks to turn from crimson to the ghost of blue it still remains.
God of the Night Sky and A Man Too Slow.
Your body is never found, and Bucky never forgives himself. It takes a whole month to be able to look at the night. Some days he hides his face from the moon, afraid of wrath.
____________
When Bucky gets the call, he isnât exactly sure how to respond. One, because he didnât even know you had his number memorised and two, heâs not sure how youâve allowed yourself to get arrested. But itâs 2am and heâs on his motorcycle, on the way to the police station, still entirely confused about what exactly was going on.
âThatâs him.â You point, jumping up from behind the bars.
You look lovelyâ someoneâs gotten you out of the battle armour he usually sees you in, and into something that passes as authentically Earth-like.
He makes a mental comment to tell you, but to still be discreet about it. He's not really sure where the both of you stand these days. You've got him agreeing to braids in his hair like a viking, and sitting next to him during team nights. He's got you reading the entirety of Lord of the Rings and going to museums with him to steal back his belongings. But he's not really sure.
Buckyâs eyebrow twitches at the fact that theyâve got you locked up, but you look entirely unfazed like itâs a new restaurant or escape room youâre checking out. Excited, even.
"Hey,â he says calmly to whoever wants to listen, âwhat the fuck?â
The grin you give him is sheepish and he already kinda wants to laugh, but he fights back a smile.
âBroke two tables at the bar two blocks down,â the officer replies. âLooks like she was going for a third.â
âI promise, I did not mean to,â you swear to him. âI did not realise your furniture would be so weak.â
Bucky looks at the officer wearily. âHad tâlock her up for that?â
Whatever the officer was expecting, it was not Bucky's lack of respect for the law or private property.
âWellâ superpowersâ weâre not really sureââ he stammers.
You watch the man curiously, while Bucky's eyes flicker over to you. He knows you could bend the bars of the jail cell and walk right out, so indulging them was clearly a choice.
âIâm an Avenger, Iâll take it from here,â he interrupts, making his way over to you.
âIâm gonna need to see some IDââ
âGoogle it,â he bites back, before turning to you. âYâokay?âÂ
âIâm great,â you reply, full of life as if it wasnât the middle of the fucking night. âIt was a lot of fun.â
âHowâd you know my number?â He mentions for the guard to unlock the gate, ignoring the swelling in his stupid chest.
âWe are friends, are we not?â you ask, a bit confused. Â
Bucky can't figure out if he's surprised or disappointed- a good mix of both, perhaps. He's glad you consider him a friend, but something in him aches dully. He positively despises it and how often it's been creeping up on him whenever he sees you around the compound. He was a 100 years old, not some lovesick fuckin' teenager.
âYeah. We are,â he agrees, turning to glare at the officer who was holding up his phone, eyes darting between it and Buckyâs face. âCould yâmove faster? Itâs late.â
The guy hurriedly unlocks it and you step out, stretching your arms over your head before waving goodbye to the guy and sauntering off. He watches you go for a second before pressing back a small smile.
âThe bar-â
âTell them to get stronger tables,â Bucky calls from over his shoulder, not even waiting for a reaction. âSend the paperwork to the Avengers office, and put the bail on the tab.â
He finds you outside, arms crossed over your chest while you wait for him.
âThank you.â You give him a smile. âI forgot that it would be late for you.â
âDonât mention it,â he waves off. âWild night, huh?â
He had heard that some of the agents who had shifted here recently were checking out the hubs around town, but he had no idea that youâd be with them. It made sense in hindsight. More often than not, you were seeking recommendations and guides on how to learn what it was like here.
âIâve seen worse.â Your eyes shine, and for a second he thinks that they even glimmer like starlight. âI did not realise breaking tables would be such an issue.â
âYeah, we tend to be possessive over stuff,â he scratches his neck, almost embarrassed for his kind. âCoulda kept the cops out of it, donât know why they had to go through all this.â
âI will have them replaced. Ours will not break, theyâre made for Asgardian parties after victories in battle.ïżœïżœ
He nods slowly and wonders if a crane would be enough to lift the table into the joint. It was nearly 3am, and he was out here with you in front of a police station, and he can't stop his stomach from fluttering. He wants to punch himself.
âAre you hungry?â you ask suddenly.
Buckyâs head tilts. He definitely had dinnerâŠ.maybe. Half a leftover burrito and an apple.
âIâm starving,â you add. âI saw this place along the way hereââ
Not to rub it in, but Bucky Barnes, smooth player and charmer extraordinaire, blanks. He's about sixty years off his game, and sure, he thinks youâre real pretty and that maybe heâs always wanted to know what itâd be like to buy you dinner and maybe hold your hand? If you were good with that? Maybe evenâ
âLike a date?â he blurts out and immediately wrings his fingers.
You falter and he wishes he was never born. âA date?â
âLikeâ getting dinner together,â he tries to remedy. âBreakfast. What time is it?â
âYes, that is what I asked.â Your head cocks to the side to match his in confusion.
âNo, likeâ like different. Not just dinnerâ yeah, dinner, but moreââ Christ alive, he wishes he could run into traffic, but the road was deserted.
You wait for him to explain a little better where he was trying to get at. He can feel his ears burning bright.
He just shuts up instead.
âDinner-breakfast, but more,â you test slowly.
â...more romantic?â he tries finally, defeated. âA date. Romantic dateâ Iâm tryin' to ask you out here.â
"Oh.â
The world is very still. He thinks he will hand in his resignation tomorrow and disappear.
He had done his part, embarrassed his mother and every internet poll that deemed him the most suave and mysterious Avenger, and could now die in peace.
âA date it is, then. Breakfast-dinner, but more,â you reply.
Oh. He thinks heâs probably going to combust but you lean over to press a small kiss to his cheek, and now heâs sure heâs going to combust.
âHumans think too much,â you say simply.
"Think I'm more of an exception than the norm,â he mumbles.
"Aren't I lucky," you tease, and tap on the helmet. âDonât suppose youâve got an extra?â
Buckyâs eyes fly open, and the blankets get kicked off in a frenzy. His chest heaves as he sits up, rubbing furiously at his eyes.
He knew it was going to be bad, but he didnât think it would be this fucking insidious.Â
He moves to wipe the sweat from his brow but comes back dry. The air is still cold even though he keeps the window shut, and he turns to it to see a thunderstorm taking place outside.
He watches the drops pelt against the window and trees shake violently for a moment, forcing himself to breathe as he rakes his hand through his hair.
Before it clicks, and his stomach drops.
âFuck,â he hisses, not even bothering to throw on a jacket before bolting outside.
The path that heâs trodden a thousand times before looks entirely unknown, and had he not been reliant on his muscle memory he would have had no clue where he was heading. Inky blue trees, harsh and sharp, and he's sure he's gotten a few scratches on his face already as he sprints through the forest to the lake.
The boulder is there, the carving of your name remains but the hut of sticks and leaves-- it lays strewn across the land.
And the hair tie. The fucking hair tie.
He crawls miserably on his arms and knees, relying on the light from a clouded moon to guide him through every inch of grass. Eyes burning red, he continues to scour until morning breaks with twilight.
6 years heâs kept it with him. 6 years, and itâs gone with the rain.
He lets out a cry, fist driving into the earth, barely met with any resistance.
God of the Night, and Devil of Misery.
_______
The flowers had dried up and left him to rot with them. The lake was troubled on more days than not. He had a ring that was neither entirely yours, neither entirely his and no more than the traces of your skin in his memory.
So this time when the idea appears to him like a snake, crawling and inching up his back to tell him that he deserves it, you deserve it. It would solve everything.
He is no stronger than Eve. He had fallen from grace a long time ago. He shudders just as he did the first time, but now it felt like more reprieve.
_____________
âJames,â it greets, hollow like a windchime.
His voice comes out more gruffer than he expects from months of unuse, âGot a minute?â
The light retreats further into the house, away from him. He watches it fade as it travels, unsure of what to do until it pauses, hovering in one spot.
It waits for him, he realises. He slips the beanie off his head and into his pocket, before hesitantly taking a step into the cabin. The floorboards creak under the weight of him the way his own used to months ago. Now they were well-worn and all the corners that made the most noise were identified and memorised. The house and its resident both stayed silent.
Bucky finds Wanda with her eyes closed, palms pressed into her knees as she sits midair, body levitating like she was held up by a marionette.
The room is lit dimly, the only light enough to see Wanda and he understands that the woman he met years ago and the one in front of him now were not the same. Even without his serum, he has a feeling the hair on his body would be standing up, adrenaline replacing desperation and fingers bound tightly into a fist. But even with his senses on high alert, Bucky finds it hard to find a reason to care.
âYou found me.â
They gave him back his laptop. He knew the Avengers had eyes on herâ but only because she was allowing them.
âWhat brings you here?â she asks, eyes still closed.
âI need a favour,â Bucky replies, voice unnaturally strong.
âMost do,â she hums, bones cracking when her head creaks to the side. âWhat is it that you want, James?â
âGot a feeling you already know,â he replies.
âHumour me.â
Buckyâs eyes burn the more he continues to stare. He feels sweat trickle down his back in a clean line. The room felt like it was closing in on him with every pulse of light, crawling into his skin and scraping up and down his bones untilâ
âI want to bring her back from the dead.â
Wandaâs eyes stay shut but a sick, twisted sort of smile works at the corner of her mouth. âWho?â
âYou know who,â he swallows thickly.
Wanda straightens her head till she is sitting pin straight again, eerily firm as if her spine had been replaced with a rod.
âIt has been months. Nature would not have been kind to her.â
âBut itâs possible,â he saysâ asks, really.
âAnything is,â Wanda tuts. âBut all that time would have eroded away at her.â
âWe never found the body." He hates how his voice quivers for a second. âAnd sheâs not from this Earth. Thatâs gotta count for something.â
âDepends.â
âCan you do it?â
âI can.â
Bucky feels relief flood into his system, an ecstatic sort of euphoria that has his heart leadâ
âBut I won't.â
And it goes back to how it was. Cold. Bitter. Was this some sick fucking joke?
âWhy?â His voice drops an octave.
âTime will heal you. Getting in the way of that is only harmful to you.â
Real fuckinâ rich coming from you, he wants to scream.
âI tell you this because I know from experience.â Itâs almost as if she reads his mind. Probably does. âBringing someone back from the dead is not what you think it is.â
âIâll handle it. Whatever it is.â
âCan you?â
Bucky wavers, brows furrowing. âYes.â
Wanda hums, the same smile from before returning to her face. âYour spirit is admirable. But Iâm afraid I canât grant you this wish.â
Bucky feels white hot inside, and like his world crumbles into a dark heaving mess. âWandaââ
âItâs for your own good, James.â If he wasnât so full of rage heâd maybe hear the fondness that hid behind a few of her words.
âHow would you know?â he snaps. âVision wasnât humanââ
Wandaâs eyes snap open. Bucky is forcefully shoved a step back, arm jumping up in front of him in a second. For the first time he notices that the light wasnât shining on Wandaâ it was coming from her. Crimson red and pulsating as fast as the blood raced through her veins.
âYou think Vision was the first time Iâve lost someone?â Her voice is cold. âYou met him, James. You knew his name.â
Buckyâs grown to carry guilt on his back like Atlas. A little bit more is hardly a burden. âThisâ itâs going to be different,â he says. âSheâs not a mutant, sheâs a God, Wandaââ
âSo you think you can match up to that by playing one?â Wandaâs voice raises. âYou donât get to pick who stays dead. You donât get to choose. I didnât. None of us did.â
âI wasnât there when she died. If I was, then maybeââ
âThat doesnât mean anything. I cannot give you this favour.â
âThen consider it repayment. Of a debt,â he finally exclaims. âYou said it. You owed me one. Iâm cashinâ it in.â
Days of starvation just so that the kids could eat. If his handlers knew, theyâd make him kill them with his bare hands. He gladly accepts fifteen more broken bones just so that the twins are kept together, and even when he goes back under, the sight of their big eyes, too big for their faces, staring at him haunts him in his nightmare.
âI just want another chance.â Buckyâs stare is strong, voice steady. âIâm tired of praying. Iâm sick of it. Iâve been begging my whole life for a second chance at everything. You think I want to be here? That I get to be the one thatâs still alive?â
The glow around Wanda looks like it should burn her. All consuming and vicious, like blood splattered on a wall.
âPlease,â his voice reduces to the strength of a child. âJust try. Thatâs all Iâm askinâ.â
Bucky watches as the light slowly dims to a silhouette, leaving him blinking back the burn on his iris. He loosens his fist, knowing later that his fingernails probably broke through the skin of his palm.
Wandaâs chest rises and falls.
She closes her eyes. âLeave.â
He wordlessly turns on his heel. It was stupid of him to hope, he supposes.
______________
Autumn dies for December to grow, and he starts staying inside more than he already does. Snowfall covers the roof and the treetops. He swaps eggs for soup and makes batches large enough to last the whole day. The ground freezes over, and he looks for ways to keep his self-sustaining system going, but trips to town become more frequent.
Sam visits once more, and brings some more things with him this time. Books, a journal, some old box sets of shows. Bucky nods along to the conversation, asks after his family and when the time comes, rejects another offer to come to spend Christmas at the compound.
He accepts Samâs flowers with more grace than the last time. The door closes, and he leaves it by the couch.
__________
He attempts to rebuild it. Pulls together some stronger branches and heavier stones. A new memorial lays together half-heartedly. Dejected. A little miserable looking.
He stares at it a little too long before one swoop of his arm cracks it in half and leaves it strewn across the grass.
Bucky doesn't try again.
__________
âDid you come up with the constellations?â
It's a stupid question, but he's always curious about you. Â
âHm,â you reply at first. âNot in the sense that youâd think.â
Bucky turns away from looking into the abyss and towards you. His flesh hand continues to trace shapes into your skin as your neck rests on his bicep.
âI didnât place them in a way that was meant to be drawn,â you reply. âMy mother used to tell me when I was a child that the spirits of those I cherished would live on through parts of our creations. For others, it would be through groves of orchards, or rain that corrode caves into mountains.â
Bucky watches the fingers of your free hand dance nimbly, while the other stays tucked between the both of you.
âI was young when I realised that certain lights were brighter when I felt too much for someone. Pain, joy, rage,â you continue, fingertips pointing upwards, âThose stars, satellitesâ whatever you wanted to call themâ they were the ties I had to those I loved. So sometimes, I would move them with me so that every time I looked up, I would see that I had company.â
He tears his eyes away from you and towards where you were gesturing. Itâs subtle at first, but then he seesâ stars moving faster than they should, darting all around the canvas of the night like runaway splotches.
âOver time, those on earth noticed patterns and called them constellations. Iâve always seen it as my family,â you say, gently dragging a barely lit star from the corner of his eye towards the centre.
âThatâs for Thor. Sif.â You take turns to point. âLoki. Fandrall. Hogun. My parents.â
Each seems to glow a little brighter as you call out their name. âThereâs one for you, as well.â Your finger drops, finding its way back to comfort on his chest.
Buckyâs eyebrows raise. Â
âYouâll have to see for yourself which one it is.â You leave a kiss on his jawline, and he instinctively tugs you a bit closer. âIt wonât be any fun if I tell you.â
He doesnât need to ask. Thereâs one slightly to your left, thatâs glowing a little brighter tonight than the rest. His chest swells, and there's a profound sort of speechlessness that engulfs him. He never really knows what to say around you anyway.
âReally fuckinâ love you, you know that?â he mumbles into your the skin of your temples.
âIâve got a clue or two.â You laugh and along with you, so does the sky.
___________
Bucky eyes fly open, fingers digging deep into the pillow. Not because of the way his brain was choosing to torture him again.
But the fact that the fucking person from before was back at his door, even though it was the middle of the fucking night.
He lets the first three knocks go unanswered but by the fifth one, heâs ready to unleash the force of the shitty month heâs had into whoever was here to drop off the next box of fucking whatever.
He doesnât even bother pulling on shoes or straightening out his clothes. Hair wild and untamed and fury in his eyes, he marches down the steps of the cabin with a select choice of words for SHIELD and their stupid protocols.
With enough force to pull the door from its hinges, he yanks the door open, eyes ablaze and mouth set in a scowl.
And the earth stops spinning.Â
The absolute wind gets knocked out of him and heâs scared to even blink because this has happened to him before. Itâs happened, and his eyes have closed and itâs left and he canât afford that againâ
He freezes when a hand reaches out to touch his bicep. Because that has never happened before. Heâs always woken up before this.
At the threshold of the cabin, he falls to his knees. His joints ache the same way they did in church all that time ago when his fury was masked with tears.
âOh,â he whispers, kneeling before the essence of a God he thought abandoned him.
âBucky?â you ask, confused and soft, hand reaching out to cup his cheek before lowering yourself to his height.
Bucky makes somewhere between a strangled noise and a strange laugh, head reeling.
âYouâre back.â His hands fall at your waist lightly like heâs afraid to disrupt still water.
âWhatâsââ your sentence is interrupted when your eyes roll back into your head.
Moments later it goes limp, and his reflexes move faster than he can comprehend as he grabs you, body springing into action when his mind gives up on him.
He lets out a sigh of relief loud enough to be a sob, fervently holding up the dead weight and a rhythm returns to the stillness of the night, one heâd forgotten the sound of. If he was even the slightest bit aware, more than grateful, he would see the signs from then. His vibranium doesnât warm when it meets the sliver of skin as he bunches up your shirt in his grip. It feels like heâs breathing in Antarctic air, not spring drafts.
âThank you,â he whispers against your shoulder to whoever is listening. âFuckâ God, thank you.â
_______
"It's been a month."
"A week, and that's pushing it."
"You're pushing it," you mumble, tightening the straps of your armour, "I do not know how you live like this. Do you always just stare at the ceiling when you're bored?"
"Sometimes I like to switch it up. Look at the floor," Bucky adds gruffly, to a roll of your eyes. "Maybe the door on the days I'm feelin' real fancy."
"You will just let your TV lay that way? With half the screen missing?"
He shrugs half-heartedly. "Sports season's done. Got nothin' to watch."
"Hmm," you pause a second. "'No' to your offer then. You may take that as my formal reply."
"'No' to Thai takeout later?" Bucky squints out into the twilight through the window of the ammunition room. "Lebanese then?"
You raise your eyebrows, tightening the leather around your wrists. "Goodbye, Barnes."
"Bye," he replies, checking to see if his knives sat securely in his old tactical pants.
You send him a nod before you start striding towards the door. The jet had landed a while ago, still onloading agents and recruits from the compound.Â
Bucky's arm jets out to grab your elbow, pulling you back into him. He's well aware it's only because you let him.
"I'm kiddin'," Bucky laughs at the matching smile on your face. "I'll get it fixed. I'll fix it myself. Just marry me, please. I'm growin' old here, sweetheart. All this questioning's not good for my heart."
"You're already old. And we will talk about it when we get back," your fingers press gently into his chest, and he can feel your touch even through the bulletproof vest. "Your laws-"
"There's no law out there that says ex-enemies of the state and Gods can't marry. Even if there is, it'll be just another one I have to break."
Your eyes twinkle when you laugh. Bucky sees remnants of old cosmos in there, as he always has.
"We'll talk about it when we get back," you promise. "Be safe."
"Can't guarantee that."
"Try not to die, then."
"Always."
He can't remember a time when he wasn't the last one on the jet, owing to goodbyes like this. You never opted to join them, reaching the same way Thor does.
The night was uncharacteristically calm, especially since he knew that miles away you were about to step into another battle. But it's good. The night means you will be at your strongest, and that is what he hopes for.
Bucky allows a few seconds of silence to take you in, skin glowing even against harsh fluorescent lighting and a cool air of confidence around you. You raise an eyebrow at him, because this is far from the first time he has done this. He would never divulge why.
He takes a chance to press a quick kiss to your lips, humming. "I'll get the TV fixed when we're back."
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Barnes." You smile, thumb swiping across the dent in his nose, an imperfection in a sea of many. "Thai for dinner?"
"Lemme check my calendar." Bucky takes a step back, feeling his heart constrict in a way that he's gotten used to craving. "I may have an opening."
"Please, don't try too hard."
"I'll have my secretary get back to you."
You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. "I love you."
"So, that's a yes then?"
"Get on the plane, Bucky." You sigh. "You already know the answer."
"Love you more." He grins at you, bright and like he's never known sadness. "Catch you later."
____________
In the days that pass, he doesnât know how to be.
His body leaves him no choiceâ staying up all night, waiting for Wanda to show up at the door, fingers burning to take it all back. He keeps the doors locked and windows shut, as if ageing wood would provide any sort of a barrier when it came to her will.
Bucky walks around in a trance, eyes glossy and body stiff like he isnât sure how much of what heâs seeing is real.
Your body, housed in his old clothes, looks three seconds away from death. He keeps a bucket by the bed from when you cough up dust, the last remainder of old organs. He massages leg spasms, and muscle cramps from your neck.
He keeps a towel close by for the nausea and anything in between as your body fights off the shock of a rebirth. Allopathy is useless when you're a God either way, so he resorts to herbs and roots to alleviate as much as he can.
Your lungs struggle for air at night. Heâs already awake, propping you up to make sure youâre breathing better. He rubs at your back in circles the same way he used to do for Steve and finally takes a breath when the wheezing subsidies.
He fervently tells you he loves you every time you slip back under, and wipes at your forehead with a wet cloth to ease the warmth. Heâs met with coughing fits and clenched eyes.
Exactly one week from your return, a trip downstairs to gather more firewood for the room and Bucky falters to a stop near the kitchen.
There's a note pinned to the dining table with no indication as to how it got there.
The debt is repaid. This was by your will. Whatever happens next will be by hers.
Every hour, he watches rotting flesh, dissolved muscles and clotted blood crawl out of your mouth. He forces himself to watch. It was his choice after all.
Bringing you back from the dead was never going to be easy.
_________
A week later, the remains of your old body stop exhuming itself. Perspiration beads line your forehead, and he thinks the salt of sweat is your first act of creation.Â
Your breath steadies. Nights go smoother. He learns he can live off of two hours of sleep.Â
He toys with the idea of telling someone. Sam. Thor, even. But your lips are bluer than heâs ever seen, even more than when heâd introduced you to blueberry juice pops when the heat beat down on you both in July, and youâd kissed his red-stained ones.Â
The longer he stares at you, he dismisses the idea. Something in him says that beyond being something they could accept, they could actively bring a stop to what he was doing right now.Â
He couldnât afford that. Not now, not ever; not when heâs let you down once before already. Itâs a secret for now, then. For as long as it needs to be.Â
__________
In the days later your nervous system seems to be rewiring itself. The first time he sees you with your eyes open, the plates heâs holding clatter to the floor.Â
âHey,â he whispers, fingers clutching the side of the bed, âHey, honey. Can you hear me?â
But your eyes never meet his. He slowly follows your gaze to the closed window, eyes glassy and surrounded by strings of red.Â
He sees you mouth something, and desperate as he is, he never truly understands what it is before youâre gone again. Â
His exhale leaves staggering, head dipping to your arm as he clenches his eyes tight till he sees spots.Â
_____________
Bucky starts leaving the windows open. The ones in your room, at least, and only when he's there to keep watch.
It becomes a mission then. The next time you opened your eyes couldnât be to the desolation he lived in for months. He looks for flowers. Vines. Anything to make the place look less dreary and miserable. He cleans the blinds, and dusts the paintings in the room.
The cells in your body seem to be working overtimeâ every day there is a little bit less that reminds him of where you came from. Scabs fall away faster than they grow, leaving unbroken skin.
He notices it late. There is only one wound that remains-- a red, jagged scar along your stomach. It looks angry. Heals slower than the rest of them. It is the only place Bucky sees specks of gold instead of bronze when you exert yourself too much.
__________
It takes a good amount of time. He should have anticipated itâ the next time you awake, and the next few times after that are only when the sun chases beyond the horizon.Â
He drops to your side with questions of âcan you hear me?â or âdoes something hurt?â but each time, something outside the widow holds your attention dear to its chest and unwilling to share.
The moon rays become an elixir more powerful than anything from this Earth. Light almost surrounds you like a cloak, sinking into your skin and drowning in your bones.Â
He stays up at night, massaging your arms and your temples, but you are still so cold to the touch he isnât sure the blood is circulating at all. So he gets more firewood. Makes sure the house is warm all the fucking time. Â
Stagnant. Still. Some nights he thinks he can see you looking at him from the corner of your eye.
The second he turns, you lay unmoving as before.
________
He stands labouring over the stove. There's a batch of rich tomato soup, with bread toasting in a skillet nearby. He alternates between wiping down the bowl to serve you in, though you still havenât eaten, and stirring the soup to stop it from sticking to the bottom of the pan.Â
He makes note that he still has to get more gauze from the town, and proper tools to sand down the chairs before he can even think of--
But something interrupts his to-do list. It's so soft, he thinks for a second he's imagining it. But the ladle he's holding clangs against the pot, and he abandons the bowls with such hurry that he wouldn't be surprised if it's in shards.
He races up the stairs, three at a time, his heart is thumping louder than the floorboards creaking.
Itâs silent. He can hear his own arm whirring quietly.
He lets out a breath when he sees you havenât changed positions since he last saw you, and wordlessly turns to head back downstairs to an over-bubbling cauldron of soup.Â
"Bucky?"
Itâs almost like eternity whooshes past his ears when he realises that he wasn't imagining it.
âHey.â He drops without a second thought to your bedside, knees scraping against the wood. âHey. Hi sweetheart. What do you need?â
âWater,â your voice is hoarse and just above a whisper, but youâre looking at him.
Youâre fucking looking at him, and your eyes are a share darker than he remembers them being.
He makes a grab for the jug by your bed and holds a full glass to your lips carefully, watching as water treacles in through chapped lips.Â
"How are you feelinâ?" He hates how shaky his voice sounds, as if he wasn't prepared. As if he hadnât been waiting.
It takes a second for you to form the word. "Tired."
His fingers brush against your cheek. "What can I do for you?"
You donât respond, and he watches your chest rise and fall heavily again. You were asleep again.
He bites into his lower lip so hard he can taste the rust of his blood. Moonlight filters in through your curtain and he runs his thumb over the corner of your eye, placing a kiss on your forehead.
It was a start.
___________
Bucky grew up with siblings he outlasted and an absolute wildfire of a friend. It was safe to say the man had more patience than most.
The same conversation repeats three more times over the next few days, and he answers each time with as much tender refrain as the first, begging to know where he can help and what he can do.
âTiredâ turns to âIâm tiredâ turns to âIâm just tiredâ, and with each he is as proud and hopeful as he was when you talked the first time.Â
You begin to eat finally, and he hopes his skills arenât bad enough to send you to the other side again. Spoonfuls of soup. Bites of bread. A glass of water, and then two.Â
âBuck,â you rasp.
And heâs as ready as he was the previous day, with a gentle, âTell me, sweetheart.â
Youâve already gotten a slice of bread into you today, and youâve slept through the night. Heâs considering this one of the best days youâve had so far, and that alone is triumph enough to ease the anxiety that pervades him.Â
âI was dead.â But this was new.Â
Bucky blinks, not sure if he heard you right. Your eyebrows knitted together tells him he did.Â
âYou were,â he confirms, not daring to breathe.Â
âBut nowâŠâ you trail off, as if you were expecting to wake up that minute.Â
His Adamâs apple shifts up and down. âThings changed.â
âHow?â you ask, eyebrows pulling together even tighter, and he worries it takes energy that could be used elsewhere.
The muscles in his jaw tighten anxiously. The floorboards press into his knees.Â
"You did something?" your voice comes back quietly.Â
His silence is enough of an answer.
"How long was I gone?"
"Itâs been a while, honey," he replies, eyes never leaving yours.Â
Your head turns to face the ceiling, a deep exhale working its way through you. Bucky's eyes drift to the scar on your stomach, hidden under the fabric. Thorny and broken.
"Who knows?"
His gaze shifts back to your face, but you aren't looking at him.
"Only me," he says, voice unwittingly dropping before adding, "and Wanda."
"Wanda," you repeat quietly. "It was magic."
Something familiar sets into Bucky's chest. Heavy, pressing down on his throat and making the bile rise.
"I'll get you more water," he says, pausing briefly to look at you, but you continue to stare at the roof. "I'll be right back."
You donât have a response for him. As he makes his way to the door, it follows like a shadow. He pauses by the frame to look at you once again, but your eyes have closed.
Bucky watches for a second, swallowing thickly. It feels all too similar to guilt.
__________
Bucky dedicates himself even more vigorously to the house. He finally takes out the cutlery, cleans it up the best he can and wipes down the table every single day. He spends the day collecting fruits for juices and vegetables for broth. Firewood. Making sure everything is sharp enough to use, and the traps he set up in his initial time here were still functional.
He checks to see if the trees can take the weight of the swing heâs hoping to fashion out of bark. How fast it would take to polish the porch chairs and flooring, and what exactly it would take to do that.
No matter how much he cleans, it isnât enough to wipe the look on your face from where it was seared into his brain like hot iron. Â
A week later he's in the garden, digging up the ground to plant seeds. It's January, and it's still fucking freezing, but he's gonna fucking try anyway.
He's got a hold of seeds of poppy, marigold, daisies and who knows what else, and plenty of fucking time.
"You garden now?"
He looks up in surprise. You lean against the backdoor, no winter coat on even though it's freezing. It flashes in his mind that you look paler than you used to, and he wonders if that will go in time.Â
âIâve always gardened,â Bucky defends weakly, and tries to keep his tone normal. âJustâ not well.â
Arms crossed over your chest, you ask, âHas that changed?"
âCanât say it has, sweetheart." He looks at the mess he's created on the ground. "'M tryin', though.â
The corner of your lip upturns into a faint smile. His stomach twists painfully.
"You're up," he says, a little too late. It came faster than he thought it would. Then again, you werenât human. You didnât always listen to the laws of nature.Â
"Y'feeling cold?" he adds quickly.Â
You shrug, pushing off from the door to slowly take a seat. Your legs dangle off the ledge of the porch, barefoot. Bucky waits for you to swing your legs like you always have but you stay still.
He dusts his hands on his jeans and stands, tugging his jacket off his shoulders and holding it out to you. "Can I?"Â
"Go on," you allow, and he drapes it around your shoulders, making sure it isn't likely to slip off before stepping back.
A draft blows past you both without either of you saying a word. Discarding the little shovel on the ground, Bucky chooses to take a seat beside you instead.
"You will feel cold, won't you?"Â
"I'll be fine, don't worry 'bout me," he reassures.Â
"Seems like you have it covered already," you say, making a motion to imitate the shape of his beard. "Mighty fine mane you've got there, James. You could give Odin a run for his money."
He gives a short chuckle, threading his hands through his hair that reaches down to his shoulders.
Heâs finding it hard to formulate words. He couldnât even tell if his mind was racing or entirely blank.
"You've got grey in your beard now," you observe. It sounds wistful. Sad even, and all of a sudden heâs left realising that he doesn't know how long it has been for you.
"Been a while since I got a haircut."Â
Christ, he was drier than a brick. His conversational skills and charm had deserted him along with the rest of his luck.Â
You lift your eyes from his beard to his face, scanning from his hairline down to his chin. "You look as handsome as you always have," you say and his heart jumps. "Just a bit..."
Sadder. Tired. Mistrusting.
"Older," you settle on.
He'd grown more wrinkles than he could count, and his skin didn't bounce back as much as it used to.
Beyond that, he smiled a lot less. He spent more time thinking than verbalising.
âYou need help?â He hears you ask faintly, head gesturing to the patch of dug-up mud.
âYou need to get rest,â Bucky shakes himself out of it. âIâll get you someââ
âIâve rested long enough, Buck,â you say assertively.Â
He wonders if you did. Bucky remembers what you told him of Asgardian funerals. How your body is set floating along a river, and your soul lifts towards the sky to rest. You never got to have that. He doesnât even know if they sent an empty log along a cold river.
"Tomorrow?" he delays. Â
You look at him briefly before nodding.The ground stays untouched and the sky still greys. Bucky sees you take a few deep breaths, shuddering when a draft of wind blows by. He silently shrugs off his scarf too, and wraps it around your neck loosely.
You simply let him. Minutes pass in silence, and neither of you make any motion to move.Â
You bump your shoulder into his. "I see you haven't fixed the TV yet."
A swift exhale leaves him in the form of a laugh. He turns away so that you don't see how his eyes begin to burn.  Â
"Sorry, honey," he croaks out, "I've been distracted."
The smile you give him is melancholic, and that's enough to dissolve his red eyes from a warning into tears.
_________
Bucky buys every single streaming platform available, and every channel available on cable.
That night he takes apart every single component of the television, wipes it down and puts it back together better than before. He only rests when it's 2am and the sound of late night commercials softly flood the living room.
__________
Bucky takes the guest bedroom, initially, a floor away from you to give you the space you need.Â
He then realises it's too far, it's too risky. Sheepishly, he shifts to the same room as you, but makes himself a place to sleep on the floor with blankets and a pillow.
You voice your protest, and even though heâs spent three years curled up beside your sleeping frame, he says his back could use the hard surface now.Â
He gets you clothes from town. Sweaters and socks, scarves. Things he knew you used to like and things he always promised he'd get if he had another chance. You take them with a small smile and a thanks. He sees you wear them around the house, and while they're exactly the size they should be, and the colours he knows you love.
There's a nagging feeling in him that they don't sit right. They don't look right. Still, you wear them on the days you can leave the bed. He shows you around the house. The good parts, at least, and pretends like thatâs how heâs always lived even though he can tell you see right through his facade.Â
Heâs there when you thrash around at night. Bucky's up before the minute is even over, at your side and gently calling your name till you jolt awake. He hands you glass after glass of chilled water, rubbing your back in circles till the wave passes. Itâs entirely too reminiscent of what you used to do for him, and he hopes the familiarity would do you good.Â
Sometimes you tell him what you saw. Darkness enveloping you for hours, holding you close and sliding its vines over you, binding your limbs like rope before you're shoved into blinding light.
âLast I remember was the fight," you say one night, as he wipes the sweat from your forehead. "I cannot tell how much of it was real, it's--"
And you pause and struggle, and he's at a loss for words because you never have been. You've always known what to say. You've always had a thought you wanted to share.Â
"Thor told me a little bit," he offers quietly. "If you'd want, I'd tell ya."
You look at him, conflict raging behind drained irises. "I was fighting. I heard them say something about-- there was a building with civilians hiding."
"Yeah, there was," he confirms, voice tight.
"They wanted to-- do something to it." You close your eyes, brows furrowing in concentration. "I told Thor I would get them out before anything happens. We had done it so many times before."
"He said there was an explosion."
The sky explodes from the early azure of dawn to a blinding white to a blood-curdling crimson.
And Bucky was too slow to get you out.
"I don't remember that," you say and his eyebrows furrow. "I remember--"
Bucky watches you hesitate for a second before your hands nimbly move the fabric of your shirt slightly to reveal the outline of the scar, inhaling sharply.Â
"I wasn't careful enough. There were civilians I was getting out and someone from behind--"
It dawns in a slow realisation the reason why the scar hadnât healed yet. Why it stood out from the others that littered your skin. Bucky had thought for this long that you'd died in a blaze, trapped under bricks and mortar. That you had been left suffocating because he hadn't been fast enough, that he wasn't good enough.
"I knew I would not be awake for long. I just wanted to get rid of as many of them as I could."
"The building came down." He swallows the rock in his throat. "We spent days searching through it."
"I think I was gone before the explosion happened."
It makes sense-- the sky shifted all too quickly that day. You were gone before he even had the chance. Your fate had already been sealed.Â
âIâm sorry,â he whispers. âI should have been there.â
âIâm glad you werenât. It wasnât a pretty sight.â
"That's notâ" his words come out in a rush, stumbling over each other, insistent. "If I was there--"
"There is no point in punishing yourself," you interrupt his spiral. "It was a choice I made. I would do it again. It was what had to be done."
He swallows thickly when he knows the conversation ends there.Â
__________
Some nights Bucky settles on pressing a kiss to your knuckles, and lingers there for a second longer than he should.Â
You turn to face him from your place on the bed, looking at him like you've known him for centuries. Some nights it feels like you have.
_________
Bucky builds you a swing. It's a little ridiculous, and it takes a whole week to do it.
But your face breaks into the biggest smile he's seen since you got here, and he can taste the sun on his tongue. The strange feeling in his stomach is alleviated for a moment, and replaced with something closer to pride.
You spend hours on it while he works on parts of the house. He makes sure you've got a blanket with you at all times, even though youâve never once told him you feel cold.
You ask him questions about everything. Him, the world; like youâre trying to relearn what youâve lost.
"How long ago did you buy this place?"Â
"Nearly two years ago," he replies, paintbrush in hand as he swipes up and down the deck. "Owners hadn't come here in a while and they wanted it off their hands quick, so I made an offer."
You hum, using the balls of your feet to swing yourself higher. "I have always wondered what it would be like to live in a place like this."
Buckyâs painting halts for a second as he fights a smile, but he doesn't respond. The squeaking of the swing stops. He looks over to you, only to find you already looking at him.
"Is this why you bought it?" you accuse.
Bucky returns to painting the wood, face turned away.
"You are far more of a hopeless romantic than I ever remember you being."
He scoffs out a laugh. "You'd'a run away."
"I wouldnât have." You narrow your eyes. "I have had suitors in the past who've done far worse. You are far from the most embarrassing."
"You laughed when we kissed for the first time," he points out, amused.
Your jaw drops. "That was because I wasn't expecting it. You'd been courting me for months, I thought you were never going to move beyond that."
"I was tryin' t'be a gentleman," he defends. "I didn't know how they do it in Asgard."
"Well, for starters, they don't kiss someone after dropping tiramisu all over them."
He cringes, but it doesn't escape him that memories of the both of you feel like they're accompanied by a light this time, instead of dread. "Could you blame a fella for bein' nervous?"
"I do not know why, you had no reason to be."
He wants to ask if you've seen yourself before. He was damn near pissing himself whenever you got too close to him. The tiramisu was just collateral damage from when you chose to wipe cream smudged at the corner of his lip that night.Â
When he lifts his head to look at you, you're back to swinging. Back to your own world. A new one you seem to have constructed for yourself since you came back. Back then he was privy to all your thoughts, no matter how mundane they were.
Right before he goes back to painting the deck, his brain makes a small connection. It's a small detail, but one that holds a lot more weight the more he begins to notice.
Your back curves in on itself ever so slightly. No longer pin-straight. His grip on the brush grows a little tighter. Â
__________
February rolls around. Bucky's only managed to work up the courage to hold your hand occasionally when you go for walks.
Fingers laced in yours, he shows you parts of the woods he's discovered that stray from the main path. The shrubs that look like they're alight when the sunset catches them. The trees that have a hole right through the centre, like they've taken a bullet.
You keep him out longer and longer, and by now heâs run out of things to show you. He ends up repeating a lot, but you look glad each time, like youâre learning something new about him each day even though heâs dredged you through the same mud path at least thrice now.
He wants to think that itâs because you like having longer to hold his hand.Â
You listen intently, asking questions whenever you could. You let him know what parts you like better, and parts youâre glad heâs left behind, even if it was recent.Â
Bucky blushes from head to toe when you pick a flower and tuck it into his hair, and you smile it away with a swing of your hand.Â
"You get visitors?" Your mouth moves in tandem with your fingers that weave together a crown from stray leaves and blades of grass. You tell him, even though he remembers, that it was something you learnt from Sif growing up.Â
"Sam drops by every now 'n then."
"Do you visit them?" you ask, hands twisting deftly and with skill of someone whoâs done this all too many times. "How has everyone been?"
Should he tell you he's been sequestered? That he dropped everything and disappeared overnight because the questions of 'are you fine?' and 'do you want to talk?' became as suffocating as a thick cloud of smoke.
"Last I heard, they were doin' alright." He hopes it's enough.
"I tried talking to Thor," you tell him casually, but it feels like a cold fist clamps down on his chest.Â
âAnd?â
âI couldnât hear him,â you tell him, just as normally and heâs disgusted that he feels even the tiniest bit of relief. âI couldnât hear Heimdall either. I know heâd respond if he could hear me, so I can only assume he hasnât.âÂ
âYouâre sayinâ youâre not able to talk to them?â His voice sounds small.
âI believe I lost the ability to communicate with them,â you tell him, tying the last bit of grass together. âI donât think there is precedence for when someone comes back from the dead.â
You hand him the crown, and Bucky doesn't dare to meet your eyes. Itâs too small for him. Itâs closer to the size for a child.Â
"'M sorry, honey," he mumbles. It returns to his stomach. The sick, gnawing feeling that heâs tried to obtain salvation for.
"I still have you,â you tell him, âBut you were here for this long without anyone. It must have been lonely.â
Truth be told, he never really noticed. It almost seems like heâs forgotten how it felt.
"Hasn't been for a while, now." He squeezes your hand.
"I don't like the idea of you staying here alone.â Your eyes scan his face. "You deserve to be around others."
Bucky doesn't know what it is about the way you say it-- like you're not entirely sure you're here either. Like you aren't real.Â
He calls your name, unsure, scared even. You answer with a hum.Â
"Are you okay with being here?" Itâs too late to be asking this.Â
Your face pulls together thoughtfully, but he can't decipher what you're thinking.
"I like spending time with you. Always."Â
Your head leans on his shoulder, and you resume the tune youâre humming. Bucky tries not to think about the fact that you haven't quite answered his question.
_________
He wakes up on the ground again, not to your muffled groans or bed sheets being thrown to the ground.
You're not in bed. The window is open. There's scattering downstairs, and it's followed by a strange scent, and for a second he panics.
He scrambles down the stairs, mind already conjuring pictures and images so vile and ghastly--
But all he sees is you in his biggest shirt, one that you yourself once got him as a joke for a punchline he canât really remember right now.
And you're surrounded by broken pans, bent forks and an entirely indiscernible charred mass on the bottom of a skillet.
"I tried to cook," you admit, "like on TLC."
"And you broke the pan?" he asks, a little stunned, a lot more in love.Â
"I did not realise your cookware would be so weak." You try so desperately to hide a smile. "Tried to scrape it off using the fork."
He looks at the misshapen piece of cutlery.
"And what's that?" He slowly makes his way into the kitchen towards you.
"The remnants of a frittata." You hold it out to him.
Bucky takes the handleless skillet from you and looks at the ashes.
"What do you think?" you ask.
Bucky holds it back out to you. "Could use a few more minutes on the stove."
The smile you try to hold back breaks into laughter and his face lights up in surprise. It's the first time since you've gotten here, and the first time in years since he's been graced with the sound.
He bites his lip when you take it back from him, all while still giggling, like he doesn't quite believe his ears.
"I do believe I would fare better at toas-- oof."
Bucky pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping around you like a weighted blanket. The pan drops to the counter as his head falls to your shoulders.
"I missed you so fuckin' much," he utters desperately into your neck, clenching his eyes closed so tight it hurts. Â
"I missed you too," you say softly, arms circling his waist, pulling him closer.
___________
The days start to get warmer. Your skin still stays cool to the touch. It's something he's getting used to. For years he was used to waking up at night to turn down the thermostat, just so that he could stay under the covers with you without burning up.
But while good days increase, there are the ones you spend too feverish to get out of bed. You sleep the whole day, only waking when he brings you food.
March fades the dark circles around your eyes as much as it can, but they never truly go. The scar on your stomach doesn't heal beyond a certain point, and is always ready to turn garish and violent on days you can't get your head to lift.
Bucky wonders if youâll ever get better.Â
Fevers break when the mornings do. You tell him you dream of the same thing over and over. Darkness, holding onto you with the same tenacity as a mother stops a child from running into a flame.
You walk with your shoulders drooped, and always some sleep in your smile. Sometimes he hears you call for your parents, who he knows haven't been around for a few hundred years. He hears Thor's name, and Loki's during nights that are more peaceful.
On days that are good, you spend time helping with the garden and for once, the flowers start growing. Tree bark he can't break into two, you manage with one hand. You watch shows together on the couch, and he massages your head when it's in his lap.
And finally, Bucky shows you the lake when it thaws over. Crystal clear waters let you peer at the little plants growing on the bottom, and the sunlight glows in the ripples.
You notice the engraving on the boulder before he has the chance to divert your attention. When you ask, he tells you about the little memorial and the rain and the loss of the hair tie.Â
Your hand squeezes his a bit tighter. He thinks no memorial can hold a candle to that.
You look at your reflection in the water a lot. Bucky sits beside you, skipping stones to see how far it can go, like he did in the harbour as a kid. Steve always used to win, no matter how much Bucky tried.Â
"There was a lake by my school when I was child," you tell him. "When I was mad, I used to skip class to go sit there for hours."
âWhat made you mad?â He chuckles.
âA lot of things. I had too much energy to just sit there, and that was âunbecoming of a future leader of Asgardâ.â Your face pulls into one of distaste. âI always thought there was more to learn about the world than what their books contained.â
Bucky collects a few pebbles from around him. "Did the lake make you feel better?"
"Always." You take a stone from him to skip across the surface. "Sometimes my friends used to join. Our elders said the water had the ability to remember. Loki used to make faces, and it would always linger for a few seconds before it disappeared. Even after we thought he was gone, I'd see his face there."
Bucky stays quiet, nodding at points to let you know he was listening.
"I used to see younger versions of myself sometimes," you continue, voice distant. "It always surprised me. I thought I used to know what I looked like. It was different each time."
You inch towards the shoreline, leaning forward on your knees. The clear water looks like an open sky underneath you. "I look different now, too," you say. "But I can't remember what I used to look like."
Bucky discards his stones to come join you, leaning down to where you were. The face staring back at him pulls a sick, twisted feeling in his gut. Deep in him, he knows what you're talking about extends beyond immediate impressions. Centuries of being intertwined with the universe had always given you lines and traces that transcended your physical appearance.Â
You have always felt like the God of the Night.
Now you have been to the other side and returned, seen things others haven't and still kept intact. While he doesn't have the courage to admit it, he knows in his blood what you feel like.Â
He's scheduled an appointment with him many times, but always just missed it.
Now, you feel closer to the God of Death.
"You've always been beautiful. Still are." It's a band aid on a gaping, festering wound.
Even still, you look at him with a smile. "So are you."
Bucky makes the mistake of looking at his visage in the water, and immediately recoils.
"Christ," he grunts at the difference between the both of you. "What a fuckin' mess."
"Oh, it isn't that bad," you laugh, watching him contort his face.
"Easy for you to say, you look stunning." He points to your reflection. "I look like I was raised by wolves."
"You just need a shave," you hum.
"I need a new face."
You leave aside his last comment to propose something entirely new instead, "I could do that for you."
"What? Give me a new face?" he asks and you give him a pointed look. "Oh. Shave my beard?"
"Same thing, no?"
He supposes so. "Alright," he agrees, with a certainty reserved for no one else.Â
A small smile appears on your face, even though you aren't really looking at him.
Bucky watches you lean forward. Your fingers dip into the water, disturbing the reflection.
_____
Late evening finds you settled on the counter, armed and ready. "Lot of trust you're putting in me."
"I'd trust you with anything," he says, looking in the mirror to check once again that foam covers every inch of hair on his jaw. "You know this."
"Still," you note, watching him tilt his chin up. "I could do this with a dagger, if you'd like."
"This works fine, thanks."
You let out a laugh, and he finally steps in front of you, satisfied with his part. You swish the razor into water once again just in case, before leaning forward.
The first swipe goes agonisingly slow. Bucky watches your face screw up in concentration as you scrape down his left cheek.
You pull back and make a face. He raises his eyebrow in question.
"You are too far away," you declare, wrapping an arm around his bicep and tugging him closer.
Your legs wrap around his waist to keep him in place, locking behind his back. His breath hitches in his throat the proximity but you appear entirely unfazed, washing the razor again.
"Are you okay?" you ask, keeping one hand on his neck for balance as you get a much better go at his face.
"Yep," he thinks he says. It may just have been a sound.
You could have spent hours there for all he cares. He's too focused on the pressure of your legs on the small of his back and the way he's basically melted into your hand.
"Your eyes have always been my favourite feature," you tell him, blade carefully running down the curve of his jaw. "When you smile hard, there are these lines in the corner. It's like you can't handle being that happy."
He can't tear his sight from you, and from the fact that this is the closest youâve been in years. You may as well have been telling him utter nonsense, and he'd still find it hard to control his breathing.
"But I have a soft spot for this." You lightly tap the bridge of his nose. He knows immediately what you're talking about. "I will never forget how stupid you were. Throwing yourself in front of danger like that."
"Couldn't let that guy touch you," his voice comes out an octave lower than what it was. "I'd gladly take a few more punches."
"That's why they stopped pairing us up on missions." The corner of your lip upturns, and you swish the razor around in water again. "You were being reckless."
"I'd do it again."
"One scar is enough." You tilt his jaw to see if you'd gotten everything. "I don't enjoy you getting hurt on my account."
Bucky exhales deeply when you get started on the other side. His hands itch to hold your waist, pull you closer like itâs been carved into the strands of his being, but they stay by his side.Â
"I tried for so long after you were gone," he tells you instead, to gain a sense of control. "I went to the therapist. I tried talkin' about it. No one got it. It was the same thing over, and over."
How do you explain that it wasn't simply a person. He thought that that was where it ended-- everything in his life had finally culminated. And that was taken too.
"Went back to the roof a month after everything happened," he continues, studying your reaction. "It was s'ppsed to be a clear night. There was nothing in the sky. I couldn't see the constellations. I couldn't see your family-- I couldn't see you."
You listen intently, but never stop working at him. The longer you spent there, the more of his old face revealed itself to you. Worn, and aged a thousand years in a few months, but it was still the still face you swore to love and cherish for aeons.Â
"They took all your stuff. Said it belonged to Asgard, they couldn't keep it here. Thor went off grid. All I had was pictures of us and the hair tie you gave me."
You clean the razor off in water, eyebrows furrowing at the information.
"It felt like you were never here. Like I'd just made you up all those years." You can hear the faint trembling in his voice. "But I had memories of you in all these places-- and I couldn't stay. It was easier to move here and start again."
Looking back at him, you realise you've already finished. There was nothing left on his face to clear.
"Was it hard?" you ask finally, letting go of the razor in the water.Â
He looks at you, and you know he's struggling to form the right words. He looked like he wanted to scream, rip the hair out of his scalp, punch a hole through the mirror.Â
"More than anything.â His voice comes out raw and peeling.Â
Bucky watches you look at him for a long moment, and he wonders if heâs said too much too soon.
But instead you kiss him.
His arms find its way back home around your waist, and he feels you sigh against his mouth before your body relaxes, tilting your head to deepen it.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there,â you breathe, forehead leaning against his.Â
"Don't," he begs.
You search his eyes for any kind of a message.
He kisses you harder, pulling you flush against him.
__________
Bucky moves into your bed after you threaten him well and good, and he knows you intend to keep your promises.
For the first time since he can remember, he keeps the windows open throughout the night and throughout the day.
Itâs foolish, to think he was invincible. That what you had had finally cemented itself as final. Â
You both stay in as long as you want. There is no hurry, nothing to get to. You talk a lot more. You begin to tell him sometimes at night that you see glimpses of what seemed like beyond the end.
Gold. Blood of ichor. Warriors fallen in battle go to Valhalla. Trees that kissed the skies, and valleys so green it hurt. Sometimes, in the corner of your eyes, you could see those you'd lost over the years waiting for you, hand outstretched.
No matter how hard he tries, Bucky doesnât seem to get it. Every time he thought he was dead, there was only jet black silence and crushing pain. Then again, he never truly died.
But he isnât ignorant. Fevers and fatigue that initially lasted a day, now knock you out for a week. There are times you throw up more than you've eaten, and the dark circles look like abysses.
He worries to the point of his stomach churning. You look like you don't have the energy to be here, even though you kiss him like you do.Â
Bucky runs his hands over your scalp and tells you stories of his childhood. What he felt when you moved in with him, how anxiety made space for comfort. He reads you tales from other mythologies and marks the similarities in the stories you've told him over the years.
Each time you come around your smile gets more tired. Your shoulders grow heavier and your skin loses colour.
You still cook breakfast together. You still watch TLC together to figure out the culture on earth because even after all this while, you still maintain that's the best way to do it.
Things could still be good. But more often than not, Bucky wonders if heâs unknowingly surrendered you to a life you do not wish to live.Â
_______
"Sweetheart?"
You continue to drag your finger through the water, oblivious to what he's saying.Â
He calls your name, and there's still no response. April sees this happening more often, and Bucky's learnt that no matter what he does, it only seems to worsen.
He touches your shoulder lightly and you almost jump.
"It's getting late. Wanna head back?" he asks, because youâve skipped out on lunch to stay by the shore the whole day. It seems like itâs the only place you want to be.Â
"Yeah." You give him a small smile, wiping your hands on your pants.
"Want a hand?" he asks, holding out his.
You grab it, and pull yourself up, giving him a small peck on the lips along the way.
It feels comically normal. He wants to pretend that it is.
"Pasta tonight?" you ask breezily, slipping your hand into his.
Your fingers are ice cold to the touch. He forces back a shudder.
"Anything you want," he promises.
__________
He catches you humming as you water the plants, when you walk with him, while you read from the end of the bed.Â
It's the song of my people, you tell him. They used to sing it when everyone was together.
He listens to the tune and tries to commit it to memory, but it changes far too often.
May catches you staring a lot more often. At walls. The trees. The lake is the worst.
On what would have been the fifth anniversary of the both of you being together, he brings you a cake. The both of you share it over a glass of wine, even though it clashes terribly and leaves an aftertaste.
You laugh harder than you have in the last few weeks and he gets to feel triumphant for an evening.Â
You chase the frosting on his lips with a searing kiss, and that's that.
âWhat do you suppose it means?â you ask later that night, arm wrapped around his middle.
âWhat?â he mumbles, drowsy from a full stomach and good time.
âThat I got a second chance and others didnât?â your voice sounds distant.
Bucky is suddenly very awake.
âIt couldnât be that they werenât as loved," you continue. "So then what made me different?"
He doesnât have an answer.
He rolls over to look at you. But you are staring at the ceiling once again.
_________
His unwavering faith that he can learn to live with it feels like itâs eroding.Â
Death changes everyone. He knows that before Steve left a few years ago, he wasn't the same Brooklyn-born spitfire. Steve's died a dozen or so times. He was reborn into a different soul each time.
Spring bounds towards you with warmth and life. The grass is greener, and Bucky's learnt there's more to life than just casseroles and toast.
You bring him more flowers to tuck into his hair. He wears them dutifully, and then learns to press them in between pages of books you both buy from old bookshops.
You give him wider smiles. You talk a lot less.Â
Bucky learns that silence doesn't have to be filled. He's loved you in the winter, and he loves you in spring.
But there is always a tension simmering under the surface, just out of reach, like the sky reflecting in the lake.Â
Sometimes you say things that he can't quite make sense of. Sometimes it's a lot more obvious, and the same feeling of guilt returns to his chest and flowers under his ribs.
So he asks you one day. You're on the couch, head in his lap while he reads a book you've annotated the week before. The only disturbances are when he stops occasionally to ask you why you liked a line, or why you drew a heart next to another.
You're humming the tune he canât catch.Â
There's nothing really wrong, but he knows. He can feel it in his marrow.
âSweetheart," he calls gently.Â
You look up at him.Â
"Are youâ are you happy?â And he leaves his heart, raw and unprotected on the line. Â
You donât look surprised. Not entirely knowing either.
A beat passes before you open your mouth to speak.Â
âI like being here with you. I love you, I always have, and I will always love being here with you,â you choose your words carefully. âBut I donât know if I can feel that anymore. Happiness, I mean. Or sadness.â
Bucky keeps the book down. You don't lift your head from his lap.
âI feel like thereâs a void where my body should be,â you continue in a chance to explain, âI feel like I'm made of air.â
âAre you feeling under the weather?â Bucky tries to find a rationalisation. Anything, that he can fix. That he can control.
You slight him a smile. âNot since the last bout.â
He doesn't know. He doesn't want to get it. Heâs always felt that he was selfish, that that was ultimately what led to his punishments. This was a whole new level.
âI was born on Asgard. I have always felt like I was a part of the mud and the riverbed. They were a part of me as much as I was, them. I donât know if thatâs stillâŠâ
You pause, and Bucky feels time come to a standstill around him.Â
âIâve been reborn here,â you continue. âI donât feel like anything is mine. I donât feel like⊠I am a part of something. Even the night.â
He knew. Though he knows in his dreams he can still feel traces of Brooklyn carved into his bones, it had jaded over time, been eroded by years of waking up in places he couldn't place.
You sit up to look at him. Your eyes have an intensity to it that even the universe couldn't mask.Â
âDo you really like who I am now?â you ask finally.
âI love all of you. Every one.â Ever changing, transient.
âHow?â you ask softly. âI donât even know who I am anymore.â
He swallows thickly and wills himself to ignore the chill creeping into his body. In truth there is so much he wants to say. He doesn't think that as a war-fractured man from the thirties who grew up in bloodshed will really have the sufficient words.
âI just do. Canât help it.â
Even if you arenât satisfied with his answer, he will never know it. He has known for a while now that he's been letting you down since the day he walked into Wanda's cabin.
You give him a slight smile. Lay your head back down on his lap. His book remains unread.
It felt like the beginning of the end.
It's a simple decision then. It would have been, for anyone who wasnât born with a soul as corrupt as his.
One more week that is hard for you to get up from bed, turns into two. One more week that your face morphs into something he canât quite recognise. He's never wanted to harm someone he loves, but he seems to do a fine job at it.
It's a simple decision, really. But simple didn't mean easy-- God knows he is anything but a saint.
When you see it finally, the fruits of a labour that took far too less time to manifest than justified the time he spent putting it off, the smile that appears on your face is blinding, he wonders how the sun even has the gall to shine.
âThor,â you breathe out, only seconds before being engulfed in the most bone-crushing hug youâve ever received.
Bucky watches from the sidelines, fingers wringing and entirely ready to be smithed to ashes.
âI came as soon as I heard,â he breathes into your shoulder. "I cannot believe this."
You pull back, and standing next to Thor gives Bucky a new frame of reference. One that isn't dependent on how you looked the week prior. He doesn't know how it slipped past him, how he hadn't noticed that you looked so different.
âYou look wonderful." You grin at the behemoth of a man. "Your hair has grown out once more."
"They can try cutting it off my dead body," he replies defiantly, arms clasping at your shoulders to keep enough distance to study you from head to toe. "You'll have to give me a second. I didn't think this would be true, when Heimdall gave me James' message."
You look over at Bucky whose lips pull together in a tight line.Â
He looks embarrassed. Unsure. Afraid. Guilty, and prepared to be berated for how long it took him.Â
"It's true," you reply instead, giving him a smile. "Here, in the flesh."
Thor squeezes your shoulder once more, and laughs the same laugh he's always had around you. Loud, boisterous and entirely free.Â
"The others will be thrilled. Sif, Hogun-- you have no idea how the past two years have been. There is so much to catch you up on."
Bucky knows. The fact that you're standing there today is living proof that he knows so well.
âI cannot wait to meet them." The corner of your lips upturn wider at his enthusiasm. "I've missed them terribly."
"We did not get to give you a proper farewell. Your welcome back will be a thousand times better," Thor says brightly. "We can return as soon as you say the word."
You look to Bucky, not for permission, but as a question he's known has been awaiting him a long time.
"Ready?" you ask softly.
He knows you didn't have to ask. That if you'd left him there and never returned, he'd deserve it and worse.
But you're you-- patient and kind. And he thinks that he can try to start redeeming himself.
__________
Turns out he wasn't wrong. Asgard really is too grand for a fella like him.
It is opulence-- gold and towering heights that bleed the love of its citizens and a history richer than words can contain.
Thor is smart. Aside from Heimdall, who greets you with the hug a father gives a child who's been away for too long, no one knows of your appearance until you are ready.
You get a few days in the tower to yourself, to breathe in the air that grew your lungs and touch the marble you've split your head open against in the past. The help are sworn to secrecy, and no one knows who Bucky is anyway except as the man who has been specifically allotted to the same room as you upon your request.
It doesn't take long for your face to pick up. Your skin comes alive with a vibrancy he didn't think he'd see again. You sleep sounder at night, and you eat more than you've had the appetite for in the last few months.
He trails behind you and Thor initially, not wanting to eavesdrop into conversations he has no place being a part of.
But you grab his hand, lace your fingers in his and tug him along as if to say that this is his home too.
He sees what you mean when you say that you are connected to the land. Clothes on Earth have never fit you right. Silks from Asgard decorate you like you are one in the same, like it flows from you.
_________
Reunions are a tearful affair. Lots of hugs are exchanged, punches to the shoulder, and kisses to various parts of your face.
âYou have been alive for months, and we are just now learning of it,â Sif holds your hands in hers.Â
âIt took me a while to recover.â You give her a small smile.Â
âWe would have come as soon as you called,â she continues. âYou did not have to heal alone.â
âI wasnât alone.â
Eyes turn over to Bucky, and heâs suddenly very aware that the clothes heâs been given are too rich for him, too grand. He feels small, like they drown him out.
Despite what heâs saying, he feels as though he has deprived you. He knows that he has, and he has no one else to blame but himself.Â
âThank you,â Sif says instead, taking him by surprise. âWe will remember this.â
âDonât mention it,â he replies weakly. Â
__________
It takes days to meet the closest of your friends, until they decide they had their fill. Bucky is slowly introduced to all of them. Boisterous and loud, most greet him with a wide appreciation. Others are less quick to warm, and he gives himself no room to blame them either.Â
Upon insistence, he joins you for your welcome back dinner, and gets a seat right beside you.Â
Your hand holds his the entire night, squeezing tighter when something makes you laugh, or when someone is particularly embarrassing.
When there is a lull in the conversation after hours, sly grins are exchanged.
"So, this is the one you raved on and on about."Â
His eyebrows quirk in amusement.
"I did not rave," you huff. "I simply informed you--"
"For hours. Days even,â they drag on. âA great warrior from earth with eyes that could rival storms--"
Bucky chokes on his wine. You award your friends with several curses and glares.
"Long hair past his shoulders. Oh, and arms to die for--"
You take in the way his face has gone red, all the way up to his ears. You laugh and grip his hand tightly with an unabashed shrug.
"I am only glad that that's all you remember," you joke.
He thinks he should be buried in the garden for his sanity.
_________
Walks around the castle become increasingly common at night. You are mostly left undisturbed, and you take the opportunity to show him everything you've ached to.
Where you've learnt, where you first scraped your knee. The first arrow you shot. Where your parents met. The first and last time you cried over a friend gone astray.
He can't fathom why he ever thought he wouldn't be ready to know this. As if knowing more about you would cement the fact that he was lesser than.
âYou look ethereal,â Bucky tells you one night, honest and true.
You look at him, a bit taken aback. There was nothing particularly different about you this evening. In fact, youâd chosen to stay away from festivities today to lie around the gardens with him, citing a headache.
âI should have said yes earlier,â he continues. âYou belong here. It shows.â
A laugh leaves you as an exhale. âIt feels different.â You run your fingers through his hair. âI donât know if it would be the same if I brought you here years ago.â
âDifferent how?â Bucky closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your touch.
âI donât know,â you tell him. âI am not sure it is what I remember it to be.â
You donât say anymore. Bucky doesnât ask.Â
He lays with you under a clear night sky, and your fingers deftly move the faint lights in the sky to mimic shapes of fishes and hunters.Â
He notices the sky here, too, has taken the same fate as it has on earth. Not as full as it could be, always just a little less bright.
He assumed it would change when you came back. He assumed it would change when you came to Asgard.
The sinking feeling in his stomach reminds him of what he already knows is going to come.
_____________
There are nights you are dragged off by your friends for things that don't include him.
You shoot him a sorry smile and he tells you to just go with steady reassurance.
Bucky takes to exploring. He's been given robes to blend in. They always fit in a way that's too soft.
He looks at statues erected, memorials in place for those who've given up their lives for a bigger cause. He spots your name in there as well, as if they've not yet entirely sure that you're back. He spends hours at the library, reading up on things he couldn't find on Earth. Where heroes slain in battle actually go, what it's like over there. Stories of when they are brought back. None of them end well.
Thor finds him, and introduces Bucky to Asgardian mead that he swears got Steve tipsy. Buckyâs had a rough couple of years. Heâs in no place to turn down a drink.Â
He remembers what it's like to be 21 and drunk again and like nothing bad can ever happen. When you choose to join in with them, Bucky finds heâs a lot braver and a lot smoother with liquor flowing through his veins.Â
Stumbling through tower hallways, giggling and stealing open-mouthed kisses in the shadows like a bunch of teenagers until he has your back pressed up against the bedroom door.Â
âEager?â you breathe out when he nips at your neck, hands scouring every inch of you he can find.Â
âWhat gave it away?â he mutters, pulling away to look you.Â
Wild eyes and equally untamed hair, and there is a light in his eyes that outshines supernovae.Â
âI love you,â you tell him, and itâs a startling moment of clarity in the middle of a juvenile hour. âI hope that always remains with you.â
Before he can respond, you thread your hands behind his neck and steer him towards the bed, mouth never once leaving his.Â
________
Another solitary night, and it's by pure accident that he ends up retracing his steps to the first place he was introduced to in Asgard. He wonders how much of it was intentional, his conscience forcing him to a reckoning long awaiting him.Â
Heimdall is there as always, standing tall with a grace that is still threatening. Bucky is not a fool-- he knows he can sense his presence.
Still, he looks only for a moment before making leave.Â
"I hear it was magic that brought her back," Heimdall voices.
Bucky pauses in his tracks.
"Yes," he says, like heâs forced to respond.
"Are you aware of what it takes to bring a body back from the dead?" Heimdall asks, tone still. "Cells are broken and reattached if they do not malfunction. The brain is attacked with sensation after being dormant for months. The heart pumps degraded blood through vessels that have collapsed."
Bucky feels bile rise to his mouth at a memory that seems so far away. Enough has happened since.
Heimdall looks at him, steel cut eyes boring into his. âOur ancestors have tried this for centuries,â he says slowly. âIt has always ended the same way.â
Bucky keeps silent. Wonders if the God can hear him swallow the lump in his throatâ probably can.
âTempering with fate has never fared well.â
âIâm not trying to play with fate,â Bucky finds himself moving on its own accord. âIf this wasnât supposed to happen, it wouldnât have. I am not a God.â
Heimdall stares into his soul and Bucky feels suffocatingly exposed. âThe separation between divinity and mortals is thinner than you may imagine.â
âI have no interest in crossing it.â
âHavenât you?â Heimdallâs eyes flicker over to the direction you were last going in. âWhen your will supersedes realityâ what else do you call it?â
âLuck.â His voice comes back stonily.
Heimdall gives him a wry smile. âNo such thing.â
Buckyâs palms feel clammy, his stomach twisting into knots.
âYour grief is natural. But do not let it overpower your love,â Heimdall adds. âI am sorry you had to go through this. I'm afraid sooner or later you will have to see that you cannot disrupt the natural order of things.â
"Why?" His voice cracks and he curses himself.
Heimdall's eyes soften. "There comes a point where your love for someone becomes indistinguishable from hurting them. Your intentions are noble, but you already know where you stand."
Bucky quietly turns on his heel and leaves, but the conversation remains heavy on his mind for days to come.
_________
The first time you fall sick, really sick, like you used to be on Earth, Bucky watches from the sidelines as various people tend to you. Those with divinity at their fingertips, those with herbs and concoctions heâd never heard of, others with tools and prayers and everything.Â
They try everything. It takes you a full week to recover.
Bucky sits, emotionless by your bedside, and feeds you from a spoon, food that your friends swore you grew up loving.Â
Asgard was supposed to work. Being here was supposed to work. No one knows what to do, except to wait it out. As your fever quells and Bucky watches you open your eyes for the first time in a few days, everyone breathes a sigh of relief.
âHey, sweetheart,â he says quietly from your bedside. âHow can I help?â
The smile you give him is tired. He gives you a small one in return, and leaves a kiss on your forehead.Â
It feels all too familiar.Â
God of the Night and the Devil of Cursed Fates.
_________
Thor teaches him the song, the one he caught you humming for months. It sounds different to what he remembers you singing.
He watches you thumb through titles in the Asgardian library, looking for a book of wildlife to show him. It only takes a few seconds for you to hum under your breath again, but Bucky is quick to ask this time.Â
âOh.â You blink. âI may have remembered it wrong.â
He tilts his head at you, but you go back to browsing through library books.
___________
Nights in bed, he spends tracing up and down your arm. He's full from a feast, and he's watched you dance around a courtyard with spirit and joy, and for the first time in years he feels like he can breathe.
You drag him along with you, and while he may have been quick on his feet in the thirties, Bucky was significantly older. You don't seem to care. You laugh like nothing has ever worried you before, and he finds it infectious. Â
"D'you s'ppose we'd have been married by now?" he asks, breaking the quiet.
"I remember turning down your offer," you say, the corners of your mouth pulling upwards. "So, who's to say?"
Bucky's face breaks into a smile, one that looks particularly incredible in the moonlight. "You said I knew what the answer was already. Looks like that leaves the ball in my court."
You look at him, a little endearingly, and as he's come to expect, a little sad.
"I think we would have," you hum. "But you wouldn't have survived wedding festivities here."
He scoffs, rolling onto his back and feels his stomach ache dully. "Barely holdin' on now as it is."
You pull closer to him, fingers dancing across his chest. "Why didn't you try to find someone else?"
He exhales, sharper than he intends. "Didn't wan'to," he mumbles.
"I'd hate to think you didn't try to find others who loved you," you tell him, brows pulled together, "You have so much of it to give. It'd be a shame."
"Didn't see the point." Bucky hopes he doesn't sound as sharp as he does in his head.
"If something were to happen tomorrow, and I am no longer here," you begin and he wants to beg you to stop talking about this, "It would break my heart if you didn't go on with life as you were meant to live it."
"This is how I'm meant to live." He sounds pathetic-- obsessed, and entirely dependent but he isn't sure you know. "This is it. This is the best it's ever gonna get for me."
You look at him, eyebrows knitted. Your thumb caresses his jaw, running across the sharp curve.
"You deserve more," you say gently. "You do. Life has been unkind, but you will always deserve more."
Youâre doing it again. Preparing him. For the inevitable he knows is looming on the horizon. The one he saw in Heimdall's eyes.
Still, you notice that it is too much for him, and you break the tension with a smile.
Outside the window, the sounds of a party continue on. You would be out there too, if he hadn't noticed the slow in your movements and the dip in your energy. He instead gave his lack of stamania as a reason and asked if you would join him in the room, for which you shot him a grateful look.
"You never gave me a ring," you remind instead, voice teasing.
Bucky looks at you wearily before silently getting up from the bed.Â
You sit up in confusion, watching him trail across to the wardrobe and pull out the clothes he was wearing on his first day here.
He shuffles back into bed and turns to you, holding out his hand in a request.
It takes a second but you give him yours, and he silently slides a ring onto your finger. Even in the darkness it glitters like itâs made of light.
"I've had it for ages," he tells you. "Woulda given it to you quicker if you'd just said yes the first time."
You laugh loudly, and hold his face in yours before kissing him hard to the sounds of a fading party.
__________
The effect wears off gradually. It goes the same as it does in the cabin.Â
You begin to space out visits. Stay in for a day or two, which increases as time passes. Though the castle help are ever gracious and at your beck and call, you send them away in exchange for quiet nights in.
Bucky wipes your forehead with cool cloth. Feeds you nectar by hand and tells you of everything he's learnt since the time you've arrived there.
You begin to look sick again, and miserably, he does not know what to do. You've been attended to by the best of medicine that the nine realms have to offer. You've spent nights with your friends, drinking in joy and embodying love.
But you are dying. You have been since you came back, and he can no longer choose to look past it in hopes for a remedy.
He looks at you like you've given the world the light it bathes in, and wipes your perspiration with his thumb.
You smile back at him in your sleep, and he lets that slow the march towards the end.
_________
One of the good days, you lead him to the lake. The one where water remembers. You point out faces. He discerns them to be some of your friends a couple of hundred years ago.
He follows as you walk along the banks, letting you show him yourself through the years. Some streaked with tears, others with joy so infectious it has his stomach doing flips.
"That is the last time I came here," you point at the last one. "Two months before it happened."
He remembers the trip. He thought he remembered how you were back then, that he'd etched into the crevices of your mind.
When he looks down, he sees a different person. Your face is light. The weight of circumstance does not weigh you down.
You were right when you said you did not recognise the person you were.
That night in bed, he holds onto you tighter than he has, no longer afraid of causing more damage. He has already done the worst, and you've taken it without a word.
âBucky,â you call.
He doesnât trust his voice to answer, so he just makes a noise.
Your eyes meet his intently and he knows. You do not have to say a single word to him.Â
Youâve made a decision. It was your will, as Wanda had told him all those months ago.
âI'm sorry,â his voice cracks. âI'm so sorry. It was so selfish.â
âIt's okay,â you press a palm against his cheek and shudders from the cold.
âI love you.â His eyes burn, but he forces himself to take more of you in. âI love you so much, I'm sorry. I just wanted a second chance.â
âI know.â You smile but your voice is sad. âI know. I understand.â
âI don't know how you arenât angry at me." I donât know why you stayed.
You look him in his eye, giving him no space to run. "I would have done the same. If I could, I would have done the very same thing."
He chooses to believe that, despite what Heimdall has told him. If he tries, he can find heat in the frigid veins.
"But we are simply delaying the inevitable, my love." You press a kiss to his forehead. "I no longer belong here. I am not who I was. I doubt I will ever be."
He loves every version of you. He already loved, and he will always learn to love whoever you change to be.
"I know it is hard, but I have to go," you tell him softly.
His eyes burn and his head stings.
"I grew up with friends I loved, and a family that loved me. My life was good," you tell him. "I didn't realise how much I wanted to give that forward until you happened. I will always love you for that."
Bucky kisses you till you can't breathe and his tears mix with yours.
Till the morning breaks and you have to tell everyone of your decision, he tells you over and over again a tale you already know. Everything he's ever felt. Everything thatâs happened in the last few monthsâ his revolving door of therapists and all the movies heâs watched and all the bakery foods he thought you'd like.
You listen, and you tell him stories he memorises to heart. You are still dying.Â
But this time he is there, and in that lies his true second chance.Â
________
A month later, and not a day before that.
You pass away quietly, surrounded by people instead of rubble. He holds your hand throughout, and for long after even once your chest stops rising.
The Asgardians let him stay for as long as he wants, still and quiet. No one says a word as he presses a kiss to the crown, leaning his forehead against yours for as long as the universe permits.
The funeral goes by in a haze. Everyone gathers, even after such short notice. No matter how much time he had to prepare, the air was thick, and he swallows down his discomfort.
A gentle breeze whispers through the columns of the great hall, carrying with it the soft, mournful melodies of Asgardian lyres and flutes.
In the center of the pyre, you lay, ethereal even in repose. Around you, night-blooming flowers bloom alongside, as if the sky itself was paying its respects.
Thor recites the ancient eulogies. With reverent hands, they guide the vessel into the river that flows through Asgard.
As the vessel drifts away, a hush falls over the assembly. Just before reaching the edge of the waterfall, arrows shoot fire onto the wood, letting the flames consume the casket. Bucky holds back a cry.Â
Thor hits the staff, and the casket continues onward instead of falling off the edge. Within a flash Bucky sees an orb rise above you and shoot off towards the sky.
Thousands of lights are let loose into the sky. He closes his eyes, says a few words no one will know except you, and lets go of the soul orb given to him.
And that was it.
________
Bucky looks at the last of his belongings, tied tightly together.Â
There were a few things he was allowed to take with him, things that belonged to you while you lived here. He's grateful more than anything, that he's not relegated to photos.
He was made to stay a few more days in Asgard while everything was completed. Though the people were lovely, and he's more than glad he came, he knows that this was where this ended.
He exhales, looking back at the place where he spent the better part of three months.
"You will be alright?" Thor asks, walking with him to the courtyard.
He shrugs. It was still fresh, but the utter despair he had felt the last time had been replaced with a quietness.
"You?" he asks in return.
Thor smiles, and claps his back and Bucky is forced to take a step forward.
"It will be an honour to remember her," he says, and for a moment, Bucky feels a sense of peace at his words. "You are always welcome here."
A small laugh leaves Bucky in the form of an exhale. "Don't be a stranger, Thor."
The God summons the Bifrost and the force is enough to make Bucky hold his hands up to his face.
"I'll see you around. Thanks for everything." His lips pull together in a tight smile.
Thor takes a second, but then says, âYou will be alright, James.â
Itâs reassuring, he thinks. Bucky nods and turns, taking a step towards the bridge.
"Wait," Thor calls loudly, "I almost forgot."
He turns to him in confusion, and a list of possibilities running through his head.
"She told me to give you this," he says, "She used to carry them around for us."
From around his wrist, he pulls off a hair tie and holds it out to him.
Bucky takes it, a little stunned.
________
Two months pass.
Bucky stands on the threshold of a door that is foreign to him.
His head falls, but his arms raise either way. Two swift knocks and he takes a step back. He looks around nervously, hands stuffing into his pocket. His car lays at the end of the long driveway, ready to leave at any given moment.
For a second, he thinks about making a run for it. But the door swings open and Bucky's eyes quickly dart up.
"Hey," he says, voice coarse. "You got space for one more?"
Sam looks at him in initial surprise, but it fades to softness when he notices the shape the man is in.
âCâmon, Buck,â Sam says softly. âWeâve got you.â
Bucky lets out a staggered breath, and leans over to pick up his backpack that Sam's already beaten him to.
He takes one good look at the sky. Dark, clear and finally returned to the way it had been for centuries.
But he swears that a single star in the corner of his eye shines a little brighter than the rest.
#the title reminds me of a song in spanish#that kinda says [Saturn is home to the children we never had...]#and i think that breaks my heart a little bit more#fic recsâš
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request::: the triplets each have a significant other and they all film a youtube video but itâs some sort of couples challenge video and itâs just a really cute, full of fluff, little video and all the comments are full of people talking about how cute they all aređ„°đ„°
hope you like it!! <3
couples challenge â sturniolo triplets
The familiar click of the camera shutter signals that theyâre recording. Chris adjusts his beanie, Nick leans closer to the camera with his signature grin, and Matt offers a small, crooked smile while fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie. Behind them, the couch is crowdedâthree couples squished together, a mix of excitement and mild chaos brewing in the air.
"Alright, guys!" Nick starts, his voice full of energy. "Todayâs video is a little different becauseâwell, you can seeâweâve got our significant others with us!"
The camera pans slightly as Jake, Olivia, and Y/N wave awkwardly but enthusiastically.
"Introduce yourselves!" Chris urges.
Jake, sitting close to Nick with their hands intertwined, smiles brightly. "Hi, Iâm Jake. Iâve been stuck with Nick for two years now, send help."
Everyone laughs, and Nick playfully shoves Jakeâs shoulder.
Olivia, sitting beside Chris, rolls her eyes with affection. "Iâm Olivia. Chris is lucky to have me, and he knows it."
Chris lets out an exaggerated sigh, clutching his chest dramatically. "So lucky. Beyond words."
Finally, itâs Y/Nâs turn. Sitting cross-legged beside Matt, she nudges his knee before speaking. "Hey, Iâm Y/N. And Matt isâŠ" She looks over at him, pausing for dramatic effect. "Well, Mattâs here."
The room erupts in laughter as Matt shakes his head, biting back a smile.
"Okay, okay!" Nick claps his hands. "Today, we are doing the Couples Compatibility Challenge! Basically, weâll answer questions about our relationships, and if our answers donât match, thereâs a consequence."
Chris holds up a spray bottle filled with water. "And guess what? The consequence is getting sprayed in the face. Have fun."
Round One: Who said âI love youâ first?
Matt and Y/N glance at each other and hold up their whiteboards. Both say: Matt.
"Aww!" Olivia coos, leaning against Chris.
"Wait, Matt said it first?!" Nick looks genuinely surprised.
Matt shrugs, his ears slightly red. "I had to lock it in, bro."
Chris holds up his board: Olivia. Olivia holds hers up: Chris.
"Nooo!" Olivia groans as Chris grins wickedly and sprays her face lightly with water.
Jake and Nick hold up their boards, both reading: Jake.
Jake smirks. "He was nervous. It was cute."
Nick buries his face in his hands as everyone teases him.
Round Two: Whatâs your partnerâs biggest pet peeve?
Y/N holds up her board: When Matt leaves socks everywhere.
Matt blinks at his board: Loud chewing.
Everyone bursts into laughter as Chris grabs the spray bottle and gives Matt a quick spritz.
"Bro, you really thought it was loud chewing? You literally leave socks everywhere," Y/N says, exasperated but laughing.
Chris and Olivia both answer correctly: When Chris leaves cabinets open.
"I swear Iâm trying to be better," Chris says dramatically.
Nick and Jake? Dead wrong.
Nick writes: When I forget important dates.
Jake writes: When Nick hogs the blanket.
A chaotic spray war ensues, with Nick grabbing the water bottle and spraying Jake back in retaliation.
Round Three: Whoâs the better cook?
Jake, Olivia, and Y/N all hold up their boards confidently: Me.
The triplets? All write: Them.
"Wow," Matt says flatly. "We are collectively the most useless chefs in history."
Chris shrugs. "But at least we know our strengths."
Eventually, the video ends with everyone crowded back on the couch, cheeks flushed from laughing and hair slightly damp from the water spray.
"Alright, guys, thatâs it for today!" Nick announces. "Make sure to like, comment, and subscribeâand let us know if you want to see more videos with the six of us!"
"And who you think the cutest couple is," Chris adds, pointing directly at himself and Olivia.
"Obviously itâs us," Jake jokes, leaning against Nick.
Matt wraps an arm loosely around Y/Nâs shoulder. "You guys are both wrong."
The camera cuts out as everyone dissolves into more laughter and playful bickering.
The comments flood in within minutes of the upload:
Top Comment: "Okay but all three couples are literally the cutest. Nick and Jakeâs trivia domination, Matt and Y/Nâs wholesome vibes, and Chris and Olivia just being chaoticâ10/10 content. đ„șâš"
Comment #2: "Y/N and Matt are giving childhood-best-friends-to-lovers energy and Iâm eating it UP."
Comment #3: "Nick and Jake are my comfort duo. The way Nick just KNOWS Jake is everything."
Comment #4: "Chris and Olivia are such golden retriever/black cat energy and I refuse to believe otherwise."
Comment #5: "Petition for more couples content because I could watch this for HOURS."
Comment #6: "Lowkey obsessed with how Y/N roasted Matt for five minutes straight but then called him âbabeâ all soft and sweet. đâ€ïž"
Comment #7: "Nick and Jake finishing each otherâs sentences is what true love looks like, folks."
Comment #8: "Chris looking at Olivia like she hung the stars even when she was roasting him for not knowing her favorite movie? Yeah. Yeah, Iâm emotional."
Final Comment Highlight: "Someone said âSturniolo Couples Cinematic Universeâ in the replies and honestly... yeah. Thatâs it. Thatâs the vibe."
tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @straw8berry, @shadowthesim, @courta13
#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo imagine#spotify#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x you#nick sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#matt sturniolo fluff#matthew sturniolo#matthew sturniolo imagine#matthew bernard sturniolo#matthew sturniolo smut#sturniolo triplets x reader#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo smut#sturniolo imagine#matthew sturniolo x reader#the sturniolo triplets#the sturniolos
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Just a quick fluff and my first blog post. âĄ
⥠⥠âĄ
Satoru watched you sift through the racks of clothing, a soft smile lingering at the corners of his lips. He loved going shopping with you. Your eyes lit up and it was the most adorable thing. Heâd never admit it out loud, of course - he had a reputation to maintain.
Confidence was second nature to Satoru Gojo. But when it came to you, that self-assured mask wavered. There was a nervousness he couldnât quite shake, a fluttering in his chest that left him off-balance. Relationships had been complicated since Suguru. Since the day he walked away, leaving a gaping hole Satoru had tried to fill - ineffectively - with fleeting connections and shallow encounters.
None of it ever meant anything. The ache in his heart felt too deep, too permanent. Or so heâd thought. Then you came along. And with you, he felt the tiniest flicker of something heâd almost forgotten: hope. Maybe closure wasnât just a distant dream. Maybe healing wasnât an impossibility.
But how could he ever tell you what he felt? The fear of rejection loomed over him like a shadow, a quiet torment. You werenât just anyone - you were everything. The thought of losing you, even the version of you he held close as a friend, was more terrifying than any curse heâd ever faced.
Outwardly, his expression remained composed, the turmoil beneath carefully masked by an easy, laid-back demeanor. Satoru was an expert at this - hiding his chaos behind a cocky smile. But he knew it couldnât last forever. The pressure was building. One day, it might just tear him apart.
âYouâre gonna buy all that?â
He teased, raising an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. His voice was light, almost casual, but his eyes - they lingered on you, betraying more than he dared to say.
âHeh, hold these for me, yeah?â
The grin you shot over your shoulder was maddening, equal parts smug and effortless, and he hated how it managed to twist something soft in his chest. The pile of clothes landed in his arms with a dull weight, and he raised a brow at you, biting back whatever sharp retort lingered on his tongue. The way you obviously felt so comfortable around him made his heart swell in a way he hadnât felt in a long time.
You always took your time - because of course you did - but he didnât mind. Time with you was never wasted, even if it meant trailing behind as you wandered at your own pace. Nearly an hour later, bags hanging from one hand and a cone of slowly melting ice cream in the other, Satoru found himself stealing glances at you. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he watched you practically demolish your own ice cream, the sight so endearing it almost distracted him from the knot of nerves tightening in his chest. Was now the right time?
He cleared his throat, adjusting the bags in his hands as if that might somehow steady him. Nervous? Really?
âGet it together..â
Plastering on the smirk that always seemed to come too easily, he turned to you, every ounce of his usual confidence carefully masking the storm raging in his chest. But before he could string together a single coherent thought, you beat him to it.
âSatoruuu, look!â
Your voice was pure excitement, your eyes lighting up as you pointed across the way. His gaze followed yours to a small Build-A-Bear shop, and just like that, whatever courage heâd scraped together crumbled. You were glowing, practically bouncing on your feet, and his heart stumbled in his chest at the sight. He let out a long, exaggerated sigh, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, twitching upward despite himself.
Some time later, the two of you stepped out of the store, another bag now added to the growing collection in his hand. You cradled a freshly made, fluffy teddy bear in your arms, your face glowing with the kind of joy that made his chest ache in the best way. As you rambled on, your voice animated and warm, he found his eyes drifting to your lips, the words barely registering anymore. He could listen to you forever, he thought, even if he wasnât sure heâd ever fully hear a single word when you smiled like that.
Time slipped by in a blur, like it always did when he was with you. Every time Satoru thought heâd finally gathered enough courage to confess, something - usually you - got in the way. Why did you have to be so jittery, so full of energy, bounding from one thing to the next before he could even catch his breath? He adored that about you, of course, but right now, it was driving him insane. The words heâd been holding onto for so long felt heavier by the second, frustration bubbling under the surface.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in soft oranges and purples, he was loading the last of your shopping bags into the trunk of his car. With a long breath, he closed it, then moved to your side to hold the door open. Watching you slide into the seat, so casual and at ease, he felt his heart stutter again. His hands felt annoyingly clammy as he walked around to the driverâs side, and when he sat down, the silence that followed was suffocating.
You noticed immediately. He could feel your gaze on him, the weight of your confusion as you tilted your head slightly in his direction. When he didnât start the car, your voice was hesitant, almost cautious. âSatoruâŠ?â
And just like that, he knew there was no turning back.
âListen⊠just for a secondâŠâ His voice is softer now, but thereâs an edge to it, an unease he canât quite mask. Was he really doing this? His pulse thudded in his ears, and for a moment, the words tangled themselves up in his throat.
âIâŠâ He faltered, his gaze locking on your face. The slight furrow of your brows, the way your lips parted ever so slightly, anticipation written all over you - it was too much. He couldnât hold back anymore.
And then his lips found yours.
It was like heaven - warm, soft, everything heâd imagined and more. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he scolded himself for waiting this long, for letting fear get in the way of this perfect moment. But all of that melted away the second you leaned into him. You didnât pull back, didnât hesitate. Instead, your eyes fluttered shut, just as his did, and the world around you both faded into nothing but the feel of each other.
⥠⥠âĄ
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ink & innocence - 20
word count: 6.1k
more of a bff chapter!
"Bathroom sex?" Isobel practically shrieked, her eyes wide with delight as she shook Aspenâs shoulders, making her squirm deeper into the mattress.
It had been barely five minutes since Aspen had begun to stir awake, her body still deliciously sore from the previous nightâs escapades, when Isobel quite literally pounced on her. The sudden weight pressing down on her and the excited screech in her ear had her groaning into her pillow, face burning before she had even fully processed the words.
Aspen wanted to disappear. "Oh my god, Iz," she whined, voice muffled as she buried her face deeper into her pillow, her heart thudding against her ribs.
Isobel, completely unbothered, leaned closer. "Don't âoh my godâ me! You and Harry disappeared for like, an hour, and when you finally came out? He had that smug-ass look on his face, and youâ" Isobel dramatically flopped onto her side next to Aspen, propping herself up on one elbow as she smirked down at her friend. "You looked like you had just committed a sin and loved every second of it."
Aspen groaned again, her hands gripping the pillow tighter. She could feel her cheeks burning, and her entire body felt hot with embarrassment. "It wasnât bathroom sâ" she huffed, lifting her face just enough to glare at Isobel before quickly looking away. Even just thinking about that word sent a shiver down her spine. "It wasnât that, Iz."
Isobel gasped. "Oh, but thatâs not what I heard!" she sing-songed, wiggling her eyebrows. "Zayn said Harry looked like he just won the fucking lottery walking out of that bathroom."
Aspen wanted the earth to swallow her whole. "But you werenât there," she grumbled, reaching for the nearest pillow and gripping it in her small fist before swinging it up and back, landing a satisfying smack against Isobelâs face.
Isobel let out an exaggerated gasp, flopping backward with a dramatic groan before sitting up and narrowing her eyes at Aspen. "So, youâre not denying it," she teased, poking Aspenâs side.
Aspen swatted at her hand, but she was already shifting onto her back with a deep sigh, covering her face with her hands. "It wasnâtâugh, Iz, Iâm not talking about this with you."
"Oh, you so are." Isobel grinned, pulling Aspenâs hands away from her face. "Bestie, I need details. How was it? Was it good? Was he good? I mean, obviously he was, but likeâ"
Aspen groaned again, rolling onto her side, effectively turning her back to Isobel. But her mind betrayed her, sending flashes of the night before through her thoughtsâthe way Harry had looked at her, the way he touched her, how gentle he had been even when desire had all but consumed them. It had been good. So good. And she had been the one to initiate it. The thought made her blush all over again.
"Okay, okay," Isobel relented, sensing Aspenâs internal meltdown. "Iâll ease up. But just know, I am so proud of you. Our little Aspen is growing up." She dramatically wiped an invisible tear from her eye.
Aspen rolled her eyes, but a small, shy smile pulled at her lips. "Shut up, Iz."
Isobel only laughed, flopping onto her back beside her. "Never."
Isobel lay next to Aspen with a smug grin, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers while Aspen stayed curled up, her back still facing her. The weight of the night before still lingered in Aspenâs body, in the way her skin felt warm just thinking about it, in the way her stomach twisted at the mere mention of Harryâs name. She wanted to tell Isobel to drop it, to move on, but deep down, she knew betterâIsobel was relentless.
A few beats of silence passed before Isobel sighed dramatically, making sure Aspen heard her disappointment loud and clear. "Fine, keep your dirty little secrets," she teased, flopping onto her stomach and propping her chin up in her hands. "But at least tell me thisâare you seeing him today?"
Aspen hesitated for a moment before nodding, her fingers gripping the edge of her blanket. "Heâs picking me up later," she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Isobel squealed, kicking her feet against the mattress. "Oh my god, Aspen. What if you guysâ" she paused, wiggling her brows suggestively. "You know. Again."
Aspen let out a small, exasperated laugh, finally turning onto her back to stare at the ceiling. "Iz, itâs not like that," she murmured, though her mind betrayed her yet again, flashing images of Harryâs hands on her, his lips murmuring praises into her skin.
"Not like that?" Isobel repeated incredulously. "Babe, heâs obsessed with you. And donât even get me started on youâyou look like you just stepped out of one of those romance novels you read, all flushed and dreamy-eyed." She rolled onto her side, nudging Aspenâs arm. "Tell me you at least had fun."
Aspen bit her lip, fighting the shy smile threatening to break free. "I did," she admitted, feeling her cheeks warm again.
Isobel gasped, grabbing Aspenâs hands and squeezing them. "I knew it! And I know you, Aspenâyou donât just do things like this with anyone. This is different, isnât it?"
Aspen hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly. "Yeah," she breathed, her chest tightening with something she couldnât quite name. "It is."
Isobel beamed. "I knew it," she repeated, her voice softer this time. "I love this for you. I really do."
Aspen smiled, a genuine, warm smile. "Thanks, Iz."
Isobel squeezed her hands once more before rolling onto her back. "Okay, enough about your hot, broody tattoo artist boyfriend," she teased. "We need to figure out what youâre wearing today. You have to look effortlessly gorgeous but not too obvious. Itâs a fine balance."
Aspen laughed, shaking her head. "I swear, sometimes I think you care about this more than I do."
"I absolutely do," Isobel said without missing a beat. "Now, up! We have work to do."
And just like that, Isobel was yanking the blanket off of Aspen, dragging her out of bed with a determined gleam in her eyes.
Aspen had just finished brushing through her hair when her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Seeing Harryâs name on the screen made her stomach flutter as she eagerly picked up the call.
âHey,â she greeted softly, a small smile tugging at her lips.
âHey, sweetheart,â Harryâs voice came through, but something was off. It wasnât his usual lazy drawl or the teasing warmth he always had when he spoke to her. It was quicker, clippedâlike he was in a rush.
Aspen frowned slightly, sitting on the edge of her bed. âAre you on your way?â she asked, already reaching for her shoes.
There was a pause, just a beat too long, before he exhaled sharply. âActually, uh, thatâs why Iâm calling,â he admitted. âI have to cancel today.â
Aspen froze, her fingers curling around the laces of her sneakers. âOh,â she said, trying not to sound as disappointed as she felt. âIs everything okay?â
âYeah, justâsomething came up,â Harry said, and though his words were casual, his tone wasnât. There was an edge to it, something he wasnât saying.
Aspen didnât press, not wanting to seem like she was prying. Harry wasnât the type to cancel plans unless it was important, so she figured whatever it was, he had his reasons. âThatâs okay,â she said, trying to keep her voice light. âWe can just see each other another time.â
Another pause. Then, âYeah. Iâll text you later, alright?â
âOkay,â Aspen nodded, even though he couldnât see her. âTalk later.â
The call ended a second later, leaving Aspen staring at her phone with a small frown. Something about that felt⊠weird. Harry never sounded like that with herânot rushed, not distant.
Before she could dwell on it too much, Isobel flopped onto the bed beside her. âWhatâs with the face?â she asked, propping her chin in her hand.
Aspen sighed, tossing her phone onto the comforter. âHarry canceled.â
Isobelâs brows shot up. âReally? Thatâs unlike him.â
âI know,â Aspen murmured. âBut he said something came up.â
âHmm.â Isobel tilted her head, clearly debating whether to speculate, but then she grinned and nudged Aspenâs arm. âWell, lucky for you, I am always available. So, letâs go out, have some lunch, and make a day of it.â
Aspen smiled despite herself. âYou donât have to do that, Iz.â
âOh, but IÂ do,â Isobel said dramatically, flipping her hair over her shoulder. âI canât have you moping around all day over your mysterious, broody boyfriend. So, come on, get dressed. Weâre going out.â
Aspen laughed, rolling her eyes, but she felt a warmth in her chest at Isobelâs insistence. âAlright, alright,â she relented, standing up.
âGood,â Isobel grinned, hopping off the bed. âNow, letâs find you something cute but casual. Weâre going for effortless beauty, obviously.â
Shaking her head fondly, Aspen let Isobel drag her to the closet, grateful to have her best friend to distract herâeven if a tiny part of her couldnât shake the nagging feeling that something was off with Harry.
The restaurant was cozy, filled with the hum of chatter and the occasional clatter of plates. The scent of warm bread and sizzling food filled the air, wrapping Aspen in a comfort she hadn't realized she needed. She and Isobel had snagged a small booth near the window, where the sunlight streamed in just enough to give a soft glow to their table.
Isobel sipped on her iced tea, tapping her nails absentmindedly against the glass as she glanced at Aspen. âOkay, I have to say it,â she started, setting her drink down with a thud. âZayn has been so good to me lately. I mean, not that he wasnât before, but I donât know, thereâs just something different now. In a good way.â
Aspen smiled as she idly pushed her straw around in her own drink. âI can tell,â she said warmly. âYouâre like⊠glowing. Itâs kind of gross.â
Isobel gasped dramatically. âExcuse you! I prefer to call it the look of a woman who is properly adored.â
Aspen snorted, shaking her head. âWell, whatever it is, Iâm happy for you.â
Their food arrived shortly after, and for a few minutes, they were content to eat in comfortable silenceâIsobel happily biting into her club sandwich while Aspen worked at her quesadilla, dipping each piece in the small side of salsa.
It wasnât until halfway through their meal that Isobel brought up the inevitable. âSo,â she started, picking at the crust of her sandwich, âare we just⊠not gonna talk about what happened at the party?â
Aspen stiffened slightly, her fork pausing mid-air before she set it down. âWhich part?â she asked, even though she had a feeling she already knew what Isobel was referring to.
Isobel gave her a flat look. âKirsten.â
Aspen sighed, leaning back in her seat. âI donât even know where to start with that.â
âWell, letâs start with the fact that she tried to spike your drink,â Isobel said, lowering her voice but still sharp with irritation. âLike, what the actual hell was that about?â
Aspen shook her head, frustration curling in her chest. âI have no idea. I didnât even notice anything was off until Harry took the drink from me.â
âOf course he noticed,â Isobel muttered. âBecause he actually pays attention to you.â
Aspen let out a small sigh. âI just donât understand why sheâd do something like that. I mean, she doesnât even really know me.â
âOh, please,â Isobel scoffed, taking another bite of her sandwich before waving her hand. âShe knows enough. She knows Harry likes you. And she hates that.â
Aspen frowned, her appetite fading a little. She hated drama, hated being caught in the middle of whatever tension was between Kirsten and Harry. But even more than that, she hated how intentional it all seemed.
âAnd then,â Isobel continued, setting her sandwich down, âthereâs the fact that she was literally standing outside the damn bathroom when you guys came out. Like, that is not normal behavior.â
Aspen groaned, covering her face with her hands. âGod, donât remind me.â
Isobel grinned mischievously. âNo, letâs remind you, actually. Because I love that Harry walked out looking smug as hell while you were all shy and flustered but also looking like you just rocked that manâs world.â
Aspen groaned again, her cheeks heating. âIz!â
âWhat?â Isobel laughed, holding up her hands in mock innocence. âIâm just saying, if she was trying to make you feel insecure or whatever, she failed miserably because you won.â
Aspen peeked at her through her fingers, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. âItâs not about winning.â
âNo, but it is about making sure she knows she canât mess with you,â Isobel said more seriously, resting her chin in her palm. âYou know that, right? She was trying to get under your skin. And honestly, I think sheâs gonna keep trying.â
Aspen sighed, picking at the edge of her napkin. âI donât want this to turn into some weird rivalry thing.â
Isobel huffed. âIt already is, Aspen. Sheâs made it clear that she sees you as some kind of threat.â
Aspen stayed quiet for a moment, mulling over Isobelâs words. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew she was right. Kirsten wasnât done, and that realization settled like a heavy weight in her stomach.
But then, Isobel reached across the table and squeezed her hand. âHey,â she said softly. âYou donât have to deal with this alone. Youâve got me. And youâve got Harry, whoâby the wayâwould probably fight God for you if it came down to it.â
Aspen let out a small laugh at that, squeezing Isobelâs hand back. âThanks, Iz.â
Aspen stayed quiet for a moment, mulling over Isobelâs words. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew she was right. Kirsten wasnât done, and that realization settled like a heavy weight in her stomach.
Isobel, never one to let silence linger, leaned in slightly. âI mean, I get why sheâs bitter. She had her chance with Harry, and she blew it. Thatâs on her, not you.â
Aspen nodded slowly, tracing the rim of her glass with her finger. âI know that,â she admitted. âAnd I know Harry is with me now, butâŠâ She hesitated, choosing her next words carefully. âKirsten is his type.â
Isobelâs brows pulled together. âHis type?â
Aspen gave a small, almost self-conscious shrug. âSheâs confident. Outgoing. She knows how to work a room. Sheâs⊠I donât know. Bold.â
Isobel rolled her eyes. âOh, please. Thatâs not a type, Aspen. Thatâs a personality disorder.â
Aspen let out a short laugh, but it didnât fully reach her eyes. âYou know what I mean.â
Isobel sighed, leaning back in her seat. âOkay, so she might be the kind of girl Harry used to go for. But does that even matter now? Heâs with you, Aspen. And I donât think heâs even looked at another girl since you two got together.â
Aspen bit her lip, staring down at her plate. âItâs just⊠at the party, when she made that comment about my outfit, I thought it wouldnât bother me. I wanted to think it wouldnât. But I kept thinking about it the rest of the night.â
Isobelâs expression softened. âYou mean when she said she was âsurprisedâ you wore something like that?â
Aspen nodded. âI felt embarrassed already, you know? I mean, I liked how I looked at first, but then I started thinking⊠maybe I shouldnât have worn it. Maybe I was trying too hard to be something Iâm not.â
Isobel frowned. âAspen, stop that. You looked hot that night, and you know it. And for the record, she was threatened by it, thatâs why she said that.â
Aspen sighed, pushing her plate away slightly. âI donât know. I guess I just didnât enjoy wearing it as much as I did at first. I felt more self-conscious about it than confident.â
Isobel shook her head, clearly unimpressed with that revelation. âNo. Nope. We are not letting Kirsten get into your head like this. Sheâs already out here acting like a jealous ex when she wasnât even his ex.â
Aspen gave her a small smile, but the insecurity still lingered. âI just donât want to be constantly second-guessing things like this. I donât want to feel like I have to prove I belong with him.â
Isobel softened again, reaching across the table to squeeze Aspenâs hand. âYou donât have to prove anything. Harry chose you. And trust me, Kirsten knows that. Thatâs why sheâs trying so hard to make you feel small.â
Aspen nodded, exhaling slowly. âYeah. Youâre right.â
âDamn right, Iâm right,â Isobel said, squeezing her hand once more before letting go. âAnd you know what? The next time we go out, weâre finding you another outfit that makes you feel amazingânot for anyone else, not to prove a point, just for you.â
Aspen smiled, her shoulders relaxing just a little. âThat⊠actually sounds nice.â
âGood,â Isobel said firmly. âBecause I refuse to let Kirsten get away with making you feel anything less than perfect.â
Aspen didnât say it out loud, but deep down, she knew Isobel was right. Kirstenâs words had gotten under her skin, but at the end of the day, Harry was with her. And that had to count for something.
They continued to eat, the conversation shifting to lighter topics as they worked through their meals. Isobel, as always, was animated as she spoke, her hands moving expressively while she gushed about Zayn.
âHeâs been so sweet lately, like... weirdly sweet,â she said, tearing off a piece of her sandwich and popping it into her mouth. âI kind of expected dating Zayn to be this wild, chaotic thingâlike constant teasing, a lot of banter, maybe even a little bit of dramaâbut heâs justâŠâ She trailed off, pressing her lips together, as if struggling to put her feelings into words.
Aspen tilted her head, curious. âJust what?â
Isobel sighed, a small, almost shy smile playing on her lips. âHeâs soft with me,â she admitted. âIn a way I never thought he could be.â
Aspen smiled warmly, happy for her friend. âThatâs because he really likes you,â she said, nudging Isobelâs foot under the table. âAnd heâs probably terrified of messing it up.â
Isobel grinned, leaning back in her chair. âAs he should be.â
Aspen laughed, shaking her head as she took another bite of her quesadilla. The moment was easy, familiarâlike every lunch theyâd shared together over the years. It was nice, being able to slip into comfort like this, especially after the emotional whirlwind of the party.
But then, the atmosphere shifted. Subtly, but noticeably.
Isobelâs fingers tapped absently against her glass, her gaze dropping for a second before flickering back up to Aspen. There was something cautious in her expression, something careful.
âHey, um⊠has Harry ever asked why you donât drink?â
The question caught Aspen off guard. Her fork hovered midair for a beat before she slowly lowered it back to her plate.
âNo,â she admitted after a second. âHe hasnât.â
Isobel nodded, her eyes searching Aspenâs face. âDo you think heâs curious about it?â
Aspen considered the question, chewing her bottom lip. âMaybe,â she said with a small shrug. âBut he hasnât brought it up, so I donât know.â
There was a slight pause before Isobel spoke again, her voice softer this time. âDo you think youâll ever tell him?â
Aspenâs fingers curled around her glass, gripping it a little tighter than necessary. The thought of that conversationâof peeling back layers she kept so tightly wrapped around herselfâmade her stomach twist.
âNot right now,â she said quietly. âItâs⊠a heavy subject. And I justâI donât know. I donât feel like talking about it yet.â
Isobelâs gaze softened, understanding flickering in her eyes. She didnât push. She didnât need to. She already knew.
âThatâs fair,â she said simply, her voice warm and steady. âYouâll tell him when youâre ready.â
Aspen let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.
âYeah,â she murmured. âWhen Iâm ready.â
And for now, that was enough.
As Isobel reached for another fry, her phone buzzed against the table. She glanced at the screen, her expression shifting as she read the message.
âZayn just texted,â she said, brows furrowing.
Aspen glanced up from her plate. âYeah? Whatâs up?â
Isobel exhaled sharply, tapping the screen. âHe said he might not be able to make it tonight. No explanation, nothing. Just might not be able to.â
Aspen tilted her head. âThatâs weird⊠Did he seem off today?â
âNo,â Isobel said, setting her phone down. âHe was fine earlier. And now, suddenly, heâs vague? It just feels weird.â
Aspen chewed on her lip, a thought forming. âMaybe it has to do with whatever Harryâs doing?â
Isobelâs gaze snapped to her. âYou think?â
âI meanâŠâ Aspen shrugged, swirling her straw in her drink. âHarry canceled on me earlier too, and he sounded kind of off.â
Isobel leaned forward, elbows on the table. âYeah, IÂ know. You shouldâve seen your face when you hung up.â
Aspen rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. âShut up.â
âNo, seriously,â Isobel pressed. âYou looked all sad, and now Zaynâs backing out too? Thatâs sus.â
Aspen sighed, drumming her fingers against her glass. âI guess it is a little weird. Harry did sound rushed, like he didnât want to be on the phone long.â
âSee?â Isobel pointed a fry at her. âTheyâre up to something.â
Aspen laughed lightly, shaking her head. âOr they just have some kind of plans with their friends. Itâs not a big deal.â
Isobel narrowed her eyes. âI donât know⊠If theyâre sneaking off to go bowling or some dumb boy thing, Iâm gonna be pissed.â
Aspen snorted. âNot bowling.â
Isobel huffed. âWhatever it is, they better have a good excuse.â
Aspen smirked, nudging her. âWell, in the meantime, this just means we get an excuse for a girlsâ night. No boys, no distractionsâjust us.â
Isobelâs lips curled into a slow grin. âThat means weâre going shopping. And you are trying on that black dress I showed you.â
Aspen groaned. âYouâre never letting that go, huh?â
âNope,â Isobel said smugly. âAnd you love me for it.â
Aspen rolled her eyes, but she couldnât help but smile. Whatever was going on with Harry and Zayn, sheâd let it go for now. Tonight was about her and Isobelâand that was perfectly fine.
ËËË â
ËËË
The mall was buzzing with its usual weekend energy, the hum of conversations and laughter mixing with the distant sound of pop music playing from store speakers. Aspen and Isobel wandered aimlessly, stopping occasionally to admire store displays or try on a piece of clothing that caught their eye. Despite the cheerful atmosphere, there was an unspoken tension hanging between them, the lack of contact from Harry and Zayn gnawing at the edges of their thoughts.
Aspen ran her fingers over a rack of soft sweaters, her eyes unfocused as her mind wandered. She hadnât heard from Harry all day, and though she tried to rationalize itâhe was probably busy at the shop, caught up with workâit didnât stop the slight ache of uncertainty in her chest. Was it normal for him to go this long without reaching out? Or was she overthinking things?
âEarth to Aspen,â Isobelâs voice cut through her thoughts, and Aspen looked up to see her friend holding up a pair of sunglasses, striking a dramatic pose. âWhat do we think? Future pop star or just plain ridiculous?â
Aspen managed a small laugh, shaking her head. âDefinitely future pop star. Youâll need a glittery outfit to go with it, though.â
Isobel grinned, setting the sunglasses back on the display. âGlitter it is, then. Come on, letâs find something fun for you to wear. Maybe another showstopper like the outfit from the party?â
At the mention of the party, Aspenâs cheeks heated slightly, her fingers brushing a sweater with a bit more purpose. âI donât know. That outfit didnât exactly work out the way you hoped.â
Isobel frowned, pausing in her search. âWhat do you mean? You looked amazing in it.â
Aspen hesitated, then sighed. âKirstenâs comment about it just⊠got to me, I guess. It made me feel like I wasnât pulling it off the way I thought I was.â
âThatâs ridiculous,â Isobel said firmly. âYou looked incredible, and you shouldnât let someone like her make you doubt yourself. She was just being catty because sheâs jealous.â
Aspen nodded, though her heart still felt heavy. She appreciated Isobelâs support, but the lingering insecurity was hard to shake. âThanks, Iz. Iâll try to remember that.â
They moved on to another store, Isobel pulling Aspen toward a rack of brightly colored skirts while keeping up a steady stream of chatter. Aspen let herself get swept up in her friendâs enthusiasm, even managing to smile as Isobel held up various outfits against her and critiqued them with exaggerated seriousness.
Still, the silence from Harry lingered in the back of her mind. As much as she tried to push it away, she couldnât help but wonder what he was doing. Was he really at the shop, or was there something else going on? She shook her head slightly, forcing herself to focus on Isobel.
âSo,â Isobel said as they left the store with a bag of new finds, âstill no word from Harry?â
âNope,â Aspen said, glancing at her phone as if it would magically light up with a message. âIâm sure theyâre just busy. Probably at the shop or something.â
Isobel hummed thoughtfully. âMaybe. Itâs just⊠weird, you know? Zayn usually texts me back, even if itâs just a quick âIâm busy.ââ
Aspen shrugged, though she couldnât deny the flicker of agreement in her gut. âTheyâve got a lot going on, I guess.â She didn't want to be overbearing, Harry didn't owe her an explanation to his schedule every minute of every day.
âMaybe,â Isobel said again, though her tone was skeptical. âI donât know, Aspen. Do you ever get the feeling theyâre hiding something?â
Aspen froze for half a second before forcing a laugh. âWhat do you mean?â
âNothing serious,â Isobel said quickly, waving a hand. âIâm probably overthinking. I just feel like they disappear sometimes, you know? Like theyâre not telling us everything.â
Aspen bit her lip, unsure how to respond. The thought had crossed her mind before, but sheâd always brushed it off. Harry and Zayn had their own lives, their own responsibilities. It wasnât like they owed her every detail of their day.
Still, the unease in Isobelâs voice planted a seed of doubt she couldnât ignore.
Aspen exhaled softly, rolling her shoulders as if physically shrugging off the lingering doubt Isobel had unintentionally stirred. She didnât want to let paranoia creep in, didnât want to be the kind of girlfriend who overanalyzed everything. Harry had never given her a reason not to trust him. If anything, he was the opposite of secretive.
âI donât think itâs that deep,â Aspen said after a moment, glancing at Isobel. âHarry doesnât hide things from me.â
Isobel gave her a skeptical look, crossing her arms. âReally? Because right now, it kind of seems like he is.â
Aspen shook her head, pressing her lips together in a thoughtful frown. âI know his phone passcode. Heâs literally told me all his passwords, not that Iâve ever used them. Heâs never been weird about me touching his phone, and he even offered me a key to the shop since he sometimes stays late. If he was keeping some big secret, would he really be that open?â
Isobelâs expression softened a little as she considered Aspenâs words. âI mean⊠when you put it that way, I guess not.â
Aspen nodded, latching onto that reasoning. âExactly. Heâs probably just caught up with work. Maybe something last-minute came up with a client, or Zayn needed help with something.â
Isobel sighed, running a hand through her hair. âI get it, I do. I justâugh, maybe Iâm overthinking it because Zayn isnât answering me either. Heâs usually not like that.â
Aspen nudged her playfully. âSo, youâre the one overthinking now?â
Isobel groaned dramatically. âOkay, okay, fine! Iâll drop it. But if it turns out they were doing something stupid and secretive, I get full âI told you soâ rights.â
Aspen laughed, shaking her head. âDeal.â
They continued walking, passing by a row of small kiosks selling handmade jewelry and custom keychains. Aspen slowed her steps as they reached a display of delicate silver rings, her fingers trailing over one with a small crescent moon engraved on it. She debated for a second before picking it up, testing how it looked on her finger.
âYou should get it,â Isobel said, watching her.
Aspen twisted the ring around her finger, considering. âMaybe⊠I just like little things like this. Harry has a few rings he never takes off, and I guess I think itâd be kind of cute to have one of my own.â
Isobel smirked, leaning in. âYouâre totally soft for him.â
Aspen rolled her eyes but didnât deny it. âWhatever. Itâs just a ring.â
âSure, sure,â Isobel teased, nudging her toward the counter. âBuy it before I do it for you.â
Aspen huffed but pulled out her wallet, deciding she might as well. She handed the ring to the clerk, and within moments, it was hers. Sliding it onto her finger, she couldnât help but smile a little. It was simple, nothing flashy, but it felt⊠nice. Like something to keep with her, even when Harry wasnât around.
They spent another hour or so browsing, stepping into different stores, and making each other try on ridiculous outfits just for laughs. For a while, Aspen was able to push aside the nagging thoughts, allowing herself to just enjoy the time with Isobel.
Still, as they walked out of yet another shop and Aspen glanced down at her phone, seeing no new messages, the quiet little voice in her mind whispered again.
She trusted Harry. She did.
Aspen was mid-bite into a pretzel when her phone finally vibrated in her pocket. She barely noticed it at first, too focused on the cinnamon sugar coating her fingertips, but when she absently pulled her phone out to check, her heart did a little flip at the name on the screen.
Harry đ€: Hey, sugar.
It was short, simple, barely anything at allâbut it was enough. She had changed his star to a heart just a bit ago, figured it suited him more.
A smug grin immediately spread across Aspenâs face as she turned the screen toward Isobel, wiggling it in her direction. âSee? Told you. No big deal.â
Isobel scoffed, narrowing her eyes at the message. âThatâs it? Thatâs all he said? Not even an âIâm sorry for canceling on youâ or an explanation?â
Aspen rolled her eyes, stuffing her phone back into her pocket. âIt doesnât matter. He texted. Heâs fine, theyâre fine. You were just being paranoid.â
âI was not being paranoid,â Isobel shot back. âI was being observant. And you were also freaking!â
Aspen snorted. âUh-huh, sure. Well, observant or not, looks like I was right. No weird secret meetings, no troubleâjust busy.â She popped another bite of pretzel into her mouth, savoring her small victory.
Isobel sighed, throwing her hands up. âFine. I guess you win this round.â
Aspen grinned. âI always win.â
They continued walking through the mall, Aspenâs mood lighter now that she had proof Harry was still thinking about her. Sure, it wasnât much of a message, but it was something, and knowing he took the time to text her, even if he was busy, reassured her. He always made her happy, and she knew he'd keep it that way.
ËËË â
ËËË
Aspen lay back against her pillows, her room cast in a dim, golden glow from the small bedside lamp she had yet to turn off. The quiet hum of the night surrounded her, the only sounds being the distant ticking of the clock on her wall and the occasional creak of the house settling. It was lateâlater than she intended to stay upâbut the lingering weight in her chest wouldnât let her rest. Isobel had already retreated to her own room, the soft click of her door closing hours ago leaving Aspen alone with her thoughts.
She sighed, her fingers curling around her phone as she stared at the screen, hesitating for just a second before pressing the call button. It wasnât like she needed to hear his voice to sleepâbut maybe she did.
The phone rang twice, each tone stretching out in the silence of her room. Then, finally, the line clicked, and his voice filled her ear, rough and low, like she might have woken him up.
âHey, baby.â
Aspen let out a breath she hadnât realized she was holding, her lips curling into a small smile at the familiar endearment. There was something about the way he said it, the way his voice softened just slightly when he spoke to her, that made her stomach warm.
âHey,â she whispered, shifting to her side, tucking her free hand beneath her cheek. The warmth of her blankets wrapped around her, but it wasnât quite enoughânot when she was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that she was here, in bed alone, and Harry was not.
She could hear the faint rustling on his end, the sound of fabric shifting. âDid I wake you?â
A soft chuckle. âNah, I wasnât really asleep.â
She frowned slightly. âYou should be. Itâs late.â
âYouâre still up,â he pointed out, amusement laced in his voice.
She bit her lip, pressing her face slightly into the pillow. âYeah, well⊠I just wanted to hear your voice before bed.â
A beat of silence followed, but she could hear the small inhale Harry took on the other end, like he wasnât expecting that. Like maybe he wasnât used to someone admitting that so easily.
âYeah?â
Aspen nodded, even though he couldnât see. âYeah.â
Harry let out a low hum, and something about it sent a small shiver down her spine, the deep vibration of his voice settling somewhere deep inside her chest. The quiet between them wasnât awkward, wasnât empty. It was comforting, like a soft blanket wrapped around them both, holding them close despite the distance.
After a few more moments, she finally asked, âWhat were you up to today?â
Harry exhaled, shifting again. âShop was slammed,â he said, voice casual but slightly tired. âHad a few last-minute walk-ins, and Zayn needed me to help out with some designs. Barely got a chance to sit down.â
Aspenâs brows lifted slightly. âOh, wow. That busy?â
âYeah. One of the guys booked a huge piece last minute, and it took forever,â he explained. âDidnât wanna leave Z on his own with all that, so I stuck around. It was one of those clients that just demand, and demand, and demand. Couldn't catch'a break, doll.â
She nodded to herself, processing his words. That made sense. Harry had told her before how the shop could get chaotic, especially on nights when people randomly decided they wanted a tattoo. It sounded like a normal, reasonable explanation, but still, something about the way he spokeâthe slight edge in his tone, the careful way he phrased thingsâmade something prickle in the back of her mind.Â
But she didnât let it settle. She wasnât going to be the kind of person who overthought everything. She trusted him. The girl had just been on edge the whole day, and texting him earlier after she left the mall settled her more as well.
âWell,â she murmured, rolling onto her back and tucking the blankets up higher. âIâm glad you guys were able to handle it, but⊠next time, justâjust give me a heads-up? You donât have to tell me every little thing, I just⊠I worried a little today.â
Another pause, then a sigh from the other end of the line. âYeah, I get it,â Harry said, his voice a little softer now. âDidnât mean t'leave you hanging like that, angel. Wonât happen again. 'M sorry.â
Aspenâs heart warmed at his reassurance, the tension in her chest loosening. She never wanted to be the kind of girlfriend who needed constant check-ins, but it felt nice to know he understood, to know that he wasnât dismissing how she felt.
âOkay,â she whispered, smiling slightly.
There was another beat of silence, and then his voice dropped lower, quieter.
âYou in bed?â
Aspenâs face warmed instantly, even though it was a simple question. âMmhm,â she hummed, tucking herself further into the blankets. âJust got comfy.â
âGood,â he murmured. âWish I was there.â
Heat crawled up her neck, her stomach fluttering at the way he said itâlow, easy, like it was something heâd been thinking about for a while. She buried her face into the pillow, embarrassed at how much it affected her.
âHarry,â she whined softly, her voice muffled.
âWhat?â he chuckled. âJust saying. Youâre warm, and I like warm. M'feet are getting cold without your little ones to warm them up.â
She bit her lip, shaking her head at how ridiculous he was, but her heart squeezed all the same.
âGo to sleep,â she muttered.
âYou first.â
Aspen rolled her eyes, smiling. âI called you first, so technically, you should sleep first.â
Harry huffed, amused. âFine. But only âcause Iâm tired. I'll come get you t'morrow, yeah?â
Aspen giggled. âYes, please." A warm smile spread across her pink lips, her eyes fluttering shut. "Goodnight, Harry.â
âNight, sugar.â
Neither of them hung up. They just stayed like that, the quiet stretching between them, both unwilling to break the connection just yet. Eventually, their breathing evened out, the sound lulling them both into something close to sleep.
And even though Harry wasnât there beside her, Aspen felt warm anyway.
#harry styles#fanfic#one direction#zayn malik#niall horan#fanfiction#wattpad fanfiction#wattpad#louis tomlinson#harry styles fanfiction#smut#harry smut#harry styles smut#harry styles fluff#harry styles writing
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Leslie:
"So...howâs everything going? Relationship-wise?"
Y/N:
"Great. We just planned our funerals last week."
April:
"Itâs gonna be a joint event. Heâs dying first, obviously."
Y/N:
"If we stick to the script. But if I find the Philosopher's Stone firstâ"
Donna:
"Pause. Rewind. Yâall planned funerals? Together?"
April:
"Yeah, you gotta think ahead. Like, are we going for black roses or ash-dyed succulents? And whoâs giving the eulogy? Iâm thinking Ron."
Y/N:
"Heâd just grunt and say, âHe was fine,â which is exactly what Iâd want."
The gang exchanges confused looks, already regretting the invitation. Meanwhile, April and Y/N are now bickering over whether to have their ashes scattered in space or turned into decorative plates.
Tom (to Donna, whispering):
"Are we watching a rom-com or a Tim Burton biopic?"
Donna:
"Both. And Iâm loving it."
Midway through dinner, Y/N suddenly turns to April with exaggerated seriousness.
Y/N:
"If you could only save me or your cat in a zombie apocalypse, who would it be?"
April (without hesitation):
"Chairman Meow. Obviously."
Y/N:
"Fair. Iâd do the same. Heâs a better fighter than Iâll ever be."
April leans in and kisses him softly, whispering, "But Iâd still miss you, you dork."
The gang is stunned silent for a moment before Tom breaks it.
Tom:
"Okay, Iâm calling it: this is the weirdest love story of all time."
Leslie:
"And somehow...it works?"
Ben:
"Should we be happy for them or scared of them?"
Donna:
"Both. Definitely both."
The night ends with Y/N and April dragging the gang into a pointless debate about Star Wars sequels vs. prequels, cackling the whole time while everyone else questions their sanity.
The next day, the gang reflects on what theyâve witnessed.
Leslie (to camera):
"I think I understand April and Y/N now. Theyâre like two puzzle pieces that donât fit with anything else...but somehow, they fit perfectly with each other. Itâs weird. Itâs kind of beautiful. But mostly weird."
Cut to April and Y/N at her desk, sharing a plate of tater tots and laughing about some obscure internet meme no one else gets.
Ron (grumbling):
"Love is weird. Now, can everyone stop talking so I can finish carving this canoe?"
@jacenradio7 @6rookie-writer0110 @fandomnerd9602 @multi-fandom-enjoyer @amphibiahawks321
Hope you like it!
#parks and rec#april ludgate#april ludgate x reader#april ludgate x male reader#comedy#fanfic#male reader
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Did Jinx Love Vi?
**Spoilers For All Of Arcane**
Okay. First let me say I am not here to attack or insult Jinx. The title is literally just addressing the question I'm hoping to answer so.. put down the torches and pitchforks. I recently had a very nice short talk with someone on one of their posts, and it was primarily to do with this issue of how Jinx treats Vi in the show. And in truth, I share a lot of their feelings. For the most part, we never really get a moment of Jinx outwardly showing any sympathy or kindness to Vi at all until almost the end. As I always do for clarity let me be crystal clear. Vi is my favorite character. But I think most people watching objectively can agree she tries really fucking hard for the people she loves and gets kicked in the teeth almost constantly.
*Not writing in my usual spot to look up these quotes so some may be paraphrased*
" Never thought my sister would turn blue-belly"- Literally there because of what Jinx did
"I'm a hero. I busted half of Zaun out of prison while you were passed out at the bottom of a mug"- Vi completely spiraling after losing literally everyone she loves and Jinx knowing full well she didn't step in for Zaun until they took Isha
" She used to be pretty cool, til I kicked her ass"- literally the fight where Jinx lured Vi down there hoping to die and it ended with her on her back urging Vi to finish her.
Smirks at Vi when Vi sees the Mural of her and Vander. Even though Jinx literally betrayed everything Vander ever stood for and considers the man who murdered Vander and caused the deaths of their brothers her father. All while Vi is nowhere to be seen.
Now, there is obviously history between them, Jinx has her reasons to be angry just like Vi does. NEITHER ARE PERFECT. But these few examples are not exaggerated or spun. And they are just a few of many. It can really come off like Jinx just does NOT care what happened to Vi at all:
Seven years in Stillwater undergoing god knows what kind of hell
Almost killed getting back to her in the undercity before being taken by firelights
Almost killed by Jinx on the bridge
Almost killed by Silco at the same event where she begs Cait for Jinx life and Jinx responds by murdering Caitlyn's mother
Has clearly been driven so far by Jinx's actions and what has happened that she becomes Enforcer
Abandoned by Caitlyn and on self-destructive spiral that will very likely kill her because Caitlyn has lost her self after everything Jinx has done to her.
However, I think there are some things we need to remember to better understand this issue:
Jinx is severely mentally ill. I know this is obvious. But it matters because everything she says and does is filtered through a different lens than the average person.
Jinx hates herself and in season 2 especially, wants to die until she bonds with Isha. She gives us evidence of this repeatedly but the moment I most remember is when she meets Isha for the very first time and describes knowing she could die at any time as the best feeling in the world. Then goes on to associate herself with cursing a a sister, a family or a society, I think it was.
"I'm losing my snappy comebacks"- Part of Jinx's whole schtick is verbally lashing out. She mocks everyone, at all times, for any reason. It doesn't make it kind or right. It's just what she does. She also absolutely knows precisely what to say to piss her sister off. Like any good little sister would. Additionally, you may be the person yourself but if not, we all know that person whose defense mechanism is cruel or sarcastic words. While Jinx is plenty dangerous, more often than not when she feels insulted/threatened/uncomfortable she goes for the death blow verbally.
Considering all of that, while there are moments I wish she could have shown Vi alittle more kindness and love, especially with how much Vi loves her, I think Jinx's love for Vi remains constant throughout the show, even if her motormouth sometimes makes it hard to see:
The Reunion:
Even after all the terrible things in their childhood, including the incident for which Vi carries so much guilt and some of the fandom think a fifteen year old Vi should have been crucified for, this is how their reunion starts. Vi apologizes immediately and embraces her. Jinx is crying and ashamed of how she has changed but Vi accepts her and loves her. It only goes wrong when Jinx sees Caitlyn, and why is she mad at Caitlyn who she has never seen or met?
Cyclops and lefty to the rescue. Silco to turn Jinx against Vi and Sevika intentionally trying to damage Jinx's mental health, both of these figures poison Jinx against Caitlyn ruining the next several times they get close. But all throughout that series of events we see Jinx trying to overpower the voices in her head because she knows Vi loves her, and she loves VI. Just unfortunately, she does not win.
2. Seeing Vi As An Enforcer:
Now this isn't a happy moment of course. But Jinx isn't so distraught at seeing Vi in the uniform because she doesn't care about Vi. She is seeing what she believes is the total rejection of her by the last person she has who loves her and who she loves, all wrapped up in the package that killed her parents
3. Jinx VS Vi:
Even during the fight Jinx wanted to end in her death, when Isha gets involved and sticks a gun in Vi's face Jinx IMMEDIATELY screams no.
4. Jinx At the Pit:
If you slow down the cinematic of Vi's time in the pit, is actually shown a few times not just the once. Now I admit this is head-canon and probably the least provable one of these. But I don't think Jinx would have show up again and again to take pleasure in or mock Vi's pain. I think she was just checking on her in the best way her mind knew how.
5. Vander:
I already mentioned how their last interaction went, and the fact that Jinx came to Vi anyway to try and rebuild their family knowing full-well Vi would likely want to kill her is impressive and a clear sign of JInx's desire for them all to be together again.
There are plenty more examples to either point (particularly the MASSIVE example of how Jinx feels about vi in the end of the show), this was quick and not my usual quality. But the thought struck me and I wanted to jump on it. Feel free to share your thoughts same/different or otherwise, I appreciate all of you who take time out of your day to read my thoughts. Even when they are quick and slap-dash like this.
The story of these sisters is one that for me, will live on forever. Have a great day.
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What do you think about the labels for Robins? Especially the "happy robin" and the "angry robin"?
Dude, you've opened a Pandora's box there-
I've said before that I'm against these labels, especially the "angry Robin" one, but I think the one that bothers me the most is the "happy Robin" one, and yes, I have reasons-
I haven't been in the fandom for years, but from what I saw, tags started to become popular after Damian came out. Specifically with the "angry Robin" one, which was assigned to him.
Then, people started arguing that it was actually Dick the "angry Robin", usually using as a reference his animated version, both the one from Batman (2004) and the one from Teen Titans (2003), which are the same Dick Grayson btw.
As I once said, the "angry Robin" label bothers me because it encompasses so much of Dick's character, especially since most of it comes from an exaggeration of his character, not an actual trait. Dick was never bloodthirsty as they say, yes, he wanted revenge for his parents, but his moral compass was ALWAYS on the right side. In his time, he was always considered an optimistic and charismatic character, yes, with a strong character when necessary, but never "mainly angry."
Dick was literally the heart of the dynamic duo. The color in the darkness, the light in the shadow of Batman.Where do they get that he was always angry??? His angriest moment was in his early years as Nightwing, not even Robin.
And no, he didn't leave Batman because "he was too soft" either, in the versions where Dick leaves Bruce, this is because Batman is controlling, he doesn't treat Dick as his equal, but as his subordinate, even despite the years working together.
Now, the "happy Robin" tag, Ironically, it is assigned to Jason specifically due to his pre-Crisis appearances, since post-Crisis, although there were moments where he was still optimistic and liked his work as Robin, he was more rebellious.
Why do I say it's ironic that they call Jason the "happy Robin" because of his pre-Crisis moments? Because it was at those times that Jason was considered a carbon copy of Dick Grayson, story included.
Those joyful moments that stand out so much about him were a copy of Dick's personality, moments that so many people hated back then. Remember, especially in the golden and silver ages, Dick was known for being optimistic and a symbol of hope, Robin was that.
Even if we only take into account his post-Crisis stage, yes, Jason still enjoyed being Robin, but he was still rebellious and had his moments being troubled. Just like Dick, he was not "just happy" or "just angry".
In theory, to recap, it's even likely that Dick will have more moments of being a ray of sunshine than Jason, although this is obviously partly due to him being Robin for longer.
I never liked both labels, because, first, it makes them flat characters, and second, because most of them are due to fandom exaggerations, not anything well founded.
Does it affect me in any way? No, not at all; but it becomes annoying when it is used as an argument for an argument.
"Dick was Batman's shining light", No, it's impossible, he was the bloodthirsty and angry robin.
"Jason had his moments of being rebellious and argued with Batman," No. It's impossible, you're confusing him with Dick, Jason was Bruce's happy and adorable baby.
???????
Jason was a teenager, OF COURSE HE'S GOING TO ARGUE SOMETIMES, LET MY BOY HAVE NORMAL TEENAGER MOMENTS.
Dick was a child, LET MY BABY HAVE HAPPY TIMES, NOT PURE ANGST IN HIS SHORT LIFE.
BOTH were happy, BOTH were angry, BOTH were intelligent Robins.
Shut the fuck up /jjjjjj
And seriously. Despite all this, I don't mind that people still prefer to see Jason as a happy Robin, or Dick as a wild Robin, that is up to each person and what adaptation of the character they prefer.
I'm just saying that it gets annoying when they want to IMPOSE on you those same versions that they prefer, especially when you choose to see beyond that.
And many times these labels seem to be just to praise their favorites, without really taking into account the stories of the other Robins-
I love reading when they give all the Robins all the values and character nuances, they're not just "happy" or "angry" or "smart" or "calm." Being able to read the Robins as having all these characteristics, but expressing them in different ways is what makes them so special to me.
Idk-
#ask blog#dick grayson#jason todd#angry robin#happy robin#This is obviously just my opinion#anyone can think and prefer whatever they want <3#i sent you a whole will explaining this lmao#dc comics
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it is 2024 can we PLEASE stop w these kind of videos now. thanks
#tw homophobia#tw ableism#obviously this is an exaggeration but like. is it?#these videos attract the WEIRDEST combination of like actual right wing âi hate everyone who isn't 'normal' by my definitionâ ppl#and like. queer and nd people who crave validation from conservatives and want to prove âwe're not like THOSE freaksâ#the right hates everyone. it doesn't matter if your name is thomas and ur fully transitioned or ur name is âšïžarsonâšïž ze/it/pup#if u dont fit their narrow idea of ânormalâ anything u say is immediately invalid#mental illness#nd#neurodivergent#cringe culture is dead#cringe culture#cringe#tiktok#ableism#queer#queer discourse#transgender#transphobia#anti exclusionist#leftist
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The Ryoko Kui interview's reception is such a disaster over a pretty normal (yet still flawed) interview between a non-Japanese fan and Japanese artistic. This is discourse for discourse's sake, and it's no surprise that almost every Twitter user I've looked at who's using this interview to parade Kui around as a goated mangaka standing strong against Western ideology is anti-trans.
Like, I do think the interview was kinda wonky with its focus on fandom culture, which Kui clearly didn't have much interest in. But sometimes that happens. Sometimes interactions between two people, especially a fan and a creator, two people who view and interact with a piece of media in completely opposite perspectives, don't click. Does this really need to get blown up into a "West vs. East culture war" issue.
Anyways, Kui saying "I don't consider my audience's interpretations when writing. I leave it to their imaginations, but I have my own read on things too" is the healthiest, most normal thing an artist/writer who wants a non-parasocial audience could say. Artists and writers use this line all the time. If Kui didn't enjoy autistic Laius or Farcille headcanons, she would have probably voiced/signalled her discomfort, like she did on the topic of Senshi fanservice. Overall, Kui handled the interview really well. Props to her to sticking to her guns and keeping a healthy disconnect from the fandom. While I think the interviewer could've/should've been more tactful and restrained, the flaws in their questions is not a symptom of the woke mind virus trying to wriggle its way into the pure Japanese psyche. It's the sign of an over-eager fan who sees a piece of fiction differently than its creator.
#personal#delete later#this isn't even worth talking about in depth#but it's crazy that we're rehashing the âartist intent vs fan interpretationâ crap again.#read stuart hall's encoding/decoding.#is it so terrible that laius reads to nd people as autistic even though the writer wasn't thinking about it#is that really something to criticize#also you may think the last sentence is me exaggerating but that's literally what the twt discourse is about#anyways i feel bad for the interviewer who's getting harassed over this#i'm seeing every side of discourse be super uncharitable toward them because it's funnier to make them sound outta touch and confrontationa#like. i'm seeing posts from cool people making the interviewer look like they asked âwhy did you make laius autistic??â#when the actual text of the interview goes âa lot of nd people interpreted laius as autistic. did you have that in mind when writing him?â#and obviously i think a lot of fandom people upset about this are weird too. joking that kui. a real person. is probably autistic is weird#but who am i more willing to criticize. the overeager parasocial fans taking things a too far and making things kinda weird#or the âkill the woke mind virusâ weeabo/otaku terfs who still use the r-slur against queer/nd teen anime fans
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FINALLY breaking myself free from the chains that are rendered Fords⊠STANLEY, MY LOVE, I AM HERE TO AT LAST APPRECIATE YOUR FACE HOW IT DESERVES!!!!!
#my art stuff#digital art#stanley pines#gravity falls#sea grunks#grunkle stan#beanie#mullet#his poor Pines Curls have gotten so thinned out after all these years#FORD GIVE HIM SOME BACK - HE DESERVES THEM!!!!!#very happy with this - he looks so very handsome with a smile đ„șđ„șđ„ș#OH and OBVIOUSLY giving him back his freckles (even if they may have been exaggerated in the memory by his own view of himself)#we deserve more sea grunks Stanley and HE deserves more KISSES#Despite liking how it turned out - It suddenly struck me Iâm very repetitive with this lighting#I know some might argue itâs just becoming my brand#but Iâm worried itâs getting worn-out and boring for yâall to look at#I donât feel very creative flexing my strong suit when I always do it the same way#I guess thatâs just what happens when said strong suit is shading with ârealisticâ lighting
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The cameraman and Max? Two men with exceptionally fine taste in men. The way Max looked at Charlesâlike he hung the moon, invented happiness, and might just be carrying his babyâwas outrageous. This man has attachment issues and separation anxiety, and theyâre clearly trauma-bonded. and the cameraman was right there with him, zooming in on every look, every reaction, every moment between them.
Max might as well have been screaming, 'Thatâs my person!' With the way he stared, the cameraman clearly agreed because Charles got more screen time than anyone else. Honestly, who can blame them? Charles has that effectâon Max and probably on everyone watching at home. Fine taste, indeed.
#lestappen#I might be exaggerating#but I love Charles#that man has aura#but I don't like him for me obviously#he's Max's man
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Not to sound like a hater but I always feel like those tik tok âfun factâ accounts always post the most mundane information like âdid you know thatâŠtweek has anxiety?? That Kenny dies a lot?? That Cartman is racist??? Hmm no?? Bet you didnât! đđâ
Like give us some ACTUAL obscure fun facts that only true fans would know!! Not stuff thatâs common knowledge!!
#Iâm obviously exaggerating with some of these LMAO but STILL#Like I donât wanna hear that half the cast is voiced by either Matt or Trey everyone knows that already!!!#I want the real deal!!!#south park
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i don't care that there's a murderbot tv show in the works. it should have been animated instead
#i mean this in the most and least lighthearted ways possible#like. i can just not watch it obviously#and it might actually be good. who knows#but i know whatever it will be. it would have been better if it was animated instead#i'm thinking about all the compositions. the cool colour palettes we could have had#i need a fully red and black scene of [redacted because spoilers]#great acting will never rival what you can do with a medium who's main strength is exaggerating emotions and showing you how things feel aa#im not being a 100% here. i'm just bitter that there most likely wasn't even a slightest chance of it ever being animated#but i can dream#can you imagine. the murderbot diaries animated in the style of something like scavengers reign#tmbd#murderbot#the murderbot diaries#ramblings
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i feel like there are so many people who correctly identify what rgu is saying about the role of the prince being harmful, and how utena could never really help anthy through it because of how dehumanizing it is to view someone as a thing to be saved etc etc. but then immediately jump to the opposite extreme of "utena only views anthy as an object and not a human being and her desire to help people was always inherently selfish and bad" and it's just . you have to realize it's more complicated than that. surely.
#just because you understand that utena isn't perfect doesn't mean she's not . good. or at the very least trying to be#this isn't like about a specific post or anything just kind of a general trend in the fandom that has annoyed me for the longest time#and that i've probably posted about before if i had to guess#i am very defensive of utena always and forever. do not be mean to him i will bite#but also do not ignore her flaws obviously. just don't exaggerate them. some of you are basically just saying she's no better than akio#which you have to realize is ridiculous right#revolutionary girl utena#utena#m
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ignoring that isabela wouldnt say any of that whenever she says something i want to hear
#i have a really funny au in my head where the reason isabela acts like a kind of simplified exaggerated form of isabela#is that the actual isabela went on a fade rescue mission for hawke#and came out with this isabela who is actually a spirit of fortune or whatever really jazzed about the whole thing#and isabela was like well that sounds like it could get me out of trouble this might as well happen#and let it loose to start a mercenary band. everyone rivaini can tell obviously#but they donât want to burst the spiritâs bubble#meanwhile isabela is somewhere living it up with a permanent very good alibi#veilguard spoilers
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