#oh wow another filler tag

[corvuserpens]

A Girl, An Ocean {A Black Sails fanfic} - Ch. 5

Fandom: Black Sails Rating: Teen and up audiences Warnings: Graphic violence, displays of misogyny, gendered slurs Characters: Billy Bones, Hal Gates, James Flint, Jean DuBois, Mr. Logan, Mr. Muldoon, Dr. Howell, Mr. Singleton, protagonist OC, supporting OCs Relationships: Billy Bones/OC, Hal Gates/OC (paternal), Jean duBois/OC (bffs) Additional tags: Original character-centric, first person POV, canon character x original character romance, self-discovery journey, kinda alternative prequel to canon, canon compliant, slow burn, mutual pining, friends to lovers, tooth-rotting sweetness, cute but also sexy, angst galore, found family, Hal Gates has two children now, canon typical violence Series: Part One of Six of A Girl, An Ocean Chapters: 5/13 Summary: As she continues to learn the ropes, Constance begins her fighting lessons with the gunner Bjorn. And just as well, as very soon afterwards, her new brawling skills are put to a harrowing test.

Author's note: WOW, this one is LOOOOONG. I actually considered dividing into parts, it's such a monster of a chapter. Hopefully not a boring one, tho! Another sort of filler, I promise we go back to the romance on the next one! Btw, I love writing fight scenes, they're so much fun. Oh yeah, there will be blood.

Chapter v.

The very next day, some time before sundown, Bjorn pulled me aside as I was preparing for my grueling tasks, such as scrubbing the decks or sharpening the kitchen blades with Randall (almost cut my own finger off the previous night). He said I wouldn't be working that evening; instead, he was going to teach me something else, something that was equally crucial in the life of any pirate, but far worse on the body.

He was going to teach me how to fight.

"I... beg your pardon?" I said with a tiny note of hysteria in my voice.

"You're going to learn how to punch, kick and stay standing when someone attacks you." He numbered each by raising a thick finger, grinning beneath his ginger beard. "Thierry and I talked last night and figured what happened with Folsom wouldn't be the last instance you would go looking for trouble. So, since it seems highly likely that soon you're gonna pick more fights you can't possibly hope to finish, we decided to initiate you on the art of brawling."

"Um..." I felt a cold chill in the pit of my stomach, for I was painfully aware I had never thrown a punch in my life, much less gotten into a fight. "A-alright? I mean... You do know that this will be the first time I will find myself in such a position, yes?"

Bjorn produced a boom of a laugh that shook the wooden floorboards. "Stick around us a while more--" he motioned for me to follow him into the hold. "And you will find yourself in all sorts of positions, if you know what I mean. Just wait until we get to Nassau and you meet Noonan's girls."

He winked at me from over his shoulder, but the fact was that, no, I did not know what he meant. And frankly? I didn't think I wanted to know.

He brought us to the stern of the ship, near the door to the armory, then cracked his knuckles (the sound made me gulp). "We won't be disturbing anyone here. Now, show me how you make a fist."

I stared at my left hand like I was seeing it for the first time. My fingers were long and delicate, but the days of hard work had destroyed my nails and put dirt into every crease and fold of my skin. I curled it into a feeble fist. Bjorn approached, took a quick look and nodded.

"That's good. You didn't make the mistake of tucking your thumb into it. That's a good way to break these fingers." He tapped a pointer twice the thickness of mine on my first and second knuckles. "Now squeeze tight, as much as you can, and try to hit right here." He raised his meaty tattooed hand, palm to me.

I stared at it wide eyed, then up. "What if I hurt you?" I whispered.

"Psh. You won't. Trust me, I've had much worse. Come on. Put your weight into it, like you're stretching out your arm. Go on!"

I bit my lip and got ready. I pulled back my fist, took a couple of anticipatory breaths, then held in and shot my arm forward. However, at the last minute, I hesitated out of fear of making some sort of damage, so my fist barely made noise when it touched his palm.

Bjorn shot me an unimpressed look. "I can feel you holding back."

"Sorry, I... I got scared. I really don't want to hurt you."

He shoved my hand away. "Let's get something straight. One day, you're going to be ordered to go over the side and join an attack. It might be in a year, it might be next week. But it is going to happen. Hell, you might end up having your first real disagreement right here on this ship, and let me tell you, those boys up there?" He pointed at the ceiling. "They won't give two shits that you're a girl. They will strike with the aim to fuck you up.”

Smile gone, he leaned over me and looked straight into my eyes with his pale, icy ones until I shrunk, fighting every instinct to run away screaming. “When were on the hunt, whoever we happen to board will have one thing in their minds and one thing only: survive to see another sunrise, even if they have to kill every single pirate in front of them. So you better learn to defend yourself, or else you're going to die out there. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

This was a harsh reality for me, one I knew I would have to accept sooner rather than later. Even so, the thought of violence of any kind chilled me to my core. With only a few select occasions, I had hardly ever wished it upon someone. Even so, this was a part of my choice and I needed to embrace it, whatever the cost. Bjorn was right, it was for my own good that he was teaching me.

Don't be a burden, or worse: a liability. I repeated Flint's words like a chant in my brain to encourage myself, then set my jaw tight and brought both my fists up. I gave Bjorn a nod to indicate I was ready. He lifted his palms.

"Left fist, right here." He clenched his right hand fingers.

This time, I put everything into it. My knuckles produced a dry smack against his hand, which hardly moved an inch. "Better. Right fist, now."

I punched his left palm. He grunted in thought. "Left handed, you?"

"For almost everything, yes."

"Lucky for you, that might be an advantage. Most men expect attacks from the right. I suggest you always start on the left, to throw them off.”

I nodded and got into position again, but Bjorn dropped his hands and came closer while examining my shoes with a furrowed brow.

"What?" I asked.

"Your feet are all wrong." He stood behind me, which made me nervous given I didn't know him that well to feel comfortable opening myself up to an attack, but all he did was use the tip of his boot to push my left foot forward. Next, he came around on my right and pushed my other foot backwards. "You want to have them firm on the ground so you can support your own weight. This will lend strength to your punch and make you more difficult to knock down if you're hit in turn. Flex your knees a little. No, not that much. Like that. Now watch."

He gave my shoulders a shove that made me stagger backwards, but thanks to my new pose, I managed to stay upright.

"See? Always return to this position whenever you have a break. Let's practice those punches some more."

For the following fifteen minutes, Bjorn had me repeating the same moves until I got used to them and gained confidence. He had me change the direction from which my punches came, first from above, then from below. And afterwards, with a set of established commands, we mixed up the combinations. At the beginning, the instructions came at regular intervals that I could keep up with, but as the minutes passed, he started picking up the pace. Between my poor reflexes and the building exhaustion from the exercise, I messed up more times than I liked. Whenever I missed, Bjorn would hiss or shout a mockery, which prompted me to focus harder and pause a few seconds before obeying the command correctly.

"Don't hesitate," he warned me. "You're thinking too much. Let your instinct take over. Trust yourself to get it right."

I could feel my punches growing weaker as my arms tensed up, muscles burning under my sweat soaked skin. Still, I didn't slow down. I was huffing and puffing, my hair sticking to my neck and forehead, yet I didn't stop. Not until Bjorn told me to, or until my arms gave out. Whichever came first.

Never once did he complain or even wince. It was as if he wasn't registering the abuse his palms were enduring.

At some point, when the last of the sunlight peeked through the hatches on the ceiling and the hold grew dark, Thierry and two more men came down to join us. I didn't look to see who they were, since Bjorn was still dishing out commands, one after the other.

"Man, you're working her out good, aren't you?" Thierry chuckled. "We can hear her panting all the way upstairs."

"Halt!" Lars pulled back his hands and held them up in surrender. "That's enough for today."

As soon as he called it, I leaned over my knees and let my head hang for a moment, the French braid I'd tied my hair into slipping over one shoulder until it hovered inches from the floor. My entire upper body was in agony, yet... I felt strong and satisfied. I had hardly missed a beat for the last two minutes as my reflexes developed.

With my breath mostly recovered, I finally looked up to see who accompanied Thierry. I recognized them: the bald man with tattoos on his neck and his friend with a full beard. I remembered them from standing behind me at the line for dinner.

"We haven't been introduced yet," said the first as he extended his hand forward. "Muldoon. This is Logan."

I smoothed my hand down my pant leg before shaking theirs. "Constance."

"We saw you with Folsom, yesterday." Logan grinned and wagged his eyebrows. "I don't think anyone has ever gotten so angry so soon after meeting him. I mean, the man is an asshole alright, but novices are usually too afraid of him to do anything about it."

"If I was afraid of pirates, I never would have set foot in this ship." I put a healthy dose of defiance into that statement. Might as well leave the warning now so they couldn't say I didn't prepare them, later. "I'm not letting anyone treat me like a second rate citizen. Especially now that I can punch."

"And can she punch, Bjorn?" Muldoon inquired. "I mean, if you're gonna stir up shit then you better follow up your sharp words with a strong wallop."

Bjorn crossed his meaty arms and shrugged. "She has the technique. Time and hard labor will take care of the rest."

Muldoon smirked. "Sounds like you're packing a pretty feeble wallop. Guess little women don't have much reason to know how to hit, don't they?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. Was he just teasing me, or was there a challenge behind those words? I glanced at the others to assess their reaction. Thierry was smiling, like always, but his eyes shot between Muldoon and me in a manner that struck me as nervous, especially when coupled with the beads of sweat on his forehead. Bjorn stared at Muldoon with a scary intensity, as if trying to get him to stop with his mind alone. And Logan, he observed me like a very interesting looking painting. Or like he was waiting for something to happen. Something vicious and bloody. Eager. Excited.

I pinned my eyes back on Muldoon and let a moment pass. His smirk faltered a notch.

"I don't know, Muldoon.” I shrugged as I took a calculated step forward. “Ladies may not throw punches on a regular basis, but we do have a pretty biting slap."

"Oh yeah?" He snorted, traded a jocular look with Logan, turned back to me. "With those delicate, manicured hands? How bad can it be--?"

My open palm flew through the air like a bull whip, hitting him square in the face with a smack so loud, it echoed throughout the hold. Muldoon stumbled to the side, hand to his cheek as the others shouted "ohhhhh!" in unison, then laughed. Thank goodness for that; I thought I would get into trouble.

As I waved out the tension from my hand, Muldoon stared at me in shock. When he removed his hand, I saw a bright red mark shaped like my palm blooming on his face.

"Bloody hell, girl!!" He complained. "What was that for?"

I faltered, felt my skin prickle with anxiety. Oh my God, was he actually offended? Had I misinterpreted the whole thing and acted too hastily? I felt sick to my stomach. Stupid, dumb , idiot! My hands flew to my mouth as I got closer, worried I'd seriously hurt him. "Shit, Muldoon. I'm so sorry. I--"

"He was asking for it!" It was Logan who intervened by laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't say you're sorry. In this ship, you talk shit, you get hit. That's how it goes around here. He just wasn't expecting YOU to catch on so quick."

"Damn right I didn't. Fuck, that hurt." Muldoon massaged his cheek, yet soon enough he was laughing as well. "Guess next time I'll know better."

I let out a discreet sigh of relief. One thing was to defend yourself; another was to react disproportionately to a verbal jab. I offered my hand as a gesture of reconciliation, same as I had done with Folsom. "I still apologize. I got a little too excited from Bjorn's lessons and didn't think it through. Forgive me?"

Muldoon accepted my apology and shook. "All's well. But..."

He squeezed my fingers so hard that my knuckles popped, shooting arrows of agony up my arm. My body jerked from the pain as I pulled my hand out of his vicious grip with a hiss. "Fuck!!"

"Ohhh, what a dirty mouth we've got!" he chortled, and so did the others. Then he passed an arm around my shoulders and gave them a friendly shake. "Now we're even."

Through gritted teeth, my hand cradled to my chest, I glared at him for an instant before I too broke into laughter. "Alright, if you say so."

I was so going to kick that clown's ass one day. One day...

*** Over the course of the following weeks, my lessons continued. I improved faster than even I had anticipated. Folsom took me up the shrouds and showed me how the sails worked. De Groot continued to mentor me in the ways of navigation and taught me how to use the different instruments. Bjorn advanced the fighting to all out brawl, teaching me grips and how to knock down an opponent by using his strength against him. Jean, Muldoon, Logan and Thierry would often participate and spar with me so I could get a feel for different body types and combat styles. Despite my initial fear, these lessons became a source of fun for me. Not only that, my confidence grew practically overnight thanks to them. I walked a little straighter, felt more relaxed while moving about, looked people in the eyes more often. I was still being hazed, but at least I never sat alone during meals anymore.

I was introduced to Mr. Beauclerc, whom I was told was the best marksman aboard and knew everything about guns. Obviously, he was put into charge of teaching me how to properly hold, load and clean a flintlock. He was a man of few words, but knew how to transmit information succinctly and effectively. Quite clearly, too: once, I saw him shoot a seagull out of the air at fifteen yards on a bright sunny day. That was enough to make me feel glad we were on the same crew. He promised to teach me target practice when we arrived in Nassau, a month from then.

For swordplay, I was paired up with Billy Bones. Before we began our first lesson, he confessed that he wasn't much of a swordsman, but everyone else told me that the only crewman he couldn't best in combat was Joji.

He was a silent man from the far east with long black hair, who strutted around the Walrus like a ghost, enigmatic and so quiet I had almost run into him an embarrassing amount of times. He had a strange looking sword, unlike any I had seen: it was long and sublimely curved, with the tip squared off instead of ending in a point. I had seen him practice with it on deck, footsteps light and precise, each fluid movement carefully measured. I also noticed the others kept a wide berth from him whenever he practiced.

"I saw him cut a man in half with a single stroke once," Thierry told me with this haunted look on his face. "I ain't getting nowhere near Joji or his blade unless it's sheathed."

Billy might not be better than Joji, but he was good enough for me, thank you very much. He taught me how to use the cutlass, how to keep it close to the body and jab, or slash, or use it to block an attack. We sparred a few times a week, though I soon realized I wasn't very good at it. Or maybe Billy was too talented for me. Or maybe if I stopped staring at his big arms and paid attention I might actually learn. Thankfully, he hadn't noticed the reasons for my ineptitude. Yet.

And then, one night, the crew gathered up during off duty hours for a friendly batch of hand-to-hand combat. The hatches on the weather deck had been removed, exposing the upper deck to the starry sky so that more seating and viewing points were made available. Rum was being passed around in mugs, as well as money, while the men made their wagers on their favored fighters. Meanwhile, a group composed mostly of the biggest, burliest sailors towered over poor Mr. Dufresne whilst he noted down their names on a piece of paper and set up the first combats. Bjorn was among them, of course. He had insisted I come watch to learn more, so I found a spot somewhere against the wall and sat with Jean on one side, Muldoon on the other.

“So, this is a sort of tradition?” I asked, straining to make myself heard amidst all the noise filling the gundeck.

“More or less,” Jean replied. “We do this at least once every voyage; mostly for entertainment, but it's also a way to settle grievances among members and establish a pecking order. If a novice is looking for recognition or respect, he might try participating and see how far he can get.”

It seemed so barbaric and disorderly. And yet, no one was making an effort to conceal it.They were as blatant about it as they were with their drinking or their gambling. “And the captain allows this?”

“Why wouldn't he allow it? Think it through: you have a large assemblage of hardy men who sail for months at a time in a confined space and little to entertain. What would be better in the long term: restricting their fun, not to mention a very effective way for them to work out the long hours of labor and frustration of high sea life, or letting them run rampant with it under his supervision, with established rules so no one is seriously hurt or accidentally killed?”

He pointed up at the open hatch. There, among the men settling down in the best spots for viewing the spectacle, Flint stood stoic, a judge over a tribune, a parson over his parish.

Or a ringleader, I thought.

“How violent does it normally get?” I pondered, unable to keep the weariness from my tone. Though I had been ready to shoot anyone who dared come too close back at the Delilah, or stab any wily attackers on my first night, the idea of seeing blood made me queasy. Jesus, what if I fainted in front of everyone? I would never hear the end of it.

Jean's side eye and dark grin did nothing to put me at ease. He neglected to offer me an answer. Instead, he grabbed one of the many tankards of rum doing the rounds, took a swig, and offered it to me. I accepted it, but hesitated to drink. I gave the liquid a sniff. The smell was acrid and strong, but not unpleasant. Still, I scrunched my nose at the thought of how many scurvy-ailed mouths might have been there and passed it to Muldoon.

Moments later, Billy Bones stepped into the makeshift arena and cleared it of any wobbly-legged stragglers. With a blush, I saw he wasn't wearing his shirt again. Once the men who wouldn't be participating in the fights were sitting out of the way, he stood at full height, every mound of muscle carved out in the lantern light, his skin glowing like it was coated in gold. He did one final sweep to make certain we were ready and said:

“Alright, settle down! Settle down. We have new faces aboard, so here are the rules of combat on the Walrus: bare hands only. No shirts, no shoes, no metal of any kind. Only two men get to fight at the time. Anyone can participate and anyone can be challenged. No exceptions. Whoever is challenged cannot refuse the fight unless he is gravelly injured. Victory is achieved when one opponent gets their lights knocked out or taps three times to quit. Does everybody understand these rules?”

A round of "aye!" shook the hull of the Walrus, so loud I felt it in my bones.

"Tonight, we have ten fights for your entertainment. That's ten slots open for one night only, so if you want to participate or have scores to settle, this is your chance. Otherwise, you will have to wait for the next time we set sail. Agreed?"

Another round of cheers, louder than the last, no doubt fueled in part by the free flowing of alcohol. Billy allowed himself a mischievous smile as he took in his audience, then nodded. I wondered if he would fight and surprised myself when I realized the idea made my insides simmer with warmth. I bet he's a magnificent fighter.

A slow, rhythmic thumping rattled the boards, like drums. In mere seconds it grew louder, stronger, faster. I realized it was the stomping of many feet, and it rose in intensity as more and more boots joined. Soon, the entire crew was stomping, then chanting together. The whole deck was filled with that deafening sound. Billy prowled around the ring, waving his arms to encourage them to go louder as he too lent his voice to that tribal call. Even I couldn't help getting caught in their sway, chanting along as I clapped my hands on my thighs, a cheek-splitting grin on my face. As the chants reached their peak, they turned into an all out roar, given strength by hundreds of voices, a deep static that I was sure would render me irreparably deaf. Had another ship passed us by that night, her crew might have thought it was the Walrus herself producing that ungodly howl, not mere men.

After settling down into an applause, Billy took back the center stage, hands spread out in a silent command to quiet down. A sheen of sweat covered his skin, mingling with the dirt from the day's labor, making my mouth go dry. I had to look away, fearing that the unhinged behavior from the others was starting to affect me a little too much.

"First match. Let's hear it for Little Pablo, if you please!"

Somewhere at my right, a short man with light brown skin and a blue scarf over his thicket of curls stood. He walked over to Billy's side, pulling out his vest, shirt and shoes along the way. All he kept on his person were his trousers, the blue bandana and a few leather adornments. The crew clapped, hooted and whistled their encouragement.

Billy smacked a hand on his shoulder. "And who will you be challenging tonight, Pablo?"

The man pointed somewhere by the wall opposite to me."Dick McAllistair."

The men stomped and shouted as if calling on the challenged to rise up.

"Dick! Get the fuck over here," Billy demanded.

This man was much taller than Bobby, though not as much as Billy, and he had intense blue eyes that bore into his opponent from beneath sun-bleached brows. He removed all that was required removing and entered the ring.

"Gentlemen, shake hands," our boatswain said. They obeyed without ever taking their eyes off of each other. There was no outright hate between them, but definitely some tension that desperately needed to be resolved. "Three steps back, now."

The two men did so and raised their fists, getting into position.

"Ready? Fight!"

I watched as Pablo and Dick circled 'round each other under the immense noise of constant shouting, trying to ignore the ball of anxiety knotted in my stomach. Dick threw the first punch; Pablo blocked and parried right away, hitting him on the ribs with a 'thwack!', but Dick barely reacted. Instead, he launched a barrage of quick jabs, most of them hitting Pablo on the shoulders and arms, which he used to protect his head. He held on like that without trying to counter, letting Dick tire himself out, but lost some ground during the relentless assault. He back away with Dick constantly on top of him, until the fight was occurring practically on my lap.

They were so close, in fact, that when Dick finally slowed down enough for Pablo to take the opportunity to return the favor with a well-placed punch to the face, I could see the torrent of blood that flew out of Dick's nose. Thank God it was too loud in the deck for anyone to hear me yelp my shock. Even so, my hands came up to my mouth both to muffle it and hopefully stop myself from throwing up.

Dick staggered back and pressed his palm to his bleeding nose. The red gushed out uncontrollably through his fingers, dripping down his chin and onto his chest, yet all he did was swat it out of his hand and continue the fight. There was an added intensity on his face, anger and resentment, but also a hint of hurt. That threw me off a bit. Both Billy and Jean had said these matches were an opportunity to settle scores and resolve grudges. In this instance, as I studied the expressions on both men's faces, there was no doubt they had beef with each other. Neither of them fought out of pleasure. There was something going on between them that they hadn't been able to resolve with words, so this was the only solution left. As the fight progressed into a grapple, I turned to Jean and spoke into his ear:

"What's the reasoning behind their match? They seem so angry with each other."

Jean leaned into me so I could hear his reply. "A few days before we boarded your ship, Pablo and Dick were up on the foremast sails doing some repairs when Pablo slipped and got caught in the rigging. Dick helped him climb back onto the yard, but the sail got torn while they were at it. Dick berated Pablo for being such a klutz, said he'd added onto the pile of work they already had. Pablo took it to heart, there was an argument, but they never resolved it. Pirates and sailors, as a general rule, aren't very good at talking about their feelings. I think Dick was hoping Pablo had forgotten about it, but when he challenged him..."

I returned my attention to the fight. Dick's nose had stopped bleeding, but the lower half of his face was dark as they went back and forth. Pablo had a small gash on his cheek and all over his arms, black and purple bruises were splaying up from Dick's punching. I thought the fight might go on a while, since they were evenly matched in both strength and speed, but just then, Pablo punched Dick on the throat and followed it by kicking a leg behind the other's knee to make him fall.

As soon as he was on his back, hands clutched around his neck with a panicked look, Pablo was on him. He used Dick's disorientation to flip him on his stomach and lifted his arm behind him, holding it at an unnatural angle. Dick choked out a breathless protest, his face contorted in agony, and still he tried to somehow gain the upper hand. Pablo's grip allowed for no escape, however. Every time Dick moved, he would wrench his arm a little more, until Dick was bellowing from the pain. At last, he could take it no more and smacked his hand on the floor three times to signal he was quitting.

Before Billy could step up to break the fight, Pablo let go and got off of Dick, staggering back to give him space.

"Fight's done!" Billy announced. He took Pablo's wrist into his hand and raised his arm. "The winner is Little Pablo!"

The men roared into applause. Coins (or pieces of eight, as they called them) were passed from hand to hand as wagers received or conceded the amount agreed upon. On the ring, I watched with fascination as Pablo approached Dick, still crumpled on the floor, tapped him on the arm and offered his hand. Despite the defeat and their argument, Dick accepted it and let the other help him up. The two stood close, exchanged a few words I couldn't understand, then laughed and embraced as brothers. Just like that, the tension between them was gone. They walked out of the arena together and sat side-by-side to watch the next match.

I turned to Jean. "I see what you meant earlier. About this being an effective method to settle grievances. They're back to being friends already."

"Told you. Nothing like a good fist fight to work out pent-up frustration." He smirked at me. "So? Was it too violent for you?"

I scrunched up my nose in distaste. "It wasn't too bad, I suppose... I still think words are a less painful way to work through spats. And there are other forms of entertainment besides this barbarism."

"All true, all true," he nodded. "But none as satisfying."

I rolled my eyes. "Sure, Jean."

The next match was far more intense than the first. One of the men apparently had insulted the other's wife, who waited for him to return in Nassau, and received a broken rib as a reward for it. The sound of his bones snapping before he tapped out would haunt my nightmares later. He was sent to the sick bay after Dr. Howell examined him on the spot.

The ones that followed weren't so bad. A lot of punching and slapping, many bruises but little blood. During Bjorn's match, his opponent accidentally slipped when the ship tipped over the waves and twisted his ankle, so Billy called it a draw and ended the fight early, much to my mentor's disappointment. On the ninth fight, a man was brought down by a punch and hit his head on the deck floor, knocking him out. He had to be dragged out of the ring by a couple of friends to also be examined by Howell. After he declared he was in no mortal peril, we finally got to the last match.

"Final match, people! Last chance to air out your grievances. Who wants the opportunity to conclude the night in style?"

"I do."

The voice, rough as gravel, sounded directly from across me. I recognized its owner: the pirate with yellow teeth, a scraggly beard over a chin too small and oily black hair, who had granted me the opportunity to sneak aboard by picking a fight with one of the Delilah's sailors. The one who'd said he liked it when women fought back. I felt a chill running down my spine at the sight of him.

A long, ominous hum accompanied his entrance, rather than cheers. For some reason, I had the impression that this sailor didn't fight often, but when he did, he made sure to make a violent spectacle of it.

"Cutthroat Fred," Billy announced. This time, however, there was something off about his tone. He was no longer smiling; instead, he stared disapprovingly at the man whilst he pulled his dark grey shirt over his head, revealing a lattice work of tattoos that covered his whole torso and arms, down to the knuckles. He walked up to Billy and returned his glare with one of his own, silently daring him to say something about him wanting to fight. But if Billy was in discord, he kept it to himself.

"Who will you challenge?" he practically growled, like he already knew the answer.

Cutthroat Fred's cold stare roamed the crowd amidst a tense silence. Everyone was holding their breath in anticipation. He held us all in suspense as he searched... searched... Until his eyes found mine and stopped.

My heart plunged into my bowels.

He grinned like a wolf who had found its way into the sheep pen. "Constance Tilly."

The gundeck exploded into protests.

Several of the crew got up and yelled profanities at him. Others argued it was fair and applauded him for daring to challenge me. Whatever the case, his eyes didn't leave mine. As for me, I was paralyzed with terror. I searched for Jean, hoping he would tell me it's alright, that he couldn't actually challenge me because I had just joined the crew, because I couldn't fight, for literally any other reason, but all he did was stare at me, eyes wide and jaw slack.

No. No, this couldn't be happening. Ohhhhh, shit.

"All of you, shut the fuck up!" Billy bellowed.

The men went quiet and sat back down, though a few continued to grumble their displeasure. Mr. Gates materialized at Billy's side and they conversed in hushed whispers, trying to decide what to do. Once in a while, our gazes would meet. I saw deep concern in his eyes. Still, for a brief moment I was relieved to see him there, thinking he would get me out of this mess. I felt my entire body shake as I tried to somehow get my thoughts through to him telepathically. Please get me out of this, please don't make me fight, please.

At last, Gates stepped into the ring and addressed Cutthroat Fred. "Constance is too new to the crew to fight. She doesn't have enough experience. Choose someone else."

More than half of the crowd pronounced their agreement, but a large enough group countered by boo'ing. Cutthroat Fred took a step forward, teeth bared in anger.

"Rules say anyone can be challenged, no exceptions,” he argued. “And whoever's challenged can't say no. We've had novices with barely a week of admission get challenged and told to fight. She has been here at least three weeks. Or does she get special privileges for being a lady?"

Gates' mouth clamped shut as the men resumed shouting at each other. I was relieved to see so many of them thought I shouldn't fight, like Bjorn, Logan and even Muldoon. But what my would-be opponent said was true: if they didn't permit the fight, it would set up a precedent, and not only would the integrity of the crew become severely chaffed, I would be put into danger as well. It would breed resentment toward me and the animosity would escalate.

My shoulders slumped as the inevitable became clear: I had no choice but to fight.

"Captain!" Billy looked up to where Flint presided over the events. "The final word is yours. What is your judgement?"

Perhaps as a last ditch attempt to spare me, he thought he could appeal to Flint's authority to put a stop to this. I appreciated the gesture, though I knew it to be hopeless. As he looked over the men, he studied the situation in his head with a stony expression, weakly illuminated by the lanterns below. His eyes met mine and held firm. I swallowed a lump in my throat and remembered his warning once again: if I found myself in trouble, not Gates, nor Billy, not even he could help me. This was one of those instances.

"Cutthroat Fred makes a compelling argument. The rules are the rules, and they must be honored. She has to fight."

Now, the men murmured among themselves. Billy and Gates turned to me with a mix of pity and trepidation on their faces, utterly defeated. Jean gave my arm a squeeze to get me out of my daze, but mentally, I was already preparing myself. I glanced over my shoulder to Bjorn; he had his eyes trained on me, brows furrowed over them, yet there wasn't a hint of fear for me in that stare. He gave me a swift nod that said, you can do this. Remember what I taught you.

My body jerked awake as I sucked in a deep breath and balled my hands into fists on my lap. Swiftly, determined to be brave, I pulled out my shoes, stood up to my feet and emptied out my pockets, leaving my trusty kitchen life behind for the first time since I had arrived on the Walrus. My cross, I passed over my head and gave it to Jean.

“Will you keep this safe for me?” I pleaded in a quiet voice. I only allowed myself this small measure of vulnerability because it was such an important object to me, for it's spiritual value, but chiefly for being a memento from my sister. I don't know what I would do if I lost it.

Jean accepted it and held it in his palm like it was the most fragile thing he had ever been entrusted with. He nodded firmly to let me know he understood what that little cross meant to me, then put it away in the breast pocket of his vest.

With shoulders squared and my jaw set tight, I pushed my way forward through the crowd, doing my best to conceal how scared I truly was. In the ring, I pulled back my hair and tied it into a braid, locking eyes with Cutthroat Fred. I tried not to think about how he had received that nickname. Instead, I stood in front of him and willed my expression into a scowl, one I had been trying to perfect during my training.

Cutthroat Fred smirked and licked his ugly teeth like he could taste victory already. I knew I didn't stand a chance in real combat. I didn't have the strength, the reflexes or the experience to win. But there was one thing I did have on my side that I could inflict if I was smart: pain. He might defeat me and leave me a bloody pulp on the ground, but he wouldn't come out of this match without hurting, too.

Billy came up to us, his hands figuratively tied. He glared at Cutthroat Fred one last time, then offered me a more sympathetic grimace. His eyes fell to my shirt, but before I could speak up against ditching it, he snapped back to my opponent. "Can we at least allow her to keep her shirt on?"

Cutthroat Fred bristled. "Doesn't make a lick of difference to me."

"Very well, then. Shake hands."

I grasped his hand and shook. I felt him squeeze his fingers a little too tight, like Muldoon had done, but I didn't let a single sound escape my lips no matter how much it hurt. I gripped his own hand as much as I could, but all that got me was a gruff of a laugh.

"Take three steps," Billy commanded, particularly at Fred, as a warning.

We each took our three steps backwards and got into position. I tried to recall all my lessons and formed a strategy in my mind. It was the only thing I had going for me. Smarts and a little luck. God, my legs felt so numb. My heart pumped so hard and loud I almost didn't hear Billy telling us to go.

"Ready? Fight!"

Again, the deck was filled with the uproar of men shouting encouragement, some of it at me, some of it at Fred. I stood my ground and let him circle me, turning on my heels to keep him within my sights at all times. He mock-attacked with his right fist, probing for weaknesses, and I reacted by hopping back and swatting his hand. My legs might have been numb, but they kept me standing, and as soon as I was aware of that, the numbness washed away, my body going rigid in anticipation. I huffed, then shuffled to the right to gain more space.

Cutthroat Fred didn't make any other attemps for a while. His focus was squarely on my person, just waiting for my concentration to break. I began to wonder if maybe I should try a jab, yet all my instincts screamed against it. That was just what he wanted; to pressure me into attacking without thinking, to rush into it. As much as it rattled my nerves, I had to hold back and wait.

Another mock-attack, but this time I didn't push away. I swatted his hand once more - that's when the real attack came. With the speed of a kicking horse, his punch landed on my mouth and knocked me backwards with a grunt.

The crowd roared to life. I tasted blood on my tongue. Thank goodness, my position was firm enough that I didn't fall. Just as Bjorn had showed me.

Stunned, struggling to clear my vision, I straightened up just in time for the second punch. I have no idea how, but I managed to block it with my arm. Unfortunately, with his superior strength, he was still able to throw me off balance and stumble, a lapse he used to his advantage to kick me on the back of the knee. I hit the ground with a bang, a small scream of surprise escaping my lips, but I didn't stay down for long. The fall hadn't hurt much, so I rolled back on my feet and resumed my position, fists up, feet apart.

Across from me, Cutthroat Fred began to advance, but before he could get too close, I rushed him and threw my first punch, which he dodged and returned with a swift blow to my stomach. I fell once more, knees hitting the floorboards, fighting for breath that wouldn't come. My lungs convulsed, desperate to work, as if my whole front had been glued to my back. Panicked, I hunched over and shut my eyes, feeling them water as my throat constricted. I had to get a hold of myself. It would pass, it would pass. I just had to remain awake and it would pass.

Slowly, my lungs opened again. I gasped for precious air. My stomach throbbed where he had hit me, but now a new emotion erupted in my gut, overpowering the panic, the fear, even the pain: rage.

That, I allowed to possess me. I looked up from my lap to see Fred standing there with his arms wide open to the crowd. He was gloating to his friends. This was all just a joke to him. Making me hurt, making me suffer, humiliating me - it was all a game. The rage got me to stand. The rage made me to forget I was hurting, that I was a woman and this was my first real fight. I spat the blood from my mouth and marched up to Cutthroat fucking Fred.

"Oy!!" I roared from deep within me, momentarily willing the whole world into silence.

Cutthroat Fred turned around just in time to greet my knuckles. Right in the goddamn teeth. It felt like my hand had shattered into a million pieces, but at least I had the satisfaction of seeing him stumble on all fours. Didn't quite fall, but close enough.

Again, our audience erupted into howls as Cutthroat Fred stood up straight, one hand to his mouth. He stared at it, his palm a bright red color, before pinning me with a glare of pure hatred. Suddenly, there was no amusement in his eyes. Now, he was completely serious in his intent to fuck me up.

I prepared for the abuse that would come, with no intention to surrender.

He ran forward with a snarl, too fast for me to react. I raised a knee to at least try to hit his face, but missed. He grabbed me around the waist and pushed me, as well as himself, onto the floor.

In came a barrage of punches, one after the other. My nose burst with agony. I choked in my own blood. I was certain my right eye had gone. Fading in and out of consciousness, I tried to cover my face with my arms, to little avail.

In a desperate attempt to get him to stop, I planted my feet on the planks and shoved my hips up, as hard as I could. Cutthroat Fred lost his balance and was forced to halt his savage assault to steady himself, which gave me the opportunity to wrap my arms around him and wrestle. I couldn't see anything; all I felt was my face pulsing, the blood filling my mouth, getting into my lungs, and Fred squirming around me. By some miracle, I got us to roll around so I was on top. I didn't pause to think. Instead of fists, I clawed my hands and thrashed them around, hoping to hit something, anything at all. I felt flesh under my nails, felt blood on my fingers, heard Cutthroat Fred hiss and yelp from the sharp pain I was inflicting. I was out of control, enveloped in a wild frenzy that urged me to claw, to bite, to fight. I screamed my lungs out, only dimly aware of the hysteria in my voice.

My left hand reached back, hand tensed into an oar shape, and shot it down at high speed, hitting Fred across his cheek with that same smacking noise I'd gotten out of Muldoon weeks ago. The crowd was ravenous around us, punching the air, slamming the floor, bellowing for more.

But my arms were getting tired. I could barely feel my face. Though only one of my eyes was working, it drank up the image of my opponent on the ground under me, soaked with blood, arms and hands covered in gashes from my fingernails, eyes rolling back in his skull. There was no denying I was slowing, however.

With a hell of a kick, Fred pushed me off, breaking my mind out of the frenzy. Adrenaline ran vicious in my veins, yet I was too weak to fight much longer. I couldn't breathe through my nose; every time I tried, more blood rushed into my throat, making me cough and wheeze. I twisted onto my belly and started to crawl away, to at least get some distance, just enough to recover and get back on my feet. I didn't get very far. In a flash, Cutthroat Fred was on me, his body a crushing weight on my back. He slid one arm around my neck and began to squeeze. Panic took full hold of me as I began to thrash in vain, fingers clawing at his arms, but no matter what I did, he wouldn't let go.

"Yield, little missy," he hissed into my ear. "Yield now, and it's all over. But after that? After that, I'm really going to have fun with you."

Some leftover rage blessed me with enough clarity to think, no. No way, asshole. Not in this lifetime.

I gritted my teeth and sank my nails deeper into his arm. Black spots swam in my vision. My body began to wither, exhausted and ready to give in. Still, I fought. My eyes felt like they were going to pop out of their sockets. I couldn't breathe. I was beginning to float away, far away from this horror. Still, I fought. I fought until I couldn't anymore, until my vitality faded away, until my consciousness dove into the unknown, into the dark waters of death.

Then, there were angry voices shouting over each other. Even through the haze I was sinking into, I could still make out some of what they were saying.

"Fred, back off! Let her go!"

"Billy, he's gonna kill her!"

"Let her go!!"

Far way, I heard a faint thump by my ear, and suddenly the pressure on my neck relented. I gagged, wheezed, brought my hands to my throat, feeling like a fish out of water. Many hands touched me, but they were gentle as they lifted me into a sitting position. I reached out blindingly and grasped someone's hand while coughing blood onto the floor, fighting to remain awake. I had no idea what was going on; all I knew was that it was over.

"Constance!" A blurry face appeared in front of me. "Constance, can you hear me?"

I recognized the mop of straw colored hair and the thick French accent. My somewhat good eye resisted, but I forced it to open and to focus so I could see his features. I couldn't find my words, but even if I did, my mouth was too swollen to speak. Even so, I tried my best.

"Jean..." I babbled. The soft J didn't come out right, more like a spitting noise than an actual letter, and more blood sputtered out of my nose. I'd never been in so much pain in my life.

"Dr. Howell is here to take a look at you, alright?" He gave my fingers a gentle squeeze and shuffled aside to make way for our surgeon. He was a somewhat young man, though the deep expression lines around his nose and eyes added years to his face. With careful, experienced hands, he held my jaw and tilted my head up to assess the damage. Despite my best efforts to breathe normally, I kept coughing up the blood that poured into my mouth from my nose, spattering a large part of it on poor Dr. Howell.

"I'm sorry," I choked.

"Don't worry about it, Miss. I'm used to it." And he really meant it. Red droplets smudged his forehead and cheeks, rolled down the bridge of his nose, yet he didn't even flinch.

Whilst he examined me, I heard scuffling somewhere nearby, the sound of many feet stomping the floor, of men screaming and skin clashing with skin. As the struggle moved away from my position, so did the ruckus, then all I heard was Mr. Gates' bellow: "Lock him up in the brig! Billy, go with them and bring me back the key when you're done."

With two fingers, Howell touched my nose. The second he applied the slightest pressure, pain shot up into my forehead and I kick my head back with a groan.

"Aye, that's a broken nose," he muttered. Next, he pried my lips open. My heart stopped for a moment, then kicked back into action, my hand involuntarily tightening on Jean's. Oh God, my teeth. What if I had lost teeth? Jesus Christ alive, I didn't want to end up looking like Folsom, no offense to him. I was too vain for that.

Dr. Howell must have divinated my thoughts from the way I began to shake. "Still have all your teeth, however. Your pretty smile is fine," he jested.

I ran my tongue over them even so, just to make sure. Thank the heavens. Only one more detail worried me, in that case: the fact I couldn't see out of my right eye. "What about my eye? Is it still there...?"

If I lost my eye, my vanity could survive it. But if life aboard a pirate ship was difficult, it would become even more so with one eye less. And then I would only have a spare. If by some stroke of rotten luck I lost that one too, I would be blind. What would become of me, then...? I dared not imagine it.

Howell prodded my brow up with one thumb and my lower lid with the other. It hurt, but it was bearable, especially compared to the pain of my broken nose. Light poured into my eye, filling me with relief. "It's intact," the surgeon confirmed. "Just swollen and bloodshot. It won't compromise your vision long term."

I sagged with a long breath. All things considered, I was lucky. I was still alive and somewhat in one piece. And I didn't surrender. It might have killed me, but that was not an option for me. Not after what Fred had whispered in my ear. Lastly, Howell examined my arms, torso and legs for broken bones, and found them all intact. My skin was no doubt peppered with bruises, but those I could live with. Again, he focused on my face. "How is your head?" I closed my eyes for a minute. "Swimming. Hurts a little." "Do you feel faint?" "Not anymore... Just tired." "That's good. Still, let's wait one more hour before letting you go to sleep, yes?"

I nodded slowly. From the corner of my good eye, I saw Gates leaning over his knees to take a better look at me. I must have looked gorgeous, judging by the wince he made. "Jesus... He did a number on you, didn't he?" I made an attempt at a smile and hissed when it pulled at a cut on my lip. "What? Don't I look gorgeous?"

Laughter rolled around the deck. The sound of it helped soothe my frayed nerves. I had survived my first fight and had drawn blood. I'd say I was successful, whether I won or not. I searched the men surrounding me until I found Bjorn. He smirked and nodded his approval, letting me know I had done good. My heart swelled with pride and my smile widened, even if it made the cut on my lip tear further open and gush more blood.

"Alright, let's see what we can do about that nose," Howell said. He glanced up somewhere behind me. "Billy, mind holding her down?" My smile vanished. Holding me down? Why? I swerved my head around from the anxiety that came back full force. My breath became shallow and I held onto Jean's hand with a vice-like grip.

"It's alright, don't worry," he hushed me, while Billy's imposing presence loomed over my much smaller frame. I looked at him over my shoulder, hardly able to make out his features. However, he didn't touch me. Rather, he knelt and gave me a reassuring look, eyebrows arching as if asking for my permission before laying a hand on my mistreated body.

"I'm going to hold you down so you won't jerk while Dr. Howell sets your nose straight," he explained, voice low, soothing, like the purr of a cat. I stared at him with fright, processing his words at a snail's pace thanks to the panic grasping my heart. "You can hurt yourself and make it worse if you move, do you understand? It's gonna be quick. And Jean will be right here at your side the whole time. We all will."

My eyes traveled through the men standing over our ensemble: Thierry, Bjorn, Mr. Gates, Folsom, Muldoon, Logan... Shit, even Flint was there, somewhere at the back. They were all there to offer moral support, so I would know I wouldn't go through this alone. Jean's thumb rubbed the skin on the back of my hand, offering me comfort.

My guts turned to steel. I hadn't backed away from a brawl with a man named Cutthroat Fred and I wasn't going to back away from this. Not with all of them watching. I wouldn't cry like a child after all that. No chance in hell.

I nodded once and gritted my teeth one last time. Jean released my hand while Billy snaked his arms around me, making me cross mine to my chest so he could hold my wrists. He pressed me firmly to his front, enough that I couldn't get away even if I wanted to, but not so much that I couldn't breathe. Under different circumstances, I might have appreciated the chance to be so close to a handsome man like him. As it were, all I could think about was how much the next few minutes were going to suck.

Dr. Howell held my jaw in one hand and pinched the bridge of my nose with the other. I shut my eyes tight and held my breath, trying to focus on Billy's grip and the sound of his breath on my ear.

"On three," Howell said. "One, two--"

SNAP. Son of a bitch never made it to three.

"Fuck!!" I shrieked. My body convulsed violently, but Billy's hold was relentless. I kicked my feet, only half aware enough to avoid hitting our surgeon. My arms and torso struggled against the trap that was Billy's body, until the pain began to subside and settle into an uncomfortable pulsing. Taking slow, heavy breaths, I went lax and let myself slouch, eyes brimming with tears that rolled down my cheeks from the crawling sensation inside my nose. Blood dripped copiously from the tip, staining Billy's arms as he released me, though he put his hands on my shoulders to keep me upright, in case I fainted.

It was over. It was finally over.

I felt a hand clamp down on my shoulder, then another pat my back, and one more pressing the crown of my head.

"Good girl," I heard Mr. Gates say. "You did great, Constance."

"Aye, hell of a fight." Bjorn's added. "Better than I expected."

"Thank you," I huffed. Something was pressed into my hand and I glanced at it to see what it was. Jean's pipe. I grinned at him and he winked right back. It was already lit up and billowing, but the smell was different. Not sweet, but grassy, almost bitter.

"This is something a little stronger than tobacco, so you only get one puff," he warned me. "It will help with the pain."

I brought it to my lips and pulled the smoke in. Almost instantly, my body relaxed. My brain fogged up to the point my vision blurred. As soon as I removed the pipe from my mouth, Jean took it back. The hurt was no more than a distant memory. I felt as if I was floating on a cloud, hovering over the floor, weightless.

"Wow..." I giggled. Around me the men cackled at my reaction, but I didn't matter. I was feeling so good, nothing could bother me.

"Let's get you on your feet, then." Dr. Howell stood up and Jean followed his example. They both offered me a hand and pulled me up until I was upright, if somewhat wobbly. They held me steady for a moment, to let me find my footing, then let go.

“Take her to the sick bay with the others and clean her up,” Howell ordered. “I'll be there shortly. Keep her awake until I arrive. I mean it. Don't let her fall asleep under any circumstances.”

“Oui, monsieur.” Jean took me by the arm and guided me to the bow, always keeping a hand on me as we walked. Just as well, because I was so out of it from whatever he had given me, every tilt the ship made in the waves made me side step out of control, and I was in enough suffering already. He kept me from knocking on literally everything and everyone we passed on the way, even though once in a while I almost knocked the both of us down. Wouldn't that have been embarrassing?

In the sick bay, there other three sailors who'd gotten hurt fighting occupied the few cots and hammocks available. Jean set me on the last spot, but wouldn't allow me to lie on my back. Instead, he propped me on a few stiff pillows against the back wall. It was very uncomfortable. There was no danger of me falling asleep in that position. Next, he went to fetch a clean cloth and a bowl of water, which he set up by my cot before taking a seat and rolling up his sleeves. Under candle light, he did his best to wash the blood out of my face, neck and hands, slowly unveiling the full extent of my injuries. He tried not to show it, but I could tell by how his eye twitched and the corners of his mouth pulled further and further down that they didn't look good.

“I suppose it's best I avoid any mirrors for a couple of days, hmm?” I quipped, hoping to put a smile back on his face and smooth over my own anxiety over my looks. I was successful in the first, at least.

“Oui. Only for a couple of days. So you don't scare yourself into an early grave.”

“It would be too ironic, wouldn't it? To survive Cutthroat Fred only to die from shattered pride.”

“Indeed.” He dabbed under my nose, soaking up the blood that had dried there. It was still tender, but he was very, very careful, and the cold water was a relief against my boiling skin. “It's all superficial. Give it a week or so and all that will remain is bruising. Maybe a slightly crooked nose.”

“No scars? Damn. And here I was hoping to get a memento to serve as preempt to a great story.”

Jean chuckled as he rinsed the blood off the cloth, staining the water a sickly pink color. “It's too early to tell.” There was a pause when he stood up from the cot to throw away the water and find me a clean shirt to borrow. When he returned, a shadow had settled over his features, which made his brow furrow and hazed his eyes with some deep thought. He handed me the shirt and used a blanket to serve as a dressing screen, keeping his back to me so I could have some privacy to change.

I knew there was something he wanted to say and I was very curious to hear what it was, but I didn't ask. He would tell me when he was ready, or not at all. Instead, I traded my bloodied shirt for a muted light gray blouse, whose sleeves covered up my hands and the hem fell to my knees. It also left my cleavage uncomfortably exposed, so I had to cross my arms over it to keep it closed. It would do for the night, but I would have to find a better replacement in the morning, while my original shirt wasn't washed.

“I'm decent,” I announced. Jean turned, covered my legs with the blanket he used as a screen and sat by my side once more, face still tense in deliberation. I held out my hand, palm up. “My cross, if you please?”

“Oh, that's right.” He fished into his pocket and gently pulled out the thin chain, beaded with jasper stones. He let it rest on my open palm and watched as I pulled it back on and held the silver icon in my fingers.

“My eldest sister gave this to me when I turned sixteen,” I told him with a smile. “She said it was so I would be protected, given that I had a worrying tendency to get into trouble.”

“Your sister sounds like a very wise lady,” he snorted. I shoved his arm in retaliation, but that only got him to laugh louder. Not long after, however, he went back to frowning. After a short while, he met my gaze.

“Why did you let it go on for so long?” He inquired. “You could have tapped out and given up. He would be forced to stop the fight and you wouldn't have gotten this hurt. So why didn't you?”

My fingers tightened their hold on the crucifix as my gaze dropped onto my lap. Yield now, and I let go. But after that? After that, I'm really going to have fun with you. It was like I could still hear that whisper, right in my ear. It sank into my flesh, infecting me with that man's depravity. A violent shudder ran up and down my body, reminiscent of my first night on the Walrus - the abject fear of the unexpected attack that coiled in my center, ready to bite down on my heart once more. Like it had never left, only lied dormant.

After I got a hold of it, I forced my undamaged eye to meet Jean's and tried to grin with a confidence I didn't feel. “And give him the satisfaction of beating me into submission? Of letting him humiliate me? That's why he challenged me in the first place. Had I tapped out, it would have been worse in the long run, trust me. This way, he knows I can put up a fight and can give as good as I can take. I may never win, but neither will he be laughing by the end of it. Nor anyone else, for that matter.”

“So it was all for show?” Anger colored his cheeks red, and his teeth ground so hard the muscles of his jaw started twitching. “You risked getting yourself killed or permanently injured to make a point? Are you actually mad?”

“I thought we had already established that I am,” I snapped back, unable to keep my own irritation from seeping into my tone. “Or else I wouldn't be here in the first place. What would you have done, if it was you?”

“I would have tapped out as soon as I realized that all I was going to gain from that fight was a lot of pain. I would have been humiliated, but at least my face wouldn't be swollen like a sponge.”

“Right. It's so easy to say that when you're a man, isn't it?”

Jean grunted and rolled his eyes. “This has nothing to do with the fact you're a woman.”

“It has everything to do with the fact I'm a woman,” I countered. However, before I let my emotions have the run of the conversation and made me say something I would later regret, I took a deep breath and calmed myself. I needed him to understand, and he would refuse if he felt he was being attacked.

“Fred didn't target me for being new. He targeted me for being a woman. The only woman in the crew. Remember what he said when Gates tried to impede me from fighting? He said, “does she get special privileges for being a lady?” That's why I had to fight. When I first came aboard, captain Flint told me there would be situations where I would have to defend myself without help, because if he or Gates intervened for my benefit, it would be seen as preferential treatment and it would breed resentment, maybe even mutiny. The day I snapped at Folsom was one of those situations. This fight was another. And there will be others in the future, mark my words. And they will always arise because I'm a woman and my presence threatens them.”

I made a pause to let my words sink in before continuing. “In their minds, a ship is no place for my gender. That's what they have been taught all their lives, and my being here as an equal member of this crew completely throws those beliefs upside down. It scares them. To them, it's the same as being told God doesn't exist. It puts everything they thought they knew into question. I understand that fear, but I cannot allow it to be turned on me. I can't afford it. If I do, they will eat me alive.”

Again I paused, an hesitation during which I bit my lip and considered not revealing this next part, but how else would I make him understand how dangerous my situation was? So, filling myself with courage, I spoke up. “Do you know what Fred told me as he choked the life out of me? He incited me to tap out so he would let go, but made it explicitly clear he... planned to have his way with me, later. What was I supposed to do, then? Shadow Gates or Billy for the rest of my life so he wouldn't come close? Avoid going into storage or the gunroom or anywhere else where no one would be able to hear my screams? I didn't tap out because as much as I was hurting at that moment, as scared as I was to die or become disabled, it would be a better outcome than to live constantly looking over my shoulder. I need them to know I can fuck them up just as good because then, it will become my armor. And... I needed to know I had it in me, as well. That I was strong enough to hold my own.”

Jean listened without interruption, his expression going from frustrated, to incredulous, to enraged, and, finally, to something close to understanding. He nodded lightly as he turned my words over, no longer looking at me but rather at the floor, hands wringing together.

“As a male novice,” I added. “You were likely scared of being beaten down or made into a joke by the veterans, and those fears are valid. I had them as well - plus the terror of being abused in ways only a woman knows to fear. That threat will haunt me every day I spend in this world. It will bear weight into every decision I make. Please, don't judge me too harshly without at least taking that into consideration.”

“I had no idea,” he admitted in this somber tone. I smiled despite the heavy tone of our conversation and reached out to touch his arm.

“I know you didn't. You are a good man, as well as a smart one. You know the world isn't kind on women, but because you yourself could never conceive to apply that kind of violence on someone else, you never considered that was a genuine preoccupation of mine. It's alright.”

When he finally looked back at me, there was something different about him. A new weight to his shoulders. I realized it was maturity. He looked older, wiser even, for having listened to me, for making the effort to try to see my side of things. God bless him, he really was a good friend. I'd never had a truer one in my life.

He sat up straight and took my hand in both of his. “I will try my best to always take your perspective into consideration, going forward,” he swore. Then, a small, sad smile pulled at his mouth. “And I hope you know I would never let them hurt you like that if I could avoid it.”

“You won't always be around to stop them,” I pointed out. “Just as Gates won't always be there. You're not my body-guard, Jean. Nor would I insult the both of us by asking you to be. But I do appreciate the knowledge that at least one member of this crew has my back.”

“Not just one,” he retorted, but left it at that. Oh, I knew there were others who I might count on to help me stay safe if needed, but the way he put it, it sounded like there were many more than those I was thinking of.

Which reminded me...

“Who got Fred to let me go?” I asked. All I remembered was hearing someone shout at him to release me, but my vision was blacking out by then. I hadn't seen the face of my savior.

Jean blushed and shrunk into himself, scratching nervously at his hair.

My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “It was you?”

“Well, don't sound so surprised!” He laughed. When I continued to stare at him, mouth agape, his grin fell to give way to a frown. “Billy was already rushing to separate you, but I was closer. I couldn't stand the sight of his arm around your neck, the way you thrashed helplessly against him. The rotten smile on his fucking face. Before I knew it, my boot was in his mouth.”

A smile twitched at my cheeks and grew, grew, grew, until the wound on my bottom lip split open yet again with a sharp prick. I sucked on the blood oozing from it and leaned forward so I could press them to his face, leaving a red smudge behind. There was nothing romantic about the gesture, at least not on my part, but he had stood up to defend me and that demanded a reward. The way Jean snorted and squirmed away made me think of a brother trying not to show how glad he was to be praised by his sister after a good deed. There was no shame from either of us in that little display of affection. I think we were well past that, either way.

“That was very sweet and heroic of you. Thank you, Jean duBois.”

He shrugged it off with a meek smile. “It's what friends are for, right?”

I nodded and swore to myself in that moment that, should the need arise, I too would defend him with my life. Whatever the situation was, regardless of the consequences. He deserved no less from me.

I didn't get much sleep that night. Every other hour, either Jean or Howell would wake me up to give me water, ask me some banal questions and overall to make sure I hadn't suffered any brain injuries. Then they would let me go back under to repeat it all over again, far too soon. When the sun rose at the final time I was roused, I decided to just stay up, as I couldn't take getting interrupted from my much needed rest anymore. Plus, I was hurting too much, anyway. Jean let me have another puff of his special smoke, which helped, then brought me breakfast. While we ate, I asked for news. Cutthroat Fred had been locked up in the brig and there was an intense argument going on between his friends, Flint and Gates, about what punishment to apply to this sort of offense. Everyone knew how Fred despised having me aboard, so there was no doubt that what had happened the previous night had been a cruel attempt to subjugate me, perhaps even incapacitate me enough that I would be useless to the crew. There was nothing friendly about our spar; he had meant me real harm and they all saw I had fought for my life, figuratively but also quite literally. He should have let me go the minute it was clear I was passing out and he didn't, so he broke the rules. Some among the crew were accusing him of attempted murder.

However, Fred's supporters argued that the fight had been fair and since I was still alive, there was no foul, therefore punishment for Fred would be unfair. Jean assured me they were a minority, no more than half a dozen of them, but one among them, Mr. Singleton, was particularly outspoken and called for a council to decide Fred's fate. I was enraged to think even a single member of the crew believed that rat of a man had the right to do what he did. It made me want to pick up something heavy and bash him in the head with it.

I had seen my reflection in a mirror - half of my face was an angry purple, blue and black mask, and my right eye was swollen shut. My nose had been reset, but I noted it was slightly crooked. The underside of my good eye was also bruised red and tender. My lip was split open and the faintest movement caused a sharp jolt of pain that made it bleed all over again. The only man who was worse off than me was the one with the broken rib and had to stay in bed for a week. None of the others who had fought looked half as bad as I did. Besides, he had threatened me with further violence if I yielded, effectively trapping me between possible death during that match or further suffering in the future. He had to pay for that. He had to.

So later that morning, when the crew assembled on deck for the council, I insisted on being there. I let Jean help me out of bed, put on my bloodied trousers and we made our way up. When we were halfway up the stairs, I let go of Jean's arm to climb the rest of the way on my own. When I emerged, I wanted to show that I might be beaten up, but remained strong and unbroken. I held my head high, straightened my back and stepped onto the upper deck. Again, the hatches had been removed to make room so everyone could have a clear view of what was going on. The bright sunlight shone down into the gundeck, which looked even more like an amphitheater than before. The whole crew was there. Those closest to me turned when they heard my shoes on the floorboards. Some of them winced at the sight of me, others remained impassive. They parted to let me through and I calmly marched forward, looking straight ahead, with Jean covering my rear. As I passed, I felt a few hands tapping my arm and murmuring words of support. I let their admiration warm my heart and steel my nerves. Whatever happened next, I would endure it with dignity.

On the other side of the crowd, I saw Flint, Gates, De Groot and Billy at the exact midpoint of the ship. They looked up as I arrived, like they were waiting for me. Cutthroat Fred was there too, hands clapped in irons and face covered in red, ugly gashes from my fingernails. With satisfaction, I saw he also had a bruise of his the corner of his mouth from Jean's kick. I smirked at him and he snarled in response. Serves you right, asswipe.

I went to stand with Bjorn at the front row and smiled when I felt his giant hand on my shoulder. Jean remained at my side, glaring at Fred. "Right, then." Mr. Gates stepped forth to address the crew. "Mr. Singleton called for this council to decide what should be done about Cutthroat Fred after the... exciting events from last night. As we were all there to witness and gossip tends to spread fast on this ship, I trust no one needs a reminder?" No one spoke up.

A tall, bald man covered in gnarly scars broke off from the crowd to join him in the circle. I remembered him, too. The bastard mocking my curtsy, that first day. I'd never spoken to him. He was one of those men who gave me the creeps whenever I happened to catch him looking at me.

Singleton took in the crew with a wide look and, with a deep, raspy voice, said: "The fights we hold on this ship are meant mainly for entertainment, as we know, but also to settle scores and clear up the air among angry mates. What we saw last night was no different from any other instance. There was no bad blood between Fred and Constance Tilly. In fact, they hardly ever interacted until yesterday. He challenged her into a fight as nothing more than a joke, simply hazing a new recruit like so many of us have previously done. Was he a little too rough with her? Perhaps, I will concede that--" "He beat her into a pulp when she was already on the ground!" Someone shouted down from the weather deck. "Look at her face!"

"Aye, and he almost choked her to death!" I heard Folsom roar across from me, behind Singleton. He had taken a step forward and shook an angry fist at him. "He had her fucking pinned down and just kept going even after she was clearly done! He wanted her dead!" A choir of protests agreed with him. They stomped their feet, threw insults at Singleton and Fred, accused them of falsehood, disloyalty and even betrayal. It was endearing, seeing them all in an uproar over me when weeks ago I had been their number one target for jokes, pranks and all kinds of hazing. I certainly hadn't expected them to defend me like this.

Singleton searched the sea of faces until he found mine, and shot me a nasty glare, with narrowed eyes and a sneer that exposed his teeth in a growl, made all the more sinister by the scars that twisted his features. I tilted down my chin and stared right back from under tensed eyebrows, feeling the hairs at the back of my neck stand on alert. Want a piece of me too, motherfucker? I thought. Come and get it, if you dare.

"Settle down, settle down!" Gates interrupted, hands thrown out in a placating gesture. Slowly, the men went quiet, until there was silence once more. Then, he turned to Singleton. "Go on." He tore his eyes away from mine and began to walk around the deck with slow steps. "I would like to ask you all something. Are your knickers all in a twist truly because of Fred going overboard? Or are you all so revolted because it was done on a female crew member?" Just as those words came out of his mouth, he stopped right in front of me and loomed over me. "If it had been Jean duBois, or Will Robbins, or Mr. Dufresne, would you be so against it? We have all seen some grueling matches before. Hell, Duffy is in the sick bay right now with a broken rib. Why does she get to have special treatment?"

I wanted to yell at him that I had never wanted special treatment. Didn't ask for it and didn't need it. I wanted to scream that even if I did, Fred had no right to brutalize me the way he had. We stared at each other in silence for nearly a minute, and I fought between the urge to defend myself and my instinct telling me to be quiet. Why? Why should I be quiet? To avoid further animosity? To spare myself from embarrassment, should their minds be changed after being swayed by Singleton's words? Because he wasn't worth it? Just as I opened my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, he turned and continued walking. "This life is hard and violent, always has been for all of us. It's not for the faint of heart or the weak minded. And if this girl cannot stand and take a beating in a friendly match, then what the fuck is she doing here? What's it going to be like during a plunder? Or when we have to defend ourselves from the navy? Will she fight like one of us, or cower and whimper at the first slap? We're all equal here, supposedly. Which means she has to be a capable fighter and endure the same violence the rest of us are subjected to, or get out. In which case, Fred did nothing wrong and he should be freed. That's all I have to say."

With that, he returned to his original spot and merged with the crowd. There were no further protests. In fact, there was not a peep from anyone - because as much as I despised both Cutthroat Fred and Singleton, and as pissed as the others might be at the former's behavior or at the latter for defending him, there was truth to that speech and that put the crew in a very uncomfortable position. I looked around with dread weighting my chest and saw doubt spreading across the very same men who were clamoring against him minutes ago. Were they so easily convinced? Did they now believe Singleton had a point and Fred should go free to torment me some more?

My eyes wandered to the chained man and my guts froze when I realized he was looking right at me, his yellowed teeth bared in a wide grin. If he was freed and cleared of the accusations against him, what was going to happen next? Mr. Gates spoke up once more. "Anyone else have anything to add? Anyone at all?" "I do."

I turned around to stare at Bjorn as he moved past me. He took the center of the ring, gave Cutthroat Fred a glare, then made his address. "What Mr. Singleton said is true. We are all equal here. We share in everything on this ship: food, drink, profit, violence. None of us get special treatment, no exceptions. You won't hear me say we should cut Constance some slack for being a woman, or new, or any other reason. I think last night she made it clear she can, in fact, take a beating, and not only that, she can put up a hell of a fight and she won't hesitate to stand up for herself." A few stomps of agreement.

"However. When was the last time anyone got out of a friendly match looking like that?" He pointed at me. "Does that look like someone who got out of a friendly match?" "More like she got in a brawl with a fucking bear," someone said, and others agreed.

"Exactly," Bjorn nodded. "Now, yes, Duffy is in sick bay with a broken rib and bedridden for a week. But he insulted Trelawney's wife, so he kind of had it coming anyway." He paused to let the men have a quick laugh. "To anyone's knowledge, Constance did nothing to incur Fred's wrath. Like Mr. Singleton himself said, they barely interacted. So why the fuck did he feel the need to leave her in that sorry state? I'll tell you why. Those of us who have known him longer know that Cutthroat Fred is a cruel, petty, woman-hating mongrel who takes pleasure in causing pain, no matter the reasons. He enjoys making recruits go through hell, the younger the better. He was banned indefinitely from Noonan's brothel because he likes to torture his girls. And of course, we all know about how he was expelled from his last crew because he murdered the cook over a badly boiled egg.” He spoke to Fred directly, then. “That's how you got the nickname, didn't you? You sliced that man's gullet open with the bread knife." We all stared at Fred, whose nostrils flared up in rage, hands balled into tight fists. He looked about ready to wrap his fingers around Bjorn's' neck.

Just like that, all the doubt descending over the crew was dispelled by resentment and distrust. I had no idea if what Bjorn had said was true, but from their reaction, I was inclined to believe so. It washed me with a wave of equal parts terror and pride: I had fought with a man as dangerous and evil as that, and survived. I had survived a sadistic murderer. Jesus fucking Christ, how close had I been to actually dying?

"So I say, yes. Yes, Cutthroat Fred deserves judgement and he most definitely deserves punishment. He challenged Constance Tilly to a friendly match and went deliberately overboard in an attempt to end her life. He was unnecessarily cruel toward her for no reason, other than because he couldn't stand the thought of having a woman on the crew. The only reason she still draws breath is because she is a tough fighter and Jean intervened in time. She did not deserve to have her face battered like dough. She works as hard as any one of us, she is dedicated to her tasks, and lets not forget she wanted this bad enough to sneak aboard the ship in a pink frilly dress, so."

Another round of laughs, which I joined. Bjorn raised his hands in a shrug. "You know what I think. Now it's your turn. Mr. Gates? I'm done for today." "Thank you, Bjorn." Gates took back the center stage while my friend came toward me to stand at my left side. I gave him a big smile and mouthed a 'thank you'. In response, he winked with a grin of his own and gave my shoulder a gentle shove.

"Anyone else? No? Very well. All those in favor of condemning Cutthroat Fred for attempted murder of a crew member?"

I raised my hand. So did Jean and Bjorn. So did many in the crowd, almost all of them. Then Billy raised his arm, and De Groot, and Gates. At last, even Flint voted in favor. At his side, Cutthroat Fred nearly foamed at the mouth, panting like a rabid dog. "All those in favor of clearing him of all charges?" As Jean had told me, at least half a dozen hands went up, including Singleton's, yet they looked pitiful compared to the sea of arms calling for condemnation. They never stood a chance. My heart felt light as a feather and I was finally able to breathe easy. I would never have to deal with Cutthroat Fred ever again. I was safe. For now. "The ayes have it," Mr. Gates declared. He turned to the convict. "Cutthroat Fred, you are hereby found guilty of trying to kill one of your own brothers – a sister in this case - and on behalf of the crew and captain Flint, I pass judgement: to be left in a deserted island with no food, no water, only a pistol and a single bullet. You have disgraced us all and it seems fitting that you should die alone and abandoned, without a single friend in the world to aid you."

There were no cheers to accompany the sentence. Instead, the men began their stomping again, while Billy, De Groot, Bjorn and one other big sailor I didn't know grabbed Fred by the arms and took him away. Before they disappeared below decks, Fred locked eyes with me and something in him snapped: he struggled against his guards and fought to free himself, cuffed hands reaching out for me as he roared a blind rage, teeth bared and a mad glint in his eyes. "I'll kill you, you cunt!!" He shrieked while he was dragged down with Billy's arm around his neck. "You better pray I die, you hear me?! You better pray I die on that island because if I live, I'll fucking kill you!"

My breath came out in shallow puffs. Jean had moved to stand in front of me with his pistol drawn out and as I came out of the initial shock, I noticed the wall of men that had formed around me. They had all assembled to shield me the moment Fred had moved to attack, and they didn't stand down until we couldn't hear his howls anymore. Even so... I was terrified. Knowing there was someone out in the world who had it in for you was scary. The scariest thing I had ever had to face. And what was worse... Fred wasn't the only one. I peeked from between the many heads surrounding me to look at Mr. Singleton and the others who had voted to free Fred. They were staring right back at me and they didn't seem pleased. I would have to watch my back, from now on. The impression was that my problems were only beginning. *** Days later, we arrived at a conglomerate of islands that were little more than sandbars with scruffy vegetation on top. Mr. De Groot had told me they were far enough away from the usual trading routes that it would be near impossible for Fred to escape or be rescued. He had one of two choices: either let dehydration and starvation take him, or end his own misery. From the Walrus, I watched as Flint, Gates and Billy boarded a launch with a tied up and gagged Cutthroat Fred in tow. They rowed him toward a patch of land made out of rock and sand, denying him even the luxury of shade, and through a spyglass, I saw them drag him onto the beach and cut his ropes at gunpoint. Flint then presented him with his one loaded pistol. Fred spat at his feet, so he threw the pistol onto the sand and turned his back on him to return to the launch.

Gates and Billy followed, always keeping their own barrels trained on Fred. They too boarded the launch and started to row away. Perhaps finally realizing how dire his situation was, Fred made a run to the water and began to swim to the launch. He managed to hook one hand on the ledge before Flint promptly smashed his fingers with the handle of his pistol. I could hear Fred's cry all the way from the ship. Around me, the crew cackled with amusement and cheered as Fred swam back to the beach, holding his broken hand to his chest. I didn't. Despite everything... I couldn't help to feel some pity for him. Not enough to make me want to plead mercy, but still.

The launch was almost upon us when I felt a familiar sinister presence creep behind me. Cautiously, I lowered the spyglass and glanced over my shoulder at Singleton. "The fuck do you want?" I asked. My words might have been snappy and my tone firm, but on the inside I felt as powerless and scared as a rabbit did when the eagle descended upon her. We were surrounded by our crew mates and it was broad day light, yet none of that comforted me or made my heart stop pounding painfully in my rib cage.

"You might have gotten away this time," he growled low enough so only I could hear. "But your luck will run out, eventually. You don't belong here and I will make sure everyone knows it. You will be begging to leave by the time I'm through with you." In a flash, I spun around, pulled out my knife and held the tip to his stomach, deep enough to make him wince, though he didn't move. I stared into his eyes and got in his face, so close our noses almost touched.

"Go ahead," I spat back. "Make your move. Do your worst. I'll be waiting. But know this: when you finally have the balls to face me, I won't hesitate. That is a promise." Singleton smirked, then snatched my wrist, twisted it in a sharp angle that made me cry out and drop the knife.

"Pitiful creature," he laughed. "Pretending to be a pirate, thinking you can stand up to me. I could bash your skull into the railing right now and I wouldn't even break a sweat--"

His breath hitched in his throat when I shoved my entire fist into his dick. Immediately, he let go of my arm and bent over, face bright red, both hands on his crotch. I could have left it at that, but I wanted to make a statement. I reared up my leg, kicked him on the shoulder and watched as he dropped on his back like a sack of potatoes. Lastly, I picked my knife from the floor and pressed a knee to his neck.

"I told you, I won't hesitate. And just so we're clear on exactly what will happen if you ever come near me again, Mr. Singleton..." I removed my knee and brought my knife to his throat, pressing the blade to his skin hard enough to draw blood. "This is to remind you I am a pirate and you would do well to never forget it. Don't ever speak to me again. I don't want to see your face anymore than I'm already forced to. Are we clear?"

His glare was almost sharp enough to kill. He wanted me gone. He might want me dead, even. Still, when you had a blade to your jugular, no argument could save your life. He nodded slowly. I removed my knife from his neck and stood up, wiping the blood on my pant leg. He rushed to his feet as well, breathing heavily, then noted the audience our little spat had garnered. No one intervened, no one said anything. They just stared at him as if daring him to attack me. Singleton compressed his jaw tight, realizing he was outnumbered and outmatched. The silent threat was clear: touch a single hair on her head, and you're done for.

Having no choice but to accept defeat, he grunted in frustration and left. As for the rest of the crew, they didn't address me or even acknowledge me, either; one by one, they returned to their posts and pretended nothing happened while the captain, quartermaster and boatswain were out.

With a frail sigh, I tucked my trusty kitchen knife into my pocket and grabbed onto the railing to stop my hands from shaking. My teeth chattered as my skin broke into a cold sweat. Hopefully, my show of force and the crew's backup would be enough to deter Singleton and anyone with half a mind to harm me from doing anything. I watched Flint and the others climb aboard, then give the order to get us underway, toward Nassau. It was time to go home.

I took one long breath through the nose, filling my belly and chest with air, then let it out through my mouth. Little by little, my nerves calmed and the anxiety exited my body, returning feeling to my numb limbs. I should join the others and get to work. "Hey." I looked to my right. Mr. Gates was at my side and peered into my eyes with concern. "Heard there was an altercation with Singleton. Everything alright?" I nodded with closed eyes and hung my head. "We reached an understanding. All's well." "Did he hurt you?" I snorted. "You should ask him that." Gates' eyebrows shot up as he stood straight. "All right, then. In that case, why are you standing about here? Those sails won't man themselves, missy."

"Yes, Mr. Gates." I pushed away of the rail to run toward the fifes and join my mates. As we tugged on the rigging and tied it off, I got a glimpse of the islet where Cutthroat Fred would likely meet his maker and realized whatever pity I had felt for him was gone. My struggle with Singleton had served as a reminder that for as long as men like that existed, my safety was never a sure thing. They didn't deserve my pity. Nor my mercy, for that matter. After all, they had none reserved for me.

I wasn't entirely used to violence quite yet. It was still a very recent notion for me, and it made me uncomfortable, but at least I wasn't scared of it anymore. My face would heal and it was clear now I was more than capable of defending myself. And as I remembered the wounds I had inflicted on Fred, and Singleton's face when I got him on the ground, under my blade... A half smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. Maybe some justified, well directed violence wasn't so bad. I could learn to like it.

[ciaossu-imagines]

Of course and sure thing. Oh damn, that’s so horrible. I was actually kind of spoiled about the events as well, not in what happened exactly but that it did happen since at the time of the chapter’s release I was away on holiday with my mum’s side of the family and I usually don’t bother to block the tag since most spoilers are something I can scroll past and they’re usually not too big since I read it every week but yeah, I saw something referring to what happened in that chapter and gods that hurt so we both unfortunately had to deal with it being spoiled, though with you it’s obviously much worse. And yay. Looking forward to hearing all your thoughts on everything that happened if you want to share it all. Oh, there really aren’t many chapters of Persona 3. I see. I also hope you don’t have to stay late and I’m glad to hear that you have another day off tomorrow. I see. Can imagine that being quit annoying. You calling caffeine god is amazing. And wow. How long does it take you to get through a pot? If you don’t mind answering. I managed to write a few points about the things that stood out luckily so yay to that. Oh damn, he really does look like Lavi from D. Gray-Man. And I see. That’s nice to know. Sure thing. I finished the last season of Demon Slayer that’s out now so I’ll probably be getting to it soon. Yeah, which is really understandable since A:TLA is just such an amazing series in so many ways. Of course and glad to hear you adored Zuko and true to his redemption arc. And I can’t blame you for Sokka being your first initial favourite since I also really like him and like every time he tells one of his silly jokes, I laughed so he’s definitely someone fun to have around.

Yeah, the Demon Slayer manga is just 205 chapters long. And the fact that it’s so short and still tells such an amazing story is yet another reason as to why I love it so much. Yeah. Like the final arc consists of two mini-arcs, one of 47 chapters and the last one is 22 chapters long, so it would entirely be possible to split it up since the last arcs that they adapted were like 30 chapters long, but I actually do presume that they won’t since the first season of Demon Slayer put all of the mini arcs of the first main arc into the season. And I honestly don’t mind what they do since I’ll always be looking forward to whatever there is of it. So I presume we’ll probably just have a longish last season, but I’m up for anything, as long as it’s adapted well. Okay. Cool. And I did and I was just like constantly fangirling and at times I couldn’t tell whether it’s because I was enjoying the sound of his voice or because what his character, Genya, was doing because he’s just such a precious boy. Thank you for saying that. He actually has a small first appearance in the fifth episode of the first season and then he’s gone and doesn’t properly appear until The Swordsmith Village Arc.

Thank you. It’s wild since I usually don’t forget things entirely so it’s a whole new experience for me. But the fact that it happened so early does help it make sense. Yeah. Though later on, there is this arc in Fairy Tail called ‘Key of the Starry Heavens arc’ and it is entirely filler but it’s still really enjoyable to watch. Gods, that’s me with Lawless’s song. And I see. I’m not sure about the Beyblade that you watched, but the Metal Saga series does have the opening song translated like that as well. The fact that Iruma is very musical does sound very nice. Of course it’s adorable. And now I’m looking even more forward to seeing it but I’ll still wait until I’m done with everything else I have to do and watch.

Yeah, true. Like I think the movie does but from what I’ve heard / seen, the movie concentrates more on the characters themselves than the actual match which makes no sense because both are really important. And yeah, it definitely did. Like this match that was adapted is 34 chapters long and when the movie was first announced, people were talking about how it’d have to be a 5 hour long movie for all of that to be properly adapted. And the thing is, the saddest thing of all is that we’re not even sure we’ll be getting another season. There were two movies set to be released, so this one and another one that will come out who knows when, and the initial poster to advertise it was ‘Haikyū!! Final’ which just does not sound great so now me and other Haikyuu!! fans are hoping that the studio will use all the money they got from the ticket sales and other stuff to make a proper fifth season. Sure thing 💕 Hell yeah and Hinata has such an amazing moment at the beginning of the second season that people still referrer to to this day. I see. That makes sense. But yeah, none of the Haikyuu!! babies are one-note and that’s just another great thing about the series. And yes to all those things of you describing him.

Me too but it’s really difficult because she’s not very good at seeing the wrong in her ways. Like say if I were to tell her about it, she’d get so offended and she thinks she’s in the right for saying what she did. Yes, the fighting style really is. Like it is hinted at in the opening, but it’s nothing compared to seeing it in action and it’s just so cool 😭 And yes, be excited about him. I love the Shinazugawa brothers, what more can I say. Oooh. That sounds like such a  lovely flavour. And that makes perfect sense. I hope you and your friend had a wonderful time together. Oh and that does sound like a good idea since then it’s all nicely together.

C

I’m so sorry to hear you got spoiled on that as well! I can definitely get not blocking the tag – I just did it because I know that if I see a spoiler, I’m going to read it instead of scrolling past, just because I can’t resist that temptation, haha! It sucks though that you got spoiled like that on such a big reveal, because I can imagine how much impact it would have had for people who didn’t know it was coming! And you know, it’s funny, because I’m as caught up as my manga app had (up to Chapter 254), but I don’t really have a lot of thoughts on it. I feel like the story is an absolutely brilliant one, the author is an insanely gifted technical writer because his use of things like foreshadowing and visual storytelling is gorgeous. I feel like I have solid grasps on the characters enough to write them; I know quite a few people excited to have me write them, so I’m going to. Overall, I very much enjoy the story and am excited to see how the rest of the story plays out to it’s ending, which is very close obviously. The writer’s storytelling has been well-paced for the most part, there’s little unnecessary drag or tangents, I’m going to be surprised if the series is still going active in even December of this year. I figure by early fall, absolutely latest, it’s ending with it being weekly. However, I can’t say I’ve fallen in love with this one like I have some of the other fandoms. Comparing my love for say, Servamp, K Project, or KHR and my love for Jujutsu Kaisen – my love for Jujutsu Kaisen is the little, tiny plastic cup you get to take your medicine with and the love for those other series is the big bottle of medicine. Again, the creator is absolutely a gifted storyteller. I fully believe they’ve known a least a full half an arc to a full arc ahead of where the story was currently what was going to happen, and I have zero doubts whatsoever that they’ve had at least a couple ideas as to an ending since the beginning and have a full, clear view of how everything’s ending now. Their world is well-built and constructed, their power-sets well figured out. They’re a tight writer with great focus and there are parts of their writing and visual storytelling that I wish I was even 1/10th as good at as a writer. However, I always kind of feel like JJK is very much a case of the story driving the characters and not the characters driving the story. When it comes to the JJK characters, I very much do feel like they were all created because the creator needed a character to advance the story or to fill an essential role in the story and that when it came to creating them, their characters were built around what role they needed to play and what they needed to accomplish so they feel less to me like real, actual people like some characters from other media and more like…just characters. Don’t get me wrong here, because both types of storytelling and character creation are entirely valid and both can be exceptionally well-done. JJK is a prime example of story-driven media done exceptionally well, if not completely brilliantly (because let’s remember, at the bottom of story-driven media, we have things like Twilight, which is that type of storytelling done exceptionally poorly). But I feel like most people are drawn more to one type of story-telling process than the other and I’m just more overall compelled by character-driven storytelling so JJK is in that ‘technically brilliant, I really enjoy it, but can’t get obsessed with it like some others can’ field.

Anyway, now that I’ve probably infuriated or offended some of the JJK fans, onto the rest of the message, haha! There really aren’t that many chapters of any of the Persona manga that I’ve found, so I’m kind of hoping that they’re all just really sort manga and that I’m not reading incomplete ones! And thank you for the well-wishes for the day off. Unfortunately, I had impromptu plans sprung on me that day that ate up most of my day, which made me a little cranky, not going to lie. I’m doing all I can to keep with commission timelines though, even with Etsy and real life…might require some burning of the midnight oil, but I’m holding up and doing well 😊 Yeah, caffeine is the god I worship, haha, as someone who isn’t overly religious. I don’t usually go through a pot that quickly though. Most mornings, I make the standard 12-cup pot around 6:30 and keep it on warm until I finish it around noonish. That day though, gone in about three hours, give or take. It’s not even keeping me awake so much anymore, thanks to having such a high caffeine tolerance, it’s more to keep away the migraines and because I find coffee soothing and sometimes, all I need is a short break to make a cup of coffee, just move and have a moment away from the computer to get the next burst of inspiration for what to write next. I’m excited to read those then! And I’m glad I’m not the only one who saw the resemblance then, even if it’s been a dog’s age since I actually watched or read D. Gray-Man. I wonder if that series ever wrapped up…things for later Dee to look up, I think! Speaking of Demon Slayer though, I paused everything else I was watching because I got in the mood to watch that. So I’m done the first season and the Mugen Train movie. However, when I go to the next season, it’s a really short season that just looks like the movie? I need to figure out if Crunchyroll just screwed up and put the movie into episodes or if those Mugen Train episodes are actually episodes or not, so I need to Google that too. Just every time I sit down at the computer, I get to working on creating playlists and storyboards for all the commissions instead of googling that, haha. I’m really enjoying it so far, though I’m pissed at the movies ending, because I thought I finally found a character that would be my favourite and then it was like the anime decided to just be laugh and be like ‘ha, fuck you’ lmao. I’m excited to continue it, just need to clear that up first! And Avatar is just incredible. I hope everyone has at least given it a try, and if any of my readers haven’t, please go check it out. You won’t be disappointed you did, I promise 😊 Sokka was definitely my initial favourite because of the comic relief, though I remember really liking Toph after her introduction too!

It still amazes me that the author was able to tell a complete and full story of the magnitude that Demon Slayer seems to be setting it’s story up in that few of chapters. It must have been very well-paced and without any extras then! I wish I could find the manga to read, though I am very much enjoying the anime (and to answer before the question is asking, I am watching the dub because it makes it so much quicker to watch). Thank you for explaining that and it’s really neat that the final arc was divided like that! I wonder if they’ll do a season for the first mini-arc then and a final movie to end it all, because that might be interesting if they do. I really enjoyed the first movie, felt it moved along well and was mostly well done (my biggest complaint about Demon Slayer so far is that sometimes the CGI is super noticeable and visually jarring and fuck me, were those CGI train tentacles something else and entirely unpleasant visually in that movie). I haven’t got to see much more of Genya other than Selection, where obviously you weren’t seeing the best of him. In fact, he was pretty damn easy to hate in that episode but still interested me, so I’m looking forward to re-encountering him in The Swordsmith Village Arc.

No problem, of course 😊 And I feel like a lot of the Bleach filler arcs were very forgettable, so I wouldn’t worry any! I definitely haven’t seen that particular filler arc of Fairy Tail, or if I have, I forgot it entirely, but I will check it out when I do a Fairy Tail reread! Thanks for the heads up on that! You know, I hadn’t thought about that, but I’m pretty sure the Beyblade I watched had an English opening song too, come to think of it! It’s been a real long time since I watched it, though it’s in my rewatch list (along with Digimon Adventures and Yu-Gi-Oh!, like the child I am, haha!). Yay, I’m excited for when you eventually get around to it 😊 And that sounds like a movie that I would absolutely adore, since I do love me some character focus, but if that was the only adaption the match got and it was an important match, then it also should have been shown and focused on in its entirety as well, so I can get the frustration. And it definitely sounds like it was a very important match, to have stretched across that many chapters, so I am so sorry the movie was such a let down. It also sucks to hear there might not be another season! It doesn’t make sense for them to wrap everything up in just two movies! Especially since a movie can’t realistically cover more than 20 decent-length chapters without rushing! I’m excited to get to that Hinata moment then 😊 And yeah, I’m noticing that about the Haikyuu characters and am appreciating the characterization in it, especially compared to some other sports manga I’ve watched or read. I’m sorry to hear that. I know people like that and do know how hard they can be to deal with, so I wish you luck and peace! I am very excited, actually, to see all the Hashira’s fighting styles, now that I’ve met them and seen at least one of theirs (somewhat…the Hashira did really little fighting in comparison to the others but we won’t get into my feelings on that.) And thank you 😊 We had had a lovely time! I hope you’re doing amazing, my dear!

[lyriumflames]

dw lads I’m done now, final x-files thoughts!

Re: finale, I knew two things going in, there aren’t any more episodes and skinner dies. But to a certain extent neither of those things are true? last month chris carter announced they’re in the works for another season but it’ll basically be a spin-off cause no mulder and scully which I’m neutral about BUT what I’m NOT neutral about is that skinner’s “death” was ambiguous, they left it open in case there was another (at least proper) season.

now this may just be me living in denial but mitch said in an interview if they do continue it he would come back in a heartbeat THEREFORE in my LOGIC BRAIN he’ll survive it yes I am deciding that is canon.

I’m sad about Reyes. Ppl tried saying her death was ambiguous but I mean, she was shot square in the head. I’ll also assume it was some elaborate ploy that didn’t work out because otherwise talk about character assassination. Would also have liked a doggett update but apparently it was scheduling conflicts so I guess we’re left to wonder.

I actually don’t have any strong feelings about the final itself I’d assumed it was a big send-off finale but it wasn’t so I was just like “oh! alright then :)”

For the first time I did something very purposefully. I didn’t watch bloopers, behind the scenes, interviews, reddit discussions, tumblr tags I did NONE OF IT (okay apart from that one mitch interview) and it was the absolute best way to do it.

How do people feel about different seasons? different characters? different plotlines? when did people think it fell off? what happened between gillian and david? I have no idea and I like it. I have my own little bubble and it’s great. It’s a very big and long-standing fandom and I just know if I dug too deep (which I have done with a certain other supernatural show) all I’d do is end up hurting myself so I didn’t. The x-files is a fictional show full of fictional people and I know nothing of the outside world around it.

I also watched it wrong lol. By season 3 I just ended up getting really attached to skinner who is in maybe half the episodes and I was clawing my eyes out wanting more episodes with him in lmao, I don’t know what happened!

At first I was like “Oh it’s Samuel from spn! weird I didn’t know he had a bit part” then I noticed he was sticking around so I assumed he would die soon cause again my blueprint was basically spn and everyone around the protags die, then by season 3 I was like “wow it looks like you’re here to stay!” growing more and more fond of him and then I just fell off basically and was looking at the credits every episode to see if he’s in it (when he got a main title credit it was really annoying cause he wasn’t in any more episodes than usual, I just then didn’t know)

No clue if any others felt that way but I doubt it, but yeah there was just something about him man idk

oh also I just straight-up didn’t believe the lone gunmen died to the point where I still kinda don’t believe it even though they definitely did whoops

one thing I really really liked was the longevity of the villains. Once again blueprint was spn with the big bad every season, but nope! smoking man and Krycek (rip babygirl) are pretty much always under the surface, with things like the syndicate and other things also there.

I also seem to have an issue in that I rarely dislike villains, I watched all of GOT not realising that people HATED cersei, she was objectively a bad person but I didn’t dislike seeing her like I did, say, joffrey? So yeah I didn’t dislike smoking man (I did get more and more creeped out) or Krycek, I found them interesting. I didn’t even dislike Kersh! But that might just be bcause I’ve watched most of Grey’s so I’m just like lol it’s richard webber love you man

final thoughts, I will definitely watch it again because it was hard to keep sitting through the filler episodes (we need a better name than “filler”) because I just kept wondering about the storyline, so a second rewatch with the knowledge will be waaay more enjoyable, I had a good time!

[frogtanii]

these transcripts are protected by doctor-client privilege and hippa laws and should only be accessed by the verified person(s). please call xxx-xxxx if you are in fear of those laws being violated.

————————————————————————

[dr otsuaka]: hello, [redacted]! it’s so great to hear from you again! last we met, things were on track with your recovery — has that changed at all?

[patient 86]: clears throat um, not really. things are weird, that’s all.

[dr o]: weird how?

[86]: ...

[dr o]: does this have something to do with your roommate, [redacted]?

[86]: nods

[dr o]: does this also deal with you working through your feelings for her?

[86]: she... she doesn’t like me like that. i’m not like... like [redacted].

[dr o]: now, what did we say about negative self talk and comparisons to others?

[86]: ...not to do it.

[dr o]: i know it isn’t easy but you are not [redacted] or [redacted] for a reason. you are you and that doesn’t make you less than! it just makes you different.

[86]: smiles ... she said something like that to me once.

[dr o]: she sounds like a smart girl. you should listen to her.

[86]: ...yeah.

————————————————————————

[patient 12]: —and then she just, punches the air, wham! and it was so intense and i’m pretty sure i’ve never been more turned on in my life because, god doc you should’ve seen her. i know you’re like 50 and gay but.. damn.

[doctor fujiwara]: laughs you are quite the character [redacted].

[12]: i try.

[dr f]: well, it seems as though this girl has become quite the fixture in your life.

[12]: i mean.. yeah. she saved me.

[dr f]: hm... don’t you think you are.. idolizing her a bit? placing her on an unattainable pedestal which sets her up for failure in your eyes? you’ve placed quite a bit of weight on [redacted].

[12]: ... no, no she’s helped me through so much but i don’t, she’s not my idol or anything.

[dr f]: are you sure? you place much of the credit for your recovery on her. is that fair to her, to feel entirely responsible for your health and well-being?

[12]: ...

[dr f]: just think about it, hm? now, tell me again about this ferret you were thinking of purchasing?

————————————————————————

[dr otsuaka]: ... and how did that make you feel?

[patient 88]: ... you couldn’t sound more cliche if you tried.

[dr o]: laughs nothing gets quite past you [redacted].

[88]: you say that as though it is a bad thing.

[dr o]: trust me it isn’t. but on that note, tell me some things you’ve observed this week.

[88]: ...she isn’t eating as much. i think the stress is getting to her.

[dr o]: is it not getting to you as well?

[88]: ...it isn’t about me.

[dr o]: this is your therapy session [redacted], it quite literally is about you. ...have you been neglecting yourself in favor of taking care of her?

[88]: we’re drifting and i do not want to lose her. she has [redacted] and it doesn’t seem like... like she has use of me anymore.

[dr o]: [redacted]... you are not an object to be used. no one can decide if you are “of use” or not — you need to take care of yourself so that when you are up to it, when you are healed and ready, you can take care of the others around you. she is a grown woman and as much as you care for her, she can take care of herself. it is time for you to focus on you.

[88]: ... i don’t know how to do that.

[dr o]: smiles well, that is what i’m here for.

————————————————————————

[dr barnes]: ah welcome, [redacted]! it’s so great to meet you! dr otsuaka speaks of you highly!

[patient 4]: wow! you’re so big! your biceps are as big as my head!!

[dr b]: laughs i do enjoy my time at the gym! please sit, sit!

[4]: thank you for seeing me dr barnes!

[dr b]: no, it’s really my pleasure! when dr otsuaka needed to clear out her client list, i leaped at the opportunity to take some of you on.

[4]: yeah, she told me something like that. i’m just happy i still have a therapist! it would really suck if all my progress went out the window.

[dr b]: oh yes, i have some of your charts here... shuffles papers looks like you suffer from... separation anxiety and ptsd?

[4]: yep, but it hasn’t gotten me down yet!

[dr b]: that’s great [redacted]. i’m looking forward to seeing the progress we can make with one another!

[4]: aw, thanks dr b! you’re so cool!

[dr b]: that’s all you bud, all you. so, what do you think of starting from the beginning?

[4]: well, it all started when my mom met my dad and they fell in love and had se—

————————————————————————

[dr yamada]: wow, hi [redacted]! it’s been so long since we’ve last spoken. high school, was it?

[patient 7]: um, yeah.

[dr y]: so, what brings you back here to see me? do you need a refill on your meds?

[7]: ...maybe.

[dr y]: [redacted]... are you alright?

[7]: bursts into tears no.. oh god no..

[dr y]: that bad, huh?

[7]: yeah.. yeah, it’s that bad.

[dr y]: is it [redacted]?

[7]: sniffles oh, no not him. actually, his girlfriend? she’s back.

[dr y]: oh god..

[7]: yeah.. laughs dryly

[dr y]: well, it’s a good thing you’re here then. do you remember your affirmations?

[7]: how could i forget? i am loved—

[dr y]: in unison —i am deserving of love—

[7]: —and i will love in return. wow, it’s been a minute.

[dr y]: and still, it stuck. yet another example of my incredible teachings.

[7]: just as insufferable as always, dr yamada.

[dr y]: and just as guarded as usual, [redacted]. am i going to have to pry the information out of you this time around?

[7]: nah... i think... i think i really need to talk about it.

[dr y]: good. i am here to listen.

℗ poker face

intermission

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - kekeke a new funky short filler chapter comin up for y’all!!! i’ve done therapy transcripts once before so i kinda wanted to try again??? provide a splash of insight for the hotties who r going to therapy in pf!! and even tho i think i made it kinda obvious, i wanna see y’all guess whomst is whom!!! also this is considerably lower quality than i intended KSJ but we will get back to our regularly scheduled (read: better) writing tomorrow KEJEK anyways fat thanks to my wife ghostie (who i cant tag rip) for helping me out!!! don’t forget to feed me!!! <3333

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @syndellwins • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saikishairclip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[jjkafterhours]

Part 4 of reversal of the heart? <3

To the people who request for more parts, I hope you realize how happy it makes me (´ ^ ω ^｀)

REVERSAL OF THE HEART

PART FOUR

PAIRING;; Toji Fushiguro/Reader

TAGS/WARNINGS;; angst, slowburn, mentions of childhood neglect because the Zenins are asshats, Toji is still awkward asf @brumous11

WC;; 2k+

NOTES;; This is mostly a filler chapter, but I think Toji needs some more love don't be afraid to interact if you enjoy my writing :3, I love getting your kindhearted messages

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

“I’m fully aware, of how awful of a person I am.”

“You need to go outside more.” You decide. “I won’t have you sitting at home, being sad.”

Wow, she did not even try to sugarcoat it, Toji thinks when he nods. It isn’t exactly a nod of agreement, but more of relent. After all, husbands were supposed to spend more time with their wives, and he had not been exactly accommodating when they were back at the Zenins. Their presence plagued his mind; a family of abusers and brainwashed people with power and reputation in their hands. One of the most prestigious families in the Sorcerer world.

Prestigious. It was the most pretentious way to describe them. It made him want to throw up.

He had barely noticed his new wife, trying to shut himself down, away from his surroundings, trying to think of a safe haven which he had found in his life. He could only think of one place, and that brought too many memories now weighed heavy with guilt and shame.

Maybe he really did have to go outside more. The walls were closing in too quickly.

She’s saying something, he finally notices when he turns to look at you. He’s puzzled when you raise an eyebrow. He had not heard you. It was a recurring thing; sometimes this is how your conversations broke off when he was suddenly snatched up by a particular line of thoughts. However, you did not mind.

“I was wondering,” You repeat, running your hands through his hair. “Where we should go next time.”

Oh.

He shrugs, and then realizes that his lack of enthusiasm was not helping. He could not help it, he was tired. He had taken a few days off in order to take care of his their kids, but they were asleep (understandably so, he was not going to wake them up early on a weekend). So his option was to spend time with you, or wander out, perhaps to have another try at the rigged pachinko parlour.

He wonders if you would enjoy that. You would probably think that it was another one of his addictions. Ha.

With that in mind, he walks out, mumbling whatever excuse comes to his mind. Not that you exactly were hell-bent on knowing where he was at all times, especially with the irregular hours his line of work kept him busy in. He respected that, however, something like annoyance tugged at the back of his head. Were you really going to not ask about anything?

“Take care.” You call out to him, nonchalantly. You were surprised at him randomly wandering outside with seemingly no real purpose, contrasting with the reluctance with which he provided you company. You wonder if your presence really made him that uncomfortable all of a sudden. Yesterday had gone so well…

He does not realize that he had not answered your question until much later.

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

Toji was four when he was taken to the Disciplinary Pit. He could hear the distant cries of a woman, begging the head of the clan to spare him, to take it out on her for failing to give birth to a strong child.

His mother.

He did not understand why his mother seemed to panic at the mention of the Pit. When he had asked the servants about it, they merely looked at him with pity, and vaguely answered something about how punishments and training sessions were handed out.

One of them approaches him, a rope in her hand. He wonders if it was a beating; but could not discern as to why he would be receiving it in the first place. He had not stepped out of line at all, and even when he had, his mother had been the one to administer any sort of punishment, which usually involved sending him to his room, forbidding him to run outside and play. Beatings were mostly reserved for the older members, and only if the crime threatened the clan’s interests. How could a child do anything of the sort?

He wonders if his uncle wished to see him. Naobito Zenin was one of the mostly respected (and feared) clan leaders to rule over the Zenin household. People would step out of his way whenever he approached a situation.

He frowned. Had he been not listening to his teachers?

He froze, feeling a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see his uncle, his expression scarily blank. He stared into the man’s eyes, certain that he had done nothing wrong, but could feel his stomach twisting slightly. The hand moved to his head, and Naobito Zenin stroked the top of his head with surprising gentleness.

He smiles reluctantly, pleasantly surprised by the show of affection from the man who seemed to have little time to attend to his family members, and had personally arrived to meet him. However, his thoughts were locked in a conflict, unable to remove the image of his sobbing mother out of his mind.

“I think he is ready.” Naobito announced, still smiling down at him.

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

The clanking of coins rings in his ears as he shoves his money inside the machine slot. Partially it’s to block out his uncle’s voice in his head, and the events which occurred shortly after. The other reason is because he is irritated. It’s not more than a few thousand yen; he could not afford to throw money at whatever would provide some sort of distraction, he had a family to take care of now. Terrible memories or not, he had to get his shit together.

I should have never had kids, he thinks, then immediately regrets it, when the image of his son appears in his mind. However, he pushes it down. Raising kids was hard, and it wasn’t like anybody had given him some sort of instruction manual. He allows himself to be annoyed with them, his children, his wife whom he could barely manage seeing every day, knowing fully well that she was a placeholder for his grief. A dull throbbing pain begins to form in the sides of his head, as Toji struggles to concentrate. The other players seemed to keep their distance from him, seeing the stoic expression on his face, the usual banter in the parlour dying.

He thought that he had gotten used to the stares and side-eyed glances, but it frustrated him even more. It made him wish that he could just mingle with the rest of the crowd. He was not interested in small talk or any sort of conversation, but he would be glad to slip by, unnoticed. Heavenly Restriction had placed a shadow over his life, his absence of cursed energy making him an defect piece in his clan, an anomaly among the Sorcerer world, and his physical prowess leaving him unable to mingle with the rest of the population.

Toji hated having the spotlight on him like this. Part of him thought of leaving; they probably thought of was one of the members of the shitty gang in the neighboring town, but he crushed it. He would rather walk back home angry, rather than feel dejected about it.

The music from the machine suddenly rises up into a crescendo, and he glances up to see the three slots slowly line up.

7.

7.

7.

Ah.

“No fucking way.” He hisses, waiting the screen to turn black, wondering if it was some sort of sick joke. The casino owner had mentioned something about buying new retro-style machines, and perhaps this was one of them-

He grimaces as the animated characters began to dance on the screen, whistling in the background as the battered thing begins to pump out some obscure jingle which must have been popular in the 90s. A bunch of streams explode in the pixelated screen, announcing that he had just won the jackpot. The machine continues to play the god-awful happy-go-lucky music, almost demanding him to be happy as it spits out an armful of pinballs. The owner of the casino congratulates him; while the bystanders are not exactly convinced. He isn’t either, but he does not care either way. He’s one of the “loyal customers”, meaning that he has probably lost half of the jackpot money from his earlier failed attempts, not that having a bit of extra money bothered him. He wonders what he would do, certainly not try his luck again.

He reaches for a pack of cigarettes, perhaps with the slight intention to annoy his wife. Then he stops.

Why am I doing this, he thinks, and walks out of the aisle. He wonders if he should take his family out shopping. He had considered buying gifts, but he had little idea as to what they really liked. Another consequence of not spending enough time with them.

He decided that he would stash up the money somewhere when he returned home, and then later give it to his wife when she would go shopping. The kids would probably prefer her company anyway.

“I just won the jackpot.” He says aloud to himself, and some of the passersby shoot him a confused look. He returns their looks with a shark-like stare, and they scamper off. Sure they did not expect him to, seeing how he says those words with an incredible lack of enthusiasm, like he had gotten coupons from the ramen shop. He snickers to himself; it seemed ridiculous, him saying those words.

Suddenly, he remembers. Shoes, he thinks. Megumi needs new shoes. And hadn’t Tsumiki been complaining about her stockings getting worn? And her…well. It was not liked they talked much about anything, much less about what she liked or did not like. With his luck (no, really), he would probably end up buying flowers which she was allergic to.

He was glad that he had managed to sum up that bit of information. At least he was trying.

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

Tsumiki is waiting for him and runs up to him with a smile. It lightens up him up somewhat; the image of his family waiting for him at home. Toji squeezes her for a few seconds longer than he usually does, before letting go to see Megumi anxiously standing outside the kitchen, slightly leaning against her hip as he peered at him. He looks like he wants to say something, but his voice fails him and he disappears into the kitchen instead.

“You’re back.” You say, as you hear his familiar footsteps creaking against the floorboards. They are slower than usual, so you expect him to stop on the way to tell you something. Megumi’s expression is troubled, trying to debate whether he could stay or not.

“I,” Toji’s gaze wavers, and settles on his son. “I think you should take the kids out.” He sees your expression go blank for a moment, and then tries to explain.

“Megumi wanted new shoes. There’s this new model he’s been wanting for some time…” His voice awkwardly trails off in the end, as he looks at his son to elaborate. Megumi opens his mouth, then closes it, wordlessly nodding. Toji scratches the back of his neck. “And Tsumiki needs new clothes.” Stockings, he wanted to specify but it felt awkward. He felt like he had just barged into you cooking in an attempt to make conversation. Judging by Megumi’s expression, they had been chatting.

“You won’t come with us?” You ask. Toji shrugs.

“Work.” He replies. “Took too many leaves.” (His work did not exactly have ‘official’ leaves, but he was anxious. Again, nothing wrong with having extra money in your wallet.)

“Don’t think that this means that you’re not going out with me tomorrow.” You announce, and he nods.

“Where are you guys going?” Tsumiki peeks into the kitchen, curious.

“Your momma’s taking you both shopping.” Toji replies.

“Your dad’s trying to slip out of the date I planned for us.” You say at the same time and he flushes. However, Tsumiki’s eyes sparkled with joy.

“When?” Immediately, all three of them glance at him, and he pauses, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

“I mean, you could go this evening too, if you wanted.” He says. She claps her hands together in excitement, and you raise an eyebrow.

“I suppose it’s a nice surprise.” You say, smiling faintly at the prospect.

“Where are you and dad going?” Megumi asks shyly. You ruffle his hair and he squeaks in surprise, ears turning red. Like father, like son, you think.

“To the ice-cream parlor.” You grin. “We’re trying to taste all the flavors.” And as expected, Tsumiki perks up at that.

“Hey, um…” Toji falters slightly. He wishes he could just casually talk to his son like you could. Megumi clearly had not completely warmed up from the argument which had ensued a few weeks ago; all he could hope was that the boy was not angry at him. Megumi’s looking up at him, and it encourages him to finish his sentence.

“Have fun.” He mumbles to himself, before he begins to make his way out.

“Wait.”

“Huh?”

He freezes, feeling your lips on his cheek, soft as a petal. It’s the second time he has been surprised today.

“Now go.” You say, with a grin. “I’ve set your breakfast on the table.”

PART FIVE PART SIX PART SEVEN PART EIGHT

[whirlybirbs]

          (   this chapter’s gif by @august-walker​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  4/?

summary: you formulate a plan, meet steve rogers, and bucky goes on a date.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

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

word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl

a/n: this ended up being mostly a filler with a lot of romantic growth - i had to break this chapter up from the unce unce unce clubbing that coming up, so please enjoy! 

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MOSCOW, 1975.

In all the years that James Buchanan Barnes has had a heartbeat, he’d come to know the sounds of grief well.

War taught him a lot of things — that they were all just little boys playing with guns, and that no matter how many times you thought you’d be ready for the vomit-inducing pungency of violence, you never were. In the end, you’d do anything to save yourself; you’d crawl through the thick of death and debris a million times over if only to cling to the shredded tatters of your own humanity.

You would kill someone else’s son for the sake of your own mother.

War was disease that devoured every part of you — it was gunpowder snuff and carved flesh. That sickness — inky and desperate — had sunk deep into this heart during the war, and it crescendoed to the sounds of mothers clutching dead sons. The sounds that followed death were like a hollow opera. Waning and wailing.

In the raucous wake left by warborn grief, Bucky drowned everytime.

To the Winter Soldier, the operatic quality to the sounds of grief were as insignificant as a child’s rhyme.

He did not drown. No, he waded through the waves, comfortable in the cold and unphased by the stinging cut of loss. That was not something he could comprehend. After all, there were orders and there were targets, and everything in between was absolute.

He was the disease that devoured all.

He’s holding a gun to Andrei Kuznetzov’s head in a dining room with ornate trim — with silverware as delicate as scalpels that tinker against fine china. The carpets are red, the curtains are red, there’s blood on the table cloth. The guests continue to eat. Kuznetzov’s wife is screaming, red nails dug so deep into the dining chair’s arms it’s carving out the fabric. War dogs, like him, keep her rooted in her seat, and her tears find polished boots. She’s begging and bartering but the man with Kuznetzov’s life in his hands is not listening. He is eating his veal, bloodied meat dancing between his lips. He takes a sip of wine as his medal emblazoned chest glimmers in the light of crystalline chandaliers.

The spoils of war.

His smile is stained red.

There is no deal to be made.

The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.

NOW.

His eyes are open.

Panic is the first emotion he feels, and it seizes him up quickly in its grasp. He doesn’t know this view, he doesn’t know where he is, not again, not again, not again —

Then:

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you know you snore?”

The relief that the sound of your voice brings is immediate, and just like that he remembers. He’s laying on the bed. You’re sat up across from him at that small desk in the corner. He reaches as he rubs his face to thumb the edge of the pillowcase. He exhales tightly.

He’s fine. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He is not longer the Winter Soldier. He’s in his Brooklyn apartment. He is fine.

When’s the last fucking time he’s slept in a bed?

He sits up, scratching his neck as he does. You lean back, half rotated in the desk. Before you is a mess of papers and his laptop — and on top of the keyboard sits his notebook. It’s open to the page where all he’d been able to figure out about Innessa was scrawled in his chicken scratch.

Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately his back complains.

“How long was I out?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He moves to part the curtains. The room blooms with warm morning light.

You offer an apologetic smile into the vanilla sunshine. “Three hours. I wanted you to get some shut eye. You were starting to look a little overwhelmed last night—”

“You click too fast,” he waves, standing and immediately rolling his neck to the side. You watch as the man, before as peaceful as a sleeping pup, now regains his usual thinning veiled level of threat. Bucky is dangerous — it shows in the way he holds himself. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and groans. He exhales again, posture sagging a bit, “I couldn’t keep up.”

You’re standing now, socks padding against the hardwood as you eye his cowlick with a budding bloom of affection. With his notebook between your index and middle finger, you offer it out. You cling to your empty coffee cup in the other.

“I didn’t peek,” you say warmly, “Pinky promise.”

His laugh is more like a hot puff of air. Bucky manages a look that feels like an emotional dethaw.

“Thank you.”

You lead the way to the kitchen, stretching your own back as you go. You’d been up all night — this is your third trip out here for yet another cup of coffee. The pot has been on for too long, though, and you know the coffee sitting there is beyond bitter. You’re moving to dump it down the sink when Bucky grumbles.

“Don’t.”

“You want it?”

“No,” he mutters, reaching for a mug, “But I don’t want to waste it.”

“Wow,” you chirp, “The Great Depression just jumped out.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, yanking open the fridge to search for something to eat, “It does that.”

“Well, grandpa,” you hand him the steaming cup and set out to make another pot, “You’re also living on Depression Era rations — might I suggest some Dolly’s? Because I’m starving and I’ve been up all night and I think that means I get to decide where we get breakfast.”

Bucky’s look is soft — but you don’t see it. You’re too busy scooping sugar into your cup, too busy nudging him aside to grab the milk. He’s rooted there in the kitchen, watching you move about. You’re comfortable. There isn’t a trace of anxiousness in you, not in this moment, and he tries to remember what it looks like.

Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.

“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”

“Don’t start,” he groans, albeit playfully, “It’s too early.”

“Oh, what? Too early for me to grill you on why you didn’t tell me that little laptop in there was on loan from the FBI? To one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th?”

His face falls.

“Don’t worry,” you raise a hand quickly, leaning against the counter as you sip your coffee, “I figured that out before I did anything massively illegal.”

Bucky rubs his face as he takes a sip of his coffee — the bitterness is enough to slap him awake. He winces, swallows it back, and remembers the taste of instant coffee made in helmets on the line in Bastogne. He can smell snow, and the acrid sting of mortar smoke. Suddenly, he’s craving a cigarette.

That hasn’t happened in a while.

Bucky clears his throat. “Did you find anything?”

You frown slightly, lips pulled as you hide your inward disappointment — you push off from the counter and shake your head as you brush past him. Like a loyal dog, Bucky follows. Into the bedroom you go, and Bucky’s again surprised he managed to get any sleep at all in that bed. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone else there, or the genuine exhaustion that had finally choked him out after hours of trying to understand what the hell you were even doing on there.

You plop into the desk chair and snatch up a piece of paper littered with notes.

“I couldn’t do much of my usual snooping,” you explain gently as you gesture to the chromebook, “This thing might have been given to you in good faith, but they’re watching you pretty closely. So, I worked a little magic and ended up running a virtual machine. Gave me enough wiggle room to avoid the malware and keystroke trackers. Even still, I wanted to be careful, so I just did a little looking.”

“Looking?”

“I can’t dig deeper on Innessa, I know where to dig, but I can’t,” you frown, “Not on this laptop, and definitely not on my personal machines. I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and the files I need to poke are very much off-limits.”

“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”

“No, not entirely,” you stand up and motion to the paper in your hands; your tone is tight, “I know a few people who can help, but getting to them is going to be the hardest part.”

Bucky takes the paper, squinting at the writing as you settle on the edge of the bed next to him. You take a sip of your coffee and watch as his blue eyes dart across the notes; you point to the name scrawled across the top.

“There’s a club in lower Manhattan, but you’ve gotta know the right people to get in,” you mumble, scratching your cheek as a creeping sense of embarrassment bubbles up behind your words, “It’s in the basement of an old computer repair shop. It’s like a blackhat networking event, but with strippers.”

Bucky squints at the paper and reads the name. “The Glass Cannon?”

“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms tightly as you stand, “That’s the one.”

Bucky looks up from the paper, attention now rooted on the pacing you’ve begun to do across the room. Back and forth. You’re holding your coffee like a lifeline, gaze far away. That anxiousless way you’d been holding yourself before is gone. Now, he can see the tensing in your shoulders, in your fingers. You’re suddenly nervous.

Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you snap almost immediately, “Just, y’know. Worried. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. Did stupid shit. And now I’m about to waltz in after six years like I haven’t put that part of my life behind me.”

“We don’t have to do this,” he says immediately, moving to stand closer and halt your pacing. The invasion of your space forces you to look at him. His fingers glimmering in the morning light. You follow the line of his figure up to his eyes. The emotion there makes your heart clench. You can’t pin it down, and it’s gone in an instant.

“It’s the only way we’re going to find Innessa.”

“You don’t need to put yourself in situations like this for me,” he says, stressing the for me part in both expression and tone. The depreciation makes you wince and you’re fast to shake your head.

“That’s what friends do, Bucky,” you stand your ground, but you know there’s more to your reasoning than that, “Plus, she’s a bad guy. And I know you said I technically wasn’t the sidekick, but—”

“You’re not the sidekick—”

“I know,” you huff, nudging him gently with your arm, “But, I wanna help. Do some good.”

“You do enough good,” he mutters, “You’re a good person.”

Your words fail you at that — and your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Bucky watches with an expression as solid as rock as you blink and look away. His hand, the one of flesh and bone, finds your wrist as you tighten your grip on your mug.

The touch, though far too tender for you to handle, feels like fire.

Like a slap in the face, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky is.

You slap that thought back, trading volleys, and remain quiet.

His tone is stern. “I mean it.”

“Well,” you finally muster, tone dipping sardonically into a cruel peel of humor, “Just wait until you see me in my natural habitat. Maybe the tequila shots will make you second guess that.”

“I didn’t know we were going out drinking,” he chirps as he raises an eyebrow, “Am I going to need to get you a leash?”

“We’re gonna have to try and blend in as best we can. People are going to know me — if they try to pin me with the GRC or the feds, we aren’t going to get anything on Innessa. They probably won’t even let me in the building if they suspect something’s up, after all not everything that goes down in Glass Cannon is kosher.”

“This is already sounding like a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles as he crosses his arms, “I’m stating that for the record, by the way.”

“Well, I think standing around and working ourselves up about this is even worse of an idea,” you chirp back, moving towards the door to muscle on your shoes, “So I say we feed ourselves and don’t worry about this until Thursday night.”

“Thursday.”

You nod.

All of a sudden, Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Today is Sunday.”

You freeze, hand on the doorframe. You shoot him a wide-eyed look at the sudden flare of panic that’s shot up through him. “Yea, Bucky, today is Sunday.”

“Shit.”

“What?” you nearly cry as he disappears into the bedroom once more. You hear his closet open, then a clatter as he grabs something like keys — you nearly run directly into his chest when he strides back into the kitchen. He’s shouldered on his usual leather jacket, and in his hands is another.

He’s got keys in his hand.

“C’mon.”

He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.

“What the hell?” you cry, doubling back to snag your phone and bag as Bucky moves to the door, “What is this?”

“Put it on,” he says, holding open the door for you as you follow him into the apartment hallway.

You raise a brow and stand there as he locks the door.

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face as he widens his strides to the stairwell across the hall; before you know it, you’re desperately trying to keep up as he bounces down the steps — light on his feet like the boxer he is — towards the lower level of the apartment complex, “We’re late.”

You groan, trying to shrug on the jacket that smells like Bucky as you follow — a smell you’d come to know as clean laundry and sandalwood. Must be something for his hair. He never wore cologne, that much was apparent. The jacket is big on you, especially on the shoulders. You were swimming in it, trying not to trip as he held the door open to the garage.

Suddenly, the air is cooler. Immediately you wonder how much his rent is if he had access to a ground level garage. Call it NYC instinct.

“Bucky,” you nearly whine, throwing your head back, “Where are we going?”

Before you get a reply, you run straight into his back. Bucky grunts, moving to grab both of your hands and push you to the front of him.

Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.

It’s a jet black Harley.

Bucky is handing you the helmet on the back seat as your mouth moves in disbelief. “No way— no, I’m not getting on that thing. I’d rather sell my kidneys. Stop, stop — ow, Bucky — you haven’t even said where we’re going!”

He’s muscling the helmet onto your head and through the flash of the visor you can see a real smile, the sort born out of his never-ending amusement towards your fickle sense of humor. His fingers are nimble against your chin. He takes the time to strap it on, adjust it, and give it a gentle tug. Bucky taps the matte black helmet twice, then flicks the visor down.

“We’re going upstate.”

                                        ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.

You spent the first forty-five minutes clinging to Bucky’s waist with your eyes closed — no fault of Bucky’s, really. It was different from riding in a car by miles, and you had your own qualms with driving. You couldn’t be in the passenger’s seat anymore. Not after the accident with Jaimie, when Mom disappeared. Being out of control made you itch; and it’s not until the fifty-minute mark that you ease up on the panic and remember who the man is that’s driving the bike.

You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.

Once it’s open road, winding up towards the Northern part of the state, it gets easier.

Bucky can feel your grip around his waist loosen just a bit — and it’s enough reassurance that he stops looking back in the mirror every fifteen seconds. It’s enough permission to open up on the throttle, and the bike roars alive. Your immediate reaction is a gobsmacked yelp, the sort that’s pulled from a jolt of shock, but then comes the laugh. 

Bucky’s own quiet chuckle rumbles against your chest. You hold on tighter, but this time with open palms against the thrum of his ribs.

Halfway through the trip, he pulls into a McDonald’s.

You drop your ass onto the parking lot’s curb as he leans against the bike and houses a burger. You laugh, eyeing him candidly as you take a large bite from your own lunch. Bucky is a mess with it — cursing quietly when he ends up getting ketchup on his jacket.

“Shit.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you mutter, “Did you even taste that thing?”

“Barely,” he clears his throat and starts picking at his fries, “These things taste different now. First time I ever had McDonald’s was right before bootcamp.”

“How much was it? Five cents?” you snort, leaning back and dropping a fry into your mouth.

Bucky watches with a half-smirk. “Fifteen, but nice try.”

He spends the next five minutes on his hand with a wet nap, trying hard to get the grease out of the delicate plates along his palm. You watch, as you knock back the rest of your soda, as his eyes crinkle tightly in frustration. His mouth is pulled tightly into a fine line. For the second time today, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky Barnes is — and how fucking stubborn he is, too.

“Want help?”

“No,” he mutters, trying to get a spot between his thumb and index finger, “I got it.”

“I have smaller fingers,” you sing-song, gathering up his trash and your trash and crossing the parking lot to the bin; upon returning, you waggle them in his face, “Good for hard to reach places.”

Bucky absolutely hates that can feel his blush hit the tips of his ears at the comment.

He’s glad you’re too preoccupied with his hand to notice. You’re watching, like you always do, with respectful awe. To you, this part of him is a bit like a treasure — you find it beautiful and intriguing and incredible. It’s clear in the way you watch the mechanisms turn and tighten that you aren’t frightened by it.

It unsettles Bucky every time.

Finally, once he’s finished under your watchful eyes, he leans to muscle that helmet back over your head. You groan, squinting tightly.

“C’mon,” he knocks your helmet with his knuckles, “We’re almost there.”

The rest of the ride is wide open space, farm land and mountainous peaks looming far ahead. It’s warm, and the sun is hot on your back. The wind is howling around you and it sends your jacket collar flapping against your neck. Your chin rests neatly on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a view of the road ahead.

Elmwood Senior Living is tucked into the back of a suburb.

The two of you weave through a neighborhood or two, dancing under the shade of age old maple trees. They cast long, scattered shadows across the pavement as kids play on their lawns. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Over the hill, church bells ring. Sunday service has ended.

Bucky rolls into the parking lot, past the large sign with swirling lettering. Suddenly, things make more sense. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sinking feeling of grief. Nostalgia. Mourning. But, happiness.

There are folks sitting outside, basking in the sun, tethered to walkers.

Bucky’s wrists crank back weathered knuckles, and slowly the bike rumbles into an open spot. Extending his legs, Bucky balances the bike with ease. You take that as your cue to swing yourself off the back clumsily, hopping a bit. Bucky leans, kicks the stand down, and with significantly more grace than you, swings his leg over.

You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.

“He’s going to be different than how you imagine him.”

You exhale slowly, draping the jacket over the bike’s seat. You peel the helmet off.

“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”

You can see the slight discomfort hanging in his posture. You reach and touch Bucky’s arm.

“Come on,” you nod to the entrance, covered by a shady overhang where someone is helping a family member out of their car, “We don’t wanna be late, huh?”

His eyes soften. Bucky nods.

You walk side-by-side into the lobby of Elmwood Senior Living and it’s like time slows down. It halts in a warm, sunshine colored still — full of chatter, full of humanity, full of wisdom. The room is framed by big windows, by plants, by a man in a U.S. Navy ball cap. He’s stationed by the door, watching the comings and goings. The main desk, where a young woman watches, sits in the corner. You follow Bucky with a content little look. He notices.

He stands a little closer at the main desk. The girl, who looks like she’s incredibly out of place with her blue hair and piercings, is younger than you thought. Highschool, maybe. She offers Bucky an excited smile.

“Took you long enough,” she chirps, moving to sort through a bin to her side with key fobs.

Your brows raise. You spy calculus homework on the desk.

Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He notices the same problem set you so, and purposely leans over the desk. Suddenly, you’re seeing flashes of a more boyish version of Bucky — one that reminds you of a man with siblings. Bucky taps the paper, jutting a chin to the girl as she tries to swat his attention away.

“How’d you do on that test?”

“I got a 96,” she chirps pridefully, laughing, “Thanks for the help, nerd.”

You’re watching the entire exchange with a smile, backing up a bit to toss a curious glance over your shoulder. There’s a dining room through open doors — and looks like lunch is just wrapping up. Folks are moving around, back to their rooms or upstairs where you can hear the beginnings of a seated aerobics class begin.

Bucky nudges you with his hand.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he says and waves the key she’d handed over.

The girl with the blue hair scoffs. “Say hi to grandpa for me, Bucket.”

You laugh out loud as Bucky quickly flips her off. She’s quick to do the same.

You follow him around the corner, grinning ear to ear. He spares you a sheepish look, then rolls his eyes.

“What was that?”

“She’s a good kid,” he offers, eyeing the key with the grey little fob attached, “Reminds me of my sister.”

Your face softens. “Sister?”

“Her name was Sarah, too,” he says quietly, boots landing softly on the blue carpet. He’s navigating the residential wing like he’s done it a million times. There are rooms with flowers outside, with holiday garb, with little photos and keepsakes. Each room holds a lifetime of personality — the sound of Jeopardy lulls along in the background.

You hum. Bucky sighs.

He meanders down a long hallway where a different door is — this one heavy and locked by the little keypad. Bucky raises the key fob to the device and the door buzzes.

This side of Elmwood is quieter.

Down the hall, Timmy Dorsey and Sinatra play quietly over someone’s record player.

There aren’t as many folks in the hall in this wing, but doors are open and nurses flit about. Around the corner, there’s a loud conversation going on about lunch — and you watch as Bucky weaves towards the nursing station. It’s a room overlooking the common area with windows. Inside are three women.

One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.

“Oh, good! I was meaning to talk to you—”

“Everything alright?”

“About the same,” she breathes as she stands, moving to grab at a Bucky’s arm with a sense of motherliness that makes you smile, “But, meals have been a bit difficult lately.”

“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing his chin, “He just doesn’t wanna eat?”

“He thinks Peggy is coming home,” the woman whispers with a pained smile as she begins to lead you both down the hall, “He thinks your grandmother made dinner for him.”

“Right,” Bucky nods, “Doesn’t wanna ruin his appetite.”

“Exactly.”

You take note of the conversation, muddling through your own confusion. You’re quiet, though. This isn’t really your conversation to have. Bucky seems to be relaxed more — even humming slightly to a song that plays across the hall from the room the nurse is knocking on.

“Mr. Carter?” she calls gently, “Your grandson is here to see you, and his…”

She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.

“Friend.”

“Right,” she smiles and pushes open the door.

It’s like a little slice of home.

Sofas, chairs, photos on the walls. There’s a record player in the corner, a television, a coffee table stacked with books on the second world war. There’s a dresser covered in baubles and warm light coming in from the window overlooking the street. It reminds you of your grandparents’ sitting room — everything looks so lived in, so comfortable, so alive.

And then, below the light of the window, is a hospital bed.

In it is Steve Rogers.

Not the one you know — no, this one has lived a full life. This Steve Rogers has fallen in love, owned a home, settled down. This Steve Rogers has years of wisdom settled into his face, years of well-fought fights in his joints. His blonde hair has gone shock white, but his smile is all the same.

“Bucky.”

The way Steve says his name is like the man beside you holds the world.

To Bucky, he can hear a new weakness. A new exhaustion.

“Hi, punk.”

The nurse offers a little wave to you as Bucky ventures into the room, stripping his jacket off and moving to scope out the minifridge in the small kitchenette beside the bathroom. She leaves the door open, and you smile to her softly. Bucky rummages, poking his head up.

“You want a drink, Steve?” he asks, tone almost like he’s feeling out the lucidity of the man across the room, “There’s some of that lemonade I brought last week in here.”

“Sounds good,” he says slowly, “Please.”

You feel out of place — not unwelcome, but… it’s clear that Bucky has come and gone from here a thousand times now. He knows to get the glasses out, to get a straw, to turn down the record player on his way over. Doris Day’s voice lowers to a soft croon. You watch with heavy eyes.

“I brought someone, Steve,” Bucky says, “She’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” Steve asks with a slow look to the corner where you’re standing, “That musta broke your heart.”

Bucky snorts as he moves to swing the hospital bed’s tray over Steve’s lap. He places the lemonade down, then the other glass on the nightstand. He’s quick to move the armchair closer to the nightstand, and gestures for you to come over. Bucky’s hands guide you by the shoulders as he plops you into the chair.

“She’s one of the good ones,” Bucky says, “Reminds me of you.”

“No kidding,” Steve says slowly, offering a hand that shakes, “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure.”

You exchange your name with a shy look, shaking that hand with reverence and gentility. “It’s an honor, Mr. Rogers.”

“Please,” he mumbles, moving to slowly take a sip of his lemonade, “Steve is fine.”

Bucky moves to take up a post on the opposite side of Steve, in the sun. “You’re losin’ weight, y’know.”

That earns him a wave of the hand.

Bucky leans back and sips his lemonade. He waggles a finger and you watch the two begin to go back and forth.

“No, no,” he swallows, “No, you don’t get t’ shrug me off—”

“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”

“Mhm,” he narrows his eyes, “You’re startin’ to look like the Steve I knew before the serum.”

You lean back, hiding a quiet smirk behind your hand.

“I was wondering when you were gonna show up an’ pester me,” he says with a tired look, “The only peace I get around here is when Peggy comes home.”

Your eyes jump to Bucky. He’s watching you.

“Peggy?” you ask gently, “Is that your wife?”

A proud smile washes over his face. “Still knocks me for a loop, too.”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is gentle, “Peggy won’t be coming around for a while. Remember?”

There’s a look that flashes across Steve’s face, then. A mixture of sadness, of confusion, of panic. It’s clouded with a furrow of his brow, hidden by a tilt of the head. He looks at Bucky, mouth pulled in a fine line.

When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.

“That’s right. I forgot.”

“S’alright,” Bucky taps his head, maintaining an air of nonchalance, “That’s why you got me.”

“And why you’ve got her, no doubt,” he turns to you with a winning smile and offers his hand again, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

You take it, you shake it, and you introduce yourself once more. Your smile is patient and understanding. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Steve.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Steve smiles, tossing Bucky a look that borders on mischievous.

He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “How is Sam?”

“You ask every time,” Bucky mutters, “And every time I have the same answer.”

“Sam?” you ask slowly.

“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”

“You mean Falcon,” you correct, shooting him a stern look, “The Falcon. Are you ghosting The Falcon?”

“I don’t know what that even means, so maybe,” Bucky leans back and crosses his legs, “I’ve been busy.”

You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.

“I’m gettin’ why he keeps you around.”

Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.

“C’mon on now,” Bucky cries, nearly indignantly, “No flirting—”

“M’ not flirting—”

“I know that look, Steve—”

Steve is laughing.

Bucky has a stern look in his eye. “You always do this—”

“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”

“And you better keep it that way, old man,” Bucky shirks, voice splintering into a laugh in a way that you’ve never heard before, “I swear, this is how it always goes.”

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh, Buck?” you ask gently, leaning your cheek into your hand.

Steve laughs loudly at that.

Bucky spares you a smile — the sort that’s drenched in good humor and sunlight. It makes your lungs flutter, and you ignore the buzz in your fingers at the sight. You hide your laugh into your cup of lemonade, resigning to be a quiet counterpart in the conversation.

The two of them go on to chat about small things, then chat about old things. From the Commandos, to HYDRA, to amends, to therapy, to Peggy, to the itch the starch of their old dress uniforms used to bring. It takes a bit, a few redirections on the way, but it’s clear by the end why Steve Rogers is in Elmwood’s memory unit.

It makes your heart ache.

And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…

The two of you say goodbye around three in the afternoon after Bucky helps Steve shave.

The walk back to the bike is quiet.

Bucky speaks first.

“He’s dying.”

You chew your lip, eyes on the pavement. You match his slow stride, bumping your elbow with his as you walk. It’s still warm, and the clouds hang high in the sky. When you look up, Bucky’s watching you. You sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally muster, “I am.”

“Don’t be,” he says, grabbing the jacket from the seat and holding it up, “He’s lived a long life.”

You let Bucky hold out the arm for you, and you press your hand through the sleeve. He helps the other side on, and you zip it up to your chin. When you turn around to face him, there are tears in your eyes.

They snuck up on you. You hadn’t realized it until Bucky’s face fell, until the first one fell along the weathered leather of the jacket. You blink, raising your brows as you swipe them away, and offer an apologetic look.

“I’m happy,” you say, “Y’know. He has you. But, he’s a man out of time. Even now. That makes me sad.”

Bucky’s quiet for a while. He’s leaned up against the bike as you turn and watch Elmwood from the back of the parking lot. There’s a big part of you that feels heavy with guilt — and though Steve was in good spirits when you left, you can’t help but ache to provide him with more company. It’s clear that seeing Bucky means a lot to him, and that in turn it means a lot to the man beside you.

“Come on,” Bucky says then, “Let’s go home.”

You nod, let him muscle that helmet onto your head one more time, and hold on a little tighter back to the city.

                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.

In all honesty, it feels weird to not hear from him for two days. At the very least, you expected some sort of phone call — but you remind yourself that you’ve been okay alone for a long time. There’s no need to throw all your work on being comfortable by yourself out the window for Bucky Barnes.

It’s tempting, though. God, it’s really tempting.

You hate the ache in your chest when you finally see him lumbering towards the cafe counter before your appointments. You hate this new feeling — so you shove it down and ignore the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your latte.

He is ignoring it, too. He’s been ignoring it.

No use in thinking about it though.

“You got plans later?” you ask him in the elevator after your appointment, tilting your head, “Apparently there’s a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight on FX.”

Bucky stiffens — and immediately he can feel the hot sting of anxious regret flood his cheeks. He clears his throat, tucks his hands in his pockets, and toes the ground. You watch with a confused look. Then he speaks tightly.

“...I’ve got a date.”

You could have caught flies the way your jaw fell open.

“Oh. Oh!”

You blink, readjust your expression, and swallow down a sharp stab of rejection.

Bucky clears his throat. “It’s… I wasn’t going to but, Dr. Raynor—”

“No, no,” you wave your hands and shake your head and try to seem genuine, “No, I’m happy for you. Is this one of those Christian Minglers?”

Bucky groans. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” you say, “Okay! Just, uh, be careful. Y’know? And call if you need anything.”

The elevator doors open, and Bucky walks side by side with you through the well-lit lobby. He holds the door open for you, and you pass through with a pained look at the ground. He lingers, though, rubbing the back of his neck as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.

“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”

“Yea,” you say, waving your hand, “Whenever.”

But, that doesn’t end up happening.

No, Bucky Barnes shows up at your apartment doorstep at 10pm.

He’s clutching takeout and a six pack of beer and wearing a horrified expression that screams of guilt and exhaustion. No, Bucky buzzes the door to your apartment and basically croaks that he’s here — he’s asking if the marathon is still on while you buzz him up.

“Third floor,” you say into the buzzer with a smile, “Come on in, old man.”

When you open the door, you have to laugh — because his hair is a mess and there’s still a trace of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Whereas jealousy threatens to flare, his incredibly regretful expression tamps it down. You cock a hip, eye him up and down, and jut your chin out.

“Get laid?”

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised he didn’t break something.

He pushes past you, moving to drop the beer on the counter and place the takeout gently down by the basket of fruit.

“I’m here for the cat,” he grumbles, “Not your witty commentary, sweetheart.”

You’re moving quietly to the sink and gathering a paper towel with a smirk as Bucky looks around, admiring the decor and aliveness of your apartment. When you turn around, he’s already pried a beer from the pack and popped the top off with his vibranium palm.

He winces when you reach up to swipe the coral lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.

“Mhm,” you hum, “Right. Was it at least fun?”

“She had fun,” he mutters into his first sip, “It was a lotta tongue for my first night out in nearly a century, though.”

You wince. He nods with a sardonic smile that tells you everything about how the date went down — and you’re relieved. “So, I take it you're not calling her in the morning?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Nope. No, and I’ve decided no more dates. That was enough for me.”

You wince and pluck a beer from the pack. Wordlessly, Bucky gestures for you to hand it over. In one smooth motion, he twists the cap off with his hand.

“That bad?” you ask, eyeing him critically.

“I decided halfway through,” he says as he moves to take the takeout from its bag, “I’d rather be watching Lord of the Rings with you.”

That stops you into silence. It’s like someone’s taken your own words and gagged you with them — and you’re left floundering for breath you never even realize you lost. You know he means it. You know it because he won’t look at you, because that sort of confession isn’t easy for people like you two. So you take those words and you glue them in a lonely locket and keep them close to your heart.

Poke’s entrance saves you a mouthful of broken words — he comes in, trots up to Bucky, and hollers.

Bucky laughs.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he mutters, eyeing the cat that’s eagerly rubbing himself along Bucky’s leg.

You wipe your face, sip your beer, and move to the pantry across from the kitchen island. You come back out with a bag of salmon treats — the good ones — and offer Bucky the bag. He takes it, eyes still on the calico, and crinkles it a little.

You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.

“If you keep it up long enough he might even let you hold him.”

He lights up at that.

You laugh.

You move to grab plates and forks and knives and groan when you open up the first box to see Pad Thai — you make a mental note to properly thank Bucky for this. You meager dinner of reheated pasta really hadn’t hit the spot. This will, though. You can tell from the smell alone.

By your knees, Poke chirps.

“He’s cute.”

“I never took you for a cat guy.”

Bucky snorts.

You make a plate and flick his head as you walk by. “You’re missing the start of The Two Towers.”

“I’m going to be confused, aren’t I?” he asks as he stands and begins making himself a plate. He watches as you settle onto the couch and sip your beer, “I was too busy being turned into a cyborg to read the books.”

You laugh out loud. It shocks you.

“Was that a joke? Did Bucky Barnes just make a joke?”

He’s smirking. He rounds the counter with his food and settles next to you. Poke is following him, eager to curl up next to his new friend.

“I can be funny.”

“Funny lookin’.”

He elbows you on purpose. You snort into your beer.

There’s a comfortable moment of quiet between you, and you clear your throat.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”

More quiet, and he’s still watching you. Then, he asks what’s been on his mind for the last three days.

“You got a plan for Thursday?”

“I’ve got anxiety, Buck,” you exhale, swigging your beer and turning the television up, “I always have a plan.”

[poguesrforlife]

Young and Beautiful | Rudy Pankow - Part 4

I have to apologise... THIS TOOK ME WAY TOO LONG! I am truly so sorry and I hate how this came out and it feels like a stupid filler and ugh. I hope you guys still love it. Again can't thank you enough for all the support! Tagging all of you lovely people took nearly as long as writing this (just kidding) but you guys truly I Love you. In the next chapters be prepared for: angst and smut and a whole roller coaster of Rudy and Y/N.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Trigger warning: swearing? pretty harmless otherwise

Word count: 2,074 words

Y/N just got the role of her lifetime, starring beside the cast of Outer Banks in the second season as JJ’s love interest. It’s a dream come true and gets even dreamier when she meets Rudy Pankow her alleged love interest. Lines start to blur between reality and film and Y/N is left wondering if taking a leap of faith is worth risking her career.

[GIF not mine credits to owner]

The salty scent of chicken stock filled the apartment as you stirred the wooden spoon through your concoction clockwise. All bright lights were shut off except the one above the stove, lulling the place in darkness. You could barely make out the two suffering figures on the couch.

“I think my head is going to explode,” Madelyne whined dramatically and snuggled deeper into her blanket which made you chuckle.

“Stop whining!” Madison whined right back and rubbed her temples, hugging a trash can close to her.

Both of your friends were currently nursing a really bad hangover and you had been assigned as their caretaker for today, as you were wondrously quite alright after your adventurous night out.

“You both are babies,” You pointed out and transferred the soup you had prepared to two bowls. 

With a tray loaded with hangover cures you made your way to the living room and the two invalids.

“What’s that?” Madelyn peeked up when the scent of the soup hit her. You could only laugh at her big brown hungry eyes.

“Pelmeni soup, a hangover cure from home. It’s basically broth with some special dumplings.” You handed her the bowl carefully and watched as she eagerly began eating.

Madison however was harder to convince.

“If I eat anything right now it will land on the carpet three seconds later,” She warned and hugged her trash can closer.

“Believe me, it’s gonna help,” You passed the bowl over to her suspicious face, “Just eat it. You need the electrolytes.”

“It’s that what the Gatorade is for?” Maddie inclined and tried reaching for the blue bottle without spilling the contents of her soup.

“Yeah,” You laughed and helped her reach the bottle.

Content silence ensued as you watched your friends eating without complaining once. When you thought they were satisfied for now you made your way back to the kitchen to check up on your phone. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered when you saw the messages on your screen.

Rudy: - Am I the only 1 who’s not turned into a whining baby last night? - 

Chase won’t stop complaining about his headache - 

Yesterday was definitely more fun… a lot more x - 

Do u have a hangover as well? I could take care of you, rather than Chase -

Miss u already <3 -

You couldn’t help but feel a little mad at yourself for having such a strong liver. You wished Rudy would take care of you right now, but instead you were stuck with tweedledum and tweedledee.

You: - I’m doing surprisingly fine after the tequila fiesta I had -

Though I am familiar with the whining concept… - 

Just made some hangover soup from home, if u wanna get some for Chase -

U know so u wouldn’t have to miss me anymore x -

You felt quite bold after sending that last message but you couldn’t help the longing all your body seemed to have for the blonde boy that had enthralled you last night.

A minute after the blue ticks appeared next to your message there was a knock on your door. 

The Maddies groaned from the living room at the loud noise and you hurried towards the source. 

A smiling Rudy was staring back at you as you swung the entrance door open.

“Wow, you are quick,” You breathed out surprised and stepped aside so he could come in.

“Had some good motivation,” He whispered and left a soft kiss on your cheek as he hugged you sideways. You could already feel the blood rushing to your head by the simple gesture. 

He gave you his signature Rudy smile as he saw your flushed cheeks but you only rolled your eyes and pushed him towards the kitchen.

“Who’s that?” Bailey screamed from the other room which made Rudy pivot in his step and make his way towards your invalids.

“G’day sunshines,” He greeted the two blanket burritos loudly. Without hesitation he flipped the lights on. Devastated groaning could be heard from the two girls.

“Oh my God, why did you invite him?” Madison whimpered and buried her head deeper into the blanket.

“He is literally the biggest pain in the ass,” Madelyn agreed and slurped on with her soup.

“Geez, I love you guys too,” Rudy fired back and let you pull him back into the separated kitchen.

“I feel sorry for you, Chase is not even half as bad as them and you have two,” He admitted and followed your body instinctively as you leaned against the counter. 

“We should pile all of them into one apartment,” You thought out loud and watched as he cornered you between his arms and the counter. His muscled arms on either side of you and the proximity of his body to yours drove your hormones crazy and you had to cross your arms to keep from touching him. 

“So we would have an apartment to ourselves?” His eyes rested on your lips as he spoke, not seeing how you rolled your eyes. But either way you couldn’t ignore the effect these words had on you.

“So we could take better care of them,” You finished your thought in a serious tone and unwound your arms to push him back a bit.

He was quick to catch your wrist however and pull you even closer towards him. “I can take real good care of you, too.”

Your breath caught in your throat, you didn’t miss the innuendo. Some part of you would have kissed him senseless right there if the girls weren’t in the room next door.

A whole other part however was nagging with self-doubt. 

You were scared to your bones to screw this up. Not only your friendship, or relationship or whatever this was, with Rudy, but also your very first shot at a break in the business.

What if you fell in love? And he didn’t? What if you couldn’t look at each other at some point? 

It was eating you alive to only think about all the risks you were taking at this. But a bigger part of you wanted him, needed him. Yesterday night only made the feeling worse.

“What’s going through your pretty head?” The blonde Adonis in front of you whispered. All your worries seemed to wash away as you locked eyes with him.

“Nothing,” You shook your head and nestled closer to him. Body to body, heart to heart and finally mouth to mouth.

He lowered his lips on yours gently, so different from last night, so sweet. You would never get tired of kissing him, of feeling the soft pillows of his lips move against yours. You broke away from him before it got too heated, remembering the two girls next door.

“So,” He breathed heavily, clearly shaken up by the little make-out session, as his hands went though his hair, “Should I get Chase?”

You laughed at his disheveled appearance, a little proud that you could make him behave like that with just a kiss. 

You nodded and left another kiss on him, slightly biting his bottom lip and dragging it out while staring at him. His lips chased after yours as his eyes widened. But you were quick to sneak out of his hold and towards the living room.

“Little tease,” He chastised you and smirked as he left the apartment. 

“Where did the little mischief maker go?” Madison inquired as she heard the door slam.

“Getting Chase,” You explained and plopped down on the edge of the couch to hand her the still full bottle of Gatorade.

“Is he hungover as well?” Madelyne inclined and you noticed immediately how she tried to fix her hair a bit and sat up straighter. You were more than convinced at this point that something was going on between them. 

You just nodded and waited for the two boys to come around again. Rather sooner than later a sleepy Chase with his grey beanie shuffled into your apartment, followed by Rudy.

“I heard there’s soup,” He muttered before he scooted closer to his on film lover and Maddie lifted her blanket to share it with the boy.

You just laughed but prepared him a bowl before joining the others.

“No soup for me?” Rudy asked offended and raised an eyebrow at you.

“You’re not sick, get yourself some.” You watched as he stood up reluctantly and heard a muttered ‘tough woman’ under his breath as he passed you on his way to the kitchen to fix himself some of the homemade food. 

The rest of the afternoon was filled with movies and more soup as you nursed your friends back to health. You made a point of sitting as far away from Rudy as possible. You knew you couldn’t trust yourself or him for the matter. If you wanted to keep this to yourself you needed to be careful. But the constant looks he sent your way every few minutes didn’t really help. Admittedly you couldn’t help staring at him as well.

How could you? His jawline was perfectly chiseled like an ancient greek sculptor had brought it into existence. His lips too plumb and rosy for their own good. And his eyes… you could drown in his deep ocean blue eyes. 

Madison cleared her throat slightly when she caught you staring and you immediately turned your head and blushed in embarrassment. So much for being careful. 

“You guys,” Madelyn suddenly stopped the Disney movie playing on the flat screen and sat up straighter. You were sure she had fallen asleep with Chase a long time ago after they had whispered underneath their blanket. You hadn’t paid them anymore attention, granting them some privacy and also because you were too busy staring at the blond haired man that had thrown your whole world upside down just a couple hours before.

“We need to tell you something,” Chase went on and you immediately knew where this was headed. 

“Oh I know where this is going!” Madison exclaimed and sat up straighter. You chuckled slightly at her eagerness but threw her a wink, signalling that you knew as well.

“No you don’t!” Madelyne argued but the arm Chase had thrown around her protectively didn’t really help her.

“You two are dating,” Rudy threw into the room unbothered and reached for the remote to un-pause the movie. You had to suppress a laugh at his carelessness and the looks on your two friends’ faces.

“Oh my God! That is brand new information!” You screamed sarcastically which earned you a couple laughs from your friends while Chase and Maddie still had quite shocked expressions on their faces.

“You knew?” Chase’s mouth hung open as he looked between you, only now realising how they screwed up.

“You weren’t really subtle about it to be honest,” You explained and let your eyes wander to their close proximity on the couch. 

“Well, cat’s outta the bag,” Maddie agreed with a shrug and cuddled closer into Chase, totally unbothered and without a care in the world what anybody else might think. You couldn’t help but be a bit jealous about it. 

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Rudy inquired and you perked up. This you wanted to hear.

“I don’t know,” Chase admitted and looked into Madelyne’s eyes for her reassurance, “We just didn’t want to rush into things that might not be made to last. It was important for us to know where the two of us stand alone before getting anybody else involved.” 

You smiled as you saw the loving glances passed between the couple and you were more sure than ever, that this was pure love. They had taken a leap of faith and it had worked out in their favour. 

You couldn’t help yourself but search for Rudy during this moment. To your amazement he was already looking back at you. His sweet smile sent your way made you warm from your head to your toes. You knew you weren’t there with him yet, where Chase and Maddie were, but if you interpreted the gaze on his handsome face right, you had a feeling you could be there some day. But you would also take it slow. No more rushed unthoughtful acts of passion. You had to act rational about this if you wanted any chance of surviving his hurricane. You knew all too well how easy it was to drown in him and his ocean blue eyes. 

Tags: @lovelymaybankk @sspidermanss @1d5sosddl@arthiriticcricket @teamnick @lieswithoutfairytales @styles-xoxo@normatural @k-k0129 @mileven-reddie @perfektionsmakel @1-800-imagines @http-cherries @golden-eroda @outofstyles13 @jj-maybank-stan @fandom-phaser @hopelesswritingxd@teenwaywardasgardian @poguecollins @jjswhore @xpastel-kawaiix@styles-edward-harry @rollinsstuff @obx-baby @masintahin@floretsoleil @ivebeenthinkingboutu @fandomxreaders@ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @pookie-cleary @kiarascarreras@runway-to-my-aid @saturnspack @sunshinemadds@hucklebaefinn @baileythepenguin @spider6oy@whoreforouterbanks @diego-klaus-hargreeves @saltwatercowb0y @lavenderpope @prejudic3 @summer-clouds-and-long-days @lcil123 @swervavery @poguequeen @ellystone @outsider-at-hogwarts @cianawrites @harrysbbby @milamaybank @drewswannabegirl @jjaybank @merchantjj @lilpeekabooze @outerbongs @pankowstyle @family-buisnes @flowersinvegas @thefangirl05 @katrynec @ceruleanjj @o-b-x @justcallmesams @lightninglydia @this-is-bigger-than--us @thegeekyblondegirlwholovesstars @sweetdreamydreams @faded-blue @unfortunatekiwitrash @losers-club6 @usedtobeaj @btsxo-xo @figure-pogue​ @yejimeji @voidsxnsets @dudebroskiprn @giveme-gaskarth​ @cailin-lefantasy​ @obx-writings​ @otrbnks​ @barnesaddicted​ @thebendslikebendover​ @fxckingmaybank

(I hope I didn’t miss anyone! If you’re not on here but would like to be send me a quick message xx)

[ghcstvalleychief]

Looking at all of your asks so far makes me realize now why so many people were upset with Ep 8 of KP calling it a filler ep and upset that they “wasted” a episode that could have been perfectly used on that one couple 🥴 or that could have been used to developed the story further ……?

But what surprised me was the fact that some “KP” fans were upset too. And I was like, I want more of their lovey dovey sweet scenes and I wanted more deep conversations between them, call me cliche but I wanted those moments where you get to know your partner and what they love and what they hate. Their favorite drinks, meals, places to visit & many other stuff. So I was actually so happy to see some of it on Ep 8 and I was so taken aback by the fact that a lot of people were genuinely upset. Also a lot of people on TW are very verbal and explicit about certain scenes or how they wanted more NC scenes and proceeded to detail you what they wanted and it’s 😐. Like I enjoy a good scene and I read some ao3 stuff so I’m not like completely against it and I don’t think it’s bad to write your horniest thoughts it’s just that there are other sites made to do this , what made me even more uncomfortable was the fact that sometimes they would tag MA or literally write stuff about them under their posts. There are certain lines that as fans we shouldn’t cross. The fiction to reality is the main one, add to this the whole thing where they asked that one fan that saw mile if a girl was with him, the accusations towards Po having a thing with that guy. At the end of the day what these people want is for MA to fulfill some type of fantasy, and trust and believe that even if one of them turned out to be queer but not in a relationship that satisfies their fans those same fans would be the first to turn their backs on them, which is the saddest thing of all bc you would believe that having people that ship you with another male they would be the first people to support you if you were Really in a relationship with another Man. All I know is that even tho this is fucked up it is what the Thai industry caters too ( and I’m new in this) but seeing as to how companies have their actors do so many things to sell that illusion to fans is just messed up, and on top of that I may be wrong so correct me if I am but I’ve seen some famous CP’s with at least one underaged/ slightly of age partners and those are the ones that put me off the most, but apparently are the ones that appeal to people the most and the difference is very big from 9 to 12 yrs of difference between them which I find so disturbing. Oh wow I went off tangent but yeah MA were the first ones to really grab my attention and until then I will be supporting them fully. Together or individually they have my heart.💕

The BL fandom is garbage. It's full of children who have a Peter Pan complex who somehow are incredibly obsessed with the sexual behavior and fetishization of gay men at the same time. It's a very interesting dichotomy because these two things are not alike. At this point, no one can convince me that these fans aren't contributing to and supporting the fetishization of these men. I can't be convinced. Based on what I've seen and how the people in this fandom respond when you talk about it, these people are absolutely guilty of all of this. These people are foaming at the mouth and weak in the knees at the idea that they're getting to see two men engage in softcore porn. Like, they're losing their minds at the idea that they're about to see something like that and we're supposed to believe this isn't fetishization?

Honestly, I knew this place was weird when I saw people counting down the days until Barcode turned 18 so they can ship him with Jeff. Now, that is incredibly weird and disturbing. I absolutely judge people who do things like that because that's just downright disturbing and predatory. Why are you counting down the days until a minor turns 18 anyway? Why are you so excited for them to suddenly become 'legal?' Why is that even a thing in your mind? All it tells me is that you've always had impure, inappropriate thoughts in your mind about said minor and now you can legally tell the world about them because there's no fear of backlash anymore.

All I know is that I want MA far, far away from the entire BL industry as a whole. Just move on from it and only deal with mature dramas and opportunities, because a lot of the things I've seen from this fandom in general are sick. As someone who's in the minority of LGBT+ people in this fandom, it's not a good feeling to be surrounded by cishet people fetishizing gay people. It's an icky, gross feeling because you just know they don't care about your wellbeing out there in the real world where it actually matters and when it actually counts. Plus, these actors are not here to satisfy whatever weird fantasy these fans have. This is why people look down on BL dramas as a whole. Not because they're elitist and pretentious, but because the industry itself promotes this weirdness and the fans eat it up by supporting the industry that does it in the first place. It's like I've said before - why would the BL industry stop producing this type of content when the fans have already proven they're supportive of it? Why would they stop producing this type of content when the fans have proven that they don't actually care about the story just as long as two mildly attractive men are pushing the boundaries of these sex scenes by engaging in borderline porn? They don't care about the sole female characters in these shows being villainized and demonized. They don't care about literally anything else, and the BL industry is going to keep it coming.

[probably-haven]

A bit ago, I saw a reblog(wasnt sure if u were comfortable with me tagging you or not) of my first Archon War Era Venti post that asked how I came up with the phrases, so I figure I could explain those two and maybe construct a few more sayings or language things from the archon war as another example.

So for the first one "a riptide of mortal blood". I started out with an intention, wanting to display the violent nature of the archon war so I knew I wanted the saying to have something to do with blood. And since a lot of Venti's character tends to blue the lines between mortality I wanted to stress the fact that he is very much immortal. This is where the distinction between ichor and mortal blood was formed. And because apples are a simple thing, after a few tries I decided the meaning of the phrase would have to do with insignificance.

So I had a few components at my disposal- ichor, mortal blood, violent origins, and insignificance. So to stress insignificance by distinguishing mortality from immortality I looked at a few options. An event, a technique, a saying, a misunderstanding, an object, a person, a simplification, and just general morbidity that could have occurred, since these are where idioms and sayings often come from. And I came up with the idea of slaughtering mortal followers(inspired by the idea of burning and salting crops during invasions).

So then I played around with the order of the words for a bit, dwelling on "outweighed" and "balance" and "spiralling" before eventually my mind focused on the modern phrase "the tides of war" and other variations. And since blood is liquid and all, I decided to use a water metaphore. Then It just came down to refinement and expansion

Ichor washed out by mortal blood/the finest ichor (erosion synonym)/ the thickest ichor/strongest/purest(I did like this one cuz of the simultaneous blood purity connotations)/ and eventually settled on "most potent ichor"

And then I brought up power thesaurus and looked up a bunch of synonyms for tide- like current, waves(waves of battle made this one tempting), dam(breaking dam and similar metaphors), leak, and eventually settled on riptide for the more dangerous vibes it gives off.

Then came the joiner- again, I sorted through a lot of things like outweighed, imbalanced, overcome, drowned, squandered, hidden, but then I remembered a thing about sharks smelling blood diffused into an Olympic swimming pool or something like that so I latched onto the word and there you have it

"Even the most potent of ichor diffuses amongst the riptide of mortal blood"

-

"Storm of many clouds" was on the spot because I was like 'oh I should get something from Decarabian's era. Oh storm god! Wow team work! Sounds like a song lyric or something so hard could have said it, lmao clouds go brrrrrrr. And threw that one together so I'm not all that proud of it, especially since I used the same "noun of adjective noun" structure as the first one which was kind of repetitive on my part but oh well! Onto the next one!

-

So examining our options we have: An event, a technique, a saying, a misunderstanding, a simplification, an object, a person, and just general morbidity that could have occurred. And keep in mind that a lot of sayings come from either metaphors, or from literal sayings losing their meanings.

So what we do then is put yourself in the context of the archon war and start listing the things mentioned before, brainstorming different things that could fit into our option categories. And while you're at it and thinking of imagery, brainstorm associated words.

Event: Sal Vindagnir, Fall of Decarabian, A specific alliance, A specific betrayal, salt goddess's fall, guizhong's death

Technique: (I could brainstorm for hours don't tempt me)

Saying: (hard to brainstorm if you don't actually know any- sayings that can be shortened)

Misunderstanding: a God's powers, who did certain things, intentions behind an action, false evidence, divine manipulation

Objects: temples, altars, sacrifices, divine weapons, specific powers

Person: Guizhong, Salt Goddess, Xiao's God person, the Yakshas, adepti, Decarabian, Andrius, Barbatos, Celestia

Morbidity: God's revived through karma, executions

Words: Fire, steel, heavenly principles,

So I could probably keep brainstorming but let's look at what we have and pull out some favorites. For now I'm going to focus on "a betrayal"

now I'm not sure if we know any specific instances of betrayal during the archon war, but if there were, there could be a saying or phrase in which people would refer to someone who seemed shady or untrustworthy with a phrase like "they could be a [insert name of whoever the betrayer was]" which many idioms are actually oddly short like "loophole" which came from holes in walls that archers would use but that were big enough for small people to sneak into place through.

-

That's simple though so let's make another

This time we'll focus on gods revived through karma

so Xiao’s story describes these as “countless manifestations of their vengeful remnant souls, but in doing so, he caused these souls to become increasingly fractured”

so we can latch onto a few things from this: “souls” and the idea of broken things persisting

now- there will be an initial phrase or idea and then a simplified version

so as the origin: dead god’s who after being slayed had a vengeance that continued burning so brightly that their soul continually returned to the material plane only to be fractured time and time again. 

now how can we painfully over simplify this to make it apply to normal life. 

replace a few terms and frame them as concepts:

[people] [defeat/offended/minor inconvenience] [a reoccurring thing] [annoyance] [persistence] 

so whatever this phrase ends up being- it can end up referring to a minor inconvenience that just refuses to go away. 

and now to pick out words and make the actual phrase

so we already have some strong words in the previous description: soul, fractured, dead gods, vengence/vengeful. but lets add some more descriptive terms to stress the violent nature of the saying’s origins: slaughtered, divinity, revived, vestigous, wrath

and lets puzzle piece these words together- (wheeze- this is so much easier if i let myself use the word “of”

“vengeance-sworn soul”/ “divity’s shattered/fragmented will”/ “lingering vestige of slaughter”

and now to use filler words because these dont really make sense

“divity’s fragmented souls shall carry on through unending slaughter”

which i could probably go back and make it sound better, but it seems very human to refer to that fly thats been in your room for the past week as an “unending slaughter” or a “fractured divinity” or something so- yeah- 

its not my best work but thats the gist of how i come up with them. 

-

if anyone who happens to see this wants to try their hand at archon war sayings then feel free because i just think this kind of thing is fascinating

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

I’m back on my bullshit and we have GOT TO TALK about 13x08 The Scorpion and the Frog; which serves as a good example of why you should not ONLY watch spn episodes with Cas (partially because of that scene I shamefully blogged about earlier - no I will not link that cursed post here).  The episode title comes from a fable in which the villain is the scorpion.  Interpretations of this fable note its uniqueness lies in the concept that “the scorpion is irrationally self destructive and fully aware of it.”

To quote the scorpion, buddies -  “it’s in my nature.”

Anyway, this episode is subtextually predicated on exploring Dean Winchester’s nature and specifically - his bisexuality, and I’m not only saying that because it opens with Dean in his Bi Colors Plaid (that also he wore on his burger date with Cas).

Let’s get started, after the cut!

Season 13 on its face gives me absolute whiplash because it starts widow arc-reunion-TOMBSTONE and then Jack yeets himself off to Chuck knows where so Cas can go out Looking For Him Because Otherwise He Will Definitely Kiss Dean there is no other option for the writers at this point.  Sigh.  Here, have another shot of Dean anxiously cleaning his gun as he always does when Cas has Gone Off For Reasons -

Anyway, this feels like a filler episode at first, but as always they bury the ENTIRE damn world in it and I am here with my dossier to Unearth It.

Lets start with Bart (demon of terrible nicknames and microagressions) meeting the brothers at Smile Diner to talk about some spell or whatever. 

(I am not thinking about the Cherry Pie meta I AM NOT)

THEY HAVE THE AUDACITY to start with these lines immediately introducing the theme of duality, a thread throughout this episode.

BARTHAMUS

Everything. I've been following your careers a long time. You're a real pain in the pitchfork. And the halo. Natural disrupters. We have that in common, you and I. DEAN

Mm. Yeah, we're twinsies.

***MORE DUALITY!  But as we know, Dean does not like Bart because He Is A Freakin’ Demon

DEAN

Well, see, here's the thing. When a demon tells us to jump, we don't ask how high. We just ice their ass.

UMMM excuse me Barting Bacting Boices?  What is that sexual gaze?  

Then we find out that Bart has 1/2 of the spell.  They need the other 1/2.  Oh, a spell with two parts, you say? [ I am going to scream :) ]

***Also, Dean eats the pie Bart ordered.  I cannot begin to explain to you the state of unwellness that I am in regarding how important this is. DEAN NEVER GETS TO EAT THE PIE, remember?  But in This Filler Episode, Dean eats the pie. While Sam looks at him with a very quizzical expression.  Pie -> what Dean wants but never actually gets -> Dean actively eating this pie.  Dean is coming to terms that maybe he can have what he wants.

***I am reminding you again that this is post widower-arc, post-reunion, and especially post-Tombstone.  Anyway-

Now we get to Smash and Grab.  Not literally even though I want to Commit Such Conduct at this point.  We are introduced to two one off characters named 

Smash (human/female presenting) -  can crack any safe built by man 

and Grab (demon/male presenting)-  expert in bypassing supernatural security.

Reaching or no, you can’t disagree that when spn introduces one off characters - it is almost always a Narrative Parallel or Mirror.

So we have a human and a demon (and Dean Winchester, a human who has been a demon)

who are experts in cracking open/bypassing something that has been secured and guarded (breaking down walls, if you will).  

They also use fake names identifying them as Tools to be Used ( Dean Winchester, the Michael Sword/daddys blunt little instrument)

BONUS:

Dean himself is literally used as a tool in this episode.

So yeah.  Smash and Grab are physical representations of Dean’s duality.  Human/Demon.  Femininity/Masculinity.  Dare we say something else, too?

Anyway, Dean is paired with Smash and Grab; Sam is off to idk negotiate weird artifact purchases lawboy style with Luther Shrike, a man who cannot die so long as he never leaves his house (I cannot even begin to unpack this shit; please just sit there and think about it.  I’m not even going there here.  I CANNOT DISCUSS Luther Shrike RN).

Speaking of things I cannot discuss without halgdhsag;lsa - Smash has very Specific boots (a look overall, really).

DEAN

Hey, Winona. The '90s called. They'd like their shoes back. SMASH

Shh.

***That’s right girl - do not take his shit; he actually LOVES them and is therefore Overcompensating for it with this little jab.

***Dean’s pop culture references and particular attention to the details here Should Not Be Overlooked.  90s! Winona! Ryder!

ANYWAY, then Dean and Smash bond over a caffeinated beverage -

[While Dean is doing a spell, Smash opens a can of drink, takes a mouthful and burps loudly. ] SMASH

Ahh. DEAN

You're weird.

***This scene makes me literally insane. (even aside from Dean living on something named NERVE DAMAGE as a KID.  They could have called it anything. You’re saying this wasn’t a Choice)  

She chugs a swallow of the drink and burps.  Something stereotypically associated with masculinity.  Not feminine.  Dean’s reaction is that she is “weird” - because she is not acting in a way stereotypically, J*hn Winchester brain-rot patriarchy bullshit-tily associated with Being Female.  But also, says the stupid show, they like the same soda.  They are The Same.  She shares the soda with Dean.  HIS FACE WHEN SHE DOES -

Other similarities are addressed throughout the episode (they are working for demons because they have no choice; they don’t discuss feelings/emotions, they both sold their soul, they both This Thing - 

DEAN

You know, we could help you. SMASH

No, you can't. I gotta take care of me.

etc. etc.) Smash is absolutely dean-coded.

****Also it’s textually established that Smash thinks Dean is attractive -

GRAB

[looking at Smash] Oh. You said he was just a pretty face. SMASH 

Shh.

***But Grab flirts with him too.

DEAN

I will kill you. GRAB

I bet you say that to all the girls.

***sorry, Grab - you won’t get far with Dean, but only because as he mentioned in the beginning of this episode - 

Drowley rights.

Now Dean has to put his hand in the mouth of this stone lion thing and all of a sudden he is acting....very-not-like-Dean.

[Dean looks again and takes a deep breath.] DEAN

I… how about this? What if I cut myself, put it on, like, a little piece of paper? We'll just wad it up and throw it in the mouth, okay? Okay. 

***Dean Winchester, who has been to Literal HELL, who has been torn apart by hellhounds, who has battled the devil and angels and God’s sister - all at the expense of his own life is now - afraid of spiders.  Well, technically he has always been afraid of spiders, but why isn’t ‘he being performative about it At This Time??

***Come to think of it, this sends me right back to how Jackles was playing Dean in 12x11 Regarding Dean THE episode dissecting Dean’s performative masculinity [one day I will clean up and post that analysis sitting in my drafts like a sad hamster]. That makes sense actually, because -> -> ->

that episode and this one are both written by Meredith Glynn.  Girl get in I want to torture you affectionately with a barrage of questions.

So here we have Dean and he’s not performing for Reasons, and he’s scared he’s genuinely scared of putting his hand in this stone lion-gargoyle-pig-creature’s mouth and then -

Smash gives him a push.

She gives him a push.  I cannot stop thinking about how she gives him a push.  A push to go do this thing that he is scared of; his fear being something he was hiding under his performative masculinity. Smash - dean coded dean mirror who does not perform femininity and is ‘weird’ -  she   gives   him   a     p u s h.

***linking here for the jackting joices that follow.

Now, let’s circle back to Smash’s story; why she is working for Bart in the first place -

SMASH

You think I wanna be here? Like I have a choice? SAM

You made a deal. SMASH

Wow! You think? SAM

You sold your soul. SMASH

And if I could take it back, I would. 

there is no reason for this picture here other than I needed you to see the jackting again

***How does the story end for Smash?

DEAN

Take care of you. [Dean glances down at the box, and then at Smash. She sees that Dean has put a lighter on top of the bones.]  BARTHAMUS

Alice, chop chop! 

[Bart indicates she should get his bones]. SMASH

Yeah. [She grabs the lighter and sets Bart's bones alight. Bart screams as he bursts into flames. ] 

***She accepts help and breaks free from the narrative, literally burning it down. The female presenting but not female-performing “weird” ooc representing a side of Dean breaks FREE because she makes a choice.  The lighter Dean drops? It’s a push.  And she goes with it.

Alice reclaims her story.

(Also, Grab gets ganked.  The male presenting ooc; the performative masculinity side; the demon; the darkness; the not-humanity - gets ganked).

Guess what Dean says to Alice when they say goodbye?

DEAN

Hey, Alice. Stay weird.

[I know the peace sign is probably just a Charlie throwback but I’d still like to say duality.  Two. ]

Dean’s not just talking to Alice.  He’s talking to himself; because the walls have been breached and for once Dean isn’t as scared of being different.  Maybe, just maybe, he’s going along with the push.  That’s exactly how the episode ends - with Dean feeling a little more hopeful, a little more at peace; a little more Considering he is capable of not only loving Cas but also not hating himself for it. 

[until the knowledge that Mary is still alive and the guilt of allowing himself ANY happy thoughts instead of looking for her miserably rears its ugly head in 13x09 and round and round we go but for NOW at least -> ]

DEAN

I'll drink to that.

(oh look Dean is just wearing his henley.  It’s almost as if a layer has been peeled back).

tagging @im-shaking-like-milk​ and @deanwasalwaysbi​ for letting me ramble on to them while writing this; and @lilac-void​ because you are always so kind about my stuff :)

[jean-kayak]

Chapter 2

Summary: A relaxing summer after your second year of college sounds nice, until someone comes back and makes it anything but

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x black!fem!reader

Warnings: Eren being a HUGE fucking tease

Word Count: 1851

A/N: This is lowkey a filler chapter, kinda just something that advances the story, and heightens the tension. And I decided to start to posting on Tuesdays and Fridays bc this series is mad long lmao

Tags: @her-majesty-kiara​, @germfart3​, @styxtm​, @iwascrybaby​, @snkpaths, @prxttyguardian

Chapter Summary: You’re falling deeper and deeper into his spell

Your plans haven't been completely thwarted, you've hung out at Jean's house and haven't seen Eren since, so you feel a little bit better. You're at your house this time, the fans blowing on you as you both lay on the floor.

"Remind me why I keep letting you take me outside," you groan, the fans barely working to cool you down.

"Because you love me," he returns, and you shake your head as you roll over onto your back.

"No, that can't be it," you tease, squealing lightly when a pillow comes flying your way, putting your arms up to shield your face. You hear the front door open, but you don't move, letting your head rest against the cool wooden floor.

"Oh, no, the kids are dead," your mom jokes, and you and Jean both chuckle as you turn your head to look at her. "Sweetie, do you think you could help me with something outside real quick?"

You whine as you scrunch your nose. "But, Mom, it's hot," you complain, and she rolls her eyes before waving you off.

"Girl, come on, it won't take long." You groan but slowly start to get up anyway.

"Ha ha," you hear Jean laugh like a little kid, and you chuck the pillow at him as you scowl at him. You whine again when you feel the heat pounding at your skin, and you follow your mom towards one of her flower beds.

"Uh, Mom, those plants aren't going to survive," you tell her, feeling the humid air suffocating you as you wave a hand in front of your face in vain.

She laughs lightly before wiping her forehead, and she digs another hole. "They'll be fine, it's gonna get cooler." You raise your eyebrows at her words as you wait for her to tell you what to do. "I'm almost out of dirt, so I need you to get some from the garage."

You sigh heavily, but turn around anyway and make your way towards the garage. You grimace when the place is way hotter than the outside, and you look for the dirt and sighing when you find it, realizing you have to lift it. You squat down to pick it up, situating it until your arms are wrapped around it with it firmly placed against your chest.

As you walk out of the garage, you look to your left, and you instantly regret it. You don't even realize you've stopped in your tracks as your eyes land on Eren who's working on his truck. He looks up and makes eye contact with you, an easy smirk appearing across his face.

Before you can blink or do anything, he standing upright, slipping his t-shirt off quickly, shoving it in his back pocket before fixing his hair. You bite your lip to stop yourself from drooling which you know you were doing, and even from where you're standing, you can see his chiseled abs and defined back muscles shining in the sun rays with sweat, and he moves back to working on his car, his biceps flexing with every movement.

"Y/N!" You jump when you hear your name, expecting it to be your mom when you look around for the source, but you smile when you see Ymir walking up your driveway.

"Ymir, hey, how are you?" you ask, adjusting the bag of dirt in your arms that's slipping from the amount of sweat on your arms.

"Glad that school is over," she answers, stopping when she gets to you, and you scoff in agreement.

"I know that's right." She laughs with you before turning to where you were looking not too long ago.

"Holy shit, is that Eren Jaeger?" she asks in disbelief, and you smack her with the bag.

"Shut up! He can probably hear you," you scold, and you glance at him. "And yeah, it is."

"I thought he couldn't get any hotter," she comments, and you nod your head as you silently agree with her. "But he's not really my type," she finishes with a shrug, and you chuckle as you turn towards her.

"Yes, we know. Your type is Historia." You laugh again when she shoves at you before you both turn to walk back towards your mom.

You both hit it off pretty quickly when you met, and she was always someone you hung out with whenever Jean wasn't free. Even though you would trust her with your life, you never breathed a word to her about any of your interactions with Eren. Whenever she would ask, you'd give her meaningless or one-sentence answers. Jean finding out what happened back then was enough embarrassment for you.

"How ya doing, Mrs. L/N," Ymir greets, and your mom turns around, standing up quickly in surprise.

"Ymir, oh wow, it's been a while hasn't it?" she asks, resting her hands on her hips.

"It has, it's good to see you," she tells her, and your mom returns it, and Ymir asks what she's doing.

"Planting in the scorching heat of summer," you answer, and your mom rolls her eyes at you. "And now she's got me out here in the heat." She chuckles as she grabs the bag from you, and you wince when you feel how sore your muscles are from holding the dirt when you let them fall to your sides. "Why are you planting anyway?"

"Your father and I made a bet. He doesn't think that I'll be able to grow them," she explains as she gets back down on the ground to open the bag of dirt.

"Can Dad even keep plants alive?"

"You know, I asked him the same thing." You all share a laugh before you and Ymir head inside. Jean's still laying on the floor, but this time his head is turned as he scrolls through his phone. You hear them start talking as you go to get something to drink for you and Ymir.

You walk back into the living room, handing it to her as you find your original place on the floor, and the three of you catch up on what's happened over the course of your freshman and sophomore year, most of the conversation consisting of teasing Jean. You hear the door open, and your mom's complaining about the heat, but what she says after that makes you shoot your head up.

"Come on in, Eren, you've been out there for a while, you're always welcome."

"Thank you so much, Mrs. L/N." You sit up quickly, your eyes landing on a shirtless Eren standing in your foyer, shorts hanging so low on his hips that you're sure it should be a crime as he smirks at you.

"Y/N, why don't you get him some water while I got wash up?" You sit there for a second, dumbfounded before you move, not wanting to raise suspicion as your mom walks out of sight.

"And I still have to see you even when I'm not at home," Jean groans when you stand.

"Love you, too, bro," Eren jokes before following behind you. You open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water, and tossing it to him without looking at him. You hear snippets of the conversation between Ymir and Jean, thankful that they're not listening. "Thanks," he tells you, and you trail your eyes up his body, meeting that stupid smirk on his face as he screws the cap off.

He never takes his eyes off of yours, and you watch his Adam's apple bob, some of the water dripping down his face before you snap out of it. "You're, uh, welcome."

He smiles at you when he finishes the whole thing and tossing it into the recycling bin. "I really appreciate it," he says, walking towards you until your back hits the fridge, the cooling sensation not the only thing that causes you to shudder.

"It was no problem. Seriously." You want to push him back, but that would mean you would have to touch him, and every part of his torso is nothing but muscle, and you try to keep your gaze on his face and not his glistening skin.

"I feel like I should pay you back somehow," he starts, his voice dangerously low, and you grip the handles as you shrug.

"You don't have to do that. It's just water," you respond weakly, and he rests a hand flat against the fridge next to your head.

"But I want to," he pushes, and you shrug again as you try to find anything else to look at.

"What did you have in mind?" Your mind isn't even on the right track anymore, Eren is the only thing filling your senses.

He steps closer to you, letting his hand fall, his finger tracing down your arm, leaving goosebumps in its path. "I've got a lot in mind."

"L-Like what?" You shouldn't be pushing him, you should be leaving, but he always manages to keep you frozen in place.

"For starters," he says, gripping your hip softly. "I'd pin you down and mark every inch of your skin so that everyone knows that you're mine."

You feel your head spinning, the dizzying feeling nearly making your legs go weak, and when he trails a finger up your neck, you look over his shoulder finding a spot on the wall to try and ground yourself. "Then what?"

He huffs softly as he grips your chin, making you look at him, and you don't fight it. "Then," he starts, leaning in closer. "I'd fuck you until you couldn't walk. Until the only thing that comes out of your mouth is my name."

Your eyes shut for a quick second as you bite your lip to muffle your whimper. "Just for a bottle of water?" you try to joke, but now you're breathing heavy, and the playful tone is overshadowed by lust, your core throbbing almost to the point of painful.

He tilts his head as he smirks at you. "Say it."

Your face scrunches slightly in confusion, but your voice is still wavering. "Say what?"

His response is a chuckle as he's backing away from you, and you grip the handles of the fridge until it hurts to keep yourself from pulling him back to you. "You'll say it eventually."

You don't really know what he's talking about, but he backs away from you to create enough distance that isn't questioning just as your mom comes into the kitchen. "Did you get him the water?" she asks, and you try to nod, but your brain is still foggy so it looks like you're malfunctioning, which you basically are.

"She did. Thanks again," he tells you, flashing that smile that he always put on around your parents. "I think I'm gonna get back to work, but it was nice talking to you."

"You as well." He gives you one last look before he's walking out, and you drop your head as you try to make your breathing even again. "He's just such a gentleman, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he sure is."

|Chapter 1|Masterlist|Chapter 3|

Taglist: CLOSED

[onceuponastory]

Coming Back Home: Chapter Seven - Whistle For the Choir

“Is it out of line if I was to be bold and say "Would you be mine"? Because I may be a beggar and you may be the queen I know I may be on a downer, I'm still ready to dream” - whistle for the choir: the fratellis

Plot: Based on a prompt by @orphicodysseywrites​

Tag List: @shinydixon​, @baker151910​, @silverwings1999 and @thesundrop​. Let me know if you want to be added!

Warnings: Some mentions of alcohol and anxiety. Also a few tiny sex mentions/references but nothing smutty. Notes: Wow. So it’s been a while since I’ve posted for this fic, hasn’t it? I’m sorry about that. BUT I love this story, and I intend to finish it. This chapter is more of a filler one before the wedding in the next chapter or two, so Y/N and Nick’s relationship isn’t a huge focus, but I hope you all enjoy it regardless!

Read the other parts / Read this story on Wattpad!

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Nick or his character! I just used Nick bc he’s the only character of Dacre’s that fits this prompt. Aside from Nick being in this, this fic has NOTHING to do with The Broken Hearts Gallery. But you should all see the movie if you can, because it’s adorable!

Softly groaning, I wake up. For a moment, I feel something on my waist, and almost scream, until I realise I'm still in Nick's arms. He's still fast asleep, his chest slowly rising and falling with every breath. I smile, watching him sleep for a while. He looks so content...so peaceful. Is this what it's like to get a proper nights sleep? But as soon as that thought crosses my mind, another replaces it. I didn't have a nightmare last night...did I? I had a proper nights sleep too. Frowning, I wiggle out of Nick's arms, trying not to wake him. Once I've done that, I roll over to where the clock beside my bed reads 7:47am. Oh my god. I slept FULLY through the night for one of the first and only times in my life. I sit for a few moments, trying to decipher what it was that helped me sleep so well. Is it because I’ve been drinking less wine? Or is it because I’ve been eating healthier recently? 

“You idiot.” I tell myself. “You know why you slept well, and he’s sleeping right beside you.” Nick grunts, and shifts a little in his sleep. Looking back down at him. I smile again. He's beautiful. And he likes me. Me. Despite my anxieties, my awkwardness and well...everything else, Nick likes me just for myself. Kissing him again wouldn't be so bad. Maybe just a small cheek peck? But Nick soon starts mumbling to himself as he wakes up. As he looks around the room, his blue eyes focus on me looking down at him, and a soft chuckle escapes his lips. 

"Were you watching me sleep?" He asks, his voice husky. It takes all my willpower to not kiss him right there and then.

"...Maybe. But you looked so peaceful. Who could blame me?" Instead of replying with words, Nick leans up and kisses me again. God, if this is still a dream, I don't ever want to wake up from it. Nick sits up, and his arms go around my back as the kiss deepens.

"Good morning." He whispers once we pull apart. The look he gives me sends my heart into backflips again.

"Morning." I smile. But before we can say anything else, a knock sounds on the door.

"Y/N, are you there? I'm coming in! Just checking if you're okay after yesterday. Nick's not here, so I don't know if he-" The two of us spring apart just as Katie walks into the room. Her eyes go wide as she takes in the sight in front of her...her big sister in bed with the best man.

"Um....morning sis." I smile awkwardly, and Nick gives a small wave from beside me, trying to cover some of his body with the quilt.

"Oh. My. God."

~~~ "I need details immediately. What happened?" Katie asks, eyeing us both as she takes a bite from her toast.

"Katie, I swear we didn't...do it-" Nick begins, but she cuts him off.

"Not you, I mean Y/N." She states. My cheeks flash red.

"Well, uh...Nick came to see I was okay, as you know. And well..." I don't know why I'm so nervous. After all, Katie had said she was okay with me acting on my feelings for Nick, which I had done. And yet, I didn't want to tell her what happened. Maybe because she walked in on us, rather than us telling her ourselves. "We kissed. That's all." She raises an eyebrow.

"That's all? I found you both in bed together at 8am. I mean, you were both fully clothed, but still."

"We just shared a bed, we didn't do anything else." I tell her. I'm not sure if she believes me, but she nods anyway, before going back to munching on her toast. "Anyway. How are you feeling after yesterday? Is everything okay?" I ask. She reaches over the table and takes my hand.

"I'm feeling much better. Thank you for being there for me Y/N. And you Nick. Adam helped too of course. I think I'm starting to put it out of my mind." She smiles. "What, with the wedding and all." Suddenly, her eyes go wide, and she drops the toast onto her plate. "Oh my god. I'M GETTING MARRIED THIS WEEK!" She squeals. I can immediately sense her anxiety levels rising. "I'm...what if...we-" She begins to panic. "And there's the rehearsals and the dinner, and omg I still have to do this and-"

"Hey, hey, hey. It's okay. We're here to help. And besides, everything's ready to go, we just need to take everything over to the hotel and to the venue before the big day."

"You sure?" She asks, and I nod. Katie takes a deep breath. "You're right. I'm calm. Everything will be fine. We'll show our Dad. We'll make it a party he'll regret missing! I mean, can you believe he wanted to miss it? Idiot." A smile grows on her face, and Nick and I give each other a look, both sensing something is off.

"Uh Katie, are you sure you're okay? We can talk about it if you want." She shakes her head.

"I'm fine. Water under the bridge."

"Katie seriously, if you're still upset, we-"

"NOPE. I'm fine. How could I still be upset when I have THIS!" She waves her arms at us. "Two of my favourite people have found each other and are finally happy! Man, I love love! I love weddings!!! Best time ever. Now come on you two. We have work to do!" She announces, getting up and leaving the room, taking her plate with her.

"Uh...Is she okay?" Nick asks as we watch her go.

"I have no idea. I better keep an eye on her. I'll see you later, okay?" I ask, and he squeezes my hand for reassurance. It's going to be a long day.

~~~

"Seriously sis. I'M FINE." Katie tells me again as we load the garment bags containing our gowns into our bags. "But enough about me. What's Nick like? You know..." I gasp. "Not like that! I mean kissing wise. Was it nice?"

"Yeah, it was really nice." I answer, feeling my cheeks flushing slightly. Katie smiles.

"Maybe we'll be planning your wedding next. Will it be as awesome as mine though? We'll have to see." She winks, organising the bags. Frowning, I open my mouth to say something, but she cuts me off again. "Right, time to load these into the car. Come on sis, let's go!" She calls, picking up a load of bags and walking out of the room with them. I watch her go again. For a moment there, it almost looked like Katie's smile dropped, but she replaced it before I could say anything.

Something definitely isn't right with her.

~~~

As the day continues, and Katie and I finalise final bridal preparations, I can still sense something isn't right. But I don't want to prod her too much, so I let her go on and on about how great the wedding is going to be, and how it's going to be the best party anyone has ever been to. If she's ready to talk to me, she will.

And soon, she does. As we’re carrying boxes to the car, a centerpiece slips out of the box she is carrying, and it lands on the driveway. "I'll get it!" I call, bending down to pick it up. Before I even get back up however, I hear a sniffle from beside me.

"Just leave it. It's stupid anyway. This whole thing is stupid." I snap my head up.

"What do you mean?" I ask, rushing over to her.

"Look. There must be a reason why Dad doesn't want to come to the wedding. Even if I make it a great party, he still won't come. Maybe it's stupid." She sighs, wiping her eyes. Anger rises within me. Our Dad already made me hate myself for twenty one years, and I won't let him do the same to Katie.

"No. It's not stupid. The only reason why Dad doesn't want to come is because he expected us to welcome him back with open arms after what he did, and make him part of our family. And we didn't! He's just too proud to admit that his daughters don't care about him or what he thinks anymore."

"But...I do." She sniffs, and I pull her into a hug. "Even if he doesn't care about me."

"I'm sorry sis. But trust me. He is not worth it. He is not worth ANY of our tears. Years of therapy and trying to learn how to love myself taught me that. And look at us now! We're both happy with people we love and care about around us, and yet he can't even get his two daughters back because we know what a piece of garbage he is. He means nothing to us. If he cared a single iota about us, he would've shown up long before this. And he would have stayed for your wedding. But he didn't." Katie looks up at me, her eyes glistening.

"Maybe you're right about that..." She trails off.

"I am right. Trust me. He is not worth any of your pain. And no. Your wedding isn't stupid. Who was the one who specifically wanted a vintage shabby chic theme for your wedding, even when your planner said it is one of the most basic and popular choices?"

"Me."

"And who has constantly picked things she wanted without letting anyone else change her mind...even Caroline and the bachelorette venue? Or me and this town?" Katie sniffles, and giggles.

"Me!"

"And who's going to have a PERFECT wedding, all by herself, not giving a single fuck about whether or not her Dad is there?"

"...Me?"

"That's right! Because you and Adam picked out everything to please yourselves. Nobody else. So you don't need to worry about pleasing our Dad or making him jealous, because pleasing others is never what you wanted to do. All you ever wanted to do was celebrate your love to Adam. And you'll do exactly that. Dad or no Dad." I tell her. "And besides. I think these centerpieces are beautiful. After all. I helped make them, so I might be biased." Katie laughs again at that, this time a proper, happy laugh. It makes me smile.

"Yeah...yeah you're right. I'm sorry about that. I was probably letting what happened yesterday and my nerves get the best of me."

"It's okay. Hey. How about when we get back home, I give you the number of my therapist? You don't have to go...but maybe it'll do us both good to talk about it with a professional. It’s been really helpful for me so far."

"I'd like that."

"And until then, you know I'm always here for you right?" Katie nods, and we hug again. We both load the box into the car, and head back towards the house. I slip my arm around her waist and pull her in close. Another crisis averted. For now anyway.

"Wait, did you just say that you're in love with Nick?" Katie asks, her eyes wide.

"I said nothing of the sort." I mean, I didn't...it just slipped out. I don't even know how I feel about him. I mean, I like him, of course I do, and I want to see him again after the wedding is over. It's just...I don't know if he wants to see me again. And love is a strong word to use when we only kissed yesterday. And this morning. Still though. It's too soon. "You idiot." A little voice in my head says. "Of course he wants to see you again. He wouldn't have kissed you otherwise. He's not the kind of person to kiss someone and then just ditch them....at least I hope not."

"Look at you blush! You totally did say that!" Katie grins, pointing at my face. "Are you going to tell him?"

"No! Katie I don't even know how I feel yet, or how he feels. And besides, it's not like I have time to think about it, because we're literally leaving the day after tomorrow to go to the wedding rehearsal and the rehearsal dinner, and then we're staying in the hotel with the rest of the bridal party the night before, remember?"

"Yeah, you're right. But you should give it a think." She says, and I nod. She was right, of course. But I didn't want to think about it. I wasn't ready to consider the possibility that Nick was going to leave me, and that I'd be alone again. I already have to deal with what feels like losing my younger sister to her new family, I can't handle losing Nick too. I mean, I was happy for Katie, of course I was. What kind of monster would I be if I wasn't happy for my little sister getting married after the shit childhood we had? But it had just been the two of us for so long. We lived together for so long, spoke everyday on the phone when we were at university, and we even live about an hour away from each other by train. But now I have to come to terms with the realisation that she might not be living so close to me after she gets married. I know I can't protect her for the rest of her life, and I don't want to smother her...but actually coming to terms with that was hard. God, is this what parents feel like when their kids finally leave the nest? Cause it's shit.

~~~

That night, as I finish packing up my things to take to the hotel before the wedding, I spot a picture of Katie and I the night of her senior prom. Smiling fondly, I pick it up and sit down on my bed, looking down at the picture. There's a knock on the door.

"Come in." I call. Nick opens the door and sits beside me.

"Hey. What'cha looking at?" He asks.

"This is Katie and I the night of her senior prom." I let him look at the picture.

"Oh my god, her dress looks like a marshmallow."

"Hey! I helped her pick that out! It's a very pretty marshmallow. Even if it's bright pink and sparkly."

"Is her dress like this?" He asks.

"No! You'll see it on Friday." I sigh, looking down at the picture. "God, this feels like it was just yesterday, and now she's getting married..." I trail off as tears start to fill in my eyes. Fuck. I can't cry in front of Nick.

"Hey, are you alright?" Nick asks. He gently presses a soft kiss to the side of my head. And that is what sets my tears off. Shit. I mean, Nick has seen me at some of the worst points of my life, and still stayed beside me, but it doesn't mean that I like being so vulnerable in front of him.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I sniff, wiping my eyes. "It's just been tough, realising that she's growing up and won't be my little sister who's just across the hall from me or an hour away from me anymore. It's dumb, I know. This was always going to happen, I just never thought about it until now." Nick smiles softly.

"I understand. It's not dumb." He gently takes my hand, and I look over at him. God, how is he always SO nice? I swear it's not normal. As I look into his blue eyes, I realise that I’m not ready to say goodbye to Katie...and I’m definitely not ready to say goodbye to Nick either. I’m not ready for this change. "Maybe you should talk to her about it though. I mean, she is your sister, I'm just a friend of hers.” 

“Easier said than done." I sigh. “She’s focused on only the wedding right now, and then she’ll be away on her honeymoon early the next morning, so I don’t think I’ll have any time to.” Nick gives me a small smile, and gently rubs my arm.

"Well I hope you do get to speak to her. It sounds important.” His face lights up with remembrance. “Oh! By the way, when you get a chance, can we talk? About...this? About us?" He asks. My heart sinks. This is what I've been worrying about. I can feel my separation anxiety is about to rear its ugly head again. Maybe Nick does want to leave me after this wedding. And then Katie will be gone too, and I’ll be all alone again.

"I mean, we can try, but given that the wedding is literally in four days, it might be too hard to do that." I laugh awkwardly, hoping that he doesn’t pick up on my nervousness. Thankfully Nick chuckles. “We could, uh, talk about it now if you want?” I offer. Nick shakes his head.

“Sorry, but I can’t now. Adam needs me to help sort some stuff in like ten minutes, and then I’m booked and busy for the rest of the week.”

“Same here. But we’ll talk. I promise. You better go help Adam.” I reassure him. Smiling, Nick pecks my lips, and leaves the room. As the door closes behind him, I sigh, trying not to let my anxiety get the best of me. Nick likes me. He keeps kissing me, after all. He must like me. Right? He obviously wants to tell me he wants to see me again. At least, that’s what I hope for. Ever since I was young, I’ve wanted someone to love and to love me back. Someone who wasn’t my family. Someone who wouldn’t leave me...and even though it might be too soon, I think Nick might be that person for me.

I just hope he feels the same.

~~~

Three Days Later: The Night of the Wedding Rehearsal and the Rehearsal Dinner. One Day til the Wedding.

“THAT’S Nick?!” Brooke gasps, pointing over at where Nick is standing, talking to some other groomsmen. “He’s even more attractive in real life.”

“Yup. Isn’t he dreamy?” Katie sighs fondly. We all look over at her. “What, just cause I’m getting married tomorrow doesn’t mean I can’t have one last look. He is nice, isn’t he Y/N?” She asks, wiggling her brows which almost makes me choke on my champagne. All of the bridesmaid’s faces turn to me, some frowning at me. “Oh, didn’t she tell you that she and Nick are totally a thing now?” My mouth drops open, along with the rest of the girls. 

“That’s not true, we haven’t even spoken about-” But before I can finish, the officiant clears their throat, encouraging us to take our places for the wedding rehearsal. As Katie and I walk to the beginning of the makeshift aisle, we pass Nick on the way. 

“Hey.” He smiles, and my heart almost stops. God he’s gorgeous. He’s wearing a suit, just minus a tie. I can see part of his chest poking through his shirt. If this is how I feel seeing him now, how will I manage to see him in his full suit tomorrow? And the fact we haven’t even managed to speak about our feelings for each other yet wasn’t helping either.

“Hi.” I whisper. 

“Good luck with uh...you know. This.” He says. I raise an eyebrow. 

“With...walking?” Nick’s face flushes pink, and I hear Katie snigger from beside me.

“Y..Yeah! With walking. And heels and stuff. Don’t want you to break your ankle before tomorrow or anything.” I start giggling, and even Nick lets out a small smile. Even if it’s a bit awkward, it’s still cute, and I appreciate the sentiment.

“I’ll try. Thanks Nick. See you soon.” We both nod, and Katie and I take our positions. Katie is still giving me a look, and I frown. “What?”

“You and Nick! Look at you. It’s so obvious that you two have the hots for each other. Anyone in this room can see it. Even Adam’s parents.” Now I start blushing, and I hiss:

“Okay, we are not talking about this right now, especially not at your wedding rehearsal dinner of all places.” Katie just gives me a wink, and the two of us don’t say anything else as the bridesmaids and groomsmen start to walk down the aisle together. Soon, it’s our turn to go. As we walk down the aisle together, my eyes wander towards Nick. He’s staring at me. Why is he staring at me? God what if I do fall? Shit. Okay Y/N, think of anything BUT Nick.

Nick’s POV

“Why are you staring at her like that?” Adam whispers.

“What? I’m not staring at anyone.” I lie. Adam rolls his eyes. 

“Come on man, it’s pretty obvious.” He retorts, before turning back and walking up to receive Katie from Y/N so they can be married. Y/N smiles widely as she mimes handing her sister over to be married, and her smile makes me feel all warm inside. It’s a beautiful smile. It fits her perfectly. Y/N takes her place beside the other bridesmaids, and her gaze catches my eye again. She gives me a small smile, and I smile back. She looks stunning. She’s in a navy lace dress that hugs her figure perfectly. And I just want to rip it off of her. God, I hope she likes me back too. Even though we’ve kissed each other, I still can’t be sure. Y/N’s such a great person, and she deserves someone who can tell her that everyday. And I want to be that person for her. But before I can think of anything else, Adam and Katie suddenly cut into my thoughts:

“And then this is when we get the rings from Nick and do our vows.” Katie explains, and I nod. God, my best friend is getting married to the love of his life tomorrow and all I’m thinking about is how I want to make out with the maid of honour. I need to talk to her about my true feelings as soon as possible. The wedding rehearsal finishes up pretty quickly, but before I can talk to Y/N, she’s swept up by Katie and the rest of her bridal party who leave the room, clearly ready to go to dinner together. I sigh as Adam walks up behind me. 

“Come on loverboy. You can talk to her later.” He says. I frown, about to ask him how he knows what I’m thinking about, but he doesn’t respond, and instead gives me a knowing look. “Come on lover boy, we better go.” He orders, walking away with the rest of the groomsmen. I sigh. Hopefully he’s right, and that I can talk to Y/N soon.

~~~

A few hours later

Y/N’s POV

“So.” Vanessa begins, sipping on her wine. We have finished our dinner, and Vanessa, Sam and I are hanging out with each other. “You and Nick, huh?” She raises an eyebrow. My heart rate speeds up, and I gulp down the rest of my wine, already feeling the familiar buzz of becoming tipsy. God, I wish I brought more.

“Uh, what about us?” I frown, trying to feign innocence. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work. She and Sam scoff.

“He’s been staring at you for the whole night. Actually, babe, is he still looking at her?” She asks Sam. Sam’s head whips around, not subtly at all, and my cheeks flush red.

“Yup, he’s still looking.” She confirms, and goes back to sipping her beer like nothing major was going on. My cheeks now feel like they’re on fire. “Awww, young love.” She smiles. “I remember that feeling, don’t you babe?” Vanessa nods.

“Why don’t you talk to him? He obviously wants to talk to you. Either that, or he’s trying to win a staring contest.” I splutter.

“I can’t talk to him! For one, my sister is getting married tomorrow, so that takes priority, and I don’t even know if he likes me in that way, despite our kiss.” Sam and Vanessa’s eyes go wide. Now I remember why I don’t drink wine. Because I can’t shut up when I do.

“YOU KISSED?!” They gasp in unison. I quickly shush them, but they continue. “Okay, you definitely need to talk to him. Now.”

“But-”

“But nothing. Katie will understand. And don’t be silly, of course he likes you in that way.” They reassure me, gently pushing me in Nick’s direction. “And if he breaks your heart, we’ll deal with it.” They wink, giving me one last push. Why does it feel like I’m being thrown to the wolves? Nick sees me, and he smiles, relief flooding his features. My heart rate speeds up even more. He’s so beautiful. I can do this, right? I just have to go up to him and say:

“Hey, I think you’re extremely attractive, and I want to know how you feel about me, even though we’ve kissed a lot these past few days, and I was wondering if you wanted to be my boyfriend?” ....Okay no. No wonder I’ve been single this long if this is what I think classifies asking someone out. Maybe I should just talk to him? Even though it’s easier said than done. I take a deep breath, steeling myself, and start the walk over to him. It might be easier said than done, but I have to do it. 

But just as I’m about to reach him, a voice from beside me calls:

“Oh Y/N, dear!” Adam’s mother walks up to me. Oh great. Just what I need. I’ve only spent time with Adam’s mother a few times, probably less than ten times, and she was lovely all those times, but I have more important things to do. 

“Hi, it’s nice to see you again, but I actually-” I begin, before she links her arm with mine, and pulls me in the direction of some more aunts and uncles. Oh, this is not good. “Actually, I have to do some-” I start, but she cuts me off.

“I wanted to introduce you to some people. Adam’s great aunt Agnes actually has a question about tomorrow, and I thought you’d be able to help, because you and Katie have done such a wonderful job so far.” That’s nice, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to be able to fix before tomorrow. And I have more important things to do. I look back over at Nick, mouthing the word sorry to him, and he nods, but still looks disappointed. I sigh. There goes that chance to clear things up. Meanwhile, Adam’s mother is still chattering away, and hasn’t even noticed me looking at Nick, or my half assed replies or nods. Thankfully, Katie soon appears in front of us both, announcing that she needs me for important maid of honour duties. I sigh happily. Thank god. “Wait!” Adam’s mother calls before we leave. “I just wanted to say...I know you girls haven’t had a mother figure in your lives for a while, and I just wanted to say that you both have one in me. Even you Y/N. Your sister may be marrying my son, but I love you both as if you were my own. And besides, after tomorrow, we’re family!” She smiles, pulling us both into a tight hug. As she squeezes me tightly, I feel tears stinging at my eyes. Now I feel bad for trying to escape...even though it was so I could confess my love for the best man. “If either of you need anything, I’m here for you okay?” She asks, and we nod. “See you tomorrow.” Katie and I wave, and she leads me away. 

“Thanks for saving me.” I whisper. “Now, where did Nick get to?” Katie frowns.

“Nick? He and the rest of the groomsmen left to go back to the house a while ago.” My heart sinks. Dammit. “I was actually coming to get you. It’s time for us to head over to the hotel, and I gotta give you girls your presents!” She squeals excitedly. She leads me outside to a limo, and we get inside, being greeted by the others. Sam and Vanessa look at me expectantly, but I shake my head. They look disappointed, but say nothing. As the car sets off towards the hotel, everyone starts to chatter excitedly and pass around glasses of champagne, while I just stare out of the window. I know my mind should be focused on my sister, and I am excited for her, of course I am...but I just want to see Nick.

~~~ In the Hotel

“Okay, so these are your robes to wear while we’re getting ready tomorrow.” Katie explains, passing them around. “Aaaaand, there’s these too. There’s a little note in each.” She hands each of us a little gift bag. Soon, the room fills with a chorus of ‘awww’ and ‘thank you’. I reach into my bag and pull out a bracelet with a little heart charm. My initials are engraved into the charm. “Read the note.” Katie tells me, and I open it.

“Dear Y/N, aka the best big sister in the world. I just wanted to say thank you for everything you’ve ever done, and continue to do for me. I know I say this to you a lot, but it’s true. I hope to one day repay the kindness you’ve shown me over the years. You’ve been the only person who has supported and loved me throughout our lives. Even though I may not be able to see you as often as usual, I’ll always be there for you. You’ve been the one constant in my life, and our bond is unbreakable. I’m not going anywhere any time soon, and I’m not letting you go either!

Lots and lots of love,

Katie xxx

P.S. Ask Nick out. Please. He won’t shut up about you and to be honest it’s getting annoying.”

With tears stinging my eyes, I immediately pull Katie into a huge hug, which she returns, squeezing me tightly. “I love you so much.” She whispers, as we both start crying in each others arms, and the other girls comfort us as best they can. I was worrying for nothing. Katie was right: our bond is unbreakable, regardless of where we live, and who we’re with. 

Whatever happens, she’ll always be my sister, and my best friend.

~~~

The Next Day: Wedding Day.

Small lines of sunlight come through the windows and into the room. The room is silent, aside from a few snores and the occasional mumbling as the girls turn in their sleep. Soon however, the peace is shattered with an excited squeal.

“I’M GETTING MARRIED TODAY!”

[booknerdproblems]

Liberty Chapter 3

This chapter has a weird prose to dialogue ratio but here goes! It’s a bit of a filler chapter-the next one will be fatter, this is just a little fluff mixed with some setting up of plot!

Here is my main masterlist

Fifteen minutes into his first class, Rowan was already ready to write off the day. None of his friends were in his maths class, and he’d forgotten his book in the first-day rush this morning, meaning he couldn’t zone out with his nose in a book. 

Nervously, he pushed his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose, an unfortunate habit he’d picked up in social situations.

Rowan groaned quietly, trying not to draw attention to himself. The teacher wasn’t bad, but it seemed like she could drone on and on about the quadratic formula all. Damn. day. 

A small weight hit him on the back of the head, and he caught it to find a scrunched up ball of paper. He unrolled it, to find a ‘hey ;)’ in a neat, cursive script. He looked behind him, eyes wide, to find a blonde woman smiling at him. The smile seemed genuine enough; she was pretty, ice-blue eyes, pale skin, platinum blonde hair in a high ponytail. Still, there was something… cold about her, almost snake-like.

Rowan gave a shy, tentative smile back, inwardly cursing his awkwardness as red creeped up his neck. He turned back around, trying to focus, when a foot kicked his chair. Rowan ignored it, determindley trying to focus on the equation before him, but it persisted until Rowan pointedly shifted his chair forward, and he heard a huff from behind him. Gods, what was her problem? 

Luckily, the rest of the class passed without further incident, and Rowan was out of there the second the bell rang. 

-x-

Rowan speed walked down the corridor, the loud chatter and delicious smells from the lunch hall taunting him as he approached. 

After a couple of scans of the canteen, he finally found their table, and he gratefully slid into the seat beside Aelin, across from Nehemia and Fenrys, nodding to Brullo leaned up against the wall a little way away. 

Aelin grinned at him as he sat down, offering him a bite of her sandwich. He took it, considered, then immediately grabbed the rest out of her hand,

“What is in this thing?”

“Do you not like it?”

“No I LOVE it.” Rowan took another huge bite, and looked sideways at Aelin, who was watching him, amused.

“Emrys made it for me. He said, ridiculously, and I quote ‘you need to eat more vegetables.’” Aelin recounted incredulously. 

Rowan stared at her, deadpan for a beat, before saying, confused, “you do need to eat more vegetables. Emrys is right.” 

The whole gang often frequented the White House kitchens, the head chef, Emrys, keeping them all fed until he got annoyed and shooed them into the gardens.

“Wow. Betrayal. From my own best friend. I will have you know that I ate carrot cake the other day. Carrot. That's a vegetable.” Aelin sounded so proud of herself, but the expression morphed into horror as Rowan went to take another bite of her sandwich, “give it back, you’ve eaten loads, you buzzard.”

Just for the hell of it, Rowan held it above his head, way out of her reach, laughing at her outraged expression.

Aelin huffed dramatically, straining up to reach it, whilst hitting his bicep pathetically, pressing all of her body alongside his. Fuck. He did not think this through. Her face was an inch away from his as she hung onto his raised arm, tugging it fruitlessly. He could smell her perfume, jasmine and lemon verbena, feminine and elegant, along with her natural scent, wild and so naturally Aelin it was like wildfire. Luckily, he was saved from his damning thoughts as Lorcan came up behind the pair, grabbed Aelin’s sandwich from his hand, and took a bite of it himself, before plonking down next to Nehemia, who had been watching the pair amusedly. 

Aelin screeched at him, now half draped across the table in her mission to reach the sandwich. 

“Wow, this is good, Ace. Emrys made it?” Lorcan raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, you bastard, now give it back.” 

Lorcan laughed at her desperation, but took pity on the First Daughter, passing it back to her, not before he’d taken another enthusiastic bite. Aelin sat back in her seat, but not before scowling at Rowan, who simply pulled out a small bar of chocolate, and held it up, eyebrows raised. Aelin’s face changed in an instant, mollified, as she grabbed the chocolate, batting away Fenrys’ hands reaching for it.

Rowan drew out his own food, and immediately became engrossed in a conversation with Lorcan and Nehemia about whether the new science teacher was any good.  Somewhere along the way, Yrene and Lysandra came and joined the other ends of the group, the hall becoming busier and louder.

After about ten minutes, he heard a confident voice say his name, and felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He shifted in his seat, torso half turned to find the blonde girl from his maths class, standing there. 

“Um… hi?” He started.

She flipped her ponytail over her shoulder, and smiled at him with poisoned sweetness,“I just came to give you your calculator, you forgot it in the first lesson today,” she held it out to him, and he took it gratefully. 

“Ah, thank you, I must have rushed out too fast.” He smiled at her in thanks, and was about to turn back around when she spoke again. 

“Yeah, I didn’t get a chance to talk to you after the lesson,” she spoke as if they’d been friends forever, “you are going to the start of year party tomorrow?” 

Rowan didn’t even know there was a party, let alone if he was invited. “Um.. I don’t know...I don’t think I was invited,” he answered honestly.

She threw her head back in an over-enthusiastic laugh, and Rowan’s eyes widened in confusion and awkwardness, laughing once nervously. 

“Oh, Rowan, you are too funny,” she put her hand on his shoulder, and Rowan didn’t recall telling her his name.

She continued, “anyways, I’ll be at the party, so I’ll meet you there, yeah?”

Rowan rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “Yeah…”

“Awesome, can’t wait!” She flipped her hair over her shoulder again, and sashayed away up to a small group of girls. 

Rowan frowned, and turned back to the table, shaking his head in bewilderment. 

He had another forkful of pasta halfway to his mouth when he realised Fenrys, Lorcan and Nehemia were all staring at him incredulously. 

He lowered his hand slowly, “What?” He asked nervously. 

“Dude,” Fenrys whisper-shouted, “that was Remelle.” He said the name like it was supposed to mean something to him.

“Okay…?”

“Remelle. Head Cheerleader. The girl everybody’s after. Wants to go to a party with you.”

“No… she was giving me back my calculator.”

Lorcan cut in, “No, man, she was flirting with you.”

“That was flirting?” Rowan’s eyes went wide. 

Lorcan took a deep, calming breath, staring at Rowan in confusion. “Yes, you nerd, that was flirting.”

“I didn’t even know her name!”

“She probably assumed you already knew it. Everybody knows Remelle.” Nehemia cut in calmly. 

“Not me! I’m new to society! Nerd, remember?” Rowan pointed to the glasses that were permanently perched on his head. 

“Oh Mala save me!” Fenrys threw his hands up in exasperation.

“But I don’t want to go to a party.” Rowan knew he sounded like a petulant five year old, and was totally okay with that.

Lorcan rolled his eyes, Fenrys sighed, and Nehemia looked at him pityingly. Rowan looked sideways at Aelin, who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the whole exchange, and was staring at the table like her life depended on it.

“What do you think?”

Aelin looked up, like she was surprised he had asked her. Then she shrugged. Which wasn’t like Aelin at all. She always had something to say. 

“What’s wrong?” He furrowed his brows, concerned. 

She met his eyes, and smiled half-heartedly, “Nothing, buzzard, I’m fine.”

Tags: @yesdreamblog 

@morganofthewildfire 

@woollycat22 

@ireallyshouldsleeprn 

@faerie-queen-fireheart 

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato 

@http-itsrebecca 

@stardelia 

@rockgirl321 

@queen-of-glass​

@bookworm232020​ 

@more-espresso-less-depresso-xx​

[pixie88]

Baby Shower

Chapter 7 - Together - Adam & Ellie.

A/N: This chapter is a fast forward. Rereading it seems like a filler but a fluffy filler! I’m loving my new collages!! SO PRETTY!!! I hope you like it!

Comments always welcome good or bad!

I am only tagging those who have asked to be tagged in this new series from now on as I don't want to annoying people with tags. So Let me know if you would like to be tagged and if I missed anyone sorry just let me know!

Find previous chapters HERE under Together - Adam & Ellie.

Word count: 1885

WARNINGS: ⚠️ Fluffy fluff, NSFW & adult language.

Pairings: Adam x Ellie.

Enjoy 😘

I've been home for 4 days now, I'm bored Adam is at work he wanted to stay home but I convince him that I am fine. But now? Now I'm bored! Daytime TV is awful, I decide to go for a walk. I pop into Bridezillas, Jess looks up at me as I walk into the shop "Hey Ellie! How are you feeling?" she has the most fake smile.

"Hi, I'm feeling OK, just bored!"

"I can imagine it must be just staring at 4 walls all day. Have you heard anything about what is happening to the girl that attacked you?"

"Erm, last I heard they were charging her. Adam is dealing with updates. Has it been busy?"

I don't know if it's real or fake but she gives me an apologetic look "Psycho, hopefully she'll get what's coming to her. Today has been pretty steady actually" the shop phone rings Jess smile and answers it.

I hear the shop door open and turn to greet what I thought would be a customer to be face with his 'Why aren't you resting, look' I feel like a kid being caught with her hand in the cookie jar "Ellie, what are you doing here? Why aren't you at home with your feet up?"

I give him my best pouty sad face "I was bored, so I thought I'd go for a walk and just popped in. How did you know I was here?"

He gives me that grin, "I was walking back from the shop, we needed more tea at work and I saw you in here"

Jess interrupts "Ellie, are you OK to keep an eye out here for a minute or two? Amy is on her break and I need to check out back if a customers dress has been altered?"

I look over my shoulder at her "Yeah, that's fine" She smiles before rushing out the back to the stock room.

"Busted then! I was just so bored I was going to go stir crazy just watching TV"

His arms come around me, his cheek bushes mine as he whispers against my ear "I could've kept you company, but you told me to go back to work!"

I laugh, "Adam!!" I playfully swat him.

"Back thanks Ellie!" Jess calls from behind.

"Right, come on I'm taking you to lunch"

"Oooo, can we go to The Grill? I'm really feeling a chicken burger! Oh, and ice! Baby wants ice!"

He laughs, entwines his fingers through mine and pulls me towards the door "Bye Jess!" I call over

"Bye!"

We get outside "I just need to pop these into the office" we walk over to his office, we get out the front then I freeze on the spot.

Adam turns to look at me, then it clicks and his face turns to concern "Ellie, beautiful! I'm sorry! You know what I'll leave these here and tell Rob there outside. Don't worry I won't let anyone hurt you or Charlie! I promise! Let's get you some lunch"

 ~*~*~*~

After lunch Adam drops me home, I'm looking round the spare bedroom we emptied a few weeks ago. We have the paint, furniture, and furnishings. Nina and Al decided to stay another week after my incident with Laura. I give Nina a text, half an hour later, Al and Nina arrive "Ellie, let's get start on this room" Nina rushes me upstairs. She paints not letting me help and Al puts together the furniture.

I hear my phone.

*1 New Message from Hubster*

[Hey yummy mummy, I hope you're at home resting! I will grab you a couple of bags of ice on the way home! x]

[Hi my gorgeous husband, I am! I've just grabbed one of your hoodies while the heating is heating up as I'm cold. I will send a photo as proof haha! You know how to make a girl happy, I just finished the bag we got at lunch :( xx]

I take a kissy-pouty face photo with his white hoodie in my hand to throw him off and hit send.

*1 New Message from Hubster*

[Beautiful! Probably all that ice you've eaten that's made you cold. OK, I'll get 4 bags might last until tomorrow at least. x]

[Haha, it probs is! I might get in bed until I warm up. Not a bad craving to have, can't put on weight eating ice! haha. We will see you later xx]

Later I'm just putting the vacuum round Charlie new bedroom, Nina and Al have, left as they have plans with Elaine.

"Ellie? Gorgeous? Are you here?"

I hear him call out as he comes in for work "I'm up here! Come up!" I call down, I rush out of the room and close the door.

He reaches the top of the stairs and turns to me "There you are!"

"I have a surprise for you!"

He narrow his eyes at me "Would it have anything to do with that paint on, your forehead?"

I touch my head (Crap!) "Ellie, what have you been up to?"

"Come here, cover your eyes and follow me!" I pull him with me as I open the door "You can't open your eyes until say!"

He grins, I pull him further into the room "Open them!"

He opens his eyes and looks round the room "Ellie, Wow! This is amazing!" he has the brightest smile, "Wait, you didn't lift that furniture did you?"

I laugh "No, of course not. I got your mum and dad to help. Your dad put everything together your mum painted the walls, I did offer to help but she would only let me make teas"

He wraps his arms around me "Ellie, it's perfect!" he claims my lips with his "Now, let me make you dinner!"

"No, Adam I'll make it! You've been at work all day"

He cups my face "And you're pregnant and came home only 4 days ago! I'm cooking no arguments" he kisses my lips softly. I know there's not point in protesting.

~*~*~*~

4 Weeks later.

He clutches my hips as I'm bouncing up and down him "Fuck baby! That's it ride me!" he pushes off the bed and sits up as pulls me to his lips.

I grasp his lip between my teeth, he groans and I let go before his lips kiss along my pulse line. He moves his hips up burying himself further into me "Yes! That's it! Oh!!" a wave of pleasure explodes between my legs and I hit my climax.

He drives into me a few more times before he hits his own.

I collapse onto him, he wraps me up into his arms "Do you have to go to work today?" I put on my pouty face.

He chuckles "Not had enough?"

I shook my head, "You will have so much more fun with me" I wink.

"I would but I'm busy at work" he kisses me gently before getting out of bed, he turns "But you can always join me in the shower!" he winks. I jump up, and he pulls me towards the bathroom with him.

After our shower we are in the bedroom getting dressed, I'm sat on the bed when I feel a flutter in my tummy (That's new) I rest a hand against my bump and I feel it "Adam!! He's kicking!" He spins round and rushes over to me, I take his hand and place it where I felt the kick.

*Kick!*

Adam felt it, his face lights up "He kicked!" then another and another. "Oh wow! This is amazing Ellie!" Adam's phone rings and rings and rings "Rob, what's up?...Yeah, of course. OK, I'll be right there!" he hangs up "I've got to go. I love you...the both of you" he kisses my cheek then my bump.

"We'll see you later!" I smile.

I have today off as Amy needed to swap days. Mum has invited me to lunch at the club, I take the train into the city centre.

[Hey husband! <<I don't think I'll ever get bored of calling you that! 5 weeks tomorrow you made me your proud wife! How's work? Not working to hard I hope?! You'll need your energy for later ;) Just on my way to mum's club for lunch. x]

*1 New Message from Hubster*

[Hello my beautiful wife < I won't get bored of calling you that either xx. Wow, feels like yesterday! Yeah, work is fine muddling through. Oh, will I now? Why would that be!? Have fun and think of me stuck here! xx]

[Good because that's my title until I'm 6 feet under! haha. Aww just think we could be in bed sweating, panting and screaming each others names...but you chose work. Because I plan you for you to fuck me all night! haha! x]

*1 New Message from Hubster*

[That won't be for a long time yet! Fuck picturing it now *boxers feeling tight!* I won't make that mistake again. I plan to keep you in bed until you're sore ;) I need to get back to work. I love you both xx]

[I could've helped with that....but I can't now. You better not!!!!!!!! Ooooh looking forward to it. We love you too x]

~*~*~*~

I get to the club and head inside.

*SURPRISE!*

I look around the room is decorated in blue balloons, it's a boy and baby shower banners! Everyone is here my mum, Tom, Amy, Justin, Elaine, Nina, Kerry and Adam. My emotions get the better of me and I burst into tears.

Mum rushes over to me "Oh, El's this was supposed to have the opposite effect"

I smell his aftershave then feel his arms wrap around me "Hey beautiful! No tears!"

I smile through the tears, he cups my face and wipes them away "Sorry, I just wasn't expecting this! It's such a lovely gesture!" I apologize.

I dry my tears and Adam leads me to a table "Was this your doing? I thought you were busy?"

"Hey Ellie, You can cry if your want to 1. it's your party and 2. you're pregnant, you can be emotional and no one can question it" Elaine calls over.

He gives me a smug smile, "I had to make you believe that because I needed to get here to help your mum. Do you really think I would have turned down a day in bed with you for work?"

I laugh, "I'll remember that next time! Your mum is here! She's racking up some air miles"

"When Mel mentioned it to me a few months ago I had a word with mum. I said she didn't need to come down, but she wanted to. I think she likes you more than me," he laughs, "But seriously she wants to be here in her words 'Adam don't be so silly this is my first grandchild I'm going to get on the first plane for everything, the birth, their first steps etc'"

I laugh, "Bless her!"

Later after gifts and food. I'm catching up with Tom "How are you feeling El's?"

"Like an emotional hippo!" He laughs, "So, it looks like you and Justin are over your little spat?"

"Yeah, El's there's something I need to tell you," he gives me a look I can't read.

"What? What is it?"

"El's, come on let's cut the cake!" Mum pulls me away before Tom can answer. (What does he want to tell me?)

Continue reading this story here - Chapter 8.

@lem-20 @khoicesbyk @aussieez @shewillreadyou @txemrn @irisofpurple

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Horikoshi: This will probably not be super popular, but it’ll be fun!

Us: Oh, well that sounds nice!

Us, 290 chapters later: This Isn’t Fun Anymore Horikoshi

Horikoshi: :)

Anyways, welcome to the beginning of - hopefully - a long term and engaging project. I am basically aware of all of canon, and am up to date with the manga, but I haven’t actually read from the beginning of the series, and I’ve only watched the series up to the Deku v Todo fight in the sports festival. However, I’ve been curious as to how the manga portrays stuff that I’ve seen in anime gif form, and so I figured, hey, make this a project!

If you have questions or anything, the ask box is open for now. Meanwhile, I am going to head into the first chapter proper!

[No. 1 - Izuku Midoriya: Origin]

Wow, you’d almost think this kid would grow up to be a villain or something, with that kind of attitude, huh? No way that this kind of attitude would ever come to bite him in the ass and force him to reevaluate his entire character and kickstart his character development.

(Before you say anything, I like Katsuki as a character, but DAMN did he have to do a lot of growing up. I suppose when one is at the bottom, the only way to go is up… unless you have a pickaxe.)

One thing I actually noticed right away, and I dunno how much it’s used in other manga (seeing as I currently am not reading any other manga and the last ones I read were… a long while ago…) is the shape of the text boxes in order to convey emotion! It’s actually hella neat and a little detail I wouldn’t think about adding if I were in his position (not that I can draw all that well, but that’s not my point). You can practically hear the warbling in Izuku’s tone and the rougher edges in Katsuki’s!

(Also, question for the English sub while we’re at it, why the fuck does Katsuki sound like he’s a goddamned adult when he’s fourteen. What the fuck.)

Interesting little thing here, Katsuki not actually using his quirk here against Izuku; his hand is trailing smoke from his explosion, but it’s not a direct burn wound. Not that he should be doing this at all, but with the number of fics I see where Katsuki literally gives Izuku second or third degree burns, I think this is a reminder that canon Katsuki has some modicum of restraint, even this early.

Before I forget, hello winged kid who definitely has no plot significance whatsoever. No siree.

(If you are new to the manga/show and are reading this as among your first introductions to the fandom, first off, I am so sorry. Secondly, expect me to be… definitely making a lot of sarcastic quips to things in the future.)

Onto the second/third page, which is supposed to be a full spread, but is split up into two pages on the online reading site. RIP, but I will not complain about free access to the whole manga. 

Lookit this green bean. I love him so much. I can’t wait for him to suffer.

Izuku: wait, what?

Anyways, a few things to note:

Who the fuck is this guy? I looked into the wiki but he apparently doesn’t warrant a page or even a mention as one of the background faces of the series, but look at that fucking claw, man! And those boots and jets! He’s very obviously themed after a baseball catcher, so I’m going to guess that he has some kind of quirk that deals with either drawing projectiles to him, or perhaps in throwing projectiles… in either case, it’d be something like Snipe’s quirk, so maybe this is his less howdy-happy sibling.

Oh right, the chapter. The other heroes we see on the scene in this two-page spread are Death Arms, Air Jet, and Kamui Woods. 

Also, something I want to point out that I’m sure others have but just struck me while looking at this spread - multiple people are recording / taking pictures of this. I wonder if part of the reason for the villain industry to be as strong as it is is because the villains, even if they know they’ll lose, still get their own sort of fame in being in the news? That… might explain a lot about how there can be enough villains to even run an entire damn industry.

(Well, that and a lot of sociopolitical commentary on BNHA society, but we don’t need to get into that now. Maybe wait two hundred or so chapters first.)

Not gonna lie, I had to double take because I was like ‘wait, what is Ochako doing here?’ but then I realized it was just a random civilian; she doesn’t have those side bangs Ochako does. But now I almost wonder what sort of world we could have had, if they’d met a bit earlier.

Onto the fifth page (fourth is just a filler page, nothing on it), and we get treated to this gem:

Tag yourself I’m the guy who’s slackjawed because his kid is fucking glowing.

The first four examples of quirks shown in this flashback are the luminescence, telekinesis, ice, and that flame-headed(?) mutation. Of them, we actually see hints to the fact that quirks have drawbacks, as the girl with ice is drawn with the same frostbite backlash as Shouto, while the flame-headed kid is… well, I have no idea, but they do not look to be happy.

Also, I love the nod Hori does to the heroes of our era as silhouettes! This is just more evidence to me, along with the fact that the first quirked kid is born and presented in a modern hospital, that this series takes place sometime in the future. I… even calculated the years it could technically be, based on information we get in a few chapters, but I’ll save that for then.

Onto the sixth page! A nice shot of Kamui Woods getting into position, and man is that giant quirk unnerving.

What the fuck is with those feet, Hori. Those aren’t feet.

Next we see how the crowds are reacting, basically with no panic or concern. One guy is just casually letting his boss know he’ll be getting in late. And Backdraft! That is some serious water manipulation, but it seems like it has to be the water they’re in contact with? Also, is it just me or is that a portable pressure hose on their back?

And of course, Izuku being excited over hero stuff, as one does. He’s so babey faced, going back to current chapters after this is gonna be fucking wild.

Onto the seventh page, and here we are with the ‘you’re pure evil’ speech to someone who’s… just a robber. Seriously, dude? I get that you’re still fairly new to the scene (I think he might not be from a hero high school, but a late join program, but that’s another post), but like. You can’t just call random people ‘pure evil’ and correlate petty crime with like, actual mass murderers, or else people might start to see things in black and white and, you know, create the idea of ‘villainous people’ and so push even more innocents down the path of desperation and criminality.

Wait, sociopolitics later. Izuku being a hero fanboy now. Even able to utter Kamui’s attack call as he’s calling it out, with some seriously cool visual effects-

And on the eighth page, we have Mt. Lady crash the scene. Literally. She just fucking shows up outta nowhere and fucking leaps up and delivers a kick right to the villain’s chin, throwing him back through the train bridge wall and sending debris down to the ground below. Sure hope there weren’t civilians there!

Also, hello to that random guy on the roof watching this. I think in Smash they made that guy her manager or something.

I love how Izuku and the other guy are like ‘what the fuck’ while the press just shows up out of nowhere and is like. Hyperfocused on her. (I’ve heard some issues with the portrayal of media/reporters in the series, but since I have no experience with that sort of thing, I can’t say much on it.)

The last panel of this page shows that, fortunately, there were no civilians on that part of the street (even though it being rush hour and the huge crowds on the other side of the bridge should have suggested otherwise… but what do I know?)

With page nine, we get to see our first case of villain apprehension, which to note does not include any sort of quirk suppressors. Because those don’t exist. Otherwise Aizawa and the Eight Precepts’ erasure bullets would not be such huge deals to everyone. I mean yikes, though, the guy is fucking muzzled. And you can see the damage done by Mt. Lady in the background, both physical and emotional. Not to mention…

What the fuck is that face.

But yeah, this notes that performance in heroics determines not only what they’re paid by the government, but also how much fame they get. No way a system like this could backfire in any capacity, right? Right? (cough).

I love how Hori uses Izuku’s muttering habit as the border for the text bubble when the kid zones into his little world. Also, gigantification is noted to be a common and strong quirk, so we really should see more OCs with size altering quirks in fics in the future, you hear me? Honestly, with it being common, I would almost expect there to be entire buildings, or maybe even neighborhoods / blocks dedicated to catering to size shifters… wonder what those places look like.

Also aww, the guy saying good luck on the heroics dream to Izuku and Izuku just sparkling. What a cutie. Can’t wait for him to suffer. :D

Izuku: No seriously, what-

Anyways, I’m cutting off here since we then transition into the next ‘scene’ and this is a long chapter - 55 pages! Besides, this has already surpassed 1700 words, I don’t need to ramble on too long in one post. 

Lemme know what you think, and I’ll be back with more soon!

[random-mha-thoughts]

Ice Cream (Bakugou X Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Genre: FLUFF!!! WHY DO I KEEP FLUFFING MYSELF TO DEVASTATION!!

Summary: Bakugou and you are coworkers at a summer job in a department store.  Both of you have feelings for each other but don’t know how to confess.

Word count: 1,918

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ @bunnythepipsqueak​

a/n: Based on a true story.  Seriously this was me about 3 and a half years ago. Except the first part, that was filler’s sake and to show off tsundere baby Katsuki.  I’ve been neglecting him, he deserves better.  So I hope you all combust from fluff uwu bc the next one might be baku angst

"Ah, it's so hot," I groan, fanning myself.  "I almost wanna turn around and go back to work just to stay in the air conditioning."

"Tch, speak for yourself.  I've had enough for the day," Bakugou huffs.  He's unbuttoned his black polo shirt.  "You can't pay me enough to go back there."

"It's really not that bad, I don't know why you're complaining," I shrug.

"Says the one who gets to sit in the storage room sorting those stupid colored things all day."  He pushes his shoulder into me.  "I'm like the stupid lackey.  Every stupid errand the manager needs done, I have to do.  I don't get paid enough for this sh-"

"Let's get ice cream, Bakugou!" I interrupt, spotting an ice cream shop across the street.  "Come on, it'll cheer you up, crabby pants."   I grab his arm and pull him towards cold heaven.

Once we get inside the shop, I immediately fly to the window, scanning over the flavor selection.  I'm not exactly sure what I want to get, whether I'm craving something summery like cherry or lemon or if I want a classic like cookies and cream.

I catch myself flipping my head back and forth between the two sides, still unable to make a decision.  "Hey Bakugou, what are you getting?"  When I don't hear an answer, I flip around.  "Baku-?"

For the smallest moment after I look at him, I catch him staring at me blankly before whipping his head down to the window.  "Probably just chocolate," he answers quickly.

My heart skips a beat, but I tell myself to calm down.  It's not the first time I've caught Bakugou staring at me.  Sometimes at work, he'll be passing by and he always somehow seems to find me in the sea of clothes while I'm rearranging the hangers.  There are even some rare times when he comes to the back room while I'm in the middle of sorting the size beads and helps me before the manager summons him to do something else.

I shake myself out of my thoughts.  "I'm feeling something fruity.  Lemon is really calling out to me, but so is cherry."

I end up getting one scoop of each and Bakugou gets two scoops of chocolate.  We take our cups to go as we walk down to the train station together.

"Bakugou, what the actual hell?!"  My eyes widen in bewilderment at what he's just done.

"What?" he growls, "This is how I usually eat ice cream!"

My eye twitches.  "Y-You...bite...ice cream?  You have some deep rooted issues, dude."

"Shut up!  I'm not weird!"  Though he's defensive about it, the blond starts eating with the spoon the shop gave him.  "You're the one eating fruit flavored ice cream.  At least get something unhealthy like you're supposed to!"

I huff in response.  "There's nothing wrong with trying to make your junk food as healthy as possible."

"Come on, you know that's something Deku would have."

"And what about it?"

Bakugou makes a face at me and says nothing else about it.  "You can have a taste of mine if you want.  One bite won't kill you, and I'm fine with sharing."

My heart throbs again.  "Sure, I guess.  Is it good?"

He answers by sticking his dessert-filled spoon in my mouth, catching me off guard.  His crimson eyes bore into mine as I let the treat melt in my mouth, the rich chocolate encompassing my taste buds.  "How is it?"

I don't trust my voice to answer without shaking, so I take my time to swallow.  "Delicious."

The boy smirks.  "See?  You can't go wrong with the classics."  He takes another bite of his before side-eyeing me.  "But I guess it wouldn't hurt to try something different," he mumbles.

I'm still stunned from what he just did, the remaining chocolate still an aftertaste in my mouth.  "You think?"  I think I know what he's implying, but I didn't want to initiate it just in case he's not.  I wish I was more confident in my flirting skills, I think as I scoop another bite into the little spoon.

"Hey."

Bakugou grasps my wrist with my spoon and takes the bite for himself.  We lock eyes with each other as he tastes my ice cream, my heart hammering like a drum.  O-Oh.

His eyebrow quirks in interest.  "Couldn't you tell I wanted to be fed?  Mmm, this is actually pretty good for summer."

I find my voice again, "R-Right?  Told you so!  It's refreshing and not too heavy."

We continue our walk in silence, which is uncharacteristic for Bakugou.  He always has some random thing to talk about, which is something I like about him.  He's not necessarily an open book, but he can talk about anything without making it sound weird, able to fill the awkward pauses in our conversations.

I sneak a peak at his face to find his cheeks dusted slightly pink to match my own.

Our relationship is admittedly in some kind of limbo.  Ever since we met each other at our job orientation almost 3 weeks ago, we've been pretty inseparable.  After hitting it off immediately, we exchanged numbers and text each other nonstop even after work, sometimes late into the night.  And he always texts me in the  morning, teasing me to wake up or else I won't be productive and he'll have to cover for me.  We take our lunch breaks together every day, and we take the same train to the same station before transferring to go our separate ways.  My coworkers tease me because they thought we were already a couple coming into the job.  It seems so obvious to them that Bakugou and I like each other, but neither of us have made a move yet.

Truthfully, I haven't done anything because I don't know how to initiate anything.  He's the first person I've had a crush on that actually reciprocates my feelings, I don't want to mess it up.  Though, he's also mentioned that he hasn't dated anyone either.  We would be each other's firsts.

We finish our ice creams and finally get to our train station, swiping in and catching the train right before almost leaves us behind.  The car is thankfully somewhat empty, so we manage to find some seats.

Bakugou pulls out his earbuds and plugs it into his phone, handling me one side so I can put it in my ear.

This blond head listens to hard rock and metalcore.  Is it really that surprising though, being how aggressive he is?

I'm open to anything as long as I like the lyrics, so I don't mind listening to it.  When the music starts playing, I throw my legs over his lap like I usually do and lay my head on his shoulder.  "You're shoulder is so bony, it's uncomfortable," I tease.

"Then don't rest your head there if it's so uncomfortable," he scowls, placing a hand on my knee.  Out of the blue, Bakugou snorts.  "It's so funny how we have to wear all black and you're wearing these bright red Vans."

"Hey, the manager said we can wear any color shoes we want as long as it's closed toe," I point out defensively, closing my eyes while the shaking of the train hypnotizes me into calm.

I feel his head shift towards me.  "Didn't sleep well?" he asks, just loud enough for me to hear over the rattling.

I shake my head, not bothering to verbalize my answer.  I have this strange talent of being able to sleep anytime and anywhere, especially when there's ambient noise and rocking.

Bakugou leaves me alone to my relaxation until we're about to reach our stop.  "We have to get off soon.  Get up."

"I don't wanna," I nuzzle myself into his warmth.

There's a pause.  "Does that mean I need to carry you out?"

My eyes shoot open.  Oh.  But as I'm about to protest, something makes me stop.  "Sure."  I realize I'm only half joking.

The doors open.  "Okay then," he shrugs.

I don't have any time to retract my statement.  Bakugou tucks one arm under my knees and the other around my back as he stands up, my body cradled in his arms.  My heart loses all sense of rhythm and blood rushes to my ears.  I barely hear the sound of some guy whistle and say, "Wow, look at these two!"

He walks off the train as if this is the most normal thing in the world.  Other passengers glance and smile to themselves when they see us, but my vision is too blurry to focus on any of them.  I bury my head in Bakugou's chest in shame.  "Okay, you can put me down now, Bakugou," my voice comes out feebly.

"Just a little more, I want to get you to the front of the train," he responds with a hint of teasing.

"N-No, please put me down."  Before I die of shame and all these people see us like this.

Bakugou obliges, setting me down on shaky legs near a pole and I shift away from him.  "Isn't that what you wanted?"

I don't know if it's the adrenaline, the nerves, or the act of Bakugou exhibiting real boyfriend behavior towards me for the first time, but I build up the courage before I can stop myself from saying, "See?  T-This is why everyone thinks we're dating."

A moment of pause.  "Well, we can try, if you want."

I finally spare a glance at his face.  Everywhere from his cheeks to his ears up his forehead is burning red as my shoes, and he's rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly to try and keep his cool.

My heart thumps in my ears seeing Bakugou this flustered and bothered.  It's happening.  "I'd like that."

The sight of his smile melts all my anxiety.  He closes the distance between us, grabs my shoulder, and asks, "Can I kiss you?"

I shiver at his breath caressing my face and nod before he presses his lips to mine, crushing our noses together and sending waves of weightlessness in my stomach.  His hand moves up to cup my face before pulling away with a smirk.  "I've been wanting to do that for a while.  I think you did too."

I avert my eyes from his teasing gaze.  "Maybe."

He pulls me back in for another kiss, this one more needy as his lips move quicker, almost like he wants to devour me.  Time seems to slow down around us, not caring if people are watching.  Bakugou's other hand grips my waist just as my train rushes through the station.  He parts our lips but keeps our foreheads together.  "Your train doesn't want us together," he chuckles before placing another quick kiss on my nose.  "Go on, I'll see you Monday."

I nod, still dazed as I board my train and grab the nearest pole for support.  The train pulls out of the station and I'm speechless and shaking, still tasting the faint chocolate from his kiss against my lips.

I sit in a chair and slump down, my heart rate coming down and the adrenaline wearing off.  My phone vibrates when I get a text.

You taste sweet ;)  Can't wait to see you again

Babe

I almost choke hearing his voice say that inside my head, but I can't stop the smile from splitting my face open.  I'm mentally kicking myself for confessing on a Friday.