#visit our pickled people for more of this fucking shit

[shiftythrifting]

Folk… art?

[rawdogmeharry]

anything [part 2 to everything]

or, the one where Y/N is the love of Harry's life and all he wants to do is marry her.

ask and you shall receive <3

requests go here:)

masterlist

•

Somewhere on the Amalfi coast.

Somewhere on the Amalfi coast, on some hot, grainy sand, under some soft azure skies, beside some crystal clear blue water lay Harry, and the love of his life, Y/N.

And Harry really can't keep his hands off his lovie.

Her lilac bikini, that perfectly accentuates her curves. The stretchmarks she adorns a lot more prominent on her already tanned skin. The smooth skin of her plushy thighs, wide hips and full tits. Is it even normal to get this many boners per day?, Harry thinks.

It drives him insane, really. He doesn't understand how a person can be as unearthly gorgeous as his girl is.

And to think Harry was going to ask this beautiful creature to marry him in just a few hours was undescribeable. It made Harry want to shit himself.

Of course, Harry hopes for the best. Harry knows the best. He knows she's gonna say yes, and not just to be a dick about it, but he knows his lovie. Better than anyone—better than she knows her own self.

He also knows how much she loves him. Knows it best probably from the way her touches bring electricity all the way down to his core and through every nerve ending in his body, as if the love seeping from her veins was trying to force its way into Harry. No need for force though, Harry thinks, he's capable of accepting and cherishing any and every single ounce of her love she's willing to give.

Also knows it from the way he doesn't have to say a word, and she already knows exactly what he needs. Knows him like the back of her hand, honestly, and Harry thinks that this is the actual reason they're meant to be—they really do know each other better than they know each themselves.

And Harry did end up choosing a serene spot on the Amalfi coast in Italy to propose. He figured since he'd already taken her to Paris for her birthday not even a mere month earlier, they should travel to a place they'd both never been to before.

Remember this place for the rest of their lives, make it go down in history as the place where and unseparable bond between them was made, and visit for every single anniversary. Harry's got it all planned out.

"Y'know, even with my eyes closed I can feel you staring at my boobs, Harry."

"Well why are they all up in my face for?"

"They're really not, Har. Y'could at least stop starin' at them in public. Y'watchin' them like a hawk watches his prey."

"Baby, y'know it's like some sort of magnetic pull between me 'n your tits. It's 'cause they are m'prey, lovie, gonna eat 'em all up once we get back to the hotel," Harry says and rolls over on the beach towel onto his stomach and leans his head on one hand. Fuckin' beautiful, is what she is, he thinks whilst tilting his head and staring at Y/N.

"Yeah? Y'promise?" She smiles at him.

He gives her a broad smile back, "Cross my heart, hope to die."

Y/N rolls onto her side on the small towel as well, and throws one of her thighs onto his hip, "think we should head back soon, then. Also, m'heads killin' me. Think it's from the sun. Want a nap and you kissing on my boobs."

Harry frowns, "y'heads hurtin', baby? Why didn't y'say so before? We could've went back way earlier. Um—will you be okay to still go to dinner tonight?"

She gives him a shy smile, "of course I'll be okay to go, Harry. Just gonna take an Ibuprofen or something and I'll be as good as new."

Harry lets out a sigh of relief in his head. The dinner he's been planning for almost three weeks now is happening in just a few hours, and nothing can go wrong, because if something does, he's really going to cry. He's sure he's going to cry if everything goes right, as well.

Eitherway, Harry's gonna need some tissues.

He lifts her warm thigh off his hip and gently squeezes it, stands up and puts both arms out to her, "up y'get then, lovie."

```

After a much needed two hour nap and a love making session after getting up when lovie's head wasn't hurting anymore, both Harry and Y/N are almost finished getting ready.

His darling stands in the bathroom in front of the mirror, leaning over the counter just a tiny bit so she could see a bit better and not get the soft pink lipstick all over her face.

And when Harry walks in on her in this position, his knees nearly buckle.

The slender curve of her back, the hem of her turquoise dress barely reaching mid-thigh and sitting tight on her hips.

Now is not the time to get a boner.

"Lovie, y-you look so fucking beautiful. I—I really don't have any words."

She gives him a shy smile through the mirror and he gives her one back, a light pink blush littering her cheeks from the stammering of his kind words, "thank you, baby. You look as handsome as ever." He thinks she might hear his heartbeat all the way from the doorway.

This time, his smile is so broad his teeth show and his dimple pops out, "nothin' compared to you, baby. Yeh about ready, then, gorgeous?"

"You really want some steak, huh? Let's go then, you impatient man," Y/N giggles.

If only she knew that the steak was the last thing on his mind right now, Harry thought.

```

After eating the best medium-well steak both of them had ever had, Y/N considers unzipping the zipper on the side of her dress. She literally feels like she's about to burst.

And Harry does too. Just not from the steak.

The steak was really good, Harry will admit that, and the wine was also not that bad (for six hundred dollars per bottle, it could've been better, he thinks), but these are really irrelevant things compared to the other's he's thinking right now.

And while Harry's close to having a heart attack, Y/N slowly leans back on her chair, puts her arms on the arm rests and tries to discreetly push out her stomach. She then takes one of her hands and slowly rubs it on her bloated belly, stroking it as if she was pregnant.

Petting her steak filled belly she looks around, and only then realises that just the two of them are left on the second floor of the restaurant.

The restaurant was situated outside, underneath the starry sky, and built right into a cave, with a view of the calm ocean right in front of them.

"Harry, d'you think they're about to close soon? We're literally the only people left."

Here goes nothing, Harry thinks.

"No, baby, that's how it's supposed to be."

She gives him a confused face, genuinely not understanding what he's just said, "huh? What's supposed to be?"

He slowly stands up, walks over to her chair and notices the hand stroking her little pouched out belly and immediately smiles. She's so fucking cute. Bends down to her face to face and puts his big hands on her small cheeks, "Just listen t'me, baby. No questions, just all ears for me now, yeah?"

She's even more confused now. "Yeah, okay."

He gives her a quick kiss, shortly trapping her bottom lip between his own. "Right. Here it goes."

Harry pulls away from her, and very slowly gets down onto one knee in front of her, quickly pulling out a small emerald green velvet box from his inner jacket pocket.

Y/N is in shock. She wouldn't be surprised if she went into cardiac arrest right then and there. Then it all comes together.

The way he was fidgeting with his hands all the way to the restaurant earlier in the evening, so much that she had to put her hands on his, just so he could properly hold the steering wheel. She didn't choose to question that, figured he'd tell her on his own time, when he felt comfortable about speaking of what he was so scared? of, after he gave her an appreciative, but shaky smile.

The shaking of his hands while he was cutting his steak. She really thought that was because of the steak.

The small beads of sweat gathering at the top of his forehead anytime he would make direct eye contact with her during the evening. She thought that the warm climate had taken its toll on him.

She feels stupid. That's why he's been so nervous, she thinks. Everything makes sense now.

"Y/N—I-I've literally forgotten every word I rehearsed for m'speech. Um—'m so nervous I think even m'tongues shakin' so 'm sorry, but I still want to say a few things."

He can barely hold the box in his clammy hands from the shaking.

And she already feels a few droplets of salty tears coming down her face.

Harry takes a deep breath. "Y/N Y/L/N, y'the love of m'life. Nobody comes close to the place you hold in m'heart. I know this is corny t'say, but I really did fall in love with you the first time I saw you. Fell in love with your kindness, compassion and the love you show t'the people most important to yeh. Couldn't imagine spendin' m'life with anybody else by m'side. Can't wait to marry you, bawl m'eyes out when I see you walk down the aisle and later have babies with yeh. Beautiful, beautiful babies, just like their mummy. Take you all over the world, show you places we'll remember for the rest of our lives. Make love every night and mornin', spend the days baskin' in each other's love. Um—know 'm just ramblin' anythin' and I can promise yeh my wedding vows are gonna be a million times better, but will yeh do the honors and make all m'dreams come true? Marry me and be mine, lovie?"

He starts to open the box containing the beautiful custom diamond ring he'd had made just for her but he can barely see where the opening is because of his tear-filled eyes.

And Y/N doesn't even look at the ring, doesn't really need to, even though she's extremely grateful, she knows she'd marry him if he gave her a ring with an engraved pickle on it.

She quickly shuts the little box and wraps her arms so hard around his shoulders, she nearly brings the both of them down to the wooden floor of the restaurant.

"Yes, Harry," she chokes out through her tears and feels his arms wrap tighter around her than ever, "yes. I love you so much. Of course I'll marry you."

Harry hasn't ever been happier than he is in this moment.

[ashbless]

“With Covid going no where any time soon, it’s time to develop new ways of radical adult play. For as long as i can remember, I’ve been obsessed with Japanese Tiny Bars, Immersive Spaces, Fantasy shit and Secret Places for those “in the know”. So I’m super proud and excited to introduce you all to the Tiny Minotaur! Accessible by a tiny back alley in downtown Austin Texas, this smol open-air fantasy “tavern” is a donation based, immersive art installation, grimey “divebar” and performance space. It’s a post-Covid concept as it seats only 4 people max and encourages visitation by Pods (the friends and family you’ve selected to hang out with in these gnarly times). 2 hr slots. Reservation-only. Safer, cheaper annnd waaaay more entertaining than the average amount you would spend going to a bar…..except at the Tiny Minotaur--- you drink out of antique pewter tankards and exchange velveteen satchels of gold coins. Oh yeah--- And there is a perpetually annoyed-- retired She-Orc mercenary tending the bar who stops glaring at you long enough to send you and your party out on Quests throughout the neighborhood (yes, there are neighborhood maps and the occasional ratchet NPC coming through to wreck ya up!). Quests are optional---You can always book a session to just come and chill, drink swill/wine/potions, eat pickles and listen to dungeon synth and Summoning albums on repeat. AND YES FANTASY/MEDIEVAL COSTUMES ARE HIGHLY ENCOURAGED. Q: Wait, are you really doing some fantasy fucking shit while the world is burning around us?!A: Yeah, I am. Un-a-fucking-pologetically so. Edit: SORRY WE ARE MOSTLY BOOKED UP FOR THE REST OF THE YEAR Feel free to take a peek at the website and our Instagram for updates on Lore and new reservation days! If you want to support this project feel free to donate via (Venmo: @ TinyMinotaurTavern) and all proceeds go towards helping essential workers in Austin get reduced rates/free sessions!” Web: tinyminotaur(dot)com IG: thetinyminotaur

[brazenautomaton]

Fixing Afterlives: The Maw, First Visit

So our Shadowlands journey starts with the Maw. You know what? People hate this scenario now because you can’t skip it and have to go through it on every character, but the first time through, this is actually really good. You’re kicking in the gates of Hell with a platoon of Death Knights and then everything goes tits-up and you don’t have a beachhead and you’re lost and wandering and there are awful, awful things everywhere and you’re hiding and isolated and need to learn how to escape. You just need the option to skip it on your alts.

Plus the aesthetics of the Maw are great. They sell what it is -- the hostile architecture, sinister crystal formations, the way everything seems swept and shaped by a windstream of souls. We’ve seen plenty of environments that look like a Hell of flames. This is a Hell of pure suffering. Pain is what lives here. Pain is all that enters and pain is all that is produced. It’s only after you went farming Stygia for a while that the pain gets inflicted on you.

So we assemble the crew, get the exposition while we put together the Helm of Domination, get given a portal stone to establish a beachhead, and we bust in to find the four captives: Anduin, Jaina, Baine, Thrall. We rally the Death Knights into enough of a formation to make it in and find the evidence of Jaina, and I like that, I like how you track her by the huge formations of ice -- it shows you her power and the mark she leaves. Finding her is mostly the same although her dialogue is less generic and content-free (from now on assume I apply this caveat to all dialogue). She’s more confused and disoriented and even though she’s fighting it’s with a resignation that she knows it won’t work and she’s starting to think she’s only hurting herself by trying. She acts like she has been there for years. But you say you and the DKs are here to save her and she follows against her better judgment and agrees to try and find Thrall, who she struggles to remember, but seems to be trying very hard to be able to remember.

Then the Mawsworn Kyrian show up and laugh about her hopelessness, and you fight them. And they kill the shit out of you. 

More and more and more of them keep coming and they’re level 60 when you’re level 50 and if you do some bullshit to survive eventually one of them will grab you by the neck to Silence you, lift you into the air, and do the ol’ Val’Kyr Special and fatally drop you. You unavoidably die.

This is necessary early to establish what dying in the Shadowlands means. Play a special graphic effect when the player dies, something more drawn out and grasping. Play a sound effect appropriate to race/gender of the PC of them struggling against great pain and gasping. Then you appear next to a Spirit Healer (yes normally in the Maw you just respawn alive so you have to pick up your Stygia like in Dark Souls, we’ll explain the discrepancy later), a Mawsworn Spirit Healer, who says “No. Your suffering will not end. The Maw claims you.” and then starts to chase you the fuck down with a bunch of shades. You need to run, as a ghost, to claw your way back into your body. Obviously, if the shades catch you, you get dragged back to the start and the Spirit Healer fucks with you a bit. 

Your body has been dragged over to the area where Jaina and the rest are hiding; they fled while you were being merced. Jaina sees you stir. And she says “I’m sorry, champion. Death is no respite here. It is so hard to fight the pull… I struggle to even remember my body when I try to return.”

Jaina has been brutally killed over a dozen times. This is not her first rodeo. This is not her first escape attempt. This is not the first time she’s killed that particular Mawsworn tormenter whose name I don’t recall. It doesn’t end. It never ends. She doesn’t know why she tries any more, when she knows it will fail and she will die and suffer and claw her way back to her flesh and every time it gets harder and harder. All it buys her is the ability to offer futile resistance and maybe that isn’t even worth it.

Mood: established.

From there it goes mostly the same. You try to pump the shades for info about how to escape and they don’t know, they can’t know, they can’t even want to escape. The info you get is a memory of spitefully hating someone who fled to the waystone. You rescue your buddies. You see the Jailer fuck up Baine, only instead of giving him a spirit poison, he fucking snaps the dude like a Kit-Kat and drops his lifeless corpse, and you drag it to safety. You don’t need to find a poison dagger to counteract the spirit poison; you need to keep him safe and clear a path for his spirit to flee back to his body. Thus reinforcing what the danger here is and how it’s different and what they fear.

And while you do this, at some point, you run into Sylvanas. Maybe she just walks up to you while you’re all collected around Baine trying to help him revive. Since the Jailer won’t be saying “it’s not like you won anything b-b-baka, it was just a temporary setback,” you need to establish that feeling that he views your victories as completely meaningless. Sylvanas knows you’re here saving Baine. So does the Jailer. It does not matter. You cannot accomplish anything. 

Thrall kills her dead. She just gets back up. She has an escort for her soul to go back to her body. “How many times are you going to try that before you learn it’s futile? Come now, Thrall. I know you’re smarter than this. I know you respected me more than this.”

And then stuff like “How could you do this, Sylvanas? How could you betray the Horde?” Thrall is incredibly angry and offended at her. He thought he knew her. “Neither of us had any illusions you were not a monster, Banshee Queen. But I trusted you anyway because I knew you wanted what was best for your people. You were a monster, but a loyal one. How can you now turn your back on what little principle you had?” Sylvanas is hurt by this, but she doesn’t linger on it.

Jaina, however, is desperately trying to flatter her. Do this to sell the kind of impact this has had on Jaina, and what this suffering drives her to. “Please, Sylvanas. I know you were my enemy but you were an honorable one. It isn’t too late. Someone as cunning as you must know that this will end in ruin. I promise… I promise… I will surrender if you let me return. Kul Tiras will become servants of the Forsaken. Just, just let them live… please, you could rule our world, not slaughter it…”

Jaina breaks down in tears. Yes, she just tried to surrender her people to the enemy for mercy. Jaina is breaking. All of them will. The Maw is a Bad Place and makes them give up hope. That’s how we sell the threat. Not by making the enemies bigger or spikier, showing how they have broken these heroes. Less screaming anger. More pain.

Sylvanas scoffs at her offer. “It doesn’t matter where your people’s loyalty lies, Lord Admiral.” And then she says the phrase that will become a motif: “Nobody escapes the Maw.” She leaves. She doesn’t care what you do. It doesn’t matter.

But you have to still hold on to that sliver of hope that maybe the waystone is a way out. So you get Baine up and you sneak past this big-ass Maw army that can fuck 31 flavors of your day up. The jailer notices you and sends out a force to stop you at the waystone, and he repeats the phrase when he sends out the order: “Nobody escapes the Maw.”

So there’s the event, you fight off the army while the waystone charges, the army gets bigger and bigger, the charge meter gets stuck at 90%, you go to kick it and it teleports you to Oribos.

The mob descends on the other captives. Sylvanas and the Jailer look completely unconcerned with your escape. After having clearly seen you physically leave the Maw, Sylvanas brushes it off with “Nobody escapes the Maw.” Dun-DUNNN! Cutscene end.

You appear in Oribos. The Protectors stop you because you stink like the Maw and what the hell dude, yada yada. This is when you get a tour of the city, here’s the profession trainers, the bank, the transmog. Only secondary details need to be changed here. One, this is an instanced version of the city where no other players exist (you are the first one there, nobody else is). Two, Lich King Bolvar (hashtag #notmylichking) arrives from Azeroth and says SOMETHING to justify other players coming from the Maw but being less important than you. Something like, he saw what you did, there are other adventurers from Azeroth still in the Maw, his DKs are hunkering down in defensive positions and will try to make their way to the Waystone once it cools off because you already activated it, since you are the more special one, and there might be a chance that a couple others might have an echo of your power because they have had similar adventures. You are the True Maw Walker, and the context of the massively multiplayer element is “for your story, all those other guys have shitty Maw Walker powers that only work once you opened the pickle jar for them.” They can’t bring passengers, either.

Third, not the most importantly but yes the most importantly, if you are Forsaken or a Death Knight or Mechagnome or whatever you get a special dialogue where you say “Why do you keep calling me a ‘living mortal’? I’m not alive. I’m undead / a machine / maybe something else like maybe I missed the fact that vulpera are made of rocks and string.”

So Tal-Inara or whoever can be like “Oh, THAT’S what that is. Something was odd about you, mortal, that I couldn’t quite place. I call you ‘living’ because your soul is still tethered to a body. To us in the Shadowlands, to be bound in a vessel like this is far more important than the nature of the vessel itself.” That’s why people keep calling you “living”, to them you’re easy to mistake for one.

Kyrian in the Maw is disturbing news, and also WEIRD, because as Tal-Inara reminds us, “Nobody escapes the Maw.” Why would the Kyrian go down there when they can’t come back? It is terrible but not unheard of for mortals to try and speak to the Jailer but they never GO there because they can’t get out. And yet Sylvanas just walked in there? And he is mustering armies? Better go to Bastion and find out what is up. Let’s crank open this gateway, and...

[bnhablessings]

Can I request a oneshot/headcanon for Hawks x pregnant fem!reader? I was thinking of Hawks being super cute taking care of her and showing her off proudly to other hero's. this is my first time making a request, so feel free to do with this as you please lolz! also I really want the end to have reader going into labor and giving birth at the end with a very proud Hawks at her side (you get to choose the gender!)💖

It took me so long to get to this omg but I did and I hope you like it, Hon! It is past midnight and I have a weird obsession with tomatoes right now.

Warnings: Pregnancy, just a fluff overload, Profanity, All Might is retired, Dabi and Hawks are good friends AU (we ignore the manga, only happy feelings here lmao)

*I have fixed grammar issues. My brain power was not activated when writing this lol.

Words: 2438

Takami Keigo (Hawks) x Female Reader

“Isn’t she just amazing?” Hawks questions not really speaking to anyone else as he just admires the woman waddling down the hallway.

The other Pro Heroes around him stare at him with confusion. Aizawa, Yamada, Yagi, and Todoroki Enji all take a glance at each other before they wait for the woman to make her way to them. All of them but Hawks are profoundly confused.

“Uh… This was supposed to be a parent-teacher conference so may I ask why Hawks is here as well?” All Might asks.

Hawks ignores them as he watches the woman stopping for a moment to speak to a student. She looks genuinely concerned and it makes his foolish heart swell from how caring she is. Endeavor wants to slap the foolish look off Hawks face but ignores it to answer All Might.

“I apologize. We had lunch together before this meeting. He decided to follow me but I have no idea why.” The tone to Endeavor’s voice shows that he is irritated but curious as to why the number 2 hero seems to be enamored with a simple U.A teacher.

She hasn’t noticed him yet thankfully and he has proudly gotten a video of her waddling. The closer to she gets the more the expression on her face slowly turns into one of realization. The students at U.A respect and care for her so they always make room for her.

“Hey, Honey, what are you doing here?”  You ask softly as you place a hand on your very large bump.

He goes to respond when your colleague Present Mic starts to let out an inhuman sound that turns into a surprised scream. “What?! Honey?! (NAME) YOU’RE MARRIED TO THE HAWKS?!” Present Mic screeches.

You ignore the change in volume and laugh as you nod your head. Aizawa seems to nod as he pieces it together. “Ah… You did mention Tokoyami’s internship being close with your husband.”

“BUT WAIT! You’re married? All my attempts on wooing you have been in vain,” Present Mic mumbles.

Everyone seems to freeze at this but you just laugh more. “Yamada, have you not noticed my ring? I’ve been wearing it every day since working here!” You manage to say after laughing.

He has absolutely no reply but to slowly put his hands up to show surrender from Hawks’ glare on him. Without a care, Hawks pulls you to him so he can hug you with your baby bump blocking it fully. His hands go to rest upon it and he smiles widely.

“See! I told you I have a beautiful family too, Endeavor.”

Endeavor for once has to hide the smile on his face as he looks away. He replies, “Yeah. I thought you were speaking nonsense or showing me pictures of random pregnant women.”

“Nope! I can guess why you would be confused… Since I never showed her face. We have a little chickadee coming on the way!” The excitement is clear in his voice and on his face from the happy lazy grin plastered on it.

He looks at the others and bids them goodbye. “Well, I am going to steal her so she can have her lunch with me. See ya.”

~*~

“Baby, I promise, it is okay! I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later when you get home! I’m just happy you visited for lunch,” You say into the phone. Your other hand goes to your purse to look for your keys.

You hear Hawks mumble and whine on the other side of the phone but you ignore it until you find the keys successfully. “Alright, babe. I’ll be fine. I’ll text you when I reach the house. I love you!”

After hearing his ‘I love you more’ he hangs up and you smile feeling great. This is unusual since the pregnancy hormones have made you feel like shit lately. It’s all going to be worth it though.

“Hey, do you need me to walk you home?” Aizawa questions as he enters the hall.

You think for a few seconds before you ask, “Would you be willing to walk me to the station? I’ll be fine from there since I’m planning on stopping by a store! I don’t want to waste too much of your time!”

He nods and the two of you begin the walk to the station. It starts as a comfortable silence before Aizawa speaks up with a smile on his face. “You know, I had no idea you were married to the Number 2 Pro Hero. It surprised me but at the same, it didn’t. What surprised me though was seeing the way he stared at you. You have a good thing going,” Aizawa states.

It was odd for him to give his input like that but it made you feel happy to know that Hawks’ love for you was just that noticeable. Once at the station, Aizawa gives you a look, something an older brother would a younger sibling or parent would their child before giving a demand.

“Call me if anything happens. I’m on patrol for a while so I’ll be near this area. Be safe going home, (Name).”

Today has been such a heartwarming day and Aizawa’s words only bring you more joy as you bid him a farewell.

It doesn’t take long to reach the store close to your home. You salivate at the thought of getting what you crave most. An odd combination that most people would puke from but what you need to satisfy you and your baby right now, tomatoes and frosting.

You can just imagine Hawks’ disgusted look but it wasn’t the worst thing you’ve had yet. You go to turn when your baby bump hits something off the shelf. Thankfully, it was just another plastic can full of icing so it didn’t break. Now the new problem was picking up the jar.

You know it was a near-impossible feat but you try anyway. You probably look very silly trying to reach and barely scraping the can with your fingernails but you don’t care. You are determined to do it. That is until you hear an obvious cough trying to get your attention.

You give up for now and look at the owner only to smile upon seeing the man you saw earlier. “Hello, Mr. Endeavor! We’ve met officially earlier but not formally. I am Takami (Name). It’s a pleasure to meet you and I apologize if my husband gets a bit too much to handle. He can be very chillaxed but he does take his job seriously,” You ramble.

“Pleasure.”

He merely observes you with serious eyes before he bends down and picks up the icing jar. He hands it to you. “Thank you! I would’ve been in a pickle there if I couldn’t reach it,” You murmur placing it back on the shelf where it belongs.

One of his eyebrows betray his lack of expression to show his slight confusion and you laugh. “I already have my icing in this arm! The baby bump knocked over that one.”

He doesn’t say anything in reply to that. Instead, he seems to contemplate saying something. He just needs a few seconds before he decides to say it against his better judgment.

“Hawks... He’s the Number 2 Pro Hero and extremely famous. How is it I never even heard or seen you? I thought he was fibbing about having a wife since he only produced photos of your bump and not of your actual face,” He didn’t want to ask it but the curiosity got the best of him and it was unusual to him.

The question made you smile but this time with a bit of sadness. You’ve received this question just a few times before but the answer remains the same. “We try to hide our relationship and it is easy when his fans like to think he is single. It doesn’t matter but we have private social medias for our friends. We like to keep my face hidden and such.”

The atmosphere turned a bit tense and for once (actually probably like the fifth time since Hawks had been determined in making him a better Number 1 Hero) he feels guilty. Something strange feels like it’s churning in his chest and he quickly fixes it.

“He does talk an awful lot about you though. It’s clear as day how much he loves you and your baby.” It was a simple two-sentences but it brought comfort to you.

He leaves without any more words and you are brought back to your cheerful self and go to pay for the items. By the time you get home, it is already showing signs of getting dark. You are quick to send a text to Hawks and it distracts you from realizing something odd is wrong with your door. The fact that it is unlocked.

You lock your front door once inside and go straight to the kitchen to slice the tomatoes and spread icing on them. You waste absolutely no time as you have it all ready on a plate and leave the room to go change into something more comfortable.

Of course, only Hawks’ shirts have been fitting you lately and you prefer them much more than your maternity clothing. So you wear that and a pair of shorts before coming to get your treat and hopefully take a nap. That was the plan before you have a fucking heart attack from seeing a burnt toast eating your food.

“How the fuck do you eat this?” Dabi questions spitting a tomato slice out of his mouth.

Your heart is absolutely broken at the scene. You ignore the bully of a man and stare at the red and white mess on the ground. How dare he do this to you?

“Oh fuck… (Name), please don’t do this. I’m sorry. I’ll go buy you a new fucking tomato if you want. With the fucking confetti icing and shit. Just don’t cry… Or tell Hawks,” Dabi says.

It is too late though. The damage has been done as your hormones go berserk from seeing what you craved on the ground (yes your mind is ignoring the perfectly good slices still on the plate). Tears prick at your eyes and before you can rub them away or cry, Dabi brings you into a hug.

As you cry into his chest he is already on the phone with Hawks but with your uncontrollable sobs, you don’t hear the conversation. After a few painful minutes (for Dabi) he finally pulls away only for your face to be smothered by your loving husband’s chest.

He hushes you gently and rubs soothing circles on your back all while glaring at his best friend.

Dabi raises his hand in defense. “Hey man, I just came here to visit the princess with good intentions. Thanks for bringing the tomato. I owe you one.”

Another minute later Dabi presents to you a brand new plate with a tomato covered in icing. You sniffle lightly and take it before mumbling, “Thanks. Sorry for the way I acted. That was pathetic.”

“Hey no, it wasn’t Doll. I take full blame for eating your weird food. That and it is 100% Hawks’ fault for knocking you up Beautiful. Anyway, I got to bounce but are we good?” Dabi asks opening his arms for another hug.

You smile and give in. “We’re always good. Now get out of here. We’ll invite you over for a chicken wing dinner,” You offer.

He leaves with a stupid smile on his face and Hawks smiles as he can finally full-on cuddle you without interruptions. Of course, after you are done eating. He pulls you to cuddle on the couch with him, his wings stretched out and resting against the couch.

“You good, Babe?”

You nod the exhaustion pouring in on your face, “Yeah. Sorry I ended up making you come home early. I didn’t mean to get like that.”

“It’s all good. I would do anything for you and the baby. No tomato is safe from being devoured by you if that is what you desire.”

You are too tired to even give a response to that. Instead, you try and curl up into him as you make sure your bump is comfortable at the same time. His hands rest on your belly as he hums into your ear.

“What only two months left now?”

Yeah, and they are going to fly right by.

~*~

“You had to come in through the window?” Hawks asks in a hushed voice.

Dabi only smirks before his eyes fall on your resting figure. Hawks is sitting right beside you on the bed. The sweet bundle of joy he came to meet is resting in Hawks’ arms right beside you.

“Can’t impress anyone if I didn’t. All the Heroes come by already?” Dabi asks as he takes slow and steady steps to the three of you.

You smile weakly as you recall your three colleagues coming in to check on you and meet the baby (that Hawks may or may not have shoved in their face from how proud he was). Endeavor came by as well to congratulate you and Hawks.

“Yeah. All there is left now is to meet you,” You murmur as Hawks stands up.

Dabi gets a close look at the baby’s squishy face. He wants to say it’s hideous as a joke (he was planning on how to do joke about it though) but he couldn’t. The baby was actually cute. However, to his absolute horror, Hawks starts to proceed to give the baby to him.

“What the fuck. What if I drop it?”

You answer in a sleepy voice. “Drop her and I will personally send you to hell.”

“Her… What name did you guys come up with?”

Hawks answers without hesitation. “Tomato.”

Dabi physically freezes and looks up before seeing the stupid grin on Hawks’ face. He turns to you and you smile a gentle smile and give up the true answer. “Takara, it means treasure. Takami Takara.”

“I’ll take the chair. I’ll hold her while you guys rest up for a bit.”

You thank him and Hawks silently thanks him before showing off his severely bruised hand that you no doubt, destroyed when pushing during labor.

It is a pain Hawks would gladly go over again and endure for you because you are everything to him. You and your beautiful daughter mean the world to him and he would go through this life a million times if it meant having the two of you again.

[prettyboongi]

BTS Reaction | They React to You Having a Weird Personality

[A/N: Hey gang! I’ve been meaning to post this earlier but somehow I got hit with major writer’s block （￣ε￣）so to the user who requested this, I’m really sorry I took so long to finish this. Hope you all enjoy!

Seokjin 

When Jimin decided to tag along with you and Seokjin to go grocery shopping, he didn’t think much of it at first. He was running low on basics such as milk and soy sauce and, being his first time spending some time with you, he thought it would be a great time to get to know you better. And boy, did he. 

The three of you were browsing the produce section of the grocery store when you suddenly wandered off somewhere. Jimin didn’t think much of it and continued to stay by Jin’s side, checking the ripeness of the cantaloupes. It was only when he heard you speaking nearby. You were talking in a cutesy voice, the kind one would use when speaking to a baby or small child. It was only when Jimin turned your way to find you speaking to either. 

“Aww, aren’t you just the cutest thing ever!,” you cooed while holding a kiwi close to your face. “You’re so soft and fuzzy. Too bad you’re just too delicious otherwise I’d keep as a pet!” 

“What the absolute fuck?,” Jimin murmured, totally dumbstrucked of what he was witnessing. 

“What?,” asked Jin, too busy testing the cantaloupes. 

“Y/N is talking to fruit… like it’s an animal or something.” 

“Oh yeah, she does that sometimes. Pretty adorable, right? 

Adorable wasn’t the right word Jimin was thinking of. Plain bizarre was more fitting. Or embarrassing as a handful of passersby gave quizzical looks at you. But you were too busy to notice, focusing on your conversation with the small, fuzzy fruit. 

Mortified, Jimin calls out to you. “Ah, Y/N! Can you please quit it.? You’re being weird!”

Surprised but unfazed by Jimin’s outburst and overall embarrassment, you simply respond, “But come on, they just look so deliciously cute!” You even gave the kiwi a nice pet before lovingly rubbing it on your face. 

Utterly speechless, Jimin continues to gawk at you like a freakshow. His attention does break from you when he feels a sudden pat on the shoulder. He turns around slightly to find Jin next to him with a sympathetic look on his face. 

“There, there Jiminie.” says Jin, “you’ll come to love her weirdness. 

And Jimin eventually did. Begrudgingly so. 

Yoongi 

You were sitting alone in a cafe, waiting for your boyfriend Yoongi to arrive. When he mentioned that he had some time out of his busy schedule to hang out, of course you took the opportunity. Although you admired his work ethic and dedication to BTS, you still wished there was more time to spend time together. And it was days like this that you truly look forward to. 

He texted you he was running a bit late so all you could really do was wait patiently for him. A task that wasn’t so hard since you found yourself drifting into a daydream while staring out the window. It was only you heard the screech of the chair scooting that broke you from your daydream. You turn to the noise and see Yoongi sitting down in front of you. And with an unexpectant guess. 

“Hey Y/N, sorry I’m late,” Yoongi greets you, “Hope you don’t mind that I brought Taehyung along.” Taehyung sits down next to Yoongi and shoots you a cheeky smile. 

“No, I don’t mind,” you replied, “Now I have two of my favorite people in the world.” While there was a part of you that wanted to be alone with Yoongi, you were happy to see Taehyung as well. As an apology for being a third wheel, Taehyung even offered to order and pay for all your drinks: an Americano for Yoongi, a vanilla latte for you and a hot chocolate for himself. 

Once the three of you were all settled with your drinks, you asked the two men how their day was. 

“Surprisingly, it wasn’t too busy. Just going over…” you listen to Yoongi say before drifting into one of your vivid daydreams. You knew it was rude but sometimes you couldn’t help it, you get distracted way too easily. Yoongi knew this about you. This definitely wasn’t the first time you spaced out while he was speaking. Despite this, you always urge him to keep talking since you snapped out of it at some point. 

However, Taehyung didn’t know this trait about you and proceeds to wake you up from daydream mode. With a loud snap of fingers he called out your name and your attention was now back to them. 

“Oh sorry about that,” you said bashfully. 

Unbothered, Yoongi took a sip of his coffee. “No, it’s fine babe. Seemed like you had a good daydream going on.” Both of you chuckled lightly but Taehyung stayed quiet. He wasn’t particularly annoyed by your daydreaming but he did think it was rude to not pay attention. 

Half-jokingly, he retorted, “Wow hyung, who knew you were dating such a space cadet.” 

“Huh?,” you responded. Taehyung’s seemingly lighthearted remark caught you off guard. 

Taehyung chuckles. “I knew all knew you were ditzy but jeez.” 

You didn’t know how to respond so you giggled nervously. Even though you knew he was joking around, the way he said it made you feel a bit embarrassed. 

Seeing your reaction, Yoongi glares at Taehyung. “Hey, I’d appreciate you not making fun of my girlfriend.” 

“But hyung, I was just-” 

“I really don’t give a shit whether you were kidding or not, I want you to apologize to her.” 

Knowing better to not disobey this particular hyung of his, Taehyung turns to you with apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says genuinely. 

You reached over to give his hand a comforting pat and smiled at him. “Thanks, Tae.” 

You knew he was joking around but it was still nice to hear him apologize. 

Hoseok

Everyone in the group knew how close you were to Hoseok. Dating for almost a year already, he was your entire world. Your rock. Your knight in shining armor. And because of his supportive and caring nature, you always went to him whenever you needed something. Hoseok made it clear to you that you could always rely on him. 

“Hobi, can you please pick me up?” you’d ask him on the phone and Hoseok would immediately be on his way. 

“Hobi can you open my bottle? It hurts my hand”, and he’d gladly open it for you. 

“Hobi, I feel really scared and anxious right now, I need you,” and he would drop whatever he was doing to find and comfort you. 

To some people, you would see this as Hoseok being a great boyfriend. However, others might just view it as a little too dependent. Others like Jungkook, apparently. 

Jungkook didn’t have anything against you; he really liked for the most part. He just thought it was strange for a girl your age to be so reliant on someone, be it her boyfriend or not. He didn’t understand how someone as fiercely independent as his hyung would be interested in someone who is the complete opposite. It was an opinion that he kept to himself until one day. 

You knew that today Hoseok and the guys had a dance practice and you thought it would be a great idea to make a surprise visit. On your way to the studio, you were about to turn a corner when you see your boyfriend and Jungkook in the hallway. It looked like they were having a serious conversation so you contemplated whether to wait until they were finished or greet them anyway. That’s when you hear your name being suddenly dropped. 

“Y/N?,” Hoseok asks quizzically, “What about her?” 

“I noticed that she’s been asking a lot of you lately, things that she could definitely do on her own,” Jungkook hesitantly begins, “I just find it odd that she’s that so dependent on you.”

You felt a rush of heat rising in you from shear embarrassment as you hid away the two men. You didn’t know that Jungkook thought this way about you and you worried if the other’s felt the same way. “Ugh, this is why you don’t eavesdropped, stupid,” you thought to yourself. You were about to leave when you heard Hoseok beginning to speak. 

“To be perfectly honest, Jungkook, I like that fact that I’m the one Y/N comes to when she needs help. I like being needed, especially from someone I love. She’ll get to a point where she can be more self-reliant but I’m not going to rush her. So don’t worry too much about her or our relationship, okay?” He finishes his speech with a friendly pat on Jungkook’s shoulder.” 

“Sorry, hyung. I didn’t mean to be rude,” he says with a guilty look on his face. Hoseok just responds with a hearty laugh as he puts his arm around the maknae and leads back to the dance studio. 

Still standing behind that corner, you couldn’t help but contain the sweet smile on your face. You were still a bit dejected over what Jungkook said about you but the fact you had a boyfriend that will defend no matter what made you feel so blessed. He was truly your everything and you’d be lost without him. 

You took a moment to compose yourself before heading towards the dance studio. 

Namjoon

It was no secret to anyone that knew you that your favorite thing to eat was anything pickled. Growing up in a family that pickled everything from cucumbers to watermelon rinds, you always found comfort munching on the tangy, savory food. Your love for pickled foods reached an all new high when you moved to South Korea and fell totally in love with kimchi and all its regional variants. 

To an outsider, they might see your love for pickled food a bit obsessive, but not Namjoon. Knowing how much you love eating them, he made sure stock up on your favorites at the dorm. So whenever you come over to hang out, you’ll have a tasty snack to eat. This sweet gesture made you love the man even more, if that was even possible in the first place. 

The rest of Bangtan thought your obsession with pickles somewhat peculiar but also adorably quirky. Well everyone except for one person: Yoongi. As much as he enjoyed pickled foods himself, he personally thought you took it too far since he’d always catch you eating them. He even avoids sitting and speaking to you due to you sometimes smelling like strong brine. But he tried his best to hold his tongue since it didn’t hurt anyone. 

One day, Yoongi walks into the living room of the dorm and finds you and Namjoon sitting at the table. You, of course, was enjoying some pickled okra your mother sent you in a care package. 

“Hi, Yoongi!,” you squeaked as you got up to give him a hug. 

Yoongi became rigid in your embrace but soon reciprocated the hug rather awkwardly. Pulling back from the hug, he says hurriedly, “Uh, I have to run some errands. See ya guys around,” then hightails it out the door. 

His behavior leaves you puzzled. “What’s with him?,” you asked Namjoon but he just shrugs in response. 

That very visit, you decided to spend the night at the dorm. You were walking out of the bathroom after brushing your teeth when you heard Namjoon and Yoongi talking in the next room. As you tippy-toed closer to that room, you quickly realized they were talking about you. 

“I’m sorry Joon but I just think it’s her obsession with pickles is kinda gross,” Yoongi belts out, “I mean she eats them all the time.” 

Before even hearing Namjoon's response, you quickly walked to his bedroom and buried yourself in his sheets. A few moments later, you hear Namjoon walk into the room and feel the bed slightly shake as he climbs into bed. 

“You still awake, honey?,” he sweetly asks. 

“Yeah,” you said in a somber tone, still buried under the sheets. 

“Hey, is there something wrong?” 

It takes you a moment before responding. “Do you think I’m gross, Joon?” 

Namjoon sighs heavily. “I’m guessing you overheard our conversation. How much did you hear?”

“I only heard what Yoongi said then immediately went towards the room. Joonie, I’m sorry I’m like this.” 

That’s when Namjoon pulled the covers from you and cupped your flustered face. “Hey, you have nothing to be sorry about. Who cares what you love to eat? I love you for who you are, Y/N. That’s what I told Yoongi hyung and now I’m telling you.” He then gives you a warm, gentle kiss on the lips. 

Overwhelmed by Namjoon’s intense sincerity and affection, you felt your eyes start to water. “You don’t mind that my kisses sometimes taste like vinegar?” 

Namjoon chuckles at your question. “Not one bit.” 

Jimin 

The guys decided it would be nice to have a relaxing movie night and you were invited to tag along. 

“How long’s the movie?,” you asked?

“It’s pretty long,” Jimin says before he clicks the play button on the Netflix screen. 

“Bet Y/N’s gonna pass out halfway towards the middle,” Taehyung jokes. 

You scoff. “I’m not gonna fall asleep this time.” You said this with such confidence but the boys didn’t buy it. You were known to fall asleep at any time, at any occasion. Whether you were on a day trip or at an awards show, you’d often find yourself passing out somewhere, causing some slight embarrassment on your part. And unfortunately, tonight was no different. 

“Baby, wake up,” Jimin softly says to you as he gently shakes you awake. 

You quietly moaned as you sat up on the couch in the dorm’s living room. “Is the movie already over?” you said groggily, rubbing the sleepiness from your eyes. 

Jimin faintly smiles at you. “Afraid so. 25 minutes in - a new record for you,” he teased. You gave him a quick glare. 

“I had a strange dream. I wasn’t in it myself but you and Namjoon were there. Namjoon was kinda irritated and said something like ‘what’s the point in even inviting her to these things if she’s just going to fall asleep?’ Good thing it was just a dream, right?” You looked up at Jimin and saw a weird expression on his face. “What?”

He sighs and says, “That wasn’t a dream, Y/N. I was hoping you didn’t hear that.” 

“So, Namjoon did say that,” you asked. Jimin nodded. Even though you were the one that fell asleep during the movie, you couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt and ashamed. You bit your lip before speaking again. “Is he mad at me?”

Jimin grabs your hands, gently caressing your finger. “Oh, not at all, sweetie. But even if he was mad, it doesn’t matter,” he says assuringly. “Wanna know what I told him?,” he asked you. You silently nod. “I told him that you’re my sleeping beauty and I wouldn’t change that about you.” 

His lovely compliment catches you off guard, causing a light blush to appear on your face. Softly smiling at him, you respond, “You’re such a cheeseball, Park.” 

Taehyung

You were out on a dinner date with your boyfriend Taehyung, and you were trying your best to hide your nervousness. It wasn’t the fact that you were out with Tae that made you nervous since you've been together for a few months already. What made you nervous was that this date was actually a double date with Hoseok and his own girlfriend. Even though this wasn’t your first time hanging out with anyone from the group, let alone Hoseok, you still get anxious in settings like this. Especially settings that involved eating. You didn’t consider yourself a gross eater, you just become hyper-aware when you eat around others. Heck, it took you awhile to feel comfortable eating around Taehyung. 

The four of you were sitting together at a fancy restaurant, and you tried your best to ease your nervousness by engaging in the conversation. When the food arrived, all hope was lost as you felt the sensation of butterflies in your stomach. Everyone eagerly dug into their plates as you just sipped your water, hoping it will calm your nerves. 

Taehyung poked your hand, getting your attention. “You alright, babe?”

You quickly nodded. “Yeah, I’m just not that hungry for some reason.” 

Overhearing this, Hoseok turns your way with a cheeky smirk on his face. “What’s wrong, Y/N? Are you afraid we’ll all find out your disgusting eating habits?” he boffs. 

Hoseok was merely kidding but his joke still managed to make you choke on your water. Taehyung rubs on your back for comfort as he gives a stern look to Hoseok. 

“Hey, hyung,” he says in a rather serious tone, “Please don’t bully my honey pie.” 

Hoseok scoffs in return. “Come on, I’m just kidding!,” he belts. Hoseok’s girlfriend proceeds to slightly hit him hard on the shoulder. “What did I do?”

She looks at him. “Like you’re one to Hoseok. Most of the time, you eat like a feral pig.” 

You and Taehyung tried your best to stifle your laughter after hearing such a brutal dig. Although shocked at first, Hoseok just laughs it off and goes back to eating. 

You then look at Taehyung and smile. “I think I’m actually hungry now.” 

Jungkook 

You were meeting the boys for the very first time today. Despite you and Jungkook’s relationship being relatively new, he just couldn't wait any longer to introduce you to his hyungs. While this made you feel extremely special, you were also scared out of your mind that you’ll embarrass yourself in front of them. Possibly making Jungkook regret being interested in you in the first place. 

When you told Jungkook about your worries, he reassured you that everything will be fine. As you were standing outside of the door of their dorm, you really hope what Jungkook said was true. With a shaky hand, you rung the doorbell. As you expected your boyfriend opened the door. 

“Hey,” he says flirtily. 

“Hey, yourself. Are they here?”

“Yep, they can’t wait to meet you. Come on in.” He takes your hand, leading you towards the living room. 

“Hyungs,” Jungkook begins excitedly, “this is my girlfriend, Y/N.” 

The six men got up from the couch and hurriedly walked over to meet you. They politely bowed and flashed friendly smiles, however it doesn’t ease your anxiety. 

“H-hello, it’s not to meet you,” you stammered. You let go of Jungkook’s hand and started to fidget your fingers self-consciously. 

It was clear as day that you were extremely nervous. Knowing how important you were to Jungkook, the guys went out their way to make you feel welcome. You spent the entire day having fun with everyone; eating snacks, playing party games and just overall playing around. It seemed like the guys really liked you, which caused you to fidget less as the time went by. 

By evening, it was about your time to leave and you went to find Jungkook so he could drive you home. You asked Yoongi where Jungkook was and he mentioned seeing him toward his room. After getting directions, you head towards his room. Seeing that his door was opened you cautiously went inside, not realizing that Jungkook was having a conversation with Seokjin. 

“Don’t take it too personally, Jungkook. I’m just not sure if I like her yet,” Jin says to Jungkook, neither noticing you in the room yet. 

“But why hyung?,” Jungkook says, hearing the slight hurt in his voice. 

Seokjin sighs before speaking again. “She’s just super awkward, you know? Painfully so.” 

His blunt words hit you hard inside. It turns out you were wrong about everyone liking you. The room fell into a brief yet excruciating silence. It took you clearing your throat for them to finally notice you in the room. 

Surprised, Jungkook turns to you. “Y/N?” 

“It’s time for me to go. Can you take me home?” 

“Uh, yeah, just let me get my keys?”  

Before following Jungkook out the room, you gave Seokjin a meek wave goodbye then left. 

On your way to the car, you tried to distract yourself by talking about how much fun you had but Jungkook could tell you were still hurt by Seokjin’s words. Before having the chance to open the passenger door, Jungkook spins you around and pulls you into his embrace. 

“I don’t know how much you heard from Jin hyung,” he says into your ear, “But it’ll be fine, Y/N. Soon enough, he’ll see you how I see you: an amazing and beautiful girl.”

You didn’t know what to say at that moment, so you just quietly sobbed into his shoulder. 

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #463

“the siren sings a lonely song of all the wants & hungers  /  the lust of love, a brute desire”

Describe the person that you would like to be in three years. I want my mental health to be in great condition, I really want to be in much better physical shape, ideally be living with somebody in our own place, have a job I'm happy with, have an improved social life, my own license and car... Think back to when you first met your significant other (or ex). Was your first impression of them accurate? It's funny, I honestly don't remember what my first impression of Girt was. I don't even recall our first interaction. I'm sure it was most likely that he was friendly, because he is and always has been. What is your most noticeable personality trait? Probably that I'm really, really shy. What kind of natural disaster is most common where you live? Hurricanes. Which of your family members do you resemble the most? I guess one of my immediate sisters? People tend to say stuff like they can definitely tell we're related. Have you ever had an animal get into your attic? No. Who knows you better than anyone else? Hell, probably whoever reads these. When was the last time you started a “new chapter” of your life? I guess you could call dating Girt a "new chapter." I have a much, much stronger feeling of this attempt being more successful than the last now that I've been able to change my angle on how I see him. What’s the most expensive thing your car needed to get done? I don't have my own vehicle and never have. If you had a thousand dollars to spend on a pricey brand you like but can’t really afford (until now of course), which ONE brand would you choose? *shrug* Most products of highly expensive brands I find hideous anyway. Do you still talk to any of your old teachers? Yeah. One is a close family friend and actually our landlord. Does your family still use the home phone or are you all on cell phones now? We haven't had a landline is yeeeeaaarrrrsssss. Ever go to another school’s prom? No; my boyfriend went to the same school as me. Do you ever venture into the woods? What do you normally do there? No; we live in the city now. :/ When I DID live in the woods, I absolutely loved wandering around with my camera for stuff to take pics of. Does your significant other ever make you mix CDs? None ever have but omg I wish that would be adorable. How did you dress your freshman year of high school? I was one of them emo kids. Would you ever date your best friend of the opposite sex? WELP that's what I'm doing lol. Would you say you have a high sex drive or not so much? I'd call it normal? Higher sometimes, lower other times, but not to either extreme. Come with an unpopular opinion. Silent Hill: Homecoming is a great game and while there's a lot of fan service from the movie, it belongs in the series. It's actually my second (or third)-favorite installment. Most of the SH community absolutely hate that game. What’s the worst thing a friend has either done or said to you? A lot of shit Colleen would say if we got into arguments. She'd ridicule effects of my depression, said I'd never know what it's like to pay my own bills, stuff like that. She's hateful as fuck and everything cut deep. What’s fake about you? Like extensions, fake nails, botox etc. Nothing physical. If you got the chance, would you audition for a reality show? No. Have you ever gotten into a Facebook fight? More than once. What’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever experienced irl? Hm, I'm unsure. Favorite flavor of jelly bean? Probably watermelon. Do you use Tinder? If yes, have you ever met up with someone you matched? No. You do you, but if I understand Tinder correctly, it just seems... really shallow to me. Like don't you JUST see their picture to decide if you're interested or not? It just enforces the false belief that appearance really matters in love. You just poured your heart out to your crush and all he/she does is respond “k”. What do you respond/do? Well, I don't have a crush anymore; my boyfriend and I literally exchanged "I love you"s last night. That's not a crush. But for the sake of the question, I'll imagine I was single and this happened, in which case I would be both hurt and annoyed. Like, either tell me you return the feelings or not. It's not hard. What's your favorite thing to order from McDonald’s? I usually get a quarter pounder w/ cheese or a McDouble, occasionally with a small or medium fry, depending on how hungry I am. When do you feel your sexiest? Never, hunny. What's your favorite emoji? I don't really have one? It just depends on what the situation calls for. What’s your skincare routine? I don't really have one... I just use a washcloth to clean my face. Who all out of your immediate family smokes? My dad and stepmom. Do you like incense or candles better? Incense, totally. Do you respect your parents? Yeah. What’s your bf/gf’s name? It's technically Donald Jr., but since high school, I've known him as Girt, a nickname I won't explain for his privacy. Do you wear glasses? Yeah. Do you like The Beatles? I honestly don't. Except "Hey, Jude." What was the last reason you got excited? Last night. When we were saying goodbye, I was scared to, but I told Girt I loved him, and he immediately said it back confidently. My heart did like five flips. I'm still over the moon about it. Yes, we just got back together, but we've been in each other's lives as a constant since HS, and after changing my angle of how I looked at him, it's not at all platonic anymore. Do you know anyone who drinks the pickle juice from the jar? Sara does alskdjfklwejrl;er Name something crazy that’s happened recently? Uhhhh... I dunno. My life is very uneventful to have something really "crazy" happen. Can you say for a fact that you’re happy right now? I'm happy about some things, but also nervous and self-doubtful. Have you ever zip lined? No, but they look fun. I'd just be really scared of losing my grip. If you broke your computer, would you be able to fix it on your own? Ha, no. Have you ever been on a boat and got sick? No, but the one time I was at the beach and on a boat riding to an island, I was TERRIFIED I was going to get sick because of the waves. I didn't, thankfully. Did you sleep well last night? For the most part. My new mask might just be working. Do your parents try and plan your life for you? Not at all. Do you have any pictures of you kissing someone? Yes. List two things about yourself that you find embarrassing. My weight and how dark my leg hair is. Do you like to cuddle with your pet when you are sad? Yes. Do you find piercing attractive or unattractive? h o t Do you have any secret hiding spots in your room? To put money, yes. Do you like parmesan cheese on your spaghetti? Ew, no. I don't like parmesan. Does your best girl friend have any talents that you don’t? Yeah. She can animate well, for one. And sing like a fucking champ. Do you have any video game systems in your room? Which one(s)? My Nintendo DS Lite is in here. Well, and my laptop is a gaming one. What color eyes does the last person you kissed have? ... Oh WOW I've known this man for a fuckin decade and somehow I'm not sure??? But I want to say light blue? Have you ever taken a ride in a helicopter? No. Have you ever visited hot springs? No. How slowly or quickly would you say you eat? I'm aware I eat too fast, because my mom will point it out almost without fail if we eat in sight of each other. I'm not a messy eater at all, just... fast. Chewing your food and swallowing isn't a complex task. I've made active efforts to slow down, I just haven't been able to succeed. It doesn't feel normal. That and I've come to discover that when I chew food TOO much, I don't like the mushy texture of it in my mouth. What did you do the last time you were with friends? Yesterday Girt and I planned to watch shitty Netflix anime for some laughs, but we wound up starting Attack on Titan, which I am officially pretty into. What kind of cologne/perfume do you like the opposite sex to wear? I don't care if they wear any or not, so long as they know how to clean themselves and therefore not actually smell bad. If you celebrate Christmas, do you get a real tree or an artificial tree? We always use a fake one. Is there someone who means a lot to you but they don’t know that? My sisters probably don't, really... Is money important to you? Live your whole life poor and I want to see you answer "no" to this. Have you ever watched a meteor shower? No. Do you like Slim Jims? LOOOOOOOVE them. Would you rather write a mystery or love story? Love story. Are you muscular? No. Working for it. Do you have one of those removable hand-held shower heads? Yes. Originally, this house didn't, but I hated it so much that Mom bought one. How many burners does your stove have? Four. Has your car ever been broken into? Mom's hasn't.

[thatdamnokie]

so, as everybody knows, our man, the lovely mark strong, turned 57 this past august 5th

since the kingsman films have had a huge influence on several aspects of my day-to-day life (gee, wonder what group of people i could be referring to...), i decided to sit down and do something i’ve been thinking about since getting my medical card earlier this year: getting high as a kite and watching them back-to-back.

to celebrate mark’s birthday, i decided to do another running commentary post like the one i did for rocknrolla ages ago, under the cut. it’s a pretty similar style, which is to say not necessarily super coherent and might be hard to understand if you’ve never seen the movies. D:

there are some mentions of the roanoke society, but not many.

if even just one person finds this mildly entertaining for four seconds, then i’ll have done my job. there is a lot of cursing and this is NOT spoiler-free.

enjoy~

edited 9.1.20 to correct typos and such, please remember that i was Not Sober while i wrote this lmao

how many times have i watched these movies at this point? i don’t even know.  

i always liked the nifty like—retro arcade marv opening animation

and the thing with the tapes! we love book-ending devices!

kingsman: badass motherfuckers worldwide incorporated

like why was merlin even with them? i understand why lee and james would be there, but merlin, was he not acting quartermaster then?

i have SO MANY FEELINGS about lee unwin

i think it haunts harry and merlin more than anyone thinks, but these are fun spy movies so we just don’t talk about trauma and shit, don’tcha know

don’t look at how merlin tears up and tell me he doesn’t drink about it *HEAVILY* later

it’s such a stark contrast to see the 1990s interior vs. what it’s like when eggsy’s grown :(

michelle baby i’m so sorry. you deserved better than this.

and BABY EGGSY

omg. like this scene is both heartbreaking but is also adorable.

colin firth has gd anime legs, that dude had to straight up unfold himself as he stood up lmao

aaannnnd swooping logo, whooooo, goin’ over some mountains~

and mark hamill, ladies and gentlemen!

this whole thing with james deciding to kinda go rogue makes me wish that we knew more about his backstory as well. like, is this james being james, or was this a weird one-off situation and he was just unlucky?

YES unlucky. nobody could plan for the hurricane of sleek destruction that is gazelle

who has one of my favorite aesthetic designs as a villain (although i guess i’d put her more on maybe henchman level? but idk, it seems like valentine looked at her more as a partner, less like an assistant? and they had a very interesting chemistry together too, like i would’ve added more valentine x gazelle scenes)

i would LOVE to be this chill about just—draping blankies over bodies

blankies over bodies sounds like a cool band name

DIBS you guys can’t have it

i am SO GLAD samuel l. jackson gave valentine a lisp!

valentine, to me, does fit a lot of the usual spy movie villain tropes

but since this movie doesn’t take itself super serious, it’s more fun than annoying

and we never hear about any of the other knights?? like

half of this is just gonna be me whining for additional footage that there just wouldn’t have been room for realistically lmao

michael caine, you are lovely

MARK STRONG, LADIES AND GENTLEMAN

WITH LEGS THAT DON’T QUIT AND AN ACCENT THAT I’D DIE FOR

i’m an embarrassment

like let’s all stop and thank god that mark didn’t have time to learn the welsh accent

not that i would’ve been disappointed, because all accents are good accents on this blog

but at this point i can’t imagine merlin as—not scottish

“try picking a more suitable candidate this time”

arthur you DICK

like were you this cold-blooded when lee died, you fuckin’ reptilian-ass son of a bitch

no wonder you were charlie’s pledge person thing

and enter the fabulous taron egerton, stage left!

DEAN you are DISGUSTING

god, michelle, you need better friends, if you were my bro this entire relationship would’ve never happened

;-; and eggsy’s so sweet with his sister! i know there probably wasn’t “room” for it but i AM glad that there are scenes showing that family is one of eggsy’s kinda “core values”or whatever you want to call it

dude is a hufflepuff through and through imo

can you imagine eggsy as a villain? we would be so fucked. he’s sly, he’s smart, he could’ve made life v e r y difficult for lots of people if he really wanted to

but look at him with the squad!

eggsy’s just like the british version of a good ol’ boy

this car scene is some dukes of hazzard bullshit (ramp-jumping and fun car horn aside)

if butterflies are harry’s main symbolic critter, would foxes be eggsy’s? or would it be a pug instead? i guess that’s like asking if harry would be either a butterfly or a cairn terrier, like mr. pickle. let’s say both.

this fandom is pretty on top of character associations like that

you get symbolic associations! YOU get symbolic associations! EVERYONE gets symbolic associations whether they’re actually in the canon or not! don’t have any? don’t worry, we’ll assign you at least one!

the guy playing the interviewing officer is ALSO the patriarch in the witch which i didn’t realize until—like, a while after

and it was while @circlesofbone​ was visiting, and we were just “oh, okay, guess we can’t escape this cast at all, this is fine”

“your father saved my life.”

harry you’re such a fucking peacock, waiting all posted up and posing so you’ll look cool

you big doofus

i’d kill to be inside his head during this first conversation with eggsy though

like is eggsy like lee? is harry seeing lee the entire time he’s talking to his son, in his mannerisms, how he carries himself, how he speaks?

or is eggsy the opposite? which—i don’t know if that would somehow be sadder?

there’s just a lot going on in the background of this bit that’s left up to interpretation

“although i’m sure it’s well-founded—“

harry’s just so casual about this entire thing, nobody’s that casual without practice

harry you rabble-rouser, what kind of life have you led

“manners. maketh. man.”

our timeless motto, my flowers

kingsman STILL to this DAY has some of the most well-choreographed fight scenes i’ve ever seen??

like yeah the church scene but even just this initial bar fight

harry could’ve been a dancer

in a way i guess he already is

like he moves so fluidly and gracefully, it is BONKERS

colin you did so good! i’m so proud!

the way eggsy’s just O.O

whether or not you ship hartwin, like, you gotta admit, that was hot

and his BODY LANGUAGE, he’s sitting like RAMROD straight, this poor dude lmao

nobody prepares you for a situation like that in public school is all i’m saying

harry, exiting stage left like a suave, smooth motherfucker

remember when iggy azalea was relevant

ugghhhh i hate this part

“I WASN’T WITH NO ONE”

can you imagine being harry hart listening to your dead friend’s son getting the shit beat out of him

like, surely he heard the cleaver, he knows dean was going to fucking gut eggsy right?

listen to how cold and icy his voice gets, oof

yeah, he’s pissed, and dean is lucky

PARKOUR

ugh, i want to go to london ;-; i want to walk in front of the shop and visit harry’s house and kiss cute english boys

i’d like to think harry’s super excited to show eggsy everything but he’s gotta keep it dialed back because “decorum”

the way eggsy pauses though

“come on.”

and he says it so softly.

if i was eggsy, i’d be nervous, too.

but i didn’t realize how quickly harry tries to give off signals like “hey there’s no reason to be scared.”

“like my fair lady?” “well, you’re full of surprises.” <3 one of my favorite sceneeesss.

harry’s voice is so soothing but eggsy is so freaked out by the elevator that he’s just—there’s no room for anything else beyond processing the elevator lmao

“how deep does this fucking thing go?” asking the real questions

aannnddd KINGSMAN BULLET TRAIN

i’d like to think they have like soft jazz or something playing in there

and then they get to the hangar and there are obviously a buuuuunch of people out on the tarmac that we just—never hear about? i just assume they’re all like technical officers or maybe other agents

“your father had the same look on his face. … as did i.”

harry is already rooting for him.

“late again, sir.”

that. brogue.

fuck, i could listen to him talk for hours, scottish accents are my favorite thing

#squadgoals

not a very diverse cast :/

the body bag speeeeech

and of course nobody was in any actual danger, but merlin doesn’t want them to know that so he becomes mr. hard as steel, i am emotionally stoic at all times, do not test me you bunch of rugrats

“classic army technique.”

ROXY

ROXY I WANT TO JUST HOLD YOU IN MY ARMS TT.TT

aannnnddd charlie, also

who we might’ve found sympathy for if we knew aaannyytthiinnggg else about his backstory

like, could he just be Like That, yeah

but most people i know who are assholes like that are that way because their parents were first /shrug/

can hardly fault the dude for turning out like that when poison was all he was given to drink

anyone else a hundred percent positive they would’ve drowned in the first trial

i would absolutely have panicked and bit it

but then again, i’m not kingsman material, i’m roanoke

and if this is the exact same test that merlin and harry went through, does that mean there might be some weird drowning trauma hidden back in there that’s just ANOTHER thing we’re not gonna talk about?

(yes the correct answer is yes)

god that’s such an american response to the problem though

glass can’t cause problems if it’s in a million pieces!

“yeah you can wipe those smirks off your faces…”

i wonder if there was ever a situation where a trainee actually drowned

and i don’t mean like amelia, i mean some poor kid who just failed the test

merlin knows how to put the fear of god in people though!

and mark strong, very handsome, yes, very scary, also yes

he and colin both look like they’re 80 percent leg in every single scene

harry literally had brain matter smatter ALL OVER HIS FACE and still somehow had the mental facilities to be aware of those dudes, leave a bomb and dive out of a window (and then escape said dudes)

billy badass, y’all

“just get it done.” okay, i took back what i said earlier, maybe he does see her as more of an assistant, less than a partner. their relationship is weird.

the puppy scene!

“it’s a bulldog innit?”

YASSSS the golden trio

because of what happened with our other canon charlie has become a weird character for me to watch, like, yeah, i “watch” charlie be himself in tss but the charlie i “see” is like—”our” charlie.

“bollocks!” and then he just runs with jb in his vest, makes me smile

aannddd we see valentine’s super cool factory

harry your hair gets so long <3

“water!” wow, who wants to bet that the fact he was instantly screaming means that maybe he’s gonna have some stuff to talk about in therapy later

roxy baby i’m sorry they made you hold the balloon and have to trust these dumbasses to not shoot you on accident

i would trust roxy to not shoot me

i love, love love valentine’s house

it’s gorgeous

set design is always such a cool way for filmmakers to include details about a character using pure aesthetics and i’m such a slut for it

tilde!

see also: one of the characters done the WORST by these movies imo!

the fact that she not only says no, she says no with enthusiasm and gets blatantly pissed, is one of the best insights we get into tilde’s character and then it just—gets wasted

like it takes three steps and then gets mowed down in the hallway like her guards

i would never be given the opportunity to be asked if i wanted an implant but i draw the line at having stuff put into my neck

awwww harry’s so proud!

that finger point “yeah, see, be more like your uncle”

merlin is SO TALL

“a bit much innit?”

he’s just—tapping a normal clipboard

… nobody wanna talk about how that’s a normal clipboard

anyway

i also love how they show him in professor sweaters for the beginning acts of the movie

definitely a softer aesthetic than one would guess for a dude who apparently did field missions sometime within the past decade or so, but i also have a theory that lee’s death directly contributed to merlin maybe being the man behind the screen as opposed to afield

because trauma is a thing but this is a FUN movie so we’re NOT gonna talk about it

“you’re gonna be all right. you’re top of the class!” this was the scene that made my mom a reggsy shipper

regardless of how you feel about them as a couple, their friendship is one of the best things about this movie, along with their dynamic with charlie, asjdnaskdjna WHY could we not have had a trio movie instead

eggsy you show-off “lemme just throw my arms up and dip outta this plane like it’s not a big deal”

roxy you can do it!

ugh, there goes my baby, off to have a near-death experience under merlin’s immediate supervision lmao

“good girl, rox, glad you made it!”

guys, they’re just kids.

i love this big group scene because it reminds us that these are just young folks, still

“my, my, you’re all very cheerful...”

“rufus, come on!” dude eggsy—and not even just eggsy, charlie and rox too--at least made an attempt at teamwork. you get points for that bro

but man, for all they know, they’re about to beef it in a very permanent way, i’d be freaking out too

merlin getting caught up in the drama

because again, he’s supposed to know that eggsy has a parachute

i think he wasn’t prepared for these two to get that close to not making it and that’s why we see him break face and drop his mug

*WHAM*

i HATE the sound of them landing

it’s not like you can hear bones breaking but it hurts me, guys

and then there were three

plus one daddy long legs quartermaster

“if you have a complaint you come here and you whisper it in my ear.”

yes SIR

“you need to take that chip off your shoulder.”

merlin coming’ in with the tough love portion of the kingsman core squad

there’s no reason for me to think harry’s persona was inspired by cruella de ville somehow but i do anyway

she reveals the mcdonald’s and valentine is just :D

idk if he was expecting a specific reaction or was just excited to see a reaction period

valentine is definitely a fun villain, which, given the tone of the movie, makes sense, it’s all supposed to be fun

one of the reasons i love kingsman is that it’s like, this golden ray of goofy cinematic fuckery in a world of grim!dark remakes and other superhero/spy films who are presented as more serious stories

“and thank you for such a—happy, meal.”

harry got a puppy smile

but see, then, here at his house he’s a lot more relaxed with gazelle! like, patting her butt, etc.

maybe what we see of their relationship is dependent on setting, because valentine himself has it compartmentalized?

perrrrrrhaps

“and i am never, EVER GOING TO AGREE!”

tilde, you deserved better, and i think all the weird hate you get from our ohana is unfair

you don’t twist a runner’s ankle before the race starts and then get mad when they don’t win

your story was mishandled from the beginning

asmr: hanging out with the golden trio watching worrying news in the kingsman trainee bunker room

the way he says “biblical sense” lmao

i have never been able to figure out if the way he says that line is supposed to infer spiritual respect, or lack of it, but i might be looking too into it

“it’s an acquired taste, mate.”

what—what would you even do if you were at a club and three people as hot as taron, ed and sophie all came up and start talking to you at the same time

like i know the target got up and left pretty quick because of the training exercise

but i’d be doing it because i’m ugly and if three hot people are all talking me up at a bar something is Bad and Wrong

which—the CAHONES on both eggsy and roxy

they both literally said “yeah i’m willing to die for this organization that hasn’t even given me a permanent place yet, what of it”

look at harry’s dimples in this scene, he is fighting a huge grin, he’s SO PROUD

i know that charlie’s response is supposed to be just more fodder into the “charlie hesketh is a tool” fire

but given that i’m not unconvinced that his home life wasn’t super shitty, like—

idk, this makes this scene a lot less fun to me. it makes it sad.

like, maybe charlie didn’t even want to be there deep down, maybe this was all for like, arthur, or his dad, or some other person he looked up to

and the way merlin looks when he tells charlie to go home, the way that he’s kinda grimacing? i’m wondering if he’s along the same kind of feeling. he’d know more about charlie’s history

have i also mentioned how much i love harry’s war room?

“YES harry!”

an evil plan is being born!

“true nobility is being superior to your former self.”

eggsy is still in his club clothes, so like—has he slept? y’all let those kids sleep after fucking drugging them, right? … guys?

“—when one is popping ones cherry.”

and eggsy is just CHEESING he is SO EXCITED

am i the only one who wants to learn more about the store clerk guy though?

he’s like the one person around who’s legit just there to run the shop

has no idea about any of the spy stuff happening

his name is donald, he’s married with three children and has two spaniels he loves

“THAT is sick.”

i would KILL for this room.

i don’t need anything in here for any reason but still

foreshadowing, foreshadowing, foreshadowing, more foreshadowing—

harry is such a NERD

“put it back, eggsy.”

the amount of self-control it would take to not have a sudden change in expression in that moment, omg

i wonder how THAT gets trained up in kingsman

“i guarantee it.” ha, get it, it’s a reference to that one commercial

“y’all—talk so funny.”

and this all means that they had a contact at that hat shop and got all that info to them before valentine got there, and somehow made sure he did end up buying a hat that they could also successfully put a bug on, how deep does this goooooo

“jack bauer?”

it says a lot about eggsy that out of all the jb’s it could’ve been, it was jack

uggghhhhhh of course they HAD to do this scene with eggsy with arthur

obviously harry couldn’t do it

i just think most of us would NOT be fans of arthur at this point in the movie, we’re all rooting for eggsy, like, he needs this moment with this other character because we gotta drive home that he’s an asshole

also—would have absolutely failed that test

and i’m not sorry at all

“welcome to kingsman--lancelot.”

i was really happy that it was a female agent who ended up getting the handle

aannddd more echoes of past scenes, man, nobody can say that this crew wasn’t intentional with their cinematography

when eggsy rolls the window down you can see his chest moving up and down, like, he is MAD

dean you asshole

so no wonder he gets so pissed that the car suddenly decides “nope, no, we’re not doing this, c’mon”

this entire conversation at harry’s house is—tense

and you don’t pick up on it the first time, i don’t think, but uh

i’m seeing it now

harry’s not just mad, he’s hurt, and eggsy’s furious but he’s also maybe regretting his actions.

it’s these two men who are rapidly trying to figure out their headspaces and trying to figure out how to navigate this situation with each other

and the way eggsy tries to apologize ;-;

kentucky is a beautiful state, actually

ohhhhhh y’alllll

we’re at the churrrccchhhh

we’re gettin’ closer to the coolest part of the movieeeee

it’s telling that gazelle was trying to make sure that they’d be safe

“… so hail satan, and have a lovely afternoon madame.”

the most metal lines colin firth has ever uttered on camera

the siren noise after it’s switched on bothers me in a way i can’t quite articulate

it might be because i have silent hill-colored trauma, who knows

FREEEEEE

BIIIRRRDDDDDDD

THE GREATEST ACTION TRACKING SHOT IN THE HISTORY OF CINEMA

but then eggsy and merlin are reacting aaaanndddd it’s—a lot less fun

because you realize that they’re watching their bro mercilessly slaughter innocent people and not stopping

and still not stopping

and still not stopping

but plot twist, i’m really glad they kept the track going, because if they’d suddenly picked *this* part of the scene to get serious, that would’ve brought the mood down so low that i don’t think there would’ve been any bouncing back

i just

how do people exist who aren’t attracted to harry hart

that man is a machine

and colin worked so hard to be able to do the scene himself, and that work SHOWS, that man cuts a FIGURE

i don’t know how they managed to somber it up just the right amount, either? maybe because they waited for the “fun action sequence” to be over so there wouldn’t need to be noise that had to be masked by a fun rock track?

“… what did you do to me.”

i cannot imagine what harry was feeling in that moment.

the way he spoke it was like he didn’t even have time to be afraid to die

“that tends to happen when you shoot somebody in the head. feels good, right?”

“no, it does not feel good!”

i love that exchange because we normally hear the opposite.

also—whiplash.

mark has this way of expressing grief without showing any—blatant signs.

like merlin’s not especially tearful, or crying, but his eyes look MASSIVE. and SAD. and he has just the tiiiiiniest tremor in his voice.

and eggsy, dude, like, we’ve all had it come on us really quick and suddenly it’s like your chest is pumping like a piston and when did it get so hard to breathe?

ARTHUR you REPULSE me

like look at how egssy’s shoulders sag when he realizes that arthur isn’t on his team

and in a way, this is eggsy’s final test as a kingsman trainee, imo

do you realize how quickly he had to assess what was happening and figure out what to do, all without arthur noticing?

“you are all alone. it is all up to you. remember all you have learned. good luck.”

it’s a very—almost horror-esque situation from that pov

and he passed with flying colors to go on his first true mission, because after he puts on the suit, that’s his visual cue of graduating, if that makes sense

that’s the knight putting on his armor.

“i’d rather be with harry. thanks.”

“so be it.”

*click*

me: *laughing at arthur’s big dumb stupid head*

… man i’d love a replica of that decanter and glasses set though

not to mention that eggsy recognized the flaws in arthur’s character and weaponized them, which is a whole other level of shit that isn’t necessarily easy; he knew that arthur carried the kind of pride that would leave him open

god, he looks so exhausted though when rox has him at gunpoint.

i think he was being pretty serious, about harry

sick helipaaaaaaad

that thing looks vaguely like a rock-‘em sock-‘em robot but in pieces though

more grandpa sweaters <3

man. you can see roxy swallow, you know she’s scared, but then she just sets her jaw and—

roxy baby you are the best i love you

i like the vintage vibe of the mountain lair

i think that’s another visual poke at the aesthetic themes of some of the older, og spy flicks out there

merlin looks SO LANKY walking back to the plane for some reason??

he stays until the last second for roxy. that’s love right there.

“a bespoke suit always fits.”

which can be good spiritual life advice too but that’s a separate conversation

“what the fuck is WRONG with you people?”

and his fuckin’ disco ball

uuggggghhhhh his speech reminds me of so many… “public figures” that i dislike

even though it’s obviously a bad thing that the chips are everywhere, i appreciate that phones and such are being shown in a positive manner (like, michelle talking to someone in the park, people at a ball game taking selfies, people at the beach, etc.) because i get so sick of that anti-tech boomer humor tbh

and the big reveal of eggsy in his suitttt

A KNIGHT IS BORN

“how’s the view?”

“hideous.”

you’re allowed to be crabby baby, you just let it out.

“lookin’ good, eggsy.”

“feelin’ good, merlin.”

merlin is so calm heading into the fortress and i don’t know if it’s because he’s very, very good at compartmentalizing and that’s genuinely how he is at the moment or if he’s that way through extreme self-control and effort

he can rock a pilot’s uniform though

just like eggsy can rock a suit

they’re both so handsome, help

i also wonder how eggsy’s feeling right then

like, i’d imagine that the pressure of having to perform a role to literally save the world would be enough to distract him from the bite of grief

that’s—probably enough to distract everyone, tbh

i a hundred percent believe there are breakdowns we don’t see

i wonder if eggsy told tilde he’d spoken to lindstrum(sp?) after everything was said and done

like, that’d be some kind of weird foreshadowing in hindsight

this scene is anxiety-inducing in a big way so to distract myself i imagine roxy as a mech pilot

dude i’d totally watch sophie in a role like that, like, let her be in a movie like pacific rim, she’d kick ass

and now we have The Chaos

otherwise known as that point when Everything Is Happening All At Once All The Time

also a thing that doesn’t exist in spy movies: hearing damage

because like his voice is right in eggsy’s ear and without it he’d have a LOT harder time surviving

imagine being an agent, merlin trying to talk to you, but something either hits your ear or goes off right next to it and suddenly it’s just silent

SYSTEM FAILURE

YAAASSSSS

WE WIN

GGOOOAAAAALLLLLL

THE AUDIENCE IS DOING THE WAVE

except JUST KIDDING

The Chaos 2 Electric Boogaloo!

merlin with a huge gun: hot, also, very scary

eggsy is just 10000% done

“this is mine. i’ll show you yours.”

i wonder who e man was supposed to be that valentine called.

like is that a reference to a real person that i just did’t catch?

… elon musk? maybe? idk

eggsy slides like a gd anime character

when he uses the rainmaker, it’s just like harry’s protecting him from somewhere else

(oh—wait, technically kentucky, i guess)

“merlin, i’m fucked.” you can hear the anger there. not only did he fail, but he—and everyone else—is about to die

but this? this is the pinnacle of eggsy showing himself as a kingman agent

he was staring death straight in the mouth and STILL

SOMEHOW

REMEMBERED THE IMPLANTS

so i guess if i say that the moment when he puts on the suit is when he becomes a true agent, then maybe this is the moment when he becomes galahad.

*bobs head to pomp & circumstance*

i remember getting a huge kick out of how colorful they made this

because in real life you know a bunch of people literally blowing up would be like—DISGUSTING

viscera everywhere

no fun rainbow mushroom clouds

“i’ve always wanted to kiss a princess.”

ANOTHER knight reference, very clever matthew

mmmmm Do Not Like that noise

aaaannndddd *that* line

which—maybe that’s mr. vaughn’s sense of humor, or what he thinks the sense of humor his core demographic has, idk

but it always kinda rubbed me the wrong way

the mass brawl scenes are edited so like--jarringly compared to the other fight scenes in the movie

that’s probably for a reason

also, a showdown to the tune of something disco: kind of another trope homage

this shot of gazelle is so sick, i love everything about it, she is so cool

this entire fight with eggsy is awesome tbh

we got a little bit of what gazelle can look like in combat earlier with tilde’s guards, but now we get this epic showdown seeing her at her full potential against someone who’s actually a challenge

and the way valentine is shouting for her to kick his ass from upstairs and yelling encouragement lmao that’s how real friends act when there’s a fight

daisy ;-; ugh, that’s the visual gutpunch that makes it juuuuuust serious enough by reminding us of the stakes

which is why it’s fitting that then we see the Slo-Mo K.O.

and that smile with the fun little chimes in the back, lmao

and eggsy, quick on his feet again byyyy being quick on gazelle’s feet—foot—whatever

man, impalement deaths are always fun.

coulda done without the vomiting but that’s also one of valentine’s quirks that makes him different from a cookie cutter villain

aaannddd have a heavy sigh from merlin

that dude needs a full-body massage and a drink

“is this where you say some really bad pun?”

reminder: i love that this movie is self-aware! i could not picture a super serious kingsman movie! i just picture something depressing!

there had to have been a better option besides—this, for this eggsy/tilde ending scene

i’m not saying i’m mad it ended with them fucking, i’m mad that the extent of the joke was anal and that was it.

also the idea of my boss possibly seeing me having sex would have me a little more concerned about the hardware on my face, but okay??

aannddd the tapes.

gah, we love visual throwbacks!

we love being able to see that despite all this growth and change, family remains very important to eggsy—he hasn’t changed into a different person, he has grown more into himself than ever before! THIS! THIS is eggsy unwin!

… GET READY FOR IT

time for tgc! (and to get into my roanoke feels, maybe, this is the nexus where our canons connect)

the BAGPIPES

okay

i did not stop to consider how unpleasant this was going to be to watch stoned but we’re gonna power through it and get through it together

if i cry i cry

the way the music swells into the main theme <3

and the perfect reveal for our boy eggsy!

reflected in gold, looking sharper than broken glass

and SUDDENLY CHARLIE

the pacing in tgc leads me to believe that matthew had huge plans for this movie, and a lot of cool stuff probably ended up on the cutting room floor for time

i also love that they brought charlie back

i love his voice box and his cool robot arm

and i’m not just saying that because it made it super easy to blend him into our canon, either, this is like—charlie’s evil twin in terms of his new aesthetic, the contrast is really cool

YYAASSSS THIS SCENE

WITH PRINCE PLAYING??

*CHEF’S KISS*

like we are IMMEDIATELY thrown back into the gold parts of it all, like how physics is a little broken so we can do cool shit like have a knockdown drag-out fight all within the space of a small cab

i wonder what would’ve hurt charlie worse—being thrown onto his organic side, or having all his weight land on his metal arm if it hadn’t disattached

but then he’s up and standing so i guess we’re fine?

MERLIN! <3

otherwise known as the character entrance that literally changed my life

i try not to think about it too much or i get weirded out

ANYWAY

(and to think i almost never even saw the movie)

Sick Car Chase, Bro

and as an american, like, everything’s on the opposite side to me, it’s stressful to watch a little bit

“i seem to remember in your training you were rather good at holding your breath.”

man, that’s uh—kind of a macabre thing to say, merlin

just a little bit

i’m not even gonna attempt to hold my breath to see if i’d survive this scene just assume i’m dead in that universe

we all live in a kingsman subarmine, a kingsman submarine, a kingsman submarine~~

“not boasting, but i trained him well enough that even he wouldn't mess that up.”

merlin are you okay??

gah, i love that chest-deep laugh though.

is it real love if they won’t crawl through the sewer to get to your house in time

i love that harry’s house looks basically the same

i know they talk about eggsy not wanting to change anything in the novelization but i haven’t read it yet so I’m not a hundred percent sure what all is in there

and we still get to see him hanging with his friends, and his girlfriend, like, this dude is still all about the family

“wwwwOOOOO!”

i love this group so much omg

for as much as he’s galahad, he’s still eggsy

the transition in the weed bag looks super cool

… oh, i guess watching this while high makes the main storyline hit a bit different

welp

i love that poppy is an aesthetic slut and really doesn’t give a shit about anyone’s opinion about how she makes her space

like, “i want a big 50s-style diner with a gourmet kitchen that i can cook people in, soooooo i’m getting one”

it’s also refreshing to see julianne moore in a bad guy role!

not that i’m super familiar with her filmography but i feel like i’ve mostly seen her cast as like a good guy?

i could be wrong

awwwww jet and bennie!

there’s so much to love about this set

cannibalism and the fact that she bulldozed jungle to build all this aside (suspend that belief!)

the breakfast sceeeeeene

it’s so bittersweet, for obvious reasons

and it’s more evidence that he’s not super ready to move on into new territory yet, like making new memories with tilde that ring close to home

“i wish i could have met him.”

and the way he has to turn away, ugh.

eggsy. i’m sorry.

tilde, i’m sorry, too. you had good intentions, but they lost against his pain.

michael gambdon! the new arthur we didn’t know we wanted until we got him.

charlie had a moral glo-down, it’s fine, happens to everybody

FFFFFF his imitation of merlin lmfao

man, poor charlie, like

you wake up, you can’t make a sound, your arm has been blown off and your family’s dead

like his reaction to that entire scenario isn’t entirely unrealistic, i’m just saying

also LOOK AT ROX

omg everyone in this movie can wear the FUCK out of suit, y’all

man, i’ve gotten a few tattoos that were exquisitely painful—i can’t imagine how much it would suck to do it with literal molten metal

dude this means clara laid on her stomach and probably screamed at the floor as she got hers D:

this kinda—riffs off of hannibal, a teeny-tiny bit

like we’re so overloaded with the aesthetics and behavior of a certain character so it’s like, we forget about the much darker parts untillllll there’s a mood change and we’re looking at that dude’s legs, to the burger this other dude puts in his mouth, and thinking “oh, oh dear, ew”

i love eggsy in the orange jacket <3 snaps for the wardrobe crew across this series.

tilde’s face, omg, she was heart-eyeing so bad. and like, that little proud nod at her dad (who was of course being Like That on purpose)

and roxy, coming in in the clutch, you are tonight’s MVP

uggghhhhh i hate this part

because again, it’s just--a bunch of bad shit colliding outside of anyone’s control

(it was also really jarring seeing the war room with blank walls the first time i watched this)

like—granted, you should maybe not touch stuff that’s not yours, but…

like we *just* saw eggsy and brandon in a very casual, intimate scene with each other, how can anyone get angry with brandon?

this is all stress-inducing

i remember being in the theater watching this and feeling like i was watching some awful slow motion car wreck and i couldn’t look away

idk what other story i would’ve wanted to see but i was NOT a fan of Sudden Death For Christmas, especially concerning roxy!

and poppy is such a *bright* villain, not just because of taste but because of her personality, which is another weird thing to have next to the cannibalism

gaaahhhh charlieeee your arm is so cooooool

this shot is gorgeous and incredibly depressing.

what do you do?

gah, and the way merlin comes out of the dark, like

i probably would’ve drawn a gun on him too

“you think *i* would?”

this scene shows 1. how much he trusts eggsy to not shoot him, and/or 2. how good merlin is at compartmentalizing, because this is an even bigger blow than harry’s death, and he’s following the protocol like it’s an art form

i hope that we see some reference to this safe in the next movie, that’d be a cool way to tie the narratives all together

“i suppose that must be upper class humor. … i don’t get it.”

reminder, merlin is working class.

if you’re a ho for this fandom and went and bought this whiskey specifically because of this movie clap your hands *clap clap*

and they proceed to just get HAMMERED

“country rooaaddsss… take me hoooooome…”

another reminder: kentucky is a beautiful state!

i would love to tour a whiskey distillery, that’d be super cool

“shame it’s not scotch”

again, with his weird night vale clipboard.

who would win: two highly-trained kingsman agents vs. one (1) cowboy

channing tatum, ladies and gentlemen!

“y’all look damn sharp!”

i am forever gonna be mad we didn’t get more of tequila in this movie, and not just because of roanoke either, but like, “that dog don’t hunt,” whatever he has in his mouth sealed a leak in a barrel, and it took him all of two minutes to incapacitate both eggsy AND merlin? hello??

i’m glad we’ll get to see more of him in the another movie.

“you know why the measurement of alcohol is called proof?”

just dumping it on their laps, so disrespectful

“—and you can go fuck yourself.”

eggsy fucking just giggling.

these two doofuses

also it’s hot to see merlin be sassy ngl

“HARRY!”

these guys have been fast thinkers in stressful situations but as it turns out, people being unexpectedly not dead can kinda fuck with your day

aaannddd halle berry, everybody! i love ginger ale omg

(and so does merlin, he is instantly enchanted)

;-; this reunion scene

i don’t know how colin manages to be two completely different people at once

like there’s a huge difference between former agent galahad and harry hart the lepidopterist and i can’t explain it

i really, really hope we see at least one little hint at kinsman’s relationship with statesman in the new movie, i just think it’d be really cool

in roanoke canon, there’s an office rumor that the nanobot tech used by statesman was influenced directly by the same technology developed by dr. wernicke in the outlast games. i still think it’s one of my better crossover ideas.

also

god bless whoever decided to get elton john involved with all this?? because i was DELIGHTED

i love poppy’s wardrobe as much as i love her weird 50s-land in the jungle

i also really love the main statesman theme? it reminds me of all those fun epic westerns

jeff bridges! :D

champ vaguely reminds me of my dad

“can you imagine us in the tailor business?”

and he’s super quick with the questions. my headcanons for champ are all over the place but one that i really like is that he was maybe a sheriff or in law enforcement before being recruited by statesman.

aaanndddd pedro pascal, everybody!

otherwise known as *another* character that this movie did dirty, that’ll probably come up in this later

imagine being harry hart, not remember all of yourself, and suddenly your entire room just—fills with water

that had to have been so terrifying, and it was just as hard for merlin to watch (and possibly remember something unpleasant)

and like

that sounds like SUCH bullshit, too, like “yeah we thought if you came close to drowning it would help”

which, is that what merlin meant, no, but is that what harry heard, probably

enter jb the second ;-; <3 sweet baby

tilde’s trying so hard. i see you!

aha, penis jokes.

and all of the unnecessary weird festival stuff, uuggghh

there are so many different things they could have done, like, all of this is just weird from the get-go

first of all, whiskey striking out? hello?? saying no to a man like mr. pascal???

not realistic

the way whiskey takes a shot as he walks away lmao, relatable

and poor clara, like, it’s not like she was asking for any of this D:

hmmmmmmm don’t know how i feel being a stoner watching other stoners get this blue rash thing when i know it kills some of themmmmmmm

i love charlie in his newsboys cap!

poppy has a little bit of a point. like, booze is way more dangerous than pot, as is tobacco. like i would never advocate anyone try meth or heroin, but i think weed and some hallucinogenics get bad wraps.

seeing a dude get torn in half in the reflection of elton john’s sunglasses is the surprising bit of gore we need to remember that oh, yeah, the villain isn’t fun, she’s a murderer

uuggghhhh the TENT SCENE

and, look, i’ll defend tilde forever, but i did NOT like the weird marriage ultimatum. i still think it’s a dick move, like, in that situation either decide to trust your boyfriend or break up with him

the tent interior is super cool-looking

and like, man, he tried, he tried to bounce D:

/sigh/ work hazards, i guess

mmmmmm we don’t need any of what’s happening on screen right now so i’ll just sit patiently and wait for it to be over

and like, there’s nothing funny about merlin and ginger being able to hear everything that’s going on, it’s so grosssss, poor ginger has to have heard some shit before to be so nonchalant about it

everything about this sucks

and then he tries going to the one person who he needs the most and having to deal with him still existing in some state between alive and dead

his body is here

but harry is not

“maggots turn into flies, perhaps you mean larvae!” :D he is SO CUTE

but this entire conversation, with harry still not remembering and eggsy trying so hard to reach him through the fog, is so depressing

like, i’d need a drink too

*and* a joint

i’m seeing my coping mechanisms on screen here folks

the way he comes up with the idea is kinda ingenious though

like, he’s looking at stuff to make himself bummed on purpose, but therein he finds the thing he needs to fix the issue

harry’s smile when eggsy hands him the puppy TT.TT

and then eggsy just becomes a stone cold motherfucker with no emotions

“no one’s sick enough to shoot a puppy!”

hi, flashback!harry

and as SOON as he remembers himself, it’s like his eyes are different, something about him looks like it did before kentucky

“… eggsy.”

one of my favorite movie hugs

and eggsy has to stand on his tiptoes because harry’s so tall

like yeah merlin and harry’s reunion isn’t as overtly emotional, but there’s definitely a sense of joy and relief there.

harry my baby ;-; much better with the sunglasses (and merlin was so close to telling him he looked spectacular)

“now is that any way to welcome a visit from outta town, moonshine?”

he! tried! to! defend! harry!

i hate that jack got a villain story line!

we could’ve had something so much better and infinitely more compelling!

“hurrrr durrrr morgan you just like redemption arcs because you don’t want anybody being a villain permanently” i also like them because sometimes that’s better writing, y’all sit down

“that is NOT what i call a kentucky welcome.”

i love so many things happening in this scene, like

we get to see whiskey kick ass, like yassss gimme those sweet action sequences and give us some character development by showcasing his fighting style

and also NOBODY shits on harry for not being able to handle the situation. both eggsy and merlin were like “dude we’re still celebrating the fact that you’re alive tbh it’s fine if you’re not back up to speed right this second”

you can really tell that this was penned by british people writing american slang because having grown up in the southern half of the u.s. i have never ONCE heard ANYONE say shit like “i feel like a tornado in a trailer park” lmao

and poppy’s fun little death threat infomercial, so great

“what have you done to me you FUCKING BITCH” oof, that’s a mood

!!!!! gonna be honest i kinda forgot that bruce greenwood plays the president

okay but save lives, legalize isn’t an entirely bad idea tbh

hnnnnnnng the scenes about people not being able to get into the hospital hits different in the year of our lord 2020 huh

… y’all i’m being weirded out by all this hospital scenes, this is unpleasant

i, too, wish i could pull a tequila and just be slipped into a chilly coma until shit wasn’t so fucked up

“the fact is, this presidency has won the war on drugs!”

THIS SCENE!

look, y’all can come into my inbox and call me a pothead, or a lazy stoner, or some third insult, but this dude’s VP is bringing up some very, VERY important points when it comes to any kind of discussion about drug use in the u.s.

am i drug-friendly, sure, but i’m more friendly to the notion that we stop demonizing addicts/users

harry looks fucking SCANDALIZED when he sees champ spit into his spittoon thing

i don’t think whiskey even brought up harry not being ready to return to the field in an insulting manner, he literally just saw him get his ass beat in a bar, but eggsy’s faith and loyalty are up there in the category of unstoppable force/immovable object, so here we are

am i the only one curious about the whole charlie x clara thing? because he’s definitely grown up a bit by tgc, and i wanna know how much of that might be because of clara

and he MISSES, e for effort harry

“so sorry about this—“ WHAM

and now that guy can say colin firth busted his face with a fire extinguisher, which is very cool

“*you’re* wu ting feng?” “… yes?”

“you motherFUCKER” ohhhhhh charlie maaaaaad

ginger and merlin though, #couplegoals

the only person more pissed off about the hallucinations than everyone else is harry

imagine remembering that you’re one of the top people in your field and you just keep seeing imaginary butterflies everywhere

like, yeah, i’d be pissed at not being able to do what i knew i was capable of, too

if it wasn’t careening towards a random retirement center, getting stuck in a wildly rotating gondola thing could be fun

nice tuesday afternoon activity

i would loved to have seen more galahad/whiskey field stuff

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me—“

meanwhile, in the continuing adventures of eggsy and jack: shit goes from bad to worse like a formal spiral only going downward

their expressions as their both just SCREAMING always make me laugh

”that’s the first decent shit i’ve had in three weeks.” <- as does that line, that old dude’s just telling it like it is

eggsy’s comment about the antidote just reminds me of when boromir looks a the ring and says something like “all this for such a tiny thing”

dun dun DUN what are THOSE? hints that whiskey may not be who we think he is??

great. so excited about that. i say, rolling my eyes into the sun

“i’ll fix their wagons.” no one says that matthew!

i. love. this. scene. because now we get cool gun tricks AND the second most metal thing that happens with a lasso in this movie (we’re coming up on the most metal thing)

like please please PLEASE show us more lasso tricks in the statesman movie

“well thank fuckin’ christ i didn’t need any backup.” i wonder if whiskey’s acting angrier than he actually is to throw off the fact that he might’ve caught harry’s glance at him betraying suspicion

RIP jack

imagine the timeline where whiskey was never a bad guy and harry hart just blew a dude away for NO REASON

now THAT would be an interesting movie

because harry and eggsy, for all they went through in the first film, never had a conflict where it was harry in the position of mangling the ropes up

but of course eggsy would never, never tell merlin what happened because he’s still ultimately on harry’s team

damn, charlie, literally blowing up your girlfriend seems kinda extreme

“THIS is vital!”

and here we get to see the biggest difference between merlin and ginger

now, i know there’s extra stuff in the novelization about their relationship and i can’t talk about it because i have no idea what’s in the book

but!

i DO still headcanon as merlin quitting fieldwork after lee’s death

his comment is either what he genuinely believes, or maybe what he fashioned his beliefs into after stepping down from his field role, and ginger is just as sincere in her desire to break into that aspect of working for statesman

it’s like seeing the same character but in two points in time, and it’s really cool

that balance would’ve also been a fun aspect of their romantic relationship to explore but alas! ’twas not to be

colin and mark could both play slenderman

look at those limbs.

gracious.

also this facetime scene with eggsy and tilde T.T

that has to be so terrifying to watch when you know the steps of death and what they look like as they get closer

but it also puts a fire under eggsy though

“i’m leaving with, or without you.”

and of course they’re both gonna go because that’s NOT characteristic eggsy behavior based off of how we know he views family/squad

that’s how they know he’s being for cereal

uugggggGGHHHH and THAT FORESHADOING

stacey pruitt, attorney at lawwwww

hmmmmmmmmm

what does this conversation between poppy and the president remind me of

gonna just sigh into the void

and now we have harry and eggsy on the jet along with the BIGGEST LIE harry hart has ever told in his LIFE

kingsman and statesman aesthetics at least tend to be the same color schemes. lotta golds, yellows. browns.

eggsy, yeah, it’s a bummer your gf dumped you, but this relationship wasn’t very well-developed or written so i’m not as bummed as i could be

“… and in that moment, all i felt was loneliness and regret.”

harry shut the FUCK UP

you felt NOTHING??

you weren’t thinking of, gee, i dunno, EGGSY? or MERLIN?? your MOM???

like these lines from him just seem to come out of left field and i can’t even halfway suspend my belief long enough to come close to believing him

like mr. hart you just gonna be like that in front of jesus and everybody????

so, yeah, of course he’s on board with saving tilde! because he recognizes (apparently just right that second) that “having something to lose is what makes life worth living”

and i don’t know if they felt like there need to be some weird, deeply contrasting reason for harry to swing around to being in support? or something?

like

i’m forever pissed about this characterization and i don’t even know if i’m expressing my anger in a way that makes it easy to understand lmao this is fine, i’m fine, literally not a single person in this fandom ever believed those lines anyway, it’s fine

moving on

... and even if they WERE true then honestly that just makes me more excited about butterfly knife, because that means that harry acknowledged both the bad side of the coin, and also the side with rae on it (which would mean seeing her for who she was and also recognizing his feelings for what THEY were) and drew the ultimately correct conclucision that love! is! always! worth! it! let that shit in like a welcome guest in the home of your heart, and they will stay as long as you let them!

as SOON as he wakes up ginger looks a thousand percent done lmao

and the “process” that they use to wake people up or whatever is—interesting

because all it is, is trauma turned into a tool which is kind of a weird concept to see in a “fun spy movie” imo

and this is one of what i feel were like only what, two? glimpses we get into whiskey’s Tragic Backstory

and the other scene isn’t a glimpse it’s just straight up exposition in his dialogue :/

jack, i’m sorry, you deserved better than this as a character

i’m sure the name “silver pony” is a reference to something but i don’t know what

“lookin’ GOOD merlin!” “feelin’ good, eggsy.”

ladies and gentlemen when i tell you that i lost my pool-noodle mind seeing him put on that suit watching this in a theater, i--

ANYWAY

because now that i have the horrible burden of having seen these movies a million times

i know it’s more symbolic

he stays in sweaters so long, as an agent of the background, because he walked a man to his death

so it figures when he puts the armor back on for the first time in ages

he walks to his own

uuuggghhhh the minesweeper

i hate this

i hate it

i hate everything about the feelings i’m having while this is happening

*beep-beep*

“you move, we die.”

i HATE IT

but like, i don’t know, how preferable is this to the end scene we almost got, which was merlin dragging his newly-legless corpse through a doggy door?

because it’s been literally multiple years and i still have no fucking idea

they’re both horrible in their own terrible, awful ways

damn, matthew, it’s not often someone manages to come up with multiple versions of a thing and have every version be so gut-wrenchingly horrific, i’m truly impressed and completely disgusted

“do as your told!”

god

everyone just going through twenty shades of Bad Feelings in the space of fifteen seconds here in the jungle

and colin and taron do this thing where it’s like—their eyes go dead? like, there was a light here, it’s gone now

it SUCKS

oh

oh no

ALMOST HEAVEN

WEST VIRGINIA

… fuck

LIFE IS OLD THERE

OLDER THAN THE TREES

“… singing?”

this sucks.

this sucks this sucks this sucks

MOUNTAIN MAMAAAAA

TAKE ME HOOOOME

COUNTRY ROOOADDSSSSS

*THUNK*

and he even took off his glasses before he hit him, he had his end coming towards him and he was still a gentleman

TAKE ME HOOOME

COUNTRY RROOOOAAAADDDSSSSS

his EYES AT THE END

FUCK

… okay i had to get up and go for a lil’ walk

anyway

(and again, roanoke canon, fucking fixing’ shit left and right, because we’re the goat)

harry and eggsy look MURDEREROUS

MERLIN SAID KNOCK YOU OUT

it DID make the grand ending fun action scene a lot more satisfying

because like, without merlin there, that means harry and eggsy get to go full feral

poppy you big idiot you just robbed them of all their motivation to show any kind of restraint and now everybody’s gonna get blown up

except for those dudes who get kicked by elton john

which would be an HONOR first of all

(the part where eggsy’s using his gun and shield vaguely reminds me of the specialist, @bloodofthepen​)

and harry and eggsy just—they’re drift compatible! that’s it! the teamwork! the grace! the flow! my god!

eggsy vs. charlie: round like 4 if you count the first movie

it was also satisfying to see charlie’s new arm in action

we love fun robotics and gadgetry in this house

colin firth is really just not afraid to throw himself full force down a bowling lane huh

ugh, seeing charlie slam eggsy over and over again makes my chest hurt

the sound mixing on all these films is top notch which isn’t always a good thing T.T

ROCKETMAN~~~

that shit will never NOT be funny

a wild elton john appeared!

eggsy is indestructible, he can walk off anything

but charlie, charlie i feel really sorry for, imagine being attacked by a superior version of your own limb, i.e. something that you can’t exactly quickly remove from yourself, that would be TERRIFYING

harry + elton = dream teaaaammmm

“darling if you save the world, you can have a backstage pass.”

i love you elton john :(

i would have been the most OBNOXIOUS hype man in the background of the entire kingsman vs. poppy land face-off

“let’s make this fair.” eggsy you’re fuckin’ cheeky

and poor harry, all that lank just getting tossed like noodles

i thought the robot puppers were very cool

“for the record charlie i’m more of a gentleman than you’ll ever be.”

mmmmmm do NOT like this death for charlie

SUPER glad we fixed it

and another scene where i can’t stand the sound mixing T.T it makes me cringe every time

“i don’t consider genocide especially lady-like.”

and are we gonna talk about how merlin knew how to make heroin?

… no?

nobody wanna talk about that?

ugh that houndstooth dress is so PRETTY though

high!poppy is weirdly comedic for all of two seconds and then it stops being funny real fast

whiskey D:<

this is so dumb

this is all so, so dumb

“our agencies were founded to uphold peace, to protect the innocent—“

there’s that nobility again

is what happened to whiskey fucked up, yes

i’m not saying we have to completely remove that from his story

i just

literally anything but this would have been preferable

and then HOT DOG it’s one of my favorite shots in the movie with the whip where harry’s just chucking it away from his face like a bamf, YES

how great is this cover, let’s be honest

like, i’d be lying if i said i didn’t enjoy this scene visually

plus

HARRY GETTING PEGGED RIGHT IN THE FACE WITH A FRYING PAN

gracious

it’s one fluid tracking shot, so kinda in alignmentment with what we’re used to

some people get annoyed with repeated junk but when you can do it THIS WELL you can get away with anything

D:

but then jack

you did NOT desert that

yes, you were in dire need of an attitude adjustment but jesus

“this is for you, merlin.”

/ugly sobbing/

and tilde is all betterrrrrr ;-;

you guys did itttttt

COUNTRY ROOOAAADDSS

TAKE ME HOOOOOOMMEEEE

TO THE PLAAAAAACCCEEEEE

I BELOOOOONNGGGG

and the scene with jamal and liam T.T #wholesomecontent

poor tequila, after i knew that you would have a bigger role in another movie, i was less annoyed by the fact that they iced you so quick into the story

#FOX2020

“… now we’re brothers, working side by side.”

spoiler alert i actually love champ’s toast

“y’all shittin’ in high cotton now” WHAT DOES THAT MEAN???

and ginger becomes the new whiskey like she always wanted T.T

merlin is proud from heaven (or london, depending on which canon)

iiiiiii have mixed feelings about the whole wedding scene, which is probably because i take HUGE issue with the weird proposal ultimatum thing that happened earlier

but the way eggsy says “not a doubt in my mind,” he says it so seriously and i remember that tilde almost died

there was such good intention packed into this couple that was so badly written that i just

augh

“but it is perhaps the end of the beginning.”

there’s ***merlin! lmao i see you dude, they did you dirty

look

i was pissed off about a lot of things that happened in this thing but i was honestly hype seeing tequila at the very end walking into the tailor shop

like, yeah, i’ll stick around to see what happens in this universe but i’m gonna complain the whole time

GO JACK RABBIT

RUNNING THROUGH THE WOODS

and again, i almost didn’t see this movie.

… i think about that morgan sometimes.

hope she’s doin’ okay.

…

she’s probably not. D:

[kerwritesthings]

The Start of Our Love Story

Summary: Before there was a me and you, there was me and there was you

Word Count: just a hair over 7k (buckle up y’all)

Warning: fluff and feels, a little bit of angsty longing, a little bit of messy, a bunch of sweet

Author Notes: So this is another one of those that festered from a tiny germ of an idea after something @fallinallincurls​ said and it kind of became, well this. It’s how it all started for these two. A look at their backstory. I kind of really love this. For me, I always want to make things I write feel real, that it’s not too much of the storybook, easy cliché. I want it to feel like this could actually be a thing that happens. This one feels more like that than anything I think I’ve written. I’m quite proud of it. 

As always, this falls in my yet to be named verse. The rest of my works can be found here at my newly cleaned up and shareable masterlist. This honestly, if you’re just starting to read my pieces now, would be the first to read, then follow the rest as I’ve got them down on the master. However, it can be read as a solitary one shot. Much love to @whenidance​ for listening to me whine constantly at stupid o’clock that I’m writing more fic yet again and to @fallinallincurls​ for being the kickstart to this and for being the best damn cheerleader.

Toronto was never in your plans. Work wise, you were grinding away, working like crazy to make a name for yourself. That’s what mattered. Nothing else outside of work, your tiny apartment on the Upper West Side, brunches at Sarabeth and Jacobs Pickles and abusing Class Pass studios with your best friend Didi made it on your radar. But when the SVP of Charitable Corporate Giving came to you to chat about the expansion of their presence through the other international offices outside the US, more so growing and figuring out new ways  to introduce corporations with their donations and their CSR programs with new charitable efforts; specifically an opportunity that would have you sitting possibly between New York and Toronto for a few months, eventually leading to full time position in Toronto, you sat up to listen. She immediately sets up time for you to head to Toronto along with a dossier of meetings with key folks there.

Didi came with you the first time you went up to Toronto for the exploratory conversations. The both of you came to love your time traipsing through Canada, Toronto and Montreal specifically. Plus, you both have friends scattered between the two. “This also means we can go harass the shit out of Hirashan, who we have not seen nearly enough of,” she trills off gleefully. “Plus, you know he throws killer parties, if we both visit you know he’ll do something fun.”

She was right. As soon as Hirashan found out you were coming into town, aside from the key smash that you may be in town for more than a brief trip if all works out well, a calendar invite for dinner shoots through immediately, then with a quick follow of ‘my friend Tristan is already having a few friends over for drinks that Friday night, we’re crashing’ which had you and Didi rethinking your packing knowing how Hirashan rolls.

After a day full of productive, thought provoking meetings that have you questioning everything back in New York, dinner with Hirashan, his boyfriend Miguel and Didi was exactly what you need to put the heavy thoughts in your head back a bit, at least for now.

“Tristian’s place is like Architecture Digest worthy,” Miguel raves, arm in arm with you as you head into the building. “The views of downtown and the CN are ridic. I’d say splurge if they want to drag you here and give you budget, but I’d much rather have you closer to us.”

“There is no way I’d be able to afford this building, let alone this neighborhood,” you quip, heels clicking on the tiles as you head up past the front desk to the elevators. Tristian’s ‘few friends over’ was tamer than you had expected, a solid number of people are scattering through the condo, but enough room to still feel like you could breathe.

Hirashan introduces you around like a proud parent, it’s sweet and not nearly as embarrassing as you thought he would be. There’s no way that you’ll remember everyone, your brain already feeling at max capacity after the day you had. However, luckily for you after the first full round of the room, you fall into an easy conversation with Tristian. He’s down to earth, a transplant from Georgia, and someone you could easily see becoming friends with if this move becomes an actual thing

“I have to introduce to my friend S,” Tristian says his thick southern twang bleeding through, craning his head around looking for him. “Normally, you can’t miss him he’s so dang tall. Whenever he gets here though, I must make the intro. I think y’all would get along well. He’s my neighbor, well not directly, but he lives in the building too.”

Didi and Miguel pull at you, passing around shots, and passing you around to meet and talk with other people. Your head is spinning, less from the whiskey you’ve been plied with through the night, more with the sheer fact that this night is making you see that Toronto may have to become a thing; and you’re smiling.

“Wait, here she is,” you hear Tristian first, before you feel him tug at your elbow before you go stumbling forward before tipping sideways. Another pair of hands come to steady you at your waist.

“Easy Tris, don’t break the girl before I can meet her,” the voice belonging to the hands at your sides retorts. He helps right you on your feet and you’re met with a pair of the prettiest eyes you’ve seen in awhile.

“As promised my dear,” Tristian grins, throwing his arms around the both of you. “This is Shawn.” 

He looks oddly familiar, but you can’t place it or him. He’s quite stunning though, gorgeous really. And unlike some of the others around the apartment, he’s dressed for the occasion. A well put together man is a weakness for you. Let alone one with eyes like this, a swath of riotous dark curls and a bright smile.

You fall into talking easily, not even noticing when Tristian leaves. This Shawn of his is well spoken, funny and it feels like you’ve known him for much longer the way the two of you chat. You wander into the kitchen at some point to grab another round of drinks, a glass of white for you, a beer for him, continuing the conversation of why you were up in Toronto this week in the first place.

“Sorry man, I need to borrow this one for a few if you don’t mind?” Tristian calls from over the breakfast bar. “Couple more folks I need to introduce her to before they head out.”

“It was really lovely talking to you Shawn,” you say, smiling. “I’ll find you before I leave.”

A few minutes turns into an hour, Tristian and Hirashan passing you around through a new group of people that just arrived. Next thing you know, it’s almost 1:30 am and the boys are starting to fade. You’ve lost track of Tristian, as well as his friend Shawn. You were hoping to see them both before leaving.

“Can I steal you for a minute before you go?” Shawn inquires, as you’re grabbing your coat from Didi’s outstretched hand. Miguel just smiles, elbowing Hirashan and pushing Didi towards to the door.

“We’ll go down and wait for the Uber,” Miguel says, nudging you forward.

You slide into your coat as he walks you around the perimeter of the living room, out the French doors to the balcony.

“I didn’t want to ask in front of everyone, especially your friends,” he gets bashful, a light pink flushes his cheeks. “But I really liked talking with you tonight, getting to know you. Can we stay in touch? Even if Toronto isn’t in the cards for you, I’d still like for us to talk more. Become friends even.”

You nod, smiling softly. “Yeah, I’d like that. Here’s my card. Everything is on there. Cell, email.”

“I’ll text you in the morning, so you have mine,” he replies, squeezing your hand after sliding the card from it. “Let me walk you to the elevator.”

He loops your arm through his, guiding you back through the groups of people in the apartment, down the hallway and to wait for the elevator to pop back up.

“You don’t have to wait with me,” you say softly, hands in your pockets so you don’t do something like reach out to grab a hold of his.

“Yeah I do,” he smiles, and it seems like he shifts closer to you. You get a whiff of his cologne, and you hope in lingers in your nose for the rest of the evening.

The elevator doors slide open. “Thanks for the lovely night, Shawn.”

“We’ll talk soon,” he responses with a smile and a cute little wave before the doors close in front of you.

“Good night?” Didi asks flopping down onto the bed in your hotel room. “I saw that look on your face a few times, this is gonna be a thing now isn’t it? I should warm up the Star Alliance frequent flyer number soon, eh? Figure out the best flights from LaGuardia up here.”

“It’s feeling good, I want to really think on it though once all the big brass talk everything over,” you start, changing quickly, the day finally catching up to you. “And more so what they’re thinking with transition plans and comp package.”

“You do realize though you were all chatty flirting tonight with Shawn Mendes, right?” Didi fights through a yawn once they’re in bed. “Major thing to throw in the plus column for this. He looked all smitten kitten too, especially when he came over before we left. Get it girl.”

You’re suddenly not as sleepy as before. “What the fuck, no way Dee.”

“Mmhmm, why do you think the three of us let you guys be for as long as we did. Tristian mentioned him coming by. Thought right off the bat you two would get along after you and Tristian got to chatting. Tris was right and I’m glad he made that happen,” Didi mutters, face smushing against the pillow. “Plus, he’s so your type. One of us needs to tap that, and I think Tomas would be beyond pissed if I did, so it’s your mission now. And you must share all the details once you get dicked down by that hot piece of man candy.”

You throw the smaller decorative pillow on the bed over at her face. “I didn’t, I mean. We were just talking Dee. He looked familiar, but. Oh god, Didi,” you grab the other pillow and place it over your face to scream.

You try to put it out of your mind, especially with everything else going on around the Toronto whirlwind. Even more so when a few days go by and you don’t hear from him. He flat out asked for your number, you slid him your card which had your cell and your email address. He said he was going to text you, so you had his number, and he wanted to stay in touch. You thought he was being sincere. You try not to let it get you down. Thinking of it now after everything, he’s a massive pop star, what would he want to do with someone like you? He was probably just being polite. You’re about to pop into the meeting with the SVP of Charitable Corporate Giving, when a text pops up from a number you don’t have in your phone.

Hi it’s Tris! Found your card in my guest room, must have slipped out your bag at some point when you were here last week. Let me know when you make your decision. Welcome to crash here until you find a place if the decision is a YES!

The only card you gave out that night was to Shawn. Did he lose it? Did he leave it there? Too many questions, you had an important meeting to get to.

Your apartment is almost completely packed up, the movers coming in a few days to take everything. It was a no brainer to say yes, though it meant less time of a transition and more of an immediacy in Toronto. You decided to spend your last full Sunday in the city at some of your favorite places. Breakfast at BEC, a facial from Facehaus, a wander through Strand Book Shop and an afternoon at Té Company. You manage to snag your favorite table: a half-padded booth in the back corner next to the window. A pot of tea and a book that has nothing to do with work and you’re ready to take a deep breath or three.

“That young man asked me to bring you over a fresh pot of whatever you were having,” the server gestures, swapping the steaming pot in her hands with the cooling one you have on the table. “Shall I bring over another cup?”

You look up from your book, and from her, to see him. Your breath catches for a moment. He’s got a shy smile, looking straight at you. Beat up black boots, dark jeans, cozy grey sweater, a vintage black leather bomber. Curls a windswept mess and eyes bright. He looks like he belongs here, in your perfect Sunday afternoon in New York City. You don’t know how you feel about the fact you’re thinking that way, especially after everything. Damn your subconscious. You’re too polite to ignore him or flip him off, so you nod and wave him over.

“Of all the gin joints, Shawn…” you sigh out softly.

“This is so crazy, that you’re here. Hi. So, I owe you an apology,” he explains carefully, sitting down across from you despite wanting to slide onto the bench next to you. “Because the nervous asshole I am, I totally put your number in my phone wrong. I tried texting you a few times, and nothing. I figured when they weren’t going through as iMessage I got it wrong and then I realized I lost your card, so I had absolutely no way to check or get in touch. I also didn’t want to look desperate or completely pathetic tracking down your friends through Tristian to hound them for your number when I had already asked for it myself, especially the way I did, or stalk you on social that would have been worse.”

He’s adorable when he’s flustered. “Take a breath, Shawn,” you smile softly. “Tris has it. He texted me the following week that he found it in his guest room.”

“I went in there after I walked you out,” he runs his hand through his hair, messing his curls about even more than they are already. “Needed a minute cause the pretty girl I talked with all night actually wanted to keep in touch too. I sat on the bed and put your number, or what I thought was your number, in my phone. I thought I slid it back into my pocket, it must have jostled out.”

“I thought, well, honestly I didn’t know what to think,” you begin. “I didn’t realize you were, well you until after I was back at the hotel with Didi. I thought you looked familiar, but I just couldn’t place it. Then when you didn’t reach out, I was like what would this guy, this Rockstar, want to do with me?”

He shakes his head at first. Then, he slides his phone out of his coat pocket, flipping through a few things before sliding it across the table to you. “Go ‘head,” he nudges it closer to you.

There were four or five green text bubbles in the open message window, an 8 in the place where the 0 should be in your number.

I know I said I would wait until tomorrow, but I just wanted to say how nice it was to talk with you tonight. It’s Shawn btw :)

I know you’re probably crazed with just getting back but wanted to see how decisions were shaking out? I’m bias but I’d be happy to talk up Toronto some more.

Let me know when you’re back in town? Would be great to see you.  

I may be in New York soon, would love to see you in your element. Can we grab a drink if you’re around?

Chat soon?

“He was kind of taken with you right away. Because that night? He got to just be just this guy Shawn talking to the prettiest girl in the room, who also happened to be so easy to talk to and laugh with,” he says honestly.

“It’s happening by the way,” you respond, pouring him a cup of tea despite your shaky hands. “Toronto. Next week. It’s my last full Sunday in New York, I’ve been hitting some of my favorite spots today as a last hurrah, including here. Movers come Tuesday; I fly out Thursday.”

“I found this place on my first solo trip to New York, and have been coming here ever since,” he sips at the mug that looks awfully small in his hands. “How many times do you think we crossed paths here and didn’t even know it?”

“We did on the time it really matters though didn’t we?” you smile over your mug.

You’re there for hours without even realizing it. Talking about whatever comes to mind. Everything from Toronto to New York to music to hockey, life and everything in between. After the second pot of tea, he moves to sit next to you on the banquette. By the third, he’s turning to face you straight on, head resting on his left hand with his knee pressing warmly into your thigh. Not once did anyone come to interrupt or bother the two of you, no wonder he’s gravitated to this place. By your fourth, you’re mirroring him, turning towards him. It’s comfortable, he’s comfortable. It’s easy, too easy actually. There are no awkward silences, no weird blips in conversation. It scares you. You’re already on the precipice of something majorly life-altering. You’re not sure you can take up another major change. And you believe him and his rambling explanation before. You do. But there’s a part of you that’s scared. Maybe you were just meant to have these pockets of time together, these brief beautiful moments. Nothing more. Your head is a swimming mess of emotions.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you two, but we’re getting ready to close,” the older gentleman you’ve come to know as one of the managers explains.  

“Holy shit, it’s almost 8,” you stretch, popping your shoulders. “I didn’t realize it was that late.”

“What time did you get here?” he asks.

“Only 20 minutes before you did,” you say, timidly, resting your hand over his that’s resting on his knee. “But this was a really good way to spend my last Sunday in New York. Honestly.”

He flushes brightly, “I’m really glad I came in here today.”  

“Now, may I please see your phone?” he questions, a sly little grin creeping up one corner of his mouth.

You nod, reaching for it out of your bag and unlocking it.

Shawn takes the most ridiculous selfie, you can’t help but fight giggling, then flipping back to poke at the screen before handing it back to you.

“You’ve got mine and I sent a text to make sure I’ve got your right number this time,” he expresses, his finger tracing over the knuckles on your hand. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate and it’s all going to be crazy for a good while for you, but I’d like to keep whatever this may be going.”

You duck your head, threading your hair behind your ear, nerves suddenly rearing their ugly head. Your stomach flips at his touch.

“I don’t want to lie to you Shawn, or lead you on,” you exhale, voice shaky. “This is all a lot. The new job, the move, this, you. I’m pretty fucking terrified as it is. But then add this in? Especially cause you’re you and… This isn’t a no, but it’s not a yes. It’s a not right now and I know that’s a lousy answer and the last thing I expect is for you to wait, because why would you. I’d like to text, when I can, at least for now.”

You know that answer wasn’t what he was expecting. Honestly, it wasn’t what you thought you would say to him either. You want but you also know you to listen to what your gut is telling you, despite your head and your heart fighting to have a say in this too. You’re afraid to look up, to meet his eyes, as you fear it could be the last time you see them up close and in person like this.

“Hey,” he replies softly, nudging your chin up with his pointer finger knuckle. “You’re turning your entire life and everything you’ve known upside down. I get it. It also means a hell of lot to me that you’re being honest. It also means you’re not placating me, which I’m appreciative of. It’s actually really refreshing and kind of a turn on. I’ll be here and I’d really like it if you still texted, call if you want even. I promise you I’ll answer, anytime ok?”

You nod, trying to fight back the fog shifting across your eyes, a small sniff breaking through though. “I’m going to just…” you say gesturing to the ladies room.

“I won’t leave,” he states.

You quickly splash water on your face, blow your nose, grateful you had your facial before, so you don’t have a mess of makeup to clean up. Taking a few more deep breaths, you head back out. He’s got your bag in hand, your coat over his arm. He’s making this whole not now thing hard to stick to, but you know truly know that if it’s meant to fall into place, despite everything, it will.

“What about the…” you start, looking around the table for the billfold the owner left.

“Taken care of,” he cuts in before you could finish, holding out your coat to help you into it. You itch to hold his hand as you head out and down the steps, but you don’t want to go back on everything you just said. Instead, you set to order an Uber. You peek over, and it seems that he’s doing the same, looking at you out of the corner of his eye as well.

The nip in the early spring air is out, now that the sun has set, and you snuggle further into your coat. He shifts closer, rubbing his hands lightly over your arms. You’re coming to realize how much touch is a part of his language.

“I won’t let you say goodbye, because it’s not that. I won’t let it be that,” he murmurs. “It’s a see you later, ok? And, I’d like, if you’re comfortable with it, to give you a good luck I’m here for you hug before you go.”

You nod, thankful it’s dark so he can’t see you blushing. He takes you in his arms easily and holds you close. He’s warm and solid, he smells like fresh laundry, boy and springtime wrapped together and it feels like you fit just so. He leans his head down to rest on top of yours, squeezing his arms around you tighter. “I mean it,” he whispers. “I’m here ok? However you need me to be, whenever you need.”

He keeps you in his hold until a car pulls up, and of course it’s yours that comes first; the driver calling your name through the open window.

You pull away slowly, reaching for his hands and squeezing them in yours. “We’ll talk, I can promise you that, Shawn. Just bear with me?”

He nods, squeezing your hands in return, “Travel save and go be awesome.”

Your resolve lasts a whole four days, texting him simply a photo through the plane window of the approach into Toronto.

She’s looking all pretty for your arrival – welcome to your new home! he texts back with a Canadian flag emoji and a red heart.

It’s not easy, you knew it wouldn’t be. Your new apartment is lovely but it’s still not feeling comfortable and like your home yet. You’re thankful that you have friends that have taken time to wait for the cable guy, accept furniture deliveries and your moving truck because you don’t have the time. Not with work. Work is hard, harder than it was in New York. They throw you right into the fire immediately. It’s new office politics, it’s a new role, new everything. Even the fact you don’t have your favorite Starbucks baristas nearby anymore to supply you with your afternoon pick me up the way you like it when things are crazy irks you. You look back through your texts, hovering over the chain you’ve got with Shawn. You haven’t texted him since that flight photo. You want to, but it would just add more to an already full plate.

Bringing you dinner and a surprise! LMK what you’re jonesing for comes through from Tristian late Friday afternoon after your second full week in the new office.

A gigantic bottle of white? you text back with the side eye tongue out emoji. He’ll think you’re kidding. You’re not.

I’m bringing a few bottles and Japanese. I’ll use the spare I need to drop back off. See you in a bit!

The surprise, you come to find, once you’re both on the couch with chopsticks in hand, is even a mystery to Tristian.

“I couldn’t say no,” he fights out around a mouthful of shrimp teriyaki, pointing at the package on your coffee table with his chopsticks. It’s carefully wrapped in butcher paper with a pretty silver ribbon. It’s a box, thin and flat, nothing too large with a white notecard underneath the ribbon. “I’m not going to butt in on what’s going on with y’all, but we had drinks after he got back from New York. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that besotted, but all he’d tell me was that he’s playing off your lead. He’s not pushed or anything. So, when he asked me to help get this to you, I had to. At least I didn’t give him your address, girly.”

“It’s complicated,” is all you can really give to Tristian to explain or encompass it. Because that’s exactly what it is. You slide everything off your lap to exchange it for the box. Carefully, you unwind the ribbon, it’s too pretty and something you’ll want to keep to use in another way. It’s two notecards under it, and they fall out into your lap. They’re handwritten in deep blue scrawl, to match the border of the card. You pull the shorter of the two notes out first.

I’m really hoping this isn’t too much or crossing any lines. I saw this and thought of you immediately. It’s just a little something as you’re conquering the world. – Shawn

The little something is a gorgeous journal, soft deep midnight blue leather covered in silver embossed vintage maps with a silver pen slipped in the loop.

“Damn,” you mumble, fingers tracing carefully over the leather for a moment before snagging the other notecard.

I know you’re probably still figuring everything out and exploring. I’m giving you a list of some of my favorite places in the city, so don’t go spilling my secrets ok? :) If you go to the link at the bottom, it’s a Google Maps planner so you can save it to your phone.

“This boy,” you sigh, leaning your head back on the couch. It’s sweet and thoughtful and just on the right side of tugging at your gut. Damn him.  

“Tell me why y’all aren’t knockin’ boots yet?” Tristian quips, leaning over you to grab a Spider roll.

“Because I still don’t know my head from my ass up here yet and he’s Shawn fucking Mendes, Tris,” you take a large sip of your wine. “And I’m just some girl.”

“By the looks of it, you’re not just some girl. Just saying,” he says, nudging your shoulder.

Well after a few bottles of wine are polished off and Tristian on his way back home, you’re finally in bed. You’re still not used to the sounds of this city and you’re fidgeting, tossing your phone back and forth between your hands. It’s late, too late to call. So, you do something completely out of character, you record a voice memo to send to Shawn.

“I wanted to call, but it’s too late and I’ve had a little bit of wine that would make my resolve even weaker if we actually talked on the phone and I heard your voice. But your delivery boy came by this evening,” you speak quietly and carefully. “Thank you, Shawn. It’s perfect and so beautiful. I’m going to start using it on Monday. Then that list, with that Google link? That’s the absolute sweetest. I know I haven’t reached out and I’m sorry, really, I am. This is a lot harder than I thought. I miss home, this doesn’t feel like home yet. I know it will, but it’s not right now. Work is kicking my ass, and I’m grateful they trust me and for the challenge, but it’s so different than New York. It’ll all come together, but right now it’s just a fucking lot. I think though that this weekend, I’m going to try some of your list and I’ll try to share my adventures along the way. I promise you though Shawn, I am thinking of you and I want to get through this and feel like I’m good to talk more to you, with you. Thank you again, sweet dreams.”

You can’t bear to listen back, so you just save it and quickly shoot it off in a text to him with an old school t9 heart. You wait a solid 20 minutes before setting your phone on do not disturb, plugging it into charge and flipping over to try to get some sleep.

The next morning, your phone is scattered with different alerts: a missed FaceTime call and a handful of text messages, some with attachments, from Shawn. You press play on the memo first.

“So, please forgive me for trying to FaceTime, especially at like 1am, but you sounded so defeated in your message and it just killed me. Then I realized what time it really was and hoped you were already asleep, or your phone was off, and I didn’t wake you. I was in the studio head down working on something when you sent that, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you right away especially after I told you to reach out at any time,” he rambles before taking a breath. “First off, you’re welcome. I spotted it and knew it belonged with you. Please do let me know what you think of these places, I’d offer to come with you especially since you’re having such a hard time, but I’m going to respect your wishes. Just know, if you do need company, I’m good for it. I’m sending you a couple things to read and to listen to, too. Things that have helped when I’m on the road and just feeling overwhelmed or scrambled. I hope they help some. I’m here, remember that ok?”

You send him a video of your mug of tea next to the journal on your coffee table, steam swirling from the mug with his latest album playing in the background.

Step one – making this journal about me and for me, not about work, with my favorite tea at the ready and I may or may not be listening to something special today to get me started.

You do something you haven’t in a long time, you write. You journal, and you let yourself feel and get everything out. Including about this darling boy who keeps making his way into the forefront of your mind.

I feel honored – need to know what your fav is, you know for reasons ;) I’m hoping it gives you a bit of a breather that you’re needing.

You spend the day concentrating on you, hitting two spots off his list: the tea shop and the record store, purchasing way more than you need at both. Once you make it back home, you feel lighter, more at ease. You spend time setting up the new record player, immediately sliding the first item you searched for onto the turntable and snapping a quick picture.

You sound better on vinyl btw – please don’t make me pick a favorite, I kind of love this whole entire album.

From there, you keep randomly texting, haphazard things, no rhyme or reason. Just talking and photos and whatever comes to mind, and it goes both ways for the both of you and you keep that up for a few weeks. It’s easy, it’s fun, neither of you putting pressure on the other for what’s next or what’s to come.

A touch over a month after you sent him the vinyl photo, he texts you a Dropbox link one afternoon.

A little something since you liked the album so much. Hope you enjoy.

That little something? It’s the whole album, acoustic, just him and his guitar stripped down. It’s soft and intimate and absolutely amazing.

Shawn, are you kidding? This is stunning. How come I haven’t heard any of these before?

It’s only late that night when you’re about to fall asleep that you think you hear your phone chime. You don’t pick up, waiting to look at the message the next morning. There as plain as day is his very simple response.

Because I worked on it for you.

You want to call to really talk to him, hear his voice, you want to see him, something, anything. But you can’t. You’ve got an important meeting at 9 am sharp that you cannot be late for, a jam-packed schedule the whole day and an event that night with one of the new clients, a charity benefit showcase at Horseshoe Tavern they asked you to go with them to. You don’t want this to be a brief tete-a-tete either with him. You quickly send off a string of every heart colored emoji there is because right now that’s what it feels like, your heart is exploding in its feelings.

The club is filled to the brim that night, your clients are overjoyed and your new boss keeps texting how she’s pleased the clients are happy. However, you’re frowning at your phone. Nothing from him, not a peep all day. You normally wouldn’t be concerned, but after yesterday, you’ve got a little bit of worry niggling at your stomach. You can try him after you’re out the doors of the club later, but for now, you need to put on a smile and make sure the rest of the night goes smoothly. The talent wrangler for the evening is dragging you backstage with your clients. A surprise guest is coming to perform and the CEO wants them to all meet before this person heads up to the stage for the last songs of the night, a thank you to your clients for their support of the charity. Backstage is a shit show to say the least, you’re jostled around trying to make your way back to the green room before being slammed by one of the sound guys and his massive rig bag.

“Watch it,” you call out, rubbing at your hip as you try to catch up to the rest of the group ahead of you.

“Damn, are you ok? It was a hell of a hip check if I ever saw one,” you hear from behind you.

You know that voice. “Shawn?” you ask, turning around to face the voice.

His eyes grow wide, his smile even wider.

“Oh, I see you’ve met our special guest,” the wrangler says, nudging Shawn forward. “Shawn, you can head back with this group if you don’t mind? I need to find a few other folks for this meet and greet.”

He agrees easily, shifting closer to you as you head back to the green room. “Fancy seeing you here. An unexpected surprise for sure. The best one really.”

You nod, biting your lip, the corners of your lips quirking up. “It is. Let’s get the business stuff out of the way first. Then maybe, after everything, and the show’s done tonight, we can talk?”

“I’d like that,” he snags your hands, squeezing them in his before he lets you go to you knock on the door.

The green room is small given the venue, but it’s a loud cacophony of sounds and people, and you’re both pulled in opposite directions immediately. You can’t help but catch sight of him here and there, he’s one of the tallest in the room so it’s not difficult. He looks good. His hair’s a little longer, curlier. You can’t help but smile, for a few reasons now, but at this moment you hear his laugh from across the room and it’s bright, infectious. It simmers in within you, but you can deal with that after the event’s over. The rest of the evening flies smoothly. You manage to sneak a drink from the bar in time to catch Shawn taking to the stage. You stay out of sight, tucked in the corner, wanting to observe him in his element.  Him performing is nothing like you’ve seen before, especially in such a small venue. This could easily become something very addictive. Just as the show wraps, you shoot him a quick text.

Need to get my clients out the door then I’m free, maybe take me 10 more min. Somewhere around here good for a drink of some kind? Quiet?

His answer is quick, quicker than you expect, in two rapid texts.

Yes, Suite 114: https://www.suite114.ca/

It’s a 20 min walk from here, about 2km not bad - but I saw your heels so there’s none of that tonight. Uber over? I’ll meet you there as soon as I’m done with packing up and I have to say goodbye to the club owners. Promise I won’t be long.

Once you’re wrapped, an Uber comes quickly, surprising for a Friday night. It’s a quick hop over and the bar is cozy, dimly lit and decadent. A modern-day speakeasy vibe. He’s right though, it’s quiet, not overly full and there’s a couch you can claim towards the back of the room. You order something simple, a champagne cocktail with grapefruit and St. Germain, to sip on as you wait for him. Something light and celebratory. It was a good day all around.

“Am I allowed to say you look beautiful tonight?” you look up to hear him say, your cocktail and a rocks glass in hand with a few fingers of something dark in it.

“Only if I can wax poetic about seeing you perform live tonight,” you reply, fingertips brushing his hand as you slip the glass from his grasp. You may have done it purposely.

He blushes, settling down close to you with his arm stretching across the back of the couch. “I just might have switched songs at the last minute, after seeing you. Wasn’t supposed to do Lost tonight, but it just felt right.”

“Special in a room like that, like that small and intimate yeah? It felt that way at least, from watching it. You’re something else up there, Shawn,” you muse, twirling the flute carefully between your fingers, eyes catching his.

“Had a pretty girl I needed to impress tonight, so,” he drawls, looking down at the drink in his hands. “It was the best thing seeing you there tonight.”

“I wanted to call you this morning,” you begin, sliding your free hand to his forearm on the back of the couch. “But I didn’t want to rush the conversation. I had meetings, this tonight. I just. I had to send something, so I exploded all those hearts in that text. I needed to make sure I had the time I wanted, that, after your text with what you said, and that Dropbox. Shit, Shawn you’re making me all jumbled and to be perfectly honest? After seeing that text when I woke up? All I wanted to do was to hear your voice, talk, laugh, spend time with you, hug you tightly. I didn’t expect any of that. Whatsoever. It’s thrown me for a loop. A good loop, but still a loop.”

He places his glass on the table next to you, slides yours out of your hand to take a hold of it. “The last thing I want to do is scare you or overwhelm you. But. Is it okay if I say I feel the same? After Tris’ thing, then even more so after New York, I knew I needed to have you around, whatever way you’d let me. Your call and your speed. I was drawn to you in a way that I hadn’t been to anyone before, and I didn’t want to give that up. I was so glad to hear from you, after Tris got you that package. Your voice I mean. And then, the last couple weeks, not going to lie here. I’d look forward to your texts, those random little photos you’d share of those looks of how your life was settling in here. When you went to Sonic and it was my album you got and started listening to, it just hit me and I went into my studio at the condo to start laying those tracks down for you. That was, it meant a lot to me, so I wanted to just do something for you just as special.”

You lean your head on your hand, the one that’s still laying on him, now closer to his wrist and take a deep breath. “Honesty continuing? I’m scared. This whole being here is still such a rollercoaster, and then add in what this could be, especially… You’re you, Shawn. Shit, I don’t want to sound like that but it’s there. There’s a lot that goes with it, you get that right? I don’t think…”

“Take a breath,” he murmurs, slipping a piece of hair that’s fallen across your cheek behind your ear and trailing his finger down your cheek ever so lightly before tanging his fingers with yours. “I understand. I do. I’d like to, if you’re game, see where this goes. No pressure, nothing but the two of us. Only the two of us. Can I take you out on a proper date? I’d love to, please?”

This boy, this sweet, kindhearted adorable boy, this ridiculously famous pop star, really wants to take his time and spend it with you. This time, you listen to what both your head and your heart are telling you. Take the jump.

“I’d really like that, Shawn.”

 TAG LIST: @whenidance, @parkerdavis, @sinplisticshawn, @hollandraul, @fallinallincurls, @itrocksmysocks, @rainbowshawn, @lasingphomustra, @illumecherry​

[celsidebottom]

Some of my favorite lines from RQGG today (minus the bits where they read things in character because there are already so many)

“The banana forests of Scandinavia”

“Baby Empty.  YEET”

“#DropTheChild”

“Alexander Jail Newall”

“Tell me of the ghost rotor”

“We still got to use the ruler and that’s valuable in and of itself”

“The secret is the fourth dimension”

“The subgame of removing the bodies”

“Oh look!  Jonny’s named someone Michael!”

“When I give you guys power… boy do you go ham”

“HE’S A BAD COW”

“Sean Bean is an ancient being”

“Helen’s being filthy!!!”

“What’s a lead in line for Sean Bean?  Oh, bastard.”

“The cow has replaced everything”

“It’s really simple: Sean Bean is older than time itself.  He’s also fifteen people.  You are one fifteenth of Sean Bean. “

“Spies are inherently sexy”

“Convene the beans!”  “Bean con!”  “By all means, convene the beans!”  “The scene of beans has been seen”

“All aboard the tea trolley”

“Let’s round up some children”

“On stream, we’re family friendly so no families are dead”

“Three strong, northern, craggy dads”

“Immersed amongst the present spikes”

“I’ve got lots of money under my clothes”

“If there’s one thing I like more than money, it’s naked poor people”

“Come with me into the sexatorium”

“Our sexatoriums are drastically underfunded”

“The coolant pigs”

“My cat believes I am so incompetent that he brought me a marinated pork loin with a bit of cheese on top”

“I’m ready to Santa… the proper way”

“There are Macedonian… cosplayers…”  “Not in Sheffield!”

“For the sake of time, I’m just going to say you failed”

“Visit the north!  We’ve got above average schools!  Do you like cities?  We’ve got a few!”

“Imagine a three piece hazmat suit”

“It’s neck o’clock! Ding ding ding!  Everybody get some neck!”

“I love standing on dogs! Boo me some more!”

“Are you guys up for some mounting?”

“He starts and possibly never ends”

“Too much mounting. Not good for the health.”

“We got some Canadians here? Has Michael Buble come out of hibernation yet?”

“I would wash you like a mummy cat”

“I’ve taken up an extreme sport, say, sky punching”

“We do not speak of the bolo tie.  It is America’s greatest shame”

“I would make you a delicious deodorant pie and kill two birds with one stone.  And maybe you!”

“That I want to lick your armpit during sex is a bad thing?”

“I like stabbing people. Who would you stab, and why?”

“Cars Movie 5: Weird Sex Car”

“No third party lubricant for this guy!”

“You can’t get a good crumb on a child”

“That cacophony is the screams of our fans”  “Aww, that’s so personal!”

“I never took any anatomy classes.  I hear that was good call”

“CORN SMUT”

“Interwstong”

“What’s the difference between most people and dragons?  They don’t fireball themselves”

“Bryn looks like a cross between seventeen corgis and a whole ass dragon” vs “Bryn looks like a cross between a welsh cake and a tomato”

“My family is like Tim: just tremendous” vs “My family is like Tim: Insufferable and omnipresent”

“That cow looks scared of something.”  “It’s probably the knives”

“‘I’m Tim Meredith, I’m a high brow comic!’”

“I like my sex like I like my hummus: with peppers!”

“I came up here in good faith!”  “That was your first mistake.”

“You have to be Boris Johnson forever.”  “That’s the worst fate ever!”

“Zolf can swear! Struck by fucking lightning!”

“If I’m not directly talking I’m not interested”

“He’s a prospector with glorious thighs.  She’s an actual snake.  Haunches and the Snake.  Coming to CBS this fall to be immediately cancelled.”

“Haunches is a good character, you shouldn’t have given him to me.”  “You gave me a beer, it’s fine.”

“Fuck!  Piss!  Shit! They’re all on the table!  Oh no”

“Regular bits Tim”

“You keep your beautiful, chiseled face out of what we have”

“Where the fuck is the pickle?”

“You’re a half pint of horse shit.  You know that?  I take it back.  Full pint.”

“It’s a game about playing cards and trying not to make an erotic atmosphere, Tim.”

“You draw one and then you play?”  “You draw one and then you play.”

“It wasn’t a joke I just like the tiny island”

“It’s pickles all the way down”

“Lovecraft can take it, he’s dead.  Good.”

“I need the wet”

“When’s the last time you pitched a bail of hay, you fraud?”

“I think the last vaguely country thing I did… was carry a load of dead birds”

“Jane Prentiss?  Super good character.”  “I gave those worms a home!”  “And I have the world something to do!”

“This game is a thicc boi”

“This game is a chonky, chonky boi”

“I explained that I work with a podcasting company and she walked away very quickly, so, waitress at Nando’s, thank you for that”

“[A relationship is] not a competition, it’s a fight to the death”

“These are the traits I don’t want Alex to have”  “Insomnia went in the pile, that’s interesting”

“You’re a young ish man”  “That was a very big ‘ish’ and a very quiet ‘young’”

“Marriage is a lot like poker”

“‘I’m over my head in deadlines.’  And then I have a PTSD flashback to my actual life.”

“Aren’t relationships just sexy networking?”

“You ask a man if you can hold his baubles once…”

“Mike is now crowd surfing naked… Unfortunately, the cameras can only pan so wide… I think that’s his hand waving…”

“I’m not used to having emotions, I don’t know what to do with them.”

“Those wholesome bastards are gone now!”

“Asking for a friend.”  “You don’t have friends, Tim”

“I’m going to shuffle slow just to piss off Mike.  It’s just because I’m drunk… I am not abusing the alcohol!  We are in a consensual relationship!”

“A safe play by a safe man.”  “Saucy”

“Deal me in, motherhuggers”

“He knows how to play! That’s cheating!”

“What are we playing?”  “Doesn’t matter.”

“I got dukes coming out the butt!”

“Got dummy thicc stacks”  “Forgive me for being anti-meme but I’m going to take from your stacks… they’re thicc with one c.”

“I don’t trust you.”  “Why do you keep casting me as people who kill people?”  “Because I don’t trust you! What about this doesn’t check out?”

“I’m going to coup Alex because I don’t like having a job”

“Other gods, deities, and belief systems are available.”

[az3422]

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PeppersGhost's Proposal, I guess.

K/O Failure Scenario Hub » SPC-001 » PeppersGhost's Proposal, I guess.

rating: +263+–X

You are now connected.

[13:04] Topic is "Fuck credentials, fuck passwords, fuck secrecy, fuck everything. Just, fuck in general. Fuck like it's the end of the world, because it is. Fuck me, please oh lord im so alone | Welcome! If you're still alive to read this, good luck finding someone to talk to."

[13:04] DrTsega: Hello? Anyone here?

[19:32] DrTsega: I'll take that as a no, then.

[22:48] DrTsega: I can't be the only one left.

[22:49] DrTsega: Hey Queg, are you still running?

[22:49] Queg: Hello, DrTsega. What can I do for you?

[22:49] DrTsega: thank god

[22:50] DrTsega: !backscroll 10

[22:50] Queg: [04:33] SgtYitay: I've looked through the entire building

[22:50] Queg: [04:33] SgtYitay: Everyone is dead

[22:50] Queg: [04:33] AgentCaleb: No shit

[22:50] Queg: [04:33] AgentCaleb: I know nobody uses this thing anyway but DAMN it's been EMPTY

[22:50] Queg: [04:34] AgentCaleb: You think it's just the two of us?

[22:50] Queg: [04:37] AgentCaleb: You still there

[22:50] Queg: [04:39] AgentCaleb: Saaarrrrge

[22:50] Queg: [04:50] SgtYitay has been disconnected (Ping timeout)

[22:50] Queg: [18:22] AgentCaleb: oooookay well i think im gonna call it quits then. If anyone sees this tell my husband I love him

[22:50] Queg: [18:22] AgentCaleb: lol jk i'll see that dogfaced whore in hell 👍🕶👍

[22:51] DrTsega: hmm

[22:52] DrTsega: !seen Agent Caleb

[22:52] Queg: AgentCaleb was last seen 8 days ago saying: lol jk i'll see that dogfaced whore in hell 👍🕶👍

[22:52] DrTsega: shit

[22:53] DrTsega: shitballs

[22:53] DrTsega: shitmonkeys

[22:55] DrTsega: shit the nail on the head

[22:55] DrTsega: okay

[11:16] DrTsega: Good morning. If anyone sees this just ping me, I'll stay around as long as I can.

[09:48] DrTsega: I'm still here

[14:26] DrTsega: !quote CaptSumner

[14:26] Queg: CaptSumner: I may be shitting out of my pee parts but FUCK YOU I will WALK IT OFF

[14:26] DrTsega: haha what

[14:27] DrTsega: Good times, good times.

[14:28] DrTsega: I wish Sumner wasn't lying dead in the bathroom

[14:29] DrTsega: or anywhere, for that matter

[14:33] DrTsega: but especially the bathroom

[08:01] DrTsega: I'm still here

[12:55] DrTsega: Man, if anyone sees this later I'm going to look really pitiful

[05:51] DrTsega: okay I can't sleep so I guess I might as well do this

[05:52] DrTsega: !settopic Check the backscroll. Look for "Start here"

[05:52] Topic is "Check the backscroll. Look for "Start here""

[05:52] DrTsega: Start here

[05:53] DrTsega: If you're still alive to read this, congratulations. You survived.

[05:54] DrTsega: You also have access to working internet and enough knowledge about shadow governments to visit a (previously) private communications channel, so, hey, good on you.

[05:55] DrTsega: As a reward for being such a cool and alive person, I'm going to tell you the story of how we ended the world.

[05:55] DrTsega: For context, though, you'll probably want to start by reading a certain document…

[05:56] DrTsega: Actually, you can probably just skim it. A lot of this won't make sense to you anyway, so who cares?

[05:57] DrTsega: Anyway. I'll go find the link. If memory serves, they declassified everything when they realized we were all gonna die.

[06:13] DrTsega: How are these servers even still up? Isn't that just the craziest thing

[08:22] DrTsega: Found it.

NOTICE FROM THE CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE COORDINATION

AND PROJECTS OPERATION COMMAND OFFICE

There is nothing new to report regarding SPC-001 at this time.

Test subject displaying the results of his exposure to SPC-001.

Project #: SPC-001

Selachian Pugnātorial Capabilities: Individuals enhanced with SPC-001 display a dramatic improvement in pugilistic prowess and have consistently proven capable of easily dispatching 90% of squaloid entities in simulations, even with no prior training. Furthermore, SPC-001 subjects have reported a radical elevation in coastal requiescence position retention, even when under assault from extragranular sedimentary weaponry.

Project Components: SPC-001 is a manmade chemical substance which augments the biological strength and dexterity of human beings. After initial exposure to SPC-001, subjects will undergo a steady increase in muscle mass over the following 72 hours, accompanied by heightened energy levels and adroit perception of their surroundings. Increased lung capacity and resistance to deep-sea hydrostatic pressure are common side effects.

Following the DREAD PORPOISE COMMUNION and the subsequent activation of the ALL HANDS ON DECK PROTOCOL, SPC agents embedded in the food industry began introducing discreet amounts of SPC-001 into numerous products intended for public consumption. Centre researchers have projected a full global saturation of SPC-001 to be achieved by the year ████. In the event that the DREAD PORPOISE COMMUNION ends before global saturation can be achieved, more aggressive means of SPC-001 dispersal may be undertaken to prevent a complete End-of-World K/O Failure Scenario.

Nascency Impetus: On May 16, ████, all observed selachian entities across the globe simultaneously demanifested, including those in SPC captivity. No selachian entities or evidence of the continued presence of selachian entities have been observed since. A Maximum State of Emergency was declared soon after by the Executive Pugilist Assembly and the phenomenon was codified as the DREAD PORPOISE COMMUNION. It is the belief of the Assembly that the selachians are congregating in preparation for the FINAL CONFLICT, an event foretold by Elder Pugilord Azmanititas in the Centre's original constitutional documents in 1451.

[08:23] DrTsega: Did you get all that?

[08:23] DrTsega: No? Okay, I'll break it down for you.

[08:26] DrTsega: I was part of a group known as the Selachian Punching Centre. An organization dedicated to fighting the menace that plagued our oceans. "We punch underwater so you can live on the land." That's what we used to say.

[08:27] DrTsega: I know what you're thinking.

[08:29] DrTsega: Yes. It was us keeping you safe the entire time. The Centre safeguarded mankind for centuries. Civilization as we knew it wouldn't have been possible if we weren't around. Our influence was unparalleled, extending to every level of every government, changing the course of world events, yet remaining a complete secret from everybody, which was really quite tricky.

Then, one day, the selachian menace disappeared. Our immediate reaction was one of disbelief, followed by euphoria, followed by raucous celebration. We danced. We drank ourselves stupid. We sang the songs of our forefathers. The orgies weren't officially sanctioned, of course, but boy howdy-doo were they tremendous.

Sadly, our revelry wasn't meant to last.

"DREAD PORPOISE COMMUNION", the Assembly called it. The prophesied gathering of every selachian, big or small. Every sharp, slimy, putrid horror that haunted our dreams, coming together in one place to bring about the end of all other life on our beautiful, green planet.

"But fear not," said our trusted Assembly. They told us that the human race would fight back. They said that when the selachians returned with their armies and squaloid murder-drones, we would be ready.

And they were right. We were ready. Thanks to SPC-001, we managed to get the entire human race fighting fit. At first people were alarmed when everyone started getting super ripped for no apparent reason, but then they realized it was awesome and the panic died down. Within a few months, every man, woman, and child was a lean, mean, punching machine. Even babies had abs you could wash your clothes on. It seemed like everything was going fine.

And that's how it went for the first couple of years: fine. Sure, boxing had to be outlawed once folks could punch with the same Newtonian force as your average car crash, and there were a few riots now and then over tank top shortages, but for the most part everything felt normal.

Year three, people started getting antsy. We had kept ourselves busy at the Centre by devising new weapons for selachian warfare, but every innovation felt hollow with a lack of anything to use them on. We grew listless. Surely the assault would begin any day, right?

Year four. There was an aura of dread hanging over the whole organization. I remember sitting in the Site-71 cafeteria, eating pickled cabbage and creamed corn salads with my comrades, when I finally heard someone ask aloud what we'd all wondered in the dark corners of our heads.

"What if they don't come back?"

It was Simmons who said that, of course. Of course. I kicked him in the face—a punch would have really hurt him—but the damage was done. It's a scary thought, losing your purpose in life. Faced with that kind of existential ennui, it's no wonder that everyone responded by flipping their shit. Hersberger screamed and started smearing her salad all over her face. Gertzler stabbed his fork tines into his cheek with no visible emotion. Bühler just broke down and cried until his tears turned to blood.

But Schwartzentruber was downright fuming. Started shouting all sorts of obscenities. Said he'd shove his fist down Simmons' throat and rip out his toenails from the inside. And Simmons was all defensive, "you all were thinking it" and that kind of stuff. The two kept going at it. We shouldn't have just sat there and watched, but no one thought fists would ever get involved. How could we have known?

I remember the entire cafeteria going silent. One moment, the two colleagues had been arguing. Next thing we knew, Schwartzentruber was wearing Simmons' face around his arm like a bracelet. Fist went straight through. Nobody knew what to say. Hersberger just picked the brain matter from her hair. There was no finishing our dinner after something like that.

We all tried to write it off as an isolated incident, an unhinged employee who forgot his own strength in a moment of pure emotion. That illusion was shattered when reports started coming in from the other sites. Similar incidents were happening all over the world, and within a few weeks it wasn't just limited to SPC personnel. These arms were made for punching, and that's just what they did.

As time went on, it became harder for us to fight the itch. Punching bags were laughable at that point, so instead we invented punching blocks out of a titanium-concrete composite. Even fashioned them into the shape of selachians to help take the pain away, but it still wasn’t enough. Whenever we came close to a cure, someone would end up atomizing the equipment with a flick of the wrist and we'd have to start over.

Eventually, one day I walked into the cafeteria and found the floor covered in what must have been two inches of blood. I thought maybe a pipe had burst until I saw Bühler sitting on a table in the corner. Guy was slathered in viscera from top to bottom, and he was wearing human heads around his arms like they were snap bracelets. I asked if he wanted to talk, but he didn't answer. He just stared at his fists and trembled. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was dead, hole in his beefy chest so big I coulda driven my Grampy's Volvo through it.

That was what broke me, I think. I had never seen someone self-pugilate before. I didn't know how many people were still alive in Site-71, but I knew that I would not perpetuate the carnage. I gathered some medical supplies from the surgical augmentations lab and tied a tourniquet around my burgeoning, well-defined bicep. Carefully, I injected myself with the nearest substance that resembled an anesthetic and bid my guns goodbye.

Screaming, writhing, I hacked off my arm using only a pair of rusty toenail clippers. Needless to say, I was dizzy from pain, blood loss, and the 5 CCs of green apple daiquiri I'd injected myself with, but somehow I managed to drag myself back to the cafeteria to cauterize my stump in the kitchen's oven. Barely clinging to consciousness, I set the oven to preheat, wrapped my stump in a tent of foil, and stuck it inside, turning regularly to promote an even cauter and applying a light baste to keep it moist.

When the bleeding stopped, I went back and repeated the process with my other arm. The second time was harder, I think. With no free hands remaining, I was forced to grip the toenail clippers with my teeth. I also ran out of baste. It was the most agonizing experience I could ever possibly fathom, but here I am. Alive. My cannonball deltoids still ripple with pugilistic vigor now and then, but the stubs are too short to be lethal.

And that's it. That's my story. That's how I ended up here, barricaded alone in an underground facility, typing on a keyboard with my tongue. I haven't been able to get in touch with any other Centre sites, and I can't leave the building. Every day I lose a little more hope. My personal hygiene has suffered, too—partly because I can't look at a pair of clippers without bursting into tears. My toenails are getting really long now. I'll probably have to use a pair of scissors or something. I could even use that electric carving knife I got for my birthday. Hell, I think there's a chainsaw in the supply closet. No shortage of options, really.

Even if I'm alive now, there's no telling how long that will last. Sometimes I hear people punching on the reinforced doors, desperate to break in and claim another victim to slake their drunken punchlust. Someday they may succeed. There's enough food left around to keep me going a while, though just for a while. I've kept my mind occupied and my spirits up by watching Dr. Cavender's Walking Dead box sets, but I can feel that post-Season-Six quality drop looming just around the corner.

Maybe this was their plan all along. Maybe they just left the planet, knowing full well we'd destroy ourselves. Maybe when the last human has passed their final breath, the selachians will return from wherever they went and feast on our tight, sculpted corpses. Or maybe they're happier where they are now. Maybe they're not coming back. I hope that's not the case. As much as it pains me to say it: I miss them.

I miss sharks.

[23:19] DrTsega: With all the squats I've been doing, I could probably pop their heads between my fucking thighs.

[23:20] DrTsega: pop 'em just like cherries. hell yeah

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[critical-ramblings]

For the Girl in the Garden

now also on AO3!

Beau is already at the top of the building. The night before the Games begin, she can’t sleep. Maybe none of them can. But it’s Beau who goes prowling, silently, through the place that’s more than half prison.

She doesn’t expect the garden. Maybe Caduceus planted it--she thinks she recognizes some of the plants and trees from home. Not all of them--there’s one flower, illuminated by a skylight, that looks unsettlingly like a gunshot wound.

From here, the lights of the Capitol are filtered, fractured. Beau pads through the containers, a wire she hadn’t even known was there loosening in her chest. For the first time since the Reaping, she doesn’t feel like she is being watched.

She sees Jester from the cover of a blooming tree. There’s an open courtyard, near the edge of the roof, that’s bordered on all sides by silver wind chimes. The broad-shouldered girl is bent over something in her lap, her shoulder-length hair shining blue in the lights from the nearest skyscraper.

Beau thinks about leaving her there. She’s frozen, at first, by someone else’s presence in this place she’d thought was hers alone. Then, when Jester doesn’t even flinch--the wind chimes are ringing occasionally in the breeze--she could just leave.

And then Jester starts speaking. “Are you there?”

Beau freezes again, thinking she’s been spotted. But Jester only leans back and looks out through the bars of the balcony, revealing a book in her lap.

“I’m in a bit of a pickle, I think, Traveller.” She laughed a little. “I’m going to do my best, you know, tomorrow. I’m not going to let you or Mama down. But I’m just...I’m maybe a little worried. You’re here, right? You’re listening?”

There’s no answer. Jester sniffs, and laughs a very small laugh. The thing that gets to Beau is that it’s still soft, that laugh, not bitter at all, just...sad.

She doesn’t realize she’s made the decision to come out until the wind chimes are ringing around her, and Jester spins around with a gasp. Her brilliant smile falters a bit, when she sees Beau. Like she was really expecting someone called the Traveller to show up and rescue her from all of this.

Beau’d watched the Reapings. Jester was maybe the first Career she’d ever seen who wasn’t a volunteer, who wanted to be here as little as she did. Still, it’s one thing to hesitate when your name is called out of that big stupid lottery. It’s something else to have a smile like hope , the night before the Hunger Games.

“Hey,” she says, already regretting her decision. She crosses her arms, forces herself to walk over to the balcony and lean against it.

“I didn’t think anyone else was up here,” Jester wipes hurriedly at her eyes. She scrambles to her feet and stands there with the book clutched close to her chest, staring nervously at Beau.

“Yeah, I didn’t even know this place existed until now.” Beau turns to look out over the brilliant lights of the Capitol, leaning her elbows on the cold metal railing. “I think my mentor might have started it.”

“Caduceus?” Jester asks, like she knows him. “It makes sense. He’s really lonely when there’s no plants around.”

That does make Beau look over at her, because there are some things you just can’t learn from the televised appearances of past victors. Jester shrugs and comes over to lean on the balcony as well, book still wrapped tightly in her arms.

“I like talking to people. And a lot of victors stay at the Chateau, you know. When they’re visiting the District.”

“Huh.” Beau hadn’t thought of that. She’s barely even seen the other mentors, certainly hasn’t gotten to know them. Even Caduceus, who’s kind in his own way, is distant. And Beau gets it, sure. It’s been decades since District Twelve has had a victor--decades of watching kids die, up close and personal. But when he’s pretty much her only fucking chance of winning, she needs more than kind and distant . “Sounds like you know him pretty well.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jester shrugs again, and sighs. She turns to look back at the garden, the weird lights of the building across the street staining her skin blue. “I’m sure you guys are super tight. With all the strategies, and the planning, and that score you got, Beau!”

“Beauregard,” she says, sharply. The silence cuts across them like a knife--Beau wouldn’t have been surprised to find blood, from the sudden ache in her chest. But it’s so fucking easy to let Jester talk, to act like they’re friends . And there’s a good chance Jester is going to be dead by noon tomorrow. There’s a chance, not as good but still fucking there, that Beau will be the one to kill her.

So she lets the silence hang, and breathes through the stupid pain, because it’s better now than later.

Jester is looking at her. Beau can tell from the way the shadows cut across her face, the bright light of the outside and the dark of the garden. “Can I tell you a secret?” Jester says, and then goes on before Beau can answer. “I always hated the Games.” She really whispers it, leans so close that Beau can feel their shoulders press together. Beau’s still facing out, looking stubbornly at the blinding, maddening lights of the city that hates them. There’s something dangerously safe about the way they’re standing, Jester still looking at the garden but close enough that Beau can feel her breath.

The words still raise all the hairs on the back of her neck. Beau glances back, sees Jester watching her. Waiting.

“You can’t say shit like that,” Beau whispers back, too afraid to raise her voice. Jester smiles, and then she laughs , shockingly bright.

“It’s okay I already checked for bugs,” she says, looking back over the garden. “They do a lot of that in the Chateau too, you know. Carlos taught me how to find all the best little gadgets. But there weren’t any here even when I got here, so I knew it was safe.” She does a little dance, even, wiggling back and forth like a puppy looking for praise.

Beau can’t quite believe it--not just like that. It was fine for folks in the Seam to mutter in their shacks at night, but people like her father didn’t tolerate shit like that. It could affect his business relationships . Beau had learned from a very young age not to say what she was thinking, especially when it came to the Capitol.

“The Gamemakers will still get you,” Beau says, flatly. “You think it can’t get any worse? You’ve seen some of the shit they’ve pulled.”

“Beau,” Jester says, but she says it all weird, stretching it out and then dropping the end like a rock. “I really mean it, you can say whatever you want up here. It’s a little zone of truth, just for us.” Her voice gets all light and airy, barely perching on each word. She’s smiling again.

Beau scoffs, but she can’t fucking help but smile back. “Yeah, right.”

“Seriously, what’s one thing you’ve always wanted to say.” Jester swirls away from the balcony, and Beau turns to watch her dance across the courtyard, running one hand across the chimes as she goes. “Come on, Beau,” she says, raising her voice a little over the growing clamor. “IT’S OUR LAST NIGHT!”

“Fuck it!” Beau pushes off the railing, sticks her hand into the middle of a wind chime and yanks . “FUCK CEASER FLICKERMAN AND HIS CRAPPY HAIR!”

Jester laughs again, wilder, and shakes a whole pole so that every wind chime attached to it goes off. “FUCK THE REAPING AND EVERYONE WHO RIGS IT!”

“FUCK THE GAMES, AND FUCK THE CAPITOL!”

Even lost amidst the clamor of the bells, the words frighten Beau, and she goes still. Slowly, Jester stops her spinning, and the chimes start to fall silent. They come to rest standing in front of each other, half lit by the garish world around them. Somewhere out there, Capitol people are partying. Sponsors and Gamemakers are finalizing bets on their lives--her life. Beau is standing less than a foot away from Jester, and it feels like something has shaken loose inside her. Or maybe it’s the world that’s come apart, just a little bit. Her throat hurts.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she asks, and doesn’t wait for Jester to nod before she goes on, “I kissed a girl the day before the Reaping.”

Jester’s hands fly to her mouth, but she doesn’t look horrified. And Beau’s still talking, she can’t stop, something is broken and all her blood is leaking out.

“Her name was Tori. We were friends. She was like, my only friend. We’d get up to all sorts of shit--she was from the Seam, her mom was Ripper, we used to run hooch for...but none of that fucking matters. She had these gray eyes, like storm clouds.”

“Did you love her?” Jester squeaks out from between her fingers, and Beau laughs. It’s nothing but a single sharp bark, full of all the anger she can’t afford to feel.

“Maybe? How would I know? We were out back of her house, getting drunk on white liquor, and I...I kissed her.”

Jester is still mostly frozen, her eyes as big as plates, her hands still cupped over her mouth. Suddenly, Beau realizes what she’s doing, how stupid she’s being, and has to look away. She barely manages to stop herself from running, just walks really quickly back towards the roof access door. “Sorry, I. I’m sorry, that was dumb.” She wraps her arms around herself as if trying to contain a wound, a broken rib.

“It’s not dumb.” Jester puts a hand on her arm, and Beau stops. She doesn’t even flinch, though she does think about punching her. No one can see her like this. She feels a tear run down her cheek and hates herself for it.

“It’s not dumb, Beau.” Jester repeats, ducking into view. “I think it’s really beautiful.”

Beau laughs. It’s not even a laugh, really, just a disbelieving snort that got out of control. “I threw up like, an hour later. And then the fucking Reaping happened, so...not like either of us are going to do anything about it.” She takes a few deep breaths, but they keep hitching into sobs and she can not cry in front of this girl. “Anyway, I gotta. Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.” She tries to smile, and even for her she knows the expression is ghastly.

“Yeah,” Jester says, the sadness creeping back into her smile. “Yeah, we’d better rest up. Good-night, Beau.” She curtsies before darting back to pick up her book, and Beau takes the opportunity to slip away. She doesn’t think, out of everything that’s happened tonight, that she can stand to say good-night.

[hacash]

last man standing

summary: June 1947. After a particularly bad day, Meyer realises he’s the last one left.

-

It occurs to him, sitting out on the balcony in the sticky-sweet miasma of Miami heat, that there’s no-one left he can talk to about this.

Oh, he has friends – it’s funny how many people want to be pals with the little man when he, more or less, owns Cuba - and associates, and a wife, God bless her, asleep in the next room. Still, Meyer thinks as he pours himself yet another scotch, it’s not the same.

It’s not…the people who were there, they no longer…look, it’s one thing to know people now when you’ve made it, but the people who knew you then, still running in the Lower East Side, still reaching for it all…well, it’s just not the same, is it?

One by one, the old faces seem to melt away, and now… Well. People like them don’t plan on growing older, and if you don’t plan for something it never happens.

Fucking Benny. Never the world’s greatest planner.

Another scotch. Shit. He finds himself remembering, as if he were an old man already – alter kocher, comes Benny’s voice, and he nearly vomits over his shoes -  that afternoon down at Atlantic City, when the world spread out before him like some sort of fucking dream and everything was theirs for the taking. The big man, he thinks sourly to himself, your first time around the table like some kind of damn equal instead of waiting at the door for A.R. and Charlie to finish their yammering, and you thought nothing could possibly go wrong.

Look how well that little escapade went. In the long term, barely worth the trouble. Damn, they’d all been kids back then. Taking on Chicago, Atlantic City, New York, it’s all ours, gentlemen, the old way of doing things has passed – how long ago was that? Years; fucking years ago.

I thought I was invincible, and all my friends with me. I thought no-one could make me do anything I didn’t want to do ever again. Some fucking joke that turned out to be, huh? Look at where he is now. And there he was still…knees to the ground, gasping little immigrant kid, doing precisely what he didn’t want to do.

They were meant to be invincible. Look at them now. Jimmy Darmody, abandoned in an unmarked grave. Al had been barely recognisable as the man that ruled Chicago by the time they buried him, thanks to all that cocaine and his whores. Richard Harrow, the quiet one – Meyer remembers flicking through an ancient newspaper and finding out they’d found him beneath the boardwalk riddled with bullets. As for Mickey Doyle…well, he’d always said one day that man’s lip would get him in trouble, and Charlie proved him right.

(Benny wanted to come with them to Atlantic City back in ’21. Charlie had nearly had a fit at the idea. Jesus Christ, Benny had snapped, I won’t embarrass you in front of your new fancy friends; as far as dangerous goes, I’d like to meet the guy who can get the drop on me. At the time Meyer had thought it was funny.)

And Charlie? In fucking Palermo, of all places. What fucking use is he in Palermo? He doesn’t even like Italy, had been Meyer’s first thought when the news came, as if the elevated minds of the US government concerned themselves with where a criminal would like to be deported. He’s a New Yorker, not an Italian. He came from Sicily anyway, it’s a completely different land mass, you’re not even sending him to the right place. As if Charlie would have cared, all that shit was for the Mustache Petes who actually thought which village your grandfather was born in determined who you were as a man. But at the time it seemed important that they gave a damn where they were sending him. Recognised just who they were dealing with – not just shipping a parcel back to where it came from, whoops, wrong address, just toss it back to the post office with the rest of the scrap and let those dagos sort out the mess for us….

He’s drunk, Meyer realises – not just drunk, but wretchedly, miserably fucked, the sort of drunk he hasn’t been since Charlie’s deportation, or since they dug up A.R. in that alley outside Park Central. Sweat creasing over his skin, head reeling; maybe he was in better shape to deal with grief as a younger man. Maybe tragedy has a sense of timing, like some punk kid in an alley; wait until a man is nice and relaxed and stupid and thinks life’s going his way, then bam – over the head with a blackjack, and suddenly the world’s not the place you thought it was.

He’s in Florida. Charlie’s in Italy. And Benny…

And there’s no-one left who knows them as they were. That’s the thought that tears him apart from the inside. He’s spent so long crawling out from that tenement basement flat, dragging himself from the Lower East Side step by step, and now the thought of no-one knowing him as he was – as they were, hungry young men always searching for the future – nearly breaks him open.

Atlantic City. 1921. A memory flickers clumsily in him. The graceless twin impulses of grief and alcohol drive him to grasp for the telephone, cradle it as if it were a life preserver.

The operator says it’s an Illinois number. Funny that. Then again, Meyer wouldn’t have expected him to stay in New Jersey.

“Yeah?”

“Mr Thompson? Eli. It’s Meyer, Meyer Lansky. From New York.”

A clunk, the sound of someone shaking off the remnants of sleep. “For fuck’s – ” There’s a muffled burst of expletives on the other end of the line. “What the hell do you want?”

He finds himself spluttering, sniggering like a schoolboy in on the joke, because the bottle of scotch currently pickling him from the inside out finds it very funny indeed: ringing up some poor bastard – must be pushing sixty, sixty-five – in the middle of the night to unburden his soul like some Catholic kid with their, what-you-call-it, confessionals crap. Well, fuck you, he thinks cheerfully, you and your fucking brother, everything you did. You always wanted to survive above all else, well congratulations, you did it, which means you’re the one who has to listen now.

“My apologies. The late hour, of course,” he forces out, trying to inject whatever clipped good manners he used to rely on back in the day – anything to stop richer men, bigger men, from shooting him in the head. It was always a shield, but right now it isn’t working; his voice is shaking and Jesus, why does it feel like he’s dragging every word up from his guts? “I hope I didn’t disturb.”

“You’ve got no reason to call me. I’ve had nothing to do with the business since my brother…Fuck. My wife’s going to wake any minute. Why’m I even explaining to you?”

Good point. Why exactly is he on the phone to someone he hasn’t spoken to in over twenty years: save that it’s the middle of the night and his oldest friend is dead and he doesn’t know what time it is in Italy, and all he knows that if he doesn’t speak to someone who knew him as he was back in the old days, even as an enemy, he’ll go mad.

“I’m hanging up now.”

“I’m sorry, Eli,” he says hastily, tripping over the scotch. “For disturbing you, your wife, and all that. You’ll come down to Miami, my expense, isn’t that how you Thompsons used to do things? I just…” - his tongue’s running away from him and God, he’s so tired, when was the last time he slept? five days ago maybe, when he finally gave the okay to…to what happened – “Felt like talking to someone …and I just had some news. About an old friend.”

There’s a grunt from the other line. “I’ll bite. Who?”

“Benny. Your brother kidnapped him once, back in the day.”

A snort. “Bugsy. Little shit, I remember him. Nucky told me he was the screwiest little wiseass he ever came across. What about him?”

“He died today.”

Silence. Meyer hasn’t given the hows or the wherefores; still, maybe there’s something in their line of work that enables you to sense it, that dead doesn’t just mean the tragedy of a car crash or a sour bout of pneumonia. Sheriff of Atlantic City: probably Eli visited no end of widows to tell them that someone was dead, in that particular way. “My condolences,” he says finally. “But you fellas all sign off on that sorta thing these days, don’t you? Do it polite, civilised. So who gave the okay for Siegel to go?”

“I did.”

I did. Me. I thought I could hold them off for long enough, I got careless – kidding myself that as long as I asked, they’d listen. You thought you were a big shot, didn’t you? Benny could do whatever he wanted – spend other men’s money, fuck around in the desert, none of it would matter if you were protecting him. How many times did you tell him that? How many times did you lie?

‘Fuck’s sake, Ben. You’re a grown man now, you need to take some responsibility for what you’re doing out there.’

‘Christ, hocking me with this again? You’re worse than my mother, Meyer.’

‘I’ve been taking care of you for long enough. I’ll sort it, alright, but get it together.’

Big joke. Thinking you can do it all, and you can’t even protect your oldest friend. What does that say about you, Little Man?

Eli hasn’t spoken, he realises, for a good while now. Just breathing on the end of the line, like a death rattle.

“Jesus Christ.”

A half-laugh, contemptuous. “I don’t know him personally. Maybe you could put in a good word.”

“Huh. Well.”

“You’re right though,” the words come gushing out of him, the way they always do when Meyer’s frightened, or angry, or drunk, or all three, “we do keep things civilised. So when Benny started getting in over his head, borrowing big money and looking as if he wasn’t going to pay it back, well, we thought – I,” he gives a bitter laugh, “thought it could be kept from getting out of hand. So I talked, and I talked. And they listened,” another laugh, “for a while, at least. But the project – the hotel – he was putting together, it…well. Didn’t look as if it was going to pan out. You remember what the business was like, back in your day.” For a moment his voice turns sour. “Everything has to pan out right. And Benny. Jesus. There was no reigning him in one way or another. And everyone else was gunning for it, and I – ” Fuck. “I couldn’t see another way out. So.”

“Sounds like you did the best you could.”

“If I did the best I could Ben Siegel would still be alive,” Meyer spits, a hot line of anger running through his voice.

“Why aren’t you talking to your partner about this? The Italian one, the asshole?”

Good point. He has the number after all, there’s no excuse. Charlie ought to hear it from a friend. But that would involve telling Charlie what he’s done. Admitting that at the end of the day, he had no choice.

A sigh. “Alright then. Why call me?”

“Because you’re the only one left. I wanted to talk to someone… who remembers what we were. The work we did back then, with Jimmy and the others…” God, he doesn’t know where he’s going with this. Maybe he just wants to be reminded, even for a second, that there was a time when they was young and fierce and had it all still to come. “And you’re the only one who knows what this feels like.”

(Sitting there in Darmody’s ballroom suite, or near enough, in a new suite he’d had made that week and feeling like a fucking king – watching Jimmy hem and haw and feeling nothing but pitying contempt for this little schmuck who’d gotten in way too deep with no way of backing out. Eli’s voice, rough and cynical even then. Jesus Christ, just kill him.)

There’s a chill on the other end of the line. “You ought to watch what you’re saying.”

“I’m not judging you. I’d have killed your brother myself, given the chance.”

“Is there a point to this, Lansky?”

“The point is…” he feels himself sway, or rather slip, down below the depths of what is sensible or real, down into the mire; there are waters closing over his head with the truth that his oldest friend in the world is dead because he gave the all-clear for the trigger to be pulled, “when you’re the one whose back is against the wall and you can’t see a way out, and you say those words – and it’s your friend – how do you come back from that?”

“Think you already know the answer to that.”

He does. Doesn’t want to though. That would mean accepting the fact that matters have changed irrevocably, that outside forces have changed him against his will, and he’s powerless to stop it. He doesn’t like being powerless.

“Twenty minutes afterwards my associates took control of the hotel. One of them called me to say the Sidecars were the best he’d ever tasted.” Fuck, he wants to be sick.

“Get some sleep, Meyer. Then call your friend.” Eli’s voice is almost gentle, as if it were one of his kids calling up over a skinned knee or an ugly date. “Oh, and Meyer?”

“Yeah?”

“If I ever see you near my family again, I’ll gut you myself.”

The line goes dead. Well, Meyer thinks as he replaces the receiver, that’s fair enough. He doesn’t respect Eli for a hell of a lot, but he supposes he’ll credit him with that much: he knows how to be a father.

Sipping Sidecars in the Flamingo while Ben Siegel bled to death. And twenty minutes after you gave the order, he remembers, you were drinking at the Regent, because Moe Sedway invited you and you didn’t want him to see how rattled you were. How’s that for class, Little Man?

Would Benny have known? If they gave him time to think before that last bullet snuffed him out, surely he would have realised. Benny might have been reckless, but he wasn’t stupid. For him to be killed, the right people had to give the order.

Fuck. Fuck it all.

And he has no choice. Again, he knows precisely what he has to do. It’s out of his hands. Again.

Clumsily he fumbles for the telephone. Mutters his name when it’s finally picked up.

“Meyer? Jesus, what time is it over there?”

“Charlie.” He draws in a breath, closes his eyes. “We need to talk.”

[kootenaygoon]

So,

He looked tanned. 

Spencer took a luxurious drag on his Belmont, the ember exploding like a mini-supernova in his aviator sunglasses, and exhaled swirling spirits into the early morning mist of Diefenbaker Park. It was two days after Christmas and I’d left my pregnant wife and baby daughter at home to visit his memorial bench, the day after my sister died, and together we sat looking down at the central pond in the distance. I liked that he’d finally grown out his beard again, so that it had a scraggly surfer quality. The afterlife was agreeing with him.

I sighed. “The crazy thing is I’ve been grieving this shit for years, you know? Like I knew this could happen any time, any moment. And then the universe custom-designs this perfect French Exit for her. It was like it was staged,” I said, unpacking the one-gram pre-roll I’d picked up from Vancouver.

“Like think about this: Kristina went into labour on Kathryn’s birthday this year, then one day later Celista is born. Now she dies exactly nine months later, to the day. There’s some weird math there I can’t figure out.”

Spence smiled. “You’re always looking for the patterns.”

There was sweat collecting in my hairline. I’d gotten four hours of sleep, maybe, and I’d smoked half a pack of cigarettes. My family was circling the wagons hard, my other sister flying back from Belgium, and I was being inundated with social media engagements. I knew what was on everybody’s mind: this was exactly the sort of event that could send me back into my hyper-manic tail spin, put me back in the psych ward for the third time.

The thing was, Kathryn was more than a sister. She was me. With our matching dolphin tattoos, our matching blue cars, our blonde hair and our outrageous emotions. She was the female version of me, the sister whose soul was most entangled with mine. For years I’d assumed that one day I would end up derelict in her basement, while she played at domesticity with her healthy suburban brood upstairs. 

She had my back when nobody else did.

“I know she’s still here, man. But I can’t talk to her yet. So I wanted to come to you, you know? See if she’s made it to the other side,” I said. I was crying now, taking puffs off the spliff and blinking heartbroken at the baby blue sky through the clouds. 

Spence took off his aviators. I hadn’t realized he was crying, but now I could see his eyes were red-rimmed. For a moment I wanted to lunge for him, to touch his face with my hands. Then I remembered that he wasn’t there, that he’d been dead for years. Our last meal at Royal Jubilee flashed before my eyes, the way he looked with Canuck-coloured toe nails in his boss robe. Goddamn, I loved him. 

“You know I loved your sister,” he said. “She was family to me.”

I nodded, took another drag. The last time I saw Kathryn, in the basement of our house, she was wrapped up like a Pharaoh in her bedsheets. I touched her little cheek, with Celista riding on my hip, and told her that she wasn’t alone. That she would never be alone, that we were right there with her and death wouldn’t scare us away. With my siblings lined up behind me, I kissed her forehead and ran my hands through her duck fluff hair.

“You were perfect to me.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably. He hated when I got too demonstrative or weepy, mostly because his emotions made him uncomfortable. Years earlier, when we’d lived together in Victoria, he had a short-lived fling with my sister. I envisioned them being together, making him real family, but the circumstances weren’t right. Shortly later she was married to someone else.

Spence sighed. “I don’t know if I should tell you this.”

“What?”

He took another drag off his Belmont, then ground it into the grass. Slowly he began to explain to me how the afterlife works, how your soul stays connected to what’s going on in the contemporary timeline for a while, but eventually you transcend that. You stop haunting your friends, you stop wondering what’s going on in real time, because you’ve ascended to another plain of being. One with beaches.

“For a while there I was checking in on Taylor all the time, you know, and Shannon. It’s so much easier to be a Facebook creep once you’re dead. I know so much shit I can’t tell you yet,” he said.

“I know everything that happened to you before you met me, and I know everything that’s going to happen to you. I’ve read the whole story now, but we’re not supposed to give spoiler warnings to people who are still alive. That’s not how life works.”

I coughed a few times, and nodded guiltily at an elderly couple walking by with their dog. I hoped they hadn’t seen me talking to myself. I took a deep breath through my nostrils and tried to imagine how Spence’s consciousness was reaching me, whether this imaginary figure before me was a legit spectral presence or just another fucking delusion, like the time I thought J.K. Rowling was my Mom and G.R.R.M was my Dad.

Spencer bit his lip. “We’re not really allowed to intervene, is the thing. So I know when bad things are going to happen, but I can’t do anything to stop them. I’m at peace with it, but those are the rules.”

My heart was beating a little faster. “You knew. You knew this was going to happen and you didn’t tell me.”

A tear dribbled into his beard, and he pulled out another Belmont. “I’m sorry, man. I really am. I would’ve done something if I could’ve. I swear.”

Now I was really crying in public. “I was like twenty feet away, man. When she drew her last breath. It was like I knew I had to be closer to her, like she pulled me back into her orbit. I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know what I could’ve done. I could’ve done so many things,” I said.

“What-ifs are useless, man. You did what you could. You all did. She picked a fight with a demon and it killed her. That’s all there is to it.”

I was starting to get annoyed with Spence, like the time we went on vacation together and I spazzed out at A&W because he complained about the colour of the pickles on his burger. I was going to the trouble of conjuring up his apparition, I figured at least that he’d say something comforting. But that was the thing with Spence, he always told the unvarnished truth. Even when it was uncomfortable.

“So what’s this thing you were going to tell me?”

Spence took a few trembly drags, his fingers shaking. He took a long moment after exhaling. “When I found out what was going to happen to Kathryn, I told you I couldn’t change anything. I had to watch it happen, just like you. But while you were sleeping, I went into Kathryn’s room.”

“You did?”

He nodded. “She was laying on her face, half under the covers, wearing those designer white jeans. She looked so precious, Will. Like Marilyn Monroe.”

I gasped. “Or Princess Di.”

“Exactly.”

I’d never seen Spence this emotional. His eyes were like the Grinch’s as he took another puff. He looked off towards the sand cliffs, and the waterfall where we used to come to drink back in high school. He was pausing because he was trying to work up the courage to say what came next.

“So I crawled into bed with her, Will. I put my arms around her, with her face to my neck, and I cradled her like she was a newborn. I knew she couldn’t hear me, but I whispered to her that I’d be waiting on the other side. With her Gran Dad. I told her she didn’t have to be afraid anymore.”

My joint was finished now. I pulled out a cigarette, and Spencer offered me a light. Was this a pleasing fiction, or was I grasping at some legit truth from beyond the veil? These were exactly the sort of strange thoughts that would get me in trouble, but I needed to have them. I needed to let them out. And I needed to believe Spencer was telling me the truth.

He smiled. “But I didn’t even get to the best part. This is some real Rick and Morty shit.”

I snorted. “What?”

“Again, the metaphor isn’t perfect, but time doesn’t exist once you’re dead. Everything is happening all at once, like the Tralfamadorians in that one Vonnegut book.”

“The Sirens of Titan, right.”

“So the thing is, I’m talking to you right here but you’re also hanging with me in the afterlife already. We’re all together here. And when I went into that room, I wasn’t the only one there. Your whole family was there, and not just the nine of you but all of your aunts and uncles and all these other people I didn’t know,” he said.

I couldn’t believe it. “They were all there?”

“Packed in, shoulder to shoulder. All her boyfriends had to wait out in the living room. Then there was her swimming friends, her Sauder girls, her B.C. Ferries crowd. There was so many people they couldn’t even fit in the basement suite, so a bunch of them were out smoking in the driveway. And you know who else was there? Celista.”

I wanted to believe him so bad. “Would you believe that, if you were me?”

Spence shrugged. “Probably not. All I know is what I saw. And everyone wanted to be there, to let Kathryn know she wasn’t alone. That includes you. The future you was there, like a Force Ghost from Star Wars. And you were so proud of her for how hard she fought. She was a Jedi.”

“I’ve never heard you get this maudlin before. I mean, you didn’t even believe in God. This shit sounds pretty bonkers.”

He laughed. At first it was just a surprised blurt, but then it escalated into body-shaking belly laughter. He wiped his eyes.

“What’s the joke?” I asked. “I don’t get it.”

Spence’s eyes gleamed with mischief. 

“We are God.”

The Kootenay Goon

[shreddedparchment]

Man and Wife Pt.09

The Surprise Visit

04/23/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader          Word Count: 11,982

*Masterpost in Notes      Warnings: violence, language, a smidge of angst, pregnancy cuteness, pregnancy scariness, pregnancy cuteness again, spilled tomato sauce

A/N: So, I asked myself; Do they want it now? Or should I make a third pass of edits? I thought you guys might say, “NOW!” so, I’m posting it now. I’ll edit again tomorrow however, so, heads up! I hope you all like this one. You asked for less angst and I give less angst but there’s still some because come one, it needs to be there, story wise. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo P.S. I’m so sorry I didn’t respond to the comments for part 8! I love y’all!

“Excuse me? Miss! Shit. Hold on.” The chair squeaks loudly as Bucky rises, making himself as small as possible as he lumbers towards the redheaded waitress who’d just left you.

Your heart shakes as you watch him chase after her; tall, strong arms, milky skin. She’s beautiful. You force yourself to focus on Bucky instead. You know why he’s up and you remind yourself that he’s here with you.

Your lips curve up into a small smile as you watch Bucky try hard to be as nonthreatening as possible but still the waitress gasps when she turns around and falls against the register. Bucky holds his hands up and you can tell that he’s apologizing. His cheeks flame red and you feel a twinge of deep affection at his cuteness but also the sting of pain because people are still afraid of him.

He tucks his metal hand behind him, holding it away from the waitress as he gestures towards you and then moves back as the woman sidles along the counter and back into the kitchen of the small sandwich shop you and Bucky had come to for lunch.

You reach down to tug your shirt more tightly over your still teeny tiny bump. You’re not really showing yet. Everyone who doesn’t know you might think you’d just had a big lunch. But to your friends, they see you and they know instantly.

You’re still small enough that your shirt fits loosely around you but because you know the baby’s in there, you fuss over your stomach. The jean cut-off shorts are shorter than you normally wear but Spring seems to be heating up quickly and your hormones must be raging because you’re hot a lot of the time now.

You fuss with your shirt more, thin black and white striped shirt with three-quarter sleeves, making sure not to let the loose cuff around your forearm dip into your ranch. A small stack of sliced tomatoes just waiting to be dipped beside it.

You grab one, holding it carefully between your thumb and index finger, dip it lightly, and savor the flavors as they fall across your tongue.

Moaning with contentment, your stomach fluttering as your hunger pangs grow stronger, Bucky turns towards you at the sound. Even all the way across the shop he can hear your whispered cry of satisfaction.

He smiles at you, watching you chew, then turns back to the redhead as she holds out a small white bowl for him to take.

“Thank you!” He says, too excited but he hurries back towards you and slides into his chair, making it squeak against the floor again. “Here you go, kitten.”

He places the bowl of pickles beside the one with tomato.

“Thank you.” Being this happy with Bucky again…you hadn’t thought it would be possible. You watch him pull his plate closer but after every adjustment he makes to his food, he reaches over and fixes something on your plate. Or he grabs you a napkin and places it on your too exposed legs. Or he pushes your pickles closer. Or he assess the fullness of your lemonade.

You finally chuckle. “Bucky just eat. I’m fine.”

He stops, staring at you as you shove another tomato into your mouth, quickly followed by a plain dill pickle slice and you can almost see the swell of pride as he sits up straighter, breathes in deeply, and then relaxes.

“Okay.” He sighs and finally takes a bite of his sandwich.

The walk into the park is nice. Bucky shoves his hands into the pockets of his black jeans to keep from reaching over and taking your hand.

It’s only been two weeks since you and he “made up”. Things aren’t exactly right yet but they’re on their way and you’re happy. Well…you’re happy until-

“You’re Bucky Barnes, right?” A cool sweet voice stops the two of you in your tracks.

You told him that hat wouldn’t hide him.

“Er…yeah.” Bucky replies, staring at the young brunette. She’s petite, tiny compared to him but the curve of her body tells you she’s woman enough.

“Can I take a picture with you? My cousin has such a crush on you!” She gushes not sparing you a glance.

“Oh um, okay.” Bucky replies nervously and you quickly move aside as the girl settles into the crook of his right arm.

You swallow hard, trying not to let this upset you. She’s a fan. No big deal…right?

But you can’t watch as two more girls hurry forward, friends of the first apparently. You turn away from them and keep walking.

It’s silly. It’s stupid. It’s embarrassing and completely unexpected, but you’re crying as you walk away. The ache in your chest cannot be silenced.

His jogging feet shift along the cement pathway, creating a consistent scrape, scrape, scrape, sound as he catches up with you.

“Sorry about that, I-Y/N?”

You look away from him as he leans forward, trying to get a look at your face.

“Are you crying?”

“I think I wanna go home now.” You mumble, your voice thick around the lump in your throat.

This isn’t your first date with Bucky. For the first he’d really stuck to the cliché. Movie, dinner, and then drinks after, though that had been tea for you and a soda for him. When you’d asked him why he wasn’t going to have a real drink, he shook his head.

“I don’t drink anymore.”

“But…you can’t even get drunk?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Why are you crying?” He asks, moving to stand in front of you to stop your progress.

Angrily you wipe at your cheeks, hating your body for betraying you like this.

Bucky’s head scans the people behind you. “Is it because of those girls?”

You say nothing, afraid of sounding stupid or worse, like a jealous wife. It’s only when Bucky’s warm hands burn through the sleeves of your shirt that you look at him.

“Y/N? Please don’t shut me out. You’re upset. Tell me why.”

He’s right. You shouldn’t keep this to yourself. Not like before.

“Is it really okay f-for me to tell you?”

“Of course, kitten. If I’m doing something or if I’ve said something-”

“I don’t like you taking pictures with hot girls.”

Bucky looks over your head again, searching for his fans.

“Hot?” He asks, confused. He takes a moment, he’s so silent that you think maybe you’ve angered him but when you look at his face, you see the pucker between his eyes as he thinks. “Okay.”

“Okay?” You ask, still staring up at him.

“Okay.” He nods. “No more pictures with fans. Female fans.”

Your mind explodes with glee and then you can see the reality of what you’re asking him. You can see the forums and comment sections of articles and pictures of Bucky with male fans. You can almost hear the disdain on tumblr and Instagram as his intense fan base spouts hate because his controlling wife is so jealous that he won’t take pictures with girls anymore.

“No.” You sigh, shaking your head. “No, Bucky, you can’t do that. They’ll hate me.”

“Who will?”

“Everyone.” You rub your belly, protective of the little one within. You know it’s stupid to fear these faceless people. They don’t actually know who you are, but they know he has a wife. You hate the idea of anyone sending you negative vibes with the baby coming. “I just wanna go home.”

You stare at his chest, unwilling to look up and see the disappointment in his face. Hot hands cup your cheeks, strong thumbs—one cool, one blazing—rub rough circles as they wipe away tears. The gesture does what he wants, it makes you look at him.

“I love you, Y/N. Please don’t doubt that.”

“You’re expecting too much from me, Bucky. You cheated on me. I saw you in bed with someone else. Our bed. I can’t erase that or how it made me feel. I already thought I wasn’t good enough for you-”

He growls but it’s not directed at you, he steps closer, all care of who may be watching flying out the window. “I love you. I’m sorry that you had to see me that way. It’s not something that I ever thought I would do—I won’t make excuses because I can’t but please never say that again.”

“Say what?”

“That you aren’t good enough for me. You are so good, Y/N. Too good. It’s me who doesn’t deserve you.” He suddenly straightens up and sees that a few people are watching. He renews the distance between you and sighs. “Are you free next Wednesday?”

You’re so fucking free. Since quitting your job, you’ve taken on some editing gigs to tide you over but you’re officially out of a job. You nod.

“I want you to meet my therapist. I want you there at my next session.”

“For what?” You wonder, excited that he wants you at something so private but also worried that the doctor will tell you that you’re the reason everything went wrong in your marriage.

“Because I want you to see me, Y/N. And I want you to see the way I see you.”

“Hello again, Y/N.”

“Hello, Dr. Garza.” You take your seat to Bucky’s right. He’s already sitting but he pulls a pillow over for you so that you can lean back against it on the long black sofa. “I’m okay, Bucky.”

“Sorry.” He says and pulls his hands back between he knees. He looks so handsome in his dark gray jeans and bright red t-shirt.

As you fix the pillow, you look up at the doc to see her watching Bucky with keen eyes. You’ve been here three times already and you definitely understand Bucky much more. You see his self-hatred and that alone breaks your heart.

You heard all about his worries for you and can see yourself through his eyes a bit better but mostly that just makes you feel like you’re weak and still—despite his reassurances—ill-suited for him.

“Why are you fussing over Y/N, Bucky?” Dr. Garza dives right in, no waiting and you still beside Bucky, looking to him as you and she both wait for his answer.

Bucky blushes. “I…just want her to be comfortable.”

“What made you think she wasn’t?”

“Nothing. I guess I-I feel guilty.”

You’re in utter awe at the way Dr. Garza can pull these words out of Bucky. He’s getting better at telling you things clearly. Speaking his truth. There are way fewer misunderstandings between the two of you. Less bickering though women are still a problem. And men.

~~~~~~~~~~

You struggle in the aisle, reaching up high to try and grab the large box of paper. Buying in bulk is a necessity. Since you’re on your own now, you have to pay for the expense of printing out manuscripts on your own.

You groan, pushing yourself up higher on your tiptoes and manage to get the box to the edge when it suddenly comes barreling towards you, twenty pounds of premium no-smudge paper. You let out a squeak of fear, throwing your arms up over your head but curling in on yourself to shield your tummy from harm.

The box never lands. You feel hot heavy breath hit the top of your head and strong body heat wrapped around your right side. Relief warms you; Bucky had saved you!

Only it wasn’t Bucky. Just a man. No one you know. He’s taller than you, not as tall as Bucky, a soft body—this guy is like you, he doesn’t work out. His blonde hair is long, though nowhere near as long as Bucky’s. His startled brown eyes stare down at you with worry.

“Are you okay, miss?”

You nod. “Y-yes.”

“Hey!” Bucky’s voice cuts through the aisle and you jump, startled by it. Almost as if you were caught doing something wrong.

He’s at your side instantly, moving between you and the man who saved your head. You watch his face and see him glare death at your rescuer.

“What happened?” He asks, then turns his eyes on you, full of concern.

“I was trying to get the box and it fell.”

“I just caught the box, man. She’s okay.” You can hear the tremble in the man’s voice and feel bad for him. Today, Bucky has made no attempt to hide his metal arm. He’s wearing an old black t-shirt, the sleeves cut off and a pair of gray joggers pants.

Bucky takes the box from the guy’s hands roughly, standing much too close to you—not that you mind too much. He looks really fucking good in that shirt and those pants—clearly displaying his claim.

“Yeah, thanks for saving my wife, bud.” Bucky’s words are kind, but his tone is a downright threat.

All sweat and stutters, the man nods, gives you a nervous smile and when Bucky drops the box of paper into your cart, the man jumps then turns and scurries away.

“That wasn’t nice.” You tell him. “He was just trying to help me.”

“I know he was.” Bucky says, and in one of the only moments that you let him show you affection, he reaches up and tucks your hair behind your ear, slipping his hand around your waist. “I thanked him.”

“You threatened him, Bucky.”

“You’re impossible to resist protecting. You bring that out in people, you know that? Especially guys.”

“Don’t be stupid.” You scoff and turn away from him to push your cart into the next aisle. He falls in step behind you.

“I’m serious. It’s like people can’t help it.”

By people, you know that he means Henry. You can hear the drag in his voice as he tries to sound as nonchalant as possible.

You stop, turn to face him, leaning against the cart so that the long handle pokes into your back.

“Bucky, I only slept with H-” His eyes are ice-fire, searing and angry. “-with him because I’d known him for so long. I used to like him. I wanted to be with him at one point. I’m not going to sleep with some random guy I just met.”

Of course, the irony of the sentence you just spoke is not lost on you and Bucky’s eyes soften. The fire of rage extinguished as he laughs once.

You laugh too. Squeezing your eyes shut before you open them again to watch him smile.

“No.” Bucky agrees but he moves towards you and turns you around so that you start to walk again, pushing the cart. He leans in towards your ear, his hands and arms right beside your own on that cart’s handle. “Not again, huh?”

You give in, the moment too good to pass up. You lean back, letting him walk with you, relishing in the comforting warmth of his hard chest. “Never again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Why?” Dr. Garza wonders.

You try not to look at Bucky when he’s baring his soul. He doesn’t need the added pressure of you staring at him.

“Because of what I did. Sleeping with P-” He stops, like you did in the office supply store, knowing that hearing her name will bring you pain. “-with that other woman.”

“Y/N?”

You look up, surprised to be addressed when all the sessions before had taken place as if you weren’t sitting in the room with them.

“Yes?”

“How does Bucky’s fussing make you feel?”

You swallow hard, hesitant about speaking the truth.

“There are no secrets in this room, Y/N. We don’t hide how we feel. We speak it aloud. From what I understand, you’ve always had a problem with telling Bucky how you’re feeling?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Why?”

“I was afraid.” You admit, staring at Dr. Garza and only her. You can feel Bucky’s eyes on you though, his body angled towards you.

“Of what?”

“Of making him angry. Of-fighting over nothing. Of being a nuisance?”

“You’re not a nuisance, Y/N.” Bucky rushes to say. “How can you-?”

“Bucky.” The doc says sternly, and he clenches his jaw, shutting himself up. “Let’s not interrupt Y/N when she’s talking. I want you to really hear her, okay? And wait until she’s finished before replying.”

Bucky nods.

“Why did you feel that way, Y/N? What made you think that you’d be a nuisance to Bucky?”

You laugh once, a scoff more than anything, but it isn’t bitter, just an exclamation of exasperation. A duh. “Look at him.”

Even with his face all scrunched up, body curled toward you as he fights his urge to reach out to you, he’s visual perfection. Guy that look like Bucky don’t date girls like you, much less marry them. Or so your experience has taught you.

“Bucky is the most handsome man I’ve ever met. And he married me? It’s-I’ve pinched myself a million times trying to see if it was a dream.” You shake your head.

“Is that the only reason that you married Bucky?”

“No! Of course not. His…I didn’t even like him when I first met him. I thought he was a pervert.” You admit, and this time you smile.

“Why?”

Bucky’s also smiling and he meets your eyes. The two of you laugh and Bucky clears his throat. “We sort of met in an unconventional sort of way. I tripped and went headfirst into her chest. She was wearing this low pink V-cut bathing suit. It was pleasant for me. Not so much for Y/N.”

Your cheeks burn. “I didn’t fall for him until he showed up with a bandage for my foot. I’d skinned it when I was walking around the lazy river ride, with the tubes? I’d been limping around on it and Bucky found me. Apologized for the way we met, and then dressed my foot.

“I knew who he was. I’d been a fan before. His story, although I’ve learned more details recently about his experiences, it moved me. So, when I met him, I wasn’t afraid of him like some of my friends in high school had been. All I saw was this sweet guy trying to apologize for shoving his face into my boobs.

“It was that more than anything that drew me in. He was so careful with me, so easy with his smile. I really did fall in love with you that day, Bucky. And when I agreed to marry you, I-I knew that it would be hard, but I never expected this to happen.”

And suddenly, you’re crying, your chest burning with pain and remorse because you did it to him too. You hurt him the way he hurt you. And yours…it feels worse because from what he’s said, the woman he’d slept with had been convenience. She’d just been there.

Henry for you had been deeper. A buildup and culmination of four years of pent up attraction. Emotions had been involved there. You’d liked Henry.

“So,” Dr. Garza says carefully. “How does Bucky’s fussing make you feel, Y/N?”

You turn to look at her, tearing your eyes away from Bucky as your tears continue to pour, rapid falls carving salty divots.

“Guilty. I hurt him too. I should have done more. I should have told you that I don’t like being away from you for days on end. I should have told you that when you leave me in the mornings, it feels like you’re choosing other people over me. I shouldn’t feel that way because I know that Steve and Sam are important to you. But it was too much. You were gone for days and then you still chose to be with them over me when you were finally home? And I should have told you that it was hurting me.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” Bucky’s face is contorted with agony, his right hand reaches out for your left and you take it, you squeeze it. You hold on for dear life because this man is everything. He’s your life, your family, your home, and he’s hurting too.

“I should have told you that I wasn’t well.” He speaks in a whisper, the room already so quiet, it’s easy to hear him. “You had already done so much for me—I wasn’t having nightmares anymore. I was able to get through the day without a spazzing out, but I still wasn’t safe for you. I was still terrified of hurting you.”

“Why then? Why did you sleep with her?”

Bucky shuts his eyes and hangs his head, squeezing your hand tighter.

“It’s like you handpicked her to check all of the boxes for everything that I’m insecure about. I know that I’m not athletic. I can’t fight someone off. I can’t lift a twenty-pound box over my head. My muscles are soft and I’m not as fierce as you wish I was.”

“You’re perfect, Y/N. Just.As.You.Are.” Bucky insists, gritting his teeth as tears fall from his eyes too. They pool at the edges then spill over, falling on your hand. “I-For a moment I did wish that you were stronger, that you were l-like one of the agents I work with if only because I can’t bear to leave you unprotected. I told you the other day that you bring an instinctive urge out in people to want to protect you and in me…the thought of anything happening to you fills me with so much dread that sometimes I can’t sleep at night.

“Every moment that I spend away from you feels like a lifetime. I am not at ease unless I know that you’re safe and that is on me. It’s not a responsibility that I should have tried to put on you. I love you, just as you are. You are all that I want. Every single moment I spent with that woman was torture. I just needed to stop thinking. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He pulls your hand up to his lips and kisses it, clinging to your hand as if his life depends on it.

For a few minutes the two of you simply cry together.

“Y/N?” Dr. Garza pulls your attention back to her. “Do you believe that Bucky loves you? Truly?”

You look back at Bucky and the blue in his eyes seems to swirl and melt, pained adoration flowing from them as he stares right back at you. You nod.

“Yes.” You weep, inhaling a shuddering breath.

“Bucky? Do you believe that Y/N loves you?”

He’s already nodding. “Yes. I do.”

You don’t know why that makes you so happy. Your chest tightens and then bursts with relief. You scoot closer, and Bucky already knows what to do. He leans in, the two of you kiss, just a quick fierce peck, before he pulls you tight against his chest.

Your weak arms, wrapped around his torso, squeeze him harder than you’ve ever squeezed before. And you know that this doesn’t fix things. You know that there is still going to be so much struggle and hard work to overcome. The thought of Bucky sitting next to a beautiful girl still fills you with terror just as another man saving you from harm must fill him with agony.

It’ll be a work in progress but for the first time since you agreed to give Bucky a chance again, to go on a date with him, you feel confident that he will choose you and not because of your baby, but for you.

The idea of going back to the apartment, of moving back into that place where your world ended, is unthinkable. You don’t go back.

At six months pregnant, you and Bucky are doing much better. You see him nearly every day. His presence at Casey’s is starting to grate on her nerves but she’s a good sport about it and tries not to glare at him too much.

Physical contact has returned too. Bucky can take your hand and you don’t pull it away. He can hug you, rest his hands on your belly over your shirt, and it’s alright.

He talks to the baby. A mystery because both you and Bucky have decided to wait until the they’re born to find out if it’s a boy or girl. It doesn’t really matter either way. You’re both just happy to have them coming.

Since that day in Dr. Garza’s office however, you and Bucky haven’t kissed again. You’re not sure who among the two of you is resisting. You don’t know if you would tell him no again, and Bucky doesn’t try.

It’s been weeks since Bucky’s gone out on mission. He’s doing it for you. You know he is. Sometimes, when he’s visiting at Casey’s, he gets a phone call and moves to your window to stare out at the front of the building.

He does it again today. He’s laughing, his lips pressed against your bump as the baby in your belly moves. “Ooh, that was a fart.”

“No, it wasn’t!” Bucky protests. Refusing to believe that his baby is farting all day in your belly.

“Yes, it was.” Another small bump pops up, right against his lips. “Eeewwwwwww! The baby just farted into your mouth!”

Bucky throws his head back and laughs, his hands placed on either side of your tummy, the white t-shirt stretched taught over your swollen belly. He’s laying to your left, leaning over your thighs so that he can caress his baby comfortably.

You chuckle with him, your laugh quieter as you enjoy the vision and sound of his melodic laughter. A deep baritone, smooth and easy.

His phone rings, and your laughter dies almost instantly. Bucky’s trails off slowly as he reaches into his pocket to fish out his phone.

The shift in his eyes as he reads the name on the screen would be imperceptible to anyone but you. A hardness ices his blues. He kisses your belly one more time then scoots to the edge of the bed as he swipes his fingers across the heated glass.

He’s on his feet, moving towards your window as you push yourself to sit up straight against the headboard of your bed. Your hands move along your tummy, smoothing the wrinkles of your shirt.

“Hello?” Bucky looks at you and smiles as the other person on the phone talks quickly.

You return his smile though it doesn’t reach your eyes.

He mouths, Sorry.

You shake your head.

“No.” Bucky says sternly, turning his back on you to look out the window. “I said no, Steve. I’m not going.”

You can see the tension roll down along Bucky’s wide shoulders. He holds the phone with his metal hand, his right held up against the windowsill as he squeezes the wood. Steve must be trying to convince him to go on whatever mission they’re about to run.

“Bucky-?” You probe, intent on telling him to go. He’s been by your side long enough. He has to do his job. He might not like it all the time, but it’s in his blood. And you’ve learned more about Elias and this fight is personal for Bucky.

Bucky had confessed not long after that breakthrough session with Dr. Garza that Elias was Swiss. He’d been found by an unknown party in the back room of the same Siberian Hydra facility where Zemo had lured him, Steve, and Tony to.

He’d killed all the other Winter Soldiers before they’d even arrived, save for one, hidden in a back room behind a secret door; Elias. Fucking Hydra and their secret doors.

The difference between Bucky and Elias is that Bucky at his core is inherently good. He wants to help, save, build, and love. Elias had been plucked from some criminal group, already an elite trained assassin, and made more deadly with Super Soldier Serum.

The Avengers have been chasing him across Europe for the better part of a year. Now, with your one-year wedding anniversary weeks away, Elias had snuck into the States and after you and Bucky reconciled, have been pursing without Bucky’s help.

“I’ll come look at the tapes, Steve, but I’m not going. I’m right where I should be.” He says, almost angry. “I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up and you sit up straighter, resting only your right hand on your stomach as Bucky turns back towards you.

“You have to go?” You know he does.

“Yeah. It’s getting late anyway.” Bucky sighs, clearly hesitant to leave your side. “But I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Bucky,” You reach out for his hand and he takes it. As you sit up, throwing your legs over the edge of the bed to sit, he sits beside you. Right beside you, and your heart flutters. He intertwines his fingers with yours and you love it so much you sit and enjoy it for a few silent seconds.

“I don’t wanna go.” He assures you.

“I know that.” You sigh lightly and pull your eyes away from his hand tangled with yours. His own eyes are searching, his rose-pink lips slightly parted. “But you should go with them.”

“What?” He’s surprised. Why? You know why.

“You should go with them. You’ve spent the past two months with me. You haven’t gone on any missions-”

“Because I want to fix this. I want to show you that you’re all I want.”

“And you have, babe. But I don’t want to feel like I’m taking you away from your own life. You had one before you met me, and I never wanted you to feel like I was trying to make you give that up. I just wanted to be included.”

He looks down at the floor by your feet, a pained frown overtaking his features. You let his hand go and reach up to wrap it around the back of his head, gentle fingers trailing into the short soft tufty hairs at the nape of his neck. He shuts his eyes, his face relaxed of all stress with your touch.

“And you have included me. I know why you tried to keep me at a distance now. We can work through that. It won’t be easy but I’m willing to try if you are.”

“Of course, I wanna try.” Bucky sighs. “But what if I come back and I’m…that night we fought, when I yelled at you-what if that happens again?”

“It might. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

He meets your eyes, blue fire boring into your soul. He scans your face, memorizing the shape of your brow, the plump of your lip, the curve of your nose. You do the same. He’s so damn beautiful. Even in his pain and uncertainty, he’s not perfect. And you love him for it.

“Next time.” You sigh, giving up. As his left hand finds your belly, and his right arm wraps around your back, he nods. “I’ll go to the next one. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Bucky’s been gone for a hot minute. The night is late, and you can hear the emptiness of the rooms around you. Casey always stays with Sam the night before a mission, not that you blame her, but you also hate the solitude of the empty house.

You move back down the hallway, headed back to your room after having to pee for what feels like the tenth time tonight. You caress your tummy but yawn and speak. “Move off my bladder, ducky, mommy wants to sleep.”

With half-lidded eyes, you meander back into your room, sit on the bed, and yawn once more. You reach over to shut off your lamp when a shift in the dark corner by the very same window that Bucky had stood by earlier today catches your eye.

“Bucky?” You ask hopefully, stupidly, because if Bucky were here, he would have come found you in the bathroom or he’d be waiting on the bed. Why would he be hiding in the corner?

Your heart stops and restarts at supersonic speeds as a large looming man steps forward wearing tattered brown rags that might have been a uniform of some sort at some point, a ripped vest with the distinct marks of previous bullets hitting the armor, and no shoes. His skin is dirty, covered in patches of black tar? Dirt, dried blood, and his blonde hair stands at hard odd angles, crusted with grime.

Your eyes quickly find his bright green eyes, piercing, the color of lethal toxin set ablaze. You get no comfort in his green like you do in Casey’s. You can feel the hate radiating off of him, the ill-intent, the violence to come.

Your left hand flies to pull open the drawer of your nightstand, Barnes sitting just inside.

As your right hand flies for the gun, a disgusting dirty one grabs your wrist, squeezing so tight you cry out. You let your instinct drive you and pull your left leg up hard and fast, driving it between the man’s legs.

He groans and drops your hand. You grab the gun, but you don’t get to lift it as the full force of his back-hand swing throws you clear over the bed. You don’t think. You just curl. You wrap yourself around your stomach as your body falls hard against the wall then onto the floor. Something is broken. You can feel it. A finger? Your whole arm? You’re a body of bruises already from one single stupid hit.

Gasping you pull yourself up weakly, Barnes still clutched in your left hand. It takes all the strength in your body to pull yourself up to sit, to lean your arms on the bed and aim. You pull the trigger and it echoes around you filling the air with the acrid burn of gunpowder and the rust of blood.

The man cries out as he reaches up to grab his shoulder. After a long glare at you, his green eyes full of enmity, he disappears through your bedroom doorway. You don’t hear his exit, but you hear the front door burst open.

How long you stay like that you don’t know. You’re shaking, terrified, crying, hurting, and frozen. It feels like hours before you’re finally able to move.

You cry out as you straighten up and then curl in on yourself as you move around the bed, limping because you’d hit your right foot hard against the wall. You’re still sobbing as you find your phone, your hand still a vice around Barnes.

With your phone held tight in your right hand, and the shaking index finger of your left hand, you scroll through the names on your phone and look for The Perv. Barnes’s metal hits the edge of your phone because there is no way that you are letting it go.

He picks up after one ring.

“Hold on, Steve. Y/N? What’s the matter, baby? Can’t sleep?” You’re not unaware of how relaxed and happy he sounds, finally around his friends after devoting himself to you so wholly these past two months. However, you can’t help the wracking sobs that tear through your lump ridden throat at the sound of his voice.

“Y/N?!” He yells, the worry making his voice rise.

“What is it?” Sam asks.

“Bucky?” Nat.

You’re finally able to find your voice after a few unending seconds of loud, harsh sobbing that tears at your throat. “Bucky!”

It’s like his life is over. The sounds you’re making fill him with a fear that he’d never known he could feel.

Compared to the fear of you leaving him, this is worse. The terror in your cries turns his heart to lead and it falls into the pit of his stomach.

He’s running before he even knows where he’s going but there’s only one place you can be. What if you were kidnapped? What if you’d been taken away from him by force?

The nearest exit is the glass doors to the balcony by the living room. He throws them open and leaps, falling three stories without fear. He tucks himself in as the ground rushes up to meet him and he rolls then springs back up onto his feet.

Bucky’s legs have never moved so fast. He’s struggling to breathe when he reaches town. Three a.m. means the streets are deserted, only a car passes him as he flies along the pavement. Your front door sits wide open, several people are standing in your walkway, others are standing on their stoops, glancing towards your and Casey’s house with looks of shock and concern. Bucky doesn’t stop.

He shoves people aside; something must have drawn them out of their homes. What?

The sounds of sirens begin to fill the air as Bucky takes the stairs four at a time. He slides on the top floor landing but turns into your room and nearly falls to his knees at the sight of you howling with tears, kneeling, your bare right foot bright red, turning purple. Your left hand, the heel of your palm pressed against your forehead, is curled around Barnes your pinky twisted into a painful position. It’s broken.

Your entire body is curled protectively around your stomach and as Bucky heaves and struggles to breathe, his shoulders rising and falling violently as he moves towards you, you turn to him and open your arms like a terrified toddler.

Bucky drops to his knees, and pulls you close, holding you tight as you wrap your arms around his neck, almost choking him in your desperation, and bury your face against his thudding pulse as you continue to cry.

He tries to speak but his voice seems to have left him. Instead he breathes out a ragged croak. He shuts his eyes and wills his heart to stop pounding so hard. He inhales deeply through his nose, the gunpowder from the gun sharp and stinging, he can also smell a hint of blood in the air.

He runs his hand along your body, searching, but the faintness of the smell already tell him that the wounded is long gone.

“I’ve got you, kitten.” His voice is still strangled, struggling to come out louder than a whisper. It doesn’t matter however; the timber of his voice seems to relax you. You keep your arms wrapped around him tightly, but he can feel you melt against him.

Running feet pound up behind him but Bucky is so familiar with the gaits that he doesn’t turn. He does however scoot his metal arm underneath your knees and with ease he lifts you up. He turns with you in his arms as Nat, Sam, and Steve stumble to a stop by the doorway.

Steve moves inside, Sam following as Nat holds back, disappearing into the darkness of the house to check the rest of the rooms probably.

“Is she-?” Steve begins.

“She’s okay.” Bucky assures him. “She needs Cho.”

Sam is out the door, his hand on his ear. “Get the jet. Call Helen, tell her we need her in the med bay A-Sap.”

Bucky could have carried you to the compound, but he would prefer the safety of the jet too. He’s silent the entire ride back, his arms holding you carefully, and with you in his lap he’s able to place his hand on your tummy. He rubs it gently, grateful that you’re in one piece if only slightly broken.

Your racking sobs have turned into quiet sniffles and Bucky’s heart aches but also soars at the way you cling to him for comfort. He leans in and kisses your head, offering as much as he can.

As the jet lands, Sam moves towards him but reaches for your left hand to relieve you of your gun.

“Don’t.” Bucky warns him, but Sam tries anyway.

Bucky can feel you tense up and feels your hand wrap around the gun harder. You try to move your pinky and it makes you whimper. With a hiss Bucky gets to his feet and walks towards Sam, a threat in his eyes.

Sam backs up a step holding up his arms to show Bucky he means no harm. “Sorry, Y/N. Sorry.”

Bucky sidesteps him and moves off the jet, into the elevator, and all the way down to the med bay.

“Y/N? Can you hear me? Come on, baby, open your eyes.” His voice is so tempting and warm, you reach for him.

Something isn’t right. Your pinky won’t bend. You groan, your right foot also hurts and feels too tight.

“Bucky?” You whisper, your voice hoarse. Why is it-? “Bucky!”

You shout, sitting up so quickly your back cracks and protests against the sudden movement. Your mind floods with the scramble for your gun, the sharp pain of a harsh hit, the crumble of your fall, and then the panic as you called Bucky and all you could do is scream for him.

“I’ve got you, kitten. I’ve got you.” Bucky's arms are around you, and you quickly wrap yours around him again. He repeats those words, over and over, rubbing your back over the soft, over sized pink cotton shirt you wear to bed. “I’ve got you, kitten. I’ve got you.”

You stay there, in his arms, unwilling to let go because the fear coursing through your body is paralyzing.

When Bucky speaks again, his voice is proud, he squeezes you once and then resumes rubbing your back. “You shot him.”

He already knows who it is that attacked you? “Who?”

“Elias.” Bucky sighs, his voice tells you that crinkle between his eyes is prominent. “We think he noticed my absence. He and I have more in common than I’d like to admit. Maybe not fundamentally but he was made like me. Only difference is he enjoyed it.”

“The other Winter Soldier?” You whisper, realization hitting you smack in the face—no, that was Elias’s hand. You must look like a walking bruise.

“So, he came after me?” Your fearful hitch makes Bucky push you back a little if only so that he can stare into your eyes with anxious blue steel.

“No. I think he was looking for me. He followed me there and was probably curious. When he saw you-”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Did you reach for your gun first, or did he hit you first?”

“I reached for the gun. He stopped me, hurt my wrist.” You pull your arm up and look at the skin, bruised, swollen slightly too. “I was worried…about our ducky and I just reacted. I didn’t think. I kicked him and then I grabbed the gun but then he hit me, and I remember hitting something hard,”

“The wall.” Bucky says.

“-and got up and shot him. I couldn’t even hold up the gun, Bucky I’m such shit to protect our baby. I had to rest my arms on the bed to keep them steady. What if he’d hurt our ducky?”

“You did amazing, Y/N. You fought him off. And the baby is perfect. Helen says that she’s never seen a baby so healthy and perfect, but she called Dr. Carroll for you and she checked you over too.”

“Dr. Carroll was here?” Shock widening your eyes.

“She was.” Bucky smiles, reaching up to tuck your hair back, caressing what feels like a massive bump that stretches along the entirety of the right side of your face. “She said she understands now why the baby always seemed to have a heartrate much faster than normal. She seemed kind of impressed when I told her I was your husband.”

You watch as Bucky’s eyes grow distant for a moment. It’s scary, that wall he hides behind. You haven’t seen it in two months and there it is.

“What, Bucky? Did she say something?”

“No, I just…”

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little surprised.” Dr. Carroll reaches down to press the small wand of the much more competent ultrasound machine to your exposed tummy.

“Why?” Bucky asks, his eyes peaked with interest as he watches the screen for his baby. He can already hear that quick thrumming. His little one’s heart! He could kiss the stupid screen for giving him this moment.

His elation is quickly followed by sorrow. He’s missed so much already.

“Ooh, there!” Dr. Carroll sounds a little too excited to see the baby. The image is stunning, 3D, and Bucky can already see that the baby has your nose. The rest of him or her, looks a little like it’s still forming. He can see eyebrows, patchy, like they’re still filling in, shut eyes, big ones. The chin is too small still and the cheeks still not puffed like he’s seen some babies get.

“Is that our baby?!” He asks excitedly, forgetting his sorrow.

The baby suddenly twitches and Dr. Carroll smiles then chuckles. “They like your voice.” She says, explaining the sudden movement.

“My voice?” Bucky doesn’t understand why, or how the baby would even know to distinguish his voice as something to like. He’d missed out on the baby’s first four and a half months. At six months, with only a collective two and a half months of hearing him and the first month of that sparingly because he was always away on mission, he finds it hard to believe that the baby knows to like him.

“Yeah. See.” Dr. Carroll adjusts the wand so that the baby is on display on its side, profile clear and that is definitely your nose! “Try and say something.”

“Uh, hey little one. I’m er…I’m your daddy.” Bucky says nervously.

The baby twitches again, kicking their little legs and at the same time, Bucky can see the kick on your stomach. Bucky’s eyes water. How is it possible that the little one knows it’s him? He looks at you and leans his forehead against your temple. Your face, swollen, beaten, and asleep looks peaceful, despite the purple and red-blue marks on your right side.

“I told you our ducky wasn’t farting.”

Dr. Carroll is silent as the thrumming continues to fill the room. When Bucky finds it weird that she still hasn’t said anything, he looks up at her, sitting up straight again. She’s staring at him and you, her eyes narrowed slightly.

“How long have you two been married?” She wonders.

“Almost a year.” Bucky tells her. “Just under two months left.”

“I didn’t think she had a husband. She never mentioned one when she first came to the office. I felt so bad for her, nervous thing that she was, I figured it was a one night stand or—something worse with how terrified she was? I tried not to ask. But she took two pictures.”

Bucky nods. “She gave it to me a few weeks ago.”

Then because curiosity overwhelms him, he asks, “Why didn’t you think she was married? Why did you jump to the conclusion that she must have gotten pregnant under different circumstances?”

“Well,” Dr. Carroll removes the wand and Bucky is almost heartbroken to have the thrumming stop. However, if he strains his ears hard enough, he can hear its little murmur. “She just seems so-”

“Helpless?” Bucky offers. Dr. Carroll laughs, just a huff, as she nods.

“Yes. Plus, no ring.”

“Huh?” Bucky asks, confused now. And then it dawns on him what she must be talking about and even though he makes the connection she explains anyway.

“No wedding ring. She wrote ‘Mrs. Y/N Barnes’ on the paperwork for the office but lots of unwed mothers do that, just in case they may be judged.”

Bucky feels like an utter ass for realizing, just a little under two months before your one year wedding anniversary, that he has yet to get you some FUCKING wedding rings. He sinks into his seat as Dr. Carroll cleans up and Bucky’s still staring at your wounded face when she pats his shoulder.

“Congratulations, papa. You’ve got a strong, healthy bun in the oven, and a momma who can kick ass to defend her baby.”

Bucky gives her a tight smile because she’s right. You might be passed out right now, the shock probably pushing you into unconsciousness, and you may be timid sometimes and unathletic and an adorable bookworm, but you are strong. You’re so smart and a survivor. And you’re perfect, just as you are.

~~~~~~~~~~

He runs his thumb over the ring finger of your left hand, but you don’t notice the movement. You can only stare at his nervous expression.

“I never got you wedding rings.” He explains, blinking slow before meeting your eyes in fear of upsetting you. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Bucky…” You smile, ignoring the way it makes your face sting. “I don’t need rings. I know you love me. And I love you, so much.”

You see a set of defiance in his expression. He disagrees about the rings and you’re not sure if it’s because a wedding ring on your finger might somehow deter big men trying to help you? Or maybe he wants to make sure that you know that he isn’t ashamed to broadcast that he’s married? Or perhaps it’s his old fashioned notions which he tries hard to hide, that are telling him that if he wants to make it really official, he better get you a damn ring.

Sometime during the day Bucky winds up beside you, laying with you, arms wrapped around you with your head pillowed on his strong fleshy bicep. A knock on the door pulls the two of you awake and as it opens Bucky looks towards it as he tightens his hold on you and you bury your face into his chest because the light that streams in from the bright hallway shines bright in the dark recess of your recovery room.

“What?” He asks, somewhat rough with his tone, his voice muffled and making his chest vibrate as he speaks.

“We caught him on camera, fleeing towards the Canadian border. It’s time to go.”

You don’t like the sound of that one bit. You don’t like the way he’s talking to his friends either. Something’s not exactly right with Bucky still. However, you have no time to delve into that because Bucky sighs and carefully gets up.

“Y/N, I gotta go.”

You want to hold him close, keep him here in your arms. But you can’t. So, you sit up as he sits and pulls his shoes back on.

“Please tell me you’ll be safe, and you won’t try to do anything stupid like retaliate for last night?”

“I can’t make any promises, kitten. The goal is to get him in alive but after last night-”

“Bucky,” You say, chastising him and wishing more than anything that you could tie him down and keep him here. “We’re here, waiting for you. You can’t do anything stupid because I can’t raise this baby on my own, you got that?”

Bucky looks at your tummy and hurries back onto his feet. He takes hold of its sides and presses kiss after kiss against the swollen tummy. “I’ll be back, ducky, I promise.”

He looks up at you and for a moment you forget the upset. You forget that Bucky cheated on you and he forgets that you did too. You forget the ignoring and the shutting out all for just a few perfect moments of staring into Bucky’s eyes before he runs out and puts his life on the line again.

The danger you felt last night, the trauma you’re sitting with here now, it’s all part of his chosen experience but also forced on him too.

“I promise.” He whispers and as much as the moment wipes his and your debts clean, it doesn’t last. He leans in to kiss your forehead, the awkwardness keeping him from really kissing you goodbye.

Bucky feels like a failure. He feels inadequate. He feels like he let you down. His disappointment is a black hole, consuming any and all positivity from your recent reconciliation.

He has you in his life. Maybe not how he wishes you were, but you hadn't asked him for a divorce which had been his worst nightmare. Losing you and his baby and you also shunning him and refusing to let him see his ducky is his idea of hell.

Yet, despite the pit of despair he's fallen in from having failed to catch Elias, he smiles. Sitting with his elbows on his knees, leaning forward with his hair a greasy curtain from not showering for several days and his skin coated with the filth of the mission, he looks across the jet, at empty seats. Sam and Steve at the front letting Bucky have his space so that he can decompress.

The smile is small due to the memory of the first time you used the term ducky to refer to the baby growing inside you. His baby. His perfect little angel. Like you.

It's been almost two weeks since he left you to chase Elias with Steve and Sam. The bastard had led them on a winding chase, jumping back and forth over the Canadian border.

Your pinky will still need lots of time to heal and your ankle had only been sprained. You should be up and walking around without the need for crutches. Your bruises will probably be almost completely faded. He sighs, a heavy worried breath as he pulls his phone from his pocket.

He looks for your name, scrolling slowly with his flesh thumb. He stops at My Kitten and swipes his finger across the name. When he presses it to his ear, it's already ringing. You answer after two rings.

“Bucky?!” Your voice is like a salve on his fretting heart. He shuts his eyes, the sound of you beautiful even with the worry thick and heavy, and enjoys the moment, knowing that even though you've moved out, you still love him.

“Hey.” He whispers, his voice weak and exhausted. He can’t even remember the last time he slept. “God, Y/N. It's so good to hear your voice.”

There’s silence on your side and Bucky reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Baby?” Bucky probes.

“Where are you?” Your voice cracks and Bucky knows you’re crying. He hates the thought of you with tears streaming down your cheeks.

“What's the matter?” Bucky demands, sitting up straighter, more alert. Sam turn to look at him and Steve steals a glance.

“Ugh, nothing! I’ve been crying over everything lately. This baby is kicking my hormonal ass.”

Bucky's heart leaps, his eyes relax, and he slouches against the synthetic leather seat. With a wide smile he presses the phone closer to his ear, wishing he could hug you tight and kiss your tears away.

“Oh. I’m sorry, kitten.”

“You should be! This is all your fault.” You’re not crying anymore and for once this is something Bucky is definitely happy to take the blame for.

“Bucky where-?” As your voice cuts out, he pulls the phone away from his ear. Lost signal.

“Damn.” He grumbles quietly.

“Lost signal again?” Sam asks, amusement in his voice.

Bucky glances up at him and then looks back at his phone as he opens up his messaging app. “Yeah. I’ll just text her.”

Sam shakes his head. “I told you to just ask Tony for one of his new phones. We get signal everywhere.”

Bucky frowns as he types a quick message telling you he's on his way and should be home in an hour.

“Mmmm.” He acknowledges Sam's suggestion but otherwise ignores his advice. He doesn’t like asking Tony for things.

“Was Y/N okay?” Steve asks, his brow furrowed with worry.

Bucky looks at his reflection in the glass and nods. It still throws him for a loop at how protective the team is over you. After the break in at Casey's, even Tony was frantic to get the townhouse upgraded with top if the line security.

Sam was ecstatic.

“Yeah. Yeah, she's just…the baby's making her hormones go a little bonkers. She was crying so, I got worried.” Bucky flips the phone a few times leaning forward once more to place his elbows on his knees again.

“You guys still doing okay?” Steve probes carefully. He's surprised Bucky is so calm, and Bucky can see the caution in Steve's storm blue eyes.

After what happened at Casey's, after feeling the beastly fear of losing you—to Elias, not the cheating—somehow, he can hold onto that and it manages to outweigh the buzzing in his brain.

“Yeah. We’re good. I just-” He blinks slowly then looks at his phone as it buzzes.

My Kitten: I can’t wait to see you. I’ve missed you. And the baby won’t stop kicking! My heart is pounding and our ducky is flipping out. LOL!

Bucky smiles again, running his fingers over the text. “-I can’t wait for her to come home.”

When the jet finally lands, Bucky knows that it isn’t likely, but he goes to his room. He’d been unable to contact you until today, but he’d hoped that you had chosen to stay on the compound.

The room, as he had expected it to be, is empty. No one has been in here since the last time he’d slept here which had been before he’d nearly fucked everything up by sleeping with Penny.

He wants to see you and he wants to see his ducky, but a shower might be better first. He’s disgusting.

He’s slow as he walks to his apartment door, reminding himself the whole way that he cannot fall asleep. He can’t let himself give in to his exhaustion. No matter how many days he’s gone without sleeping, he needs to see you first.

Falling against the door, his forehead pressed against the cool and carefully painted metal, he shuts his eyes and clumsily presses his right hand’s thumb to the teal green panel. It beeps and the door clicks. With a groan he pulls it open and stumbles inside.

He only makes it three steps when he realizes that something isn’t right.

The large shared living and dining room light is on. Although the entryway is dark, there’s light spilling out of the kitchen too.

There’s a sudden shattering of glass and a gasp. Bucky races towards the kitchen, dropping his bag by the door.

His heart nearly stops then begins to pound as his eyes take in the most magnificently gorgeous sight he’s ever seen.

“You’re home!” You gush and Bucky can almost count the sparkles in your eyes. You’ve never looked so happy to see him and it feels like finally the world has been put right. “I’m-I was making some spaghetti. I…dropped the sauce. Serves me right for not making it from scratch, right? And…now we’re out of sauce. But I can run to the store! I’ll get some more, and we can have spaghetti and meatballs. I took the recipe out of that little book you keep in the drawer by the sink.”

His mom’s recipe!

“Shoot, I should clean this first.” Bucky scrambles forward, throwing his flesh arm out towards you in a stupidly dramatic ‘stop’ motion.

“No, wait. I’ll do that.” He flips his hand over and instead motions for you to move towards him with two flicks of his fingers. “Come here. Be careful. Don’t step on the glass.”

He looks at your feet, you’re barefoot and beautiful. Is it possible to fall in love with you further?

You take a gingerly step towards him, but Bucky moves towards you, stepping on the smooth black granite flooring where there is no sauce, and as soon as you’re within reach he wraps his arms around your waist. He takes care to support your belly and lifts with ease, twisting you back around towards him and the entrance to the kitchen.

He can smell the pan overheating. If he doesn’t turn off the stove there’ll be a fire, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is the fact that you’re here, in the apartment. Finally, home.

“Let me look at you.” He sighs, and you smell so damn good, like fresh Freesia and clean linen. It’s like your dress was infused with the scent because you’re wearing a sleeveless dress, blue skirt with a white and pink floral pattern, the top—just above the curve of your pregnant belly—a sharp block waistline separates the white top.

Bucky can see that the bruises on your face are almost fully faded. Your pinky is still in its tiny splint. Your ankle still wrapped but looking much less swollen, and there are minuscule red spatters of the sauce on the white but you’re perfect and you’re beautiful and he really wants to kiss you but you’ve got that nervous look in your eyes so he can’t so instead he pushes your hair back and pulls you into his chest.

You wrap your arms around him and it’s like he’s flying. “Does this mean you’re coming home?”

The silence that follows this hopeful question worries him but then you’re sniffling, and he chuckles, pulling back to look at your sobbing face.

“Ugh!” You actually stomp your foot and Bucky really wants to fucking kiss you! “Stupid hormones. Yes! I’m home. I’m home.”

When you wrap your arms around him, he pulls you close once more while waves of heat waft towards him as the pan you’d been cooking with bursts into flames.

Bucky’s trying to coax you into the bedroom, but you don’t make it any further than the entrance of the hallway. He’d already showered and you’d already washed the dishes even though Bucky had told you that you didn’t have to do them, but with all the joy of finally coming home, you can’t make yourself move towards that stupid room where your life was torn apart for a little while.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, adjusting his metal hand so that he can intertwine his fingers with yours instead of letting you pull your hand out of his like you’re trying to do.

“I don’t think I can go back in there, Bucky.”

“What?”

You can see the disappointment on his face. He has to understand though, you can’t make yourself go back in there when what you saw ruined you forever for the beautiful bedroom you’d had before. You’ll sleep on the couch before you sleep on that horrible bed.

“I-I just can’t.”

“Y/N,” Bucky begins, moving closer, pulling your hand up to hold against his chest. “Do you trust me?”

With my life? Yes. With other women?

“Don’t answer that.” Bucky shuts his eyes tight and laughs without humor at the stupidity of his question. “Will you please, trust me? With this?”

You consider his expression, the gentle pleading, the worry, the blue of his eyes and his freshly washed hair. God, he smells like a rainforest waterfall with the slightest hint of cucumber.

“Okay.” You give in, unable to help it. His dark grey t-shirt, the black sleep pants, the damp tendrils of hair sticking to the sides of his face, it all mixes into an irresistible cocktail of manly perfection.

His face blooms with ecstatic happiness and he pulls you towards the bedroom, your bedroom, adjusting his strength when your feet start to resist.

“I was hoping you’d come home some day and when you did, I wanted you to be comfortable and…I made a stupid mistake, Y/N. An unforgivable one and somehow you forgave me.”

“Bucky…I made that same mistake-”

Bucky shakes his head. “But if I hadn’t pushed you away so hard you would have never been driven towards him. I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving to you that you forgiving me was not a mistake and hopefully this can begin to make amends.”

He pushes the bedroom door open and you’re immediately assaulted by the lighter palate. The room is dimly lit, silver lamps with black sconces on burnt chestnut-brown beside tables cast diffuse yellow light on the golden taupe wallpaper. The pictures of you and Bucky rest around the lamps and on new dressers one to the left of the bed and one to the right in the same burn chestnut-brown as the bedside tables.

The bed itself, rather than pushed up against the wall to the right of the room lays straight ahead, with the large windows on either side, currently covered with shiny black thermal curtains. It’s just as big as before, king size, with a white patterned upholstered platform bed frame. The sheets are soft gray with new plush pillows in black cases to match the black high thread count comforter. At the end of the bed is an elegant art deco bench also in white and black.

Immediately to your right however is the pink chair that Bucky had bought for you, on it a small stack of clothes that you’d left there months ago. And to the left the full length black mirror you’d examined your bruises in once upon a time when Bucky had rushed to kiss them to apologize for putting them there in the heat of passion.

Your eyes are streaming with tears again, obviously, because the baby seems fit to make it so that you cry at the drop of a hat and Bucky completely redid your bedroom. He replaced the darkness of your room and made it bright.

Bucky assess the look of surprise and happiness on your face then smiles and gives your hand a squeeze.

“Welcome home, baby.”

You’re propped up on your new bed, chuckling as Bucky recounts the moment that Sam realized he’d forgotten to open his wings after a particularly high jump. It actually sounds really freaking dangerous, but the way Bucky tells it, you know that nothing happened.

“Anyway, that was probably the only good part about the mission.”

“No Elias?” You ask, fretfully rubbing your tummy over you’re the soft white spaghetti strap top of your pajama set.

Wanda had given them to you just after your discharge from the med bay and you’d saved them for this very moment. For when you and Bucky could be together again.

“We saw him, almost caught him a couple times but he keeps slipping us. I’m not sure what to do anymore. How to catch him? I’m so tired of chasing after him.” Bucky admits, focusing on your tummy as his own hand bumps into yours and he quickly catches your hand, brings it to the base of your stomach, and holds both you and your ducky there.

“So, then stop?” You hate how tired he looks. You hate that the circles under his eyes are so dark. You reach up and stroke them then slip your hand into his hair to push it back away from his face.

“I can’t. We can’t. He’s too dangerous. And after what he did to you, I need to get him off the streets, Y/N. I won’t relax until he’s locked up where he can’t get to you again.” Your heart flutters with the intensity of Bucky’s determination.

In response, your ducky kicks and the shirt over your tummy moves. You chuckle, forgetting all your worries with the baby’s kick.

“Is our ducky excited?” Bucky wonders.

“No. Not really. Just…you-” You stop, biting your lower lip because you don’t know if you want to admit how much he still makes you nervous.

“Me?” Bucky asks, wondering, also nervous.

“You make my heart flutter sometimes.” You admit in a rush. “The baby responds to that feeling in my stomach, you know? Those tumbles?”

Bucky grins. “Oh, I know those tumbles.”

Your face must look worried or confused—because you are. Is he thinking about you when he talks about tumbles in his stomach or someone else?—because Bucky is quick to push himself up a bit higher, closer to you. He sighs wafting tart mint against your slightly open lips.

“Hey…” You can see the anger within his eyes. Anger directed at himself. You know it because you feel it whenever you think about what you did with Henry.

Suddenly he’s scrambling off of the bed. “Bucky?”

“Hold on, baby. I’ll be right back.” He rushes out into the hallway and you can hear him thumping around the living room and then two minutes later he’s hurrying back towards you.

He steps up onto the bench at the end of your bed then falls to his knees and crawls across the mattress towards you. He drops back down onto your right side, resting on his metal elbow as he opens his flesh hand. Inside rests a small shiny black box with a velvet covered pearl on top. There’s a small seam straight through the middle that tells you it opens to the sides.

Your breath catches because you know what’s in the box without needing to open it.

“Bucky…I told you I don’t need rings. I know how you feel, and I-I hope you know how I feel?”

“I do.” Bucky assures you. “I know. But I could never forgive myself if I didn’t do this for you because our marriage is just as valid as everyone else’s. The people who date for six years before they tie the knot and us, for two weeks? We deserve to celebrate the way everyone else does. I never want you to doubt how much I love you and this is just that, a reminder. I will never hurt you like I did again, Y/N. You are my love and my life and my only salvation in this long-ass life that I’ve lived. Plus, I’m kinda hoping the ring will help other women to see that I’m taken.”

It’s not like you hadn’t thought about that yourself but it’s so silly. “That doesn’t stop all of them, Bucky.”

He knows you’re right. He doubts whether anything could have stopped Penny, but it gives him some comfort. It helps him remember too that somewhere in the world there’s someone waiting for him, someone who needs him. There’s someone who wants to see him and spend time with him and love him.

“Open it.”

You do. Inside of the pretty box rest two rings, both platinum, but one large with sleek brushed metal at the center and shining silver on the edges; Bucky’s ring. The second is much smaller, feminine in its beautiful vine and floral design and within every leaf and every flower petal is a single diamond. Tiny but altogether, they shine brilliantly in the soft glow of the room.

Bucky takes his and slips it onto his right ring finger, then he takes yours and waits for you to press your left hand on his.

You bite your lip as you watch him slip it onto your finger. Then he sighs. Content.

“It’s beautiful, babe.”

The baby kicks again and Bucky smiles wide while you chuckle. He reaches down to the base of stomach and takes hold of the hem of your shirt. “Can I?”

You nod. Carefully he lifts the shirt and with a bit of self-consciousness, you try to hide the stretched skin marks that litter the base of your belly.

“Our d-ducky grew kinda quickly. And I haven’t been as vigilant as I should be with the cream.” Not that it always helped. But Bucky doesn’t seem to notice your stretch marks. He’s too busy watching your baby kick over and over as your heart flutters the longer Bucky stares.

He leans in and kisses your tummy, skin to skin, searing hot kisses as the baby goes wild.

He looks up to meet your eyes and if you’re honest, until this moment, things hadn’t felt right. They’d been on their way and the two of you had been trying but it’s not until right now, when Bucky’s steel blue eyes darken to silver as he holds your gaze, that things feel good. Finally, things are right.

Unwilling to lose the moment, Bucky leans up to press his lips softly against your own. You whimper, having missed his kiss so desperately. His hand slides from the top of your exposed stomach to your side then up, up, up, until he’s wrapping rough calloused hands around your soft bare back to lay you down carefully as he strips you and then himself to express his serenity at finally having you home.

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[thegodshavehorns]

Girl From Nowhere

Your name is Roxy Lalonde, and you are simply the best there is. No need to specify at what. You are the best at all of the things. All of them.

But if you did have to specify, you suppose that you would say you are the ultimate best at computers. In fact, you are the drunken master of computers. Nobody can hope to beat you when you’ve got a wine bottle in one hand and a keyboard under the other. Nobody. Not even you when you’re sober, actually.

That unfortunate fact has forced you to scrap your computer wholesale and just buy a new one several occasions, on account of not being able to figure out how to get past the new security system that you designed on it while you were drunk, or the password that you set at the same time. You keep telling yourself that you need to write these things down but you never remember. You have absolutely no idea why that is.

But what can you do? Programming is in your blood; when you are cut, ones and zeroes spill out of your arm. Your fingers fly not like it’s your nature, but like they’re responding to the thrum of destiny. It was fate, it had to have been, that when some rich dude bequeathed half his library to the orphanage one Croakmas when you were still a tyke, that you were the one who got the programming books with all those pictures of cats on the cover. You learned to read out of those books, for crying out loud. You were made for this. It’s your telos.

But you are not just the drunken master of all coding. You are also one of the many students to have blessed— or blighted— the halls of Our Lady Who Is Without Mother Or Father Academy for Girls. You are undoubtedly the best and most favorite of the superintendent’s, but she doesn’t like to let on that she plays favorites so she’s always yelling about how she’s one more misstep away from throwing your ass out on the curb. That never happens, though, no matter how many times you hack into her computer system, so you’re pretty sure that it’s all just talk and smokescreens.

After all, if she didn’t want to share the bottles of gin she kept locked in her back cabinets then she wouldn’t have put them there after you’d already picked her lock three times before, right? Nah, you’re totally on the best of terms. The fake mad face is just a part of the charm.

Still, she does have to keep up a front if she’s going to keep the rest of the school fooled about how much she actually doesn’t hate your guts, so she has to make a profanity-filled house call every now and then. Seeing as you’re the school's Little Orphan Annie that means she doesn’t have to walk very far, just down the block, so these visits happen quite a bit.

Most people avoid coming in your room. You did have a couple of roommates but you kept hacking the records or breaking into the records office and changing your file, and eventually the matrons just plain gave up and let you have it your way. And if they want to talk with you, well, they knock, or they just scream at you through the door. Which is what just about anybody does but the superintendent, actually, since you have been known to come at people with broken bottles when they make too much noise or touch your hardware.

So when you hear somebody enter your room one morning, you don’t bother asking who it is. You just keep at it, smacking keys and drowning your hangover behind a wall of monitors, towers, and books, completely dark save for the glow of screens dimmed to their lowest brightness.

But it isn’t the super, it’s a guy. Some jackass with a lisp. When you find that out you’re about to curse him out but, on a whim, you poke your head over the Great Wall of China and— hot damn, and thank your lucky stars you didn’t say anything, because this isn’t a jackass, it’s the jackass, Sollux Captor, the Mage of Doom, wearing some ratty moth-eaten coat over his godhood.

“Nice coat,” you tell him.

He shrugs. “They tell me I have to look decent for the public. ‘Like people,’ is how Kanaya puts it. She says it looks like pajamas.”

“Sorta does,” you admit.

“Fuck her. You’re lucky I’m wearing anything.”

Yeah, this is totally his protest costume.

But what is he doing here? You don’t know, so you ask him. And then you offer him breakfast, just to be a good host.

“What is that?”

“Pickled prunes, tripe, cinnamon, eggs, and rum. Hangover cure.”

“You put rum in your hangover cure?” Sollux obviously doesn’t know what to make of you— best person ever, or supreme best ever? You yourself know exactly how awesome you are, but it's more fun to keep him guessing.

“How else am I supposed to get a good start on my drinking?” Okay, you’ve nailed it. You are the best of friends or something now probably. Especially since he took a spoon from out of nowhere and is sharing your awesome hangover cure soup with you.

You eat in silence, or at least as much as you can get between the clicker-clakker of the keys. Meanwhile, Sollux is taking a look around your room, frowning, smiling, shaking his head, smiling some more.

“I want to offer you a job,” he says, and you want to do a spit take but the soup’s all gone and you’re just now noticing that he snatched your wine from out of your reach.

“Uh, say who what now?”

“Let’s just say that we’re very interested in what you can do. So I’m offering you a job at SkaiaNet,” he says. “And you will be given a place to study at Derleth University when you graduate from here.”

You squint at him. “Derleth? Ain't that a medical school? I do computers.”

“I need a biologist. They have a new program in computational genomics.”

“A little squishy for me, bucko.”

Sollux blinks. It evidently takes him a moment to figure out what you’re going on about. “I don’t need another programmer that I could outperform on my worst day. I need somebody with a tenth of Feferi's bioengineering and a third of my coding. A biologist with your special talents would have many uses.”

A biologist? What the heck kind of biology needs coding and hacking? Then again, it would be nice to have a guaranteed job...

“But there is a catch,” he continues, and you groan inside. “You’re a good student, but you’re still a menace and a delinquent. That kind of shit isn’t supposed to happen, by the way. With your behavior you should be flunking or something.”

You lean back in your swank rolly-chair. “Maybe I fixed my grades.”

“You didn’t. I would know.”

Aw.

He continues: “So you have to keep off the booze.” Wait, what? “You are, I have been assured, a functioning alcoholic. Nevertheless, you are also unpredictable when you are drunk, and I do not want to lose my investment at the age of thirty for the sake of an exploded liver.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re very good at what you do.”

You grin. "Pft, yeah, of course. So, what, the super recommended me?"

"More the other way around."

You blink at him. What does that mean? Your hangover is making you fuzzy, and slower than you should be. "How'd you know about me then? Unless I'm some kinda chosen one or something?"

He smiles, and your own grin wavers. "C'mon man, next thing you'll say you got me into this in the first place, that you gave me those coding books for Croakmas when I was three- oh fuck, you did, didn't you?"

You stare right into the god's shit-eating grin, and you don’t know whether to scream or laugh or try to do both at once. The superintendent doesn’t actually like you very much, does she? But she answers to a higher power that doesn’t care about that...

“You got me into this to begin with? But... you're not just fucking with me, right? This isn't just, I mean, this is really happening, you're not just nodding at whatever I say?" You stare into the mismatched lenses of his shades and try to gague whether he's telling the truth.

"It's all very real, Roxy. And yes, your intuition is correct; I've been interested in your progress for a long time."

"And you just want to play it all cool like it’s nobody’s thing or whatever, I just happened to be the best there is— which I am, don’t get me wrong.”

“Why would I select you, out of all of the orphans in the world?”

“Because I was... different?”

Sollux snorts. “You were a baby. What’s different about you?”

You take a moment to think about it. “You knew my parents. They were something special.”

His teeth gleam, sharper than any human smile. “Not a bad guess. But you’re wrong. You don’t have any parents. That’s why you’re special.”

You just about leap out of your chair. “What do you mean? Was I some sort of... cloning experiment or something?”

The Mage of Doom slips a card into your hand. “Study hard. Stay in school and out of trouble. Then maybe you’ll find out. And whatever you do, don’t pray.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, don’t call us. We’ll call you.”

The coat falls down around him, his wings unfurl, and—Sollux is gone and the room is empty, save for you.

You don’t talk with gods again for six more years. You manage to stay out of the bottle for nine.