#what the hell. i’ll take a swing at that hornet’s nest

[marchingbandtshirt]

Say whatever you want about disney’s animated christmas carol but at least they knew how to make scrooge Old and Unsettling

[tiredassmage]

*poke* I’ll enable, do tell how Trooper!Tyr has created that spark in the trooper story for you 👀

lmaoooo, thank you, chief enabler xD I will. still attempt to have enough presence to add this to his silly little au list in the future, but! For now!

The like, short and shitposty version that's makin' me giggle my way through the story is I'm dealing with a Tyr who's 25 without all of the training of Imperial Intelligence to temper that status debuff. It's the same age as when they put him on Hutta as an agent, but, in comparison, Tyr's... at least under the impression he's had a relatively uneventful life as Havoc's freshly minted, largely untested Commanding Officer.

But, some background will help place just... how confusing the whole endeavor can be for the poor bastard, lol.

Trooper!Tyr has largely grown up in Republic space, though don't ask me which planet because if I thought too hard before I committed I was going to perish; he doesn't realize it, but he's been a subject of interest to the Republic SIS for... a very long time. :3

Because he may or may not still be related to a certain head of Operations Division for Imperial Intelligence. It's hard to stick names to Imperial Ciphers.

But anyway, none of this makes it on Tyr's radar; he's raised by a single mother and they bounce around a fair bit. Nothing you haven't heard before if you've heard any handful of tales of trying to make your way in the galaxy on a handful of credits and some broken pipe dreams. Little is he aware that the SIS is a relatively consistent factor, but by his mid-teens, he's made official contact with the agency and has possibly started acting as an informant for them. This develops into full-on enlistment once he's of age.

How he ends up in a Special Forces military squad then... is and isn't by anyone's particular design. I'm swinging a bat at the hornet's nest of the established story flow and saying somewhere up the food chain of command, someone got worried enough about SpecForces defections that they went around Garza and got the SIS involved. That's how Tyr finds himself in military academy and, eventually, on Ord Mantell.

It's meant to be a relatively short-term op. Poke around, see if there's anything to the rumors and suspicions. And then the whole damn squad defects to an Imperial team right in front of his eyes and one of the most decorated squads is... nearly non-existent. So, he's left in-place to take the military promotion to Lieutenant and Commanding Officer of Havoc Squad and just... "sit tight" for a while. See what else he can learn about Havoc's defection and what the bloody hell is going on in SpecForces.

Which, you can imagine, is... not going to go over well for him in the long-term.

Again, the Themes are jostling around with loyalty mixing with personal conscience. Aric's right to say Tyr's got no leadership experience at this age; he's been following what he's been taught by the SIS, by the Republic's military academies. He's... a bit naive, honestly. It's all a confusing mix of "yes, sir!" levels of enthusiastic loyalty with... a clean-cut sense of what's right and what's wrong that can and will make him shove his boot directly in his mouth and cut straight through the General's sidestepping deflections and ask her, very genuinely incredulous, if she's asking him to lie to the Republic Senate.

But he's kinda... stuck in the middle of the SpecForce and SIS hissing family dinner regardless of how he feels about the whole thing. So, Aric's right to sort of. gently scruff him and try to whip him into shape as a LT. The kid didn't exactly plan on being a frontline soldier, much less a leader, when he got into this mess, but this is how the cards have fallen for all of them, so they might as well try to make sure they don't get each other killed.

Except Tyr's ungraceful position and dedication to both keeping the SIS investigation that put him here under wraps until he has orders - from the SIS or the Senate or otherwise - to say anything and... his distaste for Garza playing so close to her chest and operating as a Search and Destroy unit is... probably going to bite him in the ass sooner rather than later.

So, again, in short. He's 25. And... a little a lot lost. Nothing's quite clicked as the right purpose or goal for him yet, so he's... trying to do his best. But he's been trained as a soldier and hasn't yet had to test any of these ideals he repeats back, that he thinks he believes in, out in the blood, sweat, and tears of actually fighting in this war. He thinks he knows shit. He does not. It's like it is and isn't the... not quite childhood Tyr never really had in original canon, but it's a really awkward growing phase he went through a lot more quietly and rapidly as an agent that got a lot more masked by everything he ends up going through as Cipher Nine. He doesn't have any of that training to guide him here, nor the training to mask it the same way. It's... kind of all out on display. A kind of bright-eyed, reckless youthful idealism and the untested belief that when someone says "you're the key to change," that that means a galactic, big change rather than... a focus on something more small-scale and personal.

I think that'll leave him in a very interesting place when the old guard of Havoc is dealt with because right now, he's on a very dogged hunt against them, can't quite fathom how they'd turn their backs on the Republic, even as he just can't believe what SpecForce and the Senate did to them on Ando Prime.

If it all plays out relatively like I've got jigsawed together in my head, he's going to have to reckon with the cost of the whole thing. He's gonna have to wonder what the hell it was all for, what really draws the line between them and the people he was so convinced were clearly the enemy. There's a lot of shine to knock off that Havoc badge.

I'm relatively certain it'll never get quite so muddy as to send him away from the Republic entirely; he'll still think years down the line that the Empire wasn't the right answer for Havoc. But he'll have a much better understanding about all those hidden lines in what it means to be a soldier. And he'll maybe grow enough of a spine to tell General Garza where she can bank all her orders to have Havoc clean up her messes for some bullshit idea of "greater good."

It's... messy in its sincerity. And I think that's what I've finally sold myself so good on as to finally pin down the underlying beats of the story to really hone in on. xD

[enigmaticvariation]

I'm not sure how this will come off, but I haven't gotten any hate anons in a while and I feel like swinging a bat at a hornets nest today.

The thing I fundamentally don't understand about many people's mindsets here is:

Why do you feel the need to completely morally justify a character in order to like them?

Let me explain what I mean. I follow a very wide variety of people because I enjoy seeing their perspectives on various characters. I follow people who love c!dream and who hate him, people who love c!techno and who hate him and so on. I get a good indication on the popular fandom opinion of a lot of the characters. Something that is very prevalent in the majority of circles is the feeling of wanting to perfectly justify your favorite characters actions and prove that they were in the right.

This is where the apologism discourse comes in. So often I see arguments between different groups about which characters are in the right and which characters are more morally good than others. There is nothing fundamentally wrong with this, I love reading people's interpretation of character motivation and I think morality is a very interesting subject.

However, what a lot of people don't seem to get is that morality isn't everything.

You can like or dislike whatever character you want regardless of their morality or if they're "in the right". I saw a post that once said "In terms of liking characters, I can excuse murder but I draw the line at that character being annoying." This is a very valid take! Character enjoyment should have nothing to do with that character's morality and everything to do with your personal taste and judgement.

I'll give you an outside example so I don't get a bunch of people raining hellfire down on me.

One of my favorite books is The Secret History by Donna Tartt. It is a story that opens with a group of college kids murdering one of their classmates and the story that ensues is the explanation of what led them down that path. It explains their actions, but it doesn't justify them. You're not supposed to justify them or think they're in the right. The protagonists are privileged, pretentious and manipulative and you're not meant to romanticize their actions in any way, rather to understand how certain mindsets and aspects of society can lead regular people down horrible paths.

You can like C!Dream without trying to justify child abuse.

You can like C!Techno without trying to justify blowing up a country and killing many of the inhabitants.

You can like C!Sam without trying to justify torture.

You can apply this to almost every character, they've all done things wrong and you can still like them without acting as if they're in the right.

"Oh, but Vin, you're a C!Wilbur apologist! You're always reblogging stuff about why he was justified!"

When did I or anyone I reblogged from ever say he was justified? He sure as hell wasn't! He was a neglectful father, a horrible friend, and he blew up a country. These are all canonical facts and I do not want to undermine them. What I do try to do it understand how he got there, and where he could go from here. The thing about him, (and many other characters) is that he was a good person who went down a corrupt path, (a corruption arc.) He started as a pacifist who wanted freedom from a society he found unjust and ended up destroying the free society he created. His arc is fundamentally about the clash between his ideologies and morals versus his need for control and fear of failure and how it eventually broke him. To try and justify his actions undermines his arc.

That is the case with many characters.

Trying to fully justify them and acting like they're completely in the right undermines their character arc.

Thank you for coming to my tedtalk.

[fruity-hub-blog]

Punt

Christmas truce gift for @katherine-apollo-karma

Who asked for hurt/comfort mentor Vlad or mentor Clockwork and I was like Why not ALL???

I hope you enjoy!!!

“Danny, I think it’s about time you got home.” 

Danny looked up at Clockwork from where he was, sitting upside down in a chair while reading a book on Zone culture.

“Awe… but this was getting really good. Did you know that there’s a black market hidden in the ghost bazaar that sells appearance modification jewelry?” 

“It’s a black market for a reason.” Clockwork chuckled. “Half of them don’t work, and the other half leave you permanently disfigured. I’m having you read that book so you know what to avoid, it’s not a winter catalogue.” 

“I know.” Danny sighed and bookmarked his place, righting himself from his strange position. “But imagine if they did work, that’d be awesome.”

“You have the ability to alter your appearance at will Danny, aren’t you learning that very skill right now?”

“Yeah… but it’s not exactly easy. Vlad makes me practice all this focus and emotion stuff before we even begin with the cool shit. By the time we get into it I only ever have like ten minutes before curfew.”

“And on that note I really insist you must be on your way or you’ll be late.”

“Right.” Danny floated up and made to leave. 

“Oh, do you think you could take this with you?” Clockwork asked, handing Danny a large gift bag. “For Vladimir. I’d give you your gift now but I’d have the sneaking suspicion you’d sneak a peek.” 

“Me? Never.” Danny grinned innocently. “Yeah I’ll get the Fruitloop his gift. He’s still not interested in Zone lessons though, if you’re trying to bribe your way into teaching him.”

“Gifts are not bribes Danny, but since we are on the subject, would you be so kind as to ask him how long he intends on searching for the city of Punt by himself?”

Danny gave him a confused look. 

“Don’t worry, he will understand. Now get going.”

“Aye aye captain!” With a mock salute Danny vanished. 

———

“Vlad? Dude? Where are…” Danny spotted Vlad on the other side of the lab, intent on whatever the hell he was doing at his desk. He grinned and set Vlad’s gift down next to the portal.   

He floated closer… and….

“VLAD!” Danny grabbed his shoulders and quickly went intangible as Vlad whipped around brandishing a hot soldering iron. Molten solder went everywhere and Danny started cackling. “You need hearing aids old man? Or ghost sense aids?” 

Vlad’s eyes flashed red briefly. “Four hours. Four hours of micro-soldering Daniel. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Four? Huh… means you’re getting better at anger management...:” Said Danny, who never saw a proverbial hornet’s nest he didn’t swing at with all his might.

Vlad took a deep breath and his eyes faded back to their human blue. “It’s… fine. It’s all fine. It’s more than fine. In fact since you brought up emotion regulation, I think we will work on that today.” He dusted the ruined remains of his project from his suit and stood up. 

“Ugh, come on! We’ve been doing emotion regulation for the past month!” Danny flopped to the floor dramatically. “Teach me something cool already!” 

“Correct me if I am wrong Daniel but did cool pick up a new definition meaning horrifying and painful? Because that’s what will happen when you try some of these advanced techniques and inadvertently cut off the blood supply to one or more major organs.”

“Okay, okay! I’ll work on my damn emotions mom. Just stop lecturing me about it.” Danny sat up with a glum look.

“Or what?” Vlad asked with a hint of a smile. 

“Or you’re gonna see something actually horrifying.” Danny grumped, sounding more like a toddler that had lost an argument than any legitimate threat.

“Oh, the half pint hero is going to terrify me, the horror. I am practically quaking in my boots.”  Vlad stood up and transformed. “Now, just a refresher, tell me all you know about ghosts and emotion.”

“Ghosts and emotions are basically the same thing because ghosts are made from emotion.” Danny started reciting in the bored way a teen does when asked to read in front of the class. “Since half ghosts are still alive, their ghost half is fueled by the emotion of their living half just as much as it is by food or water. If you pour too much emotion into your ghost half all at once you risk hurting your human half.” Danny closed his eyes, trying to remember more about what Vlad had taught him. “Emotions can be used to make your powers way more… uh… powerful like you and attack of the duplicates but you have to keep your emotions in check or it’s curtains. I haven’t more than half died yet because I only ever tried using emotion specifically as a weapon once and I was using someone else’s power so it didn’t hurt me…” Danny opened his eyes again. “That’s all I got.” 

Vlad sighed. “And you wonder why we’ve been at this for a month. Looks like I’m sending you home with homework again.” 

“Of course.”

Vlad and Danny worked on meditation and mindfulness exercises for two hours before Vlad sent him home with an armful of handwritten notebooks. 

Before he left Vlad stopped him to give him back the bag he had left next to the portal.

“Oh, that’s for you.” Danny said absentmindedly as he tried slipping as many of the books into his bag as possible.

“For me? but you hate Christmas.” Vlad looked at the bag like it might be another prank.

“Nah, it’s from Clockwork. Your gift from me is my wonderful personality.” Danny grinned as he was able to stuff all but two into the now distressed looking bag. 

“So it’s a bribe.” Vlad said flatly, looking at the gift with disdain. “You can take it back. I’m not going to give him the idea that he’s winning.” 

“Oh! That reminds me! What’s the City of Punt?” Danny asked, seemingly out of left field.

“The… what?”

“The City of Punt. Clockwork asked me to ask you how long you were gonna keep looking for the City of Punt by yourself… or something like that.” 

Vlad looked confused for a moment, then understanding started to seep in. “Why that smug little…” Vlad set the gift down on a nearby chair and crossed his arms. “I will search as long as I darn well please and he is going to just have to live with that… or die with that, I’m not picky. ” 

“So…?” Danny prompted. 

“I’m not going to explain his insults for him. He can do that on his own time.”

Danny raised an eyebrow but then shrugged. “Guess I’m telling him he was wrong.”

“About?” Vlad asked, still in a huff.

“He said you’d explain it to me.”

Vlad’s eyes narrowed. “It’d serve him right to be wrong every so often.”

______________

Danny floated into the mansion the next day with an air of optimism. “Vlad! I read all of your diaries and I have a lot of emotional halfa facts I can tell you so you can teach me cool shit!” Danny zipped in and out of rooms until he finally found Vlad in the same study he had left him in. “Uh…” Danny floated closer, squinting. “Dude… are you seriously drinking ectoplasm? That’s taking the whole vampire aesthetic way too far…”

Vlad glanced from the wine glass to Danny and then snorted. “ ‘S not blood. Just zone made. Stuff from the zone does tend to glow after all.” Vlad swirled the glass and took another sip. “To your health… or something else you still have.”

“Not sure I buy that.” Danny eyed the glass suspiciously. “Not to mention you don’t seem plastered...” 

“How on earth would you know what plastered looks like Little Badger?” Vlad asked, suddenly very interested in what Danny had to say. 

“I’m a senior in high school Vlad. Discounting your standard ‘my parents are gone let’s trash the place’ parties which I don’t drink at, There’s a kid in my third period that I’m like 90% sure brings a water bottle full of vodka to every class. Had no idea how he was getting away with it at first cus that shit reeks but then I realized that ghost senses meant I was able to pick up on more than humans.” Danny shrugged. “But to answer your unasked and frankly insulting question, no Vlad I’m not getting smashed in my downtime. I have enough trouble with power control when I’m sober, thanks.”

Vlad seemed to be trying to figure out if Danny was being truthful with him and finally decided that he was. 

“Believe what you wish. I’d offer you a drink but you are underage, there are laws about that sort of thing you know. Something something core still developing something fermented grapes and young ghosts bad.” 

“You mean developing brains?” Danny couldn’t help but smile at the idea of a ghost zone PSA along the lines of ‘this is your core on spectral booze’ who knew ghosts even had alcohol?

“Eh potato potato.” Vlad waves a hand dismissively.

“You just pronounced potato the same way twice you potato.” Danny laughed. 

“Yeah, so? Bite me.” Vlad drained the rest of his drink and got to his feet with a noticeable wobble. 

“No, sit back down.” Danny floated over to him and guided him back to his chair. “Last thing I need is you busting your head open. There isn’t really an emergency department for the living impaired.”

“But it’s cold.” Vlad asserted. “I would like to start a fire.”

“Call me crazy but I think that you should avoid open flames right now.” Danny retorted. 

Vlad crosses his arms and pouted, leading Danny to try desperately to hold in his laughter. Vlad was acting like a toddler. “Look, I’ll light a fire if you promise to sit here and not cause trouble, okay?” 

“Hm… fine. But then you have to make a really good fire because it’s really cold.”

“Yeah okay, deal.” Danny started arranging logs in the fireplace and kept an ear out for any escape attempts from Vlad. “Where’d you get all that ghost booze anyway? I’d figure it would be illegal what with Walker seeming like the kind of guy to take prohibition and run with it.”

“You gave it to me.” Vlad said simply, causing Danny to turn around and try to figure out if Vlad was messing with him. 

“I didn’t give you shit. Wanna try that again?”

“Language Daniel.” Vlad said. 

“Then don’t lie Vladimir.” Danny countered.

 “Didn’t lie. You did give it to me. It was from Clockwork. But you delivered it.”

“So that’s what was in the bag. Huh… nice gift I guess. Didn’t really peg Clockwork as a booze guy but hey, I guess adult ghosts can do what they want. Then again I didn’t think that you’d drink anything Clockwork gave you.”

“I was trying it to be polite. It’s just… a little more than I bargained for.”

“How much is a little?” Danny asked as he lit the kindling. 

“How many duplicates are you making right now?” Vlad asked slowly. 

“Ah that’s more like a lottle Vlad. How do you manage to sound that coherent if you’re that far under?” 

“Years of practice.” Vlad deadpanned. 

“So does that mean you’re not as pissed at Clockwork anymore then?”  

“Don’t get me started on that historical pile of nonsense. Punt.” Vlad scoffed. “Could he be more annoying? Actually I take it back, he probably can and will in the future.”

Danny knew there was some tension between his two mentors.... Or more accurately, Vlad had something against Clockwork. He sat down next to Vlad on the couch. “So… you gonna tell me what kind of sick burn I’m missing out on?”

“He’d like that, Mr. Know It All. Fine, he gets his way no matter what, might as well.” Vlad fumed. “Punt was a city that existed around the same time as Egypt.”

“Okay… still not seeing why this makes him an asshole.” Danny said slowly.

“It makes him a jerk because no one knows where punt existed. There are theories of course but there’s no certain answer. Mainly because no one thought to write that down, it was just common knowledge. So to start off with, he is comparing my refusal to train on ghost basics to that by implying that I’m never going to find the information I am looking for because every idiot in the ghost zone knows it and no one is going to waste time writing it down. He’s also implying that I could just go ask any dead idiot, or him, obviously he wants to be the cryptic information master. Asshole.”

“Vlad… you just cursed.” Danny laughed disbelievingly “Starting to buy that your smashed now.”

“He had twenty damn years to help me with this ghost bullshit, and he only takes an interest in me now that… what? I’m stepping in on his territory as a mentor? What’s the point of it? I know he’s just trying to make me look like a fool, and I am not going to be played for a fool. I figured everything out on my own and I am doing just fine so he can keep his nose out of my business. I neither want nor need his help.”

Danny was shocked, not only had Vlad Masters cursed several times but he had opened up about his feelings which was a rare event. Vlad did have to learn it all on his own, he just never really thought about it before. At one point, Vlad was just as terrified of his powers as Danny was. He had no idea what he had become and if he was even alive anymore. Even more than that Vlad didn’t have a Sam and Tucker to help him out. He really had been all alone. 

“Vlad… you’re right.” Danny said slowly.

“I’m… what?” Vlad had been ready to rant more about Danny’s seemingly perfect mentor but he hadn’t expected that kind of a response. 

“You did have to do it all alone. That sucks. I can’t even imagine having to figure this all out without help from someone else. But… we don’t have to figure it out alone anymore right? We have each other now and even if everything else sucks, we don’t have to be alone with it all anymore.” 

“And when I’ve taught you everything I know? Or how about when you realize you only really need one mentor when one of them is omnipotent? He can teach you everything I could and ten times better.” Vlad asked tiredly. “What could you possibly want to stick around for?” 

“Other than the fact that we are the only two of our kind?” Danny asked. “You’re basically family at this point dude. My dad considers you as good as his brother so that makes you my uncle. Family doesn’t ditch family, and I won’t ditch you.” Danny had a feeling that Clockwork had never wanted to actually teach Vlad. He was pretty sure that this was what he had wanted in the end and he made a mental note to thank him for it. 

“Promise?” Vlad asked, looking like that was more than he ever hoped.

“Promise.” Danny hugged him. 

[chaoticspacefam]

OC Playlist Meme - Saarai (of course)

I was tagged by @thehighground​ (thank you! :D) this one was super fun!! I was caught between the twins of who I should do for this one, Saarai won because she is my favourite and her 70-song playlist was basically made for memes like this (yes, you heard me, 70. No it’s not a typo. Yes I have a slight, maybe, problem with her being my favourite LOL) 👍

I’ve shared all their playlists at various points, if you search up the “swtor oc theme songs” and “oc playlist” tag on the blog you should be able to find them! Or if you want links to the full playlists drop me a line and I can link you to them no problem! :D

Just the one this time cause this one’s pretty long, if I get tagged again tho I’ll do Ni’kasi next! :D

I shall tag (if you feel like it, no pressure as always!) @abyssal-space​ @stratosara​ @anchanted-one​ @pauletta-00​ @hypnowinnermugpeach​ and anybody else who wants to have a go, this one’s super fun! Long post so under a cut! <3 gonna pop the content warning up here to: TW for mention of past abuse/manipulation and parental abuse in one of the songs in case ya wanna avoid it. there’s a warning above the specific section as well if you wanna read the rest and just skip that song, up to you!

♦️  Their intro theme: Up The Wolves - The Mountain Goats

“I’m gonna get myself in fighting trim, scope out every angle of unfair advantage. I’m gonna bribe the officials, I’m gonna kill all the judges! It’s gonna take you people years to recover from all of the damage!! Our mother has been absent, ever since we founded Rome. But there’s gonna be a party when the wolf comes home.”

♦️  Their own favorite song: DARKSIDE - Shinedown

(She has to set a good example with being one of the leaders of the Alliance (especially because her saying “don’t do that” is the only reason her sister and Aria don’t go for their new Jedi allies - at least to start with, before the Alliance y’know, bonds and becomes a proper coalition!). But learning to trust Jedi was still hard for her after what they did to her people, and I feel like if it existed in the verse she’d find it relatable and listen to it a lot.)

“Can you hear me, am I speaking clearly? Are you star-struck or just made of stone? Block out the actors, and all these bastards. That took all the fun out of rage and revenge.”

♦️  Their boss battle theme: Castle - Halsey

(it was difficult to pick one for this one, she has quite a few in her playlist that I consider her “boss battle” songs for various points in her life/the two different verses. But I think this one is the most universal! :D)

“I’m heading straight for the castle. They wanna make me their Queen. And there’s an old man sitting on the throne there sayin’ that I ‘probably shouldn’t be so mean.’ I’m heading straight for the castle...they got the kingdom locked up. And there’s an old man sitting on the throne there sayin’ ‘I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut!’.”

♦️  Their love song: (one for each of her main ships, but again, they have whole playlists because I use playlists to “set the mood” of the character/ship while I write. Pro writing tip, do it. It helps [nod nod] <3)

For Zephyrverse/Sash: Heaven’s Gate - Fall Out Boy

“And in the end if I don’t make it on the list, would you sneak me a wristband? Or would you give me, give me, give me a boost? Give me a boost over heaven’s gate. I’m gonna need a boost, cause everything else is a subtitute for your love. Give me a boost over heaven’s gate.”

For Subterfugeverse/Lana & Koth: The Last Of The Real Ones - Fall Out Boy

“I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you, but not as much as I do. As much as I do...Cause you’re the last of a dying breed, write our names on the wet concrete. I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me. I’m here in search of your glory, there’s been a million before me, that ultra-kind of love you never walk away from. ”

♦️  Their sad times song: Bruno Is Orange - Hop Along (tw: mention of abuse/manipulation, parental abuse)

“ ‘Bruno, what happened to your good sense?!’ I broke down ‘That man was good!!’ ‘I bet he works for the government!’ Did you hear about that mother, broke her daughter’s legs in two and said: ‘It’s too dangerous out there to walk so I have to save you!’ ”

♦️  A song that fits their aesthetic: Woman King - Iron & Wine

“Black hoof mare. Broken leg. Eye on the shotgun shell. Age old dog. Hornet’s nest. Built in the big church bell. Hundred years, hundred more. Someday we may see a woman king, sword in hand, swing at some evil and bleed.”

♦️  A song that reminds them of a better time: Downhill - Lincoln

(though most of this song has sad undertones to it, this part in particular would remind her of the short time she had with her father when he was alive, when he would take the twins outside and sit them on his lap to look at the stars <3)

“Cause you were the first one to show me the stars. And they don’t mean much to me, but I still wonder where you are. Some nights I still try to find you, relative to constellations. And all your relatives are still on vacation, or so I heard from a friend...”

♦️  A song that calms them down: 10,000 Enemies - Emeli Sandé

(headcanon that this is a song their mother D’leah used to sing to her and her twin, Ni’kasi, when they were children hiding out on Rishi and it stuck with her.)

“I hear the sweetest sound, blowing from the North. It says ‘don’t panic now, what’s mine is yours...’ I hope 10,000 times you tell me the truth. Cause now there’s much to do. I trust in you. I shall be free...I shall be free. We shall be free.”

♦️  A song that gets them hyped up: Young And Menace - Fall Out Boy

“We’ve gone way too fast for way too long. And we were never supposed to make it half this far. And I’ve lived so much life, lived so much life. I think that God is gonna have to kill me twice.”

I’m assuming this section is meant to mean a song the character would associate with each season? So I hope I’ve interpreted that correctly, I wasn’t really sure what else it was referring to. So that’s what I’m doing LOL

♦️  Spring: Thunder - Imagine Dragons

“Just a young gun with a quick fuse. I was uptight, wanna let loose. I was dreaming of bigger things and wanna leave my own life behind. Not a yes sir, not a follower, fit the box, fit the mold, have a seat in the foyer. Take a number, I was lightning, before the thunder.”

♦️  Summer: The Times They Are A’Changin’ - Fort Nowhere

(a.k.a the time of year where everything went to hell for her, though she uses it to remind her of how far she’s come once she’s older and more at peace with everything that happened so it’s positive in the end!)

“Come gather round people, wherever you roam. And admit that the waters around you have grown, and accept it that soon you’ll be drenched to the bone. If your time to you is worth saving, well you better start swimming or you’ll sink like a stone. For the times, they are a’changin’.”

♦️  Autumn: Dragon - Built By Titan feat. Skyborne

“When I was younger, I had a dragon. We would fly away to places you can’t imagine. And this is a story, of a lonely island. And a boy who found a way to become a lion.”

♦️  Winter: Youth - Glass Animals

(Winter is when Ty was born so it’s a mixed bag of trauma-induced depression (See “sad-times” song above), missing her twin and being sad about what happened but also wanting to make sure Ty never has to experience what she did and just wanting him to have a safe & happy life, so. This song kinda fits that.)

“Boy, when I left you you were young. I was gone but not my love, you were clearly meant for more than a life lost in the war. Oh, I want you to be happy, free to run get dizzy on caffeine, funny friends that make you laugh and maybe you’re just a little bit dappy.”

♦️  The song that plays while they’re lying on the ground bleeding out in a Walmart: Everything You Ever - Neil Patrick Harris (from Dr Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog)

“So your world’s benign. So you think justice has a voice? And we all have a choice? Well now, your world is mine.”

♦️  The song that would play each morning if they’re stuck in a time loop: Ends Of The Earth - Lord Huron

“ Oh, there's an island where all things are silent, I'm gonna whistle a tune. Oh, there's a desert that size can't be measured; I'm gonna count all the dunes.”

♦️  The song they’d listen to while robbing a Wendy’s: Pork Soda - Glass Animals

“Somebody said I’m a fucking slum, don’t know where I belong. Maybe you’re fucking dumb, maybe I’m just a bum. Maybe you’re fucking scum, don’t you go psycho chum.”

♦️  The song they’d accidentally introduce to people in medieval times if they were a time traveller: The Time Warp - Rocky Horror Picture Show.

(Also not accidentally, she has a silly side and she’d probably play this one for the LOL’s to see who got it or who got mad. She’d totally learn the dance moves and do those too XD)

“ The blackness would hit me And the void would be calling Let's do the Time Warp again Let's do the Time Warp again.”

♦️  The song they’d play in the middle of the night when their neighbors are being too loud: Blood // Water - grandson

("Do you think if I play a really loud, aggressively threatening song they’d shut the fuck up? I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna try it.” XD).

“You’ll never get free, lamb to the slaughter, what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water?!”

♦️  The song that plays at their funeral: Sax Rohmer #1 - The Mountain Goats

“Ships loosed from their moorings capsize and then they're gone. Sailors with no captains watch a while and then move on. And an agent crests the shadows and I head in her direction. All roads lead toward the same blocked intersection. And I am coming home to you. With my own blood in my mouth...yes I am coming home, to you. If it’s the last thing that I do.”

♦️  The song that plays when it’s revealed that they faked their death: Joan of Arc - Arcade Fire

“You’re the one that they used to hate but they like you now. And everything that goes away will return somehow....first they love you, then they kill you, then they love you again...and then they love you, then they kill you, then they love you again.”

[flowerthornsart]

I WROTE THIS A WHILE BACK AND NEVER POSTED IT S NOW YALL ARE GONNA BE SUBJECTED TO IT FUCK

..

It was just another day, swinging by the lab and making sure Baxter was okay. Hunni had to admit, she worried about him on weeks like this. Red rain beat the asphalt outside, pooling in the windowsills and making Hell just that little bit darker. She knew dreary days like this could mess with her head, let alone a week of it. With a coffee for him in her arm and her own coffee clutched to her, she was determined to make sure she brightened his day, even a little bit.

The bee demon knocked. Once, twice, three times... nothing. Three more times, still nothing. Finally she called his name , hoping he could hear through the cold metal door. Finally, there was a dull thud, before the scientist cracked open the door. She could see the suspicious look on his face, even if she could only see half of it. His expression softened as Hunni gave a small wiggle of her fingers to wave.

“Oh, it’s you. Please don’t scare me like that, I nearly knocked over my work.” He mumbled, running his fingers through messy hair.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your monthly nap Bax.” She replied with a small smile. Despite the cold greeting, she thought she saw some bit of happiness in his eyes as he let her in. Her cheeks flushed pink, wondering if she was overanalyzing. One things for sure, he looked surprised as she handed him the cup.

“Oh! Uh, thank you! I’m surprised you’re giving me caffiene, of all things. Usually you’re telling me to sleep.” He smiles a little before taking a sip.

“Well it’s the middle of the afternoon, figured it’d be useless to try right now. You really do need more rest though.”

Test tubes and beakers of all kinds were scattered around the lab, some empty, some with questionable items floating around in the goop inside. Different papers and notebooks were scattered around the area as well, with words and equations Hunni couldn’t figure out. Ah well. She sat her cup down on the large desk and turned to the scientist.

“What’re you working on today, then? Looks a little like the place exploded.” She asked, and couldn’t help but smile as Baxter straightened up a bit.

“Actually, it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while now. With emotions being chemical reactions in the brain, I was trying to figure out how to induce certain emotions ten fold. I’m sure someone could find use in extreme anger, sadness, hell happiness could be the next big drug people are yearning for!”

Seeing him get that mad scientist grin on his face always felt kind of endearing to her. She watched as he started to pace, explaining and using words she never really heard before or would ever hear outside of Baxter talking. She nodded and felt her cheeks start to heat up again. He was adorable. How endearing, too. She kept her eyes on him as she reached for her cup, bringing it to her lips and taking a swig.

That wasn’t coffee.

“That.... that was the love prototype. That ones harder to figure out, and... uhm...” she could see him start to get redder... had the room gotten warmer? It certainly felt warmer to Hunni.

“Baxter, I’m.... I’m so sorry I...”

She gulped, there were butterflies in her stomach. Maybe now would be a good time to bring up her feelings, she figured. Blame it on the chemicals if it didn’t go well.

“Lately, I... uhm...”

She built up her courage, heartbeat racing... then the butterflies in her stomach turned into a hornets nest. She doubled over and retched, her insides now wanting to be her outsides. “I’ll be right back.” She squeaked, before running into the bathroom and emptying her stomach. So much for admitting anything.

When she stumbled back out, having washed her mouth out and looking worse for wear, Baxter had grabbed a blanket. He wrapped it around her shoulders, leading her from the lab to the small living space so she could sit on the couch.

“How are you feeling? I was hoping to use that in lab rats before a person but... Er... I’m sorry, I-“

“It’s my fault, I should’ve looked at what I was drinking.” She replied, shrugging it off as he sat next to her, notebook in hand as he jotted down some notes.

“So, no internal injury? Or anything odd?”

Hunni shook her head, before leaning it against his shoulder. He tended up for just a moment, but didn’t move away.

“Nothin. Though, you should put in there that loves not all about the sick feeling in your stomach, if that’s what that first drink was.”

She could see a hint of a smile on his face as he flipped back a couple pages, erasing a couple scribbles as she watched with a sleepy expression.

“Hey, Bax.”

“Hm?”

“I got you to sit and take a break.” She cracked a grin, and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

Yet he still stayed beside her.

[jupiterjunebug]

@actually-a-taco​ alright guys. You want a niche fic? Here, have a fic set in the same timeline as my Amnesty Minibang fic Out of the Shadows. TL;DR, Jake, Pigeon, and Kirby fought an abomination together after Literally Every Other character got taken out of action. That’s why they’re friends.

Almost dying to a giant light bulb monster was just about the strongest team building experience Pigeon had ever had. Which meant she, unfortunately, was very fond of Jake and Kirby. Which meant she, unfortunately, had asked them to come chill with her at Uncle Ken’s bar (The Roost, locked in eternal struggle with The Hornet’s Nest for Best Name Derived From a Place Flying Animals Hang Out) on trivia night.

The theme had been The 90s, and despite the fact that she was pretty sure Jake was both five and also living on another planet in the 90s he’d absolutely swept the competition. Which had left a kind-of-drunk Kirby, the third member of their trivia team and also the most useless, laughing his ass off at the fact that they’d beat out a whole bunch of people that actually lived through the entire decade. The fact that he’d lived through almost all of the decade and still managed to know jack and shit absolutely didn’t faze him.

That wasn’t what made Jake Coolice’s presence unfortunate. Normally, Pigeon would be stoked about maintaining her two year streak as Undefeated Trivia Master. Drunk Jake and Kirby wouldn’t have distracted her from that, on account of Kirby was still a stupid giggly drunk and Jake was exactly the same aside from somehow being even More himself than usual. For most of the evening, playing sober buddy to the two of them meant laughing at Jake when he discovered doing stunts while under the influence meant a lot of falling on his ass and stopping Kirby from playing darts because he’d been forbidden from playing darts ever since Pigeon was nine years old.

Then, Jake got it in his head to play Truth or Dare, probably so he could do a bunch of dares. Or make Kirby do a bunch of dares.

“Truth or Dare, Pidge,” Kirby said, giving her the best Serious Reporter Asking Serious Questions face that he could under the circumstances. It was a lot less effective than usual, given he was too tipsy to manage his Serious Reporter Asking Serious Questions voice. Pigeon rolled her eyes at the nickname, despite the fact that the memories of her and Dove and Kirby doing stupid shit back when she was still a baby made her feel warm.

“Truth.”

“Boooo, no fun!” Jake exclaimed, grinning ear to ear. He was sitting cross-legged on the stool on Kirby’s right, blindfolded by a tie – from when Kirby’d dared him to sit in the dark for twenty minutes about ten minutes ago – that Pigeon was pretty sure belonged to that FBI agent that lived at the lodge. Given that FBI man wasn’t in The Roost and hadn’t been at all that night, she had no fucking idea where it came from. She’d considered asking, but then she’d realized there was no way in Hell the explanation would make a lick of sense.

“Nuh-uh,” Pigeon shot back, making a rude gesture that Jake couldn’t see.

“Pidge is just bein’ a coward on account of I know all her weaknesses.”

“Damn right I am, Kirby Carmichael. I ain’t gettin’ kicked out of my own uncle’s bar just ‘cuz you’re a dick when you’re drunk.”

“No fun,” Jake repeated.

“Truth,” Pigeon shot back. Kirby stared at her for a second, squinting hard enough his nose scrunched up.

“Who you got a crush on, Pidge?”

Pigeon tried her best not to die right then and there. Then she tried her best not to murder Kirby, on account of he knew very well what the answer to that question was. Then, she went through every stage of grief at once, and answered.

“Dani and Aubrey, you asshole,” she whispered as quickly as possible. Kirby laughed so hard he almost fell off his stool. Jake gasped.

“Wait, wait, wait, Pigeon,” he said, voice even more serious than the time he’d told her and Kirby about the supernatural forces that threatened Kepler every two months, “are you telling me you’ve got a crush on Dani and Aubrey?”

Pigeon took a deep breath and restrained her scream. Sure, Jake had said that three times as loud as people were supposed to say shit that might be considered a fucking secret, but this was recoverable.

“What’d you just say?” Aubrey Little called out from the table where she’d apparently been sitting with Dani the entire time. Jake and Kirby both grinned, and Pigeon realized she’d been had.

She hid her face in her hands and let the scream out.

“Pigeon likes you,” Jake repeated, even louder. Pigeon imagined becoming one with the bar stool, because bar stools didn’t have to deal with being friends with traitors.

She barely noticed the sound of heavy shoes rapidly approaching, followed by the creak of the stool on her left as someone sat down.

“You what?” A voice said next to Pigeon’s ear, and she definitely noticed that. Was there excitement in Aubrey’s voice? No. No, most definitely not, because that was absolutely ridiculous, and Pigeon did not have that kind of luck, especially not with girls.

Still, she very slowly turned her face in the direction of the voice. There was Aubrey, leaning forward so she was just a couple inches from Pigeon. Her hands were gripping her stool between her knees, legs swinging, and she had on that grin she got whenever one of her magic tricks went off perfectly.

“I like you,” Pigeon said, weakly. “And, uh, Dani. As a unit. I mean, as individuals, too, but uh, also both of you together, on account of you’re pretty much the best couple I’ve ever met and I’m gay and also going to stop talking now.”

“Aubrey, personal space,” Dani chided, smile on her face and in her voice as she sidled over and draped and arm around Aubrey’s shoulder. She did her hair different today, Pigeon thought, forgetting the fact that she fully intended to die of embarrassment for just a second in favor of admiring Dani’s artfully messy side braid.

“No taking that off ‘till time’s up,” Kirby said behind her.

“I wanna see,” Jake complained.

“You can’t just disrespect truth or dare, Jake.”

“Anyway,” Dani said, laughing at whatever tussling the boys had got up to behind Pigeon. God, it was a nice laugh. “You like us.”

“We can just pretend this didn’t happen, if you want.”

“Uh, no, we absolutely cannot,” Aubrey said, setting on hand on the bar and sliding it very unsubtly toward Pigeon. Pigeon tried her best not to look like she was having a heart attack as Aubrey’s hand brushed her arm.

“Absolutely not,” Dani agreed.

“Mhm, let’s pretend you didn’t offer to pretend it didn’t happen instead.”

“Hell yeah,” Jake said.

“Shut up, Jake, they’re having a moment,” Kirby said.

“I’ll kill both of you,” Pigeon said, absently, staring at Aubrey’s hand on her arm. “So, uh, not pretending it didn’t happen?”

“Nope,” Aubrey and Dani said as one.

Pigeon nodded. Okay. Alright. She could handle this scenario. This was absolutely something she’d predicted could happen, and not just in her daydreams where things worked completely differently than in real life. All she had to do was say something kind of cool, to counteract the fact that so far she was pretty sure she’d only managed to sound like a dork.

“So, can we pretend I…asked you to get lunch with me tomorrow?” She asked, voice cracking. Alright, decent attempt. Okay line with lackluster delivery. Not terrible.

Apparently even less terrible than she’d thought because Aubrey nodded rapidly, fingers tangling excitedly into the fabric of Pigeon’s sleeve.

“Don’s Shakes and Fries sound good??” Dani asked, leaning into Aubrey’s side. Pigeon couldn’t have stopped the grin on her face even if she’d tried.

She heard the boys high-five behind her and decided that they she’d let them live. This time.

[magicrot-arch]

fun little character game! fill in the below categories with 3 — 5 things that your character can be identified by.

𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 / 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂.

detachment  /  a puzzle piece left off to the side without a placement.

anger simmering like water starting to boil  /  misplaced, unknown cause.

mania springing from the shadows  /  unadulterated euphoria mixed with panic.

emptiness  /  physically.  mentally. something is missing, there’s hole in the picture of you.

narcissism /  feel like you’re the worst, so you have to act like you’re the best. 

𝙲𝙾𝙻𝙾𝚁𝚂.

#080808 almost black, but not quite  /  a symbol for growing absence. dark power.

#bd8835 a hue of gold  /  a show of greed and expensive taste.

#bcbcbc silver  /  physic, mystic energies. the rings on his fingers.

#1e2e46 navy blue  /  a splash of color, his favorite color. his mood is often blue.

𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂.

a worn leather jacket growing with age  

the smell after a rain shower in a heavily wooded area.

a faint hint of cigarettes he’s chained smoked.

a hint of cologne  /  not suffocating, but a musk is present.

𝙲𝙻𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶.

classic rock. plain t-shirts ranging in blacks, whites and greys. dark jeans that’s a little too tight in all of the right places. boots, never forget the heavy boots. jewelry: multiple ear piercings, a tongue piercing, stacked rings on fingers. leather jacket worn to hell. a chain necklace tucked beneath a t-shirt. mussed up hair, did you just get out of bed?

monochromatic semi-formal. blazers left unbuttoned in dark hues. buttoned up shirts with simple patterns, rolled up at the sleeves. expensive fabric. looks expensive. feels expensive. hair slicked up and facial hair groomed well. sunglasses hiding tired eyes and dark circles. sweaters with dress shirts beneath them.

homebody. sweatpants that’re too loose. pullover hoodies with random logos on it, tattered at the sleeves from holding them over his hands. loose fitting shirts. messiest hair, didn’t even run fingers through it. doesn't look like he’s slept. so, so tired.

𝙾𝙱𝙹𝙴𝙲𝚃𝚂.

magnitude of rings objects of power that he always wears. the number always varies, but the silver bands are worn on every finger. when you shake his hand, there’s a strange energy emitted, the rings are warm.. it makes some people uncomfortable, others don’t notice.

a wedding band on a simple chain. worn beneath his shirt at all times, he never takes it off. it’s not his own, but his deceased brothers. before getting new bands with his wife, he gave tyler the ring as a show of love. that one day he’d find someone to, that he’d always be with him. something to keep close to him. it is never off and it is hardly ever talked about.

shelves full of grimoires. due to natural magic being cut off, he takes to learning magic by rituals and natural channeling. there is a whole wall taken up by a bookcase where his knowledge is stored. a few of the books are his own jostled findings. the majority of them are old and traded for services. almost all of them have post-it notes or scribbles of notes for later reference.

magic items. as part of his work, he is a collector of magical items. dating back from ancient times to modern items, the backroom in his shop is decorated with antiques. some are organic, living in jars, beating hearts others are charmed items with specific uses. only high paying customers or customers present from the supernatural black market have ever seen this room.

𝚅𝙸𝙲𝙴𝚂 / 𝙱𝙰𝙳 𝙷𝙰𝙱𝙸𝚃𝚂.

alcohol. the man is always drinking. it started off as a rebellious act, to do what he wanted, but it slowly turned into a habit. the older he got, the harder it was to pass up the bottle. it keeps anxiety at bay, it keeps him from shaking, from feeling disoriented. he feels drunk when he’s sober, sober when he’s drunk. it’s a habit he has yet to kick.

ghosting. you could mean the world to him, but he would still step away and disappear. ignore your calls, ignore your texts, pretend you don’t exist. it’s a damaging self defense mechanism, one that doesn’t work. he doesn’t think people should be around him, he is afraid of losing them. afraid of getting them hurt. so, instead he hurts them and himself

lying/manipulation. untruthworthy is synonymous with tyler wolfe. truths are omitted or straight out covered. nobody knows what is the truth with him, but it is so easy to trust him because the lies sound good. he’s a master of plucking away at the truth while making it believable. he’s a conductor of lies. nobody knows who the wolfe truly is, anyway. he paints a picture for you to see, vibrant and almost fantasy like. he just wants what he wants out of you.

𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙰𝙶𝙴𝚂.

default. his expression is always blank, but knowing. brows are held together in a way that shows aggression, but they still appear relaxed. lips are pressed together, flat without an expression. no visible sign of interest. accused of resting bitch face.

crooked smiles. if he smiles, it is likely not genuine. looking someone straight in the eye, revealing teeth through a one-sided smile. he’s a wolf, just like his last name suggests. he’s looking for ways to eat you alive and he’s winning.

hand gestures. talks with his hands, often waving them in the air and pointing. the most alive apart of him.

𝙰𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂.

the constant feeling that something is going to go wrong. the air is heavy, the lights are dim. there is an eerie heaviness in the air. logic says there is nothing set up to happen  /  logic screams there is nothing wrong. emotions overrun logic, however. there is no peace in a world full of monsters and magic. something is wrong, something is going to go wrong it’s a modern gothic tale.

darkness fighting against light. being unsure of who you are, what your purpose in life is. are you the devil or an angel with clipped wings? you’ve been told you were the bad seed, the shadow lurking in the corner waiting to consume the good, but nobody is every truly good are they? are you? you as though you’re not. you’re accepting the darkness, the stereotype of disgracefulness, but you can’t hide the sliver of light remaining from your childhood. you can’t snuff the good all the way, but you can try. you will try.

shady businesses. you walk into the store and it’s dimly lit, dusts collecting in high places. you swear there should be a spider somewhere. it’s a picture ripped straight from a horror movie ;  going to see the fabled wicked witch behind the counter. jars line the aisle, there’s a heavy smell of herbs and incense. the shopkeeper speaks with practiced abrasiveness, but it isn’t enough to drive you away. it interests you further. 

𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙶𝚂.

black honey by thrice:  i keep swinging my hand through a swarm of bees / i can't understand why they're stinging me / but i'll do what i want / i'll do what i please / i'll do it again till i've got what i need / i'll rip and smash through the hornet's nest / do you understand i deserve the best? / and i'll do what i want / i'll do what i please / i'll do it again till i've got what i've need

alcohol by sisyphus:  aggression / in question / confessin' i need of it / tylenol, tylenol, tylenol, tylenol / impression / concession / addiction / my lession is al-anon, al-anon, al-anon, al-anon / impression / in question / intention / my weapon is alcohol, alcohol, alcohol, alcohol / i am my father's son / i am my father's son / i am my father's son / i am my father's son

lurk by the neighbourhood: i think that i'm human, i think about god / i think of the chances, i think that i'm wrong / i think to be thoughtful, i know that i'm not / you think i'm a fake, i know you're a fraud / i fuck cause i need to, even though it's not / i'll fucking digest you one kiss at a time / you wish i was yours, and i hope that you're mine

my boy by billie eilish: my boy's being sus' and he don't know how to cuss / he just sounds like he's tryna be his father ( who are you? ) / my boy's an ugly crier but he's such a pretty liar / and by that i mean he said he'd "change" / my boy, my boy, my boy /  don't love me like he promised / my boy, my boy, my boy / he ain't a man and he sure as hell ain't honest.

dread in my heart by mother mother: oh i wonder what it's like to be the type who doesn't burn / ya the kind who fights the good fight / not the kind you'll find fisti-fuckin-cuffin' in the dirt / there's a god awful shitty feeling of dread in my heart / and i can't seem to change my attitude but i can change my shirt / but today, there's still a god awful shitty feeling of dread in my heart

𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙶𝙴𝙳 𝙱𝚈:   @fierceststorm aka my no. 1 fan ᴛᴀɢɢɪɴɢ:  @ghulardi, @cosmicwar, @heavyburden for jesse, @devilfind, @phlipshea, @missedlcve, @fionagoode  &  whoever else !!

[captainsimagines]

RENT - Part 6

In which eight old friends in dire need move in together for one year. 

Warnings: language; mentions of drug overdose; mentions of drugs; PTSD; Bucky being stupid lol

Word Count: 4,800+

A/N: Is this a late AS FUCK update or what? I'm sorry, but writer’s block is a bitch. Enjoy, babes.

PART SIX

Natasha - “Tango: Natasha”

(5) (7)

TEN YEARS AGO

“I just... need some time for myself.”

Steve shuffled slightly on the hot concrete, head down and face somber. The extra heat this spring made soccer practice that much more difficult. Although, Natasha’s words added a foreign heat within his chest- one that he chose to ignore.

He didn’t want to look Natasha in the eyes because if he knew himself, he would break down sobbing in the middle of the quad. But surprisingly, he held it together and managed to look up for once, taking in her purple highlights mixed in somewhere with all that blonde, just blazing in the spring sunlight. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he replied, interlocking his fingers with hers for the last time. Natasha stuttered over her next few words, pulling her hand back and giving Steve an equally devastating grin.

“Alone, babe.”

He didn’t want to fight and he didn’t want to pressure her. All he could think about was Sam’s constant blabbering about love and how it never works. ‘If you love something or someone, let it free!’ Sam would cry, making his words even more dramatic with the sound effects he would include. Gunshots, bell noises, yodeling- literally anything you can think of to make Sam even more annoying than he already was.

But Steve ignored his inspirational words, letting go of Natasha physically but not emotionally.

Natasha stood from the playground bench and dusted herself off. “You understand, right?”

No, he didn’t.

“Yeah. Some time apart might do us good.”

With an almost unnoticeable nod, Natasha walked away and left Steve to ponder about what the hell just happened. Two years they had dated and Natasha woke up one morning calling it quits. Steve knew she must have had her reasons, but he forgot to ask what they were.

With a broken heart and a wad of cash in one hand, Natasha sprinted down the alleyway looking for a familiar face. Checking to see if the coast was clear, she jumped up and held onto the balcony railing, pulling herself up and unlocking the bedroom window. On the inside sat a couple men in a circle, each rolling up their own specialty treat.

“Where’s Scott?” Natasha asked, avoiding eye contact at all possible costs.

No one responded, but one man pointed through the doorway and resumed his work. Natasha followed instructions, heading through the wooden, swinging doors. Once in, she saw the man she bargained with almost every week.

“I’ve got his money,” Natasha sighed, holding up the cash and stuffing her free hand in her pocket. Scott looked up from his paperwork and hummed, holding his hand up in the air so Natasha could throw it.

“Think he’ll have the rest ready by next week?” Scott asked, putting the money in a nearby drawer.

“He’d be lucky to have half.”

Scott chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry you have to do this for him.”

Natasha gave a nonchalant shrug, struggling to hide her true feelings about the whole situation. “He’s my dad. If I can’t get him off the needle then the least I can do is make sure he doesn’t go into massive debt.”

Scott opened another drawer and threw Natasha a new iPod, with new headphones and everything. “For all your hard work.”

Natasha rolled the gift over in her hands and sighed deeply, “You don’t have to.”

Scott held his hand up, “Don’t even mention it. You deserve so much more. Now go, before the scum of the operation show up.”

Natasha always took that advice, leaving from the same window she climbed through to get in. And every single time she left Scott to run his business to enter her own reality, Natasha wanted to scream. She wanted to scream and run away, tell you, Sam, Bucky... Steve!- about everything she had to fix and suffer with everyday after school.  

Ironically, the entrance into her own reality allowed her to finally scream once she opened her father’s bedroom door to let him know she got home safely, that she was heartbroken over Steve and wanted to talk, that she had dealt with his debt and would most likely take care of it next month as well. Rolling him over and slapping him repeatedly did nothing- shaking him and yelling did nothing- and when she dragged his limp body from his messy bed and removed his clothing to submerge him in the freezing tub water, it did nothing. So, she called 911 and sat on the closed toilet seat while watching her father’s index finger twitch every so often, his eyeballs brushing alongside his thin blue eyelids as if he were peacefully dreaming.  

TEN YEARS LATER

Steve stumbled out of bed, stretching his sore muscles and cracking almost every bone. Looking over at the clock he noticed it was only six in the morning, December 24th, early as shit.  

He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders before standing from his bed to walk to the bathroom, eyes closed halfway and body sagging. Without thinking twice because let’s face it, he has only had roommates for three days now, he pushed open the bathroom door to take his morning piss. 

 “Oh my god!”  

Steve tumbled to the ground at the sudden yell, scrambling across the floor to find some sort of balance. “I am so sorry!” 

You held the towel close to your wet body, an expression of surprise and absolute mortification etched into your sleepy face. You rushed to the door to close it, to slam it in the pervert’s face, but you were quickly met with another tired individual who rubbed at his eyes in order to make sure he was seeing what he was really seeing. Except this individual- the exact individual responsible for your perplexed state- ran in with a handgun held high.  

“What’s going on?”  Bucky’s yells of confusion and Steve’s cries of “Bucky! Fuck! Bucky, put that shit down!” coupled with your outbursts of curses as well. You shielded your face, as if that was going to stop a bullet, and Steve just held onto the side of the door, looking in between you and the scared veteran.  

“Boy, if you don’t-“ Sam stumbled in, yawning until he noticed Bucky’s current weapon in hand. “Oh, hell!”  

It was a funny scene, a rather comical one, one that neither one of you would ever forget, but it caused mayhem. Two men cowering on the floor, you gripping onto the sink both angry and terrified, and Bucky just being... Bucky? No, he wasn’t in that moment because his sudden approach to the whole situation was a bit overdone and exaggerated. That was saying something- running in with a loaded handgun, and all. 

All of you fiddled with your fingers and knocked your knees together, avoiding eye contact with the one and only Peggy Carter.  

She stood there with her arms crossed, her left foot tapping, and her eyebrows raised in an almost comical sense. “Well?” 

It was silent for a second, just for a bloody second, before Steve spoke and if he had known any better, he would have realized that his input wasn’t really needed. “I didn’t even know Y/N was here...” 

The three of you facepalmed. You could literally feel Peggy’s cheeks redden in absolute anger.  

“Okay... let’s get one thing straight,” Peggy started, pacing slowly from one side of the room to the other. You were sat in between Steve and Sam, normal clothes on now, hiding your face in your hands. “Why is there a gun in the apartment?” 

You all looked at Bucky. He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Ex-vet.”  

Peggy’s face seemed to change dramatically, almost as if she understood the obvious struggle. “I understand... but Bucky, I have to ask- why was your first instinct to pull out your gun?”  

Bucky looked to the floor, “Like you said, it’s an instinct.”  

Steve shuffled slightly, changing the focus for Bucky’s sake. “Why did no one tell me Y/N was here?”  

“Dude, you got home at like... two,” Sam answered. You decided to finally speak up.  

“I needed a place to crash for a couple of nights. Only until I get this creep to stop following me home.”  

Bucky was about ready to pull his gun again, obviously forgetting it was in the hands of the ex-cop. “Some guy is following you?” 

You brushed off his surprise, “It’s fine. Luke’s got it covered.”  

Sam almost flew off the couch, “Ooo! Who’s Luke?”  

Answering for you, Steve waved his hands. “Co-worker who could beat all of ours asses... at once.”  

“Alright,” Bucky fist-bumped. “I trust this, Luke!”  You rolled your eyes and stood from the couch.

“Yeah, and I also have to head to work.”  

“Woah, this early in the morning?” Sam asked.  You sighed and went to grab your backpack. “Lunch time is when we get the most customers. Working during that time is considered a freaking privilege.” 

It was silent again and no one knew what else to say. You pulled on your coat and grabbed your gym bag, looking over the people standing in the below-freezing living room. 

“Um... do you guys want me to pick up dinner?”

With a couple shrugs and slight mumbles, you nodded your head and sighed. Ducking your head to the floor, you quickly left the apartment with a heavy weight on your shoulders- the weight obviously resembling unspoken feelings about everything. It wasn’t love, it wasn’t jealousy- it was just so uncomfortable.

“Get up,” Wanda said, slamming the fluffiest pillow she could find onto Natasha’s back. “You have work, babe!”

Natasha groaned and rolled over, tucking her hornet’s-nest of bed hair underneath the mountain of pillows on the king-sized bed. 

“Babe, if you’re late again I don’t think I could convince your boss to let you keep your job.”

“Okay,” Natasha drawled out, rolling over and over until her leg hung off the side of the bed. “I’ll be right there.”

“Alright.” Wanda scurried across the bedroom, putting on her earrings and stepping into the high heels she had recently bought. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

Natasha finally rolled off the bed, still wrapped in the duvet and warm as a child on Christmas. “Yeah, definitely.”

Multi-tasking. That’s what Natasha does best. With a dead-end job and poor income from her side, Natasha felt as though her love for Wanda was all she had to offer. She loved her, with all her heart, and if that meant suffering while making hundreds of copies of a single sheet of paper and texting Scott about the money she just acquired, then so be it. 

Natasha struggled to leave that part of her life behind but the sudden rush it would give her was just too addicting and every time she brought home a little extra dough, Wanda would smile. And not one those, ‘I haven’t seen you all day, let’s go to bed’ smiles, but the one that clearly illustrates compassion and acknowledgment. She was trying, and Wanda realized that. 

No, Wanda did not know about Natasha’s side business- no one did nor will anyone ever know.  She no longer aided in her father’s downfall, but she did it for herself. Deal with purpose, Natasha would say, sneaking through every dark alley in New York City with her key positioned in between her index and middle finger. 

“Are the copies almost finished?” T’Challa asked, walking into the copy room to check on his new proposal. Natasha hummed her response, handing him the fifty copies she had already piled up. 

“Will you be taking an early lunch break as well, today?”

Natasha shrugged and answered with a quiet ‘sure’, giving T’Challa the last of the copies. 

Lunch breaks for Natasha consisted of two things: actual lunch and a drug deal almost always going right. It was the rarest occurrence for a drug deal to go horribly wrong, the only instance being when Natasha had to stab some guy in the neck to get him to leave her alone. But Scott didn’t mind, he really didn’t- the less of those crooked men buying his drugs, the better. A weird drug dealer Scott was, but that’s what made him the best and it’s what kept Natasha around for so long. 

“Care to join me?” 

Natasha leaned back just a little, surprised by her boss’s question. “Why, may I ask?”

It was T’Challa’s turn to shrug. “I just want some company.” 

So she agreed, quickly returning to her desk to shut down her computer and pick up her purse.  

“I wanted to tell someone. Even a complete stranger...”

Natasha rolled her eyes and sipped her drink casually. “I bring you your coffee everyday.”

T’Challa seemed to shrink, his hands coming to rest on his thighs as he stared at his untouched lunch.

“I’m sorry about that,” he admits, looking around the restaurant, at nothing in particular. 

“It’s not even my job,” Natasha continues, picking at her fries now and debating whether she should challenge her boss even more. “When I made you get my coffee, it was your job. Interns get coffee.”

T’Challa tried his best to hide his smirk, finally lifting his full burger to his mouth. 

“I’m not meant to get your coffee, boss,” Natasha declared, crossing her arms and staring at the man whose mouth was currently full of food. “Interns, I tell ‘ya.”

“I admit I make you get my coffee because you annoyed me with that bowl-cut you once sported.”

Natasha’s face twitched slightly but in an amusing way, allowing T’Challa to label this lunch as friendly and overdue. “My girlfriend was never good with scissors. It was the only style I could manage.” 

T’Challa nodded, “You will no longer get my coffee.”

“Wow, my prayers have been answered.”

“Because I’m quitting.”

Natasha spit out her french fry and watched it land near her boss’s soda. The two were silent for a moment before Natasha reached over and grabbed the potato, wrapping it in a napkin. 

“Quitting?”

“I don’t want to be apart of the mess my father has made. I don’t want my name anywhere near it.”

“So, your plan is to run?”

“Excuse me?”

Natasha no longer sipped her drink but gulped it, nervousness spilling from the sides of her lips. “I mean, you could stay and fix it. But if you want to quit, then quit.”

T’Challa couldn’t remember the last time he spoke to someone who wasn’t trying to sign his name onto a piece of paper. It was sort of comfortable and new, a feeling T’Challa used to be well acquainted with. With a change in position and a whole new outlook on life, it was almost distasteful in the eyes of capitalism. He should be destroying buildings and constructing new and shinier ones, writing checks and stamping the outbox letters, attending gala after gala to bring home the prettiest woman there! All for the cameras, all for the spotlight, and for what exactly? 

“I am not running.”

“I take it back,” Natasha stated, slurping the ice cubes from her empty glass. “But it’s what an intern would do.” 

 “You were met with a what this morning?”

You had to stifle your giggles after telling Luke about your rude awakening. The shower did nothing to freshen you up, but the gun, oh that worked perfectly. You quickly extracted the dollar bills from your clothing to hand them over to Luke for safe keeping. Not many of the girls did it, but everyone trusted Luke. If you didn’t have a break to put the money you earned for that hour in your locker, he would gladly keep it safe in a respected pile. 

“All three of these guys I went to high school with. It was like choir all over again, except with guns instead of horribly practiced piano.”

Luke shook his head in disapproval, sliding a full glass of beer to the man down the isle. “Why does a man suffering with PTSD have a gun, anyway?”

You set down your tray of empty glasses and stared at Luke in confusion. “PTSD?”

“Sounds like a bad case if his first instinct was to kill.”

You sucked in a single ragged breath, focusing on Luke’s chin while you formulated your response to that. Bucky? PTSD? Sure, you knew he was excited to join the army after high school and ‘save the world’, he would say. He definitely wasn’t the same man considering ten years had passed since you last saw him- what, with the full grown beard, muscular build, and constant smoking habit. Oh, you could smell his breaks each time he left his bed in the middle of the night to smoke through the broken window in the living room. But PTSD? How hadn’t you figured that out by just this morning’s encounter?

“You think?”

Luke sighed and nodded, “The guy probably feels safe with that gun under his pillow. That’s enough info.”

You grimaced, “I don’t feel safe knowing it’s even there.”

“Understandable. But what are you going to do? Take it away from him?”

You chuckled slightly, picking the tray back up now that Luke changed the empty glasses to full ones. “It already has been. Steve’s neighbor took it without even asking.”

“You planning to stay there again tonight?”

You groaned, “I’m picking my shit up after my shift.”

Luke opened his mouth to speak but your boss rounded the corner to interrupt. 

“Do I pay you to talk to the whores?”

Luke breathed through his nose and scrunched the napkin in his hand. You ignored your boss’s gruesome remark and instead looked over at your friend, silently begging him not to risk it. Luke resisted, like always, and whispered a small ‘sorry’. You gave Luke a little grin, walking over to the booth with the drinks and your famous hip sway.

“Could you just keep her company for a few minutes while I arrange the paperwork? She came all the way from the upper east-side because she heard my classes were just that good.”

Steve sighed but agreed anyway, because refusing the simplest request from Peggy was near damn impossible. “Sure thing.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” Peggy cheered, grabbing her phone to head to her small office space. “I won’t be long! She’ll be here any minute!”

“I’ll make sure she enjoys herself.”

“Don’t scare her off, Rogers!” 

“I won’t-!”

“Peggy?”

A small yet shrill voice sounded from the side of the studio. Peggy waved at her new customer.

“Wanda! So glad you could make it. Steve, here, will keep you company while I handle something real quick. I’ll be right back!”

“O-“ Peggy left before she could finish her sentence. “-K.” 

“Um, hi! I’m Steve and I probably can’t teach you tango but I’m good company.”

Wanda set her stuff down and walked toward the middle of the room. “It’s alright.” 

The air was thin for some unknown reason, but Wanda could have sworn she had the right idea. His last name sounded familiar, oh so familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. There was a heavy weight in her stomach and she begged silently for Peggy to come back. “Want to dance anyway?” 

Steve chucked, “I don’t really dance.”

“Why are you here, then?”

Steve released a long “Uhhhhh...” before he crouched down to check if his shoes were neatly tied. 

“You sound familiar,” Wanda verbally admits, walking over to her bag to get her dancing shoes. “Not your voice, obviously, but your name.”

“I’m not really recognizable,” Steve joked, patiently waiting for Wanda to put on her shoes or for Peggy to save this awkward encounter. 

“Did we go to college together?” 

“I went to NYU for like... a year.”

Wanda knew. She knew who Steve was. It took a few seconds, a few quick glances, but she knew who was standing in front of her. There was no way she could miss it considering Steve’s name spilled from Natasha’s lips every single day. Steve used to say this- Steve used to do that!- Steve was my first love!- it would never end. And it never bothered Wanda before because there wasn’t a time in her life where she thought she would ever meet the guy. 

“Nevermind.”

She was going to nudge it out, reveal their similarities in partners, out of spite and a little out of pride. 

“My girlfriend was going to go there but she decided to go to community college instead.” 

“No shame in that,” Steve said, walking over to the stereo to start Peggy’s music and completely oblivious.

Wanda pushed further. “Yeah, Natasha was always destined for great things anyway!”

Steve stumbled a bit, clicking the buttons and blinking repeatedly. It was like he was slapped in the face with her constant, agitating tone. “That’s nice!”

Well, what else could he say? It was only a coincidence, Steve thought. There was no way the world was that small. However, Steve wasn’t stupid and knew there was a catch with this woman. If he ever knew Natasha, then he would understand the reason Wanda had traveled to the depths of fucking Brooklyn to take a dance class with a complete stranger. It was the same feeling Steve experienced when he was dating her- a feeling Wanda, without a doubt, was suffering under.

So he decided to play Wanda’s game for a while longer, nodding along to whatever ‘new’ information Wanda fed him about Natasha- how she dyed her hair red after the blonde completely killed her hair, how she studied in communications, and how she works for a brilliant martial arts studio in the winter. 

Steve wasn’t about to lose this battle no matter how much he wanted to laugh at her silly attempts at picking at his insecurities. He wanted to catch Wanda completely off-guard, and that’s exactly what he did. 

“Natasha sounds so different from when I used to sleep with her.”

It was low. A low blow. An incredibly derogatory, pitiful, but necessary low blow. 

“Excuse me?”

The music sounded lowly, a quiet tango enveloping the two rivals. “I didn’t mean it in-”

“What did you mean, Steve?” Wanda seethed, angry that her attempts at making Steve crumble snapped back at her. The comment wasn’t even directed toward her and Wanda almost begged for it to be, but the comment centered around the love of her life. Steve insulted Natasha and all she wanted was for Steve to insult her.

“You were just going on and on! You obviously knew who I was!” Steve yelled quietly, not wanting to alert Peggy of the commotion.

“No,” Wanda said, reaching for Steve’s hands and interlocking their fingers in a tight stance, their chests resting against each other’s. “You meant something else.”

A rock to hide under sounded so good right about now. “I just wanted to make you mad.”

Wanda didn’t appreciate his response, even if she did egg him on. She was hurt, emitting the emotion throughout the studio to the one person she believed deserved to be on the receiving end. 

“Hey, you’re dating my ex. Small world, but you don’t have to make me jealous about it. It’s been ten years.”

Wanda stuttered when Peggy pulled the door to her office open, both her and Steve standing close in a not-so compromising position. It felt like one, though.

“Hey! You’re dancing! Okay, I’ll only be a few more minutes!”

Then the door shut again, the music seemed to become louder, and the anger radiating from the small girl in front of Steve clogged his brain. 

“This is weird.”

Steve twirled Wanda once, impressed by how quickly she snapped back into his arms, almost as if she was challenging him again with freakin’ tango. “It’s weird.”

Wanda groaned, backing up slightly but still allowing Steve to lead. “Very weird.”

“Fucking weird.”

“I’m so mad that I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, taking the liberty of leading from now on since Steve was so horrible at the simple task. “She skipped dinner and I had reservations! I was freezing while waiting for her outside that damn restaurant and to top it all off I’m with you!”

Steve swayed to the music, studying Wanda’s swirls of madness creeping from the sides of her eyes. It was familiar and from that moment on, Steve used the music and dancing to channel her anger from her. “Oh, I know this act.”

Wanda released her grip from one of Steve’s hands, unraveling and spreading her arms out. “What act?”

“It’s called, the Tango: Natasha.”

Wanda completely untangled herself from Steve, pushing him away to stare in bewilderment. “That sounds so fucking stupid.”

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled, crossing his arms and smirking. “It’s a dark, dizzy merry-go-round where she keeps you dangling and you never know what to expect! She skipped dinner, you said?”

Wanda shuffled uncomfortably, “You’re wrong.”

“She skipped dinner and her excuse was that she simply forgot, right?”

Wanda huffed a loud breath of air, “It’s different with me.”

“But you toss and you turn because her cold eyes can burn, and you’re waking up to the same routine all over again. Right?”

Wanda shook the thoughts from her head. Everything Steve was saying was unbelievably true, so sickeningly true, and her stomach was starting to churn. “Did you swoon when she walked through the door?”

Steve grinned, looking at his feet. “Everytime, so be cautious.”

Wanda rolled her eyes but persisted, “What did you think she was doing every time she skipped out?”

Steve sighed heavily and responded with a shrug. He held his hand out for her to take, eager to start the dance again instead of talking about an ex he hadn’t even spoken to since graduation. “I never assumed the worst of her. I loved her. She was just so secretive that it was slowly killing me.”

Wanda followed Steve around the studio, absentmindedly dancing for a while before she pushed him away again. Steve stumbled back but before he could ask why she did it, Wanda practically screeched, “She cheated!”

“Woah, woah! What makes you think she cheated on me?”

“No, not with you! Even though I see why she would, but she cheated on me!”

Steve stuffed the back-handed compliment deep within his chest. It wasn’t the right time to dissect that proposal. Still, he didn’t feel like comforting his ex-girlfriend’s, new girlfriend- someone he barely met- because it was just so weird. 

“I doubt Natasha would-”

“I’m defeated, I should give up right now,” Wanda sputtered almost incoherently, running over to her bag to pack her things. 

“Hey, don’t just assume-”

“Okay! Let’s dance!”

Steve stood completely still, eyes dramatically landing on Peggy and Wanda, Peggy and Wanda, until he threw his hands up. “Well, that’s my cue! I’ll start fixing the floor tomorrow, Peggy.”

Peggy happily giggled, unaware of the fight and revelations that just sneaked into the hard cracks on her studio floor. 

“Where did you say he was?” Natasha asked, climbing through the all-to-familiar window. 

“Out back.” 

“Thanks.”

The apartment smelled like smoke. Not from a cigarette or a fire, but days old smoke that made even the heaviest drug addict sick to their stomach. Scott didn’t dare stay there for more than two hours. He only sat, received the money his clients made that week, and left. Each client came and went, one after the other with a fifteen minute division between each of them. No one knew each other, no one fought, and no one would even know they were working for Scott unless they stayed at his place for more than requested. 

“Got it all?”

Natasha threw the wad towards him and lifted a single finger.  “Don’t underestimate me.”

“I never do,” Scott smiled, taking out his checkbook to write the monthly allowance. “Still coming to the workshop this week?”

Natasha nodded, gladly accepting her earnings. “Teaching people how to fight? A fun hobby.”

“Well, when I’m not dealing heroin it’s a wonderful pastime!”

Natasha smirked and waved a small goodbye to her second boss. However, her day seemed to tragically rust because there was always that one person who found out- someone who didn’t follow the rules- and could possibly ruin the whole operation. 

“I didn’t know Lang employed women.”

Stepping from the window onto the ground, Natasha clicked her key and shoved it between her fingers. She wanted to kill him, scream at him for pissing on Scott’s brilliant business tactics. 

“You’re fifteen minutes early.” 

The man shrugged and turned his head to chuckle, allowing Natasha to scan his body up and down. His pale skin made the smallest scratches visible, even the noticeable needle marks along his arms. If Natasha took anything away from this type of business, any rule that could follow her for the rest of her life, it would be that no one experiments with the merchandise if you’re actively selling it. 

But Scott wouldn’t argue with it, because the more people he got hooked was just income. 

“I see no problem here. Our little secret,” the man snickered, stepping around Natasha and climbing through that damn window. 

A/N: WOW FUCKING KILL ME! I PROMISE THE NEXT UPDATE WILL BE WONDERFUL LMFAO I HATE MYSELF!

TAG LIST: @4theluvofall @ihavemymomentsstill @sumafamouxx @chook007 @shrekssunflowers @seems-sosimple @evyiione @fireflyloki28 @smollyssa 

[passionatewriter07]

White Rabbit

TITLE OF STORY: White Rabbit  CHAPTER NUMBER/TITLE/ONE SHOT: One Shot AUTHOR: PassionateWriter07 WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: James Conrad  GENRE: Romance/Smut FIC SUMMARY: Over the course of the final weeks of the Vietnam War, you had become best friends with a certain British ex-special forces solider. What happens when you find out you’ll be separated for months; you back to America, him to Skull Island? RATING: M!!!  WARNINGS: A combination of fluff, friendship, and, once it starts, pure smut. AUTHORS NOTES: Kong is amazing! Tom is sexy as hell! And I really, really wanted to write my first reader fic with Conrad. I hope you like it! (Sorry it’s so long!)  TITLE NOTE: Named purely for White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane, the song that plays in the background of the bar fight scene in Kong: Skull Island.

Tags: @slytherin-pixie 

One of these days, you needed to stop poking the proverbial hornet’s nest. Here you were, in the middle of the Vietnam, one of the few Americans willing to come over here in the first place. You wanted to help people—you were very skilled as a war nurse—and there was no one left at home, so why not enter the war?

It turned out to be one of the best decisions you ever made.

And led to the worst.

The streets of Saigon outside the bar were loud—you could almost hear the shouts and horn honks from inside. Inside, it was a dark, dismal, private place. People kept to themselves, whether they were there for a fling or to garner some extra cash. White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane blasted through the bar, ironically adding to your mood; in Vietnam, you sometimes felt like Alice lost in wonderland.  

You sat at the bar, your eyes traveled over the various types of people who had come tonight, as you swayed to the music. There were the typical Ladies of the Night dancing on tables, some on men’s laps, you didn’t really care to stare at their intimate activities for fear of someone catching your eye and getting pissed off. That had happened once, never again. Never. Again.

The men who weren’t busy feeding their cocks either sat nursing their beers, becoming one step closer to an alcoholic, or at the pool tables, gambling away their war wages for the chance to earn a few extra bucks.

Your best friend was one of these men.  He had become your best friend a few weeks ago, the night you pissed off that prostitute and her client. You found yourself entranced by the way the woman had ground herself against the man. It was a dance you had never experienced; you were fascinated by it. But you should’ve looked away before they noticed you staring.

“Hey pervert!” The American man had called out to you. “I’ll pay you fifty to get in on this!”

You bashfully murmured a no, but the solider, obviously intoxicated, was not accepting that answer. He pushed the Asian woman harshly off of him, grabbed her hand, and dragged her with him, issuing protests in Vietnamese, as he approached you. But before he could act on his intentions, you were shielded by another man—one who was much taller than you and very well-built, you couldn’t help but notice—who caused the American man to cower away without even speaking.  

The rest of that night had been spent stammering out a thank you, offering to buy the man a drink, and, finally, relaxing enough that you could introduce yourself.

“(Y/N.)” You stated plainly, holding out your hand.

“Conrad. James Conrad.”

Your jaw practically dropped on the floor when your ears first heard his thick British accent. He licked his lips and focused his blues eyes on you, his large hand engulfing your own.

Everything about him had you practically dripping that moment. But you had kept your hormones from getting too out of hand and, instead, you both had talked through the night about every little thing there was to know about each other; both your stances on the war, what you planned for the future, favorite colors, food. You had become lifelong friends in the course of twenty-four hours.

Your thoughts stirred back to the present as James approached you. Automatically, you reminded yourself not to rake your eyes over his form, and instead to keep your gaze on his. His normally grumpy exterior changed as his eyes found your own. His thin lips lifted, slightly, into an almost recognizable smirk—not quite a smile—and his stocky gait turned into a decided prowl to reach you as fast as he could.

He was a sensitive soul, but, damn, could that man be cocky when he won a bet. And you loved it.

He was blocked from you, however, when two men—one large and one skinny—stood in his way. He frowned, his eyes flicking to you, and you swore he was about ready to growl at them. “It’s ok.” You mouthed, and James relaxed again, giving a curt nod to the gentlemen, following them to an empty table in the middle of the floor.

The meeting between the trio only took a few minutes, but it gave you the perfect opportunity to let your hormones have their way. You slowly took a sip from your beer, peering over the edge of the bottle at James. His hair was scuffled, his face unshaven, and his body covered in a sheen sweat from the heat of Vietnam that made him look positively delicious. Your eyes lingered on the part of his chest you could see through his opened shirt, and you grunted into your beer, hiding a moan. You imagined his biceps holding you against the wall, taking you every way you both could imagine. You felt yourself dampen and subtly squeezed your legs together, turning away from James to calm yourself with a few deep breaths.

God, you hoped he hadn’t noticed that. But, knowing your luck, he probably had.

When you had successfully gotten your urges under decent control again, you turned to look back at James, whose eyes seemed to flick away. Your lips dove to a frown as you watched him shift in his seat and continue to talk with the men. Could he have caught you watching him? Was he watching you? Or was he weirded out?

You turned to the bartender and ordered two of your favorite beers—which was also James’s—deciding it was time to get yourself some liquid courage to ask. As fate would have it, the two Americans got up and left as you walked towards James, making sure to swing your hips a bit more than normal. Maybe it was the buzz, but you swore his eyes had flashed over your form as you approached the table.

“What was that about?” You leaned over the table, pushing the beer towards James before sitting.

“Thanks.” He nodded, taking a sip. “They want a tracker for an expedition in the South Pacific. Leaving tomorrow. Good money.”

Your heart sank and you tried to hide your frown behind the bottle. “Oh.”

He set his beer down on the table and sighed, running his thumb over the condensation. “It won’t be for more than a few months.” He was reassuring you that he’d be back, you knew that.

“Yeah, but I’ll be back in America by then. The war’s ended. My plane’s flying out next week.” Your heart sank further; this would be the last night you two would have together for who knows how long. Would you ever see each other again?

James nodded and took another sip. Orders were orders and this would be the only chance for you to get out of Vietnam for a very long time. You had a family—sisters, a brother, your parents—who were waiting for your return. He, however, was a drifter, going where he was needed and where the pay was good. Theoretically, he could come to America. But you couldn’t possibly ask him—

“Give me your address, I’ll come to you.”

“Surely, I can’t ask you to—“

His blue eyes bore into you, unwavering; you knew he meant every word.

“Ok! Ok!” You laughed, your heart practically bursting from your chest in your excitement.

James held out a pen to you and you took it, frantically writing your American address down on a scrap of a napkin that had been on the table for who knows how long. You handed it to him, as well as the pen, and he placed it in the pocket of his shirt, patting his chest for emphasis.

“I won’t lose it.” He licked his lips and smiled at you.

Suddenly the room around you and James stilled and you felt like anything was possible, so you did the unthinkable; you grabbed his shirt by the collar and pulled him across the table, slamming your lips to his. It was an awkward kiss—his chapped lips remained stiff and unmoved—and, as your mind caught up to your actions, you let go of him quickly, hiding your face behind your hair.

A few people in the bar cheered. Some even had cash handed over to them.

“Sorry, James. I—”

But before you could finish your apology, James grabbed your hand and gently led you into the nearest bathroom. You jumped as he bellowed “OUT!” to the few girls at the sink and slammed the door behind them as they obeyed his orders.

“James, there’s no need for this.” You stammered, your face red, tears pooling in your eyes. “I’m sorry. Let’s forget about—”

Yet again, you were cut off.

But, this time, as James stormed towards you and pulled you to him, kissing you hard and full on the lips.

Your eyes fluttered closed, your arms grasped his shoulders, pulling you to him. He pressed his body against yours, walking you so your back was against the nearest wall. You both moaned as his hips pressed straight into your core. He took advantage of this and deepened the kiss, brushing his tongue against yours and causing you to moan yet again.

You ground your hips against his, smiling as he panted and broke the kiss, pressing his lips to your neck. He immediately found the proverbial spot to drive you wild—the juncture between your neck and shoulder—that made the heat in your abdomen surge to a point where it was almost unbearable. Your hands grasped at his shirt, tearing at the buttons.

“Off!” You gritted through your teeth in frustration.

He gave a short laugh and arched back, sucking at your neck as he wrenched his shirt open so that some buttons clinked across the bathroom floor. You tore your own shirt over your head, discarding it without a thought. James, however, paused to gently lay his shirt on the corner of a sink, patting the pocket to make sure the napkin was still there.

His blue eyes claimed yours, they told you he would never lose that napkin. That, one day, he would find you, and you would never be a part again.  

That look alone, the meaning you knew that was behind it, ignited a flame through your body so intense that you couldn’t stand to have those few inches separating you any longer. You needed him, entirely, completely, and he needed you.

You grasped the back of his neck, pulling him to your lips again. Your arms locked around his neck as he unclasped both your pants, causing them, along with both of your underwear, to clatter to the floor.

You pulled back and bit your lip, suddenly nervous. James, seeming to read your mind, caressed the side of your head, his fingers trailing through your hair. You leaned your head into his hand.

“You haven’t done this before?” His voice was hoarse with desire, his eyes caring. He didn’t want to hurt you. He only wanted to be with you; body, mind, and soul.

“No.” Your voice sounded equally croaky.

James suddenly seemed self-conscious himself, analyzed the bathroom. “This is hardly the place for your first time.”

You lifted your fingers to his chin, gently turning him to face you. “This is the perfect place.” You said, stern and resolute. You had waited for him for too long; you weren’t going to wait any longer. “Any place is perfect as long as you’re with me.”

His hand trailed down your arm, a smirk overtook his lips at your stubbornness. His hands traveled down your abdomen, towards the source of your heat. Your hips surged forward instinctively, craving con as the tips of his fingers brushed their way through your curls.

“Well, then, let’s get you ready.” James brushed his lips against yours.

His hand found your heat, tracing through your lower lips until they reached your clit. You threw your head back against the wall, mewling. His lips found the spot on your neck again, his thumb steadily circling your nub as his forefinger thrust inside you, curling. Your hips thrust towards him and you panted, entirely overstimulated.

“James, please.” You whimpered. You wanted him inside you. Now.

He grunted and inserted another finger into your core, stretching it. Your moan turned into a yelp as he bit down on your shoulder, causing you to clench down on his fingers.  

“James!” You gasped out impatiently.

His fingers removed, only to be quickly replaced by his member running through your slit. His blue eyes penetrated yours, asking for permission.

“Yes.” You huffed, winding your fingers back through his hair.

He gripped the back of your legs, lifting you so that you were pinned between his body and the wall. You whimpered as his member entered you—the pain, sharp at first, dulled to a gradual throb. James thrust his hips sharply, causing you to yelp at the sudden fullness you felt. He pulled back out and thrust back in, faster and harder.

“God! James!” You cried out, throwing your head back again. Your fingers scraped against his scalp, tugging at his hair.

He picked up pace to an aggressive frenzy, slamming your hips against the wall every time he thrust into you, causing your back to arch every time he pulled out. You didn’t try to hide the loud moans issuing from your mouth. He didn’t try to control the loud grunts and curses that spilled from his lips. The inferno blazing inside of you tightened to an almost uncomfortable level, before suddenly releasing, causing your toes to curl and your fingernails to dig into his scalp.

“Oh, god!” You both screamed, reaching your orgasms simultaneously.

James leaned his head against your shoulder, kissing it affectionately between pants. You kept your eyes closed, trying to regain control of your speeding heart, for, surely, it would break out of your chest at any moment!

“So,” you panted, “that’s how that feels!”

James laughed and shook his head. “It never feels like that.” He brushed the damp strands of your hair out of your face. “I love you and I will find you again.”

Your face broke into a wide grin, crinkling your nose and the corners of your eyes. You pulled James to you and kissed him, pouring every amount of love into him.

“I know.”