#yeah of course he is people are always wearing clothes [my brain edits a generic outfit onto him without my conscious knowledge]

[coquelicoq]

reading the posts of your rewatch of the double (or so i assume), and being Vastly Entertained XD would you ever consider making a post on your top 5 favorite outfits from the show?

ahaha this is a funny thing to be asked because i pay almost no attention to costumes...really wish i did but it's one of those things that my brain totally glosses over. other people will write insanely thoughtful costume meta practically off the cuff (no pun intended) and i'm like, i'm...pretty sure they were wearing clothes?? i WILL however tell you the top three moments in which i noticed an outfit and you can make of that what you will!

three. wanning's outfit that she's wearing when she kills her dad, SPECIFICALLY because of the sleeve flip she does as she's walking away. CHILLING. obviously i didn't notice her outfit before that, and i still could not tell you anything about it such as what color it was or, like, fabric or idk pattern? embroidery?? i know it had sleeves though.

two. shen yurong's robe (again i don't know what it looks like) that time that wanning collapses to the floor and tells him not to touch her after he tells her to marry li jin. the way he stands over her shaking out his sleeves in slomo!!!! goosebumps.

one. xiao heng's fuckoff cape ensemble at the guqin exam. THE STRUT MAKES THE MAN. he's 100% channeling the party don't start till i walk in and everybody knows it including me. even if i had had no self-awareness about my own lack of attention to costumes before watching this, seeing gifsets of his outfits on tumblr is what would have made me realize, because apparently he wears this outfit at earlier points in the show but i didn't make any note of it until this scene (and even then, i thought it was a brand new outfit and didn't recognize it from earlier scenes). the whole buildup with him getting dressed in slomo with layers billowing artistically and his bodyguards commenting on how long it was taking, then the dramatic entrance...i sat up in my chair. you got my attention. it's all about the attitude for me. i knew he was wearing clothes in his earlier scenes but that's the one scene where he's wearing Clothes. hope that makes sense!

honorable mention goes to the cloak that xiao heng wraps around xue fangfei's shoulders that one time she's drunk in the rain because i've not been able to stop thinking about it even after finishing my rewatch. facts: 1) he has also been standing in the rain. 2) that cloak is soaking wet. 3) fabric saturated in water is heavy. 4) he puts this heavy wet thing on her and thinks that he's helping but this is the best part: 5) he then picks her, wearing the sodden cloak, up in a bridal carry, thus adding to the weight that he has to carry in his arms instead of distributing it more sensibly across his shoulders. and again it is not actually keeping her dry. congratulations little buddy that's the worst you could have done it 👍

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (part 6 of ?)

gif by my queen @michaelgreys, i'm basically her fanblog now but im not mad about it :) i mean just look at him!!1! i almost fainted

a/n: first of all, if you stuck around to this point, tysm for reading!!! this has been one of the most amazing fics ive ever been a part of and it's all thanks to the gorgeous @stxdyblr-2k, who generously took control of the next few parts. her brain is beautiful and we all owe her flowers or something. when i read what she sent me i couldn't bring myself to change much except for some small edits, so pls give her lots of love if you like it!!!! i'm still working on requests as well :)

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four five | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland, @lilymurphy03

prompt: nothing this good can last forever. john doesn't know how to feel, and neither do you.

warnings: nsfw! a teensy bit of smut, angsty as fuck prepare yourselves accordingly, a lil fluff if u squint, yeah this fucked me up

Obviously, it wasn't the last time.

Over the coming months you had many last times; his mouth pressed against your neck said as much. As his responsibility at work increased, you'd find yourself heading to his office after your lectures and night classes more often, perched on his lap, smoking, while he finished up his numbers under your critical gaze.

Thomas was more than aware; his snarky comments made it obvious he had his ways of monitoring your actions. You'd seen the dark car lurking outside your rallies and lectures, and no matter how you'd try to throw him off, not even telling Ada where you were going and even, in a moment of desperation, through your neighbours back window, somehow, his silent shadow was still looming. He was practically begging you to make a mistake, to give everyone an easy out. You just couldn't give him the satisfaction. You knew Tommy saw the world as a chess board, always several moves ahead of his opponent. Even when you played him in chess club all those years ago, you could outflank him if you thought on your feet and kept him thinking he was winning until you obliterated him in the end game. It was brutal, sure. But as he told you, there were bigger games at play. You had your own. Thomas could read your mail, intercept your phone calls and have you followed, but he couldn't hear what you said out of earshot. Your lot could smell an interceptor in your ranks, so spying at that close of a proximity was out of the question.

That's why he'd decided to let you have John. You knew his silent approval and his constant management of the narrative meant he saw a tactical gain. There was only so much information he could get from Ada, but John? He just had to agitate him in the right way and all your secrets would come tumbling out. It was difficult hiding your world from John; of what he knew of, he was supportive, quizzing you over current affairs and political discourse, listening intently. Yet, you had to watch your mouth. You had to keep a barrier up and you knew John sensed the distance. Fundamentally, there was nothing either of you could do.

So here you were, in a comfortable limbo. Your days were filled with work, evenings were for lectures and reading groups at the city's university, Ada and you often stopped for a drink or three; you'd go by your flat to freshen up, and then to John's office. Sometimes, you wouldn't visit for a week or so when the guilt sent you over the edge, it was draining to be living so many lives and knowing you were betraying the person you loved most on earth. Ada was oblivious, taking you on her nightly adventures filled with men, dancing and waiting while she was busy kissing in dark corners. Sometimes a young blinder would ask if you wanted to be walked home. The first occurrence you thought was sweet, but as the nights it occurred coincided with nights John seemed extra pent up, you'd decided to ask. The boy, who couldn't be older than twelve but who you knew was trained in using firearms and had a revolver pinned to his hip and a razor in his cap, looked confused.

"Mate, it's not a tough question. Why do you come and ask?"

"There's a phone call." He shrugs, "Isaiah or Michael tells us to go and get you."

Isaiah and Michael were somewhat aware? Fucking hell. Your fling was basically a military campaign at this point, so many of your friends were complicit. The little lads who ran as messengers around Birmingham were complicit. You had to just end it.

But when you sat on his thigh, his chin hooked over your shoulder, it felt so worth it. He never turned you away when you came crawling back. He never mentioned it until after you were finished, hooked under his arm.

"Fucking missed you, gorgeous."

Sometimes he'd remind you not to be a stranger with a wink, but you could tell it was tearing him apart too. He never once came to you. That's how he could justify it in his mind; obviously, the bare minimum was not having sex with his sister's best friend, but in failing that, waiting for you to initiate it was somewhat better. He barely talked to Ada now, citing work as an excuse, but truly the guilt sickened him. He couldn't believe he was prepared to continuously hurt his little sister and betray her. But every time you turned up at his door, he couldn't find it in himself to turn you away. In his mind, every single time you came to visit him was the last time he'd let it happen, yet he was always waiting for you to come back, his blind closed to signal he was prepared. He never would call, it had to be your choice.

You'd been off and on for over five months now. It was so difficult to hide in plain sight, but you just couldn't stop yourself. Neither of you purposefully meant for this to be happen but fuck, was it fun.

For your birthday he'd gifted you a fur coat from the same shop his sister, aunt and the fashionable crowd of Birmingham had purchased theirs. He joked that you looked like a "proper razor chaser", kissing you when you pouted at his teasing, begging you to wear only the coat when you fucked him next. It was a practice for blinders to buy a coat for their wives and girlfriends as a status symbol. You were neither, but John claimed that being his "favourite lass" also counted.

John was a laugh, but you knew at any time he could close his door to you. Until he decided he couldn't be bothered with you, you weren't going to get caught. You just had to be careful until he got bored.

***

You did end up putting a foot wrong. It was a Thursday night; you were sitting on the edge of John's desk while he was ridding you of your blouse. It was past midnight, Birmingham was asleep. You almost didn't bother coming out tonight, but you knew John had lost a deal and you wanted to be there for him. Your skirt and stockings were strewn across the desk with his shirt, vest and waistcoat, muddled into the files and papers which were once neatly stacked.

His fingers were pumping in and out of you, his mouth lapping at your breast, your head tipped back in euphoria, groaning. The stress made him more affectionate and tender with you, and it was nights like these that made you wonder. Wonder if this could ever be something more, something real.

John's body suddenly pulled away from yours, quickly turning the light off.

"John, what-" You were cut off by John’s hand over your mouth, muffling your words.

"Shut up and get behind the desk." He hissed. "Someone's coming upstairs."

You quickly grabbed your clothes from the shiny oak surface and crouched, hiding yourself from view, quickly making yourself decent. You weren't going to get shot through the head with your tits out. You listened to the stairs creek, and it sounded like a group. You two were easily outnumbered. They were talking, but the thick panels of wood muffled their voices.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the cracks in the door giving the room a dulled glow, you could make out the figure of John. He was free of his shirt, toned body on display, standing with his back flat to the wall, revolver produced from a discreet notch in the door frame, gaze fixed on where they'd enter. He was tense, ready. The door was unlocked from the outside, the door handle twisting.

John's lip shifted in confusion yet still he kept his trigger finger ready, not a single shake from your general.

The light flicked on and a shriek rang out. It was blinding, and you stood up slightly dazed. Finn was in the doorway, John next to him clutching his chest, panting and lowering the gun.

"Jesus Christ, Finn, can't you knock like a normal person? Scared the shit out of us." John bellowed, shaking as the adrenaline coursed through his body, resting his hands on the edge of the desk as he regained his breath.

"You're the one who pointed a gun at me! I didn't even know you were in 'ere!" Finn yelped.

The commotion had attracted the attention of Ada and Isaiah, who had come running and stopped in their tracks upon seeing you standing behind John's desk in the middle of the night. They weren't stupid. John was topless, your clothes obviously rumpled, both with matching tousled hair and practically stinking of guilt. You'd been caught red handed. Ada's eyes flicked between both you and John, and you could practically see the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in her mind, all the moments she found questionable since you'd returned suddenly making sense, realising she had been deceived by the two people who she was meant to trust most in life. Finn looked absolutely crushed, he'd never been able to conceal his emotions as well as his older brothers and sister, linking his fingers through Ada's, squeezing her hand.

"I forgot to drop this off earlier." Finn stated, holding up a money box, "Ada had keys so we thought we'd sneak in so I wouldn't get done by Tommy. We did call round yours, Y/N. We thought you were in bed."

"I'm sorry." You said. It was not enough but you just didn't know what else to say. You couldn't make it right, you'd really fucked up this time. Tears pricked at your eyes, as Ada examined you in silence.

John stepped in front of you defensively. "Look, Ada-"

"How long has this been going on?" She asked, her voice shaking with rage. You and John exchanged a glance. "I said, how fucking long?"

"Five months, six in a fortnight." He answered.

Isaiah whistled lowly. "That's fucked. I thought it was only a few times, that it'd finished."

"Never really over when it's John is it." Finn interjects, you glance to him, were you just one in a long string? You shouldn't be surprised but it was easy to pretend he may actually care about you.

"You've been fucking around for six months behind my back?" Ada yelped, Finn trying to comfort her but she pulled away from him. "And you fucking knew Iz."

"I'd expect this from you, yeah? Wouldn't put anything past you these days.." she sneered at John, "But you? You?! You're meant to be my best mate, but here you are sneaking about fucking my brother?"

"Ada-" you began, eyes welling with tears.

"I thought I could trust you. You're just another fucking razor chaser, aren't you?" She spits. "That's why you came back."

"No it wasn't, Ada-"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but this time John was on the receiving end. "You bought her that fucking coat ,didn't you? The fur one. You did! Fuck's sake!" Her fists were clenched, shoulders squared. For the first time in your life, you understood why crowds parted for Ada Shelby. Understood all the free drinks and cab rides, the nervous serving staff declaring your meal on the house (always acknowledged by Ada with a hefty tip), understood why the men of Birmingham didn't last long with her.

"Did it feel good to swan about town in that fucking coat, while acting as though you cared about me? It's so fucking embarrassing. All trussed up because my knobhead big brother makes you feel special? Thanks for rubbing it in my face."

"Ada, I love you. I never meant to hurt you, I got caught up and that's on me. It's my fault."

"You're not acting like you love me. This isn’t what love is, Y/N." She retorted.

You couldn’t do anything but nod. She was right.

John opened his mouth to speak, Ada silencing him, a scowl darkening her features.

"I don't care what you have to say. Any of you. Who else knows?"

"Thomas, Michael, Arthur-" John listed off slowly, each name prompting Ada to break down a little bit more in front of you.

"I didn't know Arthur knew." You said pointedly, John sending you an exasperated glance. He was planning on dealing with that later, but right now was about his sister. Fuck him if he thought you were going to stick around much longer. You didn't want to hear him justify everyone else knowing about your fling with your best friend being left completely in the dark.

"That all you have to say for yourself?" Ada snaps at you.

"I have fucking no defense, do I Ada? I should've walked away." You pushed your hair back, frustrated at yourself, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You begged yourself not to cry. Tears wouldn't help anything.

"Why didn't you?"

You didn't know. Your silence only riled her up.

"Why didn't you fucking walk away?" Ada yelled, slamming her hands on the desk.

You felt hot tears run down your face, quickly moving your hands to dab at your tears.

"Don't you dare fucking cry. After all you've done, you don't get to cry in front of me." Ada growled at you, John going to shush her, obviously wanting to comfort you. "You can all fuck off. You've all lied to me and gone behind my back. Fuck’s sake, you could've just told me. You could've just told me."

"We didn't want to hurt you." John said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder but she flinches away.

"This hurts so much more. You get that you all lying to me is so much worse, don't you?"

"We weren't thinking."

"You really fucking weren't." Ada laughs bitterly, shaking her head, blinking away tears. "Fuck you lot."

She stormed out, tailed by Finn, begging her to slow down and talk to him, protesting his innocence in the situation. Isaiah hesitated in the doorway, his eyes flickering between you and John.

"I had no idea you two've been at it for so long."

"Iz, fuck off yeah? I've had enough today." John shot back, sliding across the desk towards you. "You alright, lass?"

"We're done here, John."

He slid off the table, his hand cupping your face, "Hey, gorgeous, I get it but don't go breaking my heart tonight. Can we just leave this for tomorrow? Sleep on it."

The idea of getting any sleep at all tonight was laughable, you'd be up all night replaying these moments and torturing yourself. Tonight couldn't get any worse so you had to finally end it. Now was the right time.

"John, it should've never happened."

"But it did."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's over."

"Y/N. You know for me it was never just about-"

"You're making it difficult. Stop making it difficult. Whatever you say isn't going to change that right now we have to do the right thing."

"I know you're right, but I don't want to let go. Is it so wrong to want you? I adore you, you know that."

You wouldn't meet his eyes. Sighing, John pressed his forehead to the side of your head, chin brushing your shoulder, eyes closing. He was begging you to stay with him. There had to be a solution, you'd figure it out together. His voice was cracking, eyes glassy. He looked so much younger when he was pleading. The tall bloke who terrorised the Midlands with his razor rimmed cap, a revolver in his hand, and a ruthless trigger finger had vanished. You wanted to stay, burning to curl up with him and for him to kiss it better.

"I should go." You told him. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, letting out a shaky sigh before pulling away, nodding.

"I'd drive you home but obviously-"

"Obviously."

John suddenly turned from you, eyes narrowing at Isaiah who was still hovering at the door. "Thought I told you to fuck off. Make yourself useful and get Y/N home safely." His tone was ice cold once again.

Isaiah nodded, offering his arm to you. You reached the door and instinctively looked back at John. His eyes met yours, staring at you from his desk, just as you knew he would. He prepared himself to watch you leave every night, but this time was different. That was it with you two.

Isaiah strode down the street with you in silence. You were tucked into his side as was customary with the upcoming blinders who were particularly ambitious, but there was no relaxed chat.

"Isaiah. What’re you thinking?" You asked, voice tinged with nervousness.

He sighed, running his free hand across his jaw, "That was intense in there."

"Just how he is." You shrugged.

"Does he love you or sommet?"

"Fuck knows… does it matter?"

"Of course it does. Do you love him?"

"Drop it. None of that matters, it shouldn't have happened in the first place so it can’t," You snapped, the anger at the situation you'd created suddenly overwhelming.

Isaiah whistled, raising his brow at your obvious turmoil. "You're in fucking deeper than you want to admit."

He walked you up your path, watching you turn the key to the side door leading to your bedsit. You paused, turning to him.

"Iz… I don't know what to do next."

It was so dark, you could see his face only by the lit cigarette burning to embers between his fingers. He inhaled deeply, pausing before delivering his carefully laid out plan of avoidance. Obviously the event of him crossing the Shelbys and losing their good graces weighed heavily on his mind. You nodded, listening intently, noting his ideas of relocation but he explained they were a final resort. The best thing to do was try to regain their trust; in the long run, he had calculated, it was the only option that didn't result in your life being haunted by the Shelbys. Even if they left you alone, their enemies would make a point to go after you, seeing you as an easy target. The other option was to leave the country.

"Good luck, Y/N. I mean it." He muttered as you turned the handle to the temporary safety of your home. You nodded, offering you cheek for the polite good night kiss you'd become accustomed to. He rolled his eyes and obliged, pressing an affectionate kiss to your cheek and ruffling your hair. "I'm serious. Watch your back."

***

John broke down when he finally heard the lock click shut. His eyes had been prickling with boiling tears, his jaw tensed to hold them back. He yelled out in anger, flipping his desk with force, a loud crash as the wood splintered against the stone flooring, glass shattering from the photo frames. His hands went to his head, unable to stop the gasping breaths escaping from his trembling lips, his face reddening.

"Fuck’s sake." He growled. He'd fucked everything up. He had nothing, just as he'd told you the first night you returned. The consequence was no surprise, he'd anticipated the fall out for a while, but he couldn't resist you. He was completely guilty and had no defense; his only justification being that you made him think with his cock, not his brain.

Fuck’s sake. Polly was going to murder him. She'd always had a soft spot for Ada, as the only girl in the family, and was no stranger to lecturing him over his flirtatious behaviour around Ada's friends. She'd murder him. He had a half mind to never go home. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. Polly had no use for tears. That's what she'd tell him when he was a boy coming home with a skinned knee. This was far worse.

He was also sure that he was a worse brother than Tommy, perhaps the worst in the world. His baby sister, who he'd helped to toddle, carry proudly on his shoulders after school and race with her on his back through the fields on the outskirts of Small Heath, had walked in on him obviously in the midst of fucking her best mate. If he had swallowed his pride and actually talked to her, he wouldn't be in this mess. He could've told her that things changed, that for the same reasons Ada loved Y/N he had fallen for her, that he was truly sorry but she had to know before it got too far and someone got hurt. He couldn't go back.

He should've never approached you that night.

He should never approach you again.

He looked over the mess of his office, the splintered wood and shards of glass, a confetti of paperwork. Now nothing mattered. None of this mattered. He'd lost everything and he had only himself to blame.

[mrs-nate-humphrey]

no-sleep 1x09rewatch ramble-essay (all content warnings for the episode apply here)

i was just like. oh i’ll watch a feel-good episode of gossip girl! s1 thanksgiving ep is great isn’t it! blairenate family feels!!! ruflyson love triangle drama!!! vdw siblings AND humphrey siblings hanging out!!! dan’s “see you later waldorf” *salutes & closes the cab door* !!!

& like. yes i DID remember serena’s whole not being sober on thanksgiving thing, and yes i DID remember blair’s ED relapse - which is heavy, but eating disorder content isn’t particularly triggering for me personally (i find it kind of cathartic, if we’re being honest) BUT . i somehow forgot. that THIS was the episode which has howard’s suicide attempt?? and now i have some of the most painful nate feels in the world. 

blah blah blah, leight’s acting brought me to tears, which probably doesn’t sound like a very big deal but sort of is, for a variety of reasons (watching things doesn’t usually make me cry, it’s happened maybe a single-digit number of times before + also just my blair feels in general --> she’s a really interesting character but i don’t find her AS relatable as i do dan, or nate, or vanessa, or maybe even serena at times --> so i usually do have a bit of a disconnect re: watching her, which i really do not have for like. dan, for instance.) 

i just cannot divorce that very cute outfit blair wears with her ED relapse - which brings me to the next point, which is that blair is maybe THE only character ever for whom her clothing choices and her plotlines are so interwoven in my head (lemon yellow shirt and funky little hat is her mean bridesmaids competitive game day, yellow-&-orange dress is her choose chuck over dan moment, genderqueer plaid skirt and grey shirt is her “dan loves me for me” moment, white shirt with the pink flowers is her get owned by nelly yuki moment, etc etc)... the only other time i noticed outfits is derena cotillion, but that’s just because i LOVE derena cotillion, and date matching shirts, but that’s because i am tuned into all things date and couldn’t possibly tell you what those outfits actually symbolise, with the exception of dan’s pink flannel shirt from when he’s holding milo. or any of the outfits from 2x06 because that is my episode hands down. oh hey would you look at that, i do actually form associations. but you gotta believe me on this, blair’s the one it happens most naturally for, which is very strange. i think it’s because her outfits are always Statements in a way that the other characters never do, except for jenny, who is a fashion designer, so it’s Different for her. what am i trying to say. 

oh yeah another iconic outfit is serena’s golden jacket and bright blue pants to the morgue to identify what might be chuck’s corpse. she literally dressed like she was going clubbing and i respect her so much for that. 

anyway. gosh. nate just - getting gaslit by his mom, getting reprimanded by his dad for telling his mom to stop being rude/petty... howard was like “don’t fight my fights for me” but nate wasn’t even doing that?? he was just asking his mom Not to be rude, and the fact that nate got told off at the end of that interaction... uh. it shows a lot about the archibald family unit in general and just. how nate is sort of treated as ... i don’t have the right word, but my brain is like “second class citizen”... which is absolutely NOT the right concept for nate but like. he is treated like he is Less a part of the family than his parents are....... RIGHT until one of them (or both of them!) fuck up in a big way and it’s down to nate to fix their mess. i haven’t read “adult children of emotionally immature parents” but from whatever i’ve heard about it, i think nate could do with reading it. or not. maybe it’d just make him sadder.

and fuck - nate’s whole talk with his dad and his dad telling nate that he doesn’t know how he can go on, etc etc... idk what to say or where to draw the line but i have really complicated howard & nate feelings. i really truly think anne was the worse parent (not like it’s a competition of course) and i sometimes seriously wonder if maybe howard archibald had a more supportive life partner, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up being ~like that~ to nate (doesn’t justify anything of course). anyway nate’s sitting by the hospital bed and his dad is denying his suicide attempt at first and nate’s just like, no, stop. this is also making me think now of nate sitting by serena’s hospital bed after tripp, and nate possibly sitting by blair’s hospital bed some point pre-series (eating disorders are serious and i really do think, esp with eleanor being eleanor, that it must’ve gotten pretty bad for blair before she got help - which. sorry. i know, it’s sad but i’m just putting together pre-existing implications.) all i’m saying is some point in the future i wouldn’t be surprised if nate’s just. uncomfortable in hospitals and unable to piece together why. oh yikes i just remembered blair’s miscarriage. at which point do hospitals become overly suffocating for natie, remind him of his own helplessness, etc... because i really think they would. anyway. 

anne archibald chills me because she is such an accurate representation of a very specific kind of mother and. i hate it for nate obviously but i struggle to remember a time i’ve seen a tv mom who i can 100% relate to so hard. as in. fuck. worded that wrong. whose SON i can relate to so hard. ouch. this may be a moot point because i don’t watch much tv, but honestly anne & nate is just. a Lot. in a way that is significant to Me, specifically. this is part of my pet peeve (not enough to fight with anybody don’t worry) when people make edits about mothers & daughters, as if what was happening between nate & anne, somehow didn’t have the same complications - i honestly think there’s some solid eleanor & blair/ anne & nate parallels to be drawn. and we’ve been over this somewhere else, but lily & serena / rufus & dan / rufus & jenny definitely have a lot of the same specific issues (parent projecting on child, etc.) again - everyone engages w the show differently, im ready to admit that like... maybe 65% of my problems with the ‘mothers & daughters’ reading probably stem from gender dysphoria, lol. but whatever.

i have feelings about dan & alison, too... i really do think dan was closer to his mom than to his dad for majority of his childhood, and this ep really cements it. anyway. i don’t have any more words and i’m tired. and i might just watch derena cotillion episode because . derena cotillion episode my beloved... 

wait wait before i forget. venn diagram of humphrey family & van der bilt family & playing american football. i know this has come up before but like. here we go i;m thinking about it again. both dan and nate have been competitively thrown in the grass by a family member in the name of sports. no wonder nate chose dan over chuck in 2x06 (i would put a tone indicator but even i can’t tell if this is /gen or /j) 

[petri808]

@bnhahorrorweek Post apocalypse prompt/ non-quirk characters. Threw this one-shot together for this prompt. 🙃 Bakudeku. Sorry my edits suck lol.

It’s been two years since the world imploded and left survivors struggling to just stay alive. No one knew exactly how it began, but many suspected it was man made. When the United States declared war on China, and the world sided against the falling superpower, the country retaliated... soon stories began popping up about people becoming zombie-like and attacking with no hesitation as if all conscious reasoning was gone. The coincidence was how it started in areas being bombed by the U.S., first Asia, Europe, but as with most viruses, it spread quickly through the infected until there wasn’t a country on Earth left standing.

Izuku Midoriya was in his senior year of high school at the time, but once the virus hit Japan, chaos broke out. In the dense cities like Tokyo, it was like a wave washing through that quickly jumped to surrounding cities including Shizuoka where he lived with his mother. Within a matter of weeks the entire island country was engulfed by these soulless beings. He’d lost everyone he knew, his classmates, friends, and after a month of running, his mom when they’d been ambushed sneaking through the subway tunnels.

Perhaps it was his smaller size that was to his benefit. Growing up Izuku was teased for being a shorter, gangly kid, but when the goal was hiding, it became an asset. He was smart and a quick learner, who figured out the best ways to stay out of sight from the roving hoards. These things weren’t dead like most zombie movies tended to portray. The virus infected and destroyed the upper portions of the brain leaving just the brain stems that controlled basic life functions. It generally resembled a mutated syphilis strain, but 10 times worse with no cure, and no way to stop it once it took control. All the zombies knew to do was eat, and eat, and eat.

By the end of the first year, Izuku realized that constantly being on the move had some detriment, so when he came across an abandoned apartment building built with brick walls, he decided to create a fortress for himself. It took some time working only when the creatures weren’t around, but he reinforced the second floor apartments with steel and blacked out the windows. Once the outside was secured, Izuku broke through walls to connect the apartments together.

Maybe he’ll run into another survivor one day. There must be others, but since he didn’t travel far from his base camp, it was wholly possible he’d simply never come across one. Even now almost two years later, he was only a stones throw away from his original home is Musutafu. It was a lonely existence and there were many days when he wondered if it was worth it to keep living like this. Working on his new ‘home’ was the only thing that helped to keep his mind from slipping into depression, and he was quite proud of his accomplishments. Breaking through the ceiling, he managed to rig a pipe to the roof that collected rain water and funneled it into a plugged bath tub. Similar venting allowed him to build a make shift hearth for fires, handy during the colder months and to cook with.

They were truly back to the stone ages now. All the skills many take for granted, simple things like how to sew or forage for edible plants, he had to learn. No more electricity, meant no more quick entertainment, so he raided a nearby bookstore for things to read. Over time, Izuku settled in for the long haul, just concerning himself with finding supplies, keeping occupied, and most of all, not losing his sanity.

Until one day, while returning to his home, Izuku heard a noise and ducks low behind a broken down vehicle. It had only been a quick trip to a close by hardware store. He watched, readying his weapon in case of an attack. Crap! He’d left the fire going in the apartment for heating, so had the smoke attracted a zombie?

A human walks out from around some parked vehicles. At first he can’t tell if it’s a zombie or not, because the person’s attire hid their features. But the longer he watched their movements, the way they walked cautiously, with a backpack slung over one shoulder, Izuku started to wonder if it could be a survivor! It was a dangerous move to break cover, but after surveying the area and not seeing anyone else, he decided to get the persons attention. If it was a zombie there was still enough space between them to get away.

Izuku popped his head over the car and whistled once for 10 seconds. The person stopped and turned in his direction, but just stood in place staring. So he whistled a second time, while standing completely upright and clearly visible. He waved, signaling he was a normie, so the man lowers the hoodie of his jacket.

“K-Kacchan?!” He breathes out. No way! Of all the people to run into, but his long lost childhood friend?! The mans hair was a dirtier blonde now, shaggier and disheveled, but those red eyes were unmistakable. Izuku steps forward, slowly moving towards the man. “Kacchan, is that really you?”

“Deku? Pfft, figures you’re the first live human I find.”

Another sound, distant, but real catches Izuku’s alert attention. He grabs the man by the arm. “It’s not safe here,” his voice is low as to not attract attention. “Follow me, I’ve got a safe place.”

Possibly tired of travel, Katsuki Bakugou follows the smaller male into the secured apartment building. He watches in fascination as Izuku takes them through a stairwell with multiple metal gates that looked added on, until they reach the main entrance.

“Welcome to my home,” Izuku smiles and ushers Katsuki inside.

“Tch, not bad nerd,” The blonde surveys his surroundings. “You set this all up yourself?”

“Yup. Took awhile but I reinforced the top half of the building.” He shows Katsuki each room. “An area for cooking, this is where I gather and store rain water. So if you wanna take a towel bath you can. Here’s where I sleep, and finally my storage area. I think I have clothes in your size if you need something fresh to wear.”

“Think I’ll take you up on the bath first.”

“S-Sure!” Izuku grabs his friend a towel and hands it to him along with a fresh set of clothing. “I’ll be working on a dinner in the meantime,” he smiles.

“Thanks Deku.”

Izuku was on cloud nine! It’d been years, long before the apocalypse hit that he’d ever spoken with Katsuki in a civil manner. The man seemed to have mellowed out, but of course an event like this one was bound to change people. He was just thrilled to have found a survivor and even happier it was someone he knew. By the time Katsuki came out of the bath area cleaned and dressed, Izuku had whipped up a small meal for the two of them.

“Hope your hungry,” Izuku smiles and presents a plate to his friend. “I got lucky and caught a wild hare in my trap yesterday.”

Katsuki takes the plate and sits down on a rug. “How do you have fresh vegetables?”

“I grow them on the roof.” Izuku sits down across from the man with his own plate. “Tomatoes, sweet potatoes, mushrooms, and onions so far, but I’m working on soybeans too. Tell me Kacchan, where have you been all this time?”

“I was in Osaka visiting an uncle when this shit hit, then the bastards killed my parents last year as we tried to get back home.”

“I’m sorry Kacchan,” Izuku’s voice softened, “I lost my mom too a month after it hit.”

“Looks like you’re doing well though.” Katsuki looks around. “Seems a pretty safe hold out.”

“It’s better than the streets. Luckily the zombies are dumb. You know, you’re welcome to stay. There’s plenty of room for two people.”

“I don’t wanna impose...”

“You’re not imposing Kacchan. It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to aside from myself.”

“Alright, I’ll stick around since it beats the elements. Am I the first person you’ve seen?”

“Yeah, alive any way. I’ve run into people we knew but they’re all zombies now.”

“Tch, I mean to live now, then die as one of the last humans on this plant? This blows.”

“I try not to think about that and rather take any positive thing I can cling to.”

“Always the optimist Deku.” Katsuki laughs. “Even with a disaster you never change.”

As the hours grow late, Izuku suggests they pull out an extra mattress he has in the storage room for his friend to sleep on. But Katsuki points to Izuku’s Queen sized bed. “Why? We both fit, and besides it’s warmer this way, right?”

Izuku stammers as his face turns red. “I-I guess, as long as you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind, do you?”

“No.” He did, but it was just his nervousness over sharing a bed with a guy he once had a crush on.

“Good, cause I’m exhausted.” Katsuki slips under the blanket and pats the bed. “It’s late, let’s get some sleep.”

“O-Okay...” Izuku put out the fire and climbed under the covers, but turns on his side away from the man.

“Pfft,” Katsuki spoons up to Izuku, “supposed to keep each other warm remember,” he wraps his arm around and pulls the man close. “Nite, nerd.”

‘Ahhhh! What is going on?!’ “G’night Kacchan.” If this was how he’ll spend the rest of this apocalypse... guess it wasn’t so bad anymore.

[flowerspecial]

Enemy To Lover - High School Edition - Part 2

JB

Obviously your friends would be sick and tired of the constant bickering between you two. Like seriously, you have spent so many years together, why can't you two just be freaking civil? It was one of your mutual friend’s birthdays, and you all decided that the best idea would be to throw an amazing surprise birthday party. You all assigned each other roles and tasks that you needed to do. Unfortunately, neither you nor JB could attend the designation of tasks, so you two ended up stuck together. Neither of you two were happy with this arrangement, and you were not afraid to let your feelings be apparent. But you knew that this wasn't about you, and you needed to suck it up for the sake of your friend. You would pick JB up from his house at the weekend. Annoyingly, you two also had the most difficult job, getting the food and alcohol for the party. Well you two had to walk around a supermarket deciding what food was best. “What about this? Everyone will love this.” “I don't like that.” “What the hell is your problem JB? Seriously, I get that we are different, but bloody hell you don't have to be in a sulk every time that you see me.” You would storm off away from him, leaving him stranded in the supermarket. There is just no need for toxic friendships like this. The next time that you saw JB was at the party. You noticed that he kept looking at you, but honestly you didn't let yourself dwell on it too much. You wanted to enjoy this party just as much as everyone else. However, JB managed to corner you in the kitchen while you were getting a drink. “We need to talk.” “JB, I really can't be bothered to talk to you right now. Let's just leave it okay? I get that we will never be friends, let's move on.” “I want to try and be friends.” “Why? Because you feel sorry for me? Or that you feel guilty that I stormed off the other day?” “Well yes, it might be some of that. But you know what they say, opposites attract.”

Mark

Sitting next to Mark wasn't all that bad, like his reputation told you, he generally preferred to stay to himself. Because you two kinda hated each other, it did mean that he wasn't willing to try and talk to you or anything. He would just have his head on his desk and go to sleep for the hour. “You know, if you actually listened in class, you might do better in the tests.” You would say to him. “Yeah, and if you actually focused on the work, instead of on me, you would also do better in the tests.” “If you two have not quite finished your conversation, you can finish tonight, in detention!” Your teacher would shout at the two of you. You had never had detention before, so you glared at the back of Mark’s head so ferociously, that if looks could kill, he would be a goner. After school finished, you would walk into the detention room to see Mark already sat there. You chose the seat in front of him, praying that you might actually get some of your school work done in the hour. It is not long before the detention supervisor leaves the room. “So why exactly do you hate me?” Mark asks you abruptly. “I don't hate you.” You try to argue back. “Well you could have fooled me, what have I ever done to annoy you?” “You misbehave in class, and you flirt with every person going. You don't care about your education or anyone else’s around you.” “When have I misbehaved in class? I fall asleep, yeah okay I do that. But I have never directly disrupted a class. As for the flirting, all I do is talk to people. It's not my fault that people in this school have spread so many rumours about me that no one actually knows the truth from the myth.” You just looked at him, shocked with his sudden outburst. “I was actually looking forward to sitting with you, I thought that you could help me. But if I bother you that much, I will ask the teacher to move me tomorrow.” With that, Mark walked out of detention.

Jackson

Honestly, prom is meant to be a fun time with your friends, but truly this was your idea of hell. After everyone had been assigned their dates, you all found a day when everyone was free and decided to go prom shopping. All of the couples were keen to take in each other’s opinions about what you should both wear. You and Jackson however, could not care less about what the other person is wearing. Therefore you looked around the shop by yourself and chose a dress that you thought was perfect for you.  “Of course you are going to choose the sparkliest dress in here. God forbid if anyone else gets attention just for a second.” Jackson rolled his eyes as you walked out in your dress. “That's rich coming from you! You know it isn't a contest to see who can wear the most designers?” You sneered back at him. The constant bickering between you two was starting to wear thin on you, and somewhere along this process Jackson’s comments had gotten slightly harsher than ever before. “Just because you can't afford to wear the clothes that I can! Jealous much?” Wow, now that one really struck a nerve in you. “Fuck you Jackson! I don't need to take this kind of abuse from someone who I have no intention of ever speaking once I leave school. If you really don't like the way I dress, or the way I act, then fine. You win” You got dressed as quickly as you could, and left the changing rooms with the sparkly dress still hanging in the room. Jackson was waiting for you outside the changing rooms and he ran after you when you stormed off. “Wait, what do you mean I win?” Jackson grabbed your wrist to turn you towards him. “It means that you win Jackson. I don't want to play this game anymore. I can't spend my days with someone who constantly makes me feel like I’m mud on the sole of someone’s shoe. I’m not going to prom, find someone else to go with you.”

Jinyoung

If anyone asked you, you would not be able to tell them the last time you had been outside or taken a break from studying. These months were crucial for you to be able to get out of this town, and there was nothing that you were not willing to do in order to succeed. If you thought that you were hard on yourself before, boy were you kidding yourself. A mixture between wanting to succeed and immountable stress hung over you so much that you felt guilty when you didn't revise. You knew this was not a healthy way to live, heck you are doing AP Psychology for crying out loud, and your mental health was starting to deteriorate. It was one of those days when you did not have any extra curricular after school, so you decided to spend your evening studying in the library. You always preferred to sit in the corner of a library, as you didn't want to be disturbed by anything or anyone. You have felt on edge for some time, and will the university exams coming up in the next week, you were struggling to hold yourself together. As you attempted to complete a timed exam paper, there was a question that you were stuck on. In the grand scheme of things, that one question should not have bothered you so much. One question not understood in an entire exam paper is something to be proud of. However, your brain was fixated on that one question, and so you pushed out of your chair to try and find a book that could explain the answer. Your heart was fluttering so uncomfortably, and your breathing was ragged. You fell to the ground of the library in a slump and you struggled to focus on something. You felt someone try to position you so your head was between your knees. “Focus on your breathing okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth.” When you calmed down, you looked up to see who the person was that was helping you, and you were surprised to see Jinyoung sitting next to you. “You are the smartest person I know. Don't give yourself such a hard time.”

Youngjae

From the word go, you wanted to set ground rules for Youngjae. “Right, I actually need to do well in this presentation, I need to stabilise my grade. So I couldn't care less if you don't want to work with me, we are going to work together and we are going to do well. Okay?” You said to him as you sat down in your new seating position. “Who said I didn't want to work with you?” Youngjae asked, genuinely confused at your outburst. You look at him incredulously and ignore his question. For the rest of the lesson, you work in near silence, the only time you spoke was to tell Youngjae what tasks you were giving him and how long he had to do them. “I need you to have this done by the day after tomorrow at the latest. Here is my email, just send it to me when you have finished it. If you have any questions, ask someone else.” Before Youngjae could say anything, you gathered your belongings and walked out of the classroom. Not to sound cliche, but you always hated lunch time. Although you chose to be on your own, it was still never nice when it was made so apparent to you. In order to combat the twang of loneliness, you always played music through your headphones and did whatever homework was set. You looked around the lunch hall and someone caught your eyes. Youngjae was at the other side of the hall, with his friends. When he saw you he smiled and waved at you, earning his friends to turn around to see who he was looking at. You didn't think matters could get any worse, but Youngjae had decided to walk over to you and sit down opposite you. “Hey, why are you sitting on your own?” “Because I don't have anyone to sit with.” “Well… it's a good thing that I came then isn't it?” You couldn't work out if Youngjae was actually quite sweet, or so oblivious it was painful. It was clear he didn't notice the stares that he was getting by sitting next to you. Well, until one of the popular people stood behind him. “You don't wanna sit here Youngjae, you might catch something.”

Bambam

You were walking through the dining hall one lunch time, trying to find somewhere to eat. But because you weren't looking where you were going, you crashed into someone, spilling your food on them. “Are you actually kidding me? Do you know how much this shirt costs?” You didn't even need to look up to know who was speaking to you. Bambam was towering over you with steam coming out of his ears. “I am so sorry, I will pay you back! I can get it dry cleaned! Or I can get you a new one? How much is it?” “Oh yeah, like you can afford to get him a new shirt!” One of the girls behind Bambam sneered. “Yeah, aren't you the scholarship kid? You couldn't even afford to get in here, why would you be able to pay for his shirt?” You were fighting so hard to not let the tears fall that were pooling in your eyes. “I am really sorry, please just tell me how much it was and I will pay you back!” “It was $800, can you afford that?” The same girl as before piped up. “Yes, I will get the money!” Bambam had stayed silent throughout the entirety of his conversation, showing you that he clearly wasn't on your side. Before you embarrassed yourself further, you walked away from the group. You were determined to save up enough money to pay Bambam back, and you were not going to stop until you did. School became a living hell, Bambam’s group became your own personal group of tormentors, determined to show you that you don't belong at their school. You made sure to do longer shifts after school and during the weekends, meaning that on average you got about 4 hours of sleep. Life was not ideal for you, but you were determined to make it work. It took around a month for you to gather the money you owed Bambam. You saw him sitting with his friends in the dining hall, and you walked over to and slammed the money onto the table. “Here is the money that I owe you, now please, just leave me alone.”

Yugyeom

“I didn't know that you could play.” Yugyeom states very matter of factly. Seeing him walking towards you was making your heart rate begin to increase. “Oh I can't really, sorry I will get going now.” You gathered all of your belongings from the side of the piano and you tried to stand up from the seat. However, Yugyeom was too quick for you and pushed you back down. “Can you teach me how to do that?” “Why should I teach you?” “Why wouldn't you?” Yugyeom’s blatant disregard for his actions was making your blood boil. “Why should I help someone that has made my life here at school a living hell? Why should I help someone that when I see in the hallway, I will walk outside just to avoid. Why should I help someone who genuinely makes it his personal mission to destroy? “Look, it's not that big of a deal. The stuff that we do, it's just a joke!” “And the fact that you genuinely think that is what makes it worst of all.” This time, you managed to successfully climb out of the seat, and you stormed out of the room. A couple of days had passed, and Yugyeom was nowhere to be seen. You had expected that the tormenting would actually get worse, you practically gave him the green light after shouting at him the other day. But no, you hadn't seen him around school, and neither had any of his friends. You had a free period before lunch, which meant that you were able to spend longer than usual in the music room, which always put a smile on yourself. However, when you arrived, the lights were already on and you could hear someone playing on the piano. You peeped your head around the door to see the MIA boy sitting in the same spot which he was sat in a couple of days ago. You stood at the door for a few minutes, listening to Yugyeom playing the same section over and over again. “You know you have the wrong chord, right?” You asked him, causing Yugyeom to whip his head around to look at you. “I’m trying to do it from memory, I knew it sounded wrong but I didn't know why.”

[vincess-princess]

What Is Lost, What Is Found

Chapter 3.

Word count: 2585

Trigger warnings: none

Author’s note: i can’t believe this myself, but here we are, after an 8-month hiatus.

Tommy came again six days later, this time in the late afternoon. He peered gingerly into the store, not even daring to open the door wide enough to see his face. Mick could only see one very worried eye and a trembling right corner of his lips.

"Mr- Mick? Am I too late?"

"Never too late for cleaning, kid." Mick looked up at him from his lunch which he was consuming at the moment. He’d rather keep staring at the hot dog he was eating, but the boy didn’t need to know Mick was probably even more anxious than him. "Lunch first, though. Are you hungry?"

He didn't wait for Tommy to answer and put a couple of dollars onto the counter. Tommy stepped into the shop, closed the door behind him carefully, and almost tiptoed to the counter. Mick smiled, trying to reassure him that everything is alright. The boy smiled back timidly and took the money – silently. He didn't even try to start his usual "oh you're too kind, Mr. Mars", which Mick decided to consider his personal achievement.

"You know what to do."

Tommy did, and this time came back not only with a burger but also with French fries. Progress, Mick thought with warm satisfaction.

Tommy handed him the change, pulled up a chair from the back room, placed it near Mick, sat down and started eating, or, rather, devouring his food. Mick couldn't help but watch him proudly like a granny watches her grandson eating homemade food. The awkward silence in the shop was interrupted only by Tommy’s energetic chewing, and Mick decided to put on some music. Tommy approved randomly pulled out of the pile Led Zeppelin II with a thumb up - his mouth was too full to speak.

"How much time do I have?" Tommy asked once he was done with his fries. "You close at eight, right?"

"Right, but that doesn't mean I'm leaving at eight. I usually stay overtime to sort out records and count the revenue. So take your time. Why are you so late today, though?"

"Uh," embarrassment reddened Tommy’s cheeks suddenly, "I, uh, had to wait for the guys to leave for a, hm, job. They were supposed to do it in the morning, but we had a, well, some good time at a club yesterday. So we all were, hm, kind of hungover today. So we overslept. But as soon as the guys were out the door, I rushed to you!"

Mick rolled his eyes, mostly out of Being-An-Adult duty than out of disapproval. He didn’t approve of such behavior of teenagers but believed it to be perfectly natural. He was like that too once, after all.

And Tommy rushed to meet him. Rushed. Nobody was ever as excited about meeting him as Tommy. Even Mick’s own kids.

"Ain't you too young to drink, kid? How d’ya even get there?"

"Well, not that it's really that difficult," Tommy snorted into his soda. "The security knows us."

"Oh, so you're also faithful clients?" Mick chuckled. He knew he shouldn’t approve it. At the same time, he wouldn’t be able to play a strict guardian even if he tried. "It was stricter in my days, which weren't so long ago, but still. Good for you, I guess. Just don't do drugs."

"I don't!" Tommy reassured him, for some reason really emphasizing that "I". "Honestly, I didn't expect you to be so chill about that. All adults I know always freak over it."

"I'm chill about a lot of things." Mick almost didn't lie. After all, how could he judge someone when he, himself, couldn’t beat the very same addiction?

A customer, an elderly lady looking like she got stuck in the fifties, entered the shop, and Mick, noticing glances of disapproval she cast at Tommy, shooed him to the back room. He didn’t want the kid to scare off all his customers.

He definitely needs a haircut, Mick thought idly. And new jeans. And new shoes. And new, well, everything. It was a wonder he still hadn't attracted the attention of the police, walking around the streets like that. Mick never considered his neighborhood to be respectable, but even here the boy looked terribly out of place.

He could, of course, pay Tommy more – not that this rather small sum of money could make his business go bankrupt. He knew, though, that Tommy wasn’t very likely to spend it on clothes or even food, considering everything he had just heard. And Mick didn’t want his money to go into making those kids alcoholics. It could go into making Mick an alcoholic himself, of course, but he was an adult who was willingly giving in to a habit he realized was harmful to him. Mick was pretty sure none of those young misfits knew what an addiction could entail.

The customer was particularly fond of Elvis Presley and ended up buying a few of his rare editions, which rather improved Mick's opinion on her. He always respected a keen music lover, especially an Elvis lover.

"Can I go out now?" Tommy whispered dramatically, peering from the backroom after he had heard the door close. "She didn't really like me much, did she?"

"Old farts like her” – aren’t you an old fart yourself, the voice in Mick’s head whispered, “want all boys to have bowl cuts, wear bow ties and obey their parents. Don't worry about that."

"I don't." Tommy shrugged. "I'm used to it. What should I do now?"

"The floor is waiting for you." Mick waved his hand towards the toilet, where Tommy proceeded to go to fetch a mop and a bucket.

The conversation seemed pretty light-hearted, almost without that last time tension, and Mick almost managed to believe everything was alright.

Almost, because something lingered in his mind. A phrase of Tommy's, barely a couple of words that rubbed him up the wrong way. God, they talked barely ten minutes ago. What was his memory turning-

Gotcha.

"Hey, Tommy," Mick called, and Tommy ran up to him from the other side of the store, concern on his face.

"Yeah?"

"What did you say about the guys? Something before the bar talk?"

"What did I say about..." Tommy frowned, then his eyes widened. "Oh shit."

"What was that?" Mick demanded to know, taking a step towards Tommy. He was barely taller than him and not much stronger, but Tommy still shrunk, staring at the floor.

"Tommy."

"I'm sorry!" Tommy exclaimed nervously. "I don't want you to think badly about the guys. They just didn't have a chance to get to know you yet. Nikki's super paranoid in general too. I know they'll come to terms with it, but it takes some time."

"Come to terms with what?" Mick tried to find Tommy's eyes, but he hid them behind his bangs.

"Me coming to your store," Tommy confessed with the desperation of a drug addict giving away his dealers. "They don't trust you. They think I don't understand shit. That I'm naive and stupid and can't see through people at all. They treat me like a fucking stupid little boy, and Vince is the same fucking age as me, just nine months older! I'm tired of that shit. I want to prove to them that I'm not stupid. I see that you're a good person. They just need to believe me."

Tommy stopped to gasp for air, and Mick just stood there and looked at him with a face devoid of emotion.

He was right in some way. Not about his own naivety: the boy was as naive as one could get, and it was pure luck he came across Mick instead of any other adult with less pure intentions. But Mick did understand how the situation appeared to someone who couldn't really see through his intentions.

Tommy was going to continue his tirade, but one glance on Mick’s face changed his plans. He stared at Mick for a moment, his eyes desperately examining his face, and then asked:

"Are you angry?"

A wave of cold washed over Mick. Was it his facial expression that the kid got scared of? Did he pull a son-of-a-bitch face once again? And god damn, why did the kid think Mick would be angry at every little thing he did?

"What? No, they have a point," Mick shook his head. Tommy, obviously expecting a different reply, blinked in confusion. "Their concerns are reasonable. They're worried about you."

"Yeah, maybe they do that, but they never take me and my opinions seriously!" Tommy started to flare up again. “It’s always, oh, T-bone, you don’t understand, you don’t know anything about life! I have escaped the goddamn orphanage, I’ve been living out on streets for almost a year now, I had my share of hardships, but for them, I’m still too young and naïve!”

After a short silence Mick uttered his conclusion.

“Yeah, it sucks.”

And immediately regretted it. He had to fight the desire to hide under the counter, far from Tommy’s disappointed face. He needed to support the boy, to help him deal with his problems, and once the kid actually opened up and started speaking about those problems, the only reply Mick could come up with was “Yeah, that sucks”? It must have come off as indifferent at best, mocking at worst. Great job, Mick. Just great.

“Yeah! That’s what I’m saying!” Tommy nodded fiercely. Mick raised his glance, examining the kid’s expression. “At least you understand me, thank god.”

“Yeah, I do,” Mick murmured, frantically trying to come up with something more coherent to say. The boy seemed to have missed the awkwardness of his latest remark. He was just glad someone supported him. Maybe Mick overreacted a little. Maybe it wasn’t all that bad.

He still didn’t know what to say, though.

“You know,” his brain finally came up with an option, and Mick clung to it with passion of a lover holding their partner close, “maybe they need to see what we’re actually doing here to realize their paranoia is unfounded? I understand they might have had a slightly wrong impression of my character when I was dragging them to the backroom threatening to call the police.”

“Yeah,” Tommy giggled, “this sure has left a biased impression. So you think I should bring them here?”

“Exactly,” Mick confirmed quickly, glad that he got off cheap with his lack of parenting skills. “Great idea. Bring them to the store and show what we’re doing here. And, additional help is always welcome.”

“Oh, great!” Tommy beamed. “I love it here with you but I really want to be able to tell the guys about it. They won’t steal anything, I promise.”

“Of course they won’t, after such a failure,” Mick laughed. “Nikki seems like the type with principles. Not sure about Vinnie.”

“The only principles he has are not to sleep with cross-eyed girls and not to have a curly-haired person in a band,” Tommy smiled. “I don’t know why he hates curly hair so much. He has a lot of, um, quirks.”

Nikki was a walking quirk himself, Mick thought, but decided not to say it. Tommy could laugh at Nikki’s weird preferences as much as he wanted to, but Mick saw how warm his voice became every time he mentioned Nikki. Surrounded by cold and unfriendly adults, Tommy could really take to a person that expressed even a minimum amount of concern and care.

Mick could only hope Nikki wasn’t a bad influence for the kid. Which he probably was, with his always-looking-for-trouble attitude.

“You two seem to be close,” he only said, trying to manipulate Tommy into telling him more about Nikki. The boy only needed a slight push in the right direction.

“Well, we have spent half a year roaming the streets, I guess that really brings people together,” Tommy shrugged. “Without him I wouldn’t have survived out there. He’s super street smart. He says he ran away from home when he was twelve.”

“Doesn’t he have any relatives to put him up? A twelve-year-old kid was just sleeping out in the streets and no one cared?” Mick only now started to realize how big the problem was.

“Well, I’m not entirely sure, but he said his mother never cared about him. Well,” Tommy lingered, “he didn’t say exactly that, but it was pretty clear. He’s got grandparents, but they live in another state, and Nikki said he wanted to stay in L.A. I’m not sure if he has any other relatives. He never mentioned anyone else.”

“That’s not much,” Mick sighed. Anger started to rise inside him. A child should always have a home to come back to. Always. The mere thought of people who could so easily abandon their child, their flesh and blood, made Mick feel sick to the stomach. “And you all have been surviving on what, Nikki’s, hm, skills?”

“Well, we work if we can find something sometimes. Vince also helps out. He has this talent of finding boyfriends with property, so we can spend a night or two under the roof of one of his numerous lays before Nikki pisses them off and they throw us out.”

“And how often does this happen?” Mick felt like he was going to throw up. One a shoplifter, another basically a prostitute. What a great company for an impressionable young boy just out of an orphanage.

“Well, Nikki has a talent of pissing off Vince’s boyfriends, so it happens quite often. But Vince always finds new ones.”

“Where? Nightclubs?”

“Maybe. He says he “knows his places”. As though we don’t know which gay bars he hangs out in. There are not so many of them around.”

“Wait a minute,” Mick interrupted him. “Aren’t they all eighteen plus? How does he get in there?”

“Well, he used to sing in bands when we were in high school. Probably from there. I’m not sure, we had same classes at school, rehearsed together even, he’s a good singer. Then I went to the orphanage, and when I came back, he no longer performed. I mean, my drum kit was gone, so I couldn’t play anymore but his voice didn’t go anywhere. I dunno, he just… changed. A lot.”

“In what way?”

Tommy sighed, plopped the rag in the bucket and looked up at Mick.

“He’s gone more, like, fake, you know? Like, he always plays his boyfriends around, they are ready to do everything for him, but he also tries it with us. He’s always in that playboy mode now. And that’s some kind of bullshit. I mean, he was like that at school and towards girls, but he never tried it with me. He knew I knew him. And now I feel like I don’t know him anymore.”

‘Who knows what happened to him while you were away,” Mick said. “Looks like he went through a lot.”

“Yes, I thought the same, but he always says everything is fine. And it’s not fine. And I can see it. And it’s killing me.” Tommy sighed and began dragging the rag across the floor.

“You do care about your friends a lot,” Mick noted gently.

“Too much for my own good,” Tommy murmured, not looking back at Mick, his whole attention devoted to the rag. Mick decided to stop asking. He’d heard enough to think over.

But first of all he had to take a closer look at those Nikki and Vince.

[thefun41]

Next up is Lesbian!Maya This one was definitely a challenge! I’ve drawn Maya a few times but I think this one is the best so far!

I’ll be blabing under the cut but in the meantime look forward to Gay!Klavier (hopefully) on Wednesday!

Edit: I have been informed that this is not the flag currently used. :/ I was wondering why kept seeing a pink one, just not where I was looking.

(Warning : rage and bitching below)

*deep breath* OH BOY! OH GOLLY AHH JEEZ Like DAMN was this a challenge. This took me an entire week!!! Other then Sebastian (because of that jacket) all of the pride requeswts have taken 3 days or less. During those 3 days I research an outfit, make a sketch, normally have a goofy side image to post before it because my brain is hyperactive, obsess over how to pose them and make the final image. Not this time!!! Even though this was an incredible struggle there was a lot that was learned by this… experience. 

So let’s break it down. 

Struggle #1 : Which flag are we using again? On the Ace Attorney Amino, the requester requested a Lesbian Maya. Here is the issue, in my research I have found a lot of lesbian pride flags and narrowed it down to 2. The lesbian pride flag which is  purple one with the black triangle and the battle axe (which was used) and lipstick lesbian, which is this pink one (see above). Now this bodes the question : What’s the difference? Well as far as I can tell, The purple one came first and is generally an umbrella flag for lesbians, while the pink one was made spicifically for a lesbian subculture : lipstick lesbians. There is a stereotype that lesbians are “masculine”, lipstick lesbians are very comfortable with their femininity, in fact very “girly” and seemed to be underrepresented sooooooo they have their own flag and subculture, kinda like the opposite of gay bear that we covered last time.  It seems like the Pink flag overtook the purple one in popularity OR whoever made the pink one was just better at marketing, who knows. Now the requested went with “a regular lesbian” so battle ax flag it is. Also battle axes are cool, so there’s that.  

Lesson learned : the LGBTQ+ community is waaaaaaay bigger then I thought with subcultures and whatnot. Knowlage is half the battle! 

Struggle #2 : Fashion is hard guys.  Picking the outfit took at least 2 days, and then I changed it at least a half dozen times. there are 3 issues I had (lists within lists, listception) : Maya’s limited style,  using the colour pallette with my messed up, self-restricted viewpoint, and Maya’s age. First Item, off the top of my head, I believe Maya is only seen in 5 outfits, her usual outfit, iris outfit for a moment, a waitress outfit for an hour, a red dress in that one promotional image where the case is super fancy, a white suit outfit thing for soundtrack stuff and a conductor uniform??? Out of the ones I can rememer, mostof thesse are dresses. When debating on weather or not I should put her in a dress I decided no because (as far as I can remember) she’s always ion a dress. and then my brain went nuts with questions.

Why is she always in a dress? is that sexist? It is a problem? What’s wrong with with her always being in a dress? Why do I want to really get her out of a dress? Am I sexist? why do only women were dresses? Is it the hips? Why don”t men wear dresses? Can they? They don’t really have hips so they can’t really wear skirts. Wait a minute men do kinda wear dresses, I mean kilts and kimono’s exist. would the bulge be an issue? Would men emphasize their bulge like women emphasize their breasts? Can men look good in dresses? Can any man look good in a dress? Can I put Edgeworth in a dress and make him look good? I’ve seen a ton of Phoenix in dresses but why not Edgey? … So yeah a lot of useless questions taking up my time for no reason. The point is I purposely designed an outfit with pants … this obviously did not happen. I had this idea of a cozy look in a cute sweater but this leads to the next issue. The issue with this cozy look? It’s too simple.Yes that look is cute but it’s not for me, it’s for the person who requested it. Any it’s entirely possible that this person may have seen the other works from this pride project and the outfits I made for them and then they just get Maya in a sweater? It’s a cute sweater but it didn’t seem fair. A similar issue happened with Phoenix but the solution to that was just to open his shirt and BOOM, extra layers and thus a more complex look. Now maybe the the OG requester wouldn’t mind but I just couldn’t do it, I feel like I needed to give her an outfit with more effort into it. And thuys Maya went back into skirt, now this lead to the third issue : Maya’s age. I found a lot of nice outfits, outfits that would look great on Maya! … When she was a teenager. Now maya is most definitely a full grown women and not a child. Now weather or not I pulled off the 28 year old Maya will be discussed later but nonetheless, all of those cute outfits I found? Out the window. I was so indecisive that I just asked my brother to pick one. Honestly? I really liked what he picked, and I confirmed with my dad that, yes, you can put this outfit on a almost 30 year old. The scarf ended up being omitted in favour of her magatama, otherwise we ended up with the same problem as before, it’s too simple. this time with a few days of work under our belt so there was no way I was going to start over. The solution to this was a nice floral pattern based on a cherry blossom. this makes it more visually simple. I think it looks pretty! After all that work I do like the end result. 

Lesson learned : Stop. Over. Thinking. Things. And for the love of god sketch it out. Just looking on google and imagining on the character  sometimes will not cut it. If I don’t get it relatively quickly, doodle, draw and scribble some more.  

Struggle #3 : Why can’t I draw women?? I am one?!?! Like seriously, why, it makes no sense. Well actually it does make sense because I am fairly sure I can count the amount of women I’ve drawn with one hand. It’s a simple measure of practice. I was foolish to think that simply drawing human’s would be enough. sadly that is not the case. Men and women are built differently and of course I failed to accommodate… many many times. The amount of times I have modified maya and changed her proportions is unreal. One thing I do all the time is make the abdomen too long and I have no idea why this is. Her face! I have no cluw what went wrong the first dozen times but it just didn’t work! I wish I could explain why but it just didn’t look right. you”ll notice that she doesn’t have lips even though she does in her new design, It’s because I have never been able to draw lips. Ever. Not once. Does she even look like an adult? I can’t even tell anymore. She is a little thicker then her concept art but making her look thinner just didn’t work out. Her arms, I had to hid them since the preportions were all off, the hands were held together in front of her checkl and they were too lanky and there was nothing I could do to make it look good and don’t get me started on her hands please don’t. If I didn’t cut off her legs I would have issues with that too. Her breasts, how on earth do you shade those??? Does not compute. DOES NOT COMPUTE!!!  So yeah the struggle is real. The solution? Trial and error. Just keep trying until it looks good. Play with your strengths. A friend of mine told me that she reminder her of Tina from Bob’s Burgers… ok? Sure. So after all that while I do like the end result I also see what can be improved, and sadly we have reached the limits of my skill at this time. 

Lessons learned : Practice practice practice. I don’t draw enough women, I need to draw more women. I can’t quite comprehend how cloths fall on the chest area and obviously looking the mirror is not a solution. What is the solution? Drawing naked people. … No seriously. Once I learn proper anatomy and human proportions and how muscles distribute over the body not only will I have a lot easier time drawing these characters I will also be able to figure out how clothing would fall on their bodies and i’ll have a easier time shading. Right now I’m drawing and shading clothing without knowing WHY it’s folding like that or why the light is hitting this area. Of course I’ll be doing this for both men and women because as started before, they are built differently. do you know what I also can’t draw? Children. I am NOT applying this to the kiddies. That’s weird and gross. The kids will have t deal with being freaks. I’m cool with that.

Struggle #04 :  Life How did we break 3 fuses at my house while I was at work? Why did it effect half my room upstairs, the computer setup that is downstairs and the WiFi on the main floor when the thing used to blow the fuse was in an upstairs room across the hall. why did no one fix it until the next day? Why just leave it like that? Why did I sleep in until 1 when I’ve been consistently waking up at 9? I had things to do what gives? Why did I accept a split shift the next day when I’m exhausted? Why do I get super stressed out when I set an alarm that I can’t sleep? Why am I spending 3 hours writing this when I never bothered to put this much effort in school work? How have I not punched someone yet?

Lessons learned : Don’t rely on anyone but yourself. Do what you can with the time allowed. Pat yourself on the back for not resorting to violence. How to change fuses. Writing this is very therapeutic.  Did you last this long? Who knows! All I do know is that yes this was a struggle but I plan on learning from this. Next up is Gay!Klaver and I’m REALLY looking forward to it!

[justalittlebluetiefling]

Chapter 45: Sometimes I Can’t See Myself

Rating: T Fandom: The 100 Pairing: Bellamy x Clarke Chapter: 45/68 Word Count: 3016 Words

Chapter Summary: I unfortunately don’t have a clever chapter summary for this one (probably won’t for the next one, either). It’s hard for me to try to be clever about this subject matter, because it hits a little close to home. So I do have a minor content warning. If you’re also reading on AO3, I have this fic tagged for mentions of cancer. The mentions of cancer are much more prevalent in this chapter and they spend a lot of time in the hospital in both this and the next chapter. 

(Also, I’ve been doing a new editing thing and this chapter went from 2200 to 3000 words... I thought editing was supposed to be cutting things not adding 800 words to an already depressing chapter.) Next chapter should be out in a couple days, so hopefully this “cliffhanger” isn’t too horrible.

Also on AO3; Start from the beginning on AO3

Wells had this infuriating habit of tricking Clarke into family functions. It seemed impossible that he could forgive her mother for letting him shoulder all that blame for years. The logical part of her knew he was more forgiving and she had never had an easy time with it. That didn't make it any less frustrating when he convinced her to go home for Thanksgiving and she arrived at her mother's house to find out that the Jahas were out of town for the holiday.

Clarke 11:27am I can't believe you thought this was sneaky. I can't believe you in general.

Wells 11:30am What was that? azzxdfaesgxvz Sorry, my phone is breaking up. sarezvxdgawesgz We're in a really bad service area.

Clarke 11:32am Oh, you're sooooo funny.

Wells 11:34am You love me.

Clarke 11:35am Not right now I don't.

Abby retreated to the kitchen once it became clear that Clarke wasn't there of her own volition. She seemed content to let Clarke make up her mind about whether or not she would stay. When she said she understood why Clarke was upset and would give her all the time she needed, Clarke was pretty sure her mother had been replaced by an alien. Or a robot. Or some creepy AI that didn't know who it was emulating.

The only other place she wanted to be was with the Blakes, but she wasn't sure she wanted to continue to infringe on their family time. There was a fine line and she wasn't sure if she was crossing it. Bellamy and O swore she wasn't, and Aurora did always invite her to family dinner, but Clarke tried not to go every time.

But they were still the only people she thought of when she wanted to run away. She could just go home, but they'd probably be more frustrated with her if they found her there later.

Clarke 11:51am Were you in on this little conspiracy?

Bell 11:54am I wondered if he'd actually make it until today without you finding out. I told him it was a stupid idea. But he wanted to try anyway.

Clarke 11:56am I don't know what I'm supposed to do now.

Bell 11:58am For what it's worth I already told mom you might be coming by today anyway. We can also bring you leftovers if you don't want to drive all the way up here.

Clarke 12:02pm Thanks Bell. I'll let you know, okay? I might try to stick it out.

Bell 12:03pm No pressure. But make up your mind soon. We have only have 2 more hours with our phones.

Clarke 12:05pm No promises. And don't worry about me. I'll only call in an emergency like if we decide to murder each other So change my ringtone to something appropriately alarming and leave your volume on high.

Bell 12:08pm I don't know if she'll be more pissed at you or me. But for highest impact, call around 4:30.

It wasn’t ideal, but Clarke finally listened to her mother’s apology. It hadn’t quite been four years, but that wasn’t that long and it was hard to reconcile herself with the fact that her mother had her followed, because she thought her daughter was getting out of hand. Wells hadn’t made the call (which Clarke already knew), but it was Abby who pushed Jake to get behind the wheel that night.

Neither of them wanted what ultimately resulted from all of it.

There was nothing cathartic about the revelation, so Clarke eventually changed the subject. She stayed for her father’s sake. It was always a big deal to him to have the family together for the holiday, and she wasn’t honoring him well by ignoring her mother. Things didn’t have to be perfect.

Neither of them felt much like cooking after their talk, but they did it anyway. Clarke even humored her mother by changing into her pajamas. It was what they had done their first Thanksgiving alone. Her dad would have liked it.

They were preparing to put a game hen in the oven when Clarke’s phone rang. It wasn’t the alarm she had set for herself to call Bellamy. She shot her mom an apologetic glance (old habits die hard) and jogged across the room to look at it. Her stomach tied itself up in knots when she saw Octavia’s name.

“O? What’s going on? Bell said you guys had to give up your phones like an hour ago.”

“Clarke?”

“Yeah, I’m here. What’s–”

“Are you still at your mom’s? Can you come to Ark Memorial? Can you bring her?”

It had felt like her insides couldn’t drop any lower, but she was apparently wrong. “Yeah. Yes. Of course. Are you okay? Is Bellamy okay?”

“No. I mean, yeah. We’re fine. It’s…. Mom collapsed.” O’s voice finally broke.

“We’ll leave right now. Right now, okay?” Clarke ran out of the kitchen and grabbed her shoes, along with a pair of her mom’s. “Do you need me to stay on the phone?”

“I need to call Lincoln. But you’re coming?”

“Yes. Thirty minutes max. I promise.” Clarke waited for O to say anything else as she hurried back into the kitchen. When she pushed her mom’s shoes into her arms, Abby’s mouth fell open, but Clarke turned around to find their coats before she could protest. She could still hear Octavia’s jagged breathing on the other end. “Hey, O, I love you, okay? We’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks Clarke. I love you, too.”

If there was one thing Bellamy hated in the world, it was the incessant beeping from hospital equipment. Even after his mom got better, any time he heard it in a movie or a TV show, he cringed. Being in an actual hospital again shook him to his core. They were out in the waiting room, but he could still hear the beeping everywhere. It was surrounding them. It was deafening. He kept his head in his hands, staring at the floor.

The air around him started to crackle. He could feel it on his skin. It pulled his gaze up in time to see Octavia already halfway across the room. He stared blankly, because he wasn’t entirely convinced that Clarke wasn’t the hallucination his brain had come up with in an attempt to comfort him. But then his sister was throwing her arms around her neck. Clarke pressed a kiss to her cheek and they stood there, foreheads pressed together while they whispered back and forth. Tears poured down both their cheeks.

Minutes felt like hours and also seconds. He had no idea how long they stood there that way before she turned her eyes to him, but she did eventually and he could feel the weight of the air on his skin again. Octavia had left the room, but Clarke was walking toward him. When she sat down next to him on the couch and opened her mouth, the beeping stopped.

“Bellamy.” His name was all she said, her voice rough in an attempt to contain her emotions. He couldn’t look at her anymore without breaking, so he put his head back in his hands.

At first, she settled her hand on his lower back. When he didn’t move, she slid her other arm between his stomach and arms and set her cheek on his shoulder. His strength left him, then, and he relaxed into her with a broken exhale.

“Bellamy, it’s going to be okay. My mom’s in there now and she’ll come out soon and tell us everything is going to be okay. She’s going to know how to fix this.”

He listened to her chant platitudes like prayers and set his head on hers. She linked her left ankle behind his right and grabbed his hand. He stared down at their linked fingers and watched as her thumb moved in circles along the back of his hand. When she started rubbing circles into his lower back, he sighed and leaned into it.

Octavia finally came back with Lincoln. Bellamy wondered what he had thought when he pulled up to their house only to find it empty. They sat on his other side and settled in for the wait.

By the time Abby came out with a chart in her hand, sweats tucked into her fluffy boots, he realized that the Griffins hadn’t even taken the time to change clothes before driving across the city to get there. He hadn’t even registered the fact that Clarke was wearing almost the exact same outfit. Abby’s eyes swept across the group, her mouth in a tight line. She looked tired as she pulled up a chair in front of them. Clarke somehow managed to hold both of his hands in one of hers and reached across him to grab onto Octavia’s knee.

“Bellamy, Octavia. Do you want to talk alone?”

He couldn’t speak, but O turned it down for the both of them. He was glad, because he was pretty sure that if Clarke left, the beeping would start burrowing into his brain again.

“Okay, well.” She hesitated. He could feel what she was about to say in his bones. This part of her job had to suck. “I wish I had better news. I spoke with your mother’s doctors and… well, it sounds like she’s been ignoring these symptoms for some time. They’re running a few tests to confirm it, but it is highly likely that your mother’s cancer is back. Frankly, I’m a little worried. I don’t want to give you false hope. If the cancer is back, they’ll try everything that they can, but early detection is incredibly important in these cases.”

Bellamy didn’t want to hear about the tests they needed to perform or the treatment options that might work. It was all still fresh in his mind, even though it had been six years since he heard them. Of course, there were new clinical trials. That was when he stopped listening and buried his forehead into Clarke’s neck.

Clarke sat in the passenger seat in silence. It was hard to be mad at her mother after seeing what Bell and O were going through, but she was frustrated that they were leaving. She toyed with her phone, not sure if she should wait to text Bellamy. Octavia knew Clarke would be back first thing in the morning, but she wanted to make sure that he knew they weren’t alone in everything.

“Clarke? Honey?”

“Hmm?” She wondered how long her mom had been trying to get her attention. “Sorry, I’m distracted.”

Abby patted her on the knee. “I know. It’s hard to know how to be there for someone in a situation like this. You were so great with them, though.” She started to chew on her lip and tapped a nonsense rhythm into the steering wheel. Clarke was content to wait until she said whatever else was on her mind. It didn’t take long. “This seems like a strange question to ask at a time like this, but I’m curious. How long have you been with Bellamy?”

That was enough to fully snap Clarke back to the present. “What?!”

“You didn’t tell me you two were dating. I was just wondering how long you and Bellamy had been together. The last time we really talked, you two were still figuring out how to be friends.”

“What are you talking about? Bellamy and I aren’t together.”

Abby laughed softly. “So, you hold hands with all of your friends?”

Clarke hesitated, thinking about it for a moment. She wasn’t not affectionate with her other friends, but she could see where the confusion might come from. They all hugged and occasionally sat on each other or cuddled on the couch if they had been drinking. It was true that she and Bellamy were probably the most physical with each other out of the group. They were always in each other’s personal space and it had really just happened without her realizing it, so there was no good way to explain it.

“I guess not,” she finally responded. “But… it’s Bellamy.”

“It’s Bellamy?”

Clarke shrugged even though Abby wasn’t looking at her. “Yeah. That’s just what we do.”

She was grateful that Abby let it go at that. If her mother asked for more of an explanation, Clarke wasn’t sure what she would say.

Aurora went home after a couple of days. She claimed that she didn’t want to drain their already meager inheritance away with hospital bills. One of the Blake siblings had a harder time “allowing” that than the other. (“I don’t always like your decisions. You don’t have to like mine.”) The two of them worked out a schedule so that someone was with her almost all of the time. It took some doing, but Clarke and Abby managed to insert themselves into the schedule as well.

Still, she ended up back in the hospital after a few weeks. Clarke finished up her shift at the clinic and checked her phone to find a voicemail from Octavia.

Hey, it’s me. Mom collapsed again. We’re back at Ark Memorial. Your mom’s already here…. Her voice trailed off for a moment, but the steady beeping in the background kept Clarke listening. Things don’t look good, Clarke. I know you’re working, but come as soon as you can. Mom keeps saying she wants to talk to you. Love you. I hope you get here soon.

It was all too surreal. It didn’t feel like a thing that was happening. Even in the face of a grim prognosis, Aurora had been constantly optimistic. The Blakes seemed immortal, impervious to harm, and the last few weeks had been a rude awakening for Clarke.

When she arrived at the hospital, she found Aurora’s room and rushed back. Bellamy was sitting in a chair at the side of the bed and O was sitting on the bed, both clinging onto one of her hands. She saw Clarke first and greeted her, voice weaker than the last time they had seen each other. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so glad you could make it.”

It was the same thing she said any time Clarke showed up for lunch or dinner on the weekend and it hurt. Both Bellamy and Octavia jumped and turned their heads, but Aurora kept speaking.

“Bellamy, will you go find me something to eat? Chips or something from the vending machine? Octavia, you should go call that handsome boyfriend of yours and see when he’ll get here.”

They both reluctantly assented. O squeezed Clarke’s hand on the way out. Bellamy hesitated more than his sister, but eventually agreed. He attempted to smile and almost walked right past her, but Clarke grabbed his arm. They shared a wordless conversation. Are you okay right now? and How could I possibly be okay right now? She hugged him tightly and he let it last longer than she expected, but he still left without saying anything.

“Will you come sit with me?” Aurora patted the bed next to her.

Clarke swallowed hard and nodded. The first step was the hardest. It was like trying to walk in the shallow end of the pool and it didn’t get easier as she crossed the room. Aurora’s face was gaunt and pale. It looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Clarke took her hand as she sat down on the bed and could feel each individual bone. She had lost too much weight. But it was a time for strength. Crying could, and would, come later.

“Oh, honey, don’t worry about me.” Aurora patted her hand. “I knew this was coming.”

Clarke frowned. “How long have you known for sure?”

“It’s been a few months. Before that hospital visit. And you know the doctors weren’t optimistic about treatment options. I wanted to enjoy the time I had left, not suffer through it, poked day in and day out, tubes everywhere. You and your mom were more than enough medical supervision.”

Aurora smiled and Clarke tried to come up with the laugh she wanted, but it wouldn’t come. “There isn’t anything they can do?”

“There are no guarantees.” A tear ran down Aurora’s cheek, making it harder for Clarke to maintain her composure. “I wish I didn’t have to leave them, but I’m ready to go.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m ready to go, because I know I’m not leaving them alone. It’s important to me that you know how much I appreciate how much you’ve done for us. For my kids. Not just helping us out the last few weeks, but ever since they met you. You’ve had such an impact on both of them and I’m so happy that they know you.” She paused for a moment to cough and Clarke handed her the glass of water from the table. When she finished taking a drink, she smiled. “I’m so glad they have you, Clarke. I hope you know how much you mean to this family.”

“I hope you know how much your family means to me.”

“I really do.” A truly contagious grin spread across Aurora’s face. Clarke couldn’t help smiling back, even as a heaviness weighed down on her chest.

When Bellamy came back, Clarke could see him trying to figure out what they had talked about, but she wanted to hold onto it for a little while. She gave Aurora a long hug and managed not to cry until she left to go find Lincoln in the waiting room.

Clarke knew that things were bad, because Abby didn’t try to make her go home once Bellamy and O were set up in Aurora’s room for the night. She was grateful that Lincoln stayed, because Abby was back with the staff, so she would have been alone. They talked about finals, the classes they were going to take next quarter, but her heart wasn’t in the small talk. Once Lincoln realized it, he just squeezed her hand before leaning back in his spot. It took some time, but eventually, they both fell asleep.

[aslightstep]

Could I ask for 4 with Tony/Bucky please?

I’m laughing at clouds so dark up above/The sun’s in my heart and I’m ready for love

NoPowers!AU (apparently Winteriron just screams DO AN AU at me). The version used for this, by the way, is the Singing In the Rain/Umbrella mashup from Glee.

(I’m just going ahead and putting this out, I will edit it fully tomorrow.)

Umbrella

It had been a long night at the bar, rain was pouring down, and Bucky was at least eighty eight percent sure he’d heard a couple stones of hail coming down.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to walk right past whoever was groaning in that alleyway and go the fuck home. 

But right about the time he was going to take a step past the entrance to the alley, right about the time he was thinking of all the ways he was going to make peace with how disappointed Steve would be in him right about now, a tiny piece of hail came down and punched right through his umbrella. Bucky stared up through the hole, thought about what kinda mark it would leave on a human skull, and sighed, turning around.

The groaning turned out to be a man, dark-haired, formerly well-dressed, and clutching a bottle of what looked like whiskey. Homeless, Bucky would have figured, if not for the quality of the suit and scarf he was wearing. “Hey,” he said gruffly, kicking at the man’s outstretched foot. “You okay?”

Dumb question. People in clothes like that didn’t generally tend to get themselves wasted in alleyways. Clearly the man had the same thought; he rolled his head up against the wall to stare at Bucky incredulously with eyes that were amazingly sharp for how much liquid in that bottle was gone.

The man looked vaguely familiar, and not in that ‘Oh it’s That Guy’ ways, because most guys didn’t come close to the level of ridiculousness this man’s facial hair was sitting at. At the moment, though, Bucky couldn’t place him.

“Can you walk?” he asked, and the man shrugged. “Only, I got an apartment ‘bout a block away and you’re gonna lose some brain cells if some of this hail finds you. At best.”

For some reason, the man started laughing; at least that’s what Bucky thought it was, the noises come out of that mouth weirdly choked. “Not really a joke,” he said flatly. He remembered Steve accusing him of not even being able to hear other people’s happiness and wondered, not for the first time, if Stevie wasn’t right about him. Who even gets irritated at a drunk guy’s hysterical laughter? “Look, you wanna come or you just a really big fan of brain damage and hypothermia?”

The man sobered - ha! - and looked up at him again, nodding and looking slightly expectant. Bucky sighed.

“Can you pick yourself up? See, I tend to run out of hands faster than most and I’m pretty attached to this umbrella right now.” He stepped forward, a little more in to the light, and saw the moment when the man saw his missing left arm.

For a long moment the man just stared at it, bringing a hand up to where the scarf was wrapped around his throat and rubbing, before he nodded again and began pushing himself up the wall, clumsily. “Leave the bottle,” Bucky said firmly, and the man just dropped it. “Alright, now c’mere.”

The man swayed into his left side, fitting neatly where his arm wasn’t. He was surprisingly warm, considering how soaked through his clothes were, but he was shaking.

“It’ll be alright,” Bucky found himself saying. Over and over. Like he did himself every night, lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, praying this time he wouldn’t dream. “It’ll be alright.”

The man, who had been dubbed Mr. Jack Daniels in Bucky’s mind, was quiet all the way up the three flights of stairs to Bucky’s apartment, being led into Bucky’s apartment, and being left on a stool while Bucky went and retrieved him some dry clothes.

Bucky came back to find him shivering and drowsy on his kitchen countertop and sighed again, turning the man around and beginning to take off his coat. Mr. Jack allowed this without protest, but when Bucky reached for his scarf he came alive again, jerking hard and falling onto his ass and back. When his eyes opened again, they roved wildly until they found Bucky, and there was fear in them.

“Okay,” Bucky said, raising his hands. “I get it. Can you - can you do this yourself, then?” He gestured forward with the clothes, then laid them down and extended his hand. Mr. Jack took it, and together they levered him up to his feet. For a long moment the man didn’t let go, and Bucky didn’t either. He might have been a little touch-starved, but most days that was better than being touched. 

This wasn’t so bad, though.

The moment passed, their hands dropped, and Mr. Jack picked up the clothes. Bucky pointed him towards the bathroom, although it wasn’t hard to find anything in an apartment the size of a shoebox, and the man disappeared.

When he reappeared the scarf was gone, but a towel was hung around his neck. The man was short and small enough that Bucky’s clothes practically swallowed him and it was almost cute. He almost wanted to smile. Almost.

“I put some linens down on the couch, you can bunk there tonight. Trashcan’s just there, please don’t hurl on the carpet.”

The man mouthed something, a brief flicker of grief crossing his face when nothing came out but a horrible grating noise. Probably coming down with a flu, with their collective luck.

“It’ll be alright,” Bucky said for the millionth time, patting the man on his shoulder as he went by. “I’ve been told by some reliable folk that everything looks better in the morning.” The skepticism in the man’s eyes made him want to grin again. “Yeah, but it never hurts to hope.” 

He left to his bedroom, crawling under the covers there, and prayed to God that tonight was one where he didn’t wake up screaming.

Mr. Jack Daniels, of course, got sick.

One hundred and two Farenheit and delirious sick.

Bucky kept him company, plying him with medicine he kept around for Steve, laying cool washclothes on his face and grabbing another one for the man to lay over his neck when Jack Daniels keeps moving them. He stayed in the room with him the three days his fever raged, holding his hand tightly whenever he cried out from the pain or the heat or whatever it was he saw when he dreamed.

He never spoke, not once, just grunted and groaned and mouthed things incessantly. But he always gripped Bucky’s hand tight whenever it found his.

“You’re gonna have to give me your name sometime soon,” he whispered to the man. “All this hand-holding and not even a name. I’m not that kinda guy, Mister.”

The joke felt strange coming out of him, the teasing smile that followed even stranger, but the man laughed that horrible, grating laugh again and released Bucky’s hand, tracing something into his palm, over and over.

After a few rounds of this, Bucky picked up a T, then an O, what felt like an N, and then a Y.

“Tony?” he said, and the man nodded. “I’m Bucky.” Tony wrinkled his nose. “Don’t judge me.”

Tony laughed again, and it descended into a cough. Bucky made to go to the kitchen, but he was held fast. S, Tony traced into his hand. T. A. Y.

Stay.

“I will,” Bucky said, settling down to the floor, his shoulders against the inferno that was Tony’s left side, his right hand holding Tony’s left where it hung over his shoulder. He turned on the TV, the volume on low. “You know its nice. Not to be alone.”

He didn’t know where it came from, but Tony just held on even tighter.

On Day Four, he found Tony sitting up on the couch, blankets drawn up to his lap, staring straight ahead. His color looked normal, finally, not the pale, drawn tone or the flushed red he had vacillated between the last few days. His hair was disgusting and his beard was growing out around the Van Dyke, but he looked healthy for the first time.

Bucky didn’t know why that made his heart sink.

“You wanna take a shower?” he asked. Tony nodded, not lifting his eyes. “It’s no problem.”

Tony nodded again and, after drapping his used towel around his neck again, headed to the bathroom.

When he came out Bucky was making busy making breakfast, the most rudimentary scrambled eggs and toast known to man. When he looked up, Tony was dressed once again in his suit and tie. They were wrinkled and creased, but he wore the look better than most people wore tuxedos. 

Bucky turned back around. “So you’re all set then?” he asked to the eggs, determinedly not examining why the thought made him panic a bit.

It was silent.

“If you’ve got laryngitis or something, I’ll point you to the nearest hospital.”

The yolks sizzled in the pan.

He turned again; Tony’s hand was at his neck, massaging it through the scarf. He was looking everywhere but Bucky. “You’re mute,” Bucky said, more harshly than he meant.  

Tony’s wide eyes looked at him, and slowly, Tony nodded. There is a split second where Bucky hesistated, and then he turned the burners on low and headed to the beat up secretary left over from his folks’ house, retrieving one of Steve’s old drawing pads and a pen. He dumps it in front of Tony and goes back to the eggs, plating them and bringing them over just to see Tony glaring at the pen.

“I know sign language,” Bucky offered. In response Tony sighed and picked up the pen. “You don’t?” Tony shook his head. “How long have you been like this?”

Not long, Tony wrote, in neat block print. Thank you for helping me.

“You’re welcome. What happened?”

Are we going to swap stories here? Tony pointedly stared at Bucky’s stump and Bucky flushed at the idea of having to spit out the sand and the blood and the fear that went with that story.

“Point taken.”

A pause while Tony just stared at the pad, and then: There was an accident.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Tony nodded once more, a hand back at his throat, uncomfortable, and something in him ached to see it. Remembered those months he couldn’t even go outside once he got back stateside. “Likewise.”

Another nod, and they both began in on the food. Tony ate like it hurt him; Bucky had noticed that before during his sickness but pinned it down to a sore throat. Now he wondered what was under that scarf. “You got someplace to go?”

Tony’s lips did this funny thing where one half quirked and one half frowned. He picked up his pen and wrote You kicking me o- before he seemed to think better of it and stopped, crossing the old stuff out.

“There’s no rush,” Bucky said, his words tripping over themselves getting out like if he didn’t say it fast enough something terrible would happen. “But it’s a small apartment.”

It’s nice.

“I think your suit could pay for it about three times over.”

Not anymore.

Bucky thought that this guy - he probably used to be really funny. Sarcastic, mouthy even. It was strange, to find yourself mourning something you never even knew about. He wondered what Tony’s voice used to sound like.

Let me stay.

Bucky blinked at the words that had appeared on the pad. Tony looked panicked, clearly debating about crossing them out, but Bucky blurted out “What?” before he could lift the pen again. Tony’s shoulders hunched, then squared, and he met Bucky’s eyes while he wrote blind.

I’ll pay you.

“I don’t have-”

1000 a week.

Bucky choked on nothing. One thousand dollars a week? He was barely getting by right now as it was - while Natasha might find a one-armed bartender to be a nice novelty, most people weren’t willing to hire someone with that kind of disability - four thousand dollars a month could seriously help out.

Tony took his hesitance as a no. He mouthed something, that grating sound coming out again, and picked up the pen. Please. Don’t make me-

He stopped, dropped the pen, pushed away from the counter and stood, going for his coat, but Bucky’s eyes were glued on that last sentence. Messier than the rest, pressed harder into the paper. Don’t make me.

It had been nice. Not being alone anymore. 

“Okay,” he said, and Tony froze in the act of putting on his jacket. “You can stay. But if you want your own bed you’ll have to buy a pull-out yourself.”

Tony turned back to him, his big brown eyes gleaming brightly for a moment before it fell behind a practiced smile. He came back to the countertop, reaching over it with his hand outstretched.

Bucky took it, shaking. Missing it a little when Tony let go.

Tony bought himself a futon, instead, and a tiny wardrobe filled with a small amount of clothing. He also handed Bucky two thousand dollars and two bags of groceries.

“Who are you?” Bucky asked him incredulously, and Tony stared at him for a long moment before just shaking his head. He had bought himself a cheap smart phone from whatever store he went to and was currently testing out it’s text-to-speech function.

“No one important,” Tony typed, a flash of pain crossing his face. He mouthed something else, but didn’t type it. Didn’t matter; Bucky had been friends with a semi-deaf guy for years. You learned a thing or two about reading lips. Not anymore, Tony hadn’t said.

Bucky wanted to teach him ASL, but his own skills were woefully out of practice. He fidgeted with his own phone for an entire day before decided to suck it up, dialing a number he hadn’t called in - months, now. Almost a year. Since he had gotten the diagnosis, for sure.

“This is a surprise,” was the first thing Clint said when he picked up, his voice making it quite obvious he was fighting not to sound unfriendly. “How long has it been, Buck?”

“Awhile,” Bucky mumbled. 

There is a long pause, and then Clint sighed. “You okay?”

“’M fine, but I…” Bucky thought about Tony and the way his eyes were so red this morning. “I need your help. Well, I know someone who does. Can you come by?”

“Sure,” Clint said immediately, and something in Bucky wanted to cry at the quick response. God he didn’t deserve it. A year of no contact, and here Clint was, ready to help.

“Thank you,” he got out, and hung up.

Clint froze at the sight of Tony, and Tony, upon seeing this, did the same. It would have been a bit funny if not for the wide-eyed panic in Tony’s gaze.

“Clint, this is Tony.”

“I know,” Clint croaked, and Tony laughed. Not the horrible grating laugh that meant he was genuinely amused, but the other laugh, still grating but higher pitched, that meant he was nervous or scared. 

“Tony, this is Clint. I thought he could help you. Teach you sign.” Tony whipped his head around to face Bucky, taking several steps back, almost into the corner, hand at his throat. He shook his head rapidly, over and over. “Tony, I know you don’t know it. You need to face this-”

Tony’s face screwed up tightly, and he rapidly mouthed something, forgetting himself and letting a series of grunts escape him. Bucky took a few steps forward, hand outstretched and reaching for Tony’s, needing to anchor him, both of them, when Clint stepped in.

“Tony,” he said, the name coming off his tongue awkwardly. “You think you could do me and Buck a favor here and give us the room.”

Tony threw his hands up in the air and stomped to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him, and Clint whirled on Bucky. “What the fuck, man?”

“What?” Bucky asked.

“Why is Tony Stark in your house?” Clint hissed.

“What?!” Tony Stark had been all over the news a couple of months ago, having barely survived an ambush in Afghanistan. He had released a statement to the press proclaiming Stark Industries imminent shutdown of their weapons development, but Obadiah Stane, COO, had soon assured the public that Tony was being hasty and recovering from his trauma, and Stark dropped out of the public eye.

And into an alleyway outside Bucky Barnes’ apartment, apparently. “I…didn’t know it was him,” Bucky whispered, sitting down.

“Obviously,” Clint snorted. “Okay. Sure. You’ve just taken in a runaway billionaire. Fine. Still doesn’t excuse you springing me on him like that.”

“I’m trying to help him,” Bucky said fiercely. Clint raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah? And how well do you take it every time Steve or Sam or I tell you to go to a fucking meeting or take your fucking pills, Buck? Because we’re just trying to help you.”

“That’s different,” Bucky growled, pushing back into the futon. It smelled like Tony, even though Tony had been using his own body wash for the past week.

“How do you figure that?” 

“What happened to me - I’ll get over it. Tony is stuck like this, Clint. He needs this. He’s been writing to me on notebook paper or using his phone. It’s not enough. Tony needs the connection, he needs his words to match the speed of his thoughts. He’s-” Editing himself around me, Bucky almost said, but that would mean admitting how much he wanted Tony to not be so guarded and cautious. Or so sad.

“This wasn’t fair to him, Buck, and you know it,” Clint said, shaking his head. “You - you can’t take care of him, man.” You can’t even take care of yourself, he thankfully didn’t say.

“What do you want me to do, kick him out? I’m not going to do that.”

“He’s a billionaire, Barnes, he can hire a goddamned-”

The bathroom door flew open and both men shut up; from the look on Clint’s face he too was realizing that they had allowed their voices to rise in the last few minutes.

They all three stared at each other for almost a minute before Bucky dropped his head. “Tones, I’m sorry.”

There was another long pause and then he heard Tony rustling around. A beat of silence and then the text-to-speech app jerkily asked “Can I pay you?”

“What?” Bucky startled, looking up, but Tony’s eyes were on Clint. Clint held up a hand, forestalling any other comments Bucky had, and nodded.

Tony jerked his head sharply in agreement and came forward to shake Clint’s hand sharply. Clint pointedly gave Bucky a look that definitely meant he’d be telling all of this to Steve, and then left.

There was an oppressive silence in his tiny living room as Bucky and Tony didn’t look at each other. 

“I really am sorry,” Bucky whispered. “I - I wanted to help. But I should know, better than anyone-”

“Can I sit?” The robotic voice asked and Bucky found his eyes tracing the tired lines of Tony’s face before he nodded.

Tony sat, put down the phone, and lifted his hands to his scarf. He unwrapped it once, twice, before Bucky realized what was happening.

“Tony, you don’t have to-”

The scarf fell away, and Bucky lost the rest of his words, the power of speech entirely. Tony’s neck was dotted with deep, knotted scars, some of them looking like puncture wounds while some ran across the skin for several centimeters. His handed lifted before he could stop himself, and he found himself tracing the highest one, under which must lay Tony’s severed vocal cords.

When he looked up Tony’s face was drawn tight, and shame roiled within him, thinking of the kid he almost decked once for daring to touch one of the scars that reached high onto his left shoulder. “’M sorry,” he said, making to move his hand, but Tony caught and held it there. His pulse beat wildly, and Bucky wanted to - move away, to get closer, to help. 

He used to be able to help people.

They sat there for a long time, until Tony’s face relaxed, until he was leaning into Bucky’s hand, and then his eyes opened, focused on Buck and not scared or hidden for the first time but bright. Then he reached for the pad on the table and a pen, and began writing. He wrote for a long time.

There was an accident. Well, not so much accident so much as. I don’t know. Vengeance, I’d bet, and I always win bets. The convoy I was riding in got attacked by insurgents using my weapons. I don’t know how they got there, I don’t know if they were stolen or 

See I later found out that my company was dealing under the table. But that’s getting a bit ahead of myself sorry.

Anyway, the men and woman protecting me died right in front of me, as did most of the convoy. I was supposed to protect them too, you know. In a weird peripheral way, but that was my job. But they got killed with weapons that I built. I nearly died too. Got caught near a Stark 7X54 missile that luckily had a delayed response. I hid behind a rock but I guess not well enough. I still don’t know what happened. My best friend Rhodes brought in back up after that and they got me out of there. I nearly died in surgery about eight times.

I came back and tried to shut it all down but I can’t - I can’t talk. The moment I needed my voice heard the most and I couldn’t even do that. Obie Stane shut me out. Got the board to kick me out, buy me out. He took everything. 

And I guess I let him.

I can’t go back.

“So you’re just going to run?” Bucky asked. Tony stared at the words he had written but didn’t add anything more. “Look, you can stay as long as you need. But don’t just give up.”

Tony remained unmoving, except for the hand he intertwined in Bucky’s.

Bucky was dreaming.

He knew, theoretically, that he was dreaming. That he wasn’t back in the sand and blood and gunfire. That the helicopter coming for him had already come, that he wasn’t losing blood out of the torn up hole where his arm used to be because it was all healed over now. But it still felt so real. He screamed and thrashed and cried out. For his mother, for his Steve, he had been such a coward in that moment. So fucking weak.

He wondered sometimes if it was shame that kept him here, even more than the fear.

But this part was new. The soldier with him in the helicopter, stroking his forehead, making soft, off-key crooning noises. The blanket over him wasn’t the stiff coarse shock blanket he remembered but his down comforter from his bedroom. The gurney underneath him was his mattress.

The soldier was Tony, sitting above him, stroking his forehead softly. He eased back and away when he saw Bucky was awake, but kept a point of contact.

A light lit up the small room and Tony began tapping away. “You were screaming,” the robot said. “I wanted to help.”

“Thanks,” Bucky gasped.

“I have bad dreams, too,” Tony confessed. “But I can’t-” He abruptly turned the phone off, ducking his head.

Bucky suddenly knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that what he was going to type next was ‘scream.’ 

I can’t scream.

His damaged vocal cords probably didn’t even allow him to reach that kind of volume or pitch. And all Bucky could think about now was how many night Tony had lain out there, a scream caught in his scarred throat. 

Tony must have seen something in his face, because his hands were suddenly back, stroking at Bucky’s face and side. 

“There was an accident,” Bucky began. They both stiffened. Bucky had never talked about this before to anyone, but he felt like Tony could understand. “Orders got mixed up. Go this way, and then too late, there’s a trap waiting there, turn back. We walked straight into it. Lost my arm to a grenade. I don’t remember losing the arm. I remember…the helicopter, coming down for me and one other kid, who was already fucking dead, I can’t. The sound of it, though. Coming for me. Like death, closer and closer. Sometimes planes fly overhead and all I can think is that ‘it’s time.’ And sometimes I’m so fucking grateful. But then they’re gone.”

Tony’s hand have tightened minutely on him, and Bucky shuddered. He wasn’t going to cry. It was over, it was done with, and one day he would be done with it too. “I’m sorry.”

The phone lit up. “Don’t be. Don’t ever be sorry. I. I understand. I remember. Things.” A pause, and then, almost nonsensical, the voice added. “Whistling.”

Bucky nodded. Bullets moved so fast through the air they actually made a whistling sound sometimes. “Maybe you should stay in here with me, so I can wake you up.”

Tony stared at him, his hand at Bucky’s cheeks stroking slowly, before he pointed upwards with his phone. Bucky’s brow wrinkled in confusion and Tony began typing. “Maybe you should stay out there. With me. The ceiling fan might be triggering you.”

Bucky looked up at the fan, watching the blades of it spin around and around, the hum of it in the air. He closed his eyes. “Jesus fuck.” 

Tony stood, holding out a hand, and led Bucky out to the futon.

Bucky played this game with Tony where he tried to conduct entire conversations through just their eyes. He wasn’t sure Tony fully understood the game, but he always seemed perfectly content to lose half an hour or more staring into Bucky’s eyes.

Tonight, laying on the futon, he wasn’t playing.

“What’s wrong, doll?” Bucky asked sleepily. Tony huffed a little, as he had since Bucky had started using the ‘ridiculous nickname,’ but rolled over to face him and lifted his hands.

Slowly, clumsily, he signed out: “Will you go somewhere with me tomorrow?”

“Can I ask where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Which was how they found themselves at 890 5th Avenue, the old Stark mansion, Tony leading him down into the basement.

The lights came on the moment Tony led him inside the wide, metal-paned room, and Bucky felt his mouth drop. It looked like a science lab out of the movies, all lab tables and machines and computers. 

“Sir?” A voice asked from the ceiling, cool and British and sounding a little frantic. “Mr. Stark. You have been gone for 29 days. Welcome back.”

Bucky turned to Tony, so many questions filling his mouth he was worried he would be unintelligible once he finally got one out, but the look on Tony’s face stopped him. He was staring at the ceiling, his mouth pressed so firmly shut it was just a pale pink slash across his face, his eyes wide and miserable. And Bucky realized why Tony had stayed away so long.

Tony couldn’t be normal, like he was before. He couldn’t talk to that voice. Bucky thought of Steve saying he couldn’t bear anyone’s happiness, Clint’s hidden resentment at being ignored for months, and how he never meant any harm, he just couldn’t be like he was for them. 

“Tony had an accident that damaged his vocal cords,” he said out loud, and Tony turned to look at him surprised.

“I was aware Sir had been injured but not to the extent,” the voice said, sounding slightly shocked. “I am JARVIS, Mr. Stark’s personal user interface. And you are.”

“Bucky Barnes. So hey, listen...JARVIS. You know ASL?”

The voice was quiet for a moment and then said. “I shall endeavor to learn, of course.”

Tony dropped his head, his shoulders shaking just once, before bringing out his phone. “Hey J,” the little robotic voice said. 

“Hello sir. It is good to see you again.”

Tony nodded to the floor, then turned to Bucky. “That’s actually not why I brought you here,” he signed, and walked into a small adjoining bathroom, reemerging with two small pill bottles after a few moments.

“Tony,” Bucky began, but Tony just shook his head, setting down the pills so he could sign. One was for anxiety, one for depression. Bucky recognized them well. There were two sister bottles sitting on a shelf back home; different brands, same purpose, never opened. Tony’s weren’t either.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Tony signed. “But I’m a damn coward.”

Bucky stepped towards him. “I don’t think that at all,” he said fiercely. 

“But you,” Tony continued like Bucky hadn’t said anything. “Make me want to be brave. I didn’t want to leave after that first week because I didn’t want to be alone. And maybe you want the same. Maybe we could do this. Together.”

Part of Bucky wanted to be angry. Part of him wanted to throw the bottles and this lab and that fucking voice in Tony’s face, point out that he had never been alone. That he had always had help and he’d thrown it away and who was he to make Bucky his crutch?

“I didn’t want to move on because that would mean there was something wrong,” Tony signed, not meeting Bucky’s eyes. “And I didn’t want to move on because if I fixed what was wrong, I wouldn’t have an excuse. But now I’m stuck. You told me not to run, but I don’t want to stay there anymore.” He took a deep breath and looked at Bucky, carefully, hopefully. “I want to stay with you.”

Bucky stared back - thought of everything he was so conscious of everyday: the absent weight of his arm, the absent weight of Steve at his side, ceiling fans and cars backfiring and going outside and being happy. And Tony. Tony at night, in the dark, carrying on conversations with eyes. Tony in the sun, laughing that horrible grating laugh that didn’t grate at all. Tony who wasn’t better either, but would try, if only Bucky would help.

Bucky used to be able to help people.

More importantly, Bucky used to be able to be helped. And he wasn’t- 

“I’m not okay,” he said softly, and Tony nodded with a sympathetic twist to his mouth. “You can always stay with me,” he said next, taking one step, and then another. “No charge. God, most people would say this is unhealthy.”

“It’s not for you, narcissist,” Tony signed, trembling, his smirk bleeding into a smile and then back again. “I made a promise to a soldier.” A moment where his hands fluttered at Bucky’s shoulders then pulled away. “We can be not okay together. We’ll cancel each other out.”

“Don’t know if that’s how mental health works,” Bucky said, hands on Tony’s waist. “But let’s give it a shot.”

“Can we go back?” he asked Tony some time later that week. Tony looked at him. “To your workshop.”

Tony grinned. “You liked it, huh?”

“Who wouldn’t?” Bucky shot back. “After every meeting.” It was a little manipulative, but then again, so had Tony’s ploy with the pills been. Tony had looked alive in that workshop like he hadn’t anywhere else. 

Tony rolled on top of him, catching his eye, and Bucky almost regretted those long nights they spent conversing in flicks of their eyelids and sideways glances. After a moment, Tony kissed him lightly on the tip of his nose and sidled down to his chest to curl up there comfortably, dropping off to sleep.

“That better be a yes,” Bucky warned, and relished in the vibration of Tony’s sleepy chuckle.

In the workshop, designs began appearing on the holographic computer screens. Prosthesis, collars that would measure and interpret the vibration of vocal cords, cochlear implants. Tony said nothing, so Bucky didn’t either, but he hoped Tony didn’t think he didn’t notice him measuring up the stump of his arm late at night. No amount of kisses was covering up that mad scientist gleam in his eyes.

“You know, when Clint told me about this, I thought you lost your mind,” Steve said, then blanched a little. “Uh, sorry.”

“Stop tip-toeing, punk,” Bucky laughed. They watched as Tony and Clint flapped their hands at each other in between rounds of Mario Kart, signed cursed words flying through the air. “’S not like you.”

“Well, then.” Steve took a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’m not, you know. Might not ever be.”

Steve opened his mouth, maybe to argue, and then he closed it, contemplative. After a moment, he nodded. “You’re not, you’re right. I’m glad you’re here, Buck. And I’m glad you found him. Even glad you found him, even if he keeps calling me Cap.” Bucky barked out a laugh and Steve punched him. “I don’t even look like Captain America!”

“Yes, you do!” Sam called from the couch, and Tony nodded vigorously.

“He’s a comic book character!”

“You’re a comic book character,” Tony signed over his head, and Steve sighed.

Bucky opened the door to find a redheaded woman, beautiful and taller than him in her five-inch heels, fuming on their doorstep. “Where is he?” she snapped, pushing past him.

Tony stood up from where he had been sitting at the coffee table, which was absolutely covered with machine parts, and with the collar prototype he had just finished a week ago said: “Hello Pep.”

Pepper Potts, who Tony had described in great detail and had impossibly done justice to, promptly burst into very angry tears. She walked to Tony, slapped him across the face, and then hugged him tightly, not even caring about the grease she was getting all over her salmon pantsuit.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she nearly wailed. “I had to hear it from Rhodey! Do you know what Stane has been doing over there? I’ve barely been able to keep him in line - you just walked away!”

Tony flinched hard, but a big part of Tony’s therapy had been admitting guilt, accepting guilt, and then letting it go. “I’m sorry. Truly, Pepper. I was an ass.”

“Yes, you were,” she said. And then: “I missed you.”

Tony smiled. “I missed you, too. This is Bucky, by the way. My partner.”

“In crime?” Pepper asked, one eyebrow raising. Tony held out a hand and Bucky took it immediately.

“In everything,” Tony said. Pepper looked between the two of them, gobsmacked for a moment, and then sighed.

“You’ll tell me later. Over tequila. And shoes, Tony.”

Tony laughed and Bucky was afraid Pepper might burst into tears again; it really was a horrible sound if you didn’t know what it was, but it was Bucky’s favorite. “I hate to cut to business, Miss Potts,” Tony said when he calmed down. He had to correct the translation from the collar at one point with sign language and made a note on his little pad filled with code and calculations. “But I need your help.”

“To take Stark Industries back?” Pepper said, eyes flinty.

Tony shook his head, to both their surprises. “No. To give Stark Industries to someone who can handle it. You.”

Pepper was speechless once more, her eyes darting all over Tony’s face like she was waiting for the joke, but when it never came, her eyes narrowed. “And what will you be doing?”

Tony squeezed Bucky’s hand, and smiled.

Tony was out more and more often, working on his surprise like Bucky couldn’t read a newspaper and see all about the renovations happening at the old Stark mansion. Bucky missed him, but tried to trust his therapist.

“This will be good for you,” Dr. Blake had said. “I know you’ve been worried about this relationship being built on co-dependence. Well, here’s your chance to test that out. Tony will try to go his own way for a bit; I suggest you do the same.”

So Bucky had gone out with his friends to take his mind off the several job applications he had sent out to various industries across the city. Before the army, and especially during, he had been sort of a savant in acquiring supplies and negotiating trades. He liked business, even if he didn’t always have a head for the numbers side of it. He’d never gone to school, but if he could find a job that set him on the path while he worked at college, he might be finally on his way to finding a career.

Steve, Sam, and Clint thought that kind of decision was worth celebrating in itself, so they went out. And he had found himself laughing, even if his guard never quite dropped. He had been happy, even without Tony being there.

He had missed Tony. Wanted him. But he didn’t need him there to function. It was honestly a bit of a relief to realize that, but Sam had said it was completely normal when he had confessed.

“Nobody wants to realize they pinned all their chances of getting better on another person, Buck. Not only is it not fair to that person, but no matter how much you love or trust them, you’ll never lose the fear of what happens if they leave.”

Now he let himself into their tiny apartment, breathed in the smell of Tony’s expensive cologne and the shampoo he had finally bought for himself because Bucky’s ‘love affair with eucalyptus was indecent and I need to find my own sidepiece’ and smiled at the suits and ties and shoes strewn all over the place.

They were going to have to move soon. 

They were never getting rid of that futon though.

He took deep breaths as he crossed the room, into his bedroom that served as a closet for both of them now. He flicked on the switch for the ceiling fan and slowly lowered himself onto the bed.

Immersion was advised at this stage, but even Dr. Blake would frown upon this. Still, he had to know.

The blades spun. Bucky’s chest tightened. But he counted back and forth, he remained aware of the feel of the blanket underneath him, the noises of the city. 

He survived, but that wasn’t good enough for him anymore.

He left the room, just as Tony was getting back for the night. “Sweetheart,” Tony signed, excited, smiling wide, nearly jumping into his arms. He frowned a little at Bucky’s face. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, smiling.

“Good.” Tony signed, then pushed him back onto the futon, fiddling with the side to lay it down flat and then straddling Bucky. “Because Pepper is ninety two percent sure she has enough to nail Stane to the wall and I signed a very nice deal and you are smiling and here and hot and-”

“Too fast, Tones!” Bucky laughed, Tony’s hand nearly blurring.

“I love you,” Tony signed, deliberately and obnoxiously slow.

“I love you too, ass.”

Tony pouted. “No celebratory sex for you.” Bucky laughed again and simply rolled them over.

It was raining when he met Tony on the sidewalk. The other man had no umbrella and was rapidly getting soaked to the bone, but from the smile on his face he didn’t care.

There was no scarf this time, Tony’s scars there to see for all the paparazzi and news reporters lined up around them. No bottle either. Tony hadn’t touched one in months.

“We keep meeting like this,” Tony said through the first edition of the SmartSpeak necklace. Bucky smiled, and smoothly they maneuvered so Tony grabbed the umbrella and Bucky’s free hand at the same time. Anchoring them together, like always.

A bit of sun was beginning to peak through the clouds, creating rainbows everywhere. Bucky snorted inwardly; Tony lived an oddly charmed life like that.

“Ready for the tour?” Tony asked.

“Sure, but make it snappy,” Bucky teased. “My lunch hour’s only an hour long.”

“Abandoned for work,” Tony said, hand over his heart. “I’m losing my touch.”

They opened the gates and the crowd clapped, following after Tony and Bucky as they passed under the sign that read ‘Stark Resilient.’

“Your boss will give you a break,” Tony said, leading them all into the transformed Stark Mansion, now Stark Labs, the bottom floor transformed into a small, homey, but industrious lab space that would fit only about fifty scientists. They were their own branch of Stark Industries, headed by the man himself, to work on medical devices to ease the lives of those with disabilities. 

Upstairs, though, things had remained the same for the most part, though Tony had switched out the bed in the master bedroom, adamantly refusing to sex Bucky up in his parents’ old bed. The crappy wardrobe he had bought was there, Bucky’s dinky stools set up in the kitchen they had replaced one of the bedrooms with, their shampoos side by side in the bathroom. 

And the futon, in the corner of their room, getting more of a workout than it should for two men who had access to 2000 thread count sheets and the best mattress money could buy.

Next week, they were getting a dog.

“After all, it’s not everyday his employee gets a new arm,” Tony finished, smiling as they headed into one of the labs.

For a second the thrum of the machines pulled him in, and out, and he thought about the sand and blood. He probably would never stop thinking about it. But Tony’s hand was in his, skin against skin, and Bucky wasn’t alone.

“Hey,” he said, pulling Tony around. “I’m proud of you.”

Tony smiled, leaning back a little so he could sign “You, too” before pulling Bucky into a kiss.

Yeah. They could stay here.

[shut-up-mila-blog]

Mila and Billie

♛ fill in the blanks | fluff otp edition : millie.

I am filling this out and I realize that I feel bad because I feel like I am god-modding. This is difficult for me. *cries* I don’t want to assume anything about people’s characters. But yes… okay… just for fun. Headcanons. Yes.

Also @ebpmpunk… hahahahaha hope I didn’t fuck everything up for you. LOL

Who’s more likely to find who wearing their clothes?: Mila is a notorious thief of sweatshirts and is amazingly stealthy about it. She’ll give them back though. Except maybe one. It is her favorite. It is hers now. And with her best innocent expression, she’ll simply explain that she needs it to keep it because he’ll be away on tour and she needs to smell him and feel him. Master manipulator.Who enunciates hand holding?: Initiates, I think, is the word we’re looking for since “enunciates hand holding” makes no sense. And Billie. Most of the time. Mila’s more the sort to lean against him and just wrap her arms around his arm. Billie holds her hand and Mila’s heart skips a beat every time.Who likes having their hair washed by who?: Neither? Well no, not that they don’t like it, I just don’t see it happening often. Mila teases Billie and says his hair is more high maintenance than she is. Which isn’t saying much.Who likes to slow dance?: Both. Generally in private. Middle of the living room, he’s leaving in the morning for another leg of a tour, and it’s just a sweet goodbye. Maybe there’s music, maybe there’s not. Billie whispers sweet things in her ear and she cries. And then he tells her to not cry and she tells him to fuck off. Muse that’s more likely to fall asleep with their head in the others lap?: Billie. Mila lulls him to sleep by ever-so-gently running her fingers through his hair and along his scalp. Probably while watching a movie.Muse that does all the cuddling in a blanket fort?: They’re equal cuddle whores. Like seriously. Blanket fort built for Wyatt and Nova, but after the girls are in bed, Mila and Billie crawl in and they cuddle the hell out of each other. And now I’ve killed my feels.Who hogs most of the covers at night?: Mila. Muse who nuzzles the others shoulder to get them to give them a head rub?: Billie when he’s half-asleep/super tired. Mila when she’s drunk.How do they share a desert? Two forks or one?: Mmm… two. Mila’s serious about her food and sharing utensils takes time away from eating. Two forks or spoons for dessert, but if they’re feeling cheesy or silly, they’ll feed each other a bite or two, so…Who gets jealous more easily?: They both do. Whether it’s warranted or not. Mila’s good at getting jealous over stupid shit though, and she knows it’s stupid. That said… I think Billie’s maybe a bit more expressive about it. Mila bottles shit up.Who gets angered more easily? Billie. AT THE INJUSTICES OF THE WORLD. How do they go to sleep at night?: They’ve probably slept in every position imaginable honestly. I can’t pick one. I feel like right now, early on, they’re very clingy. Either Mila curled up next to him with her hand on his chest and Billie’s hand covering hers, or spooning (and they’ve both been the big spoon). Over the course of the night, they’ll end up moving apart some because body heat. Who gets the most shoulder rubs?: Billie. What are their arguments/fights like? How often do they fight?: I don’t want to think about it. Because they’ve known each other for awhile, and they have this crazy history, and if Mila’s hurting enough, she’ll throw that shit back at him even though there has to be a statute of limitations on bringing up stuff from years ago. Which probably aggravates Billie some. But I feel like… mmm… I feel like it takes a lot for them to actually fight. I feel like they really, really hate fighting with each other, so they really try to avoid it at all costs. When it happens, it’s bad, but also probably doesn’t last long. At least for Mila, it’s painful to her. And I imagine that they both can apologize pretty quickly. Who is more likely to throw things in fights?: Neither.How do they make it up to each other/apologize after an argument? Depends on the argument. Cuddling is a favorite. They’ve been known to have an intense make-out session. Like I said, they don’t like fighting. I feel like in terms of apologies, with Billie, it’s very quiet. It’s a soft, but genuine apology. As if with his words he could cleanse the air of any lingering tension. For Mila… she will flop on him or crawl on him or wrap her arms around him and tell him she’s sorry a dozen times. And she’ll need a response from him. Some sign that he forgives or - or will. But then again, it depends on what they’re fighting about.Do they have nicknames for each other?: Eh… no?Caring for each other while ill, how does the other muse go about it?: So awkwardly worded. I feel like Billie’s got this shit down. I mean, he’s got two grown sons and a young daughter. He’s seen it all. Mila’s down for the count and he brings in a tray with orange juice, tea with honey and lemon, and a bottle of water. And soup. And crackers. And a box of kleenex. Who’s more likely to be patching the other’s wound?: Literally or figuratively? Literal wounds, Billie’s probably better. But emotional wounds… fuck, they are both there for each other. Like… yeah. Though Mila knows a lot of the things that have scarred Billie over the years, and she really makes an effort to be there for him and to never let him feel like he’s alone. He’d do the same for her, she just doesn’t have the same issues.Muse that says ‘I told you so’, after they come home from the beach and other muse is burnt to a crisp while whining how bad it hurts for not listening and putting on sunblock after the other muse repeatedly told them they’d get burnt?: Oh, Mila. Easily. Like oh my god, she’d just smirk and be obnoxious about it.Your otp has a newborn baby, who gets up in the middle of the night when he/she cries?: Fuck that shit. Both of them. They alternate. Though 1. Billie’s the pro and 2. Mila would absolutely give him shit if he didn’t pull his weight. But 3. It would never come to that because Billie’s a good man and an amazing dad and his dad’s death influences a lot of that. He will be there for his kids. Always and forever. Every step of the way.Your muse’s of the otp reaction to finding the others crying about something? And how do they make them feel better?: It would break her heart. It would absolutely shatter her to see him cry. And it depends on the context of the situation. What sort of crying is it? Does she know the cause? That will influence Mila’s course of action. But at the very least, she’d just feel the need to hold him. Rub his back. Keep her arm around him. Be there for him if he needs to talk, but also be silent if he just needs to cry. That’s her big thing. To never let him feel like he’s alone. Hold him. Wipe the tears away. Kiss him sweetly and tell him that she loves him.What would they be like as parents?: Fucking amazing. Like come on. First of all, they already ARE parents. He’s got 3 kids and she’s got 1. Together, I just think they’d be amazing. They’d also be cool as fuck. Like the coolest parents a kid could have.What would they have been like as childhood sweethearts? Well since he’s 11 ½ years older than she is, that’s an impossibility without getting into sleazy and illegal territory. But in a hypothetical world where they are suddenly closer in age… I can’t imagine he’d give her the time of day, so… But okay, that’s not what it asks. If they WERE together… god, now I’m imagining a sort of Jackie/Hyde version of their relationship where he’s the rule-breaker musician and she’s the budding actress who spends her free-time working at the pharmacy with her mom. LOL Probably an intense whirlwind, but it wouldn’t last. I feel like their history has put them both in a mental place where things work better now.Who enunciates taking a bath together?: Billie. I don’t know why. For some reason, I don’t imagine a lot of shared baths…? But I am also better at emotional shit. So then my brain imagines some vague, fucked up scenario, and yeah… still Billie who initiates it.Who likes who playing with their hair?: They both do. Mila plays with his hair a lot more. It’s just a habit. And hopefully it’s one he likes. He plays with her hair when they’re curled up in bed. And she definitely likes it.The place they mostly likely accidentally fall asleep together?: I mean, bed. But also the couch. And that blanket fort from before. I’m pretty sure with enough time, as cuddly as I imagine them to be, they could fall asleep in a lot of places.