#Fuckin. sticky things. like glue

[sunsbaby]

SWEETSˎˊ˗

ᯓ dean winchester x angel .ᐟ reader | minors do not interact!!

* dean makes you clean baby, but it doesn't go as planned.

! unprotected p in v (please wrap it up) . nicknames. creampie. sex in the impala. dean has a thing for wings.

it wasn't unusual to find an angel in the bunker, castiel popping up out of nowhere sometimes. or the occasional hostage situation. but you were a new edition, having been found while dean was on a lone hunt. sticking towards him like glue, you wouldn't leave his side, so he had no choice but to take you back home with him. candy was what he called you. due to your obsession after coming down to earth and how sweet you were to him. your eyes lit up at the treat, immediately doing whatever you could to obtain it.

however, what dean didn't like was the wrappers left all around baby. the sticky residue hard to clean out, so today you would be the one to fix your mess.

you lay on deans bed, hair a mess and only his t-shirt on. body sore from last night's activities. you'd only just opened your eyes, when you saw him standing there. already covered in grease, black staining his hands and clothes.

“mm-baby, goodmornin’” you spoke as you stretched, letting noises fall from your lips at the feeling.

“c'mon candy, there's no time for all that–” he motioned to the bathroom, ignoring the sounds you made, “you got work to do, and by work i mean, cleaning baby.”

you stare at him confused, a pout forming on your plump lips. all dean wanted to do was pull you into a kiss and stay beneath the sheets with you, wasting the day away. but he knew he couldn't. he had to show you how to be responsible.

“but, baby, why do i have to clean your car?” you crossed your arms, annoyance laced in your tone.

it was early in the morning and you hadn't even had coffee, who was he to ask you something as dumb as cleaning his car.

“don't care, you made the mess, you clean it.” dean wouldn't take no for an answer, pulling you up and dragging you into the garage.

you still only had his shirt on, which he didn't notice. solely focused on getting his babys interior shining.

here you were, face down ass up in the backseat of dean's impala. his hands grip tightly on your hips. his hold bruising, but you liked it that way. his cock bullied your cervix, hitting it every time he would snap his hips into yours.

“such a messy girl aren't ya, candy–mm,” he groaned, his words going straight to your core. the seats were coated in sweat mixed with your arousal, a faint smell of fruitiness trickled into the mixture.

wings fluttering underneath your–his shirt. your fingertips grasp onto the leather material, trying to find some stabilization. moans spewing from your lips like sinful melodies, a melody dean couldn't resist.

he pushed the fabric decorating your body up with a greased covered hand. your wings fluttered out, ruffled and sensitive. the sight only fueled him further, he always had a thing for them. your hard nipples pressing into the slick, cool leather, added to your pleasure.

even more so when dean forced your back into a more profound arch, his thick cock hitting deeper–which you didn't think was possible. he filled you up completely, both in mind and cunt. he brought his thumb down to your clit, adding just the right amount of pressure to send you to cloud nine.

“my dirty girl, gettin’ my car even more messed up–” dean's thrusts became more brutal, each stroke of his cock in your tight heat hitting that sweet spot inside that makes your knees weak and mind fuzzy. 

“so fuckin’ dumb on my dick. atta girl. milk my cock dry.” he practically growled into your ear, incoherent babbles push past your lips into the air.

your orgasm came crashing down on you 10x more than any other. his followed soon after, your warm silky walls clenching down onto his sent dean over the edge. he spilled his seed into you in thick hot ropes, coating your inners. your cheek presses against the seat, panting–spent and used.

dean wrapped his arms around-caging you in his warm, sweaty embrace, kissing your temple with gentle care.

“you're so good f'me, candy..” he whispered to you, his hand rubbing soothingly along your wings. coaxing you to fall asleep.

while you slept dean let his thoughts wander, specifically on the fact that his car was even dirtier now and he couldn't blame you.

sunny talks! first smut!! comments are greatly appreciated, i rlly hope this is enjoyable. i am not the best at conjuring up and writing sex scenes 😿

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ® 𓂃 do not repost or copy my works without permission!!

[emmyrosee]

For Sakusa, lunch is extremely sacred.

He likes his food a certain way, arranged strategically and kept nice and protected in his bento until the time comes to eat it.

And thankfully, you thrive on providing him that protection, giving his lunch a spin on a dish made with love, a sweet for dessert, and a small note with a little flirt or a inspirational message from you.

Depends on the day.

Today seems no different, you pass him his bento with a kiss all over his face, a small bite of his cheeks and a pinch to his side to make him squeak, sending him off and letting him go about his day.

Your texts are feral, you remind him to drink water, nothing seems astray.

Until lunch. He tells you it’s time for lunch, and you tell him to enjoy.

booger 🤢 enjoy baby!!

We’re better when we stick together 🩷

Huh?

“Mind if I steal some sanitizer, Sakusa-San?” Hinata asks, and kiyoomi gives a wave of his hand, pausing his watching.

“Knock yourself out champ.”

He hears the faint squirt of his hand sanitizer being squeezed, but there’s a noise of confusion from Hinata’s lips that quickly follows.

“Uh… Sakusa-san?” Hinata squeaks, chewing his lip nervously. Kiyoomi raises his brow as he finishes washing his hands. “Did… did something happen to your hand sanitizer?”

“What’re you talking about?” He asks, making his way back to the bench. Hinata shows him his palm, but nothing looks wrong. He hums in confusion before squirting a bit of the sanitizer into his own palm, before gagging at the texture.

It’s clear, yes, with small flakes of glitter, and sure it should’ve been a red flag because he hates glitter, and-

Sticky. Why was it sticky?

He gives it a big sniff and scrunches his face in displeasure.

It’s glue. You put goddamned glue in his hand sanitizer.

“Son of a bitch,” he snickers, licking his teeth. “Fuckin’ put glue all over my shit. Little rat.”

Hinata cocks his brow as he plays with the glue, “wait… you’re not mad?”

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “They’re just a damn troublemaker. Always messing with my stuff.” He grabs a paper towel and nods at Hinata, “you guys go on and eat. I’ve got scolding to do.”

“Be nice,” he chuckles, but he quickly bounces out of the room to be with his teammates just a few feet away.

Kiyoomi wastes no time in taking out his phone, his fingers flying to your contact and immediately pressing call. There’s a part of him that wonders if you think he’ll be mad and won’t answer, or maybe you just don’t want to answer and you know he’ll chase you in playful rage when he gets home.

Thankfully, you do answer. He’s quick to smack on a mad facade.

“Hey, booger-“

“I can’t believe you mess with my things,” he snips, and tries to ignore the way his cheeks heat up as you cackle on your end of the phone. “This isn’t funny! You’re feral, and you’re officially banned from making my bentos!”

“Yeah, okay,” You snort, and he can’t help but smile at your words. “You love my lunches. You just hate to admit you’re a sucker for chivalry.”

“So messing with my lunch routine is chivalrous?”

“It is when you didn’t replace the toilet paper in the bathroom.”

Kiyoomi falls silent, unable to come up with anything to rebuttal your point. On the other side of the line, he practically feels you smirk.

“Oh.”

“Yeah oh,” you tease over the line. “You’re lucky you’re pretty. If I can’t have a clean ass, you don’t get to have clean hands.”

That, has him breaking down into a fit of laughter, starting with a snort and developing into loud cackles that he feels his teammates looking at him for.

“You’re so stupid,” he laughs, looking down at the glitter glue filled sanitizer. “Did you have to put glitter in it?”

“I came to win, Kiyoomi. I play chess, not checkers.”

“Okay, well, you won,” he groans. Then, he’s quiet as a smirk grows on his face, “you know I’m gonna have to get you back for this right?”

“Oh shut up. You love being bothered and you know it.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to chase you around the house, pin you down and tickle you until you piss yourself, babe.”

You go quiet, he knows he’s got you flustered now, but you let out an excited squeak and chuckle.

“It’s a date.”

——-

Tagging you 🩵 @reverie-starlight @wolffmaiden @thoreeo @aliensknowmyillusions @tutuwusworld @lavishcherie @sassycheesecake @cheolattes @rrairey @dira333 @unknownspecies

[emmetverse]

𐲱 HOW TO MAKE KNIFE

Step 1

find a good rock. any rock works but flint or obsidian good. glass also works. bone also works. of course use metal if ytou can sharpen it

Step 2

hit it with n another rock to turn it into a point. be really careful with obsidian or glass because it shatters. with those ones go at the edge with something hard likie bone or a horn to slowly chip away parts from the edge. like press it against the edge and slowly take parts off. or just sand it down if you can do that idc. idk how to do this with metal if i use those i just kinda use a shard and tie it really tight and hope it stays

step 3

do the same but take down the middle. there are two ways you can do this to make it attatch

way 1

take it in from the sides to create an indent to tie with and to keep the head in place

way 2

create a little hole in themiddle. yuo can decide if its better or worse to do it thisway by how fragile the thingy is when you take it down because the really fragile ones will just fuckin shatter if u try to do this to them. only do this if you hve a drill or your using metal so you can melt a hole in there or something

Step 4

make the stick. you can use lots of stuff you can use the horn you used tochip the thing down but then you dot ahve a horn so i dont recommend it. you can either tie it to the side (this fucking sucks) or cut a little line in the thingy to put it into . you wanna justjam it in there super hard so it stays. if you use way 2 above then you wanna drill the hole into the handle also

Step 5

Put some kind of glew in there (you make glew by boiling animal bits like sinew and fat and bone and skin and then skimming all the weird sticky stuff off) you can also make it out of plant sap but its not always as sticky but i like tree sap lots. you can like boil bark to get some if its the wrong time of year for sap because its actaully always the right time of year for sap its just sometimes it doest come out because its cold

then you wanna stick it in there super hard and jam it into the thingy and tie it up. if youcut the slit too big you can force some stuf f into there. squishy pieces work best so like wood. slices of wood or sticks or stuff but do it before the glue dries

i forgot tot ake a picture so heres a drawing

Step 5

this is whhere you want to decide how you wanna tie it. all materials work for both ways above it just changes how you tie it. if you do way 2 you can figure it out yourself because i cant be bothered to make 2 knifes to show you both

materials you can use

- string

- yarn

- vines (can be very chunky try to use smaller ones) (also can be fragile (gragile = breaks easily))

- animal sinew (best)

Step 6

leave it to dry/set

Step 7

knife

[eating-the-inedible]

Here is a list of the inedibles that will be in this bracket

Lava

Orbeez

Orange Joe (fictional "beverage" that's a combination of orange juice and coffee)

Doll shoes

Dirt

Pen caps

Mercury

Watermelon tourmaline

Comet/scouring powder

Moss

Paper towels

Play-Doh

Drywall

Marbles

CD

DVD

Dice

Kinetic Sand

Coins 

Fiberglass insulation

3DS Stylus

Plastic Bottle Cap

Chapstick

Babybell Cheese Wax

Paper

Bouncy ball

Human meat

Venus (planet)

Cascade dishwasher pods

Acrylic Paint

Magnets

Molten glass

Pens

Sea glass

Silica gel packet

Leaves

Cocoa butter lotion

Antifreeze

Pencil Toppers, the lil eraser things

Sand

Tumbled amethyst

Rubber Ducks

The rubber balls from the game Cranium Cariboo

Polly pocket clothes

Poison Dart Frog

Snow

0.1 uF Film Capacitor

The sun

Metal

Eraser

Tide pods

Phone charger wire

Those free wooden pencils you get at ikea (just the wood shell not the lead)

Liquid nitrogen

Aquarium gravel

the weird science juice in the beakers in those stock images

Origami star

Styrofoam cup

Sticky note

Collar of shirt

This submission form

Plastic straws

Glow sticks

Oil paintings

Candle wax

Glass

Nickel sulfate solution/Nickel plating solution

Silicone wristbands

Seatbelt

The wax paper under your Poutine

Forearm (doesn't have to be one's own)

Asbestos

Candy wrapper

“Okay so technically this is edible but I’ve had urges to just take a huge bite out of certain sea creatures before. Like just a chunk from an orca or dolphin or great white or seal, etc.”

“Those stupid wooden spoons”

Furbies

Scotch tape

Artificial grapes (the wax/plastic ones for display)

phone

THE FLESH OF MY ENEMIES

Crystals

Fire

The goo inside  Stretch Armstrong

Headphone wire

Raw steak

Art

Small colorful rubber bands 

Tinfoil

Pencil lead

Cattails (the plant)

Foamy soap

Liquid soap

Bar soap

Flourite

Shiny rocks

Grass

A hunk of random fish swimming by

A live goldfish

Toothpaste

Styrofoam

Price Tag Fasteners

The moon

Pool noodles

Smol frog

Destroying angel mushroom

the smoke coming out of the grain refineries two Mike's out of Gary, Indiana, Usa

Popsicle sticks

Cardboard

My hat

The tiny rocks in school playgrounds

Gasoline

Blue laundry detergent

Spray foam insulation

Battery corrosion

Fiber optic cables

Packing peanuts

Your mother

Pond water

Dry ice

Alkali metals

Chocolate shampoo

Ping pong ball

Bricks, like the stuff you'd build with. Minecraft bricks even, if you want

Hoodie drawstrings

Horse treats

Chalk

Copper (II) Sulphate Water / Blue Science Rock + Blue Science Juice

Ink

Floam

Fabric Paint

Oil paint

that one art piece of the banana taped to the wall

the hotdog somebody encased in resin

“the thin lego plates not the base plates but like the lego piece thats like 2x8 and they kinda look like hershey chocolate bar pieces”

One of those little hamsters

Model magic

Battery Acid (the drink)

manchineel apple

Rubber band ball

The lava lamp liquid

Blood

Rosin

Wax apples

That cake decoration that came with your slice and you're like 90% sure it's not edible... but what if ?

Soap bubble

Lush cosmetics' products

Plushies

Strawberry Shortcake's dolls with scented hair

Wood

Glue

Salt lamp

People who think children are not worth their consideration

Tarmac

Shampoo

Pennies

Poisonous berries

Chunky soft yarn

Crayons 

Rock

“whatever the Chuck E Cheese Ticket Muncher Machine is eating (it's not the tickets) (or the sound itself but that's neither a solid nor a liquid so this is just kind of holding hands with the hypothetical ticket muncher food)”

Snow globe liquid

Chisel tip whiteboard marker

Raw dough

Raw fuckin cactus. alive

Grape agate

Car seat

Succulents

Keys

Lock pick

Scrub daddy

Molten sugar 

Allergens

Lightning bolts

“Bark dust. Like the dirt/bark dust that's under the bark chips on a playground. Not the chips themselves. The dust.”

Clear deodorant

Apple earbud wires

Eggshells

Squinkies

Hello kitty sweatshirt zipper

Preshredded mozzarella cheese

Scrap metal

Rose

All of the rocks at a crystal shop

Origami polyhedron model

Bubbles mixture

Cupcake liners

Hair gel

Curtain rods

Incense sticks

Incense cones

Metal thing that attaches eraser to pencil

Windshield wiper fluid

Plastic pencil grips

Wooden ice cream spoon

Book

Tree

The liquid in levels

Vanilla extract

Aroace flag

Coil incense

California state testing “next question” button

Spackle

Forbidden coal iron french fries

Garage doors that look like chocolate bars

Plastic takeout box

Velvet

Weird anime girl hair

Freezable gel ice pack

Clouds

Necklace chains

Nail polish

Pencil Shavings

Pool floats

Bao Dumpling

Spray deodorant

0.1 uF Ceramic Capacitor

Vanillish (Pokémon)

Fondant

Really fancy pillars

Computers

Favorite song

Tumblr

“THE LITTLE ORBS IN THE MOUSE (aka trackballs)”

“Any cutesy anime character like Chopper or Pikachu”

Wooden fan blades

Balsa wood sticks

Those blankets that look like tortillas

Microwave

Milk and golden honey softsoap

Batteries

1x2 lego pieces

Light bulbs

Slightly melted lounge chair

Cork (the material)

Pineapple coke

Fingernails 

Sparkly lipgloss

Race Car Tire Marble

Gold trophies

Konjac sponge

Shirt

Mandy the Slayer / Orange Spyderco Dragonfly Knife

Malachite

Heater

Glasses Temples

Typewriter keys

EVA foam

Airplane

Sword

Crumbs in the couch

Children

My wife's arm/shoulder

Records

Yellow ACE bandages

Neon Signs

Scented candles

[kiridarling]

𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂!

izuku midoriya | tw!guns, single mom!reader, bouncer!izuku, domestic stuffs, tit sucking, mommy!calling ah, AND daddy!calling oh my, breeding kink, breaking the bed (futon). minors dni!

— 5.4k words

“When’s the last time someone touched you like this, hmm?”

The alley is dark.

There's a disconcerting feeling as you step deeper into the quiet darkness,

You turn to look at the door you entered this dank place from, but it's just as dark and grimy as the walls. You're almost positive that if you rested a hand against them, it would return pitch black, and if you stood in one spot for more than five minutes, the sticky booze would glue your heels to the floor. You're surprised when it doesn't.

"Hand over your wallet and no one gets hurt, pretty lady."

He's a smarmy looking bastard and as thin as they come. It’s clear this isn’t something he does on the regular, the pointed gun quivering so much you worry a trembling might slip and pull the trigger. And you fucking freeze, blood running below zero and heart plummeting because why you?

And fuck, you’ve got a kid at home with a babysitter, and there are many outcomes to this situation, none of them too cute.

"I said hand it over," he grunts, pressing forwards. Your back hits the grimy brick wall as your eyes dart to the mouth of the alley, where life continues, where cars race past, but no one sees a damn thing. Fuck. Fuck.

And it's not like you have much—hell, you may be a mother, but you know how to party. You squeeze your eyes shut, grip tightening around your purse as you clumsily fumble through it and the man steps closer. You toss all you have to his feet. A fucking twenty. He raises an eyebrow before eyeing your watch. He lets out an unimpressed snort.

"That it?"

You nod, taking a shaky step back.

"Well, that ain't fuckin' enough."

There's a click and you're positive it's him turning off the safety. His face twists like he's about to shoot a bullseye, and you squeeze your eyes as tight as they can go.

Until the looming shadow of the stranger disappears, followed by a sound that's distinctly skin on skin. Er—skin on bone.

You don't watch the fight. Frankly, you don't want to, and you still get to hear your protector spew a litany of curses and disrespectful phrases that should really only come from someone's mother. You don't even open your eyes, still screwed shut with a vice grip around your purse and wallet.

"Um, excuse me Miss? Are you alright?"

Your protector's eyes are much bigger than you expect them to be—and green. You realize you remember seeing those eyes, hardened from across the club.

He's hesitant to touch you, hands rising and falling and rising again. Though you suppose a hug seems like it'd be a little abrasive, it also sounds like the exact kind of thing you need right now.

"U-Um, yeah I'm..." you start, before noticing your attackers body bloodied and wrapped like a pretzel on the ground. "...Fine..."

He sounds like he's going to pass out—he doesn't.

"We should um, we should get you home," As he speaks, the greenette shuffles you out of the alley and into the streetlamp light, blinking himself out of something before holding a meaty hand out of formality. "I'm Izuku by the way. Izuku Midoriya."

For such a big guy, Izuku seems rather timid, and yet, seeing him at the entrance with crossed arms in a black tee and a scowl in the club doesn't give you much insight into his personality. Which makes you wonder why he became the club's bouncer in the first place.

"Um, nice to meet you," you nod, trying to suppress the shake in your hands as you take his. "Y/N."

Izuku smiles at that, and even though you're a regular, you've never actually seen him beam on the job. "Cool! Cool, so...um, I don't really feel comfortable letting you walk home...alone..."

You nod—he panics as if you aren't already on board.

"'Cause it's like, a conscience thing, you know? Like, I really won't be able to sleep tonight otherwise," Izuku defends, shoving a clumsy hand in his green curls. "B-But if you don't feel comfortable with it, or something, that's totally fine! I know what you just experienced was horrible, and you probably do—"

"Izuku."

"Yeah?" He perks up. It seems as if the circuit his mind runs finally comes to a stop.

"I'd...feel more comfortable if you walked me home. Too."

Your innards ache at the stiffness in both your voice and figure, but Izuku doesn't seem to notice. Instead, he beams, standing ten feet taller, and you think—yeah. You'd feel much safer if he did.

"O-Okay! Cool!" He confirms a bit stiff himself, and then, in a smoother motion, holds his hand out to take. "Shall we?"

Your red palm claps over his, and you snort quietly, "We shall."

You two walk in a surprisingly comfortable silence for the beginning of the walk—you lead the way and he silently trails behind, glaring daggers at any passerby with lingering eyes as you march on, unknowing.

"So um, do you come to Club 777 often?"

Which is a question you know he knows the answer to, completely aware you almost come every Saturday. But you smile at his attempt to start a conversation anyways, hands tucking underneath your armpits in search of warmth.

"Yeah, sometimes. Just trying to get out and stuff. Y'know, away from the kid."

"I get that," he nods with a smile, before tugging at the hem of his hoodie. "Oh! Are you cold? Here—wait, let me."

He shucks it over your head and your positive it messes up your hair. But you find that you don't care much, especially in favor of the warmth that it provides.

And then, "You have a kid?"

"Yep," you say, tucking your fists into the jacket pockets. "A big two-year-old potato waits for me back home."

"Oh," Izuku chortles at your description before tucking his hands into his jean pockets too. Licking his lips, his eyes dart to the street, "I...assume your boyfriend watches him for the night? Or husband or whoever."

"Uhm, not quite," you chuckle towards your feet, though it's a touch acrid. Izuku picks up on it immediately.

"Oh I'm so sorr—I didn't kno—"

"It's fine, Izuku really—"

"I—but I shouldn't even be assuming what if you had a wife or girlfriend or—" he takes a second to gasp, and your eyes widen in fear that he'll choke, "—or if they're nonbinary or—"

"Izuku," you knock him on the shoulder and he finally shuts up. "It's fine. I get it all the time."

He falters, but at least he seems to relax. "Really?"

"Yes," you giggle behind a hand, and the greenette smiles at it.

"O-Okay, cool."

Flecks of gold swim in Izuku's green irises and you find yourself noticing them now, suppressing the urge to advance closer for a better look. You stare long enough to watch his smile relax into a comfortable line, but you snap out of it once he kicks a rock, the sound of the gravel skittering across the floor tugging you out of your reverie.

"I'm not very good with kids, y'know," he says as an afterthought. You snort.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean," he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. "Like what am I supposed to feed it? French fries?"

"Toddlers aren't it's, Izu." You can't tell if he flushes from the nickname or from what you said, but either way, it's enough to prompt another laugh. "And maybe start with baby food?"

"Ah," Izuku nods, and you guide him in turning a corner. "That would make sense.

"It would."

By the time you stop in front of your red front door, it's almost three am. You figure you caught Izuku right after he got off work, if the cheesy All Might sweatshirt you're wearing is any evidence of that, but either way, he looks like he's about to fall flat on his face.

"You can stay for the night, if you want," you offer, albeit meekly, and Izuku lifts two hands with insistence.

"Oh! No no no please, I'm fine," he shakes his head so quickly his curls bounce in a flurry, and you genuinely worry he's going to pass out when he tries to blink himself awake. "Just...not used to staying up this late is all."

"Then stay," you offer with a shrug, and your orange porch light flickers. "It's the least I can do. I've got a bed and a futon, and I'm fine with sleeping on either."

"I..." Izuku's green eyes flicker towards your door before back to you, "I really shouldn't. I'm a stranger an—"

"And I'm offering."

Izuku's eyebrows fold with the dilemma, but you grab his hand with a tug and a smile, while your free one shoves the keys into the door. "C'mon. Let's get you some rest, yeah?"

You can't tell if Izuku blushes or if it's just the lighting, but either way, his chest inflates in protest before deflating in resignation.

"Okay."

With a smile, you turn the doorknob. Your door has always taken some shoulder to get open, so you don't hesitate in shoving your collarbone into the hardwood. Izuku cringes at the sight.

"Mama!"

Your hit in the legs first, nearly stumbling back with a quiet oof. You look down to see Max wrapped around your legs like you're a fucking jungle gym, grinning with two missing teeth and a bandaid over his nose.

It's three am.

"I'm done," your babysitter grunts. "He doesn't listen when I tell him to bathe, eat, anything—I fucking quit."

And with that, they slam the door behind them, house rattling under the pressure. You sigh. There goes another one. Fuck.

"Well that wasn't very nice," Izuku grumbles under his breath disapprovingly. You smile at the arms crossed over his chest until Max peeks around your legs to see...

"A new daddy?"

"I—no, baby," you fight the embarrassment (and the urge to say you fucking wish) by picking the little one up by his armpits, smiling when he thrusts his hands in the air and goes weee! After he's comfortably cradled in your arms, you say, "He's just staying the night."

"Like daddy did!" Max defends with a giggle before rushing the greenette with open arms. Izuku just looks at you with a shrug before kneeling to take a hug to the chest as Max chants, "New daddy! New daddy!"

And, well. There's no stopping him now.

You peel your heels off your cramping feet and sigh at the fucking freedom, toes uncurling from the scrunched position it feels like they've been holding the entire night. You curse under your breath when you realize since Max is awake you've got to put him to bed too, and honestly, if you knew this babysitter was going to be just as useless as the others, you would've just let Max run fucking free while you lived life for a few hours. Not like that outcome would be any better.

"Alright Maxie, c'mon."

You take him away from his celebration with the greenette and though he pouts, he allows his mother to gather him in her arms.

"Do you um, need help?"

You turn to see Izuku awkwardly shifting in the doorway from the request, hands behind his back with pursed lips. You shake your head.

"Oh no, it's fine. I just have to put him down really quickly and then I'll be—"

"Mama, I'm hungry. I want chicken nuggies." Max loops his arms around your neck and tugs so hard you worry about your bones. You shake your head with a sigh and a pout.

"It's too late for you to be up, bud. You can have chicken nuggies for lunch tomorrow. Sound like a plan?"

But goodness. In this state, it'll take hours for him to relax—and you still have to unfold the futon for Izuku.

Max whines and kicks his legs but doesn't say no, meaning he's not really that hungry, he just wants to stay awake. "But—but what if new daddy's gone in the morning like the last one?"

Fuck.

"Max," you sigh, giving him a light shake so his matching eyes look into you yours. You speak a little softer, "Izuku's not your new daddy, okay? He's a houseguest."

Max's face drops. "Not eve—"

"No, Maxie," you sigh, squeezing him on the shoulder. "Now let's go to bed, okay?"

"I can—I can put him down if you'd like! So you can get into something more comfortable and stuff. I mean, I've never worn a dress but sweats are so much better, you know? Or shorts, or...whatever you wear to sleep."

You understand the many points he's trying to get across, one being that's he's not a creep, just a nice guy, and you suppose you and Max can live in your "new daddy" fantasy for a little longer. Even if you know this one will be gone by morning.

"Um, okay yeah," you say, voice a little thin, before handing your child over to the greenette—who bounces into his arms excitedly. "I'll be back, then? His room is down the hall to the right. The one with the race car bed."

Izuku's eyes narrow as he processes your directions. "Down the hall to the right—okay! I'll just go take this little guy to bed, then."

"Okay, thank you," you nearly bow, because Izuku just saved both of you so much time and he doesn't even understand how. "Oh! And good luck."

"Good...luck?"

"Yep!" You say with a wink and a pat on the back before scooping your heels and booking it back to your bedroom with a cackle. Time to get out of this dress. Fucking finally.

You realize that being alone is much more unsettling when you've had a gun held to your head today.

Every little noise just seems off, like it could belong to something more than it actually does, even the silence; you find yourself shoving your head through your t-shirt abnormally fast, eyes blinking to take a survey of the room to ensure that you're alone. You are. It's fine.

And that's what you tell yourself when you close your eyes to run a wet rag over your face, and again with the dry one. All of a sudden, you don't like the way your bathroom window faces the open backyard nor do you like how dark it is outside. You don't like how big your bed looks, and goddammit, you haven't even gotten into it yet.

Pushing all uneasy thoughts aside, you stumble out of your bedroom with a fresh face and a new outfit, stilling in Max's doorway when the greenette doesn't notice you. Resting against the frame with crossed arms, you smile.

"I do so like green eggs and ham! Thank you! Thank you, Sam-I-am. You know, when I was a kid I—oh, he's asleep."

Izuku tucks the snoring boy in his lap under the covers with a gentle grin, pulling them underneath his chin. The greenette takes a second, watches Max's chest rise and fall a few times, before ruffling the tuft of hair on his head with a snort, and walking away.

You don't even think Izuku sees you until he practically sashays out the door, winking, "Good luck, huh?"

To say you go red in the face from that is an understatement.

"How do you do this?"

"Do what?" You ask as you pulling the futon in your living room forwards. Izuku yawns before gesturing to the clock with a shake of his head.

"Take care of a kid, and work, and go to a bar every Saturday evening? It's four am, and something tells me you've been up for a while. I'm practically dead and I wake up at one pm every day!"

You chuckle at that, jumping on the bed with your hands and knees to ensure its lays flat...and ensure that it won't make an Izuku sandwich at seven in the morning. "You build up stamina after a while, I guess."

"No shit," he gestures to you as you utilize the entire length of your body to put the sheets on the mattress. He would help, but you told him no, insisting that he'd only make this take longer. "Are you sure you do—"

"Nope," you huff, clapping your hands together. "I'm done."

Izuku blinks at the made bed, to you, to the made bed again, and then back to you with wide eyes.

"Mommy magic."

"I—" you blink towards the ceiling to see if that even makes sense, but you figure fuck it, it's four am, with a snort. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you want to call it."

In reality, you feel like you're about to pass out.

"Um, so I don't really have pj pants and I don't think you'll have any that'll fit, so..."

"Yeah no, I definitely burned all the shit my ex left—"

"Aha okay, cool, um, so just boxers...are fine...?"

He looks down at his black jeans and back to you, raising an eyebrow. You toss a nonchalant shrug in return, and you hate to say it, but your inner school girl goes—dick outline.

"O-Okay, then," Izuku says, and you watch his hands curl around the waistband. "I'm just gonna—"

He shucks his pants so hard they hit the floor, and your eyes widen because...well...looks like he's just gonna do it then.

Until Izuku's hands rush to cover his crotch (which you weren't peeking at, you weren't) and you realize that maybe you should've stepped out of the room or something.

"U-Um—that was fast—"

"I thought—thought you were going to uhm, turn around," he flushes, a funny contrast to the way his muscles fold under that black shirt, and your feet move to turn around like he ordered you to do it.

"Sorry! So sorry," you try to apologize, but now his dick print is burned in your brain, and...it isn't that bad.

"It—It's fine! I'm in the bed now so, you can turn around."

You laugh awkwardly and scuffle to turn, as you do, and Izuku beams at you from the bed with a wave.

"Hi," he says, his lower half-tucked under the covers. You wave back.

"Hi."

Izuku's eyes dart to you living room tv before the come back to you. "So uhm, I guess this is goodnight?"

"Oh right," you perk up at that, hands rubbing the sides of your thighs like there's something on them. "Time to go to bed, right?"

"Uh, yeah!" He nods, chest shuddering before he says, "so uh, sweet dreams?"

You smile tight at the kind gesture, and your hands opt to pull at the hem of your shirt instead, eyes drifting to an old pile of records you haven't regarded in months. "Thanks! You...too?"

Izuku smiles, though his eyes drift, "Yeah..."

You beam back. You figure you should probably go now, or something, until you think of something and slam a fist into your palm. "Oh! Also, I meant to thank you for saving me. I'm not sure if I did that. Did I do that?"

The greenette shrugs, "Uh, I think so?"

"Okay! Okay. Cool," you nod, flashing a tight smile. "Mmk. Night Izuku."

"G'night."

And see, you would move—except it seems as if your feet are glued to the floor and won't move no matter how hard you try, to the point where it feels like your straining and they're going numb, and yet you're still staring at Izuku's pretty fucking face.

"C'mon," he chuckles, scooting over on the futon to make extra space for you. "If you take all day, the beds gonna get cold, and then I'm going to have to crawl into yours like a creep."

"Oh my fucking god," you snort one breath and move to flick off the lights before stumbling through the darkness for the futon. "You're so weird."

"Weird in a good way, I hope," he lifts the blanket and you slide under—and swear your knee grazes his before it's snatched away.

"There's no weird in a bad way," you say once you've settled comfortably, tucking your hands under your head as you lay on your stomach. Izuku mimics your position, though he takes up much more of the blanket, and you find that it drapes over you like a tent over his shoulders. Neither of you close your eyes, for some reason.

"Hi," Izuku whispers.

"Hi," you smile back.

"Okay," he huffs, face twisting in determination, "Now it's goodnight."

"Right," you nod, but your eyes don't close. "Goodnight. Of course."

"Don't let the bedbugs bite," he says with a chuckle, and you can't tell if his eyes flicker to your lips or if you imagine it. Either way, you look them just in case.

"I better not have bedbugs," you snort. "I clean this place like a motherfucker."

Izuku's nose twitches at that with a nod. Moonlight pours into your living room and colors his pale skin silver, though you figure it won't take the sun much longer to color it a strawberry pink. "You really do. It's...different when it's quiet."

"Yeah," you agree, placing your hands on his chest. It shudders under your palms. "Kinda personal, huh?"

"Mhm," he nods, and though his hands wrap around your wrists, they never pull them away. You lift an eyebrow.

"A bad personal?"

Izuku doesn't hesitate, breath nearly ghosting your lips as he says, "Hardly."

"Would you..." now it's your chests turn to shudder, and sliding a hand up to play with his ear, you bite the bullet. "Like to get more personal?"

Izuku's lips melt into a grin against yours, "I'd love to."

His lips are softer than you thought.

Maybe because you assumed all of him was a bumbling mess, including his chapstick application; but they're fucking pillow-soft, and you don't realize how deprived you are until his hold around your body turns from protective to sensual and you melt from his heat.

"Fuck," Izuku huffs between kisses, growling when your grip around his neck tightens. "Watching you from across the club for weeks can do a thing to a guy's patience, you know."

"Oh?" You snort as he presses enthusiastic open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, hot and wet, and painful once his teeth dig into your collarbone. "A-Ah, Izuku—no marks."

"O-Oh! Sorry," he pulls away, lips red and swollen, and shiny with spit. You smile at the reaction.

"'S okay, Baby," you giggle at the speed to which his muscles go lax, and his eyes droop to your chest when you scratch the back of his head.

"Can I—can I suck your tits?"

He asks so bashfully it's nearly innocent, and you find your eyes dropping to your chest along with his before you're ditching his All Might sweatshirt all together.

"God," Izuku's eyes flutter as he gathers your breasts in both palms, groaning at the sight. "They're fucking perfect."

You shudder as his thumb ghosts a nipple, and Izuku dips an experimental hand under your lacy bra and pinches. Hard.

Your thighs jolt and hands fist the sheets, and a moan comes from the back of your throat before you can stop it. Izuku's hand rocket to cover your mouth.

"Shh—you don't wanna wake him up, do you?"

You shake your head, but it's hard to keep quiet when your nipples are as sensitive as they are. Izuku doesn't seem like he really means that statement, though, lowering his head with a devilish grin as if he knows that for himself.

“Sensitive, Mommy?”

“O-Oh um,” you flush at the nickname, and even more so when his lips close around your nipple and suck. Tangling a hand in his hair, you sigh, “Yeah, a little.”

Izuku hums at that, eyes fluttering to watch you bite your bottom lip in a poor attempt to muffle a moan, hissing as his teeth dig into the hardened bud. He pulls off with a slurp and moves to the other, but not without a few kisses across your chest.

“When’s the last time someone touched you like this, hmm?” Izuku nearly growls out before biting into the opposite nipple, and you shudder as he dips a scarred hand down the waistband of your shorts and panties. He chuckles after sliding a finger through your slit. “So wet for me.”

“It—It’s been a second,” you sigh, grip tightening around his shoulders as he slides a finger in. Even Izuku has to bite a lip at your tightness in anticipation, mouth descending over your nipple once more to send frissons of fire up your spine.

“No shit,” he grunts around your nipple, curling his finger. You gasp. “Think I can fit another one in there?”

“Why don’t you try?” You giggle, but it dissipates into nothing but air as he does, his two fingers filling you up enough to elicit a sigh.

“How’s that?” He breathes, face hovering over yours. As your hands coil around his neck, his free one reaches for your inner thigh and pulls it back far enough to give him a better angle as he presses you into the mattress.

“Good, it’s good,” you nod, and your hips start to move on their own, bucking forwards as if there’s any more finger left for you to fuck. (Spoiler: there’s not.)

“Good,” he breathes, eyes going glossy as he watches you writhe under him. You're positive that you're carving painful red lines into his back, but considering the way his eyebrows fold every time you do, makes you wonder if he doesn't mind. "Fuck I can't wait to fuck you—I can fuck you, right?"

"No Izuku, I'm just letting you finger me for fu-u—fuck."

He slides in a third finger and for some reason, it burns a little—but the burn only makes your eyes roll further, and he's stuffing you with a chuckle.

"What was that?"

"I-I—you're not pla—playing very fair," you huff, chest shuddering as he tilts your hips higher for a better angle. You suppress a scream when his fingers curl, jolting forwards at such a speed it makes the futon creak. Izuku tightens his grip around your waist to keep you from going too far.

"No one said anything about being fair, Mommy," he teases, and you whine when he removes his fingers, tapping them against your lips. "C'mon, you gotta get 'em wet so I can fuck you, right?"

You nod at the idea, enjoying the idea of being filled up much more, and coat his fingers to the point where they're dripping when he pulls him out. Izuku's chest rumbles.

"So good for me," he purrs, using your spit to coat his cock before he's sliding his head between your folds—you shiver, grabbing onto his back again. "Ready?"

“Mhm,” you nod, spreading your legs further—though you swear they do that on their own.

“Oh my, you’re um...tight...”

You whimper from the stretch and look between your legs, eyes widening upon seeing that Izuku’s much bigger than you had anticipated. Or had been warned of.

“F-Fuck, I can’t—“

“Shhhh, it’s okay, just a little more, okay?” Izuku nearly whispers into your lips as his hands move to rub your shuddering sides. Your eyes screw shut, “Jus’ a little more, Mommy...”

Izuku pushes deeper and you’re being split in half—because what else could that burn be—but you’ll admit, the feeling of accomplishment you receive once he bottoms out is surreal.

“Good—Good girl,” Izuku’s nearly quivering and plants his hands on both sides of your head with a huff.

“I-Izu,” you whimper as he starts to move, feeling impossibly full no matter how far he pulls out. Izuku shudders, mouth rounding into an ‘o’ when his hips slowly start to gain rhythm, and though it’s loud, you know the creak of the futon is unavoidable. You squeal as his head hammers into your cervix, pulling out a wanton Daddy before you have half a mind to shut the fuck up. You nearly freeze, and yet, all Izuku’s hips do is speed up.

“Yeah? Want me to be your new Daddy?” He moans, and you dig your nails into his back with a nod. The greenette curses at that, biting his bottom lip and his hand drops between your legs to rub at your clit. With thighs seizing around his waist, you slam a hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet.

“Fuck—I make you feel that good, Mommy?” Izuku nearly wheezes, eyes suppressing the urge to screw closed, “So good you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut?”

“Y-Yeah, I—“ you gasp when he lifts your hips off the bed for a better angle, hands fisting the sheets. “Harder, Daddy—“

“Oh Mommy, if I go any harder I think I might break this bed,” he says, borderline bashful, but you find yourself saying fuck the bed as your hips buck in search of a feeling he refuses to give you. Izuku’s chuckle strains as he says, “So needy, Mommy. You that needy for my cum?”

Clawing at his back, you try your damnest to stutter out a yes. Izuku chuckles at your desperation before he cuts himself off with a groan, eyes rocketing to where you’re both connected as you tighten around him.

“F-Fill me up, I wanna—“

“You want another baby, Mommy?” Izuku pants, and you’re so close you start to feel a buzz in your thighs, praying he isn’t too far behind. You nod vehemently with a gasp and his lips slide into an exhausted smile, "Fuck, of course you do—and you’re gonna take me so well, aren’t you? All of it.”

Izuku finishes his sentence with a growl, pressing you further into the mattress—it squeaks like a squeaky wheel, and when it thunks a level lower both of you yelp, the back of the futon thumping on your hardwood floor with each thrust.

“Told ya,” Izuku wheezes, eyes scrunching in a chuckle. You return it.

“It—It’s old anyway,” you reply, but your eyebrows fold as quickly as they unfold from the crash. The creaking futon increases in pitch as his hips pick up the pace, “Fuck—fuck Izuku I’m gonna cum.”

“What’s my name?” The greenette challenges, and you find yourself shivering at the dominance he exudes. The finger on your clit disappears and you whine, knowing damn well you can’t cum without it.

“Daddy—Daddy please—“

“Good—fuck, so good for me,” his hand returns to your clit and you sigh at the feeling. As the coil in your gut threatens to snap, his hips speed up, and Izuku pants, “We’re gonna cum together, yeah? Cum with me Mommy, c’mon—“

“Fuck!” You drag red lines down Izuku’s back as you quake under the weight of your orgasm, broken bed whining as Izuku thrusts all his weight into you. Digging his teeth into your shoulder, the greenette cums with a broken moan, hips stuttering into yours for the final time that night.

The room fills with a comfortable silence, minus the panting, and Izuku rolls onto the mattress next to you with a bounce. It creaks, whines, and then drops again, catching both you and the greenette by surprise. (Again.)

“I think—I think we broke it,” Izuku says towards the ceiling as he catches his breath. You giggle at that, hands laid across your sweaty stomach, and turn to him with your head in the pillow.

“Gives me an excuse to buy a new one,” you say with a shrug. Izuku chuckles back.

“I guess,” he teeters his head to both sides. “I can...also pitch in, if you want. Since I broke the thing. Technically.”

His offer sounds apprehensive as if he’s encroaching in your space, as if he hasn’t been all up in your space less than a minute ago. You smile. “I’d like that a lot, actually. Thanks.”

"And um, breakfast? I mean," he snorts, though it seems rather defensive, and his eyes rocket to the ticking clock on your wall. Your eyes follow: five am. "I mean—fuck um, I feel like this might be weird but I think you're cool? Um, yeah, so breakfast, I can make it if you want because you're so busy being motherly and stuff and plus, it's Sunday but again, if you don't wan—"

"Izuku," you giggle, wrapping your arms around his gut with a little squeeze. "Breakfast sounds nice."

The greenette beams and his chest stutters. "O-Okay cool! Cool, cool. Breakfast then?"

You snort, driving your palm into his face to shut him the fuck up. "Goodnight, Izuku."

Izuku giggles, getting the message, and coils his arms around your shoulders to provide a comfort you haven't felt in a very, very long time.

"G'night Mommy."

[silkenstarlight]

a night in crimson valley

Summary: Reader is a bartender at the Crimson Valley Motel. After she is accosted by a drunk John Walker, a familiar face offers her protection and comfort.

Pairing: Biker!bucky x bartender!reader

Warning/s: language, violence, alcohol use; sorta fluffy end

Word count: 5.6k

Author’s note: I’m unsure whether I want to turn this into a series; please let me know your thoughts!

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Her nose burned with the scent of blood and cheap vodka, no matter how hard she scrubbed.

In the early days, when she had first been stationed at this bar, she had stocked the cupboard beneath the register with supplies. Lemon-scented bleach, candy-blue windex, a dried up tube of wet wipes. Every night before closing, she had tugged on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and gone to work. Rubbing, scouring, swabbing away every spilled shot, every stray fingerprint. The dirt and spit and grime seemed to accumulate instantly, and yet, she continued her sisyphean housekeeping, trying to paint over the bar’s run-down reality with a layer of chemical gloss. But, all of that effort was to no avail; this was a roadside establishment, so there would always be sloppy drunks, and there would, most assuredly, always be bar fights, new stains to replace old. No use in hiding it.

Now, she’d grown numb to it, the cleaning supplies below the register covered in an ever-thickening coat of dust. The once shiny, lacquered surface of the bar now reflected dully beneath the low light, encrusted with old dirt and sour deeds. The floor was sticky, a years’ worth of spilled cocktails accumulating in a tacky glue trap. The mirror behind the bar, its surface cloudy and warped, reflected the late-night debauchery of men in desperate need of respite.

Every night, she wiped foggy glasses with the same gray, fraying rag, watching the same blurred, bearded faces pass through. The Crimson Valley Motel, owned by (Y/N)’s father, was a dependable option for truckers looking for a night away from the cramped quarters and lumpy cots of their vehicles. With its low nightly fares and extensive parking, and her father’s promise of discounted drink prices at the attached bar, customers returned without fail. Even still, she tried not to grow too attached to any patrons. They were just passing through, after all, with separate lives waiting for them beyond the road and the walls of the motel. But, sometimes, she just couldn’t help herself. 

Bucky Barnes was one such case.

The first things she had noticed the moment he walked into the bar two years ago were his eyes. Piercing blue, stern and ever-watchful, set beneath the overhang of his perpetually furrowed brow. That first night, he had nursed his whiskey glass with two gloved hands, staring at the bar’s surface as if he were trying to memorize every intricacy and flourish in its woodgrain. She had appreciated his presence ever since, so quiet and watchful, a stark departure from the raucous drunkards and wild military men who usually frequented the Crimson Valley Bar. And, despite the fact that he drank as much as the other patrons, he never seemed affected by the alcohol, his gaze as clear and haunting as ever, even well into the dark hours of morning. It almost made her laugh, his perfect stoicism and strong  jaw, the classic image of unperturbed masculinity. But she could sense the ghost of some deep sadness in the downturned set of his mouth. His shoulders always seemed tense, and he continually shifted his weight in his seat, peering over his shoulder every once in a while, as if suspicious that he was being watched. It made her swallow any skepticism about his demeanor, instead deciding that he was likely a very broken man, deserving of the space and quiet his countenance demanded. For that reason, she never asked him any questions, never made a move to satiate that burning curiosity within her. Better to keep a respectful distance than stir up unwelcome memories. 

She had never even really spoken to him, and only knew his name because she once caught his signature on a receipt. By the time she read it, he had whisked away to spend the night in his motel room and prepare for departure early the next morning.

Whenever he came back, it was like she could sense his presence, could feel his steely gaze sweeping the bar. It was comforting, a sweet bubble of solace beneath the humming neon and peeling rock n’ roll posters, a space of quiet surrounded by the pressing screech of electric guitar and deep boom of drums. She never knew when he would return, his trucking routes and schedule difficult to predict with such minimal information, but she secretly looked forward to it. Another day, another opportunity to unwrap the quiet mystery of Bucky Barnes.

Tonight, the bar was crowded. Hopeful thoughts of seeing Bucky retreated to the very back corner of her mind as she poured sparkling streams of amber liquid into lines of waiting glasses, shaking and stirring and swirling again and again in the rote, mindless motions that a full house required. She had no room to daydream, not on a Saturday night, when more lonely truckers sought out the bar for company, and when the local military base flooded in on their night out. In a room full of loud men with wanting mouths, she needed to work quickly.

On nights like these, the men mostly left her alone, too absorbed in their own festivities to take much note of her. Beyond the simple “pleases” and “thank yous,” they seemed to recognize that any attempt to strike up a conversation would interrupt her flow and leave her begrudging, frustrated, and not exactly an ideal conversation partner. But, some men couldn’t take a hint.

She had been cutting lemon wedges, concentrating on creating an even slice and avoiding her fingertips with the dull knife blade. She counted each slice before pouring the wedges into a chilled metal bowl, her movements precise and rhythmic. 1, 2. 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, pour… 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, pour… 1, 2, 3--

“Hey, bartender! I asked you a question.”

She knew it was John before she even bothered to look up. She sighed heavily, placing the knife on the counter and wiping her hands before tilting her gaze upwards.

John Walker was another regular here, but her opinion of him was very different than the tentative infatuation she harbored for Bucky Barnes. To put it simply, she did not like John. Whenever he swaggered past the bar’s threshold, flanked by his two favored cronies, she shuddered. Unlike the relatively polite regulars who frequented the bar, John was demanding, expecting (Y/N) to cater to his every whim without complaint. He was, apparently, a favored recruit at the military base. She just thought he was a privileged asshole. One time, he refused to tip her because she didn’t smile at him when she served his drink. And, another time, he broke his glass on purpose just to watch her clean it up.

Now, he was staring at her, head cocked and arms crossed, expecting an answer to a question she hadn’t heard him utter.

She sighed again, leaning against the counter. “Sorry, John. Didn’t catch your question.” Her voice was flat, lacking in genuine sympathy. “Mind repeating it?”

“Can’t even listen,” he said to himself, shaking his head in disappointment. “As I asked earlier, did you water down my fuckin’ snakebite?”

She stared at him, eyes boring into his cold blue ones, and she thought for a second. She was annoyed by his interruption, but this could go poorly if she didn’t handle it with care. If she said the wrong thing, he could get offended, and she was the only woman in a room full of men. She could hold her own in a fight and had some experience with self-defense, sure, but that wouldn’t hold up against a man with John’s stature and training. She couldn’t predict if any of the other men in the room would come to her rescue if things went south, but she couldn’t really blame them. He was tall and strong, and had a temper to boot. But his fragile masculinity, which compelled him to talk down to her and order such ridiculous drinks as a snakebite, wouldn’t survive if she talked back. So, her decision was made.

“Well, John,” she said, her voice low as she smirked. “Usually, you’re already plastered by the time you make it to my bar. I always have to water down your drinks because you can’t hold your fucking liquor.”

His face darkened, brows drawing downwards in a chilling expression of anger. He gritted his teeth together and pushed back from the bar, motioning to turn away from her and back to his friends. “I can handle my liquor just fine, thank you.”

She cleared her throat, catching his attention. “Actually, just last weekend, you threw up all over the parking lot. My poor Pops had to clean it up.” She chuckled at the memory of her father, grumbling with a bucket and mop in hand, as John sat with his head in his hands in the front office. “You might not remember it, John, but I do. We all do.” The incident had occurred well before closing time, so many of the bar’s customers had seen it with their own eyes. One or two had surely caught it on camera.

“Are you fucking mocking me?” A vein popped out on his neck, his face growing read and hot.

She felt her pulse rise in fear, but she ignored it, hand resting next to the knife on the counter. “Maybe I am.” She leaned forward, leering at him. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What am I going to do about it?” He laughed incredulously, picking up his half-full glass and examining its amber-colored contents briefly before hurling it at the mirrored wall behind her.

She ducked, shielding her face from splattering liquid and broken glass. “Shit.” She dropped onto her hands and knees and crawled, frantically clambering below the bar for the cleaning cupboard. She knew how this encounter would go, but she was starting to realize that she shouldn’t have pushed it. He had never actually threatened her physical harm before, resigning himself to simply being an asshole. Tonight, that had obviously changed.

“Nuh-uh, where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice was still loud enough to pierce her eardrums over the pulsating music. He reached down to where she was, grasping for Windex in the dusty, cavernous cabinet, and roughly gripped her hair in his fist. He pulled up harshly, causing an unpleasant sting to radiate down her scalp. The breath caught in her throat. 

She had fucked up. Badly.

He wrenched her close, until their faces were just inches apart. He examined her face, his own visage arranged in an unpleasant sneer. She looked straight into his eyes, unwilling to back down, even though she was frightened of what he might do. 

“I should put you in your place.” His voice was quiet, only audible to her. She shuddered, lip curling in distaste. The sour taste of bile rose on her tongue at the violating way his eyes scanned her face, as if he were a predator examining his prey. A few patrons were watching, pausing their conversations to watch the show. But, none were helping, jumping up to arrive at her aid. A dark pit grew in her stomach at the observation.

He loosened his grip on her hair and she moved to pull back, but before she could, he spit in her face, a thick, hot wad of saliva landing on her cheek. Her mouth gaped in disgust, nose flaring, and she stepped back, wiping the insult from her face with her sleeve and slipping the knife she had been using earlier into her hand, concealing it behind her back. She retreated until her back was flush with the mirror behind her, eyes flitting wildly, trying to find a gap in the crowd where she could disappear and distance herself from him. But all she could see was his face, his hooked nose and hooded eyes, that awful, sneering expression, as he prepared to jump over the bar and bridge the gap between them. 

But, before he could, his head slammed into the bar’s wooden surface with a sickening crack!

Her mouth dropped open in confusion, the rushing bout of adrenaline quickly waning in her veins as she took in the sight of John, head pinned to the counter by a gloved hand. Wait, is that--?

Her suspicions were confirmed when she looked up from John’s floundering figure to find Bucky, his hand firmly wrapped in John’s hair, his face contorted in an expression of rage. She had never seen him like this, nose scrunched, eyes dark. His eyes briefly flickered to hers, and when their gazes met, his face softened slightly, as if to provide her with some sense of reassurance. The breath stalled in her throat, but before relief could flood into her limbs, she saw John stirring in Bucky’s grip.

“What… what the fuck, man?” John turned his head, cheek pressed against the bar’s cool surface, to stare at Bucky out of the corner of his eye.

“Watch yourself, buddy.” Bucky’s voice was gruff and uncaring.

“Buddy?” John scoffed. 

“Well, what’s your name, then?”

A laugh rose in John’s throat, bubbling over into a bitter, joyless sound. He was trying to intimidate Bucky into backing off, shifting his weight below him in an effort to distract him.

It didn’t work. Bucky simply pressed John’s face even harder into the counter, until the breath whooshed from John’s lips in a muffled, defeated gasp. 

“I asked you a question.”

“Fine-- fine. Name’s Walker.”

“Well, Walker,” Bucky replied, leaning in close until his face obstructed John’s vision. “Keep your fucking mitts off my girl here.”

“What?” She couldn’t help it as the question left her lips in a surprised gasp. Bucky’s eyes flicked up to her again, lips pulling down in an embarrassed grimace, as if he hadn’t meant to call her that. 

That moment was enough time for John to act.

Bucky grunted and stumbled back a couple of steps as John pushed out from under him. There was no time to think, no time to act, before John strode towards Bucky and socked him straight in the nose, Bucky’s head whipping violently to the side.

(Y/N)’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She stayed anchored to her spot in front of the mirror, unable to move. There wasn’t much that she could do. Now that John had initiated a physical fight, he likely wasn’t going to stop throwing punches until either he or Bucky collapsed. And with Bucky eliminated as a threat, there would be no one standing between John and her. With that thought, she brought the knife out from behind her and clutched it to her chest like a lifeline. She watched Bucky and John with rapt attention, waiting for the fight to turn back in her direction again.

Blood began to gush from Bucky’s nostrils in a thick stream, staining his lips a wet scarlet and dribbling down his chin. But, he smiled, shaking his head slightly and chuckling darkly. 

“You’re really askin’ for it now, Walker.” 

Before (Y/N) could even blink, Bucky sprung, landing a jab and a right cross that hit John square in the chin. He grabbed John by the collar and slammed him into his knee, the pure force knocking the wind out of John’s chest with a meek groan. Bucky pushed John roughly into a table and John stumbled, causing a chair to clatter and fall, but he remained upright, leaning heavily against the table.

“You going to fight back at all?” Bucky’s goading tone took (Y/N) by surprise. Why was he egging him on?

John snorted and cracked his neck, trying to shake an encroaching sense of uncertainty from his limbs. He pushed off from the table and began a slow, circling orbit around the center of the room, sizing Bucky up with a violent, wolflike gaze, pushing the other customers flush against the wall. Bucky simply stood in place and watched, trying to anticipate John’s next move.

John stopped circling when he was directly across from (Y/N), Bucky between them. She felt John’s gaze slide from Bucky to her, his eyes languidly raking over her body, sensing out her fear. When he saw the knife in her hand, he raised an eyebrow in disapproval, shaking his head. Her heart pounded, adrenaline beginning to thrum through her veins once more. 

John widened his stance and bent his knees, assuming an athletic stance in preparation to tackle Bucky.  Bucky imitated his movement, planting his feet firmly into the floor. John inhaled deeply through his nose, once, twice, and then, he took off, running towards Bucky at full speed.

The room watched in silence, holding a collective breath. The only sound was the pounding of John’s boots against hardwood, the music paused long ago.

He hit Bucky with the force of a mack truck. It was enough to knock anyone off their feet, even someone who had fared as well as Bucky in the fight so far. John hit him so hard that they went flying, suspended in the air for a moment. For (Y/N), it felt so much longer, watching her savior struggle against the grip of his opponent in midair, uttering a quiet “Shit!” as his back slammed into the floor. And then, Bucky was still, John crouched over his immobile form, a triumphant smile plastered on his face.

(Y/N) felt her body move off its own accord, pushing away from the wall, past the safety of the bar’s counter, towards the aftermath of the fray. Her legs quivered, a hard lump rising in her throat as she pushed towards the edge of the crowd. She couldn’t see Bucky’s face, his head concealed by John’s hulking body. A shudder wracked her body, her hope waning.

It was like John could sense her presence. He looked up, his sickening grin showing glistening, too-white teeth. She flexed her fingers, adjusting her grip on the knife. John’s eyes caught the movement, sensing the glint of low light against the blade, and he smirked. He was about to rock back onto his knees, to get up and finish what he started, when Bucky’s head slammed into his.

Disoriented, (Y/N) stepped backwards, once again flush with the crowd. One moment, she had been preparing to fight, to let the blood-soaked evening devolve into even more violence. Then, the next, Bucky had suddenly reanimated, an almost superhuman force driving power into his limbs. He bucked John, still reeling from the unexpected headbutt, off of him with an aggressive, thrusting twist. John tumbled and collapsed on the floor next to Bucky, who slowly knelt, then stood, eyes on John the whole time. When John didn’t budge, splayed on the floor with a distant, vaguely dazed expression, Bucky turned his gaze to (Y/N).

The room was dead silent, save for John’s labored breathing and the sound of Bucky’s boots against the hardwood as he slowly walked towards (Y/N). The room seemed to fade around the two of them, the confused, awed, and fearful faces of the spectating patrons blurred together in an anonymous mass. It smelled of sweat and rust and spilled liquor, but she didn’t care, because Bucky was okay.

“Anyone else?” Bucky asked the rest of the room, not taking his eyes off of (Y/N), even for a moment, lest she disappear, or worse. But she didn’t, staying rooted to the same spot, eyes glistening with gratitude. And no one responded to Bucky’s challenge. 

When Bucky came to a stop a foot in front of her, the other customers began to quietly file out, afraid to utter any remarks that may provoke another altercation. John’s two cronies picked him up from the floor, hefting his arms over their shoulders and bolting for the exit, his boots dragging on the floor. (Y/N) watched them exit, watched them stuff John into the backseat of their car before they peeled out of the parking lot and took off with the screeching sound of retreating rubber.

“You know,” Bucky said, his voice soft in spite of the evening’s violent course. “You don’t have to worry about using that. You’re safe with me.” He pointed at the knife, still clutched in (Y/N)’s hands.

She looked down at the knife in her hands and then looked up at him, formulating a response, when she noticed that he had a gash on his jaw, as well as a still steadily-flowing nosebleed. The knife clattered to the floor as she reached for his hand. “You’re bleeding.” Her voice was thick with worry, regretting the fact that he had suffered for her sake.

He shook his head. “I’ve gotten worse.”

“Let me help you.” She glanced urgently around the bar, now empty save for the two of them. “I can close up and bring the first aid kit to your room. I owe you, after all of that.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” He paused for a second, considering. “But, sure. A couple of bandaids wouldn’t hurt.”

She smiled. “I’ll be there in ten.”

His brows creased together slightly, a chagrined smile curling his lips upwards. “Oh, I’m not leaving you alone just yet. We didn’t see where Walker went. He could be waiting just outside with those two other guys.”

She knew that both she and Bucky had seen them drive away, but she nodded anyways. “Alright. Just let me grab the first aid kit and my keys.”

“Deal.”

She picked the knife up from the floor and walked back to the bar, placing it gently in the sink. As Bucky walked towards the entrance, surveying the parking lot outside from the small, frosted window, she reached into the cabinet of cleaning supplies, pulling out a rusted, white box with a blaring maroon cross emblazoned on its front. She blew off the thin layer of dust that coated it and stood, grabbing her keys from the hook next to the mirror and joining Bucky at the entrance.

He turned towards her, noting the first aid kit, and grinned. “Room 102, here we come.”

She returned his smile as he opened the door, midnight air washing over them in a brisk, drafty waft. They stepped outside, engulfed in nighttime chill, and she shut the door and locked it, fumbling with the cold metal of the keys. Bucky stepped closer to her, his arm brushing against hers, his body emanating an intoxicating warmth. She welcomed his proximity, wondering if he could sense the fact that she was cold, as they walked across the parking lot to his motel room.

He pulled his key from his back pocket and slid it through the card swipe, the door unlocking with a crisp click. She was looking out at the parking lot, at the trees and darkness beyond, wondering if John and his friends were in fact lurking out there somewhere, biding their time for the right moment to strike again. He was definitely the type to hold a grudge for a night like this. If he didn’t retaliate tonight, he would soon, would let her soak in the fear for a few days and then arrive at the bar unannounced with dues to pay.

Bucky cleared his throat, and (Y/N)’s attention snapped back to him. She looked up at him, eyes wide and surprised, and found that his smile was gentle and knowing. 

“You’re safe with me. Come on, let’s get inside. It’s cold.”

When they stepped inside, they were greeted with a welcoming warmth. The door shut behind them. He walked over to the little oak nightstand next to the single queen-sized bed and turned on the bedside lamp, its bulb washing the room in a dim, glowing halo of amber. She sighed, muscles relaxing, seeming to melt into the warmth, into the comfort of being somewhere besides the bar. She placed the first aid kit on the bed and shrugged off her cardigan.

“So, doc,” Bucky teased, approaching her at the foot of the bed. “What’s the plan? How’re you going to fix me up?”

“Well,” she said, squinting as she examined his face. “We’ll have to wash all that blood off first, so I can assess the damage.”

He gestured to the bathroom with one hand. “Lead the way.”

They walked into the bathroom and he flipped the light on, its white fluorescence a stark contrast from the soft light in the other room. She grabbed a bleach-white washcloth from the shelf above the toilet and turned on the faucet, dampening the cloth under the steady stream of water. She turned off the faucet and stepped back as Bucky leaned against the sink, crossing his arms.

“This might sting,” she said quietly, stepping into the space between his legs, his stance framing hers. He simply nodded in response. She tried not to think about their sudden proximity, the fact that she was alone in a motel room with a man who had risked his own safety to protect hers, a man she had been secretly pining over for a while now. Instead, she smoothed the wet washcloth in her hands and brought it up to his face, dabbing gingerly at a stream of blood that had dried on his cheek. When she brushed against the cut on his jaw, he winced, a sharp huff of breath leaving his nose.

“Sorry,” she apologized, trying to handle the cloth with light fingers. “He really got you there.”

“Even if that’s true, part of me thinks I should thank the guy.”

(Y/N) paused. “W-what?”

“Well, he’s an absolute ass. Deserved what he got,” he chuckled. “But now, I’ve got the pretty girl who works at my favorite bar taking care of me. It was definitely worth a couple of scrapes.”

“I--” her response died in her throat, choked by the deep blush that was creeping up her neck. She paused dabbing at his face, looking at him quizzically.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, noting her creased brow and parted lips. “Too soon.”

“No-- no. It’s okay.” She shook her head and smiled, moving the washcloth to his upper lip as she wiped away the evidence of his bloody nose. I just didn’t think you felt that way, too.

After a few more minutes of tense silence, (Y/N) trying to avoid direct eye contact the whole time, lest her blush return, his face was clean. She stepped back and examined her handiwork before throwing the bloodied washcloth in the waste bin and leading Bucky back into the main room. She sat down on the bed, its springs groaning in a rusty bounce beneath her, and she opened the first aid kit, searching for a suitable bandage for his jaw. He knelt on the floor in front of her, placing his hands on the bed on either side of her, caging her in with his arms but refusing to let his touch drift any closer without permission. He watched her fingers flit indecisively between the different band-aid choices. 

Finally, she plucked one from its box, carefully unpeeling its wrapping. Bucky tilted his head slightly, allowing her easy access to the cut on his jaw, and she delicately placed the band-aid over it, careful not to press too hard against the tender skin. Her touch unconsciously lingered a moment longer, lightly caressing his face with the pads of her fingers. But after a few seconds, when she didn’t pull away, they both inhaled sharply, his face quickly growing hot. Their eyes met, and she dropped her hands to her sides, his piercing blue gaze boring into hers.

 He blinked and stood, walking over to the door and hunching down to glance at the parking lot through the peephole.

“I should get going,” (Y/N) said, voice hushed as she snapped the first aid kit shut. She stood, grabbing her cardigan, preparing to meet the cold outside and run to her permanent room. “Thank you. For everything.”

He turned away from the door. “Hold on.” His voice was grave, a stark contrast to the light, flirty turn of the evening since they had entered his room. “We still don’t know if he’s out there.”

(Y/N) bit her lip and shifted her weight, silently grateful for his hesitancy to let her be alone. “What are you suggesting?”

“You can take the bed.” He gestured to the spot on the carpet between the bed and the door. “I can take the floor.”

“A-are you sure?” 

“If I was in your position, I wouldn’t want to be alone,” he said, voice rough and quiet. “But, it’s your decision to make. I can walk you back to your room, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

She thought for a second. She agreed with Bucky’s observation that John may still be out there, lying in wait, and he had been spot-on with the remark that it would be frightening to be alone after tonight’s violence. So far, Bucky had proven himself to be good. She felt comfortable around him. He didn’t try to touch her, and he still gave her options, despite the fact that he seemed oddly protective of her. She knew that he wouldn’t hurt her, that he wouldn’t try to slip into bed next to her in the darkest hours of morning. He was a good man. He would live up to his promise and give her space, acting as a blockade between her and the outside world. For tonight, he would be the promise of warmth, of comfort, of safety.

“I think I’d be more comfortable here. With you.”

“Alright.” He offered a simple reply, walking over to her and taking the first aid kit and her cardigan from her, placing them on top of the dresser. “You’ll be safe with me,” he reassured her, bending down to look her in the eyes when he said it, uttering each word with heavy truth.

She nodded and bit her lip. When she felt her blush creeping back up her face, those stern, icy blue eyes of his fixated on her, she turned away, directing her attention towards the bed, hands smoothing over the covers. She grabbed a pillow, its blanched case stiff and rough from continual washing, and handed it to him. He smiled and took it, humming a low laugh and placing it on the floor next to the bed.

She pulled back the sheets as he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Her eyelids were suddenly heavy, her body absolutely exhausted, but grateful for a safe place to rest after the day’s peril. She felt herself lull into a hypnotic state of rest before she could even pull the covers over her body, listening to the rumble of the motel’s heater and the whoosh of cars driving past on the distant highway.

Bucky finished in the bathroom and tiptoed to the closet. He grabbed the extra blanket from the top shelf, its woolen fabric starchy and coarse, and plopped it onto the floor next to his pillow. Then, he looked down at (Y/N), curled up on the bed, already halfway into a dream. He sighed, a soft smile gracing his lips, and he reached for the blankets on the bed, pulling them up over her sedated form. She shifted under the covers, settling into their warmth, and he turned off the bedside lamp, the room submerged in a sudden, but not unwelcome, darkness.

                                                             ✧

She woke to light streaming through the gap in the curtains.

The room smelled of lavender detergent and carpet cleaner, and of something distinctly masculine and unfamiliar, the scent of mint toothpaste and rainfall. She stretched, her body grateful for a restful night as memories of the previous day trickled back in. John’s threats, Bucky’s heroism. Her shyness, her inability to tell him how she felt, despite the fact that he so clearly reciprocated those feelings he had hinted at.

She sat up in bed and looked around the room. On the floor next to her, the spare blanket was folded neatly, the pillow she had given to Bucky the previous night stacked on top of it. His duffel was gone from its perch on the dresser. Any trace of him had disappeared, save for the scent that hung in the air and the memories that clung to (Y/N)’s brain.

She sighed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing up. She had a lot of work to do today. She supposed that she should probably clean up the bar after last night’s incident, and should break open the cleaning supplies that she had left untouched for so long. She wished that she had had the chance to say goodbye to Bucky before he left, a faint sense of longing gripping her throat. But, at least the cleaning would take her mind off of that, for the time being.

As she stood, she brushed through her hair roughly with her fingers, gathering the first aid kit and her cardigan. She surveyed the room one last time, bathed in soft morning light, when a square of white on the nightstand caught her eye.

Brows furrowed with confusion, she walked over, abandoning her things on the bed. On the nightstand was a notepad, an uncapped pen sitting next to it. A brief note was scribbled on it.

Call me if he comes back. 

Or, if you need me. For anything.

-Bucky

The message was followed by a phone number.

(Y/N) ripped the note from the pad and stared at Bucky’s slanted, spiked handwriting for a moment, noting the sharp angles and rushed script of his letters.

She stuffed the note in her back pocket and smiled.

[hes-writer]

Reign (3)

Summary: harry sees something he's supposed to have

Warnings:  angst in the beginning, angst in the middle, angst near the end

Word Count: 4881 words

A/N: @devilinbetweenthesheet-s : dont cheat and don’t do drugs, kids

Tarnish (1)  .  Halo (2)  . Reign (3) . Trial (4) .

Errors (5) . Ruin (6) . Crumble (7)

Error Taglist

____

A writer that cannot write is dead.

When one loses the ability to tell their stories and anecdotes through the mere action of swirling words together to create an imaginable atmosphere of real-world fantasy; they are dead. A writer recovering from the mundane and mediocre way of penning experiences to bounce back into what they used to be is difficult. It is easier to free fall and drown in the depths of despair. The moment thoughts and rumination fog up to form a blurry image of conviction is a warning sign, blaring at the back of their minds and sometimes even in their faces.

Harry is a writer--or, he was. Picking up the pen to style the words lingering in his head used to be as easy as blinking; quick and natural. Now, the words claw at the swell of his throat, trying to spit an adjective to describe the way he felt. It was at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be lathed into existence. It did not matter if his cognition was mingled with various chemicals aimed to be able to feel happiness.

He was sober but he had trouble placing his finger on why it was so strenuous to narrate his feelings throughout the breakup. Being high or drunk was never the answer for him. Weed made him tired and made him have a case of cottonmouth. Harry learned from a young age that he should only ever engage with alcohol if he was in a mindset and setting that catered to increase existing good vibes. He thought that maybe he was in an odd phase of perceiving the opposite, and so he intoxicated himself enough to understand that it didn’t matter if he was soaked head-to-toe in sobriety or whizzed out of his mind by the amber liquid swirling in the glass in his hand. But that wasn’t the circumstance. It also didn’t matter if he was grasping his favourite pen to write--because it was comfortable--or tapping his calloused thumbs against his phone keypad. Hell, it didn’t make a difference when he sat down and prepared his typewriter to indulge in a headspace of vintage songwriting. Maybe that would help.

It didn’t.

He had stories to tell. Everything was laid out in misty overcast yet Harry’s great ideas morphed into gentle mistakes, harsh mistakes and discoveries that had him almost ripping his hair out of the roots of his scalp. When he felt the wave of his ocean-thoughts rise and peek where the sand shifted, his fingers were ready to move and discern for the eyes to see. But with each fritter, he couldn’t seem to get even two paragraphs in to decide that it was utter shit.

Harry was old enough to understand that slumping on the wet sand was a part of life. Sometimes picking up a fistful of grains and throwing them back to the sea was a great way to release frustration. But it seemed like this plunge of his ability to write was a hole of quicksand. He was trying his hardest to displace himself as swiftly as possible but it only made his scenario worse. The muddy sand clung unto his legs like sticky glue, heftier with each effort to leave. He wanted to move on. He wanted to forget everything that occurred in the past four years. Harry wanted to erase Y/N from his life because she wasn’t around anymore to bring those memories back to sparkly existence.

What he needed to do was nestle himself into a certain depth, calmly, in order to pull a limb out and ensure that his progress on the so-called ‘moving on’ did not have any drawbacks. Until then, he cannot possibly create songs that he was well-known for if he wasn’t patient enough.

He wanted so badly to tell his side of the story. Harry craved to think as clearly as he did when he told Y/N about his plan for their future. Admitting to his feelings was a hard route. Sure, he can be vulnerable but it took a great deal of convincing on his part to immerse himself in the deepest parts of his brain to understand why he felt the way he did. He usually had the means of songwriting to help him out but that obviously wasn’t working out that good for him.

___

Harry was packing the rest of Y/N’s things in boxes to be picked up later in the afternoon. He was annoyed at first at how she depended on him to fold her clothes properly instead of doing the bundle of the work herself. But he guessed that she didn’t want to be around him for longer than she had to. To be frank, he also did not want to indulge in what might turn into an argument if they spoke about the reason for their breakup. It was just a bit confusing because he had an urge to still want her around despite their less than likely situation.

Torture. If Harry had one chance to describe the way he felt right now; it was torture. With every nook of Y/N’s side of the closet emptying into brown, cardboard boxes--he physically how much she had integrated her life with his. How much space she took up in his life. How his clothes and her clothes were so interchanged between them that he couldn’t decide if the gray pull-over was actually his or hers. And in a moment of selfishness did he tuck it away for his safe-keeping despite seeing the tag imprinted on the inside; a shop that he hadn’t set foot in so it was a guarantee that it was hers.

Her scent embedded in the thin threads of each fabric wafted to his nose; each with a new wave of memories engulfing his senses as if each piece garnered a specific scent tailored to a specific event. Like her sunflower sundress--it smelled of fresh flowers as if the print was a scratch and sniff that released a fragrance. Or their DIY-ed tie-dye shirt of pastel blue and cotton candy pink. It was a matching piece made out of the cheap dye and a simple white tee but it was theirs. Things like these made Harry want to yell in frustration because every time he thought that he was completely over her-- Y/N appears out of visibly nowhere and towers over him.

Seeing her for the first time in days was a breath of relief. She looked fine. Glowing even, and Harry did not know what to make of it. As sadistic as it sounded, he was expecting dry-stained tears and a birds’ nest of hair trampling her head. Instead, Y/N was dressed for comfort in her baggy jeans and an even looser sweater covering her body. Her lips were drawn in a thin line, giving him a nod in greeting as he gestured to the boxes littering the floor.

Harry offered to help--it was the least he could do. And somehow, silence protruded from the tense atmosphere, begging to be cut by a knife yielded through their voices nipping at each others’ emotions.

“Let go of my damn hand,” Y/N stated, her hard stare could turn Harry into stone. He just wanted her to listen before she left.

He shook his head in denial of her request, tightening his grip further. “No. Listen to me, Y/N,”

“What do you possibly have to say that will change anything between us?”

And maybe it was her fault for assuming that he wanted to fix things. The sliver of hope thinly dressed behind closed lids enabled her to think that maybe he was going to say that he wanted to make things work again. That he had broken up with Camille and he realized what a stupid he had done throwing away everything they built up to for the past four years for an affair that couldn’t quench the thirst of his desire to have a family.

Harry sighed, a shadow of mischievous smirk painted on his lips. But maybe it was Y/N’s sight in deception because she could never see Harry as anything other than sweet and kind Harry incapable of hurting a fly.

“What? I don’t intend to. We’re broken. We’re beyond fixing,”

The hitch in her breath was as sharp as the stare he was searing her with. Forcing her to please understand that this would be their last conversation--if time and fate were on their side. “You’re not something I would take the time to handle,”

“Stop saying shit you don’t mean, Harry” Y/N rolled her eyes in annoyance. His macho act was barely an act and more like a stage curtain easily pushed with a flick of a wrist.

“Things I don’t mean?”

“You heard me,” She crossed her arms over his chest in defence, leaning against the closed trunk. “Say what you will but our love was real. Don’t make me seem like I’m crazy. Don’t tell me that I’m a mistake,” Her voice was filled with confidence because she knew the affection that Harry diffused.

The cradles of his palm at the small of her back when they had to walk past a crowd. The subtle graze of the back of his fingers caressing the bare skin of her arm. Kisses pressed to her temple as she read a novel and swirling fingertips twirling her hair. These were acts of love that happened nearly every day in their relationship. A routine that felt different if it wasn’t done to or with each other.

Exasperatedly, Harry felt the same itching crawling up his spine. His ego ballooning into a delicate size and one more word from Y/N’s lush lips would have him on his hands and knees, begging for her back.

“This, us, was a fuckin’ mistake,” Harry’s accent thunked heavily in her cochlea, practically spitting the words out of his mouth as if they were poisonous. Ringed fingers gesticulated the space between them to emphasize how much of a misunderstanding they truly were. “I should’ve known the second things went further than planned,”

Y/N felt her heart drop to her full stomach. The feeling so nauseating that she instinctively palmed her belly over the fabric to protect her little baby from his harsh words. Even though they weren’t directed towards anyone but Y/N. She didn’t think that their unborn child deserved scrutiny from their own father.

“You don’t mean that, Harry.”

Because how could he? Not when he emulated sincerity through his syrupy voice. Not when he spent hours loving on her tummy and spoke to it like he would if she were pregnant. Especially not when every kiss from him felt like a buzz of electricity coursing through her veins because he was the main distributor of her happiness.

Harry truly was an asshole for making her hope and wonder of what the future held when he was unsure himself. He did want a family. That was a statement in all its truthfulness. What he wasn’t sure about was if he wanted a family with Y/N. He could have a family; kids of his own in his own time. But Y/N didn’t have to necessarily be the mother. So was he besotted with the concept of family and marriage regardless of who it was with?

“But I do,”

The rain started drizzling in frequent spurts, planting a fat droplet on her cheek that could be argued as a tear escaping Y/N’s eye. It hurt a lot to hear that from him. The man of her dreams blatantly denying each sugary word because his plans had changed.

“You’re a goddamn mistake is what you are,’

“Why are you. . .saying all these things to me? Are you trying to hurt me?” The shakiness of Y/N’s tone had Harry swallowing his words down his strep throat.

He shook his head in disagreement, “No, I’m not. ‘M just tryna make you see my side. So you can understand,” His head dipped to the side, softening his tone yet stern as though he was speaking to a child.

And that was one of the reasons why Y/N didn’t believe his all-too stoic demeanour about her. Harry was great at making others see his side regardless of how much in the wrong he was.

So why was he struggling?

___

Needless to say, he wasn’t very respectful towards Y/N any other time afterwards. He had unblocked her number months after blocking it at one point and demanded answers that he didn’t have the right to know. In retrospect, Harry was embarrassed by the way he acted. He did cheat on her and suddenly he was a saint because she moved on quicker than he thought she would? Unbelievable.

In his defence, the night he became the drunk caller was the same night he fought with Camille about having children; having a family they can call their own. Ever since that discussion did Harry notice a dispatch in their relationship. It was like they were aware of a missing link that had disappeared in their connection, but neither one of them wanted to be the one to bring it up. Harry supposed that now that Camille knew what he wanted (and vice versa)--she was feeling the pressure of giving in to him. Don’t get him wrong, Harry absolutely wanted a family and he thought that Camille was the right partner to build it with. However, he couldn’t help the voice at the back of his mind slyly whispering that he had forced her to give him what he wanted for the sake of saving their failing relationship.

___

It had been two and a half years since he mildly and miserably accepted that his dream family was being erased like a pencil on paper.

The first year; Harry still clung to the obscure hope that Camille might change her mind of having kids. Many fights sprouted between the two of them concluding in them sleeping at different places for weeks on end until they eventually crawled back to each other like an invisible string. The second-year; Harry brought up the idea of adoption. It was a hard choice for him as he desperately wanted kids of his own. A boy that looked like him and his love or a little girl that smiled at him with deep dimples mirroring his own.

And Harry liked to think that he was just on the edge of convincing Camille to consider the option when his tour was scheduled a few months after. A new dealbreaker was that Harry wasn’t going to be around much to watch and nurture the little bub they might’ve adopted. It was a sudden intrusion to think about since Harry was good with kids. He knew that. That was why he had three godchildren of his own. But what hit him the most was how sure Camille sounded when she yelled at him about leaving for months at a time and returning for a bit, only to leave again. Now, Harry hadn’t considered that part. But surely he will be ready to choose between a family and his career, right? When the time comes, he thought.

___

It pained Harry to admit that his relationship with Camille was dwindling down the drain. The knowledge that there was no future--the one that Harry envisioned--for them was getting more and more real each passing day. 

A late-night grocery trip was one of the many examples that had Harry rethinking his actions for the past couple of years. It was the time period where night owls arose and barely any customers littered the aisles. Still, Harry made sure to keep his hoodie up to shield his face.

Camille had an early flight to Milan in just a few hours later that day and she wanted to purchase some things to bring with her; in case they weren’t available in the country. So here they were at three in the morning.

As Camille walked ahead of him in her sweatpants and a plain tee, Harry couldn’t help but let his eyes flicker to the clothing section to his right The first-floor space was decorated with pastel blues and pinks; a stroller was displayed with a price would not make a dent in Harry’s bank account.

“‘M just gonna grab somethin’ over here, Cam,” Harry muttered as he pointed a thumb behind him. She nodded, “Meet me at the produce? Need to get you some fruits,”

Harry felt guilt thudding his chest because although he was losing feelings he thought were written in stone, Camille appeared to care for him the same way she always had.

He walked to the brightly lit area, puffing his cheek as a cute onesie caught his eye, “You’re so golden” with the word ‘golden’ printed in a shiny, yellow glimmer. He smiled at the thought of baby angel cooing at him as he tickled her tummy. Harry passed by the shoes next, picking up a pair barely the size of his palm. His mind flashed back to a conversation with Y/N years ago,

___

“I’m just saying,” Y/N took a bite of a pickle she held on her left hand, “Baby shoes have no business being that expensive,”

Harry chuckled from his place across the counter, “Babies need shoes too, love,’

She grabbed her fork and stabbed a piece of strawberry from her bowl, “I didn’t say the don’t need shoes. For tiny things, they could at least be a bit cheaper,”

Harry watched as she munched on a pickle on her left and took a bite of a strawberry on the other. His tongue poked out in a gag at the odd combination, resorting in glare and a huff from Y/N.

“You should try it instead of judging me,’

“No, thank you. Watching you eat it is enough for me,’

___

Harry craned his head at each aisle, hoping to find Camille and to distract himself from the endless Y/N related thoughts that somehow returned to his brain. He needed his girlfriend to remind him that he cannot just knock on Y/N’s door and ask her about the baby she has. If he could hold them for a bit because his baby fever was through the roof.

Locating the produce section, Harry whistled mindlessly as he searched for a blonde head of hair, failing to notice that there was a basket in front of his feet. He had kicked it, jolting him out of his thoughts in a hurry.

A man with brown hair sporting an outfit similar to his (sweats and a hoodie), chuckled at him as Harry leaned down to retrieve the gray basket filled with a jar of pickles.

“Sorry man,” Harry muttered, holding the handles up for the man to carry.

“It’s alright, it happens,” The guy had not seen his face yet, too busy inspecting the carton of strawberries.

He decided to continue the conversation, “Strawberries and pickles? Odd combo, huh,” Harry was briefly reminded of Y/N’s obsession with the two rival products.

“Yeah, m’lady loves ‘em. Had a craving in the middle of the night. She’s in the car right now with our lil bubba,”

Harry’s heart fluttered at the mention of a baby. He needed to get his rails in check. He cannot keep having his heart bursting with adoration at the mere mention of a baby.

“I’m Connor,” He said, finally facing Harry after choosing the best carton.

“I'm--,”

“Harry!” Both men turned their heads towards Camille carrying a basket full fruits and green veggies, “Got you some stuff to blend for your smoothies,”

Connor squinted his eyes at the couple and Harry internally screamed because he knew that he and Camille had been recognized. “Harry. Yeah, I know you,” The sudden hostility made Harry confused as Connor grasped his basket from him in a harsh manner, heading towards the checkout.

The rest of the time inside the store was filled with curiosities as Harry carried the paper bags towards the car, barely recognizing Connor’s figure heading towards his own vehicle. Luckily, Harry has parked only a few slots away and could inconspicuously watch Connor and his so-called ‘lady’.

Except, Camille was ushering him to hurry up as she still had a few things to pack at home.

___

On most days, Harry was used to waking up alone. Used to feeling the shiver crawling up his side, used to seeing the indent left by Camille’s body instead of her. He had grown familiar with the sudden cast of loneliness blanketing him thicker than the duvet on top of his body.

The early morning trip to the store had tired him out, paired with the overthinking of the man named ‘Connor’ that flipped his attitude towards him quicker than he could kick the grey basket with his feet. He flopped back to the mattress after washing his face and brushing his teeth. It was noon when he jolted out of bed again at the sound of his front door opening, voices filling the empty space that had Harry running towards the foyer in case there was an intruder.

His tense shoulders sagged in relief when he caught sight of his mum and Gemma, “Oh, s’just you guys,”

Both women looked up at him at the top of the stairs, “You forgot we were coming over for the weekend, didn’t you?” Gemma teased as she headed to the living room. Harry followed, walking down the stairs.

He scratched the nape of his neck nervously, “No. . . “

“Can you help me reach this, H?” Anne called out from the kitchen.

His mum gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, “Yes, you did, by the way. Slept through the whole morning. Good thing Camille let us in before she left,”

At the sound of a bag crumpling and squeals echoing the hollow house, Harry scrunched his nose in curiosity, briskly walking where Gemm was currently holding up tiny baby clothes in front of her. “Who’s that for?” He thought of any possible friends that had had a baby recently but couldn’t recall any.

She immediately stuffed the clothing into the bag, nervously placing a hand on her chest, “Gosh, Harry, you scared me,” Her brows went high on her forehead in alarm, sharing a look with her mum trailing behind Harry.

“Well? Did I miss something?”

“Oh, it’s for one of my friends,”

Harry contemplated on his next words, “D-did you know that Y/N had a baby?” It couldn’t be right if his sister and mum knew about his exes baby and not him, right? That’s just plain odd to still be in touch with an ex's family. His brows furrowed in suspicion as both of them declined his question.

“What? Nooo,”

Awkward silence filtered through the air as Anne sipped water from her mug and Harry was slowly putting the pieces together. Gemme dove to the centre of the couch where her phone was when it rang suddenly, surprising all three of them. Harry was quicker, eyeing his mum and sister and inspecting the emoji substituting as a name before sliding his thumb to answer it.

"Hey, Gems! Are you coming to the park? We're waiting for you,”

Harry felt his heart drop to his stomach just as the phone nearly slipped from his clutch. That voice. He could recognize it from everywhere having spent nearly every morning for the four years that they were together hearing it lulling him out of sleep. It was Y/N’s voice calling his sister who was looking extremely anxious.

He tapped on the ‘mute’ button, “What does she mean ‘we’?”

“Nothing! Give me my phone back,” Gemma tried to reach for the device but Harry held it high beyond her reach.

“I saw the picture you sent me. I told you that you and Anne didn’t have to get me anything,” Harry felt dizzy. “Connor and I got some things a few weeks ago. But that skirt is so adorable!”

One part of him was glad to hear her voice. In fact, Harry found himself smiling too, despite what he just heard. Connor. “Harry, won’t be there right? Hello? Have I been talking to myself this whole time,” Y/N laughed a little; she had a habit of talking endlessly when she was excited. It made Harry more sombre, letting his guards down and his arm in reach for Gemma to grasp.

“Hey! I'm just organizing the clothes, see you soon!" Gemma jammed her finger on the red end call, anxiously glancing at her brother, piecing everything together.

“Who's Connor?" Could it be that the Connor he met last night was the same as Y/N’s? The one who bought pickles and strawberries--one of Y/N favourite food combinations? He mentioned that he had a little girl and Y/N just called to meet his sister and his mum at the park. And baby clothes?

Anne and Gemma looked at each other, quickly deciding that for the benefit of Harry that they should tell him at least a little bit. He was looking as if he was going insane, especially with his bed head pointing his hair out in different directions.

“He’s Y/N’s partner”

Harry gulped, reeling his thoughts to a halt, “Partner? And the baby is...?” The last bit of confirmation was all he needed to lash his feelings out.

“Is... waiting for us at the park! Sorry H gotta go,” Gemma was swift enough to gather all the bags without having Harry chase after her. His state of confusion and shock was enough to render him partially speechless and immobile.

“Hey wait!”

Anne garnered his attention, “Oh, Mrs. Q from next door wants me over for dinner. I’m sure wants to see us both. Why don’t you get ready, Harry?” Anne tugged his arm in the direction of the staircase pushing him to stumble up a couple of steps.

Harry was confused. He made the sounds of his footsteps creeping up the wooden stairs, hearing his mum quietly talking to Gemma on the phone, “Elmsway Park, you said? How long till you're home? I’m not sure how long I can keep him occupied,”

With that being said, Harry was out of his house, silently unlocking and locking the door. He was dressed in some basketball shorts and a graphic tee, slipping on the first pair of sneakers he had tossed aside. Harry jogged to his car, typing in the name of the park on his phones’ GPS. The route was only a few minutes away so he decided to take his time, gathering his scattered thoughts along the way.

He parked just beside the playground scouting the trees around the premises. Harry decided that it was the perfect day. The sun was out. It wasn’t too humid and the birds were chirping on the branches. He could see why the playground was full of children running around in delight. The green patches of grass were partially filled with picnic blankets and food to be shared. Families laughed with each other as one in particular caught his eye.

It made him smile at first, seeing just how adorable the couple was with their baby. He exited the car, making sure to lock the vehicle. With his hands jammed deep in the pockets of his shorts, Harry could feel the tethered grass rubbing against his legs. As he got closer, he couldn’t help the twinge of familiarity spark in his chest, recognizing that what he was staring at was Connor playfully chasing a little girl of about two-years-old as she squealed at how close he was getting to tagging her.

Harry stood by a tree, shielding him away from view. He tried to appear invisible without seeming too creepy. He knew that it was only a matter of seconds before his eyes found the woman he had been missing, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Connor picked up the little girl in his arms, dotting pecks all over the girls’ cheeks, causing her to giggle and push his face away with a tiny palm. And there she was standing outside the raised platform of the playground, coming up to the both of them with a juice box in hand to hydrate the little angel. Connor turned his attention to Y/N, planting the most adoring kiss on her lips that made her smile so wide and the baby cover her eyes. They laughed together, looking like a picture-perfect family.

Gemma sat on the bench, flickering her gaze to the precious family in front of her and to the figure of her brother walking away from the scene. Her heart broke for Harry, and it cracked, even more, when he turned back. This time, watching Connor and Y/N cheer on baby angel to go down the slide. Both of them clapped their hands in enthusiasm as the girl hesitantly slid down the plastic slide. The smile on her face was infectious.

It almost made Harry smile, too.

___

Let us know what you thought!

Trial aka pt 4 is already up on Patreon! (link in bio)

___

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[roman-writing]

no great revelation (7/8)

Fandom(s): The Haunting of Bly Manor / Star Wars

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor

Rating: M

Wordcount: 6,244

Summary: Jamie  just wants to enjoy a drink after a hard day’s work on the Telosian  Restoration Project. The last thing she needs is to get herself  caught  up in a mysterious woman with a lightsabre at the local bar.

Aurthor’s notes: Please note the rating change

read it below or read it here on AO3

VII.

—

Jamie swiped up on the tablet to throw the video to the feed at the centre of the table.

"Rebecca, this is everyone," Jamie said. "Everyone, this is Rebecca."

"I thought that maybe you'd been making up your Jedi friends this whole time. Nice to see I was wrong about that." Rebecca gave a little wave. "Hi, Dani. How's the ghost?"

Dani sank down a little in her seat, and her answering smile was more of a grimace. "Hi. Sorry," she mumbled.

"Yeah, about that," said Jamie. “Back on Quint’s ship, you said you knew what was happening at House Thul.”

“Oh? Finally ready to listen to me, are you?”

“Don’t push me,” Jamie growled, jabbing the tip of her finger at Rebecca’s face on the screen. “Remember. Galaxy’s Biggest Favour.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. She had taken the call with her back to a wall, so it was impossible to glean her surroundings. "The Empire wants a foothold on Alderaan. It's a strategic location in the Core Worlds. They have been working over Lord Wingrave after the death of his brother and sister-in-law, helping him fabricate claims to the House, claims to his niece and nephew, claims to a position in the Republic Senate. You know the drill. Traditional blackmail."

"What else?" Jamie pressed.

For a moment Rebecca glanced over the top of the camera as if looking at something else out of frame, but then her attention returned back to the screen. "The children are Force Sensitives. The Sith have been helping Lord Wingrave keep that under wraps, so that The Order wouldn't take them away to the Temple for training. My sources tell me that the plan was for a Sith Lord to create sleeper agents out of the children through the use of some ancient Sith device containing a ghost."

"Which Sith?" Hannah asked.

"I'm not in the business of keeping tabs on Sith Lords. By the way," Rebecca pointed through the screen at Hannah. "How have you found shaving your head? Because I've been thinking of cutting my hair back, but I’m not sure about going all the way."

Running a hand along her shaved scalp, Hannah said, "There's nothing quite so freeing."

"Good to know. Thanks.” 

"Oi," Jamie snapped her fingers. "Focus. The Sith Lord."

"What else is there to say?" Rebecca replied dryly. "They're a Sith Lord. They're scary. They're dangerous. They're not to be fucked with. Your Jedi friends probably know the drill better than me."

"I hope not," Owen said under his breath as he took a sip of tea.

Hannah sat up a little straighter, hands clasped neatly on the table before her. "Do we know where they are? Where they're going, perhaps? Any information you give us may be vital."

Leaning her back against the wall behind her, Rebecca pursed her lips in thought before answering with a shake of her head. "I know they want the children, and I know they want the holocron. So - Alderaan."

"But the holocron isn't on Alderaan," Dani pointed out.

"They don't know that," said Rebecca. "Peter lied to buy himself time, and told them it was still in the estate of House Thul."

"But -" Dani frowned. "House Thul has its own militia of guardsmen. I know Sith are powerful but the Empire would need to send troops if they wanted to break in and hold ground."

"Then I guess the Sith Lord will be invading with troops as well."

Sighing deeply, Jamie lowered her face to her hands, letting her fingers scrub through her hair. Then she looked up again, hands hooked behind her neck. "Right. Guess we're off to Alderaan, then."

Rebecca laughed. When nobody else joined in, she stopped. "Wait. You're serious? Did you not just hear me say 'Most likely a Sith Lord is going to invade House Thul?' As in — with a shock legion. As in over a thousand soldiers led by a malevolent Force User, who can and would probably kill a room with a snap of their fingers?” 

Lowering her hands, Jamie said, "Yeah, you - uh - you mentioned that. Good thing you'll be right there with us."

"You have got to be joking."

Jamie said nothing. Just gave Rebecca a long look.

"Jamie," said Rebecca, her expression horrified, "You can't be serious. When I said 'favour' I didn't mean 'suicide.'"

"We can’t let them have those kids. Trying to mobilise Republic troops or The Order without enough evidence is a fuckin’ waste of time. We need to get into the estate of House Thul," Jamie gestured around to everyone at the table. "You're a smuggler. So, smuggle us in."

Rebecca pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alderaan is Republic territory. Why do you need me to smuggle you onto the planet, when you can just fly and land there yourself?"

"Because of her." Jamie gestured towards Dani, who looked both startled at being mentioned and guilty. "I don't want Pasha and his Troopers linking Dani to this in any way. They can't know she returned to House Thul. She has to come out of this squeaky clean."

Groaning, Rebecca said, "Fine. When do you want to go?"

"As soon as possible," said Owen.

"I'm -" Rebecca looked over the top of the camera again, craning her neck slightly. "Thirty two hours from Alderaan through hyperspace. Meet me in orbit around the planet. How's the ship I gave you?"

"Rude," Jamie said blandly. "It keeps insulting me."

A smile tugged at the corner of Rebecca's mouth and she began tapping at the buttons below her screen. "That sounds like Jane."

Jamie's face screwed up. "Jane? It has a name?"

"It's a JN class droid uploaded into the ship’s mainframe. It likes being called Jane. Didn't you ask it?"

"No?"

"Well, no wonder it's rude to you. By the way, I’ve just dropped you those pictures of my godson that you asked for last time. They should be appearing on your device now.” Rebecca waved with a little flutter of her fingers. “See you in thirty two hours.”

The video feed winked out. 

"I rather like that young woman," Hannah said.

“Get in line,” Jamie grumbled. 

The video had been replaced by a file icon. Jamie clicked it and brought up the first photo of Rebecca carrying a blue-skinned Twi’lek child on her back, both wearing big beaming smiles. 

“Oh, they’re adorable,” Owen sighed. 

Fuming, Jamie flicked to the next photo, which was equally adorable. “Fuck. Okay. Yeah. They are.”

—

After cleaning up in the dining room and kitchen, Hannah gently nudged Jamie's arm and indicated she should follow her. Jamie glanced over at Dani, but she was engaged in a lively conversation with Owen while they dried dishes together. Dani's smile had lost its tentative edge the longer Owen spoke to her, but there was still a tenseness to the way she held her shoulders, the same tenseness that had been present back in Ho'kyn's bar on Telos IV, as though she were afraid someone would batter down the door at any moment.

Jamie followed Hannah, who led her up a set of stairs to a mezzanine floor where the walls were floor to ceiling scrolls and books and objects of cultural curiosity.

"Find anything new?" Jamie asked. She leaned back against the railing of the mezzanine which overlooked the lounge below.

Hannah plucked a tome from its shelf, dusted it off, and opened it to a page that had already been marked with a length of ribbon. "Yes and no. Nothing helpful, anyway."

She came to stand beside Jamie so that she might also look at the book. Jamie peered at it from the corner of her eye, not recognising the script around the drawing of a grey-skinned woman in dark red robes with a deep cowl.

"That a Sith?" Jamie asked.

Hannah hummed a curious note. "A Witch of Dathomir. Dark-aligned, for the most part, but not Imperial. They're the only practitioners of possession I've been able to find record of at all. I believe The Lady might have been an early precursor. Or perhaps they developed similar techniques independently."

Jamie stood straighter, hands tightening around the railing. "Wait, so - you can reverse it?"

Hannah snapped the book shut. "No. Though a visit to Dathomir might be in order, should we survive. However, if you chose to go, I won't be accompanying you. They dislike Jedi as much as they dislike Sith."

"Good thing I'm not a Jedi."

"I doubt they'll see the difference," Hannah said, and she tucked the book beneath one arm. "Failing that, the only other people who might know anything about this ghost are the Sith themselves."

Jamie scoffed, smiling. "Right. I'll just sail into their capital on Dromund Kaas and ask for help, then. Great advice."

A flick of the Force against Jamie's ear made her wince.

"Don't be cheeky," said Hannah.

Rubbing at her ear, Jamie opened her mouth to retort but stopped. Beneath them Dani and Owen walked into the lounge, still talking. Dani moved her hands when she spoke, and Owen watched her with a fond if guarded smile.

"I am afraid for her," Hannah murmured so that they would not be overheard.

Jamie nodded. "Yeah."

"For someone like our lovely Miss Clayton, the Dark Side is not a lure so much as it is a glue trap," Hannah mused aloud. "It has a gravity of its own, the darkness. And once there, it becomes more and more difficult to claw your way free. Even if you want to. Even if you know you should, but can’t bring yourself to try. Fear is her failing. And fear is the relinquishment of logic."

Jamie glanced at Hannah. "Can you teach her when this is all over? You're the best of the best in The Order when it comes to balance in the Force."

Without looking at Jamie, Hannah lightly smacked her arm, just a dismissive tap with the back of one hand. "Don't try your flattery on me. I've known you too long for that nonsense."

"That nonsense," said Jamie, "has gotten me out of more sticky situations than you know."

"But it won't get Miss Clayton out of this one."

Muttering a curse under her breath, Jamie sank down a bit, gripping the railing as she did so until she stood bent over and leaning against it. "Don't you start, too. I had Owen in my ear last night about it."

"Good man," Hannah murmured appreciatively.

"Bloody hypocrites. The both of you."

"You can't solve everything with your curmudgeonly charm," said Hannah.

"I fuckin' can."

"Sometimes," Hannah turned, leaning her back against the railing, arms crossed over the book gripped loosely to her chest, "a helping hand can only do so much. A person needs to want to help themself."

Jamie scowled. "So, what? If we can't help her we just ship her off to the Empire? 'Here, have a new Sith apprentice?' You haven't even given her a chance, and you two are already lecturing me on how I need to let go." She shook her head with a bitter chuckle. "Unbelievable."

And of course Hannah remained infuriatingly unflappable, her voice calm when she replied, "I will do everything I can, as I know Owen will, too. But — even should we survive this ordeal — our time with her will be limited. She will not be safe on Tython, where some overzealous Knight will surely sense her presence and jump to conclusions."

Jamie's mouth went dry. She swallowed. "Then where am I supposed to take her for training?"

Hannah smiled and placed a warm hand on Jamie's forearm. "Wherever you want, dear. So long as you're there."

Face screwing up in confusion, Jamie straightened. "But you just - You were just telling me how I needed to keep my distance and all that shite."

"Was I?" Hannah murmured, and she let go of Jamie's arm to instead toy at a gold earring. "I don't recall saying that at all."

And with that she crossed back over to place the book on its shelf.

"What do you mean? Hannah?" said Jamie, turning around.

Humming to herself as if she hadn't heard, Hannah drifted off down the stairs.

"Hannah," Jamie repeated, louder this time.

"We really must pack, Owen," said Hannah, ignoring Jamie completely.

Hitting her fist against the railing, Jamie turned back around to glower down at Hannah, who appeared on the floor below. Hannah urged Owen down a hallway with instructions to pack for the trip, leaving Dani standing in the middle of the lounge, alone. Dani looked up, and Jamie's fist loosened.

The last time Jamie had seen her from this angle, Dani had been in the full thrall of The Lady back on the luxury cruiser, her red-gold gaze piercing through a camera in the ceiling. Now, Dani blinked up at her with none of that cold malice to be found. She opened her mouth to say something, but then Hannah's voice called down the hallway.

"Miss Clayton, what's the weather like at House Thul?"

Dani turned and began walking towards the sound, already answering Hannah's question, and leaving Jamie staring after her from the mezzanine floor, lost.

—

The gangway automatically lowered to the ground when Jamie got within a certain distance from the luxury cruiser still docked where they had left it.

"Good afternoon, Bollocks," said the cultured male baritone of the ship's computer. "You've brought guests."

Beside her, Owen mouthed the word 'bollocks?' at Hannah, who looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh.

Jamie rolled her eyes and shooed the two of them up the gangway, trailed by Dani. "I have, yeah. Anything interesting happen while we were away, Jane?"

There followed a pause that was slightly too long for a droid of this calibre, and then the ship's computer replied, "Nothing of note. I did not tell you to call me that."

"Oh? Don't like it? Should I call you bawbag instead?"

Another pause, this one affronted. "Jane," said the ship's computer, "is perfectly serviceable."

"Glad to hear it, mate," Jamie drawled and stepped into the ship proper.

As Dani stepped up behind her, the ship's computer said, "And a good day to you, too, Miss Clayton. You're looking very alive today."

"Uh -" said Dani, and she ducked her head sheepishly. "Thanks."

The gangway lifted and sealed behind them once everyone had entered the main atrium, where the ship’s computer had already sent out a small service droid on trundlers bearing glasses of some kind of pale carbonated alcohol. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Owen murmured, picking up a glass and taking a sip. He made an appreciative noise. 

“Where would we like to go?” the ship’s computer asked.

Jamie waved the service droid away when it tried to press an insistent drink into her hand. “No, thanks. Jane, calculate a route to Alderaan. We need to meet someone in orbit around the planet in thirty two hours.”

“Route calculated,” the ship’s computer replied almost immediately. “The journey is only expected to take twenty one hours through hyperspace. I will chart a circuitous route so that we arrive on time. If it would please you, you may make your way to the dining lounge. I have prepared a light lunch before we depart.” 

Frowning, Jamie looked up at the ceiling. “How the hell did you even know we were coming?”

“I have access to the station’s security cameras and systems.”

That gave everyone pause. Owen froze in the act of draining his glass, while Hannah and Dani shared looks. 

“You hacked the station’s security system?” Jamie said.

“Negative, Bollocks,” said the ship’s computer. “I asked the mainframe for access very nicely.” 

“Are you lying?” Jamie turned to Hannah and Dani. “Can droids lie?”

The ship’s computer did not answer. Which wasn’t concerning. Not at all. Owen suddenly looked a bit queasy, and he gingerly lowered his near empty glass back onto the tray held out by the service droid. 

“You need not fear for the condition of food and drink aboard this vessel,” said the ship’s computer. “I am programmed to care for and protect any legitimate member of this crew as designated by the Captain and owner.” 

Jamie pointed jokingly at Owen and said, “Better watch yourself, then.”

Placing a hand over his chest, Owen pretended to look insulted, then followed Jamie further into the ship towards the dining lounge. 

“May I ask,” started the ship’s computer, “what are we going to be doing on Alderaan?’

Jamie dragged her hand along one of the polished white walls as she walked. “Getting in over our heads.”

“Please clarify.”

“We’re going to have a fight. Why?” Jamie asked dryly. “Do you also happen to have ion cannons strapped to your shiny exterior?”

“Negative. But I do come equipped with some accessories the crew might find useful in the event of a boarding attempt.”

One of the panels beneath Jamie’s hand pressed inwards, and a whole section of the wall peeled back to reveal racks upon racks of blaster pistols, blaster rifles, grenades, vibroweapons with wickedly curved blades some small enough to strap to the leg, others long enough to be wielded with two hands. Everything that would make a Republic Trooper get all hot and bothered.   

All four of them stopped in their tracks and stared. 

“Definitely an ex-Czerka ship,” Hannah muttered under her breath.

Hand on the hilt of the lightsabre at her hip, Dani said, “I think I’ll stick with this. I’d be more likely to shoot my own foot.”

“Likewise,” said Owen. 

Meanwhile Jamie reached out and hefted a blaster pistol. She turned it over in her hands for closer inspection, careful not to graze anyone with the barrel, but all defining marks or serial numbers had been either scrubbed off or hadn’t made it far enough in manufacturing to be stamped in the first place. With a shrug, she took one of the holsters and belted it around her waist. 

Owen gave her a look. “Really?” 

“What?” Jamie holstered the blaster pistol and waved at the other three. “You all have lightsabres, and we’re going up against who only knows what. Am I supposed to just hide behind a pillar while you lot do all the fun stuff?” 

Before they could answer, the ship’s computer chimed and said from its hidden speakers in the ceiling. “Not to interrupt,” said Jane, “but the tea is getting cold.”

Immediately Owen’s eyes brightened. “Oh, tea?” 

It was in fact high tea. Three tiered platters. Fine bone china. Petit fours. The whole lot. They amused themselves in the various lounges and quarters of the ship for hours before departure, at which point the ship’s computer insisted upon harnesses being secured. The jump to hyperspace left Jamie feeling on edge, as though she had left her stomach behind on Tython. And she couldn’t have been the only one. Their talk had been too forced, their laughter too loud, Owen and Jamie swapping stories to the delight of Dani and Hannah, who would chime in every now and then. And when Jane rolled out a more formal dinner, it felt like some kind of last meal before execution at dawn by firing squad. 

Jamie couldn’t find it in herself to enjoy the meal. Every bite tasted like ash. The ship’s computer on the other hand seemed thrilled that its crew was finally taking part in its carefully scheduled meals and activities. More than once Jamie thought she heard a low-pitched contented hum from the belly of the ship. Or perhaps that was simply the engine room. 

Eventually, Jamie made her excuses and left the others to their own devices. Jamie walked into the same bedroom she had taken during the initial trip on this vessel. First one on the left from the main lounge. There were at least four other rooms of generally equal size and accommodation on the ship; Jamie had simply picked this one because it was closest to the helm, easy to access and nothing more. 

Jamie sighed and stopped in the middle of the room. She unslung the holster and pistol, dropping it to the ground, then began to unbutton the crisp white shirt she had stolen from the medbay. Back on Tython, Hannah had offered her a spare set of robes, which she’d declined. Jamie hadn’t worn robes since she was a padawan, and after years of boilersuits and undershirts, she wasn’t about to start again any time soon, thanks. Even if it meant dumb slacks and collared shirts made of some anti-wrinkle fabric that cost more than her apartment back on Telos IV. 

She just needed to make it one more day. Just one more day. The last few weeks had shaved off a good few years from her life. Probably. And by this time tomorrow this whole ordeal would be over, alive or dead. Probably. 

There was a knock at the door. With a frown, Jamie turned, hands paused in the act of unbuttoning the shirt halfway down her stomach. “Yeah?” 

The door hissed open and shut again behind Dani as she stepped into the room. “Hi.”

Jamie blinked. “Hey.” 

For a long moment Dani did and said nothing. Her mismatched gaze flicked down to the narrow v of skin and the dogtags revealed by the open shirt, only to dart quickly away again, studying the bedside table with a fixed intensity it did not deserve. 

“Sorry,” said Dani. “I just - It's been a few days since we’d really spoken, and I wanted to check in.”

Jamie nodded. “Ah - yeah. I’m good. Are you -?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.” 

Another lengthy pause.

Dani gestured to the door behind her. “Hannah and Owen are very nice.” 

“They are, yeah. Good people. Trust ‘em with my life, and I don’t say that lightly.” Jamie tried to smile, to make light, but Dani had turned that wide-eyed fixed intensity upon her now. It was difficult not to squirm in place when Dani looked at her like that.

Dani took an abortive step forward, only to stop herself before she could venture too close. “Are we okay? It’s just - on Tython you seemed to want your own space, and I thought -” She paused to clear her throat, glancing briefly down at her feet. “Did I mess this up or -? I mean - I know I’m not the best option for anyone, and you deserve someone nice, someone who’s not completely messed up or possessed by an ancient Sith ghost or something. But I -” she paused to close her eyes and draw in a deep breath. “I really like you. And if you don’t want anything to do with me after this is all over, I would completely understand, but I -”

Jamie tried. She really did. But the next thing she knew, she had taken a step forward and pulled Dani in for a kiss. Dani made a small noise of surprise in the back of her throat that Jamie chased after, feeling her respond in kind, feeling the Force welling up beneath Dani’s skin like a hand reaching out in offering. 

“Do you think -” Jamie said, pulling away just enough to speak, “- that I did all this because I don’t like you?”

Dani gave a breathless little laugh, her hands cupping Jamie’s jaw then sliding to cradle the back of her head. “I thought you did it because you’re good and noble and you’re drawn to a lost cause.”

“Can be lots of things, can’t I?”

They were close enough that Jamie could feel the pull of Dani’s smile against her own lips, their noses brushing. 

“I know you like your life to be boring. So, I was thinking," said Dani, "how nice Corsin must be at this time of year. Just a getaway planet in the middle of nowhere. No Sith. No Jedi. That could be boring, couldn't it?"

Jamie swayed forward, eyes half lidded, and murmured, "Could be awfully boring."

Hannah and Owen be damned. The little voice in the back of her head telling her this was a bad idea be damned. Dani was kissing her again and every thought flew right out of her head until there was nothing but this. Nothing but today, this moment, the call of blood in her veins, life as it was and nothing else. 

There was not push towards the bed, no drive to action beyond this. Still Jamie paused, one hand remaining anchored at Dani’s waist.

“You can still go alone,” Jamie said, “if you want. Doesn’t have to be with me.”

Even as she said it, Jamie dreaded the answer. Knowing Dani’s predilection towards shrinking away from things that were too difficult to face alone. Knowing her own history of always being the odd one out, passed from place to place, from Corps to Corps, unfettered, unwanted. 

Dani’s hand tightened in her hair, holding her close. “Want it to be with you.”

Want this, Jamie thought as Dani kissed her again. Want this, too.

Removing Dani’s cloak and tossing it onto the floor beside the blaster pistol had never felt so easy. Kissing her, unhooking the lightsabre and setting it onto the table had never felt so easy. Unzipping Dani’s vest while Dani finished unbuttoning what Jamie had started had never felt so easy. Being with someone else had never felt so easy. 

Jamie’s shirt was discarded onto the ground beside the bed just as Jamie sank to her knees there. Dani’s hair was mussed, her mouth parted, her eyes fixed and unblinking as Jamie began to slowly drag down the zipper of her trousers. She toyed with the chain of Jamie’s dogtags, winding it around her fingers at the back of Jamie’s neck. 

When Jamie began to tug down the material, Dani sat on the edge of the mattress so her pants could be peeled off and placed aside. Jamie leaned forward and stroked her tongue along the soft skin of Dani’s inner thigh, feeling a hand grip her hair when she bit down gently, and making a low dark sound in the back of her throat. 

Already Dani was moving her hips in small motions and Jamie hadn’t even started yet. Jamie laughed softly.

“What?” Dani breathed.

Jamie shook her head, but the movement was restricted somewhat by the tight grip Dani had on her hair. “Nothing,” she murmured and bowed forward to place her open mouth against slick wet and wanting heat.

Wanting nothing but this. The spread of Dani’s legs on either side of Jamie’s head. The taste of her when Jamie swiped her tongue in long slow strokes. The sound of her name gasped in Dani’s voice. The ache between her own legs as Dani rocked her hips to the rhythm Jamie set with a barely restrained urgency. 

Where last time had been fast and hard, Jamie did the opposite now. She traced Dani with the tip of her tongue as if trying to map her to memory, finding the best reactions and storing them away for later, for a time again with her that may never come. One of Dani’s heels came up to press into the small of Jamie’s back, and Jamie could feel the way the muscle of Dani’s inner thigh trembled against the side of her face. The same way her fingers trembled as they combed back Jamie’s hair. 

Want this, Jamie thought as Dani’s groan ended on a broken noise, as Dani’s hips arched up to press more firmly against her mouth while Jamie offered only a gentle suction. Want her. Want us. 

Dani hauled Jamie up by the chain around her neck to kiss her deeply. The kiss was slick and messy and tasted of her, and when they parted Dani was panting. 

“Did I mention,” Dani said breathlessly, “that I really like you?”

Jamie laughed and allowed herself to be pulled up onto the bed. Smiling broadly, Dani kissed her and rolled her over to start unbuttoning Jamie’s dark-washed slacks. Before she could do more than flick open the first of two buttons, Jamie placed her hands and Dani’s hips and encouraged her to rock against her thigh.

“That’s -” Dani swallowed back a reckless sound, her eyes squeezing shut. “I’m going to ruin your nice slacks.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

Dani’s answering laugh was breathless. “Do you mean that literally, or -?”

The question died on her tongue when Jamie pressed her knee up and wedged a hand between them just enough that she could brush her thumb just so. She watched as Dani’s face screwed up, as her mouth dropped open and her hips bucked out of time until she came again — smaller this time, but no less gratifying.

Dani slowed to a halt, trying to catch her breath. “All right,” she said. “It’s definitely your turn.”

When they’d finished, Jamie sank bonelessly back onto the mattress. Their clothes were strewn all about the room, and the ship’s computer had set the lights to dim automatically to match a normalised sleep cycle, so that the ceiling was a map of constellations. Dani was stark naked and wiping her hands clean on a shirt with a self-satisfied expression before she crawled back up the bed and snuggled into Jamie’s side.

Jamie rolled onto her side and draped an arm across Dani’s waist to hold her loosely there. She needed to take a shower, but couldn’t find the energy within herself to get up. Not when recent sex had turned her bones to jelly, and not when Dani started to trace the curving lines of Jamie’s monochromatic tattoo. 

Exhaling slowly, Jamie sank further into the mattress. Her eyes slipped shut and she allowed herself this moment of brief respite. 

“Do you ever think,” Dani asked softly, “this was supposed to happen?” 

Blearily, Jamie opened her eyes, lulled half asleep by the way Dani was touching her. “What d’you mean?”

Dani shook her head, admiring the way her fingertips drifted across the pattern of ink on Jamie’s bare shoulder. “I don’t know. I just - When I chose the ship to Telos IV, it wasn’t the fastest or the cheapest or even the one leaving the soonest. I was still in shock, I think. From what had happened on Vurdon Ka. There was another transport leaving three hours earlier, heading towards the Outer Rim, but when the droid asked me what ticket I wanted I bought the one to Telos instead.” Her words slowed to a mumble, and her caress stopped. Dani stared at the flowers on Jamie’s skin as if in wonder. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“Coincidence?” Jamie offered, watching the flicker of Dani’s brow in response.

Dani seemed to be trying to remember something intently. “Maybe, but it was so strange. I had this - this feeling. And when I landed on Telos, you know, I -” She broke off with a small incredulous laugh. “I walked straight to that bar. Just - straight there. Didn’t even ask for directions.”

Jamie blinked, more awake now. That hum of energy had returned, threading between them like an arc. Dani’s presence was stalwart, nothing wavering or questioning about it. 

“I don’t know anything about the Force,” Dani continued, “but I’m glad to have met you.” 

A smile tugged at the corner of Jamie’s mouth. It was brief but the warmth pooling in her chest was verdant and budding. “Yeah. Me too.”

—

Rebecca’s ship dropped out of hyperspace only three kilometers from the luxury cruiser, so that the two vessels drifted in orbit around Alderaan side by side. The planet below was a vast curved horizon of blues and greens, struck through with white cloud. Sitting in the pilot’s seat, Jamie noticed how Dani’s gaze kept drifting towards the broad windows of the left wing, staring out at the planet below with her shoulders tense and her hands clasped behind her back. 

The moment Rebecca’s ship came into view, Owen leaned over Jamie’s shoulder and hit the comm button, requesting a transmission, which was immediately picked up.

“Hello again,” Owen greeted jovially down the line. “We see you’ve just arrived in orbit. And might I say - your ship is exactly what I expected from a smuggler.”

“Aww, thanks,” said Rebecca, her video feed flickering into view. “I worked hard to get it just right.”

Rebecca’s ship was a single bladed shape of stark grey material, like a shark’s fin parting the surface of water. Jamie knew from experience that its small size could mislead larger ships into underestimating its speed and firepower. She also knew from experience that the sleeping cots were cramped and uncomfortable, and that more often than not Rebecca slept in a hammock strung up in the cockpit itself. 

Jamie elbowed Owen in the gut so she could have more room. “Status report?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “What are you? Fleet Commander Taylor?”

“Just tell me how we’re getting down to the surface without being noticed,” Jamie said.

“Funny you should ask that,” Rebecca replied, trailing off.

Owen made a face. “Oh, no. Is it bad?” 

“Well…”

“Get it over with,” groaned Jamie. She could hear Hannah and Dani walking closer to join the conversation. “Put me out of my misery.”

Rebecca hit a few buttons to switch over the feed, and the screen suddenly displayed a scene much nearer to the surface. She must have hacked into a few security cameras, because the view turned slowly alongside her tapping away in the background. A towering estate in slate greys with parapets like speartips jutting into the sky dominated the screen, flanked by snowy mountains. A broad bridge led to the front entrance, and a hundred or so guardsmen had set up allacrete bollards behind which they were taking cover to avoid incoming fire, peeking over to return volleys before crouching down again.

“That’s,” Dani said slowly, pointing towards a crest-emblazoned purple and red banner hanging from the manor walls on the screen, “House Thul.” 

Jamie squeezed her eyes shut and tipped her head back towards the ceiling. “Don’t tell me.”

“They’re being besieged by the Sith Lord,” said Rebecca.

“I said don’t tell me.”

Hannah peered over Jamie’s shoulder to get a look at the screen. “Can you get us to the surface?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Rebecca. “But after that, I’m all out of ideas. I told you: I’m not a Core World girl. I don’t know Alderaan from a bottle of spotchka.” 

“I do.” 

Jamie opened her eyes and lowered her head. Beside her Dani had lifted her hand slightly as though waiting to be called on in class. “There’s a side entrance used primarily by servants and staff.”

“What? A side entrance dug all the way through the mountains?” Owen pointed to the snowy peaks pressed in tight on either side of the estate. 

“No, it’s here.” Dani tapped her finger against the screen just off to the side of where the camera was currently showing. “It’s where the guards sleep. You go through a security checkpoint and then down a tunnel which leads into a room off the great hall.” 

“Don’t think the security checkpoint won’t be a problem this time,” said Jamie.

“Yeah,” said Rebecca slowly as a guardsman on screen was shot dead and slumped to the ground, only to be pulled back over the bollard by one of his comrades. “They look a little occupied right now.” 

Chatter fizzed from another speaker on the dashboard. Frowning, Rebecca sat in the pilot’s seat and turned a dial until the frequency better matched. They could hear a staticky voice shouting frantic orders over the comm.

“That’s a Pub frequency,” Rebecca said. 

“The Empire has revealed its hand,” Owen said. “The Republic will be arriving with reinforcements soon.”

“Yeah, but not soon enough,” Jamie muttered darkly. 

Hannah hummed in agreement. “Unfortunately, yes. A fully fledged Sith Lord? They can tear this estate apart and be out with what they want before Republic troops make it into orbit.” 

“Yeah, well, hopefully we can do the same.” 

From the sidelines, Dani suddenly spoke, “Can we talk about the children for a sec?” When she had everyone’s attention, she took a deep breath and continued, “What’s going to happen to them now that we know they’re Force Sensitive?” 

She looked towards Jamie, who raised both hands and shook her head, pointing towards Owen and Hannah. Hannah was looking at Owen, who shrugged and made a gesture, which Hannah reacted to with an emphatic tilt of her head, the two of them engaged in the kind of silent conversation only two people who had been together for so long knew. 

“Are you going to share with the class?” Jamie drawled. “Or are you two lovebirds just going to keep having your weird psychic talk that nobody else can hear?”

Hannah gave Jamie an arch, brook-no-nonsense glare, while Owen stuck out his tongue at her. 

“I think it best if we take them back to Tython,” said Hannah to Dani. “There they can be trained in the Force properly.”

Some of the tension held in Dani’s jaw slackened, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks. I needed to hear that.” 

“Anything else we need to discuss before we leap into the fray?” Rebecca asked from the pilot’s seat. 

Silence. 

“Right,” said Jamie, hand on the holster of her blaster pistol. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

[very-grownup]

THE YEAR IS 2020 AND I WATCHED NEON GENESIS EVANGELION FOR THE FIRST TIME, PART 11

Episode 23.

Misato is going to be haunted by fuckin' Kaji forever and so am I. Fuckin' Kaji.

This appears to be the episode where I have to assume budget and deadlines were becoming intractable foes for Anno because there doesn't seem to be any easy way to paper over gaps and I spent the entire time feeling faintly like the experience was dissolving.

My grappling for understanding behind the cut.

Here's what I do know: Misato is so absorbed in listening to fuckin' Kaji's message in her office that Shinji and Penpen are left to their own devices, which are just being concerned about Misato.

Ritsuko talks to her grandmother about a dead cat.

Ritsuko's desktop background is an old photo of her, her mother, and Gendo Ikari, where her mother left room for Jesus between her and her daughter instead of her and Gendo (you'd need at least five Jesuses for protection from the hollow-eyed ghoul of insecurity and misery). I hate it.

Overcome with her sense of failure, Asuka's just broken into the class rep's home and has imposed the world's longest and worst sleepover on this poor normie girl. Asuka's just playing videogames, crying, and sleeping which ... yeah, fair. At night Asuka shares a bed with Hikari and curls on her side, far away and miserable, her face hidden, whispering about her failures and her hatred and her hatred of self. Hikari stares at the ceiling and can say nothing of substance because she is also a child.

The Obelisk Committee is back, interrogating Gendo to absolutely no end because you have to ask questions AND get answers to them for an interrogation to work and also when he gets notice that there's an Angel sighted he just nopes right out of there. Your interrogation is not going to be successful if the guy you are trying to pin to the wall can just go 'sorry I have to take this call' and flush the phone down the toilet while you watch.

This week's Angel is a giant hula hoop made out of light and x's which I feel probably puts it right in the middle of the cuteness scale. It's not horrifying to look at but it also doesn't have a cute little face. I miss the ones in the early episodes that had cute little faces.

The obelisks are determined to crush Gendo and suspect he isn't loyal to them which ... again, the obelisks make some good points.

The plan is for Rei to sniper the Angel with Asuka providing backup. Asuka feels terrible, miserable, and pointless about the whole thing because seriously it seems like no one has talked to her since last week when she was psychologically tortured by the Angel? I'm surprised Asuka's even there, in the robot, but I suppose habit is powerful.

Once the EVAs are deployed, the Angel turns into a long sticky laser snake which Rei tries to shoot with her giant robot sniper rifle. This is not effective and the Angel begins to burrow under the EVA's armour to the fleshy bits underneath and shit gets veiny.

In the NERV command centre someone talks about the Angel trying to make first psychological contact and you can't keep saying that, this is the fourth time AT LEAST we've seen an Angel try to do weird brain reading with one of the kids so this is at least fourth contact. We are all operating on the assumption the Angels are ... some kind of unified force or being or ... something, right? Like, they're all on the same ... side? Part of the same force? If they're all independent and unrelated monsters of the week, NERV makes even less sense.

So, so, so Rei's EVA gets veiny and Rei gets veiny and Asuka is given orders to provide backup and then when her EVA is on the surface she and it just ... stand. Asuka tries to make it move but nothing happens. Finally, NERV lowers the EVA elevator again.

Gendo remembers he has a son and Shinji is deployed in Asuka's place to rescue Rei from the veins and not only does Asuka have to deal with her failure to pilot the robot in this moment, but she's filled with sad jealousy that Shinji wasn't sent to help her last week. Oh, honey.

So the light tentacle snake is making the veins and probing Rei and her memories and the EVA and like with the other kids, Rei confronts herself. One Rei is waist deep in the orange tang of the sub sub sub basement ocean while the other Rei floats above the surface. Rei is lonely? Or, one Rei is lonely, while the other Rei tries to express that Rei is lonely because unlike Rei, who is surrounded by others, Rei is by herself. One Rei knows more than the other, one Rei emotes more than the other. I am confused. None of the Reis seem as distressed as Shinji or Asuka did when they were getting psychoanalyzed by an Angel, at least. There's a weird shot that's just on one of the Rei's mouths, smiling and getting distended and wavey and also a Rei has a vision of smiling, glasses-free Gendo. Rei in the EVA comes back to herself when she realizes she's crying but the Angel is still doing its vein attack and all that pulsating Akira flesh starts happening and the light snake shoots out to Shinji, which is bad. There's more pulsating Akira flesh, just overflowing masses of veins bursting up and above the EVA, trying to shape something, the torso of Rei's EVA bulges out into, like, an armoured pocketed dome ball, which seems bad.

Then the light snake attacking Shinji turns into a giant naked Rei with a strange nightmare face who tries to make out with the EVA even though thankfully we at least have been spared horrible human lips to go with the horrible human teeth and fingers we know are in it.

Rei is like, do I want to become one with Shinji so I'm not lonely anymore? Is that what laser snake is trying to tell me and I just don't even know where to begin with all of this, where are you even getting this stuff Rei?

Rei realizes that letting the Angel snake made of light that looks like a giant her make out with Shinji's EVA is not the answer to her existential crisis and exerts her will over it or ... something? I don't know, she makes it like a rubber band that's suddenly reached its end. SNAP goes the light tether between giant naked Rei and Rei's EVA and it whips away from Shinji and the nightmare Rei's light face looks upset by these developments before it's like SCHWOOM back into the EVA ... ... and all the pulsating flesh becomes unpulsating and the dome stomach bits get popped like each segment of the dome is a bubble wrap bubble and then Rei blows herself and the EVA and I guess also the Angel up and I guess it's more effective than guns.

The obelisks want to interrogate someone, Gendo and Number 2 are already dealing with the fact that Rei is dead and just have some really weird conversation in front of machinery about how Rei is all of Number 2's sins and all of Gendo's hopes or ... or something? The obelisks go through a powerpoint of all the Angels defeated so far and I GUESS the kids have been fighting Angels that are all listed in the Dead Sea Scrolls and according to the Dead Sea Scrolls there's only one Angel left which, sure, we're on episode 23 of 26.

Shinji's lying on his bed not listening to music (music is playing but he doesn't have the headphones in) and Misato comes in to try and talk to him about how Rei killed herself to save Shinji. Shinji talks about sadness that's so intense even when tears can't come ... There's no time in this episode to dwell on this honest, awkward little pebble of grief, though. Misato tries to take Shinji's hand to comfort him but that isn't what he needs, he just wants to be alone and rejects Misato's overture.

Misato wonders about whether Shinji has a fear of women (what?) or intimacy (huh?) but when even Penpen refuses to be company for her, she realizes maybe she was projecting her own issues onto Shinji which hey, good catch, Misato! You and Shinji are similar but not the same.

ANYWAY NO TIME FOR THAT BECAUSE REI IS DEFINITELY MIRACULOUSLY ALIVE AND NOT DEAD even though Ritsuko and a bunch of dudes in HAZMAT suits were going over the spot where the EVA blew up and Ritsuko found something that had her going WELL THIS IS SOME X-FILES SHIT.

Shinji goes to see Rei at the hospital where she is bandaged all to hell and staring vaguely at nothing in the hall and he tries to thank her for her exploding sacrifice on his behalf. Rei basically says you're welcome but I have no idea what you're talking about. Shinji doesn't make much headway in expressing his gratitude further because Rei just straight up says I probably don't know what you're talking about because I'm the third Rei. Just straight up 'oh if I seem weird it's probably because I'm clones'.

It's not that Rei is clones that is surprising, it's just the total nonchalance with which Rei drops 'I guess I'm clones' on Shinji.

SO ANYWAY THE OBELISKS ARE INTERROGATING A NAKED RITSUKO BECAUSE GENDO WON'T LET THEM INTERROGATE REI AND HE'S JUST LIKE HEY THIS SCIENTIST WILL SPEAK ON HER BEHALF AND ALSO SHE'S NAKED but who knows who had the bright idea of naked interrogation. Maybe it was Ritsuko. Say a brief, silent prayer of thanks that there's no naked Gendo interrogation because if there is one thing I have learned so far in Evangelion, it's that the more of Gendo I can see, the more distressed I am.

I DON'T EVEN ENTIRELY KNOW WHAT THE OBELISKS ARE ASKING RITSUKO ABOUT.

Rei goes to her apartment and removes all her bandages and she's fine because she's clones so sure, all the bandages were for show. This Rei sees Gendo's old glasses and picks them up and starts to try and crush them in her hands but also she's crying? Reis is conflicted?

Misato's found a datachip that fuckin' Kaji hid in a pill and she's listening to another recording which is maybe all the stuff he learned while spying on NERV I don't know I don't know I don't know anything at this point.

Ritsuko calls Shinji and tells him he's temporarily not being monitored so he ... look, narrative cohesion and scene transitions are a thing of the past, we don't even have glue between disconnected bits anymore. RITSUKO TALKS TO SHINJI ON THE PHONE.

Then Ritsuko is ... somewhere ... work ... I DON'T KNOW MISATO IS BEHIND HER WITH A GUN AND THEN RITSUKO'S LIKE OKAY I'LL EXPLAIN EVERYTHING BUT SHINJI IS HERE SO WE HAVE TO EXPLAIN TO HIM TOO and it's like just flip on the lights in this one spot and bam there's Shinji NO TIME. ELEVATOR. DOWN DOWN DOWN. DOWN DOWN DOWN. THIS SUBBASEMENT LOOKS LIKE REI'S APARTMENT. BECAUSE IT IS REI'S APARTMENT. WATER MEMORIES. LOOK THIS ISN'T WHAT MISATO IS HERE FOR, MISATO IS HERE FOR THE GIANT SEPHIROTH AND KABALLAH AND CROSS HOLLOWS FULL OF GIANT BONES. EVA skulls and bones and Ritsuko's just like yeah those are all the prototypes from ten years ago that didn't become murder robots piloted by teens we just keep them in these religious pattern caves to form the basis for some real gothy jigsaw puzzles. Oh PS Shinji if you find it familiar it's because you've been here before even if you don't remember it this is where the experiments that kill disappeared your mother went down. NO TIME FOR ANYONE TO REACT TO THIS.

LOOK I'M SURE IF YOU'RE FOLLOWING THIS AND YOU KNOW THE SERIES YOU ARE LIKE RITSUKO AND ARE LIKE GET ON WITH IT JUST GET US TO THE CHAMBER WHICH RITSUKO SAYS IS WHERE THE DUMMY PLUGS ARE MADE AND THEN SHE TURNS ON THE LIGHTS AND WELCOME TO THE NIGHTMARE AQUARIUM. THE ONLY EXHIBIT IN THE NIGHTMARE AQUARIUM ARE REI CLONES SMILING AND GIGGLING AT YOU FROM THEIR ORANGE TANG HABITAT. Ritsuko says the captive Reis have no souls, they're just vacant flesh in the shape of a human, there's only one Rei /personality/ which is the first Rei and I guess when she dies they take another one out of the tank and she becomes the Rei with the soul I DON'T KNOW. Ritsuko hates the Reis not because they are the result of some human science meddling in things they cannot understand or control but because somehow the existence of the Reis mean ... Gendo doesn't need her?

BECAUSE RITSUKO, LIKE HER MOTHER BEFORE HER, ALSO WANTS TO BONE DOWN ON THE MAN WHO IS HATE'S SKELETON, WITH MARROW OF PARENTAL NEGLIGENCE, AND A BLACKHOLE SUCKING HIS FLESH ILLUSION EVER INWARDS TO DARKNESS.

NOW IT IS TIME FOR RITSUKO TO TURN OFF THE TANG AQUARIUM LIFE SUPPORT AND ALL THE GIGGLING REIS BEGIN TO BREAK APART, GIGGLING AS THEIR LIMBS SEPARATE AND THEIR ENTRAILS SPILL OUT AND ALL IS DARKNESS BUT THEY'RE STILL GIGGLING AND HOW ARE ANY OF US SUPPOSED TO RESPOND TO THIS?! Oh, and the obelisks' plan for the destruction of Tokyo-3 is proceeding on schedule WHAT WAIT WHAT I THOUGHT WE WERE TRYING TO PROTECT TOKYO-3 no wonder Misato drinks. No wonder /you/ drink. This concludes my report on Episode 23 of Neon Genesis Evangelion.

Edit: the obelisks talk about having lost the spear of Longinus. It's on the moon, obelisks. You're welcome.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Right there

Summary: Love stories aren’t always grand, sweeping epics. Sometimes they come soft and slow, made up of a million different things, and you may not even recognize what you have until it’s right there in front of you. This is one of those stories.

Characters: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Brief mission related trauma. Oreo thievery and dirty bubblegum. Mostly just buckets of fluff.

A/N: Hello Tumblr friends! I’ve been in a writing drought lately and it feels like forever since I posted anything, so here’s a short, fluffy fic while I try to Stella my groove back. My plan was to make this snappy and snarky, but it went full scale mush by the end. Guys, I just really love Bucky Barnes. ���️

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

The murmur is low in your ear. Smoothing the folds of emerald green satin, you follow Bucky’s glance down and see the tips of your freshly painted toes, clad in sparkly sandals and peeping from beneath the evening gown. Nothing out of the ordinary, until you notice one thing.

“Gross. What the hell is that?” you whisper.

Stuck like glue to the front of your right shoe, curling over the edge and dangerously close to your bare skin, is a piece of neon blue bubblegum.

Keeping one eye trained on the crush of inebriated party goers, searching out the mission target for the evening, you try a few options.

Scrape the edge of the shoe on the marble floor. Pointless.

Give a couple stealthy stomps. Useless.

Try to wipe it on Bucky’s trouser leg. Bucky sighs heavily and sure, that’s entertaining.

But no matter what you try, this appears to be the superglue of all gum. Bucky stares straight ahead, eyes roaming the crowd, but you see him periodically glance over, gauging your progress.

There’s no real harm, you can fix it later, but every time you shift your weight, the tacky feel of it sticks to the floor and makes a small snick sound. Like a parasite, the dirty, chewed up wad creeps further up the shoe, so close to defiling your pristine toes, and the whole thing is driving you bananas.

“Pay attention to the mission,” Bucky whispers sternly, but as of immediately, there’s a new mission in town. So, when your revolutionary idea arrives in a wave of brilliance, you take immediate action.

Nestled snug against Bucky’s lower back, hidden beneath his tuxedo jacket, sits his favorite knife. Without a thought, you reach up and tug it from the sheath, turning to face the back wall, balancing on one leg and gripping his forearm for support.

And then, frozen in shock, Bucky proceeds to watch you use his favorite knife - the one he sleeps with under his pillow, the one he keeps beside his morning Cheerios, the one he painstakingly sharpens after each and every mission - to dig at the dirty blue bubblegum fused to the bottom of your shoe.

“Disgusting,” you mutter. With a twist and flourish, it pops free and you fling it away, sending it flying into one of those tacky potted ferns by the bathroom. Smothering a laugh, you shoot Bucky a challenging look - and then slide the sticky knife back in the sheath.

You slide it back in the sheath without cleaning it.

Bucky grinds his teeth so hard his jaw locks up.

There is no earthly reason you should still be alive after this sacrilegious approach to basic knife protocol, but when he subtly leans over to voice his intense displeasure, he has the sudden desire to laugh.

“Everything okay, Barnes?” you ask under your breath, resuming your scan of the crowd. An insanely devilish grin tugs at your lips, and he huffs at the playful nudge of your elbow.

“Just fuckin’ peachy,” he mumbles drily, and then he marvels at the thought that follows.

Because right there, Bucky Barnes decides that maybe that proper knife etiquette isn’t all that important.

As long as he can see you smile.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

Bucky stands stoic at the open kitchen cabinet, pointing at the top shelf, his furious glare driving daggers into Sam’s heart.

“Dude, I swear I didn’t touch them.”

“You’re a lying liar who lies, Wilson.”

“Dude, I fucking swear. Get over yourself, damn.”

Sam stands with his arms crossed, an equally exasperated sneer on his face. Sitting on the couch, buried under a mountain of blankets, you watch with interest. Back and forth they trade barbs, a verbal tennis match full of snarky comments, childish quips, and the occasional mention of each other’s mom. Finally, Sam throws his hands up and whirls away.

“You’re fucking impossible, asshole.”

Bucky bangs the cabinet door shut and stomps over to you, plopping into an armchair to sulk. Smiling in commiseration, you stay silent, furtively trying to swallow. You’re so close to success, but then it happens.

No matter how hard you try, the crinkle of an Oreo package is too obvious.

At the sound, Bucky’s head snaps up.

“What was that?” he asks, suspicious. Eyes wide, you shrug in silent innocence. Bucky scrutinizes your pile of blankets, realization dawning. “Was that - did you steal my Oreos?”

Another silent, vehement shake of the head. You’re close, so close, just one more swallow -

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Prove it. Whistle for me.”

Damn.

When you purse your lips and blow, nothing comes out. Well, nothing except flecks of black Oreo crumbs. Swallowing the rest of the cookie, you fish out the bottle of milk hiding under the blanket and wash it all down, smacking your lips.

“Oh, sorry. Were these your Oreos?” you ask sweetly.

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek and tries to be mad, he genuinely tries really hard, but it doesn’t work. Launching himself from the chair, he bounces onto the couch next to you, sending your milk sloshing and you squawking in faux anger.

“You dirty little thief,” he deadpans, snatching away the package. Shoving three cookies in his mouth, he steals your bottle of milk and chugs it down. When he finishes, a white milk mustache is painted above his lip. It turns this dark man, someone with decades of gunpowder on his fingers and bloodstains on his soul, back into a young boy. Carefree and innocent, brimming with happy laughter. Swallowing hard, you reach over and carefully wipe it away with a firm brush of your thumb.

And right there, Bucky Barnes discovers the simple beauty of cookies and milk and the feel of your cool fingers on his skin.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

No. You didn’t. And that’s the problem.

Every blow of your fists unleashes something inside.

Smack, smack, smack.

Harder and faster, the punching bag absorbs all the pent of anger and lingering fury of a failed mission.

Smack, smack, smack.

It was so close. It was right there. You should have seen it. Should have remembered the bad guys never play nice, and the price of hesitation is a life. Memories trigger memories, sparking through your brain like a circuit board of bad decisions, lighting up one after another. Bucky stands on the other side of the bag, silently watching you pummel those demons trying to burrow into your skin.

“Talk to me,” he says quietly, and you frantically shake your head.

Smack, smack, smack.

Tears spill over. They blur your vision, turning the punching bag and the tall soldier holding it, into shapeless blobs. Blinking them away, wiping your runny nose on tape covered hands, the salt of tears and sweat drips into the busted-up gashes across your knuckles. It stings, a vicious reminder of what was lost. The scent of blood fills your nostrils and there are those memories again, a tsunami of pain barreling through.

Smack, smack, smack.

“Go away, Bucky. Leave me alone,” you snarl, aching arms still swinging at the punching bag. He ignores the request, a stalwart statue. It infuriates you in an unexplainable way and you spit the words in his face. “God dammit, fuck you, I don’t want - I don’t need - I don’t - I mean it. I fucking mean it. Please, just” smack “fucking” smack “go.”

Smack.

Like a booming clap of thunder, your last punch is so hard, it explodes the fragile wall holding the tears at bay.

Knees buckle. Shoulders slump. Fists slam the floor. You go down hard, and the result is devastation.

Ugly, wrenching sobs claw up your throat, stuck behind your clenched teeth until you open your mouth and howl. It hurts to cry this way, to let everything loose and accept the consequences of your failure. You will never save them all, and that clarity is a special brand of destruction.

Bucky says nothing. No words can solve this pain. No one knows that better than him.

Instead, he lays down on the sweat drenched mats beside you. Without a word, he wraps you into a hug, tucking you against his chest. Even if you don’t deserve this comfort, you cling to it. Clutching his shirt, the only lifeline you have left, you cry until that bottomless well of pain and misery finally runs dry. It takes hours, but Bucky is patient, never ceasing the comforting strokes up and down your spine.

And when it’s done, when your exhaustion leaves you unable to open puffy eyes, he simply lifts you up and carries you to your room. Places you gently on your bed and pulls the blankets over you.

“Bucky. Don’t go. Please don’t leave,” you beg hoarsely, and the misery in your voice breaks him. The bed dips as he climbs in beside you, wrapping you in his arms once again and you feel his lips brush your forehead.

The night bleeds into a dreary grey dawn, and right there, Bucky Barnes sinks into the comfort of a dreamless sleep, with you cradled tight in the heat of his arms.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

Eyes closed against the shining sun, you offer a sleepy hum. There’s a rustle of movement, and something soft tickles your cheek. It runs across your nose, touches your eyelids, sweeps light as a feather over your lips.

Eyes struggle open, and there you find Bucky watching, a little purple flower held in his long fingers. The look on his face is unreadable. He does that sometimes, looks at you like he wants to say something more, but he always hesitates, the words stuck in confused silence.

The petals wave faintly in the breeze and you smile.

“Pretty,” you say.

“Just a weed,” he shrugs.

“Still pretty,” you say. “Hand it over.”

Bucky places it in your outstretched palm. Gives a wry shake of the head.

“You’re the only one I know, who thinks weeds are beautiful.”

The small blossom sits thoughtfully in your hand and you hold it up, squinting to the sun.

“Just because something has a bad name, doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful.”

There’s a peculiar hope in Bucky’s face as he considers the statement. He likes those words. He likes them a lot. Wants to believe they might even include him too. But nervous silver fingers pick at the threadbare edge of the picnic blanket, and you see a shadow of self-doubt flit over his handsome face.

“Sometimes a weed is still a weed. Even pretty words can’t change that fact.”

The reference is clear. You know exactly what he means, because the list of negative metaphors Bucky uses to describe himself has grown extensive and colorful over the years. Rising to your knees, you shuffle closer until you’re facing him.

“Hey,” you say gently. Careful hands cup his face, the scratchy feel of his beard on your palms softer than you expected. “You better not be calling yourself a weed, Barnes. I’d hate to kick your ass out here in public.”

The shimmer of unshed tears in those blue eyes makes you ache for him. But when Bucky sees the determination in your face, he blinks them away. And like the little weed in your hand, a tiny smile begins to bloom.

He clears his throat.

“Kick my ass, huh? I’d really love to see how that goes.”

“It’ll go my way,” you say confidently. Picking up his heavy hand, you turn it palm up and peel his fingers back. Laying the purple flower in his hand, the vivid color glows against the bright silver. “See? Beautiful. Just like you.”

He stares at the flower. Looks up.

It happens right there, in the sun-soaked summer fields of Central Park; Bucky Barnes feels his heart stop at the taste of your kiss.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

Lost in thought, Bucky startles at the question.

Following the line of your arm, he sees you pointing into the infinite ocean of blue-black. Stars are speckled through the heavens, patterns of constellations and figures that you always manage see, but he can never seem to find.

Stuck in the middle of nowhere, the two of you walk along, miles from civilization. The first hint of winter settles all around, hard frost covering the tips of the grass, coating the pebbles edging the abandoned road, turning your breath to thick white clouds. It should make him anxious. Bucky hates the frost, despises the frozen blue that weaves maliciously through his worst nightmares.

But on this cold, moonlit night, with you warm by his side, he finds he doesn’t mind so much.

“What am I looking for?” he asks.

“Shooting star,” you say breathlessly. Tilting your head back, you go still, a beacon of patience awaiting a cosmic miracle. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

Bucky peers up at the sky, but as the minutes click by, he knows he’ll never find what he needs up there.

He turns to look at you instead. Watches you watch the sky, his chest burning with contentment at the sight of your profile in this moonlit night.

“Sure,” he says. “So beautiful.”

Gloved fingers find yours, and you turn your gaze from the infinity of space, to this man beside you, solid and real and here on Earth. There is nothing in the world but the two of you, nothing else matters as you move impossibly close.

“Such a sap,” you murmur, your mouth a mere breath from his. The tip of his nose is icy against your cheek, and you can feel him smiling as he returns the kiss with a shiver.

The world is funny. Because this - this is your love story.

Built on blue bubblegum and stolen Oreos, blood-stained bandages and purple flowers, shooting stars and an endless night sky, this love bursts with highs and lows and a million variations in-between. Wrapped up in the delicious comfort of your kiss, Bucky wonders what in the world he ever did to earn this.

This perfectly imperfect life. Here. With you.

There’s no real answer, of course. Love is like that sometimes.

So instead, he dusts off those three words from another life, ones he’s stored away for decades, and he hands them over, because they’re the one thing he can always see, no matter how dark his world becomes.

“I love you,” he whispers. “More than anything.”

The words are drenched in happiness, syllables shaped with a quiet joy that glows brighter and fiercer than every constellation hanging above. And in the space of a single second -

Your heart skips.

Your breath catches.

You swear you could fly.

Because this is it, this is the moment. This is the big one.

And that right there is when you return those three words, the ones Bucky Barnes has been missing his whole life and the ones you’ve held close, since the night you found that blue bubblegum tacked onto your shoe.

The words are perfect. You kiss him again.

“I love you too, Bucky.”

*****

[jcmorrigan]

What movie or tv show scared you the most?

OH HEEHEEHEEEEEE MY TIME HAS COME

I think this was probably the sign I was meant to be a horror fan, because I'm gonna talk about two movies here and neither one is a standard horror film. Now, I avoided horror films like the plague, but I now realize that's because of my aversion to jumpscares and gore, which have very little to do with actual scary stuff. I feared actual horror imagery as a small child, but basically once I read Coraline it all just turned around because that book gave me nightmares but I actually WANTED those nightmares and kept going back to the book. So what are the movies I just COULD NOT contend with?

First up, I have found that a lot of people have said this one, but really and truly, fuck Chicken Run.

I was...maybe ten when I watched it. Signed up for a goofy claymation adventure. What did I get? First of all, a whole lot of bleak color palette that warned me that this was not going to be a happy story. We are then shown the stakes right away: our entire main cast lives in a dystopian prison and if they do not find a way to escape, they will die. One DOES die. This is where a lot of people say they noped out right away, but actually, the execution of the dinner chicken in the first scene was tame for me compared to what would come next.

The pie machine. It's assembled, it's talked about, and eventually our two leads fall into it in a way that is designed to be fatal. Look, there are a ton of horror tropes in this scene alone. I haven't seen it SINCE THE ONE AIRING and I can still vividly tell you a lot of this. And if I walked into a horror film and asked for this, I'd come out super satisfied, but I was not expecting horror from this. First of all, I remember vividly the shot where you're looking from Ginger's POV falling down the shaft and the divider comes up to shunt her into the "meat" line. It's incredibly claustrophobic and you just get this almost jumpscare reminder that the character through whose eyes you see is regarded as nothing more than meat to be consumed. There is then an array of blades designed for close calls, and dough that essentially glues the lead characters down to a conveyor belt so they have to helplessly watch the death machines that are coming. Sticky stuff that roots you to one spot; that's another thing that just REALLY unnerves me and I love it if I'm reading CreepyPasta but I was not reading CreepyPasta; I was watching a children's film. The leads escape certain death by jamming the gravy system, causing the machine to overload on pressure, and here I feel like I should've been relieved that they escaped but instead I was the most unsettled of all when the pressure meter started climbing. I don't know if this film *gave* me a phobia of industrial accidents or if it just awakened what was already in my OCD little brain, but suffice to say that after this movie, I was hyper-aware of my own fear of things like hissing steam, rising pressure meters, and being in a room where large metal things were clanking. (I'm since over it; I've been exposed to it in enough things.)

Now, I was no quitter. I should have just noped out. But I didn't. I continued to traumatize myself. The next part of the film until the climax I don't remember so well - it wasn't as traumatizing - EXCEPT for the part where Ginger finds and rebuilds Rocky's circus poster. And now, as an adult, I can see how that was kinda supposed to be funny, like, "The goddamn chicken padded his résumé and the way they found this out was a circus poster." But little me was invested in these chickens, I wanted them to be happy, and what I saw was basically their death notice being signed with that scrap of paper with a cannon on it. I FELT that in my bones.

STILL NOT HAVING THE GOOD SENSE TO JUST EJECT THE TAPE ALREADY, I proceeded to the climax, in which what happens to Tweedy might be one of the most fucking awful things I've seen ever? Pinned upside-down in a superheated, confined space with rising liquid from below as the pressure meter starts climbing again. And her husband arrives just in time to see her like this but not in time to actually stop the explosion. Thank God it didn't actually kill her because even though I was already traumatized, that would've absolutely made it worse.

Thing is, ever since this movie scared the absolute shit out of me - and was probably the cause of the weird stomachaches I had for A WEEK after - I've kinda had this thing about reclaiming the scary parts and stomping on them while laughing maniacally. I feel like every time I've done a crossover project, there's been a temptation to write in an arc where the mains go up against THE PIE MACHINE and fucking win. And also there's whump with tons of comfort in my version to mitigate it all. I haven't done any such thing for TBTC...YET. But I know what I must do. I know who must destroy the machine and the Tweedys along with it. Buckle your seatbelts.

My final word before I move on is that as I ascend into adulthood, I think that for the most part, a rewatch of this film wouldn't traumatize me so badly. It'd still be gross and creepy in a way I think shouldn't be sent to children without warning, but I could deal with the imagery, maybe enjoy using it as whump fuel even more, maybe my horror side would really get into the peril this time. But the one thing I've realized is that this premise is fucked EVEN MORE if you're a grown-up, because as a child, you're sympathizing with the chickens. You want them to get free of this death camp environment. But as an adult, you start to realize that all Tweedy wanted to do was be a chicken farmer who sold pie, and her supposedly nonsentient animals ganged up on her in a display of unheard-of intellect among farm stock. This would then lead to her undergoing at least one near-death fate. Think about being a farmer in our world and the animals you keep GANG UP ON YOU LIKE PEOPLE because you're killing them for food. No thank you, no THANK you.

But surely this was a one-of-a-kind phenomenon. Surely, after this...after so many other people agreed with me; "Fuck Chicken Run"...no animation studio would ever pull shit like this again.

I had hoped that was the case until Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs.

This is one I don't actually see lambasted as often. Maybe because the Chicken Run trauma crew grew thicker skins before this movie. I only sort of did. Maybe because no one ever actually invested in this film, having already predicted how much it would be garbage from the dumb humor in the trailers. Oh, but not me. I was a fool. Also my family picked it for a movie night so my fate was sealed anyway.

The original book is actually pretty frightening on its own. Food falls from the sky in such great numbers that it starts to destroy the world. Okay, that's terrifying. But kind of in the alluring way. I would keep coming back to the one page about the giant pancake on the school because the way it was drawn unsettled me so, with something huge and immovable blocking off the way to a building that usually has hundreds of innocent children inside. The film built on this and made it a thousand times worse.

Let's start with the goddamn Spray-On Shoe. Our main character is a mad scientist (but the good kind, apparently) whose list of bumbling failed experiments dates back to when he was a child and invented a spray you could put on your feet to coat them in shoes. He then gets laughed at because he didn't engineer a way to get the shoes off, and runs home in humiliation. Guys, the teasing/bullying factor is...not the most worrying thing about this story. There's a throwaway line about how Flint wears THE SAME SHOES into adulthood because to that day they simply cannot be removed. This seems like an incredibly urgent medical problem? Having your feet encased in the same rubber for years? The same rubber as when you're a kid? I just found myself thinking "What if my shoes never came off one day" and that terrifies me, okay? It's stupid and it's silly and it scares me. Even more than that, though, is the canonization of a polymer in this universe that can be sprayed on sticky and will literally never break no matter what you do to it, because that goes back to the pie machine dough principle. Being glued to a surface permanently is inherently terrifying and we'll go over this later because this is not the last fuckin time the glue shoes get brought up.

Flint invents a food-spewing machine. It ends up in the sky. He rides his popularity as it rains larger and larger food down upon the town and also the world. Most of this film up until the climax is unsettling but not AWFUL. Where it starts to go to shit is when Flint realizes his machine is too dangerous and shuts it off, only for the town's local greedy politician to switch it back on into an apocalyptic mode. So can we start with "Local town finds out its elected official is willing to sabotage their well-being in order to capitalize on the fame of a disaster-causing object?". Like, the whole film would've been solved so much sooner if there hadn't been a saboteur in the works - not a fun campy villain, mind you, but a saboteur who exists to drive the plot to the scary place. But I guess we need that narrative tension to justify having a film in the first place, so fine, I'll ride it out.

The main crew saddles up to fly out to the machine, which is now encased in a FLESH LABYRINTH of food, and...I'm just gonna rapid-fire the shit that happens at this part:

-The food turns sentient in order to defend itself. The cute animal sidekick brutally dismembers an army of gummy bears that is fully sentient and rips them apart to devour them.

-We enter the flesh labyrinth and it's exactly as much a horror RPG setting as you think it is.

-Now sentient cooked chickens besiege the party. The comic relief character is consumed by one, only to kill it from the inside and decide to WEAR ITS SKIN in what is seen as his defining character arc's conclusion. Wearing the skin of a dead monster allows him to forge his new identity.

-One of our party has to go back because of a tight passage lined with her deadly allergen, causing her to undergo anaphylaxis after an accidental mild nick. In the flesh labyrinth.

-The entire horrific journey is instantly INVALIDATED when it turns out that instead of the kill code for the machine, all Flint has is a file of a cat video. Which he finds out as the town is about to be obliterated off the face of the earth.

-So he solves it by jamming the works with the spray-on shoe and DID I NOT JUST GO OVER HOW HORRIFIC INDUSTRIAL EXPLOSIONS ARE IN KIDS' MOVIES? DID I NOT? ARE WE REALLY DOING THIS AGAIN? Anyway it's canonical proof that NOTHING can break the shoe glue and I should be happy for the town and happy that there's no more flesh labyrinth of living meat but instead I'm just terrified because of the door we have opened. We have imparted the existence of an indestructible sticky polymer upon the world.

-It's later seen used in a credits sequence to repair damaged houses. Which, first of all, given its flexible nature, is fuckin stupid. It won't serve as an actual wall. Second, that got me thinking about construction accidents involving the fuckin shoe glue. If that stuff gets dripped on a person's face -

-So then cue me sitting awake in bed later thinking wide-eyed about Cloudy with a Chance of Fucking Meatballs and realizing that this compound that is essentially a chemical weapon in the making is now in the hands of the mayor who deliberately caused an apocalyptic event over the town because he wanted the food rain. And THAT'S not going to lead to pretty circumstances.

I think you'll see that a lot of my fears with these two movies is "THINK OF THE IMPLICATIONS!" and I think that just shows how my mind works and why I'm drawn to fanfic so much. I'm all about diving into a universe, exploring its corners, analyzing it to death.

And with the industrial horror stuff, I kinda wanna bring it around to two other films that actually really subverted my expectations and made it fun. 102 Dalmatians was a fave of mine through middle school, but I remember when the climax took us to a big ol' factory and I got plumb nervous. After the usual blades and ovens of horror, the fact that it concludes with Cruella basically wearing a cake and a lengthy montage of the dogs kicking toppings onto her is just one of the most wholesome imageries. She survived the thing and now you get to watch her be decorated Lisa Frank style by her victims who are more interested in humiliation than murder, and I love that.

But maybe more prevalent is that I'm well aware that if certain filmography or plot points had been handled in different ways, The Boxtrolls might've actually frightened the ever-loving fuck out of me what with all the industrial stuff and medical horror, but I just...felt like that film was holding my hand the whole way through going "It's okay." The industrial stuff was framed in a way that was just campy enough and yet also taken seriously. Putting a really charismatic villain - ACTUAL VILLAIN, NOT CHICKEN FARMER OR CORRUPT POLITICIAN SABOTEUR - at the wheel was just such a mitigating factor that it gelled the whole thing together and I ended up LOVING what was done with giant machines and garbage crushers and explosions. And as for the medical body horror, I really appreciate how it was so baked in that Snatcher did that to himself - that everyone, EVERYONE warned him "Do not do this, you will probably die, I'm serious, bad fucking idea" up to the point of Eggs trying to plead him during an anaphylaxis attack, one last time, DO NOT continue down this path, we can find a way to heal you psychologically and get you some self-fulfillment. And Snatcher fully chooses hubris over the many, many opportunities offered him to be able to step down onto a safer path and that removes the fear and pulls it more into a tragedy for the villain. Not at all the same thing as "Sam the reporter is trying to save the world and doing her best until a fixture of the landscape accidentally sends her into anaphylaxis."

(Oh, and by the way, can I just - when I do see CWACOM brought up these days, it's always in the context of "This is the one movie where the guy tells the girl it's okay to look nerdy!". Well, no, not the way I remember it. The way I remember it, Sam basically tells Flint "I used to have really tacky style but have since changed it up of my own volition" and Flint is just like "NOOOOO YOU NEED TO WEAR GLASSES AND A SCRUNCHIE. I WANT A HOT NERD GIRL." This could've been pulled off right with some more introspection into female beauty standards, even in a tongue-in-cheek way, but right now it really looks like Sam just wanted to make herself more glam for a new image and Flint bullied her into regressing her style. Which I've also realized meant he bullied her into dressing more like she did as a teenager and normally I think that kind of shit is just "You're overthinking it" but since it's CWACOM and I spelled it out on paper like that, I'm just now realizing how that can be seen as pretty...icky.)

The one saving grace of CWACOM is that I was older by that time, and so it didn't affect me as hard as Chicken Run. But I still hold it dearly to my heart as one of the MOST DISTURBING movies I know, and by "dearly" I mean "fuck this movie, really and truly." I want to extend my thanks to 102D and Boxtrolls for giving me industrial-horror-based climaxes that were actually really comfortable, and again, probably what drove both of these was the fact that we had a campy diva villain in the lead for the potential scary stuff to surround and radiate off. Not a fuckin...ordinary chicken farmer who is just trying to make bank but is somehow passed as a Nazi allegory for trying to live her life as a farmer? I dunno, maybe if I rewatched that film I'd see she has a thirst for human blood too, and if I could fix fic Chicken Run my first order of business would be to give her a thirst for human blood instead of/in addition to chickens.

Anyway. Fuck both these films, EXCEPT for the fact that traumatizing scenarios can always be recast as whump material, and the next time I wanna do some crossover aftercare from a physically and psychologically damaging mission, I have a pie machine and a flesh labyrinth to exploit. REALLY HEAVY ON THAT AFTERCARE COMFORT THOUGH!

[friiday-thirteenth]

watching the water horse rn and uh. feelings.

Angus was perfectly willing to just. run away with crusoe. leave everything behind for him? and uh. that's better than any love scene ever thank u very much I would die for small scottish lad and giant water horse

also?? it was so emotional? like jfc if crusoe had died I'd have cried bc wtf why would u kill him? and they didnt, they let him escape and that s c e n e where he just. jumped onto the bet and fuvking pulled it down was so happy? like it was set in the dark and rain but it was so happy and then they showed crusoe leaving and svevdgsga h a p p i n e s s

and then even tho I knew it was gonna happen, the guy telling the story was like, hi my names Angus, and then the movie ended and uh. y e s.

also this movie us special to me bc it came in a two dvd set with sharkboy and lavagirl which was coincidentally my favourite movie ever and uh. alm edgy theories abt it can die <3 but also I watched the water horse and a kid and was very sad

also that reminds me of the velveteen rabbit which was a t r i p. like. I cannot remember anything from it (also that one scene in sharkboy and lavagirl where they try to hold hands and cant so they link pinkies? I still remember that (and every other detail of that movie) to this day holy shit) apart from the fact that it was a) very sad and b) scarlet fever?? and c) burning toys?? also toys were alive also me and one of my friends talked abt it this year I think but anyways very sad movie

did u guys know that Up made me cry and I wouldnt watch it bc it was that sad and idk why it did but I fo that with so many things like there was this song abt a guy getting shot bc he was black and reached for his pocket to get his Id and the police officers just fuckin. shot him. and my dad explained that to me and ever since then every time I heard that song start I'd cover my ears and tell them to change it and maybe start crying and idk why but that was something that really affected me

also the lorax. I once ate a bad bread roll while watching it and subsequently didnt watch it for like. a year bc of the bad memories. which was sad bc it had good music also the whole " my name is mary and I am three! and I really wanna see a tree! lalalala lalalalee so I say let it grow!"

me and my sibling used to watch the videos that were just like. and I say build a wall! over that song. it was funny and we'd drop the phone from laughing

idk man movies are crazy like especially the ones that are abt teens and kids or adults but are for kids and just have that vibe? like fuck marvel and dc let's watch romy and Michelle's high school reunion. that was my mums favourite movie and when she showed me it it was a) wildly inappropriate and b) was like a fever dream and I loved it. didnt she recite the thingy for sticky glue or something with her shirt off bc she'd been making out with her old high school crush or whatever but that was just a fake dream sequence? anf didnt she and her friend flip each other off and die in another dream sequence?

anyway thank you for coming to my ramble have a nice day ily all <3

[tumblunni]

Man that post is so depressing too cos it shows off how cis people are so obsessed with heavily gendering baby clothes even when the kid is like two months old and barely even has any hair yet. Ive legit seen a goddamn advert for 'little princess stick-ems' or whateber the damn name was, a brand of temporary sticky-back plastic bows and flowers and stuff you can glue to thr head of your bald daughter to make sure everyone knows shes a daughter because HEAVEN FORBID! And its so fuckin creepy how the heteronormativity bullshit for these kids clashes with this 'how dare a baby with no tertiary gender characteristics not have any tertiary gender characteristics' thing to give those gross ass situations where those strangers were sexualizing a young boy under the assumption he's a girl. Like the same damn people who are all 'two male children having crushes on each other is horrible and sexual' were literally SAYING EXACTLY THAT about those two boys who showed zero interest in each other, just because if one of them was a girl it wouod SOMEHOW be okay?? And oh god the extra sexualized coments that creepy person was saying about the presumed-female kid, oh GOD! Why are you conplimenting someone on having a toddler with well defined thighs??? How in the actual fuck. And i bet that creepy person probably left the room thinking that the other parent was the pervert for simply letting their kid wear some generic comfy baby clothes that werent Super Heterosexual In Every Way. Like "how dare they trick me into imposing my creepy pedophilia for literal two day old girls onto a BOY too!" How in the fuck do these people exist and manage to get away with all this shit. Heteronormative stereotypes i guess...

Also i've gotta give a thumbs up to that nice parent in the conversation who was trying to raise their kid neutrally and make sure that when they became old enough to talk theyd know that their family would accept them if they came out as not cis. Its just a shame that its so hard to do stuff like that when society is the way it is, it gets seen as forcing transness onto a child to just..not force cisness onto a child. *sigh* i really fuckin hate how any time any famous celebrity kid makes any sort of non straight decision in their life their parents get slandered by the press as if they forced the kid to be trans by NOT PUNISHING THEM FOR BEING TRANS. So many horrible 'oh what a dangerous mom you should take her kids away eww look she forced her poor son to wear a dress' type tabloids and then wheb you get to the actual source of the original interview uts always "my daughter says she's my daughter and i went out to support her by buying her new gender affirming clothes." Or 'yes my son still identofies as male but i want to be a good parent who doesnt push gender stereotypes, so i'm letting him know its okay to have 'girly' fashion sense if thats what he likes best'. Its always a roulette between 'is this an actual trans person who's beibg misgendered or just some kid who was caught wearing eyeliner once and everyone is assumibg he's trans?" And either way its just so horrible and degrading, i feel so bad for those kids who confessed to their parents about something thet were really worried about and then their parents were open and welcoming and helped cheer them up by buying some nice new fashion and then a fuckin tabloid comes along like 'fuck u that kid SHOULD be ashamed, we're gonna not only throw them back into the pit of self hatred but call child protection services on you for daring to be a good mother!'

Can we just fuckin ban cis straight people from forcibg any sort of opinion onto kids. "Wah but if a kid even sees a trans thing even once its somehow forcing them to be trans yet me following them around yelling YOU ARE A CIS GIRL YOUR BUTT IS SEXY UR GONNA BE FUCKED BY SO MANY MEN at a goddamn toddler is somehow completely okay'

God the internet pisses me off sometimes

[viviantimmet]

The air hums now, with redstone pulse, with the purpose-tuned ring of repeaters, and power turned song. This circuit is for its own sake, it sings under Red’s crusted fingers as if they were bared bone.

It sings with the frequency of the Sun-Thing’s buzzing heat, pulses with the rhythm of Red’s sluggish blood, glows red and red and red has lost it’s meaning.

It’s a simple, simple circuit, but even still, the way it fits together without error, perfectly formed without chisel or pen, pries at their mind, pries out mad ideas they’ve passed over for practicality, time and again.

The mud feels like slime between their fingers as they pull up more quartz, so they set a slab aside to gather it as well, for glue and sticky-pistons, vague memories of walking machines sliding through their mind.

Those were rudimentary, Red can see now, clumsy and unidirectional. Now they will build something far far better, singing with power, pulsing with their pulse, glinting red and Red with the blessed Sun-Thing’s gaze.

…..

Blue is next to notice, when their redstone stores are filled to the brim, and not a grain has ‘gone missing’ for nearly a week. They find Red’s shop empty, as Green did, but it’s only when they come across him bringing bread to Indigo that they truly grow worried.

“Have you seen Red?” they ask, despite feeling like there’s a much better question they can’t quite perceive.

Green startles. He holds the basket tight against him as he does. He doesn’t answer.

“They with Indigo?” Blue asks, because everyone knows who those baskets are for. Are you okay, they don’t ask, even though Green isn’t smiling like he always does, even though something is very clearly wrong.

Green just shakes his head, and then bows it to wipe his eyes, and then unbows it to avoid getting the bread all soggy.

Blue offers him a soot-covered rag, and a questioning look, because What’s wrong wouldn’t cover it.

There’s a flash from Indigo’s workshop that makes Green flinch, that draws Blue’s eyes. They hold out their hands for the basket. Green passes it over weakly.

“Just…” he says, “Make sure she eats, yeah?”

Blue just nods.

Indigo is crouched beside her workbench with some obsidian instrument, lit by a faint glow from a panel Blue tries not to look at. The room is an utter mess of paper and tools and chewed quills.

“So what happened to Red?” they ask, setting the bread aside.

Indigo startles, flinching much harder than Green had, and when she turns around, Blue notes the blood welling up around her bitten nails. They have gauze somewhere on them, probably.

“Blue. Hi.” Indigo takes a breath. “They— they came here for quartz. Like al— They came here for quartz and went through this portal. This,” she gestures at the panel. “This one. It’s a portal. That’s what I do, you already know that, that’s not— I can say that.” She takes another breath.

“Have some bread.” Blue says, holding out a chunk.

She looks at the bread, but doesn’t approach. Blue stares at her. She bites her lip. “I’ve— I—“ She turns back to the workbench, feeling Blue’s eyes on her back.

A sound Blue had been entirely unaware of whines down into silence. The odd lighting fades away. Indigo sets her instrument down and takes the offered bread. The two of them sit on the workshop floor as she eats.

“I don’t know why you ever let them in here, with how they are.” Blue says, and catches the bit of bread Indigo tosses at their face.

“Don’t fucking say that. Don’t you fucking— You—“ she bares her teeth.

“When you get them back, will you still?”

Indigo shoves another bit of bread in her mouth, to stop herself correcting them. Blue knows what they’re saying, Indigo knows it.

Blue covers their face with their hands. There are too many words behind this moment. “Look—“

“I fucked up. Probably. I know. And,” Indigo wrinkles her nose, “No. Look yourself! You think Red wouldn’t be nose deep in this trapped between dimensions and all on their own if not for me? I mean, and everyone else too! Someone fucking has to, because someone fucking will, and Red wouldn’t be so careful if it was them. And it would be. But they know that! They know that and you know it so shut the fuck up. This was my fault, obviously. But it doesn’t change anything.”

And there it is. Blue nods. Lets it go. “Okay,” they say to Indigo’s glare.

She nods back, sharp.

“Don’t bleed out before you fix this,” they say, pulling out their gauze for her fingers.

She snatches it from them and puts it the basket, which is promise enough for them to stand and leave her to it.

[teddy-taron]

Thank u for the request @enoraturner! This is so super cute I couldn’t resist… (I initially planned to do a fluffy piece where he doesn’t want their kid to do gymnastics because she might hurt herself, but the idea I decided to run with was much more fun heheh). Sorry if it’s long, I kinda got carried away.

Requests are still OPEN

————————————————-

The dry grit of soil pressed against your forearms as you crawl, hidden amongst the shrub. The muffled sound of traffic in the distance, the pale stretch of grey above you, the cold metallic kiss of a gun tucked against the small of your back. Your measured, slow breaths offsetting your noisy, thumping heart. There was something beautiful and thrilling about even the littlest of things, once you became a Kingsman. You had Roxy to thank for nominating you, but everything else that had led you here felt like luck. To think that an alternate you could have been cooped up in some shop or office all day… it had only been a few months since you had been formally recruited, but you wouldn’t miss all this for the world. Fuck, you could almost feel your blood singing through your veins.

“Eggsy’s at 11 o'clock, second storey, near the fire staircase”.

“Thanks, Merlin. I think I’ve got it from here.”

There was a chuckle hidden amongst the thick Scottish accent. “Good luck, Gawain. Let me know how it goes.”

Touching the rim of your glasses, a green blueprint of the building appeared, with Eggsy as a pulsating dot situated towards the back. You crouched low and ran silently towards him, the grass changing to asphalt, and you mentally noted how the sweet, sticky fragrance of lime trees all around would mask your scent.

Florence loved these trees- she used to twiddle their heart shaped leaves in her chubby fingers, clumsily pull at the little clusters of flowers. Florence. Your little blossom, with the charming cheeky smile of her father. You had a feeling she’d turn into a right rascal when she grew up, just like Eggsy, but for now, at the ripe age of five years old, she was manageable. Hell, even perfect.

A slight shift in your periphery. Zooming in… yes, there was no mistaking Eggsy on the roof of an adjacent building. You pulled yourself back against the cool brick walls. It was time to focus. There was an acrid smell of craft glue, a glimpse of beaming paint-smeared faces from one of the open windows which you ducked out of sight from as you passed. Florence was probably having a blast somewhere. It was going to be a different type of playtime for you.

Confirming it was a blind spot, you used a running start to help hoist yourself up along a gutter pipe, swung your legs over the banister, lightly landing on concrete. A low sprint towards the other end of the balcony- fuck, there was the back of a school caretaker down the corridor beyond- a leap onto the sturdy branches of a close tree. You inched up the tree trunk, the thick foliage keeping you out of sight, and sprung down onto the roof into a crouch. Damn right, you were getting good at this parkour thing. Childhood gymnastics sure helped Eggsy, but you were a fast learner.

And there he was lying flat against the roof, sniper style, facing away from you. He had taken his navy suit jacket off to rest his elbows on the ground, so that he could peer down the rifle scope comfortably. That little moment right there- his white shirt fluttering gently over the contours of his back, the wind ruffling a few brown locks loose, the distant sound of shrieking laughter spilling into the crisp air- that was one of those little beautiful moments you would never take for granted.

Almost reluctantly, you took a pair of loose cufflinks from your pocket and through them like dice towards Eggsy. They hurtled forward, attached themselves to his wrists and then to each other.

“What the fuck!-” Eggsy rolled over sharply, scrambling, his hands reaching struggling to reach his gun, primed for an attack. The relief poured into his face and his jaw (that goddamn jaw you were a sucker for) unclenched themselves. “Babe, what are you doin?”

Walking along the roof ridge towards him, you laughed, “I was going to ask you the same thing. A sniper rifle?”

“Oi, don’t judge, I replaced the bullets with sedative darts.” he raised an eyebrow and gestured with his head, “What the hell is on my wrists?”

“That”, you said as you switched off the cufflinks and returned them in my pockets “is Merlin’s latest design. Self-contained electromagnets on one side, the other side hones in to your radial pulses.”- Eggsy rolled his eyes, you shrugged cheekily, “He offered to help me find you, so long as he could test them out.”

He got up, rubbing his wrists. And there it was, that dumb grin on his face as he slunk his arms around your waist and pulled you in. “Well, look at you! Smarty pants catchin me red-handed. Roxy must’ve taught you too well.”

Looking up at him, you smoothed his hair back into place, “Hey, I told you, you can’t keep doing this helicopter parent thing-”

“I didn’t even use a helicopter this time, babe.”

“- and Florence’d be mortified if she knew.”

“She’s never going to know.”

You pushed him away lightly as he tried distracting you by smothering your neck in kisses. (You have to admit it was pretty fucking hard to do). “I mean it, Eggsy. I don’t want to have to spy on you spying on our daughter.”

He looked sheepishly “Yeah alright it sounds a bit fuckin creepy if you say it like that. I’m only trying to look out for her, y'know, be a better dad than…”

“I know.” You sighed and pulled him closer by his shirt to give him a quick peck on the lips. “Let’s get the hell off this roof and go home. Promise me you’ll stop doing this?”

“Yes ma'am,” he winked, packing away the sniper rifle, and slinging his jacket back on. You shook your head and smiled. You don’t trust that wink one bit.

(gif by angelic-breeze)

[wrldsapart18]

OKAY I’M GONNA COME OFF OF ANON BUT ANYWAYS— gel pen / ballpoint pen / fineliner / highlighter / greylead / felt-tip / sketching pad / notebook / paper / stapler / glue stick / tape / ruler / eraser / scissors / calculator / protractor / sticky note / stamp / bookmark / folder / whiteboard / blackboard / pinboard / tablet / stencil / envelope

haha gay

im gonna answer the other two in this ask too for convenience

gel pen: when are you most comfortable?

im most comfortable. in my mcfuckin bed. jk maybe that and also w friends in a chill setting

ballpoint pen: tell me about the day you’ve just had

uh i felt like shit as soon as i woke up. i chilled for a bit and felt kind of better but still lowkey like shit so i. took 5 hour nap, and you know my ass is gonna complain abt it later :)

fineliner: what’s your greatest achievement?

bumping into a girl i hate and hearing something fall :))))

highlighter: what are your best qualities?

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh im gay and love my friends and sometimes laugh really hard at thing that arent tht funny

greylead: what is something you want to try for the first time?

i wanna be in one of the school plays but also im terrified of everything so lol

felt-tip: describe your aesthetic

maybe nostalgic? 

crayon: your earliest childhood memory

uhhh i remember crawlin out my crib as a kid haha #savage

scrapbook: something from your childhood that makes you smile

laughing abt dumb shit w my step brother (but i honestly cant remember what the dumb shit was) and even having to contain my laughter when i was thinking abt that shit

sketching pad: describe yourself from a stranger’s point of view

wow this guy has nice hair and looks p cool. hes seems to have an ok style but he also looks like he doesnt know what hes doin. i wonder whats hes- oh thats a girl sorry

notebook: what’s your favourite quote?

this sounds emo but“i love the things you hate about yourself” from hallelujah by panic at the disco

paper: what kind of book would you write?

a book that fucks ya mind. hella symbolism. where if ur discussin it w someone, theyre like “i thought this line meant this” and youre like “oh fuck i thought it meant this”

stapler: out of all the people you know, who do you think you are closest to?

uhhhhhhh @glutamines ?? @avariciosa 

glue stick: what do you look for in a lasting relationship/friendship?

understanding, trust, communication. ik thats like... cliche but im deadass.

tape: tell me about your longest friendship

@gentlelance we’ve been friends since the dreaded...longlasting... Homestuck Phase. and we both suffered through a joey graceffa phase hhhhhh hfuck i still get fuckin. war flashbacks. lowkey tho i miss those days... they were much simpler times. wihfoqihefiuwhughksjdg

ruler: what line will you never cross?

uhhhhhh being an ass to someone if they were never an ass to me?

eraser: what do you consider to be your biggest mistake?

hhhhhhhhhhh coming out to my mom

scissors: ever had a bad break-up?

nah boy

calculator: list fifteen things that make you happy

1. my dogs2. my friends lmao3. nice stationery4. skincare5. lighting candles that shit is. somehow therapeutic to me6. nice lookin shoes7. my hair LMAO8. the guarantee i made to myself that i will leave this god forsaken town 9. nice socks (like the designs)10. my ocs11. my plants12. alternative r&b13. shane dawson videos and spooky videos in general14. crested geckos15. buying stuff... thats so fuckin materialistic but look......i like owning pretty things

protractor: an unpopular opinion/angle you have on an issue

mmm???? i dont. think i have an unpopular opinion??? or at least i cant think of one rn

sticky note: something about yourself you’d like to change

uhhhhhhhhh everythin cept my hair :))))))

stamp: a date that’s special for you and why

seein a movie or somethin of that sort together kinda just bc ur bein quiet together. i just find comfortable silence really nice.also just. goin to the store like any store. bc its a normal thing but for some reason the thought of it is !!!

bookmark: a book that means a lot to you and why

uh there no book that means a lot to me but i really like my copy of the book thief bc theres somethin written in french on one of the front pages and i just find it cool

folder: describe your family

assholes. theyre nice but the majority of the time i hate them and i just. wanna be left alone.

whiteboard: tell me your plans for tomorrow

- school....ofc- gay club- get home somehow and continue sulking abt my mom bein an ass as i do hw- my life is boring im sorry

blackboard: tell me about a memory that has affected who you are today

uh i uh. ive got nothin man

pinboard: what are you focusing on in your life right now?

tryin to not die also not bein an asshole w my hw this year

tablet: tell me your plans for the future

- move to california and try to not die- either go to college there or just go fuck myself and find a way to work AND live

stencil: who are your role models?

hhhhhh miles and wen

envelope: tell me a secret

im gay