#anyways. face of a man who has the patience of a guy who has potty trained many dogs

[courtchip]

Raw - Dec. 30th, 1996

[cksmart-world]

       SMART BOMB

The completely unnecessary news analysis

by Christopher Smart

November 8, 2022

THE JOYS OF POLITICAL VIOLENCE

Hey Wilson, did you hear the joke about Paul Pelosi — the husband of Nancy Pelosi who got his head beat in by an intruder with a hammer at his San Francisco home. It's hilarious — if you can't laugh at that, you're not a Republican. Virginia Gov. Glenn Youngkin, Kari Lake, the Arizona governor candidate and Donny Trump Jr. are among the comedians who had a good laugh when surgeons had to put Paul Pelosi's head back together. Donny's Daddy suggested the attack was staged. Then Republicans had some real fun: Louisiana Rep. Clay Higgins said the assailant was a “nudist hippie male prostitute.” And his GOP colleagues just loved it and couldn't repeat it enough. Fox bloviators amplified it, too — and voilà it was a fact. You're not laughing, Wilson. The assailant had planned to kidnap the Speaker of the House, who was in D.C. The GOP has had fun with Nancy for 20 years. The RNC ran a TV ad in 2009 with her face framed by the barrel of a gun, the sound of a gun shot and blood streaming down the screen. Hoo-hah. These fusillades are now common place. But it's all in good fun. Sure, Donald Trump urges his supporters to be violent, but nobody listens. Anyway, it's too bad some people don't have a sense of humor. Did you hear the one about Liz Cheney. It's killer.

NEW BOSSES CAN TOTALLY SUCK

Ever get a new boss. It can be a total bummer. If they say, “Hey, everything is going to be bigger and better,” you're probably screwed. But if they say, “We're going to change this place and get rid of all the dead wood,” like Elon Musk did last week at Twitter, then you're toast. Sound familiar? Let's say you work at a widget factory. The old boss retires and a new man or woman (Smart Bomb seeks potty parity or something like it) comes in but he/she doesn't know a widget from third base. Nonetheless, they (gender neutral) believe they're brilliant and besides, they just have to change stuff, like it's a law of nature or something. First thing the new boss will do is “streamline” everything to make it “more efficient.” Of course that screws everything up — they do it to impress the owners (stock holders). Did you know the Saudis own a big chunk of Twitter. What if that prince guy was your new boss. Screw up and you not only lose your job, you could lose your head. It's hard to say what's in the future for Twitter, but Musk has made use of the platform for years, including when he tweeted that he would buy Coca-Cola and put cocaine back in it. Yes Wilson, he really tweeted that — but it's a joke, so tell the band to chill. Don't you just hate new bosses — they never share the coke, well, almost never.

COPS CAN'T SAY THAT

“There's nothing we can do.” “Why did you wait to report this crime?” “What do you want me to do?” Those are the things University of Utah police officers should no longer say to victims of crime, according to interim Chief Jason Hinojosa, as reported in The Salt Lake Tribune. Back when, Wilson and the band had to be briefed on how not to lip-off to cops so as not to get hand-cuffed. It's yes, officer; no, officer; whatever you say officer; no I haven't been drinking, officer, it's a new cologne; my eyes are bloodshot officer 'cause I have allergies. How far we have come. There are two types of cops: nice cops and mean cops. But nice cops can be mean if they're having a bad day — they are human, after all. Of course, a university campus is a little different than, say, the area around Pioneer Park downtown. Salt Lake City cops have a lot of patience, even when dealing with people stoned out of their minds. That requires special communication skills they don't teach at the academy. Cops everywhere know not to say certain things, like, “How would you rate that dope?” But with new recruits on a college campus you can't be too careful. The chief should also instruct them not say things like, “Show me what you got,” or “What's in your pants.” Being a cop can get complicated fast.

Post script — That's a wrap for another bruising week here at Smart Bomb, where we keep track of the blood sport called politics so you don't have to. This election season we got a taste of the competition for God's blessing. Both Donald Trump and Ron DeSantis claim to be the Second Coming. “There is a man by the name of Donald,” said a booming voice at the ReAwaken America tour extravaganza. “God said, ‘You have been determined through your prayers to influence this nation … when it comes time for the election you will be elected.” It gives new meaning to “taking the Lord's name in vein.” Meanwhile, DeSantis' campaign released a video of him with this voice over: "God said, 'I need somebody willing to get up before dawn, kiss his family goodbye, travel thousands of miles for no other reason than to serve the people, to save their jobs, their livelihoods, their liberty, their happiness.'" Coincidence or not, Trump called DeSantis, Ron "DeSanctimonious." So clever. Since we're talking about righteousness, there is a new documentary out of the sordid drama of big time evangelical leader Jerry Falwell Jr. who coaxed a pool boy into sex with his wife so he could watch. When God is on your side, it opens all kinds of doors.

Well Wilson, you and the band probably don't know any churchy hymns, but you gotta come up with somethin' to go with all this religiosity, or whatever it is. These people throw the Lord's name around like he's Astros Coach Dusty Baker and Trump and DeSantis are designated hitters. Dig deep, Wilson, we need somethin' with a lot of soul:

Please allow me to introduce myself I'm a man of wealth and taste I've been around for a long, long year Stole many a man's soul and faith I was 'round when Jesus Christ Had his moment of doubt and pain Made damn sure that Pilate Washed his hands and sealed his fate Pleased to meet you Hope you guess my name But what's puzzling you Is the nature of my game I stuck around St. Petersburg When I saw it was a time for a change Killed the Tzar and his ministers Anastasia screamed in vain I rode a tank Held a general's rank When the blitzkrieg raged And the bodies stank

Pleased to meet you Hope you guess my name But what's puzzling you Is the nature of my game

Just as every cop is a criminal And all the sinners saints As heads is tails Just call me Lucifer Cause I'm in need of some restraint So if you meet me Have some courtesy Have some sympathy, and some taste Use all your well-learned politesse Or I'll lay your soul to waste

(Sympathy For the Devil — Rolling Stones)

[theprettysetterclub]

hi can i get a matchup?? I’m a 5’4 girl who is very loud,,,like sometimes embarrassing loud but i can’t help it i’m a full out musical theatre kid :) i tend to be quiet around people i don’t know to well but once i get comfortable around you man i never stop talking. Depending on what i’m talking about i can have an endless amount of energy and i do pretty well in school despite my chronic procrastination. I love anything Disney and Harry Potter and i’m such an Astronomy nerd it’s unbelievable! I can play a couple of basic instruments and i LOVE singing! I do get really bad seasonal depression and tend to zone out in the middle of sentences sometimes. I’m super sarcastic and i have a bad potty mouth haha i LOVE scaring people!! My anxiety can cause some problems with me overthinking and having problems with confrontation which i’m working on 😗 anyways i’m sorry this is so long😖😖 but thank you so much !!!

@desi-studys​ you are an angel thank you for your patience,,, also you sound adorable? keep doing what you’re doing 

ANYWAY, i match you with...

oikawa tooru!

✧ i didn’t think of him immediately when i was running through your prospective matches, but when he came to mind i was like oh but of course-- this bastard brat is perfect for you sdfkljf

✧ you are,,, the loudest couple in the world. honestly, oikawa has big theatre kid energy (and if he hadn’t been so damn in love with volleyball i bet you the stage is where he would’ve ended up). you two are always making so much damn noise and i think that’s delightful hhh

✧ he loves hearing you ramble. did you ever see that post that was like “i love listening to my partner ramble about their niche interests because i know they’ll listen to me ramble about my niche interests”? anyway, that’s you two,,,  oikawa’s sitting there like “ah yes, very interesting” when you’re talking about astronomy because he knows he’s going to be able to ramble about aliens next asdlkj

✧ he calls you a nerd all the time, but that’s just because he’s insecure about being one himself sdlkjssfd you two go on so many astronomy-themed dates! stargazing is his personal favourite (although he is terrible at identifying the constellations, no matter how hard he tries). he knows a surprising amount about the stars (and all the theories about the potential existence of aliens. no really, every theory. he knows them. even the fringe ones) 

✧ you two are so sarcastic with each other, oh my god,,, neither of you can say anything without getting roasted by the other. sometimes outsiders think you’re fighting but you never are. also, he kind of loves your potty mouth? for some reason he always smiles whenever you swear? it always ends up being a “that’s my girl” moment for whatever reason 

✧ OH oikawa is the best person to scare because he’s so reactive,,, he literally shrieks whenever you jump-scare him. he always gets really whiny afterwards, but his reactions are so priceless. he knows that he sort of makes himself a target, but he doesn’t really mind; he gets to see you laugh every time, after all 

✧ but, while your relationship is filled with light and levity, he’s also very clever and observant. so, he’s always aware of when you’re overthinking or experiencing some seasonal depression. and, you can bet that he’s going to do whatever he can to help you. whether that’s talking things over or simply spending time in your presence, he works hard to be attentive and present. 

✧ he still loves teasing you though, just because he’s Like That (and i personally feel that he can be a bit allergic to sincerity sometimes kldfsj) get ready to be constantly roasted for zoning out,,, but honestly he only does that because he thinks it’s quite cute but he just can’t bring himself to say that (probably because of his pride or something hh)   

✧ you guys are so cute and yet so bratty and i love your dynamic so much,,, please put this guy in his place but also shower him with love because he deserves it 

other matches!

✧ ushijima wakatoshi: i am,,, a big fan of contrast. and this couple? chef’s kiss. loud theatre kid + stoic captain of the volleyball team? i love a good narrative foil ljdlkj OKAY but imagine him at your performances? watching with what appears to be the most stoic face in the world but you can tell he’s actually really excited? i also feel like he’d think you’re really funny? and everyone’s just floored because you made the ushijima wakatoshi chuckle. your power-- on another note, i feel like he’d be a really good listener, even if he doesn’t talk much himself. i can also see him being a good grounding force whenever you’re overthinking? he’s just so resolute and driven that he’s surprisingly comforting? if that makes sense? 

✧ azumane asahi: just like ushijima, i love the contrast? asahi is so soft and introverted and lowkey, while you’re much louder and seem like a lot of fun! not that asahi doesn’t seem like a fun person or anything, but hopefully you know what i’m getting at dfjssld ANYWAY he loves listening to you ramble, and he absolutely adores your singing voice! he’ll be blushing like a fool when he admits it, but he loves it when you sing him to sleep,,, he just likes your voice a lot. also, you’re both anxious and have issues with overthinking, so you’d be very understanding of each other’s struggles. and honestly, he’s super grateful for that? OH OH and disney marathons are definitely a consistent date night for you guys,,, asahi gives off BIG disney lover energy and nothing can change my mind-- 

[teagrl]

You knew it. Cranky listing of thoughts on Allegiance. Extremely long.

-Why fanfic has not referred to that that inflatable mannequin thing Mara used in Allegiance is beyond me. That shit is hilarious.

-Mara is 18 in Allegiance which is several months after Yavin. The text says her tenure as Hand has been short, the first chapter at least makes a point of Mara being inexperienced (but practiced). This is good fodder for extrapolation. 

-There’s a mention of being taught by professional thieves. Obviously the Emperor had them executed after they taught Mara the text doesn’t say this, but it’s canon in my head.

-Another good moment for extrapolating:

-”Thank you,” Mara said, feeling the warmth of his approval flow through her

[...]

”The Emperor held out his hand to her. “Go,” he said

Mara stepped forward and took his outstretched had, feeling a fresh wave of warmth and strength flow into her, then stepped back again.”

Reminds me of this moment in Sleight of Hand:

The eyes glittered again, and Mara felt the warmth of his approval fill her mind. 

Speaking of Sleight of Hand, the absolutely most interesting part of that story for me is this one line:

Frowning slightly with concentration, trying to ignore the noisy clutter of all the other minds in the room, she drew on the Emperor’s power within her and focused on the figure in the armored suit. 

I have basically around 30K based on this line as it stands. 

Sleight of Hand also has this intro of Mara:

She was the Emperor’s Hand, with powers in the Force that had been trained, nurtured, and strengthened by the Emperor himself...

Which takes us back to Allegiance with:

But Mara was the Emperor’s Hand, recruited and trained personally by him [...]

-After so much reading about the Imperial Palace and the Jedi Temple, I like thinking that the Emperor’s library is actually the Jedi Archives. Cue scream. Awesome.

-On this reread I kind of loved Mara thinking *sigh* why can’t I get the message through to Vader that we’re on the same side and like would kind of appreciate reading about them doing a mission together where (a)Mara finds how uh blunt force Vader can be firsthand  and (b) they end up with a grudging respect for one another or rather Vader ends up thinking Mara isn’t a TOTAL waste of space. Totally cliche, but I want it. We kind of end like that here, but ehhh they don’t interact meaningfully.

-”Loyalty was, after all, one of the Emperor’s greatest qualities; loyalty to all that were loyal to him.” Cue scream. This is good. I like this.

-”That would be an extremely bad idea,” she warned Birtraub. “The penalties for assaulting an Imperial agent are fairly gruesome.” Not that we know in Allegiance, but thanks to other EU works, AND HOW.

-”Mara felt her lip twist. The Emperor had often warned her that she was far too young for most people to take her threats seriously.”

-”Mara wrinkled her nose in disgust. ISB was a necessary evil, she knew, though to her mind there was too much evil and not enough necessity in the mix. Her own limited experience had found them to be generally arrogant, heavy-handed, and overly proud of their elite status.”

Omg lolololololololforever.

But yeah, I think everyone hates ISB. (About the stormtroopers given to her --”Knowing ISB, it was more likely Somoril had picked a pair of expendables.”)

-I am annoyed at Mara offering the pirate a blanket pardon in exchange for his cooperation. BLANKET PARDON. The true Imperial thing to do would be to offer it, get what you want, and betray him in the end. Because he’s a pirate. End of story. It’s ridiculously ooc for a high ranking Imperial to not to do that. In the end Tannis gets killed so the narrative never goes there. But that’s one of the milquetoast moments in Allegiance. Know your fucking Empire, man.

-”A girl who gets those orders,” Somoril corrected. “She’s barely had time to finish her training, let along build up any field experience.” 

-”Mara’s training had included a basic overview of starship operation, but most of that had been geared to military craft.”

-Oh hey, I guess either Mara always found the name Celina striking or Zahn fucked up his own continuity again, because she uses that a year before the Jabba’s thing where Melina Carniss stops her (she will later go by Celina Marniss).

-”The result was a dinner conversation made up almost entirely of chitchat, the sort Mara had heard at formal and informal dinners all across the galaxy. It made for an interesting contrast with the pirates’ casually blistering language.”

I think of Mara’s own potty mouth later on. 

-Ohhhh:

“Mara could remember the first time she’d done something like this, discussing matters that weren’t real with someone who was firmly convinced they were. In those early days the procedure had felt eerie and surrealistic, almost as if Mara herself were the one with the warped sense of reality. Now it was simply one more tool in her arsenal.”

DING. Spectacular. It’s too bad we’re never truly shown this. I think of that marvelous scene in Vader and the Ghost Prison, where Moff Tratcha tells the inmates the Empire offers clean deaths, right after we know he just beat a prisoner to death.

-”The Force was Mara’s servant and no matter how twisty or tangled the tunnels might be, she would have no trouble tracking Caldra through them.”

I don’t need to point to the inversion, do I?

-It makes 0 sense that people would know “the Emperor’s Hand,” in the Fringes/Outer Rim given how inexperienced Mara is at this stage. The only thing that makes it plausible is the existence of other agents going by that moniker before Mara herself took the post.

-Mara trying to save the pirate is some bullshit. Her carrying him through the Force is bullshit. Aaaaaaa it makes no sense with her training at all. It’s just there because Zahn wants her to be a good guy. Drives me craaaaazy. You can find other ways of highlighting “goodness” but saving a bloodsucking, civilian-killing pirate JUST BECAUSE is not it, considering she straight up murders all his other comrades, and he’s only cooperating with her because SHE MADE HIM, and she’s known him for like A FUCKING DAY. There is seriously no fucking in-universe reason in any universe she should bust her ass trying to save him. NONE.

-”It was impossible-- the Empire;s attention was completely absorbed with the Rebellion and domestic instability and alien unrest. By direct order from the Emperor himself, pirates and other raiders had been reclassified as a local and system enforcement problem.”

-”The Emperor had little patience with memorials, Mara knew, with extra contempt for the practice of saying words over the fallen. Mara said a few words anyway, half remembered ones from her childhood, before consigning Tannis’ body to the emptiness of space.”

Where the fuck do I even begin with this clusterfuck? 1) TANNIS IS A NOBODY. He and Mara have no connection and given Mara’s attitude towards criminals that connection doesn’t make sense. Not to mention there is no TIME to develop rapport between them. Every time she dealt with him it has been to pump him for information or to use him strategically. So her mourning him as a person seems unrealistic and has no basis in what we saw.

2) Furthermore, I call bullshit on memorials. The Emperor might tell her on the sly as a “between you and I” thing, but a regime supports itself also honoring its martyrs (those who fall to safeguard Order and peace). This is part of the propaganda machine and at this stage of her life given how much Mara believes in the Empire, it simply doesn’t make sense for the Emperor to let her in on it how empty memorials are, ultimately. 

Also Tannis is a motherfucking PIRATE. AAAAAAAAAARGHHHHH. Don’t conflate this. It’s not conflatable! It makes no senseeeeeee. There needs to be a HUGE difference between memorials for the honored fallen and the death a criminal ultimately deserves (in accordance to the either with or against us mentality of the Empire) for disrupting society!!!!

Also Mara was what? 4-5 at the time she came to the palace? What is she recalling? Earlier stuff from palace caretakers? I mean in theory you can make this work. But you have to go through gymnastics because on the face of it, it doesn’t match up with imperial culture.

-I’m not even going to say anything about Mara doing a healing trance at this stage in her life other than Did Not Do the Reading.

Fic writers, there you go if you forgot something five chapters ago. You didn’t forget something you wrote a published trilogy ago.

-After reading much more on Vader, the “confrontation” with Mara seems utterly ridiculous “see my fave” fan service. I don’t mind fan service, but it’s kind of low hanging fruit.

-Mara crash lands quite a bit, huh.

-This is how you fanservice:

-”I’m an Imperial agent,” she snapped back. “Level K012; recognition code Hapspir Barrini. We’ve got a bandit in that AT-ST.”

LaRone felt his mouth drop open. But years of training instantly took over. “Understood, ma’am,” he said. “Orders?”

-But then it gets ruined by underscoring how Mara is Not Like Other Imperials. How she values the lives of stormtroopers and the narrative belabors the point until it’s tiresome (she prefers using names, which is kind of dumb considering how attached she is to her own designation of Emperor’s Hand -- again, it doesn’t add up). How she thinks to fill the stormtroopers in about the mission past directives. If you think it through it becomes clear this is a doylist/out of universe add on, it doesn’t really hold water with consistency in-universe. Zahn just wants to have it both ways. It’s an ethically dubious thing because it leads to that kind of the Empire Was Not All Bad apologia. Get the fuck out with that shit. 

You can write good people serving in the Empire without taking a right into Empire apologia. Claudia Gray did it in Lost Stars!

-”Ordering the slaughter of civilians is against everything the Empire stands for. If it’s true, I promise you someone is going to suffer for it.”

LaRone looked sideways at Marcross. The other grimaced in silent agreement. For all her strength and competence, this Emperor’s Hand had an awfully naive view of what the Empire actually stood for. 

But she would learn.

Actually she doesn’t. Mara’s history with the empire is relegated to personal tragedy. The actual systematic horror of the Empire isn’t explored anywhere with relation to her and her awareness of it. Yes, the personal is political, but Zahn never writes Mara confronting herself as an agent of that in any meaningful manner. In Survivor’s Quest, it’s particularly appalling that Mara sees herself as a survivor of the Empire, as in a victim of it. There’s no doubting that, but to overemphasize that as the EU has done in order to whitewash Mara into Luke’s dream girl that has the problematic effect of clouding that she was COMPLICIT however ignorant her complicity was.

We like our women being victims of their circumstance, more than we can bear witnessing their complicity in toxic frameworks.

That idea makes me so mad, it resulted in 100K+ of fic.

-”Besides a few days ago I was ready to offer a complete pardon to a man who’d done more against the Empire and its citizens than any of you could possibly do.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THIS MAKES NO SENSE IT’S SO STUPID AND POORLY THOUGHT OUT AND CLEARLY ALL ABOUT WHAT THE WRITER WANTS AND NOT WHAT A CHARACTER WOULD DO IN THE CONTEXT OF THEIR ENVIRONMENT WITHIN THEIR UNIVERSE.

It’s safe. It’s trite. 

Consistency. What the fuck is it even.

[jupiterinthe7th]

Snowed In | Chapter 1

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Chapter: 1 | 11:00 PM

Summary: Reader and Tom are stuck in an airport in NYC due to a snow storm. They think of different activities to do while they wait throughout the night.

Words: 1.3K

Warnings: Language, because I have a potty mouth… sorry.

A/N: New series! I meant to post this earlier in the week but school has been a shit storm lately. Anyway, chapters for this will be kind of short and each one will consist of a different activity. Enjoy, and thanks for reading! (This wasn’t beta-ed, so please excuse any mistakes.)

Snowed In Masterlist

“No, no, no!” You reloaded the page on your phone once, twice, three times. The same words appeared in bright red letters each time: FLIGHT CANCELLED. You lept out of your seat, running to the wall of screens that advertised each flight and its corresponding gate. One by one, their scheduled arrival times were switched with the same damned word: CANCELLED. “Shit! No!” You buried your head in your hands, letting yourself comprehend that your worst case scenario was actually happening. The people surrounding you were groaning in frustration right along with you.

A plump woman rushed into the throng of travelers surrounding the screens, stood on one of the chairs, and gave a long, loud whistle. It was strange how quickly silence replaced the chaos. Her sleek ponytail swung side to side as she gave equal attention to both sides of the crowd. “Excuse me everyone, we are very sorry for the inconvenience. Due to the snow storm, all outgoing and incoming flights have been cancelled.” A dull roar rose from the crowd as they all expressed their collective exasperation, and she raised her voice to match. “Excuse me! We will have shuttle services available to surrounding hotels if needed, but I suggest that those who can go home do so. Thank you for your attention. And once again, the staff apologizes for the inconvenience.”

It was the week before Christmas, quite possibly the worst time for cancelled flights. Everyone was trying to get home to their families, including you.

A good portion of the crowd dispersed in several different directions, presumably going home as the woman had suggested. The rest of them, however, flooded the customer service desk in desperation. They, like you, were in denial.

You elbowed your way to the front, clutching your boarding pass. Figuring you’d get further with kindness than pushiness, you reached deep down to the last bit of patience you had left, and plastered on a smile.

“Good evening! Listen, I really need a flight to London, as soon as possible. I know the storm has kind of put a hold on things, but when is the next flight out?”

“I’m sorry ma'am, but until the storm clears up we won’t be able to schedule any new flights.”

Your face fell, and you couldn’t help the little groan of disappointment that escaped you.

“I’m very sorry, ma'am. I wish there was something I could do.”

“No, don’t be sorry. This isn’t your fault. It’s not like you conjured up the storm.”

She gave you a sympathetic smile. “We do recommend that you go home if you can. If not, I can help you find a nice room somewhere close by.”

“No, no. Thank you, but I need to be on the next flight out of here. I think I’ll just wait it out here. I mean, how long can these things last?”

The poor woman didn’t have the heart to tell you that these storms could last for up to several days. She gave you a nervous smile as you sighed dejectedly, and managed your way back out of the dwindling crowd.

You surveyed the gate. Almost every seat was taken by idiots like you who had decided to stay. You spotted one seat that was taken up by a large duffel bag, it’s owner lightly napping next to it. You walked up to the young man and gently tapped him on the arm. He awoke with a start, eyes frantically meeting yours.

“Hi, I’m so sorry to wake you. Do you mind if I take the seat next to you? It’s the only one left.”

He sat up quickly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and moved his belongings. “No, yeah, of course.”

You plopped down next to him, leaning on the armrest and massaging the bridge of your nose in the hopes of soothing your headache.

“Sorry about that, I didn’t realize I was taking up space. It was much emptier when I first got here.”

“Yeah, well, it’s probably gonna be this crowded for a while. Everyone is trying to figure out how to get out of here.”

“Why?”

You looked up at him in confusion, but he just looked equally as confused. “You weren’t listening?” He just shrugged. Then you remembered he had been asleep. Of course you had to be the one to deliver bad news to the cute guy with the cute accent. “All of the flights have been cancelled. I guess there’s this giant snowstorm headed our way.”

“Oh, you’re kidding.” He huffed out a breath and dug his phone from his pocket, probably to let someone know he was stuck. A few minutes later he had said nothing more, so you clammed up and decide to browse your own phone.

Only a half hour had gone by, and you were already getting antsy. How long would you be sitting here? Was it even worth it? Should you just go home?

The man next to you got up suddenly, interrupting your thoughts. “I’m going to go buy myself a water. Can I get you anything while I’m up?”

“Oh, no, I’m okay, thank you.”

“Are you sure? The restaurants are quite far, and I’m already going.”

You bit your lip, and he could see you wanted something despite your hesitation.

“It’s no trouble at all, really,” he gently pressed.

“Okay, if you’re already going. I’ll just have a water too.” He turned to walk away, and you quickly called after him. “Wait! Let me give you some money.”

“Don’t worry about it darling, it’s no big deal.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at his use of the word ‘darling’, but ignored it. It was obviously just a cultural thing. “Are you kidding? These airport water bottles are, like, six bucks. They’re worse than movie theater prices.” He chuckled lightly. “Please take the money, I can’t ask you to do that.”

He sighed, seeing that you were adamant about paying for yourself, and took the bills from your hand. He returned 10 minutes later, two bottles in hand. He handed you your change, and sat back down next to you, chugging most of the bottle immediately.

“So, what were you going to London for?” he asked when he finally came up for air.

“Visiting family for the holidays. My sister moved out there a few years back. Everyone decided they wanted a destination Christmas, so we’re all flying out to her house this year.” You sipped your water slowly as he nodded along. “What about you? Are you flying home or just visiting?”

“I sort of split my time between the states and England. I do a lot of work here, but London is home, so that’s where I spend Christmas.”

You nodded in understanding. Suddenly a thought came to you, and you groaned in frustration. “Oh, crap!”

“What?”

You sighed. “Well, every year since my oldest brother turned 21, my family has had a tradition of playing a drinking game on the first night we get together. It’s sort of a rundown of everything we did throughout the year, like, “drink if you got a new job this year,” or “drink if you went through a breakup.” This was the first year I’d be the right age to drink, and I’m gonna miss it.” You had been talking with your hands, and let them flop into your lap.

“Well, that sucks.” He glanced over at the bar, then shifted in his seat toward you. “Hey, uh…” You looked at him, a bit of mischief in his big, round eyes. “I have an idea.”

Chapter 2

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[vizhi0n]

Sawney - Part 11

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Ahhh I’m so excited for this chapter. It’s probably my absolute fav and I had fun writing it. I hope a lot of y’all are satisfied with it XD anywho, thank you guys so much for sticking with this story! *sends u a million hearts*

Anywho, if you want to be tagged or untagged, lemme know!

Warnings: Negan’s potty mouth and, finally, smut.

@castielwinchester22 @i-am-negan-trash @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash@genevievedarcygranger @kijilinn @ladylorelitanyfanfiction @lucifers-trash-stash @superprincesspea @doyouhaveavacancy @hannibalssweaters @heartfulloffandoms @strangersangel9 @kellyn1604 @crzcorgi @mypapawinchester @my-achilles--heel @moonypetyr @darkangel66a @backseat-negan @vinylmadwoman @embracetheapocalypsewithme @lovingzombiechaos @jasoncrouse @mcnegan @melodicdolls @itstotalyblue @imjustmakingsuffupagain @jeffreydeanneganstrash @gremlinfuck @originalwinchestervamp @negans-network

The moment Negan dismissed the crowd, and Dwight was toted off to see Carson, he went down to the cells. 

A million thoughts ran through his mind. He considered punishing Mother by making it a spectacle, a public event. The only downside was that Mother was  an enigma. Such an act would only benefit Negan. The others, the rest of the Saviors, they didn’t know.

He was still simmering. He hadn’t spoken a word to Sherry. Gavin had been the one to catch her and Dwight going at it, and from the lack of excuses Sherry gave, he assumed it to be true. Sherry wasn’t the one to be silent. Ever. 

Rules are rules.

Negan prayed none of his men had caught the tremble in his hand. He’d done it nonchalantly, almost stoically before. But the internal wounds caused by Mother and Father had yet to close. He was still weak. 

You’re not them. You’re not.

He entered the cell. Mother looked up, flashing her crooked teeth. The smile made Negan sick to his stomach, and he knelt, placing Lucille on the ground behind him. 

“I heard screams. Did you punish someone?”

“Yes,” Negan answered. 

“How?”

“A hot iron to the fucking face. You might be next if you don’t stop asking questions,” Negan growled. “I fucking came here to take one last good look at you.”

“Finally run out of patience?” Mother crowed. She shifted, restraints rattling. Negan’s heart began to beat faster, and he absently reached for Lucille before catching himself, stopping.

No. Not like this.

“Yeah, I fucking have. People like you don’t deserve a fucking trial or a punishment. Your fucking legacy is dead,” Negan leaned forward. “And soon, you will be, too. My Saviors are going to live on, fucking prosper — you had a chance to prosper with us, but you didn’t. Desa is the only one who made the right decision. I thought I’d let you know that she’s alive before you fucking die.”

That revelation caused Mother’s face to contort in rage. She bared her teeth, lunging, cursing, hair billowing like a halo. Negan met her halfway, planting a knee against her chest, both hands around her throat.

She hissed and scratched like an animal, nails drawing blood. Negan, consumed with bloodlust, did not feel the abrasions against his skin. He squeezed and Mother gasped, trying to draw in air as Negan slowly crushed her windpipe. 

She thrashed, her kicking legs falling limp, her grip on Negan slackening. He continued to squeeze until his knuckles turned white and he could feel cartilage crunch beneath his fingers, long after Mother’s heart had ceased to beat.

He quickly drew his knife and thrust it into Mother’s head. She lay, a corpse, deader than the people she’d lobotomized. 

Negan wiped his hands, standing. When he exited the cell, Fat Joey was waiting for him, a very, very concerned look on his flushed face. 

“What the fuck do you want, Joey?”

“It’s her. The girl. The one from the Estate or whatever,” Joey stammered, tripping over his words. But Negan heard him clearly, crisply, and they sent dread coursing throughout his entire body. “She’s gone. She ran.”

You’ve made a gross miscalculation.

Desa followed the main road for miles, the path towards the Estate clear in her mind. She’d set a goal for herself, and she was determined to complete it. It gave her something to focus on. Something to keep her mind off the sound of Dwight’s flesh simmering away beneath a hot iron —

Don’t think about. Don’t. 

While she’d been confident at first, she was beginning to realize how rashly she’d acted. She had a knife, no gun, no bag of supplies. The trip to the estate would take her at least two days by foot, and she wasn’t entirely sure if there were any outposts on the way. 

She kept walking, anyway. Even as the sun began to set, she continued her trek until she was, finally, forced to stop as a car rolled up behind her, headlights flickering on. 

You tried. 

“You have some goddamn nerve coming out here. What the fuck could you possibly have been thinking?”

Desa didn’t look at Negan. 

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“Obviously. Goddamit, Desa. Come here.” Desa still wasn’t looking at Negan. She felt his hand against the back of her neck as he rounded on her, dipping his head to meet her unfaltering gaze. After a long pause, Negan sighed and said, “What’s the fucking matter?”

“Dwight. You burned him.”

“Yeah, I did. He didn’t follow the fucking rules. I couldn’t let that shit go unpunished,” Negan explained softly. “That’s how we do things here, Desa. I don’t like doing that shit, but it has to be done.”

“Why?”

“He snuck behind my fucking back to get with Sherry—”

“I know that. I don’t care about that. Why did you have to burn his face?”

Negan pinched the bridge of his nose, glancing over Desa’s shoulder. Leaves rustled, followed by the soft groan of a biter as it shuffled onto the road. Negan murmured, “Go get in the fucking car.”

“I’m not going back. Not yet. You’re going to take me somewhere, first.”

Negan spun Lucille, downing the biter in one heavy swing. Pearls of blood dripped from the barbed wire, but Negan didn’t seem to care. Letting out a breath, he turned and said, “You’re in no position to be making demands.”

“If you won’t take me, I’ll walk.”

“The fuck you won’t.”

“Then let’s go. Right now. To the Estate, so I can bury Jack,” Desa could tell that she’d struck a nerve as she pleaded, “Please. After what I did, he deserves…something.”

“Tell me why the fuck you’re out here, first.”

“I was scared. The iron…Dwight…all that scared me. I wasn’t thinking clearly, so I ran. I thought I’d put all that behind me. I thought the Sanctuary was different—”

“It is,” Negan stressed, walking quickly towards Desa. He stopped when he saw her flinch away. “I only punish those who fuck up. Not for some sick, twisted fucking pleasure. I can’t just…ignore the rules that I set up to fucking keep people alive.”

“I don’t know how putting a hot iron against Dwight’s face is keeping him alive.”

“I’m not asking you to fucking understand, Desa. I’m asking you to fucking trust me, know that I’d never hurt you. Not like that. You’ve fucking been through enough shit already for me to be worried about serving a proper punishment,” Negan glanced away. “That’s all I ask, okay? Fucking trust. I’ll take you to Jack, and then we can go the fuck home.”

Desa nodded, silently crawling into Negan’s truck. He revved the engine, rolling down the road with a stoic, fatigued expression on his face. Lucille lay in his lap and Desa absently reached out to run her fingers across the smooth handle. 

“Like her? She’s saved my fucking life more times than I can fucking count,” Negan murmured. “The only woman that’s ever been there for me in this shithole of a world.”

“The only woman? No one else?”

Negan took a second to reply. “Yeah. Pretty fucking much.”

Desa gave a hum of acknowledgment, resisting the urge to doze off. The drive blurred into a few instances, a few conversations here and there, until finally, Negan was pulling up to the Estate.

The place was still fenced off, having been swept somewhat clean by Negan’s men. Bodies had been yanked from within, struck in the head and tossed into a pile in the courtyard. As Negan closed and secured the fence, Desa immediately rushed over. 

No Jack. But she did see Todd. And Allison. Corpses, peppered with gunshots to the head and body. 

Shit. They didn’t get the cellar. 

She turned to Negan, shaking her head. The older man heaved a sigh, hefting Lucille over his shoulder. 

“He’s still down there. I’ll go get him.”

“Not alone.”

“Yes, alone. I wanted to do this. I won’t risk you possibly getting hurt because of my idea—”

“Don’t fucking worry about me. You’re not fucking going alone. Sorry, not fucking sorry.”

Desa rolled her eyes, but tried not to smile. She drew her knife, getting into position and slowly pushing open the front door. No gnashing teeth greeted her — just the blood-streaked tiled floors. and a wall decorated with bullet holes. 

She mentally prepared herself, taking a few breaths. She stopped atop the cellar stairs, staring through the open door. Again, there were no biters. Just an eerie silence from below. She knew Arat and the others had gotten the weapons and most likely shot the place up again, but she still didn’t like the feeling. She never imagined herself going into the cellar again. 

Yet, here she was, under some delusion that giving Jack a proper burial would cleanse her of her sins. 

Behind her, Negan said, “Stay here.”

“Negan—”

“I know everyone down there is fucking dead for good. You don’t need to see it a second time. You said Jack is the only kid?”

“Yeah. He’s got dark hair. Bright shirt. Hard to miss. Negan, you don’t have to—”

He was already gone, stepping briskly down the stairs and into the dimly lit cellar. For five minutes Desa waited, arms at her side.

She nearly wept when he came walking up the stairs, Jack’s body in his arms. He had a solemn look on his face, and Desa rushed to grab the shovel from the utility closet. 

They dug a small grave, barely speaking. And when it was time, Desa helped lower Jack’s body into the pit. They covered him, until only a patch in the dirt was left. The physical exertion left Desa sweating, and it wasn’t until Negan let the shovel gently fall against the grass did she begin to weep. The tears came from a place of exhaustion, pain, and sorrow. 

Negan let her cry, observing as she fell to her knees. It was only until after the last upheaval that he touched Desa’s shoulder, helping her stand. 

“We’ll stay the fucking night, okay? I have a walkie — I’ll radio Simon, let him know.”

They shut and locked the mansions doors. It was now just the two of them, and Desa’s mind became flooded with memories. There had always been noise throughout the building. Residents. Now it was…dead. Dead, except the power. For some reason, the lack of sound made things almost…worse.

“C’mon,” Desa trudged up the stairs, Negan hot on her heels. She was dodging horrific memories, pushing forward until she reached the set of swinging double doors that led to Mother and Father’s room. 

It was grand, with a massive bed and bath, intricate paintings and a desk and chair. 

“This wasn’t my room, before you ask.”

“I could fucking tell. This art style…doesn’t fucking seem like you.”

“Mother liked art. Father thought all the painting were tacky,” Desa snorted. 

“They’d argue about it. Almost like a normal fucking couple.”

“If you exclude the fact that they’re siblings.”

“None of us knew. Some of us suspected,” Desa snorted. “They…they look similar. I just thought they were one of those really well matched couples. Physically, at least. There were other things to worry about, much so that I don’t think many people cared.”

“Why did you want to come up here?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to see it because, for the first time, I’m not afraid. Of them. You notice things when you aren’t afraid.”

“What have you noticed?” Negan asked. He was on the other side of the room, hunched a bit. He’d put Lucille against the desk and removed his glove before turning on the lamp, basking the room in a warm orange light. 

“I’ve noticed you.”

Negan lifted his head. Desa’s fingers traced patterns against the bedsheets as he approached, more curious than surprised, almost like he hadn’t heard her correctly. He stopped, his breath warm against her cheek.

“At that moment, Desa’s brain reminded her of how sweaty and clammy her skin was. She made a noise in the back of her throat, shifting away from Negan and saying, “I need to shower before I sleep.”

“So do I. And I’m fucking hungry.”

“Mother and Father hid the foods they liked under the bed,” Desa said. “I’m not exactly sure how much variety there is, but it’s food. We can take the rest back with us.” 

There was no door to the bathroom. The shower was glass, wide and beautifully tiled. 

The bathtub still had her blood in it, dried to the white surface. She quickly looked away, mustering up the courage and forcing herself not to be bothered as she stripped, aware that Negan was staring out of the corner of his eye. 

She showered, and then Negan. After, clad in clothes that had once belonged to Mother and Father, they sat on the bed and devoured cans of food. It wasn’t a gourmet meal, but with the moody, dramatic lighting it felt like the closest thing to a date Desa had ever been on in this biter-infested world. 

“This was a good idea. Staying overnight.”

“These sheets are softer than mine, goddamn,” Negan felt the fabric beneath his fingers, smirking. After a few chuckles, his face went from mirthful to serious. He shifted positions, a telltale sign of nervousness. Then he said, “Desa, before I went after you…I visited Mother. I fucking killed her. I had to end it right there.”

“You sound like you expected me to be upset. I’m not. I could care less how she dies,” Desa grumbled. She hoped the look on her face didn’t betray her words — she wasn’t lying. Mother’s death was a good thing. A very, very good thing. The fact that they were in her former bedroom, eating food she and Father had once shared, made it even better.

“Now we have one fucking left.”

“If he’s still around. Father is smart. He knows he’s outnumbered. He’ll fall back and strike when its time.”

“Even more of a reason to fucking hunt him down.”

“Hey,” Desa reached out, gently cupping Negan’s cheek, running her thumb across his stubbled jaw. “I’m here for you. I am. But don’t let this get to your head.”

Negan turned his head, kissing Desa’s palm as he murmured, “I won’t. I fucking won’t.”

“Do you see yourself in him, Negan? In Father?” Negan didn’t reply. Desa took his silence as admission, saying, “Because to me, you’re not him. You never will be. I told you I was going to try and understand, and I am.”

Negan nuzzled Desa’s palm, letting out a sigh of contentment. For the first time, Desa initiated the kiss, getting on her knees and dipping her head down to press her lips against his. She was hasty — maybe a bit too hasty, skimming her fingers beneath Negan’s shirt in a subtle hint that she wanted the material off his body. He stopped her, gripping her by the wrists.

“I need to make sure that you fucking want this.”

“I do. Do you?”

Negan nodded. Desa glanced down, toying with the the zipper to his pants. She could feel him, hot and hard beneath the palm of her hand. His breathing was ragged, fingers trembling as he tried to control himself. He leaned forward and gave her an open mouthed kiss, teeth nipping at her lower lip while his hands crept up her shirt.

Desa pulled away, saying quickly, “I don’t know how to do this — I’ve never — I’ve never, done it like…slowly. I’ve never done it like this.”

She kept the explanation simple. She didn’t want to think about her first time with Mother and Father. Negan’s inviting, warm gaze was a comfort. 

“We won’t rush. We don’t have to rush,” Negan murmured, continuing to speak as Desa removed his shirt. She traced her fingers across the fading ink on his skin, flattening her palm against the skull on his chest. He added, “Although, I might have to take some fucking time to deal with little Negan.”

“Little Negan?”

“My dick.”

Desa cackled at his bluntness, resting her mouth against his shoulder to stifle her laughter. She wiped tears from her eyes, choking, “You are weird.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have a name for my vagina,” Desa retorted. Negan lightly swatted her ass, before he slipped a finger beneath the hem of her underwear. Desa had opted out of wearing pants — an oversized shirt she’d found in the closet fit just fine. Her attire allowed easy access to her most sensitive parts, and she deftly removed it without a second thought.

“God. You’re fucking soaked,” Negan purred. “Is that all for me?”

Desa squirmed in Negan’s lap, trying to remain stoic as he hooked two fingers, sweeping them across her clit. They felt impossibly large, easing their way inside her. Negan smirked when she gave an audible moan. 

“I’ve gotta get you ready for me,” Negan grunted. Desa angled her hips, trying her best not to rock against his fingers. He gave a low whistle, growling, “Fuck. Look at you, riding my fucking fingers.”

He pulled away, leaving Desa half-sated. She reached for him, but he raised his slick fingers, popping them both into his mouth. He gave a satisfied groan.

It was the first time a man had made an effort to pleasure her. Her nights with Father hadn’t been anything but unshared enjoyment, all the pleasure on Father’s side. Desa would just…lay there and take it. 

Don’t think about that. Don’t think —

“Negan—”

“What is it, baby?” Negan purred against her skin. He’d pushed his pants and boxers down past his knees before kicking them away. He fisted his erect cock, and Desa fell back against the mattress while he hovered over her, chest heaving. His free hand ripped the thin fabric of Desa’s panties, and in a hoarse voice he said, “Fuck. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you.”

“Good. Fucking good girl,” Negan panted, easing the tip past Desa’s moist folds. She squirmed, whining at the intrusion. It felt foreign, odd — he was bigger than Father. She wasn’t used to being pampered, taken care off. She squeezed the bedsheets, closing her eyes and letting out a soft breath as Negan said, “Shit. Shit, you’re fucking…shit. Does that hurt?”

“A little.”

Negan braced one arm next to her head, thrusting forward abruptly. He leaned down, swallowing Desa’s moans in a kiss. Desa lifted her hips to meet his hard thrusts, mouth open in bliss as he breathily swirled his hips, falling into a steady rhythm stirred on by Desa’s begging. 

She clamped around him the moment he snaked a hand around her throat, applying light pressure to her jugular. Beads of sweat dotted her breasts as she came, falling limp as Negan continued pounding into her, pulling out just in time to paint Desa’s lower stomach with pearls of white. 

Negan rolled onto his back, raising one knee as he steadied his breathing. The dead silence that followed was enough to nearly put Desa to sleep - her limbs were exhausted, pinpricks of pleasure still jolting through her body.

“That was…good. Great,” Desa turned her head, face flushed. Negan chuckled and she corrected herself, adding, “An understatement, I know. It’s hard to form words right now.”

“I have that effect on people. Or, better yet, my dick has that effect on people,” Negan turned his head, flashing crisp, white teeth. 

“I don’t have a reply to that.”

“A laugh would be nice.” 

“Those have to come organically,” Desa grinned back, rolling onto her side and facing Negan. “I can give you a compliment, though. You’re handsome. And I really like you, uh, ‘fucking’ me.”

“I like it, too.”

“Can we…do it again?”

“You’re really asking me that?” Negan draped hand across his forehead. “Fuck, baby. You’re gonna wear me the fuck out.”

“Good. You’re just going to have to keep up.”

[cassiopeiassky]

I Don’t Want the World to See Me (Cause I Don’t Think that They’d Understand #12

Thanks for your patience, everyone!  There’s still one more to go to get Bucky caught up, and then it’s back to WEMtbB.  IDWtWtSM pieces will go back to being sporadic instead of a steady installment, so the main story will be updated more frequently (well, that’s probably not the right word, but you know what I mean).  I do have to warn you - I don’t have anything written for either of them, so it will probably be a couple of weeks between updates.

Also - I hate school it makes me want to cry.

This is a companion piece for When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) from Bucky’s POV - if you haven’t yet read WEMtbB, this won’t make much sense.

#12 takes place during part 42

***If this is your first time reading through, and you HAVEN’T yet read through part 45 of WEMtbB, this will contain major spoilers***

Word count: 2790

Warnings:

For the entire work:  Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst.  This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut.  If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: physical assault, injury, violence, threats/mentions of death, Bucky’s really pissed   If I need to add anything else, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.  If you don’t want me to publish the ask, I won’t, or you can feel free to do it as a Nonnie.  I will not take offense to any trigger warning requests.   Your well-being is important to me and I do NOT want to trigger anyone.

Bucky sits quietly in his quarters; he’s uneasy, to say the least.  

Other than this morning’s horrible awakening, all went well today; better than he could have hoped, actually.  Within ten minutes of meeting Mikhail, Bucky had more than a good enough read on the other man to put himself at ease.  There was absolutely nothing about Mikhail that set him on edge, and he couldn’t find even the smallest hint of deception; had it been there, he would have seen it. Nat agreed once she spent a bit more time with him, so Bucky is confident that his judgement isn’t clouded.  It eases his mind somewhat to find that he has an ally to watch over his girl when he can’t; not nearly enough, of course, but it’s something.  Bucky tries not to think of the letter Mikhail wrote – it’s currently stashed at the house Bucky commandeered as his base while out on missions, and he prays it stays that way.  Mikhail made him read the letter, and made him promise…God, he hopes it doesn’t come down to honoring that fuckin’ promise…

The mission had been faked well and the pictures he’d handed in were praised by the Krakkens.  They suspected nothing, as far as Bucky could tell, but he’s not about to get cocky.  Not after this morning.

It’s a struggle not to get up and pace – Bucky needs to move, needs to do something – but that’s not something the Soldier would do unless he was starting to break through his programming.  The Soldier has no anxiety, no fear, and no reason to be restless. The Soldier is efficient and does not waste energy, so movement is limited to what’s necessary for physical maintenance and missions.  However, the Soldier is not here right now, so Bucky feels like he’s ready to crawl out of his own skin.

He rolls his shoulders a bit.  The ache in the right is almost completely gone, but stress has made him a bit stiff. His earpiece itches, but he ignores it. Bucky doesn’t want to call any unnecessary attention to the fact that he wears it almost constantly, even though he could pass it off as part of his diligence.  He wants to make sure his team can reach him if necessary, so it needs to stay in.

Bucky glances at the clock. Might as well try to catch a bit of sleep before tonight’s plans are executed.

***

Bucky wakes with the sound of his own scream ringing in his ears.

It wasn’t real.  She’s alive, just on the other side of that wall.  It was just a dream.  Her blood isn’t warm and sticky on his hands.  It wasn’t real.  It didn’t really happen.  It was just a dream.  He isn’t really the Soldier.  It’s just an act.  

For the most part.

He shakes uncontrollably as he moves to sit at the edge of the bed, resting his head in his hands as he tries to muck up the guts for what he has to do next.  

She’s coming.  Even if he couldn’t hear her, he’d still sense her.

It’s for the best…she’ll be safer this way…

Yeah, but It’s still going to tear him in two.

…And here she is.

“Why are you here?” It doesn’t come out as harsh as he would have liked, but it’s almost impossible to pretend when there isn’t an audience physically present.  He knows without looking that her heart is in her eyes, and it’s so fucking hard to lie to her.

He’ll do it, though. He’ll do it every day for the rest of his life if that’s what it takes to keep her alive.

“I just…I heard you scream. I, uh, I know you don’t remember, right now, but I used to soothe you after your nightmares.”  Her quietly spoken words hang in the air, heavy on his heart.  He wants to tell her that he remembers, that he knows exactly who she is.  He wants to close the distance and hold her, to tell her that he’s going to get her out of this nightmare.

He doesn’t, though. He can’t.  He won’t make another mistake like this morning.

“Do you want me to leave?”  

He wants to scream no, no he doesn’t want her to leave, but Bucky knows he has to send her away.  Still, the words don’t come easily, and when they finally come they aren’t nearly as blunt as they should be. “If I wanted you, I would have gone to you.”  

“Okay.  I’m…I’m sorry.  I’ll leave.”

Bucky doesn’t move until he hears the quiet snick of the door closing, and even then he doesn’t have the luxury of showing his despair.  He still has an audience.  

He remains still as he focuses on keeping the raging storm contained.

He hears an unwelcome voice coming from her room at the same time as Stark’s warning through the tiny earpiece – then her breathless scream.

“I’m gonna fuckin kill that goddamn bastard,” he mutters as he swiftly rises, fists already clenching.

“Might I recommend beating the piss out of him, but stopping just short of killing him?  You can kill him later, Barnes, after we get her out of there.”  

Fuck off, Stark.  You’d want to kill him too if you were the one standing here.

The door almost comes off its hinges when he leaves his room, and her door fares little better.  Looking wildly around the dimly lit space he finds that Grigory has her pinned against a wall, and the fucker is trying to kiss her, but then she bites him and knees him in the balls, just like she’d been taught.  The flood of pride Bucky can’t help but feel is quickly swamped by rage when Grigory strikes her across the face and she crumples to the ground.

Something inside Bucky snaps – that prick really shouldn’t have done that.

Bucky closes the distance before grasping Grigory by the shoulder and roughly turning him, using Grigory’s momentum to his advantage when his fist violently collides with the other man’s face.  There’s a satisfying crunch – most likely a cracked eye socket.

Eye for an eye, asshole.  You were fuckin’ warned.

Not giving him even a second to recover, Bucky’s left hand finds Grigory’s throat and he uses his unyielding grip to force the other man to the wall.  The metal hand isn’t squeezing quite enough to asphyxiate, but Bucky can clearly hear Grigory struggle to breathe.  A small smirk crosses Bucky’s otherwise expressionless features – the effect must be chilling, because he can feel Grigory’s fear through his grasp.

“What the fuck are you doing?  Stand down, Soldat!”  Grigory’s panicked command almost makes Bucky laugh, especially when he looks down to see Grigory’s dangling feet kicking like a child hanging from the monkey bars. Huh.  He hadn’t realized that he’d lifted Grigory off the ground.  

There’s a teeny, tiny part of him that thinks maybe he shouldn’t be enjoying this quite so much; despite everything he’s gone through, Bucky’s nature is to protect, not to harm.  This isn’t even the Soldier – when the Soldier is in charge, everything is about efficiency and effectively completing a mission, brutal as the methods may be.  No, this is all Bucky, even the enjoyment of inflicting pain upon the creep that had dared to hurt the woman he loves, and it’s a side of himself that he hadn’t known existed.

Apparently his need to protect her brings out the worst in him – he doesn’t feel guilty, though, because at the end of the day he’s okay with whatever gets the job done and keeps her alive.  

They brought it on themselves anyway - they really shouldn’t have messed with his girl.

“Don’t kill him, Buck.” Now it’s Steve’s voice in his ear; Stark must not have thought he could talk Bucky down.  “Don’t take the chance.  She needs you alive to get her out of there.”

Bucky hears without listening, too focused on the man in front of him.  “You have no orders to harm her. And you are not my Komandir,” he growls.  There.  That should be a good enough cover.

“I am Kapitan’s second in command!”

Bucky squeezes his hand just a bit tighter, and Grigory struggles to inhale.

“I am entitled to do with her what I wish!  What the fuck is wrong with you?”  You’d think the guy would quit talking, but no.

Bucky is unable to help himself; he slams Grigory’s head into the wall hard enough to loosen some teeth with the way Grigory had been clenching his jaw – he’s gonna have a dandy of a headache in the morning.  Good.

“Buck!”  From the sound of his voice, Steve is probably wearing the Eyebrows of Disappointment, maybe even the Frown of Disapproval. “Now is not the time!”

Yeah yeah yeah.

“You have no orders to harm her.”  Bucky throws the bloodied man to the floor.  “Or touch her.  She was given to me, not you.”  It makes him feel almost nauseous to speak of her as though she’s nothing but a belonging, but he still has to play a part and this will serve to justify his actions.

Grigory mumbles something as he leaves the room, but Bucky is too busy watching her out of the corner of his eye to pay any mind.  She’s sitting, at least.  That’s good.

It kills him that he can’t rush to her.

“Thanks, Bucky,” comes the soft murmur from the floor.  Damn it, that broken whisper fuckin’ hurts to hear.

He stills, careful not to let any of his reactions betray him as he considers what he can get away with under the assumption that his motivation is to care for a possession. A plan quickly formulates; the Soldier had never been given a companion, so this is new territory.  Fortunately, this means he has a little bit of leeway, since there isn’t a precedent he needs to abide by.

Well, first things first; lock the door, so there aren’t any surprises while his back is turned. Grigory didn’t have the clearance to do what he did, so there shouldn’t be any reason for anyone to come after the Soldier; in fact, if anyone gets into trouble, it’ll probably be Grigory. Can’t be too careful, though.

“She’s okay, Buck. You should probably just leave. We’ll keep an eye on her.”

Shut up, Steve.  No one asked you.

Steve’s resigned sigh comes through before the connection goes silent - his quiet acknowledgement that Bucky is likely going to stay, at least for a little while.

Bucky concedes that leaving would probably be the smart thing to do, but when has he ever been accused of doing the smart thing?

He turns, careful to school his face into a bland expression.  As he helps her to the bed and looks her over for injuries, he’s extremely careful to avoid eye contact – his emotions are so raw right now that he knows, he just knows that if their eyes meet, she’ll see right through him.  

He carefully inspects her head – she’s got a bump on the back, but it’s not as bad as he’d feared. She’ll probably have a headache but it doesn’t seem like she’s concussed.  Her cheek, however, looks awful; the skin isn’t broken but it’s already swelling considerably.  That’s gonna start throbbing like a son of a bitch if she doesn’t get some ice on it.

Goddammit, he refuses to remain completely helpless while she hurts.  She’s getting some fucking ice.

He turns and leaves without a word, closing the door behind him before going into his room to retrieve the key the Krakkens had given him “just in case he wanted to lock up his prize while he was gone.”  Sick fucks.

Bucky knows they probably have a copy, but he’s fairly confident that Grigory doesn’t, and right now he’s the bigger threat.  Going back in the hall, he uses his key to secure the deadbolt that locks her in from the outside before retrieving some ice and a plastic bag.  He wanted to get her something for the pain and swelling, even just something over the counter, but he’d have to go to the medical bay for that and that would raise too many questions.  The ice will have to be enough.

Thankfully the trip is uneventful and quiet until he gets back to her room.

He can clearly hear her sobbing from the other side of the door, and he has to take a few moments and several deep breaths to lock away his emotions before reentering her room. It’s hard, so incredibly hard, to act as though he isn’t just as distressed as she is, but somehow he manages to pull it off.  Thankfully she doesn’t question it when he chooses to stay; he really doesn’t know what he would have said if she’d asked, but she stayed quiet, watching him pull a chair next to the door and settling in before she laid back down with the ice against her cheek.  

It doesn’t take her long to fall asleep.  Bucky raises his hand and gently taps his earpiece – anyone watching would think he was simply pushing an errant strand of hair out of his face.

“Alright, Barnes, you’re good to go.  You’re clear to take out the six men we discussed earlier, but no more.  That asshole took up too much of your time tonight.”

Bucky nods, and proceeds to do what the Krakkens brought him here to do.

He kills.

***

“Stark, I need a few minutes before you switch the cameras over.”

He hears the quiet confirmation to his whispered request as he returns to her room, ghosting in to find that she’s still in as deep a sleep as she was when he’d left.  She’s so fucking exhausted – he can see it in her eyes and her somewhat clumsy movements – she must not have been sleeping at all before he got here.  Either her body has reached its breaking point and has finally allowed her slumber despite the danger to her, or she actually feels safe enough, now that he’s here, to let her guard down enough to sleep even though she thinks it’s the Soldier and not really him.

Bucky has a feeling he knows which one it is – she’s a mom, for fuck’s sake, she’s no stranger to sleep deprivation – and he’s humbled by her faith in him.  Whether or not he deserves it is irrelevant; it will exist either way.

Maybe…maybe their relationship can survive this?  Bucky allows himself the smallest flicker of hope.  He’d gone into this knowing there was a decent chance that even if they lived through this ordeal, their bond might not.  It’s a price he’s willing to pay if it means that she’s in the world somewhere, alive and with the boys.

The boys.  They need their mom.  How could he do less than anything and everything it takes to bring her home to them? No price is too high for him to pay to see it done.

A quiet sigh escapes as he bends to gently place a kiss on her temple.  “I love you, and I promise we’re doing everything we can to get you out of here.  I’ve never met a dame as strong and brave as you.  Keep bein’ strong, alright?  Your boys need you.  I need you, even if I have to love you from a distance.  I know you might not want me anymore, after all this is over, but you’re still gonna be my north star.  I’d be lost without you.”  His whispered words are quiet enough that he can barely hear himself, so he knows she wouldn’t have been able to hear the words even if she’d been awake, but he needed to say them.

He reluctantly goes back to his chair by the door – Stark claims his technology is unhackable, but there’s no point in taking any careless chances; they shouldn’t override the video feed any longer than necessary.  Bucky sits as he was before, crossing his left ankle over the right and closing his eyes to snatch whatever small amount of sleep he can get.

“Barnes, you need to slouch down just a little more to match the last images from the video feed.” Starks voice comes across quietly, almost hesitantly – as he rearranges himself, Bucky wonders if Stark heard his whispered words.  Oh well, it’s not like his feelings are a secret.  “And switch your legs – your right was over the left before…alright, you’re going live in 3…2…1…”

Bucky relaxes as much as he can into the chair as the familiar lullaby of her soft breathing soothes him into a dreamless sleep.

Tags Round 1: : @rogersxbarnesx @hellomissmabel @howdoesoneadult @musichowler @ms-potts-to-you @nykitass @danimuhle @iwillbeinmynest @4theluvofall @shifutheshihtzu @iamtal @passiononfire @jade-cheshire3303 @flowercrownsandmetallicarms @lostinspace33 @gingerrootknits @callmebucky-doll @learisa @sammedrano @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @vaisabu @widowvinter @amrita31199 @bellenuit45 @agentraven007 @sarahjeaniejean @canumoveyourseatup-no @unpredictable-firecracker @omalleysgirl22 @crazyliraz @shamvictoria11 @kaaatniss @lillian-paige @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @sexyseabass1231

[peachingboy]

Boku No Hero Academia Light Novel No.2 Translatations.

Chapter 1: Commence the Study Groups! Part 4.

(そろそろの勉強会) 

 [Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3] 

“Uwaaaa, I think things should have calmed down now right? dude you need to calm your ego.”

The Kirishima and Bakugou who had just ran away from the library are now taking refuge in a family restaurant located in front of the nearing train station. It’s currently the afternoon on their day off, which is peak hour, it was filled with the liveliness of loads of customers.

You could hear random conversations here and there, then a voice suddenly spoke to them.

“Sir, have you decided on your order?”

“Drink bar for two please!”

The waitress notes down Kirishima’s eager response and left.

“Fancy place right?” The usual positive Kirishima says to Bakugou who’s sunk into his chair right about now.

“Hey! trust me this time! have some patience and teach me again!”

“How about you bettering this patience by getting some drinks you shit.”

“Please help yourself to the drinks bar located on the other side.” A passing waitress mentions with a seemingly fake business smile.

Kirishima gets up without hesitation “I’ll go bring some back, what do you want?”

“Coke.”

“Alrightttt, got it!”

After Kirishima left for the bar, a couple of figures who were on their way to the same bar stopped by at Bakugou’s table.

“…..oh? Isn’t it Katsuki?!”

“hah?”

After picking up drinks and returning, Kirishima notices that his table has increased by two more.

A guy with frizzy black hair, and a guy with long, centre parted hair seemed like they were having a really intimate conversation with Bakugou.

“Damn, to think we’d meet in a place like this!”

“shut it, be quiet.”

“Whats up Bakugou? You know them? Kirishima interrupted, the guy with the centre part notices, “Ah! A yuuei guy!”

“We’re actually friends from middle school, ah maybe we should probably return back to our table-”

“Whatttttt?! noooo! It’s totally cool man” Kirishima answers back briskly.

You can see the reluctance in the two guy’s face as they were about to get up, but Kirishima’s smiling face got the better of them.

“ahh, take a seat!”

“eh?… is it alright?”

“Yeahhh of course dude, you guys must have alot you wanna talk about right?”

“Oi, don’t we have other things to do?….. like studying!”

“It’s not a big deal if it’s just for a bit right? friends are important after all!”

“Wow, I didn’t think someone like you would be Katsuki’s friend, you’re a great person.”

The frizzy hair guy’s eye were dazzling at this point, he was in awe with Kirishima’s overflowing manly aura and his smiling face.

Bakugou and Kirishima were about to open their mouths at the same time.

“What do you mean by that? you piece of shit!”

“Ah, sorry about Bakugou’s potty mouth and attiude… But I’m just a straightforward hot-boiled man!”

Bakugou pulls a screw face at Kirishima, “Doesn’t saying stuff like that make you sick? you shitty hair for brains!”

“hmmm, still the same potty mouth as usual, wow that should get some praised.”

The centre part guy seemed like he was reminiscing, Kirishima was bursting with questions he wanted to ask.

“Listen…. during middle school, what kind of guy was Bakugou?”

“self-centred.”

“Kinda like… thought the world revolved around him.”

“…. You bastards! you wanna get hit or something?!”

At this point Bakugou was getting annoyed as he rounded his hand into a fist.

“Wow, this future hero seems like he’s going to be a hectic violent one!”

“You better shut it you side character!”

The frizzy guy with the hair that was sitting besides Bakugou was about to get up, but Bakugou beat him to it, his empty cup clasped in one hand he left for the bar, this time he was bringing back his own drink.

They watched Bakugou trail off into the distant on his own, muttering something under his breath.

“probably…” The centre part guy agreed and carried on.

“To be honest, if we were back in middle school, he probably would have beaten the crap out of us right now and to think hes tutoring people? impossible!”

“I guess that’s yuuei for you, by the way how is yuuei’s Katsuki?”

Kirishima paused to think a bit before answering.

“Because hes got my back, being together is cool. He’s also strong and I think everyone acknowledges that.”

As Kirishima was talking, he was having flashbacks to the school entrance test, that was the first time he met by one of the drones (t/n those robots they had to get rid off during their exam), he was just the typical angry Bakugou.

“Now, he’s probably even more bitter! He only opens his mouth to threaten people, especially the enemy before his eyes, Midoriya.”

“Oh yeahhh, wasn’t Midoriya in the same class as him back in middle school?” Kirishima asked, both the frizzy hair and centre part guy both drew up guilty expressions.

“umm…” they gritted their teeth,

But Kirishima carried on to tell them about Midoriya at the school entrance test, even though he had an amazing quirk, he couldn’t control it and always ended up getting hurt, he was half strength and half a serious personality too but it’s amazing how much he believed in himself.

“You know, Katsuki didn’t think Midoriya would end up going to yuuei too.”

“Hey….” The frizzy hair guy tried to hide his bitter smile as he scratched the back of his head.

“To be honest, we used to make fun of Midoriya, we thought he was quirkless.”

“Yet, he now has this amazing power.”

“Watching him at the sports festival and seeing him place first in the preliminary race, it really gave me goosebumps! I genuinely thought he was amazing.”

“Hey…” 

You can tell by the tone of their voice the emotions and regret they must have been harbouring,

It was noticeable in their face also, the bitterness of their regret.

Kirishima hated cowards who bullied others, thus did not understand the feelings they felt. However, even though he didn’t understand it is natural for people to end up feeling regret and wanting to mend their ways, he can’t blame them for feeling like this.

The person involved can definitely forgive them, and that person definitely will.

“If you tell Midoriya that he’d definitely be really happy! Actually he’d probably even blush!”

The Midoriya who strives to be a hero just like All Might, with a smiling face, he’d definitely forgive them. Well, forgiving is just a small deed to Midoriya, he lives and breaths for the sake of saving those who are suffering.

“Ah, I see…”

“He’s…. a good guy.”

Frizzy hair and centre part guy lets out a small sigh of relief as if a heavy burden has  been lifted from their heart, even if it was just by a bit.

“We couldn’t say this before in front of Katsuki, but the tournament was lit! (t/n: he literally says blazing so I just had to take the chance lol), the battle with the ice guy!”

“That Midoriya definitely put up a good fight though! He must have been felt really cold too!”

“I know right! But Midoriya definitely returned the favour tons!”

“Such a pity, Midoriya! If he were to be the winner, he would have went on to fight Katsuki right?!”

Suddenly…

“………….what did you say about Deku?”

Kirishima and the guys were taken back by the sudden appearance of Bakugou, coke in one hand and a scarily evil twitch on his angry face, you can feel the violence in him growing.

“Deku must have been cold huh? If you’re gonna keep talking nonsense, KEEP TALKING NONSENSE! You guys got shitty eyes or something??? You want me to blow up your asses with a nice, pretty explosion huh?!”

“Bakugou!! calm down man!!!”

“Shut itttttt you shitty side character!!”

“Mentioning Midoriya really does set him off.”

“Don’t say his name!!”

“Katsuki!! Stop it!!”

Both frizzy hair and centre part tries to restrain Bakugou whilst Kirishima tries to keep him down on the table, the rustling and bustling knocked a glass that was sat on their table over, breaking as it hit the tiled flooring.

The other customers started to notice the ruckus and most prominently the ever so angry and screeching Bakugou.

“That kid… I’ve seen him somewhere.

“Ah! yuuei!”

“Pedoro incident right?”

“Look! It’s the kid that got bounded up at the sports festival.”

“Ah, it’s him!”

Bakugou begins to notice the chatters and the whispering behind his back, this made him even more angry.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU SHITTY MINOR CUSTOMERS! WHY DON’T YOU DO ME A FAVOUR AND EAT YOUR SHITTY FOOD IN SILENCE!!”

“Sir!”

A shop assistant suddenly appears over Bakugou’s shoulder, wearing a nameplate which says manger on it.

 “You’re being a bother to the other customers, please can you quieten down.”

Surprisingly Bakugou calms down and the planet was able to live another day in peace.

“shut it ok, I’m also a customer here!”

“You causing trouble for other customers does not make you a customer here, and also! This restaurant does not serve “shitty” food!”

And like that, Bakugou and the guys were chased out of the restaurant.

“It’s because you bastards were talking about Deku!!!! Aghhhhhh, everythinng is Deku’s fault!!!” 

“Calm down Bakugou!”

“Uh.. anyways, we’re heading off…. see you guys another time yeah!”

The two friends hurried off, they were definitely not going to hit them up again any time soon, Kirishima thought.

However, ever since the school entrance test Bakugou has definitely gotten better, Midoriya and his confidence too, this was something Kirishima has noticed but they could do with fixing Bakugou’s short fuse, however that is something Kirishima assumed would improve in the time to come.

But for now, the textbook and the pencil case in his bag is what will be needed to improve himself in time that is soon to come!

t/n: I found this part really sweet, knowing that deku’s middle school bullies were showing remorse and confiding in our embodiment of an angel, kirishima. :) and ofc always some of that vintage baku .

[bloomsoftly]

the world at your tongue

Darcy/Nat, rated T for Darcy’s potty mouth and some serious kissing

Darcy does Jane a favor, gets drunk, and maybe falls a little in love in the process.

for the delightful @paranoidwino, the best muse a girl could ask for.

Also on AO3. (it would mean a lot if you could leave a review!)

Darcy has always been powerless against Jane’s puppy eyes, and today is no exception. She knows it’s no coincidence that Jane waits until she’s trapped in a bridesmaid fitting to ask her the favor, and part of her wants to say no out of spite.

Jane can obviously see the compulsion in her face, because she juts in quickly, whispering furiously, “Please, Darce. I’ll owe you a million, but please don’t make me go alone with them.” Her eyes dart to the door of the fitting room, as if her future mother-in-law might pop out of nowhere.

Frantically, she hisses, “Please! You know what Thor’s dad said about me. If I’m stuck with his family alone with limitless alcohol and no escape, you might have to bail me out for murder.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “One, limitless alcohol is still better than getting stuck with them while sober. And two, at least that way maybe I’d get out of maid of honor duty. I’m not seeing a problem, here.” Jane throws a wadded up ball of tulle at her for that and Darcy, trapped on a pedestal and covered in satin, is too slow to dodge. It smacks her square in the face. Seeing that Jane has switched from joking to overwhelmed, eyes swelling with tears, Darcy relents. She carefully hops down from the platform and shuffles over to Jane, swishing obnoxiously as she goes.

Gathering her into her arms, Darcy soothes, “I’m sorry for teasing, Janie. Of course I’ll go to the damn wine tasting with you. Someone’s gotta keep Odin in line.”

Petting Jane’s hair, she grumbles, “Damn old rich men who think they can say anything they want.”

Jane snorts wetly and pushes away, wiping her nose. She gives Darcy a mock glare, but they both know she’s in complete agreement with the statement. Still, Darcy doesn’t want to spend their only alone time for the day—Frigga really will be back any minute—talking about Thor’s terrible father, so she diverts the subject. Nudging Jane’s shoulder affectionately, she teases, “You better not have gotten any snot on this dress or the attendant might actually kill me. That woman is way too into weddings.”

Jane eyes the gown frantically for a moment, looking for a wet spot, before she catches on to the joke. She reaches forward to smack Darcy’s arm in retaliation, but is interrupted by the sound of Frigga’s footsteps echoing down the narrow hallway to their changing room. Like lightning, Darcy jumps back on the platform (miraculously not ripping the ridiculous dress) and Jane pretends to be deeply conflicted about whether she likes this style compared to the previous sixteen Darcy already tried on. Despite their impressive acting skills, Frigga isn’t buying it.

After a perfunctory knock on the door, she pokes her head inside to check how they’re doing. Based on the sparkle in her eye, Frigga knows exactly what Jane and Darcy are up to, and she diplomatically offers, “Well, dear, we still have a ways until the wedding. Perhaps we can set aside the bridesmaid dress shopping for another day?”

Jane agrees with alacrity, and Darcy is out of the dress in half the time it took to get the damn thing on. Neither of them protest when Frigga suggests they get mimosas, either. Darcy’s policy whenever she’s around Jane’s future in-laws is to consume as much alcohol as possible, because it tends to make things easier.

Like the time at Jane and Thor’s engagement dinner when Loki sabotaged the whole thing by loudly confronting his father about the ‘shady’ circumstances of his adoption. To be blunt, Darcy would probably remember the whole sordid tale a bit better if she hadn’t drunk an entire bottle of wine in a futile attempt to drown out the awkwardness.

She’d feel guilty about drinking so much, except she caught sight of Jane and Thor doing the same thing. They’d just saluted each other across the table and settled back to watch the fur fly. It was a memorable evening, but probably not in the way Jane or Thor had hoped.

That night was still second to the night that Jane and Thor introduced their families to each other, which basically means that it was the night Thor’s parents and brother met Darcy. (Erik was out of town for a research conference, and he and Darcy are the only ones Jane’s got.) Things fell apart pretty much around the time that Odin began insulting Jane’s chosen family—complaining that he rearranged meetings with several important diplomats just to meet one measly friend— but the evening really became an unmitigated disaster when the asshole obliquely referred to Jane as a goat.

Darcy was ready to launch herself over the table at him and scratch his eyes out, or worse, but Jane held her back; for such a small woman, she has an extremely firm grip. It was a ridiculous scene: Thor berating his father for insulting his fiance, Frigga eyeing Jane in concern, and Loki slouching against the table, grinning with unholy glee. Meanwhile, Jane maintained a vise-like hold on Darcy’s elbow and frantically gestured at a waiter to bring another couple bottles of wine.

And that’s the story of how Darcy and Jane discovered that socializing with Odin requires at least two bottles of wine.

In all the times Darcy’s met her, Frigga has always seemed very kind and welcoming, so there’s no indication that she would necessarily be the same as her husband in that regard. And Darcy knows better than to judge a person by their family, but still—it’s probably better that there’s alcohol involved, for everyone’s sake. And as far as precautionary measures go, mimosas are some of the least painful. Drinks with the mother-in-law is not even close to the biggest sacrifice Darcy’s made for Jane, but this wine tasting might be another story.

-:-

“Thor, I have a very serious question for you.”

In anticipation of Thor’s reply, Jane mutes the TV (it’s on some random show that none of them are really watching anyway). In response, Thor looks up from where he’s been combing his fingers through Jane’s hair. Shifting slightly on the couch, he pulls Jane more firmly into his side and turns to face Darcy.

“Yes, Darcy?”

She pauses for dramatic effect, causing Jane to roll her eyes. They’ve been friends long enough that they can practically finish each other’s sentences, which means Jane immediately recognizes when Darcy is about to say something absurd. But hey, it’s her apartment, she can do what she wants. “Are you sure you aren’t the adopted one in the family? I mean, I know it’s supposed to be Loki, but he fits right in with your dad’s crazy.”

Darcy has always loved Thor’s laugh; it rolls from his body like thunder, unstoppable and warm. The whole couch shakes with it now, deep and loud and hearty. Thor laughs and laughs until tears trickle out the corner of his eyes and trail into his beard. Jane and Darcy laugh with him, helpless in the face of his unabashed amusement.

Eventually, Thor wipes his tears away with a finger and says, “I can see why you would ask, as my father and my brother are of similar temperaments.” Darcy and Jane both snort; trust Thor to  find a diplomatic way to say his family members are batshit crazy. “I take more after my mother, I think. She can be ‘crazy’ in her own ways, but in a manner more palatable than that of my father or brother.” Eyeing his fiance in concern, Thor asks Jane, “She was good to you when you went shopping, was she not? I was under the impression it went well.”

Thinking back on some of the scandalous stories a tipsy Frigga told them over mimosas, Darcy grins behind her hand and acknowledges, “Yeah, I can see that, big guy. She does remind me of you a little bit.”

At the same time, Jane rushes to reassure, “No, she was great! It was a lovely morning all around.”

Assuaged, Thor grins and leans back against the arm of the couch. A frown crosses his face, and he queries, “May I ask, if my mother caused no offense during your outing, what prompted your question?”

Darcy groans and flops her head back against the couch. Rolling her eyes, Jane guesses, “Is this about the wine tasting?”

Flinging an arm across her face, Darcy moans, “Why did I agree to do that with you again?”

Unsympathetic, Jane crosses her arms and replies, “Because you’re my best friend and my maid of honor and you love me.”

Thor’s a little nicer, and he reaches around Jane to pat Darcy on the arm. “Cheer up, Darcy. I’m sure it’ll be quite fun.”

-:-

The wine tasting is not particularly fun, surprising absolutely no one. Darcy has managed to get drunk, though, much to Jane’s jealousy.

It takes approximately an hour and a half for Darcy to lose all patience with Odin’s veiled disparagement of their commoners’ palates (seriously, does that man think he lives in the Middle Ages?), and in that time she has managed to get herself properly sloshed. As she allows herself to get lost in the crowd, Darcy feels a momentary twinge of guilt for abandoning Jane. Even as she drifts away, though, she can hear Odin’s booming insults and the guilt fades quickly. Jane has Thor—she’ll be fine.

Darcy’s not really sure where she’s headed—the opposite direction of Odin’s voice is about as far as she’s gotten planning-wise—so she stops to gather herself near one corner of the room. She’s in the midst of looking for a place that will spare her any potential run-ins with Thor’s family when a flash of color catches her eye from across the room. She glances over and spots the most gorgeous woman she’s seen in…well, a really long time.

The woman’s face is partially obscured by her sleek red hair, but then she turns in Darcy’s direction and their eyes meet. Darcy’s first coherent thought, if you can call it that, is hot damn. The redhead’s face is as striking as the rest of her, but there’s a little pull at one side of her mouth like she’s laughing at a joke the rest of the room isn’t privy to.

The woman lifts an eyebrow, and Darcy knows she’s been caught staring. In response, Darcy shrugs and offers a grin. You caught me. The redhead smirks and gives Darcy a slow, head-to-toe perusal. Darcy swears she can feel the heat of her gaze all the way across the room, and by the time the woman’s eyes make contact with hers again Darcy’s face is completely flushed.

Darcy sways in her high heels, just slightly, not sure if her strongest impulse is to run away and hide from the woman’s scrutiny or to beg her to do it again. Apparently the woman would prefer the latter, because she takes a single step in Darcy’s direction, eyes intent on her face—and is waylaid by what looks to be an acquaintance of hers.

Their eye contact is cut off, and a number of other people also walk between them, until Darcy can’t see the woman or her friend at all. Shrugging off a slight sense of disappointment, Darcy realizes that she’s been in one place for too long and resumes her wandering throughout the room.

Not twenty minutes later, Darcy realizes her mistake in sticking to less populated areas of the room when she’s cornered by a smarmy pathetic excuse for a man. He has clearly decided that she is going to be his one night stand, and doesn’t even bother to ask her name before he starts hitting on her.

Great.

Reaching the end of her limited patience, Darcy cuts him off mid-sentence.

“Oh, sorry, I’m into girls.” Darcy’s expression and flat tone indicate she’s not sorry at all, despite her words. There’s only so much effort she can put into protecting this guy’s feelings, and she’s already running out of reasons to care. Especially since the douchebag ignores all of her nonverbal cues and sidles closer.

“Maybe you just haven’t met the right guy yet, honey.” He leers at her drunkenly, in what he no doubt thinks is an attractive manner. In reality, it’s gross and invasive.

Darcy wishes Jane hadn’t insisted that she leave her taser at home, though where she would have hidden it in this dress or this clutch she has no idea. She’s faced with two options: either she punches the guy in the face and risks breaking a finger (and drawing the wrath of Odin, which would be a nuisance), or she uses the classic fake-out technique.

She’ll spare Jane the misery of an angry Odin this time.

Pulling her mouth into a wide, insincere grin, Darcy fakes a sympathetic expression. Shrugging, she says, “No, really. Actually, my girlfriend will be here any second and she really hates having to deal with guys who don’t understand the meaning of the word ‘no,’ so you should probably go.” Darcy looks at the creep pointedly, but of course he doesn’t get the message. He’d have to be looking at her face for that.

Eyes firmly on her chest, he takes a step even closer. She flinches, growing alarmed. “Listen, man—”

“You can call me Brock, baby. What d’ya say we take this party somewhere a little quieter?” He reaches a hand for her arm, but she pivots out of his reach at the last second and steps back.

Darcy’s not sure what to do next, short of causing a scene. Just before the pushy asshole is able to box her in to a corner, Darcy spies the gorgeous woman from earlier standing over by the Malbec (which Darcy had sampled generously not too long ago). As a last-ditch effort, she pushes past Brock and moves toward her, calling out as she goes.

“Darling, there you are!” Darcy unsteadily weaves her way toward the stunning redhead, hoping she isn’t about to get punched in the face. She slides in close next to the woman, anxiety shining in her eyes. “I didn’t see you walk in, or I would have come over immediately.”

With a quick glance from Darcy to the man pursuing her, the woman’s face lights with understanding. Staring right at Brock, the redhead presses against Darcy’s side and gives her a silky kiss on the cheek. Heat warms Darcy’s cheeks at the contact, and she wobbles slightly.

The redhead presses her face to Darcy’s hair and slides one arm around Darcy’s waist, sparking a trail of fire where her fingertips brush against Darcy’s skin. Flushing, Darcy briefly gives mental thanks to Jane for convincing her to wear a backless dress.

Softly, the redhead murmurs into her ear, “My name is Natasha.” The name fits her, Darcy thinks. Poised and graceful and somehow utterly deadly.

Louder, Natasha apologizes, “I’m sorry, Солнышко. I came in a little late and thought I might find you by the Malbec.” With a warm look, she adds, “I know how much you love it.” There’s no way she could know that her statement is actually true, but Darcy gets the weird sense that she isn’t bluffing.

Darcy is caught up in the heat of Natasha’ s gaze and the soft brush of her fingertips against Darcy’s waist—the heat of her hand scorches through the thin lace of her dress, and Darcy feels as though she’s been branded. She’s so caught up in trying not to melt into a puddle of lace and lust on the floor that she forgets all about the creep she was trying to escape—until he claps a meaty hand on her shoulder.

Slurring, he demands, “Where do you think you’re going? We aren’t done—”

In a flash, Natasha steps between them in such a way that breaks his hold and has him stumbling back. Glaring fiercely at the drunk man, she hisses, “Just what do you think you’re doing?” The soft menace of her tone is terrifying, and something must register in the man’s measly little hindbrain because he takes another step back and holds his hands up in placation.

“Sorry, Red, didn’t know she was yours.”

Bristling, Darcy opens her mouth to retort but Natasha beats her to the punch. “She’s not a doll, jackass—she doesn’t belong to anyone.” Her glare intensifies, and she steps closer to him, threatening, “Now get the hell out of here before you say something you’ll really regret.”

Darcy almost expects them to come to blows (the guy pursued her doggedly halfway across the room, after all), so she places a gentle hand on Natasha’s upper back. As sexy as it would be to see Natasha defend her honor—and she’s surprised to find that the thought really does turn her on—Darcy is aware that Jane and her future in-laws are still roaming somewhere in the winery. She really doesn’t want to cause a scene, because of course either Loki or Odin would find out and pick a fight with her best friend over it.

Darcy gears up to break the standoff somehow, but in the end she doesn’t even have to. After a long moment, Brock inclines his head in defeat and turns to leave without further comment, tail tucked firmly between his legs. She stares at his profile over Natasha’s red curls, dumbstruck by this turn of events. Once he’s completely out of sight, Natasha’s shoulders relax slightly and she turns back to Darcy.

They stare at each other awkwardly for a second. Darcy’s trying to think of a way to say thank you and that was so attractive but also ask are you single? interested? come home with me? without sounding like a total creep.

She must linger a little too long in hesitation, because Natasha shrugs one shoulder and moves to slide past her back toward the wine. With a quirk to the side of her mouth, Natasha notes, “He should leave you alone now. Those bullies are all the same.”

In reflex, Darcy reaches out to catch Natasha as she goes by. She pulls back as soon as she realizes what she’s done, but it’s too late; her fingers skim lightly across Natasha’s upper arm, and they both shudder. The other woman turns her head toward Darcy, expectant. Still not knowing what to say, Darcy stutters, “That was so…amazing.” Natasha laughs, but doesn’t walk past her. Hunting for something else, anything to keep her attention, Darcy adds, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable with that, or…well, if you’re not into women—”

Natasha snorts at that, turning to fully face her. “I wasn’t just admiring your dress earlier, you know.”

A thrill runs up Darcy’s spine. “I know—I mean, I hoped—okay, why is talking so difficult? Wanna—” She stops, self-conscious, knowing that the wine has made her tongue thick and clumsy.

“Get a drink?” Natasha gestures to the wine around them and chuckles, warm and throaty. “Yeah, I do. But first, can I have your name? I’ve been wanting to find out for hours.”

Hours? Darcy blushes. She’s no stranger to flirtation, but this woman is a master. “Darcy. My name is Darcy.” Gathering herself, she winks at the redhead. “Can I buy you a drink?”

That earns her a full-blown grin, and Natasha purrs, “Nothing would please me better, Солнышко. Lead the way.”

All Darcy wants is to escape the overcrowded room and actually get to know her redheaded savior. So, with a silent apology to Jane she steals a newly-opened bottle of wine from one of the tables (much to her companion’s amusement) and leads Natasha out to a side balcony. It isn’t until they’ve propped themselves up on a balustrade looking out over the vineyard’s hills, wine bottle nestled between them, that Darcy thinks to ask, “What does that word mean? You’ve said it twice now.” Snagging the wine, she takes a sip straight from the bottle. Somehow she manages not to spill red wine down her chest, which quite frankly is a bit of a miracle. She should have grabbed some wine glasses when she stole the bottle, but it’s too late now.

“Солнышко is a Russian endearment. It means sunshine.” When Darcy offers her the wine bottle, Natasha takes a long swallow. Even drinking straight from the bottle, she’s the epitome of class and grace. Darcy’s inebriated brain fixates on the glide of her throat as she swallows and the path of her tongue as she licks her lips to catch any stray drops of wine. Shaking herself mentally, Darcy drags her eyes back up to Natasha’s. The redhead smirks at her knowingly.

Darcy quirks an eyebrow, unashamed. “Russian, huh?” Natasha passes the bottle back to her and nods, explaining that she spent some time living in Russia for a job. Darcy props the bottle in her lap but doesn’t take a drink. She’s had enough for one night, and she wants to remember every single detail of this evening.

Through more prompting, Darcy finds out that Natasha lives relatively close, just like her. She used to be a government agent, but now owns a self-defense fitness studio in the city. Overall, she says it’s a much more relaxed career and she loves it.

In turn, Darcy tells Natasha about her work as an assistant to a world-renowned astrophysicist, and all the shady situations Jane’s research has gotten her into. Then she finds herself talking about Jane’s impending marriage to Thor and her duties as maid of honor. Once she gets started, she can’t help but rant that her best friend is about to acquire one of the most horrifying father-in-laws on the planet, and that Darcy is only at the wine tasting in the first place because Jane couldn’t stand to be around him with Thor as her only support.

Natasha laughs at that, and reveals that she too was conned into coming to the wine tasting. Her best friend and former partner, Clint, was invited to the winery along with his wife and several other couples and guilted Natasha into coming along with the group. “His argument was that we don’t see each other often enough now that we no longer work together,” Natasha grumbles, “but I still ended up being the ninth wheel.”

Darcy laughs exuberantly, throwing her head back and drawing the attention of another couple who wandered out onto the balcony. Still smiling, she notes, “What a pair we are! So indignant that our friends forced us to come to an expensive winery where we get free drinks and a magnificent view.” She gestures at the scenery to punctuate her statement.

“I guess you have a point,” Natasha replies, admiring the rolling hills in the distance. Turning her head back to smile softly at Darcy, she confides, “I’ll never live this down if I tell him, but I’m glad I came.”

As Natasha speaks, Darcy’s eyes catch the sight of their lipstick mixing together on the lip of the bottle; it’s a striking blend of vibrant red and purple, and she’s transfixed. Darcy absently wonders if she’ll get the chance to see that exact shade on her own mouth. She hopes so.

They talk for what feels like hours, long after the sun has gone down and torches have been lit around them. Darcy’s phone goes off several times but she ignores it, trying to muster the courage to ask Natasha to the wedding. It’s a bold move, but one that could pay off extremely well.

When her phone buzzes for at least the tenth time, Darcy sighs. “Sorry,” she mutters, reaching into her clutch to read the latest message. It’s from Jane, of course.

Darcy, are you okay? Where are you? We’re ready to leave and I might murder Odin and/or Loki if we don’t head out soon.

Darcy blows her bangs away from her face in a burst of pure frustration. It figures that she’d meet someone like Natasha and then have to leave. But Jane needs her, so she turns to Natasha with regret.

Natasha already knows what she’s going to say. “Time to leave?”

“Unfortunately. If I don’t go, the bride might murder either her future father-in-law or her future brother-in-law, or both. And then I’d have to help her hide the bodies, and we’d probably both end up in jail for life.”

They gingerly climb down from their perch, both a little less steady on their feet. For a moment they hover awkwardly, neither one knowing how to proceed. Drawing in a fortifying breath, Darcy takes the plunge. “If—well, if you’re not busy in a couple of months, do you want to be my date to Jane’s wedding?”

Natasha blinks, surprised. “I—” she falters, glancing to the side, and Darcy’s courage fails.

“You know what? Don’t worry about it.” She forces a grin and says goodbye. “Thank you for the company, and for making this wine tasting a lot more fun than it would have been otherwise.” Staggering backward, she offers a half-wave and pivots, walking quickly away. It’s only a few seconds until she’s back in the warmth of the room, and she lets herself get lost in the crowd of people. Nursing her disappointment, Darcy heads for the entrance. Jane is probably worried by now, and Odin will have a fit if they have to wait too long.

After a couple of wrong turns, Darcy finds the entryway and steps back out into the night. As expected, there’s Jane and the rest of the gang. “Where have you been?” Jane whispers furiously, drawing Darcy away from the group.

Slightly guilty in the face of Jane’s concern, Darcy apologizes profusely. “Jane, I’m so sorry. I was out on the balcony and lost track of time.” Glancing at Odin’s stern face, she wonders, “Did Odin give you a lot of trouble?”

“Not too bad, actually. He—” Jane cuts herself off in mid-sentence, distracted by something over Darcy’s shoulder.

“Jane? What—?” Darcy turns, trying to figure out what has captured her best friend’s attention.

It’s Natasha, striding toward her with determination. Darcy turns all the way around, eyes widening, but Natasha doesn’t stop. Instead, she slides one hand to the back of Darcy’s head, the other around her waist, bringing her close. As she moves, Darcy’s eyes close and her arms come up around Natasha on reflex, and their mouths meet somewhere in the middle. It’s a little too rough, at first—teeth clacking together—and they pull apart slightly.

Darcy tilts her head and slides her hand into Natasha’s silky hair and just like that it’s perfect. Their lips slide against each other in a sensual caress for long moments, and lightning races down Darcy’s spine. Tightening the arm around her waist, Natasha licks into Darcy’s mouth heatedly. Darcy stumbles closer and tightens the hand she has in Natasha’s hair, moaning into the kiss and nipping at Natasha’s mouth in return.

Mindful that they are in a public space and have likely gathered quite the audience, Darcy somehow restrains herself from hiking a leg over Natasha’s hip. Natasha must have a similar thought, because she slowly gentles the kiss and extricates her hand from Darcy’s hair.

As she pulls away, Natasha’s pupils are blown wide with wine and wonder. She bites her lip and whispers, huskily, “You took me by surprise.” Stroking Darcy’s cheek with her thumb, she leans forward to press another light kiss to Darcy’s mouth and murmurs, “Also, I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

Darcy can see by the look on her face that surprises don’t come Natasha’s way very often. Determined to give her another one, she leans in for another kiss. This one is gentle, soft, and wet. They take their time, lips clinging as they explore each other slowly. Natasha sinks into her, one hand sliding along Darcy’s neck in a soft caress. One of Darcy’s hands slides up Natasha’s back in return, coming to rest between her shoulder blades. This kiss is perfect in an entirely different way from the first, and Darcy pulls back reluctantly. Breathing unevenly, she jokes, “Stick with me and you might get more of those.”

Natasha chuckles. “Surprises? Or kisses?”

“Both.” It’s a promise.

Holding out a torn piece of paper for Darcy to take, Natasha makes a promise of her own . “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. And by the way, I would love to be your date to the wedding.” Her gaze drops to Darcy’s mouth, then to the crowd behind her, and she visibly restrains herself from leaning in for another kiss. “Unfortunately, it looks like we’re out of time tonight. Text me?”

She takes a step back, then another, and then she’s lost in the crowd.

Darcy turns, dazed, toward Jane and the others. Frigga has already turned Odin and Loki around to coax them into the car, so it’s only Thor and Jane waiting. Jane is tapping one foot, equal parts exasperated and proud. “Damn, Darce. Well, I guess I know now why you weren’t answering my texts.” As Darcy reaches her, Jane nudges her side and adds, “Also, that kiss? So hot. She’s a keeper, you take my word for it.” Even as she rolls her eyes at her best friend, Darcy can’t help the flush that overtakes her cheeks. The kisses were hot. So hot.

Thor doesn’t tease her, just winks and asks, “New friend of yours, Darcy? Anyone I’m likely to see again?”

Darcy can’t help her grin as she answers, “Yeah, big guy. She’ll be at your wedding.” Thor laughs in delight and ushers her to the vehicle.

As they slide into the back of the Escalade limousine (because Odin wouldn’t know the meaning of the word subtlety if it bit him in the ass), Darcy leans toward Jane and whispers, “This was hands down the best sacrifice I’ve ever had to make in the entirety of our friendship. I’ll never doubt you again.” Jane snorts and wipes a way a smudge of lipstick from the corner of Darcy’s mouth, winking at her.

Not wasting any time, Darcy plugs Natasha’s number into her phone. Darcy starts to type out a text, then hesitates briefly, wondering if she should at least pretend to be hard to get and wait until she gets home. Nah, fuck it; she’s all in with this one.

Want to get an actual drink sometime?

Her phone chimes in less than a minute.

Friday, 7 PM? Casual clothing this time.

Darcy grins to herself and looks out the window, ignoring Odin and Loki’s snide remarks about the ‘embarrassing and humiliating scene’ she just made.

Apparently, she has two dates to look forward to. Life is looking up.