#i think the cracking apart bit is metaphorical but i guess we will see!!

[inkykeiji]

Clari I am crying at the leaks. :( all he wanted was to be seen I can’t

the leaks are like,,,, kind of confusing to me LMAO like aside from that heartbreaking line i’m like ????? okay so what is going on here

[paytato435]

Chapter 3: You His Pet or Somethin'?

The Knife Set

Leo was in a pickle. He hadn’t realized how big of a pickle yet though. Like, he thought it was maybe one of those cocktail sized ones you’d skewer onto a sandwich. As it turned out, he’d discovered pickles could get pretty big. Like, he was pretty sure Raph could fit in this one- this metaphorical pickle anyway. Not a literal pickle… are there any pickles in the fridge now? He was getting a little hungry now that he thought about it…

“So it was you?!” Mikey’s voice broke in surprise as he had just watched his older brother turn one of his kitchen knives into a mystic katana.

Leo froze. He had not seen the box turtle behind him. Turning his head just slightly, he could see his little brother in the doorway, his finger pointing accusingly right at him.

“You’re the one who keeps stealing my kitchen knives!”

“Stealing?” Leo asked, touching his finger to his lip. “I was just borrowing the one…”

“LIAR!” Mikey stormed into the kitchen and gestured to his knife block, where, of the dozen knives that had been there less than two weeks ago, there now remained only two.

“You keep using my knives to make more swords!”

Leo bit his lip.

“Look, it’s not my fault they keep breaking under the pressure-”

“You’ve broken them?! HOW?”

“I don’t know, I guess they just aren’t as strong as you’d think they’d be,” Leo shrugged, twirling the new katana into his scabbard.

“Kitchen knives are meant for chopping food, not hacking apart bad guys!” Mikey sobbed.

“Well what am I supposed to do then? I need my katanas!”

“Go ask Todd to make you another garden trowel, I don’t know! And get me a new set of knives!”

Leo sighed loudly. Asking for a new set of knives was fair, but it would be a huge pain. He was also having trouble getting a hold of Todd. Turns out his puppy park was going through some legal trouble about zoning requirements or something, his forge likely included. Maybe Leo could just buy himself a knife set too, but he was really tired of his swords cracking under the pressure.

“A garden trowel as a sword?” Leo and Mikey snapped their heads around to see Casey sitting at the breakfast bar, not even four feet away from them.

“How long have you been there?” Leo asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Long enough,” Casey shrugged. “But really, tell me how a garden trowel makes for a good sword.” His tone pitched up in questioning.

“I thought you knew everything about us,” Leo tipped his head. “We can make our weapons out of pretty much anything, as long as we have our ninpo.”

“Well yeah, I knew that, but wouldn’t an actual sword work better?” Casey asked, shoveling around his cereal with a spoon.

“I don’t suppose you have one lying around here somewhere?” Leo asked, lowering his head and jutting his chin out.

“Jus’ get Synth to make you one. Thas’ what you did in the fujure,” Casey said through a mouthful of cereal.

“Synth? Who’s that?”

Casey’s eyes widened as he took a bite of Frosted Flakes. (He’d been getting more adventurous with his food choices lately.) “You don’t know Synth? The greatest swordsman of all time?!”

“Ok I’m going to pretend you didn’t just rank me below anyone else in terms of swordsmanship and skip to the part where I say; nooooo?” 

“Well you should, if my memory serves, he works for the Battle Nexus.”

“For Big Mama?” Mikey piped up. “Sounds like he’s probably up to no good.”

“He made… makes weapons for her champions,” Casey explained, fidgeting with his hands nervously. “As for Big Mama, I can’t say whether or not he’s a fan of hers. He’s not big on talking about himself. He did get along well enough with you though, Leo.”

“I can’t imagine he’s cheap,” Leo scoffed. “After that last Jupiter Jim premiere I’m broke!”

“You really should get a job, Leo,” Mikey gave him a side-eye, but Leo waved him off.

“I’m sure you can work something out with him,” Casey encouraged, smiling. “Sensei always had a way of brokering a deal.”

Leo was not at all surprised to hear he was still very much the face-man in the future. But at the same time, he still wasn't used to hearing someone talk about himself like he knew more about him than his own self. It felt tangential to the whole Hamato destiny stuff, like he just had to be what they told him to.

And while a part of him wanted to resist the idea based solely on contrarianism, Casey’s bowling ball eyes were just so damn reflective. Like, Leo thought his face might explode or something if he didn’t go along with it. So he took a step back and thought it over. What was the worst that could happen?

“All right, sure. I’m sure we can check out this Synth guy on our way back from like… wherever Mikey gets his kitchen utensils from,” Leo conceded, straightening up.

Casey froze.

“We?” He sputtered, only to frantically grasp at the bits of cereal he accidentally sputtered onto his chin.

“Yes, we, this is your idea isn’t it? You, me, and Mikey,”

“Why do I have to go? You’re doing this for me!” Mikey cut in.

“You know I’m not going to get the right set if you don’t come with us,” Leo pointed out.

Mikey made a 'I wish I could say otherwise but we all know better' face.

“Leo, I… you know why I can’t go up there…” Casey stumbled, shrinking into his chair. “It’s, it’s all so open…”

In a completely necessary gesture, Leo whipped out Mikey’s ex-kitchen knife and pointed it right down Casey’s nose.

“You can’t hide down here forever kid. If this means anything to you then you’re coming with me.”

“It doesn’t,” Casey shrugged. “It’s your sword.”

“Oh come on!” Leo collapsed over on himself. “You aren’t even a little bit invested in my path to becoming the greatest ninja of all time?”

Mikey popped up next to Casey and made him jump.

“What Leo is trying to say, is that he wants you to come with him because we’re family and we should spend more time outside together. And it’ll be fun!” Mikey starting doing a little dance up at that last bit, shaking invisible maracas.

Casey looked like he was starting to regret his own idea, but eventually nodded.

“Yeah! Team Baja Blast is headed out, baby!” Mikey jumped onto the bar table and pointed at the ceiling.

“Wait a minute, you’re broke!” Mikey pointed back down at Leo. Leo looked away.

“You were gonna make ME pay for the knives that YOU ruined!”

“I didn’t say anything of that nature,” Leo scoffed. “Casey, how much money do you have?”

Casey started to pull out his wallet but Mikey stopped him.

“Oh no no no NO!” Mikey scolded the slider. “You are not putting this on him!”

“Well how am I supposed to get you your knife set huh?”

Mikey squinted one eye and jabbed it into Leo’s plastron.

“Get. A. JOB!”

-

“You his pet or somethin’?”

“I don’t get it Casey, how am I supposed to be a ninja, a student, and have a job all at the same time?” Leo whined as they walked to the Grand Nexus Hotel. Without the money to pay for his lost knives, Mikey refused to join them. Leo would have to pay him back another time.

“How should I know? I have just as much experience as you here,” Casey raised his arms helplessly. But when Leo looked over to him he was smiling wickedly.

“What with that face?” Casey knew that look all too well.

“Do you think I could make money being a ninja?” Leo asked, tipping his head to one side.

“Like a mercenary???” Casey asked, concerned.

“I was thinking more like a bounty hunter,” Leo shrugged, crossing his hands behind his head.

“And who’s paying you? I can’t see you working with the police.”

“Oooooo now there’s an idea,” Leo spun around walking backwards. “Take money from bad guys for taking out bad guys.”

Casey tried to process what Leo was saying, but Leo kept going.

“Pops and Raph would hate that though,” he shrugged, dodging between people. “Honor and all that. Man, it blows that Pops is being more stingy with money lately.”

“Sorry,” Casey lowered his head. He knew that their allowances had spread out thinner now that Casey was living with them.

“Aw shit, no man, I didn’t mean it like that,” Leo corrected himself. He sighed. “Maybe Hueso will let me work for him. Surely he’s gotten over the unicorn incident by now…” Leo started mumbling to himself, so Casey turned his attention to the city around him.

It was still intimidating, for sure, but he was starting to think the walks with Mikey had helped some. The worst part by far were the cars. He couldn’t believe that there were machines that could fly past him at the speed of Krang hounds and that was safe and normal. He had been in the Turtle Tank, sure, but it was a whole other thing to be surrounded by hundreds of them.

They came out of nowhere, stopped suddenly, and everytime he heard a horn… he was over it, man. The only thing keeping him grounded was Leo. The way he moved through the crowds so easily, the ease at which he navigated town, Casey had a hard time believing this was the same world his sensei grew up in. Surely he’d fallen into some stranger alternate universe.

“We’re here!” Leo announced, waving his hand in front of Casey’s face. He blinked. He hadn’t realized he’d spaced out.

“It’s huge!” Casey gasped. It dwarfed every other building on the block, and that was saying something.

“Duh, Big Mama doesn’t do anything that isn’t big,” Leo rolled his eyes. “Speaking of, you do have some idea of how to get to this Synth guy, right? I’m not itching to be making a deal with her.”

Casey folded his hands in front of his chin and gave an empty smile.

“You have no idea what we’re doing, do you?” Leo guessed.

“No…?” Casey lied to nobody.

Leo nodded.

“I’m starting to see some resemblances between each other,” Leo winked. “Let’s go!”

-

Casey had never been in a hotel before, but he was pretty sure they weren't usually bigger on the inside than on the out, nor did he think every bellhop could possibly look exactly the same as one another.

Thankfully, Leo walked in like he owned the place, so all Casey had to do was follow.

Leo made his way up to the front desk, where a fox yokai as desk manager stood at attention.

“Do you have a reservation, gentlemen?” he asked, barely glancing at them.

“We’re here to see Master Synth, my fuzzy friend. Does he have a minute to spare?” Leo announced, his hands on his hips as he gave a confident smile.

The fox sighed and pulled out his radio.

“Synth that turtle from the Kraken fight is back again,” he groaned. “And he’s brought a friend. Says he wants a minute.”

A voice like tin cans dragging on cement answered with a concise “Nah.”

“Nah?” Leo raised his voice.

“Nah,” said the voice again.

The desk manager put his radio away.

“Sorry about that gentlemen, he’s busy.”

“That wasn’t very professional of him! He didn’t even hear what we came here for!”

“I could redirect you to someone else if you let me know what you need,” the desk manager offered, but he was clearly hoping Leo wouldn’t take him up on the offer.

“Do you have anyone else who makes swords? Preferably ones that don’t break under mystic influence?” Leo stuck his hip out to one side.

“All of our weapons manufacturers are contractually obligated to only make weapons for the Nexus,” the fox explained. “You’ll need to take your business elsewhere.”

“A contract? Is there any way we can get him out of it?” Casey asked.

The fox laughed.

“Nobody wants out of a weapons deal with Big Mama,” he sneered. “It’s the most lucrative business in the Hidden City; and Synth’s the best there is. You can’t afford him.”

Leo pouted, and turned away from the counter.

“Fine, we’ll go look elsewhere.”

Casey turned to follow him, but with hesitation. He’d never seen Leo give up this easily. Unless…

When they’d put some distance between themselves and the front desk, Leo gave him his classic mischievous grin.

“You have an idea,” Casey smirked.

“Come on, it’s about time we do some ninja sneakin’ about.” 

-

With a little assistance from a briefly unattended laundry bin and a service elevator, the boys quickly found their way to one of the lowest basement levels of the Grand Nexus Hotel.

“You wouldn’t happen to know your way around down here, would you?” Casey asked Leo as he shifted in the bin to pull out his phone.

“I haven’t been this far down before, but I’ve never seen Synth either so I figured he had to be somewhere I haven’t been,” Leo grunted, pulling on a pair of bellhop trousers in the cramped space. As he brought them up, he elbowed Casey in the face.

“Hey, watch it! You know you could just step out of the bin and put that on.”

Leo hopped out and adjusted the bellop's hat atop his head.

“I got a map.”

“A map?” Leo said to the suspicious laundry hamper as the elevator dinged. “How’d you-?”

But the doors were opening and staff were waiting to get on.

Leo quickly pushed the bin out into the hallway, apologizing as the confused staff members scooched around him as best they could. Once the door closed, Casey poked his arm up from under the towels and pointed down the hall.

“That way, and to the left at the end of the hall.”

“Casey, did you hack your way into the Nexus servers?”

“I have my ways,” he whispered. “Trust me.”

Leo could see the faint purple glow of Casey’s phone jostling around as he pushed the cart in the way he was directed. This kid was good.

When he turned the corner, Leo saw that the hall widened out significantly, and that the usual wallpaper and decor gave way to solid stone. The lights overhead became cold white fluorescents. The bin’s wheels bumped over the rubber stop of the end of the carpet and onto worn asbestos floor tiles.

“What are we looking for?” Leo whispered.

“Third door on your right,” Casey whispered back, readjusting himself.

The doors were metal painted in chipped orange paint, and were padlocked shut. Leo guessed 8008, but the lock buzzed red.

“What are you doing?” Casey asked, hearing the noise.

“Do you have a way to unlock the door? I left my purple at home.”

Casey popped his head out and looked at the lock.

“Did you try boob?”

“Of course I did!”

Casey glanced back at his phone. “Huh, that usually works. Give me a minute…”

“WHO’S OUT THERE??”

The boys jumped, and Casey nearly fell out of the laundry bin. It was that awful grating voice from before.

“Uh… room service?” Casey answered, his voice cracking.

“I didn’ order any-” but Synth made the mistake of opening up the door for them, and Leo pushed right on by him to get inside. “-hey!”

Leo looked around the room and whistled in awe.

“Hey hey, this is a pretty sweet shop you got here Synthia, you might make my brother jealous.”

Casey hopped out of the cart and looked around too, and looked just as impressed. There were swords, spears, and all kinds of blades hanging around everywhere. From the ceiling, mounted to the walls, in barrels and crates around the edges of the room, anywhere there was room, there were sharp edges to fill the space. There were a couple workbenches in the back, an anvil, and a massive forge blazing brightly in the otherwise rather dark room.

“You’re that turtle from the front desk!” Synth growled, keeping the door open. “You need to get outta here. You're not welcome!”

He was a short, bobcat-like Yokai, with red fur and cloven feet like a goat. He was shorter than Casey, but Leo guessed he was probably a few years older than himself

At first glance he was afraid this Synth would lack experience, and Casey seemed to be appraising him too; but he appeared excited enough to see the yokai, so it seemed he was exactly the man (or teenager) Master Leonardo had praised to heaven and back for.

Leo rolled his eyes.

“Chill man, we just wanna talk.”

“Yeah, sure,” he rolled his eyes in turn. “An idiot with a kitchen knife in one of his scabbards and nothing in the other only wants to talk.”

“You can tell it’s a kitchen knife?” Leo asked, drawing the sword out.

Synth closed one eye and made a face.

“I’m not takin' commissions,” he asserted.

“Would you please reconsider?” Casey asked, folding his hands.

“Why would I?”

“Because I’m the greatest ninja the world has ever seen,” Leo smirked.

“Yeah,” Casey crossed his arms and stood next to him. “Leonardo’s the greatest swordsman alive.”

Synth’s ear twitched and looked Casey up and down.

“You his pet or somethin’?”

“Pet?!” They both repeated at the same time.

“The kid’s followin' you like a puppy.”

Leo made a face and glanced down at Casey who was standing a little close to him.

Casey inched away.

“He’s my sidekick,” Leo recovered.

“Right… well, I’m sorry, dudes, but I can’t help you with your little situation.”

“Yeah yeah, we heard it all upstairs,” Leo puppeted his free hand. “You got a contract blah blah blah. But I need swords or I can’t ninja!”

“You don’t even have anything to offer!”

“What if you taught him how to make swords?” Casey suggested.

“That’s even worse!” Synth roared. “Do you see my output? I don' have the time nor the energy to waste on teaching some idiot swinging a steak knife around!”

“Hey, this idiot has feelings,” Leo pointed out.

“Wait a minute,” Casey moved over to a stack of crates on one wall.

“Get out!” Synth growled.

Casey pulled out a sword.

“Get your hands off that! I’m calling security!”

Casey gave him a “try me” face.

“No you’re not,” he blew on the surface of the blade and a poof of dust kicked up into the air.

“You’re overstocked. You’re bored as shit.”

Synth’s ear twitched again. Leo wondered if the tic meant anything.

“You…” Synth glared but shut the door. He moved to the back of the workshop, gesturing for them to follow.

Now we were getting somewhere.

Behind his workbench and nearly out of view sat a grindstone. As he approached it whirred to life on its own, as if by magic. Well, it probably was magic. Synth grabbed the nearest blade to him, some wicked looking machete, and started grinding away at its edge.

“They’re always listenin',” he growled quietly, in a voice that was barely audible over the racket he was now making.

“Big Mama?” Casey asked, curious.

Synth nodded. “And others. I’ll be brief. Run of the Mill, 10pm.”

That was brief.

Synth watched Leo, and realized he was waiting for a response.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he shrugged.

Synth immediately stopped the grindstone and moved to the radio on his workbench.

“Security, I have two idiots lost in the basement. Please extract.”

“Two, devishly handsome idiots,” Leo corrected.

“Devilish,” Casey corrected Leo.

“What he said.”

-

They had almost made it out of the hotel without incident, when it just so happened the crime boss herself was just stepping in through her own front door, a leather lavender clutch in one hand, and her hair tied up in a messy silver bun atop her head. By the dozens of assistants behind her, it appeared she had just returned from some kind of shopping trip.

“Oh! Look who we have here!” Big Mama strutted right up to Leo.

“It’s been a minute, turtley-boo, how was saving the world?” she peered over at him expectantly over her glasses.

“It was… great…” Leo smiled uncomfortably. “I have a son now.”

Big Mama giggled and stole a glance at Casey.

“Ah yes, I saw you on the news. A new friend of the turtles.”

“Casey, this Big Mama. Mama, this is Casey,” Leo really looked like he wanted to take a step back.

“Why so teedly tense?” Mama asked, raising her eyebrows. “I think we’re good friends now, don’t you think? I helped you save the world, you saved the world, which in turn keeps business as usual. You’re always welcome here,” she winked.

Leo didn’t appear convinced.

“So, what brings you here, turtley-boos?”

Casey flinched.

“Oh, Casey’s not a turtle,” Leo corrected her. “He’s a human.”

Mama rolled her eyes.

“Of course, dear, I only meant to be inclusive,” she gave Casey a wicked grin.

“If I had more time, I would love to get to know you, little one. We’re all family here.”

Casey swallowed nervously.

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

“Mama, we were just escorting these two off the premises,” the fox yokai had appeared at her side.

“Ah, that would explain the security,” Big Mama nodded to the musclemen behind Leo and Casey.

“Sneaking around?”

“I- we…” Casey tried to find an explanation, but Big Mama just started giggling good-naturedly.

“Don’t worry your devishily handsome faces, boys,” she assured them. “Mama has a way of finding things out. Enjoy your evening!”

And then she moved past them as if none of that had even happened.

-

“That was beyond weird!” Leo pointed out once they were safely back underground.

“What do we do now?” Casey asked. “It’s clear she knows we’re meeting with Synth this evening.”

“Wait really? How’d you figure that?”

Casey smacked himself in the forehead.

“She mispronounced devilishly just like you did and then told us to have a good time this evening! We’re supposed to meet Synth in the evening!”

"It was evening when we left, Case, I think you're being a little paranoid."

“So should we still go?” Casey asked, crossing his arms as they entered the lair.

“Why not? Are you afraid of Big Mama or something?” Leo threw himself over the back of the couch, his carapace hitting the seat cushion and his legs flopping over onto one side.

“Shouldn’t I be? She’s like, a crime boss isn’t she?”

“Nah…” Leo smirked as he flipped the tv on. “Well yeah, she is. But we can take her.”

“You sound really full of yourself, you know that right?” Casey told the slider, crashing beside him. “Didn’t you say she once trapped the entire city of New York? And she manipulated the Shredder? And she imprisoned Master Splinter for a decade?”

Leo rolled his eyes.

“Ok, you might have a point. I’ll see if Raph and Donnie wanna go with us.”

Casey jumped a bit, but thankfully Leo didn't seem to notice.

“Wait, why not Mikey?”

“He’s going to Draxum’s tonight, and… the whole knife situation.”

“BROKE-ASS NINJA!” the two of them heard Mikey shout from his room.

“Is there something wrong with inviting the others?” Leo asked, lowering his brow.

“No, it’s fine,” Casey settled back into his seat and looked at the tv. “I was just curious.”

"You've been spending a lot of time with Mikey by the way, why is that?"

"You jealous?" Casey smirked.

"What? No! I'm just observing."

"And what have you observed?" Casey kicked his legs up over Leo's. 

Leo squinted. Casey gave him a shit eating grin.

"Isn't it rude to have shoes on the couch?"

"You're right, I should take them off."

Casey promptly kicked his shoes off onto the floor and put his feet right back where they had been.

Leo's face scrunched up in horror by the pungent smell.

"That was not what I meant!" he said as he scrambled to sit up right and get away from the offending appendages. Casey couldn't help but crack up laughing as the slider made a series of dramatic and unnecessary gagging noises.

"Jeez dude, do you ever shower?"

"It's not that bad," Casey defended, crossing his legs under him. "You just don't have humans around here enough."

"April's over here all the time!"

"April doesn't count! She doesn't live here!" Casey pointed out.

"Are you saying we need more people living here?"

"No?" Casey pouted, stumped. "Whatever."

Previous Masterpost Next

Notes: Teenage boys are gross.

[russiandoll-from-brooklyn]

Just Once - Part 2

Title: Just Once - Part 2

Some of y'all were asking for Part 2 of Just Once so here ya go! This picks up right after the first story.

Pairing: Tony Stark x fem!reader

Summary: Grief and loneliness got the best of you last night. Your friendship with Tony was too precious to risk, and now all you want to do is move on. But what happens when the other party doesn't want to forget?

Warnings: smut, language, (technically) cheating, friends to lovers, mentions of past canon trauma, oral (f receiving), protected sex

Word Count: 5.1k

[Starts out sweet and all about tony x reader friendship, then turns into steamy Tony smut. Table sex, included. 😳]

---

Thump, thump, thump.

Your feet hit the pavement rhythmically as you jog your normal morning route. It’s a misty Seattle morning, and the world is still quiet. The sun is rising sleepily, beginning to bathe the world in gold. All is well.

Except. It isn’t.

You turn the block corner, and your apartment comes into sight. You take a glance down at your watch.

42 minutes.

That’s how long ago you had quietly slipped out of your apartment for your morning run. That’s how long it had been since your eyes shot open and you remembered the events of last night, rushing into your mind, all at once like a tsunami. You had turned your head to find Tony still asleep beside you in the bed. One leg sticking out of the messy sheets and his face buried in the pillow. Your pillow.

You had stared at him in disbelief, half-expecting him to disintegrate into a fleeting figment of your imagination. You had rubbed your eyes, trying to clear the haze.

Nope. Still there.

You silently curse yourself and your stupidity (see: weakness in the face of sexual temptation) for the 50th time this morning as you approach the brick building. Perhaps, when you reenter your apartment, Tony will be gone, and this will all have just been a bad trip — or something of the like.

Before you even open the door, the smell of frying bacon reaches your nose. You step inside and are greeted by a peculiar sight.

Tony Stark, clad in nothing but a pair of dark jeans, is buzzing about your small kitchenette. Simultaneously, there are eggs being flipped over-easy on the stovetop, orange juice being procured from the open fridge, bacon sizzling happily in a pan, and toast being buttered. You stand in amazement for a few seconds, processing the scene before you. The wonderful aroma of the all-American breakfast makes you mouth water.

“Y/N! Hey!” Tony exclaims when he sees you.

You slide onto a stool at the bar top, overlooking the controlled chaos unfolding in the kitchen area. Tony truly has remarkable skill when it comes to multitasking. You guess, all that time in the suit, operating about twenty computing systems at once, was good practice.

“Wow. Breakfast?” you remark, raising an eyebrow. “Since when do you cook?”

He scoffs, shooting you a brief smile before turning away to rapidly crack some black pepper onto the eggs.

“Cooking is easy. People think it’s a skill, but really it’s just planning, timing it out. It’s like assembling anything else. You just do the parts in order, trying not to break any yolks.”

You roll your eyes sarcastically at the classic “Tony” response.

Suddenly, all the components come crashing together, and Tony is setting down two perfectly assembled breakfast plates on the bar top — complete with a glass of orange juice for each of you. It looks delicious; it’s been way too long since you had a proper breakfast. Meaning, a breakfast that wasn’t cereal, a protein bar, or a bowl of sad, pale, scrambled eggs. You thank Tony as he pulls up the other stool to sit across from you.

“Dig in,” he says cheerfully, raising his fork. “Good run this morning?”

You nod, taking a big gulp of orange juice.

“Yeah, I heard you leaving,” Tony continues mindlessly. “Kind of weird waking up to an empty bed after a night like that. I finally know what it feels like to be on the other side, I guess.”

You nearly spit out your bite of toast. And just like that, reality comes crashing back down to earth. For a brief moment, it had felt like things could possibly come out normal on the other side. You and Tony could go back to being perfectly normal best friends.

How ignorant.

“What?” you remark incredulously.

You’re on the verge of laughter, partially out of amusement but mostly out of bewildered embarrassment.

Tony gives you his award-winning “I’m innocent!” raised-eyebrow expression. You suddenly become acutely aware of the situation. Tony Stark is sitting in your kitchen, shirtless, serving you breakfast. After you spent a far-from-platonic night rolling around your sheets together. You want to slap yourself.

“I’m talking about the incredible sex we had last night. And then, you leaving me alone before sunrise,” Tony explains casually, pushing your buttons further. “That's usually my play.”

He looks up at you, expecting a playful quip in return. Instead, you just slowly set down the fork you had been gripping.

“Tony,” you begin, seriously and calmly. “Let’s not talk about it. It was one night, and it won’t happen again. It was just once. We gave into the moment, but we shouldn’t-“

“The moment?” Tony suddenly blurts out, interrupting you. You purse your lips, surprised by the new and unexpected edge of anger in his voice. “God. Y/N. The moment, huh? You’re really just going to shrink it down to that. Just a moment.”

You stare at him, confused. Tony’s big brown eyes hold yours with an intensity. It's amazing how fast his sarcastic, playful tone can morph into ferocity. You want to look away, break his gaze, but you can’t. This whole thing was a mistake.

“It was fun,” you finally say. “But it was just a fuck. We were lonely.”

“You know, Y/N. You’re so damn smart,” Tony replies, leaning back a bit in his seat. “So, why do you always try and kid yourself? It bothers me. I know -- that you know -- that this wasn’t just a fuck.”

Your mind races through a million different responses.

Then, what was it?

What do you mean?

Why are you acting like this?

I'm not kidding myself.

But something tells you, deep down, that there's nothing you can say that won't lead to something you don't want to hear.

So, instead, you angrily snatch up your glass of orange juice, rising from your seat at the bar. You grit your teeth at Tony one more time before turning your back and striding toward to your study. You feel your cheeks burning hot.

The study is a second living room-sized space where you keep all your projects. Early sunlight is now streaming in through the large windows, falsely giving the impression of a peaceful Saturday morning. The large wooden table tops are littered with wires, microchips, and other electronic parts. When you first met the Avengers year ago, you and Tony butted heads over your shared expertise in technology and robotics. After much bickering and trying to outdo each other, you eventually accepted one another's intelligence and bonded over your shared field.

You look to the floor of your large study to see the air mattress you had set up there prior to Tony's arrival yesterday, obviously still pristine. You squeeze your eyes shut. Your apartment is absolutely dripping with reminders of last night's events. The empty whiskey glasses, still sitting on the side table in the living room. The couch pillows crumpled from the weight of your bodies, hungrily crashing together above them. You don't even want to think about your bedroom, where you're sure Tony's missing shirt is strewn on the ground.

You push the thoughts out of your your mind, pulling up a seat at your work table. You start to fiddle with a new lightweight shoulder pauldron you're currently designing. You can feel yourself going into 'shut-out' mode, trying your hardest to focus all your attention on the metal in your hands. This was all too much. This was all wrong.

When you hear footsteps behind you, entering the study, you ignore it. Tony quietly traverses the floor, coming to pull up a chair on the other side of the work table. He silently watches you working the wires into place. You don't look up. You don't have to see his expression to know the contemplative expression undoubtably painted on his face. You also don't have to look at him to know he's pondering more than just your work.

"You know, aluminum-titantium alloy won't hold up after a few heavy hits," Tony comments, nodding to the armor piece.

"I'm gonna chromatize it," you reply dryly, not looking up from your hands.

"I wouldn't bother. You can't just give everything a shiny coat to hold it together. If the problem is underneath, that is."

Fuck Tony and his fucking metaphors.

You growl angrily, throwing the pauldron down in frustration. You sit back in your seat and cross your arms, finally meeting your friend's eyes.

"Ok, fine," you say matter-of-factly. "Let's talk about it. It was good. It was really fucking good. And we both needed it. But that's it. I'm willing to leave it at that and forget about it if you are."

Tony rubs his beard in his palm, seemingly mulling over your words. His brown eyes don't leave yours. The warm sunlight coming in through the window behind him paints yellow patches on his bare shoulders, bathing him in gold. You take a mental picture of him, sitting there in his thoughts. A brief, intrusive thought passes through your mind, threatening that this could be the last time you see him. You immediately banish the notion. This friendship means too much to you. Not even a fuck-up as big as this one could make you want to toss it away. You hope Tony agrees.

"Help me understand where your head's at, Y/N," Tony finally replies. "What is your biggest concern right now? Wait, listen, I know there's a lot of reasons why last night was bad. But I want to know what you're thinking."

You sigh, uncrossing your arms. As much as Tony's 'list-and-analyze' reaction to crisis could be annoying, in some ways, it comforted you. Tony is impulsive, yes, but those who know him best also know his calculative nature: the mental risk assessments, the contingency plans labelled through Z. Always searching for the route that will hurt everyone the least. Always.

You consider his question carefully. Again, there's a million answers: the risk of ruining your friendship, the potential awkwardness, Pepper -- oh, god, Pepper --, the pain and grief you've both been through in the past few years. You close your eyes and pick one.

"You're one of the only people left that I trust. One of my only friends. Complexity doesn't often end well."

"You're right," Tony admits. "But aren't you the one who asked, 'is it wrong to not want to be alone'?"

You scoff loudly, angered by his using your words against you. However, that bitterness melts away into nothing when you see the heart-wrenching expression on Tony's face. His lips are pursed, and his eyes are searching yours desperately. Tony rarely shows outward weakness, but right now, the man before you isn't Iron Man. The man before you is broken. Someone who has tried everything to hold it -- his sanity, his relationship, his life -- together, to save the people he loves, to be strong. Someone who failed at that. Someone who truly felt alone.

You rest your chin in your palms and sigh, the weight falling over you as well.

Finally, you speak.

"Isn't it awful -- and strange -- how it can feel like a lifetime ago and just yesterday at the exact same time?"

Tony nods sadly at your observation. Of course, you were talking about the snap. About Thanos.

"You're right. About everything," he remarks. "Sometimes, it just gets too much. The...”

Loneliness. You finish his sentence in your head.

“Me too.”

“You should know though,” Tony continues. “I would never stop being your friend. No matter how complex things are. This — what we’ve been through — could never change, Y/N.”

There it is.

Some situations feel like you're running in circles; you're spiraling downwards and everything you say only makes matters worse and worse. It feels like sinking in quicksand with no way out. In every one of those situations, there's a key -- that one sentence, that one idea, that effortlessly clears the fog. This was it. Tony is going to be here, always. Everything is going to be alright.

You straighten up a bit in your seat. You let out a long sigh and give Tony a small smile.

"I know," you assure your friend. "Sometimes I forget everything that's happened. How complicated it's been before. How we made it out."

Tony laughs, and you're relived.

"How could you forget? It's been a wild ride."

The two of you grin at each other. You take a sip of your orange juice, which you had forgotten about and was now lukewarm.

"OK, happy?" you inquire with a playful tone. "Base material fixed. No need for shiny coats of anything. We're solid now."

Tony lets out a hearty chuckle at the stupid analogy. Suddenly, he stands, circling the work table until he's right in front of you. You suck in a breath of oxygen. From your seated position, your head only comes up to his abs. Bare abs, that is. You tilt your face upwards to meet his eyes.

"Y/N," he says gently. “Stand up.”

Confused, you rise to your feet. Before you can open your mouth to say anything else, Tony’s lean and muscular arms are wrapped around you. He pulls you into his chest, embracing you in his warmth. His grip is firm, as if he’s afraid you might run away. You soften into the hug, wrapping your arms around his back. You feel safe.

After a few moments, Tony releases you. However, he doesn’t move away, and the two of you are still nearly chest-to-chest. You peer up at him, and your friend’s warm toffee eyes meet yours.

“Wow, a Tony Stark hug?” you remark sarcastically. “I should play the lotto today.”

Tony chuckles under his breath. Despite your joking, it was true that Tony rarely gives hugs. He just isn’t the touchy-feely type — according to himself. Somehow this gesture, right now, meant everything. A hug was the most intimate thing Tony could have given you. It was a seal, a mark saying ‘I meant every word I just said.’

Tony is still standing directly in front of you, so close there’s only a magazine’s width between you. He’s so near that you can feel the warmth of his steady breathing, and the slight radiating heat from the arc reactor in his chest. Suddenly, you feel that familiar tug in your stomach. A rush of blood downwards...

“Tony-“

“Do you want me?” Tony cuts you off. His voice is low, gentle.

You suck in a breath of air at his words. Despite his directness, there's a detectable edge of nervousness in his tone. You smile internally at knowing you have this effect on Mr. Playboy. The slight uncertainty in Tony's voice also tells you that it's true: this is different. Last night was not just a mindless fuck. This is an understanding, wrapped around a mutual care that runs so deep that it burns.

You don’t even try to convince yourself that you don’t want Tony. Every ounce of your being is screaming to close the gap between you. You can still hear the scientist-logic-brain in you resisting, but your heart feels at ease. You and Tony. A concept that felt like the forbidden fruit itself just ten minutes ago now looked more like an oasis. And oasis that was maybe alright to take a drink from every once in a while.

You snake one hand upward to hold his cheek. Tony pushes gently into your palm.

It's you who leans in first. When your lips collide, it's soft. He presses himself into you, a delicate sigh escaping. You pull back just enough to whisper a breathy "I want you."

And oh, god do you want him.

“Then, have me,” Tony whispers back, gently.

You nearly visibly shiver. Any trace of hesitation is gone from his voice now. His words are demanding, but his tone is more of a plea.

“Do you want to go the bedroom?”

“No,” Tony replies immediately. He’s breathless. “Right here.”

You immediately feel wetness drop into your panties. Tony’s eyes have grow darker, as they bear down at you. The intensity makes your legs feel weak. You need him. He needs you.

In a moment of boldness, you bring your hands down to the hemline of your shirt. You lift the garment up and over your head, placing it on the work table beside you. Tony’s eyes wander to your red sports bra and your now-stiffened nipples showing through the sleek fabric.

In the next breath, Tony is suddenly kissing you again, his lips against yours in a desperate hunger. He brings his large, roughly calloused hands to your waist. He firmly grips your body, making you feel tiny in his hold. You let a small moan escape your lips.

Still holding you in his grasp, Tony starts to walk you backwards until your backside is pressed against the edge of your large work table. Tony’s hips press forward into you, making you gasp with excitement. You fingertips tangle in his hair, just wanting more and more and more...

In an effortless movement, Tony lifts your sports bra over your head. He throws the red fabric to the side, neither of you caring where it lands. Tony breaks away from your lips, starting to kiss down your cheek, jaw, and then finally giving attention to the delicate skin on your neck. Again, he’s careful not to nip or suck too hard to leave marks. The light scratching of his facial hair contrasts with the soft wetness of Tony’s lips, making you throw your head back in pleasure.

He continues to attend to your neck and jaw as one of his jean-clad thighs moves to fall between your legs. You let out a deep groan as Tony begins to rub and and roll his knee forward, stimulating your clothed core. His movements are like a wave, every forward crest bringing you a tiny bit of that friction your body wants so, so much. You’re in awe of the control Tony has over his movements and the effortless pleasure he’s capable of giving. You can’t help but find his experience and expertise sexy.

“Y/N,” Tony breathes against your neck. “Say it again. Please. Say you want me.”

It occurs to you that, aside from last night, Tony hasn’t felt wanted in a long time. Like, truly wanted. A pang of sadness fills your heart.

“Tony. I want you,” you declare, making sure the conviction in your voice shines through. You don’t have to try. You desire him more than anything right now. “I want you. I want this.”

With your words, Tony moans deeply into your jawline and begins to move his leg between yours more vigorously. Your fingertips trace over his bare back muscles. You trail your hands upward, into the nape of his neck, massaging his scalp. Everything about his beautiful form fits perfectly in your hands.

Tony continues moving downwards, soon finding your right nipple in his mouth. You arch your back, letting a loud moan escape your lips. He works your nipple expertly, rolling it and playing at it with his tongue. He alternates to your other nipple, his thumb replacing where his mouth just left. He lightly strokes the hard, spit-slick bud, and the combination of coolness and friction is heaven.

Tony stands back up, and a second later, his hands are at the elastic band of your running shorts. His eyes meet yours for a moment, silently asking for your permission. You nod a bit too eagerly, and Tony cracks a small, teasing smile. You scoff and lightly slap his shoulder, returning the smile.

Tony pulls your shorts down in one swift motion, leaving you in just your underwear. Next thing you know, Tony’s arms are around your waist. You let out a soft, surprised squeal as he lifts you effortlessly to sit on the edge of the work table behind you. Slightly elevated now, you come to about the same height as Tony.

“Hey,” you protest playfully. “Be careful. There’s important stuff here.”

Tony reaches behind you to clear the area, moving your half-finished projects and parts to the side.

“My apologies, Ms. Y/L/N,” he replies with a huge grin. “Got a bit carried away.”

You pull him into another deep kiss. He growls with pleasure when you nip at his bottom lip. Tony is now standing between your knees, his torso pressing gently into your panty-covered pussy. You can feel his erection through his jeans, straining against his clothes. After seeing Tony’s length for the first time last night, the mental image of his cock — just a few millimeters away from your core — is enough to make you drool. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him in harder against you. He moans into your mouth, and you feel the vibrations as your tongues tangle together.

You feel Tony’s body leaning forward, slowly coaxing you to lay down on the table. Now fully on your back, Tony’s above you, taking in the sight of your body.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re the most magnificent creature on Earth?”

“No,” you reply with a smirk. “But now, knowing how many other planets are out there in the galaxy, just being Miss Earth doesn’t seem like a huge deal.”

Tony laughs, smiling with his teeth. You find the crinkles that form on the outer corners of his eyes utterly endearing.

“Well, you’re still one out of four-and-three-quarters billion,” he jests back. “Not too shabby. It’s all about the little victories.”

You giggle. The pleasant thought passes through your mind that despite the current situation, everything does feel strangely normal. Tony is still Tony; you’re still you. The banter between you and your friend is still comfortable and easy. Your relationship, although maybe morphing into something more nuanced, remains unmoved.

You’re so caught up in your inner thoughts, that you don’t register Tony kneeling to the ground between your legs. You gasp when you feel his warm mouth over your still-clothed pussy. The combined wetness of his mouth and your core easily soaks through the fabric of your panties, making it cling to your skin. Tony runs his tongue over your folds, through the saturated cloth. You groan with pleasure, the small of your back arching off of the table. You grip Tony’s dark hair, needing something to hold onto.

The sensation of Tony’s lips and tongue through your thin panties is completely unique, and fuck, does it drive you wild.

After a few minutes, Tony’s hands reach up to hook in the waist of your panties. He removes your final garment, leaving you fully bare. His mouth immediately returns to your pussy. His tongue circles your clit, before running downwards through your lips, and then back up again. He alternates this pattern with gentle sucks on your clit.

“Oh, Tony. Shit,” you manage to call out. “That feels so good.”

He hums hungrily into you, pleasuring you to a level that no previous lovers have ever come close to. Tony’s large, rough hands wander upwards. One palm gentle grips your breast, while the other comes under your waist to hold the small of your back.

You raise your head slightly to glance down at Tony. The sight is pornographic. His face is buried in your cunt, head bobbing. The shape of his shoulder muscles, and his strong back. His tan skin, all bathed in golden sunlight.

Pleasuring you. On his knees.

It’s like a painting. Beautiful and erotic.

“Tony. I need you,” you gasp out, suddenly overcome with neediness. “Inside me. Fuck, I want you.”

Those magic words, again. I want you. The effect they have on Tony is instantaneous. Without hesitation, Tony is on his feet. He swiftly unbuttons his jeans and pulls down the zipper. His pants fall down to his ankles where he kicks them off. To your surprise his naked cock springs free. A glistening pearl of precum is formed at the tip.

“Wow, commando, huh?” you tease, gently biting at your bottom lip. “You were so confident you were going to get lucky again today?”

“Of course not. I just like to let it breath sometimes,” Tony remarks. “You wouldn’t get it. It’s a man thing.”

You scoff and roll your eyes sarcastically. Lovable idiot.

“Top drawer?” Tony asks, referring to the location of the condoms.

“On the left.”

Tony hurries out of the room and returns a second later with a condom from your bedroom. Stepping closer between your knees, he gives his cock a few pumps in his fist. You can feel your heart quickening with anticipation. Your pussy is nearly pulsing, needing to be stretched and filled.

Tony rips open the shiny wrapper and rolls the condom down onto his length. You scoot slightly closer to the edge of the table as his hands travel to grip your thighs. You moan deeply as Tony rubs the head of his cock over your slit, spreading your moisture.

“Are you ready?” Tony asks, eyes dark with desire.

“Mmhmm,” you hum. “Make me feel good.”

With that, Tony starts slowly pushing into your dripping pussy. You groan as your walls accommodate to his girth. It’s amazing that you took him just last night, and he’s already capable of stretching you like this again. Tony throws his head back, hissing in pleasure as he bottoms out, his pubic mound flush against yours.

He starts pumping gently. The way Tony’s hips roll forward in fluid motions makes you want to scream with pleasure. His hands are gripping your thighs tightly, fingertips digging into the soft flesh.

Tony’s pace quickens, and soon the room is filled with sounds of wetness, skin slipping on skin, and the moans leaving both your throats. One of Tony’s hands moves to your pussy. His thumb rubs tight circles on your clit making you see stars behind your eyes. The extra stimulation almost immediately starts tightening the orgasmic coil in your stomach. Tony seems to know the exact speed to move his cock and thumb to turn you into a whimpering mess beneath him.

“Oh, more,” you groan, your pleasure growing. “Tony Stark. Yes, oh, please.”

“Come for me, Y/N,” Tony growls almost primally. “Wanna feel you squeezing around my cock.”

Tony’s filthy demands go straight to your pussy. You love the feeling of being under him, sprawled out on the table, completely naked for him to fuck. And the dirty talk is the cherry on top.

The pleasure in your abdomen continues to rise until you’re on the edge of ecstasy. With one last thrust, your orgasm washes over you. You scream Tony’s name into the room, not caring who hears. Pulses of pleasure rip through your entire body, even making your feet tingle. When you come down, the convulsions slowing, your head feels fuzzy and bubbly.

Not even a moment later, you feel Tony lifting your legs higher. Still inside you, he straightens them, bringing your ankles to rest on his shoulders. The new sensation is instantly nirvana. He starts pumping into you, and the head of his cock rubs your G-spot on every thrust. Penetrative sex had never felt this good for you.

“You feel so fucking amazing, Y/N,” Tony manages to says between moans. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

The feeling of your pussy being pounded in this angle has your eyes rolling back into your skull. All your thoughts seem to leave your head. The only thing you can focus on is the immense pleasure. The sound of Tony’s balls slapping against you wetly with every stroke combined with his desperate moans fill your ears.

Tony’s thrusts start to become more jagged, needy. His moans slowly transform more into whimpers as he continues to fuck into you. Suddenly, Tony comes with a series of loud groans, his eyes shut tight. You feel his dick pulsating inside you as he orgasms. He thrusts a few more times, riding out the last waves.

He gently slides out of you, his hands coming down the tabletop next to your waist to steady himself. Both of you are breathing heavily, your bodies radiating with the afterglow of pleasure.

Silently, Tony helps you to stand before sweeping you up easily in his arms. You lean into his chest as he carries you to the bedroom. Tony lays you down carefully on the cool mattress before hurrying to the bathroom. He returns a moment later with a warm washcloth.

After cleaning yourselves up, Tony crawls into the refreshing sheets beside you. He slips one arm under your neck, and you cuddle in closer to his body. The warmth and smoothness of his skin is so, so welcoming. In the strangest way, it feels natural.

“I didn’t think it was possible to top last night,” you finally say, chuckling.

“Me neither,” Tony replies. “I guess we just have good chemistry.”

“Who would’ve thought?” You laugh and drape an arm over his chest. “Hey, question.”

“Ask away.”

“Why did you cook all that stuff earlier? Like the eggs, toast, the whole nine yards. It was sort of...”

“Out of character?” Tony finishes your sentence.

You nod. Tony takes a deep breath, exhaling loudly.

“Honestly, when I woke up, and you were gone, I was freaking out a little bit. I wanted to talk about last night, but you weren’t there, and I just didn’t know what you were thinking. If you were having serious regrets, or if you were angry, or upset with me. Or if you were thinking our whole friendship was burned to the ground.

“I just needed to do something. Anything. Busy my hands, distract my mind. Sorry that I kind of raided your kitchen.”

You turn to peer up at him, letting out a soft laugh. His chocolate eyes meet yours, and you give him a kind smile, endeared by his typical, hyper ramblings.

“I’m sorry I left,” you start. “I was freaking out a little, too. I guess that’s always been a difference between us. I always try to run from the unknown, while you just want to plow straight through it.”

Tony smiles warmly and blinks his gorgeous, thick black eyelashes at you.

“It’s why we make a good pair. Balance. Yin and yang. Ya’ know.”

You both chuckle, content in one another’s arms. You open your mouth to reply, but you’re cut off by a loud growl from your stomach. Tony bursts into laughter.

“Your fault for barely touching breakfast,” Tony remarks playfully. “Which — not to toot my own horn — was quite artfully made.”

“I guess I could settle for a bowl of lowly cereal as punishment,” you reply with mock sadness.

Tony chuckles and shakes his head. He starts to rise from the bed, then offers his hand for you to follow.

“C’mon, I’ll make you some more eggs.”

[whirlybirbs]

          (  this chapter’s gif by @ransomflanagan​ from this beautiful set !  )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  5/?

summary: your plan goes to asbolute shit.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 9k, please pray for my fingers

a/n: there’s action, there’s gunshot wounds, there’s canon appropriate violence! this one has a lot of plot, a lot of action, and i truly want to sleep for seven days after writing this. you should listen to the glass cannon’s club playlist while you read, though, for vibez.

       (   PREVIOUSLY   |    AO3    |    MASTERLIST   |   NEXT  )

You do have a plan.

Maybe it’s a little vague, a little messy, and a little up-in-the-air, but it’s a plan.

Get in, find Kiwi, avoid a handful of unsavory characters, and access the Alexandria Library.

Getting the hell out The Glass Cannon once you and Bucky were in was going to be a whole different plan entirely — one that was more improv than anything else. Hopefully, running a quick facial recognition program wouldn’t take long. With any luck, it would get a hit on any more recent aliases Innessa Sidrova was using after parsing the motherload of information Kiwi held onto with her life.

Kiwi wasn’t always known as Kiwi. She worked at SHIELD, like you, and back then she was known as Suji Awal. She stuck around longer — and she’d stayed on board during the active collapse to do heaven-sent work. It was an absolute Hail Mary, but while HYDRA had tried to purge all of SHIELD’s cloud data to protect their active agents and decades of progress, Suji had beat the hare in the race. Two steps ahead, she’d managed to pull nearly 97% of all confidential data including mission reports, agent profiles, and even electronic correspondence. While the metaphorical fire burned the documents behind her, she’d managed to salvage one of the only surviving, comprehensive looks at SHIELD before the curtain was pulled back to reveal HYDRA’s infection.

It had been used to try multiple HYDRA agents in the wake of it all in the federal courts. It was significant evidence, but after nearly all was reaped from the crop, Suji had taken the aptly named Alexandria Library and gone underground. Now, Kiwi was just another hacker in the thick of it and the Alexandria files were all but whispers.

It’s all about knowing the right people in the end.

Kiwi was a regular at The Glass Cannon. There was a nine out of ten chance you’d find her there. And if you didn’t find Kiwi, you’d probably find Climber and… Well, going to him wasn’t the most ideal situation, but out of the menagerie of acquaintances you’d gathered up throughout the years, you could trust Climber. He’d send you Kiwi’s way if you finally called in that favor he owed you. Either way, you’d find her and you’d get the files.

You just needed to avoid Alexei Gardzov.

Easy. Ish.

In truth, you barely get anything done Thursday — you’re too preoccupied in your head, running over the so-called plan even now as you fold laundry in the basement of your apartment complex.

You’d dug around in your closet, trying to find some semblance of an outfit. It was difficult. It wasn’t like the barely-there dresses and platform shoes were your thing anymore. Back then, your diet was mostly energy drinks and alcohol — in a way, it’s a relief to find that a good number of your staple outfits no longer fit. It made you feel like you really had put all this behind you.

You have.

Sure, it was the Rabbit you were going to have to be for tonight, but you’re not the Rabbit you were eight years ago. Good thing, too. You’re not too sure you and Bucky would have gotten along otherwise. Right now, your relationship with him was the biggest thing keeping you afloat — for the first time in a long time, you feel like you have some sort of purpose, even if it was a vague one at best.

You knew Innessa Sidrova was a threat — and you knew Bucky had to remedy that threat. You knew he felt responsible for creating her, for planting her in a position of power where she could manipulate and control. In truth, there was still a lot of vagueness surrounding his past. He’d made it clear he hasn’t been himself for a long time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wade through the muck of his trauma to pluck out your answers. It just felt wrong.

If you were to say you hadn’t been tempted to go out on your own and dig, that’d be a lie.

Even now, as you pull out the ink-black top from the dryer and fold it neatly on top of the other pieces of laundry needed for tonight, you can feel it sparking like a lighter in the back of your head.

He was keeping something from you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You nearly jump six feet in the air.

It’s Miss Bonnie — and she’s laughing when her feet touch the cold concrete of the unfinished floor. Her basket of laundry is balanced neatly on her hip, and she walks with a smirk on her face. Her hair is piled neatly on top of her head, and as she bends to plop the basket down, she offers a wink.

“I could hear you thinking from upstairs,” she ruminates, paisley and dyed skirts kissing the ground, “Like a little steam engine.”

You laugh quietly into your task. You duck your head and heft a black bra and jeans from the dryer. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

She looks up, eyes moving carefully from the laundry pile to your face. Her eyes glimmer with quiet curiosity. “And a big night planned, huh?”

You snort. “What was the giveaway?”

“It’s always the lacey bras,” she chirps and slides a smirk your way as she waggles a finger at your pile, “And the strappy little bodysuit was a good hint, too.”

You exhale with a laugh, bracing a hand against the dryer. She’s not wrong — you’d really forgone comfort with this outfit lineup. It was temporary, though, and well worth the efforts if it meant helping Bucky tick off a name from his list of amends. You knew how much those meant to him.

“So,” she continues, voice muddled as she continues to load the washer, “I take it this friend of yours is really helping you out of your shell?”

“I guess so. Yeah. It’s — It’s sort of a mutual shell-cracking, I guess.”

“Mm,” a hum, “You sound troubled, though.”

Your mouth opens as your fingers trace the line of the bodysuit. You pause, and you rock back on your heels. Miss Bonnie notices.

She waits patiently, bent at the knees.

“You ever just…” you wave your hand, “Feel like — I don’t know. He’s my friend. My best friend, honestly, and that’s… Really saying a lot. But, there’s stuff under the surface and I know it’s not my business but…”

Out comes a strangled groan.

“What? Like a crazy ex-girlfriend?”

“No, no — I don’t think so,” you mutter, “Wouldn’t surprise me, though.”

“Handsome?” she asks, smiling.

You close your eyes and ignore the smile on your face as you reply. “Yea, handsome.”

“Well, have you tried asking?” she shrugs as she stands, “Not about the crazy ex, but about the stuff you’re worried about? It never hurts.”

“Problem is, I don’t really think it’s too much of my business.”

Miss Bonnie hums at that and presses the start on her washer. She’s quiet for a bit, swaying slightly as she weighs the conversation and you watch — enamored with the older woman’s calm wisdom. She gestures openly with ringed hands.

“I think it’s normal for us to want to know everything about those we care about,” she says, “We want to know how we can protect them, how we can comfort them. But… it comes in due time. All of it does. You’ll find a time when he does open up about the ex, or whatever it is on his mind. You’re friends, after all.”

You’re nodding, chest tight with thanks.

Miss Bonnie’s face is soft.

“You got a picture?” she chirps like a bird looking for a worm, “I wanna see who this little friend is. And if he really is as handsome as you’re suggesting...”

You scoff and lean to dig out your phone.

“Cut it out,” you mumble as she moves closer, “No playing matchmaker.”

“Sure, sure,” she waves, leaning to watch as you scroll through your camera roll.

The only photo you have of Bucky is there from Tuesday night — after he’d housed nearly an entire container of noodles and promptly passed out during the third Lord of the Rings movie. You’d woken up around one in the morning to find that Poke had unceremoniously curled up on top of the supersoldier’s chest. Bucky’s hand was still in the calico’s fur as he dozed, the colors of the TV painting his face all sorts of peaceful. You’d taken the photo, shoving it in his face after gently nudging him awake.

He’s laughed.

You gesture to show Miss Bonnie.

Like ice, she freezes.

You notice a microexpression dart across her face, but it’s gone in an instant. You can’t pin it, but the way she bends to pull the phone closer and zoom in on her face comes off as interest. You blink, label it as shock, and move on.

Her voice sounds different.

“Handsome,” she mumbles plainly, preoccupied with the sight, “I get it now. What’s his name?”

“Bucky,” you say as she hands the phone back, “He’s… He’s a good person.”

Miss Bonnie just nods.

You tuck your phone away and plop your laundry into your basket. Ignoring the sudden quiet that had crept between you both, you haul up the stack and offer her a gentle smile. She’s fiddling with the washer’s timer.

“Thank you, Miss Bonnie.”

“Of course,” she rushes out, smiling gently, “And be safe tonight.”

“I will.”

With your promise, you ascend the stairs.

In that basement, Bonnie McLayne is no more, and instead, Innessa Sidrova remembers that night in Moscow, back in 1975.

She remembers the Winter Soldier.

                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Bucky calls you three times with no answer.

Normally, he’d just give up — but it was Thursday, and you weren’t answering the buzzer to your apartment either. He tries his best to ignore the strike of panic that sparks in his chest. It could stoke a wildfire, really, but he pushes it down and remembers to breathe. He doesn’t let himself think about what he’d do if something happened to you.

After all, you’re probably fine. Sleeping, maybe. The both of you had a long night ahead.

(Longer than either of you realize, really.)

It’s nearly seven o’clock, and after trying your cell one more time from his perch on your apartment’s stoop, Bucky decides to say fuck it.

A well-adjusted person might frown upon what he was about to do, but Bucky wasn’t exactly well-adjusted, now was he?

He rounds the back alley with long strides and easily finds that, with a little maneuvering, he can hoist himself upwards on top of the nearest dumpster. With a well-timed hop, he can also snag the bottom of the fire escape’s ladder and haul it downwards. The rest is easy, and he’s scaling the fire escape to the third floor with ease before he even knows it.

There’s even a smug little smirk on his face the whole time he does.

Finding your window is a little harder, but Bucky eventually spots Poke’s round little body smushed against the glass — it’s a dead giveaway, and after some prowling, he finds the window to your living room and unceremoniously throws it open.

It’s unlocked, for whatever reason, and he makes a mental note to have a conversation with you about safety and security in the city. After all, you never knew when an ex-assassin supersoldier was going to break in and pet your cat.

Upon opening the window, he pieces together pretty quickly why you’re not answering. Could be the music coming from your bedroom, or even the singing that’s coupled alongside it. From the bathroom across the hall from your room, steam has settled above on the ceiling. The whole apartment smells like fruit and soap and perfume and Bucky’s not really sure how to parse through all the sensory experiences that greet him with he shimmies in through the window, legs first.

All in all, they make him smile.

Bucky shuts the window behind him as he’s quickly greeted by Poke — the calico offers a gratuitous little chirp when Bucky bends to scoop up the cat. Easily, he melts. Poke is purring loudly in his ear as Bucky takes a moment to survey your apartment a little bit closer. Mr. Poke Bowl rubs his face against Bucky’s stubble as the man weaves through the kitchen.

It’s very you.

He isn’t really sure what that means at the end of the day, but all he knows is that he feels at home here. He feels safe. He feels comfortable. He feels like he can be himself. Not James, not Sergeant Barnes, not The Winter Soldier. Not even Steve’s Bucky, but just… his Bucky. Himself. Sarcastic and exhausted and a little cynical.

Bucky lets Poke down on the counter and moves to the fridge.

There’s still beer from the other night in there, tucked in the back, so he makes easy work on popping open a bottle and busying himself with petting a very adamant Poke.

As he sips the Leinenkugel, it’s no small coincidence that his phone buzzes again — for what feels like the hundredth time today — with a message from Janelle.

She was nice — pretty, too. Once upon a time, she would have been his type.

That was before he met you, though.

There’s a little pinprick of mortification at that quiet confession that’s been slipping into his heart more and more in the last few days. You are, after all, his best friend. He’s your best friend. Guilt swims with the feelings that have begun to pluck his heartstrings and he has to admit he’s not too comfortable with the song they play.

His biggest fear is fucking this up.

Fucking you up.

Honestly, his track record isn’t great. The whole defrosted-international-threat bit made it a little difficult to date. Janelle seemed to think the date had gone well enough, though, hence the handful of texts he’d been getting every few hours asking if he’s free.

Like usual, he ignores them.

Exercising his own free will is hard sometimes. Especially when it comes to saying no.

Taking another swig of the beer, Bucky shoves his phone back into his pocket and tucks his fingers back into Poke’s fur. The calico’s tail swings patiently as he sits and watches — and it’s a little weird how human his eyes are for a second there. He mmrrps and lunges for Bucky’s hand when he comes close, bonking his head eagerly against the cool vibranium.

It’s a different sensation.

That’s another big adjustment — learning how things really feel with this new arm. It’s not just handling recoil or gripping knives or throwing punches. It’s the soft tickle of fur, the gentle pressure of a warm rag to clean the joints. Meticulous upkeep wasn’t something HYDRA did often. He doesn’t miss the twinge of pain and molasses-like stickiness that came with a dirty arm. Blood was the worst. Always sat deep in the cracks.

He flexes his fingers. Poke meows again.

He moves to plop down on the couch. Poke follows.

You’re singing, still, to some song that Bucky’s never heard, when you push open your bedroom door and move towards the living room.

You jump six feet in the air and scream when you see him just sitting there, clutching a beer and petting Poke like he fucking lives here rent-free.

Bucky’s reaction is muted, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with your outfit and your jewelry and the pink eye shadow that creeps up your brow-bone. There’s glitter on your eyelids and lip gloss on your mouth and he can smell some sort of candy-sweet perfume coming off you. The plunging neckline of the jet-black top is enough to leave him shifting his gaze back up to your startled expression with a tight jaw.

His face is blank.

Then he offers that stupid fucking smile he does. Y’know, the tight-lipped one where he somehow maintains a dead-eyed look the whole time. If you weren’t trying to calm your racing heartbeat, you might have laughed. You hate the white-hot flare it sparks in your chest.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” you hiss, waving your hands.

“We need to have a serious conversation about locking our windows,” he says as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table and wags a finger at you, “Also, what are you wearing?”

“You — You fucking broke in through my window?”

“Yea, well, you were too busy pretending to be Britney Spears to hear me try and buzz up, and my phone calls.”

Sheepishly, you cross your arms. “Nice reference—”

A shrug from Bucky. “Thank you.”

“—Also, what are you wearing?”

He looks down at his usual t-shirt, leather jacket combo. He squints back up at you.

“I’m sorry,” he chirps, “You’re talking to me? Did the department store run out of fabric, Rabbit?”

You self-consciously adjust the plunging neckline of the bodysuit as you frown deeply. “I think I’m gonna skip on the fashion advice from the man who lived in a time where ankles were seen as scandalous.”

“I was born in 1917,” he mumbles as he stands, actively avoiding another pass over your outfit because as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad look on you, “Not 1817.”

“Point being, we’re going to a club. And you look like you’re going to the local Home Depot,” you move to snag a set of dangly earrings that are sitting on the coffee table, “We’ve gotta look like we’re there to party, nothing more.”

Bucky sighs. He finishes the beer, places the bottle down and sheds his jacket. “So, what?”

You pry your eyes away from the flash of skin — his arm, flesh and blood, speaks to how strong he is. And, undoubtedly how easy it was for him to fucking scale three stories of the fire escape to bust in.

“So,” you mumble as you thread the earring in, “I have some of Jaimie’s old shirts. There’s probably something you can use… If they fit.”

Bucky exhales softly. “You kept them?”

“Didn’t have the heart to throw them out,” you reply as you gesture for him to follow you into your bedroom.

The back of your top is arguably more crisis-inducing than the front — it’s an open back, and Bucky settles on admiring the decor rather than the curve of your spine. He has to. For his own fucking self-composure.

Your bedroom is nice — and like the rest of your space, it makes him feel comfortable. It’s all warm colors and posters and plants in the corners. Across from your queen-sized bed, there’s a large desk with a triple monitor setup. That’s where the music is coming from. The little knick-knacks on your shelves and desk make him chuckle.

Then, he stops, halfway to the closet, and stares.

You blink over your shoulder as you bend, digging to the back of your closet to pull out the clear bin you’d piled most of Jaimie’s stuff into after the funeral. After you’d cleaned out his apartment on your own.

He’s looking at the poster — the one from Cap’s USO tour. It’s framed nicely, set up on the wall beside your desk. It’s got a gold frame, and Bucky can’t help but wander closer to look at the signature.

It’s Steve’s alright.

“How much did you pay for this?”

You scoff. Your necklaces tinker together. “Don’t even go there.”

“The jerk signed thousands of these,” he mumbles, crossing his arms as he leans closer, “And still, the fame didn’t go to his head.”

You smile softly, leaning back.

“Jealous?” you chirp, raising your brows as you pretend to swoon, “Oh, Sergeant Barnes, I’d just love to meet your dear friend—”

Bucky’s laughing as you swat at his knee, leaning back on the carpet like a damsel in distress.

“Shut up,” he snorts, “It’s a sore subject for me.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious — do you know how many dates I had to set up for the chump? And then, boom. I’m invisible.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter with a smile, unclicking the lid, “Some people just like blondes, Buck. I’m sure there were plenty of eyes on you. Stop being so dramatic.”

“Yea, the best friend, sure,” he mumbles at the poster, “Hell, he was taller than me. You know you don’t need to lie to me—”

“Listen, if I was some Lauren Bacall-looking nurse back then,” you wave your hands, “I’d have gone for you. Alright? Stop lamenting and get over here.”

He goes quiet and ignores the warmth in his cheeks. He squats by your side. “Shut up.”

“We seriously need to work on taking compliments,” you groan, throwing your head back, “I’m being serious, y’know, for once. And I’m not just saying it as your friend. You’re handsome and everyone knows it except you, apparently. My neighbor agrees that’s for sure.”

He squints.

You wave it off and gesture to your outfit. “She saw me doing laundry.”

“That explains nothing,” Bucky deadpans, “Literally nothing.”

“I showed her a picture,” you cry indignantly, moving to shuffle through some of the old t-shirts sitting on top of the bin, “Relax.”

He moves to plop down, crossing his legs beneath him. He decides to let the topic die — again, for his own self-composure more than anything. The compliment, though vehemently denied by the worst part of him, is tucked neatly in the homes of his heart. The idea of meeting you, before now, is a little intoxicating. What would it have been like?

Would you have even spared him a dance?

Bucky rubs his cheek. Poke meows and buts the door open with his head.

You’re wrist-deep in the bin when you speak. “He’s obsessed with you, y’know.”

Poke has already taken up a post in Bucky’s lap. Bucky smiles, petting Poke gently with his vibranium hand. The cat seems to like the cool metal. Bucky mumbles softly down to the calico, scritching his cheeks. “I like him, too.”

You pause long enough to try and remember the sight.

Bucky’s eyes find yours, and you’re quick to turn back to the bin.

“Here we go,” you exhale as you pull out the shirt you’d been looking for.

It’s a long-sleeve button-down, one that you can distinctly remember Jaimie wearing to his engagement party’s after-party — a real typical night of Jaimie being Jaimie. It’s black with a barely-there red floral pattern. It’s flashy enough that Bucky won’t look horribly out of place.

The only problem is Jaimie was a little smaller than Bucky.

“Try this on,” you mumble as you dig around trying to find something else in case it doesn’t do the trick.

Bucky catches the silk shirt and gives it a once over. He raises an eyebrow, and deciding against debating this, he simply nudges Poke off his lap and stands.

He moves to your bed, laying the shirt out. On your closet door is a full-length mirror. You want to snap it in half when you accidentally catch a glimpse of Bucky hauling off his black, cotton t-shirt and anxiously fumbling with the buttons on Jaimie’s old shirt. You have to breathe — and remind yourself that that’s Bucky.

Your Bucky. Your best friend Bucky.

When he calls your name, it sounds far away. You’re busy angrily sorting through old clothes.

“I look ridiculous.”

When you turn around, the first thing you notice is that it’s a little tight. Not in a bad way, but the buttons are gapping along his chest, and it’s tight around his arms.

Your eyes widen a little and you swallow. You tilt your head.

Bucky’s frowning.

“Let me see,” you offer gently, standing and moving close, “It’s not that bad.”

“You don’t sound too sure right now,” he mumbles as you enter his personal space.

You’re nimble with undoing the top three buttons — it gives him enough room to move his shoulders, though, and the dip of the shirt along his sternum brings dog tags into view. You reach, momentarily entranced, and read them to yourself.

You smell like vanilla and sugar.

Bucky shifts in his boots.

“Y’know,” you say, moving to the sleeves, “I think this works.”

You roll the sleeves, stopping at his forearm.

When you step aside, Bucky can see himself in the full-length mirror. He looks less than enthused.

It’s not an entirely bad look — he’ll admit that much — but he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s too much chest and skin and… Christ, this shirt is tight. He does, though, look like some of those trendy folks he sees at Izzy’s bar every now and again. Hipsters.

“I look like a douchebag.”

“That’s the point,” you chirp as you close the box and shove it back into your closet, “Now the outfit matches the personality.”

He swats at your head on the way by. You laugh.

You’ve got boots in your hand, and you land on the bed with a bounce. Bucky is busy fixing his hair in the mirror while you zip up the thigh-high boots. When he turns around, you’re about three inches taller. He blinks, yet again entranced by the outfit.

Then, you’re muscling on the jacket.

It’s neon pink — and shaggy and cropped. It falls just above your waist and swallows you whole. But, Bucky’s attention is mostly on the back.

There’s a large, white embroidered Playboy bunny there, with RABBIT written across the shoulders in a chunky, blackletter typeface.

His brows are high on his face when you turn around.

You freeze.

“...What?” you ask, “Something on my face?”

“Playboy bunny, huh?”

You could smack him. “Weren’t you busy being a frozen dinner when Playboy came out?”

“I’ll have you know,” he says tightly as he follows you out of your bedroom and to the living room, “The Russians enjoyed their fair share of editions.”

“The Russians? Sure, what’s that saying? There’s no sex in the USSR?” you chide, “You can just say Bucky Barnesenjoyed his fair share—”

The tips of his ears are red. You notice. It makes you split into a grin that worsens the pink shade that’s crawling up his neck.

He coughs. “Have you ever considered never opening your mouth again, Rabbit?”

You nudge his arm. “Nah. Bothering you is more fun.”

He shrugs on his jacket, sighs, and decides that keeping quiet is just easier.

However, that’s not entirely your plan — and you speak quickly as you pull your purse over your shoulder. You’re rummaging quietly, stacking your wallet and phone inside. You glance up at him.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he mumbles, bending to pat Poke one last time as you move to the door of your bedroom. He watches you flick all the lights off, and before you leave, you double check the calico’s food and water. He’s got enough for a few days. Bucky leans against the door frame, “Care to run me through the plan?”

Nodding, you move to open your front door.

“It’ll be easy,” you explain as you make room for him, “If we play our cards right—”

Bucky’s stopped, though, and is digging in his back pocket as his cell phone rings. You watch him exhale tightly, eyes on the screen the entire time he squeezes by you and starts down the hall. You make careful note of the delicate scowl on his face, only before you catch Miss Bonnie out of the corner of her eye.

Her door is half-cracked across the hall, and she’s watching.

She offers you a smile.

Bucky keeps walking.

You wave, lock your door, and jog to catch up to Bucky.

“Hey,” you call, “Earth to Mr. Claw Machine?”

His head snaps up. “Sorry.”

“Who was that?” you ask carefully, nudging his arm with yours, “Falcon?”

“I wish,” he mutters as he muscles the cellphone back into his pocket, “I wouldn’t feel so bad sending him to voicemail.”

“Yeesh,” you wince, “Lemme guess, was it the owner of the coral lipstick that was all over your face on Tuesday night?”

Again, that temptation to feel jealousy flares up in your heart. But, he’s here, isn’t he? With you. Ignoring her calls. And probably texts judging by the guilty look that’s on his face. You feel a little bad — but at the same time, Bucky’s a grown man. Maybe a grown man who needs to create some more transparent lines of communication with the poor woman, but still.

“Bingo. I mean — it’s not that she wasn’t great an’ all but…”

You raise both hands. “I’m not judging.”

He sighs raggedly as he bounces down the apartment’s stairs. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“What?” you ask with a laugh, “Dating? Yea, it’s pretty fucking terrifying, Buck.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

You hold the door open for him and slide him a pitying look.

“Because I am.”

The walk to The Glass Cannon is spent walking Bucky through the plan — and for the most part, he makes a point of nodding along and listening. His only real anxiety pops up at the mention of Alexei, which is relatable to say the least.

It’s dark, the streets are relatively quiet, and the spring chill has pricked your skin. Your heels click against the pavement, and you stalk along. Shoving your hands in your pockets of the pink, shag jacket, you huff.

You’re starting to feel the anxiety.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re both approaching the blue glow of the storefront.

Computers & Stuff was a family-owned and operated computer shop from the 90s that was taken over by a lesser-known hand of the Russian crime family in New York, the Gardzovs. Alexei’s father is the formal owner of the shop, and his son runs the lucrative activities of the underground club that lay beneath the graphics cards and motherboards.

Bucky, as you both near the entrance, speaks quickly. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Just follow my lead, okay?” you whisper.

The bell above the door dings when you pull open the glass door.

The lighting is sterile and if you’re real quiet, you can hear the dull hum of the fluorescents. The store is empty, save for one man behind the register.

You almost duck out the entrance at the sight of him.

Igor has been a bouncer at The Glass Cannon for as long as you’ve been a patron — and he’s also one of Alexei’s dogs. This part of the plan was something you’d considered only briefly, and for a second, you’re thankful you worried over the million and ten ways this would play out for days.

“Well, if it isn’t the little bunny.”

It’s said with malice. Igor’s tattooed hands land on the counter as he leans.

You, however, hold your head high. Bucky watches as something changes in your posture.

“Good to see you, Igor.”

“Is it?” he growls, stalking around the counter and quickly encroaching on your personal space, “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not welcome here, bunny.”

Bucky gets a good look at the man now — clearly an enforcer. He’s got prison tattoos, a shaved head. The long beard is a weak spot. Doesn’t seem to be armed. Blue eyes flick to you and the way you don’t even flinch when the man leans to breathe right in your face.

You just smile.

“I thought you’d say that,” you mumble, moving to swing your bag to the front and dig your wallet out, “But, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Suddenly, there’s a hundred-dollar bill slipping from your well-manicured nails into the vest pocket of the bouncer. There’s a tense pause, then, while the two of you size one another up.

“Fucking your way through college paid off, huh?” he hisses.

You stay quiet.

Bucky, though, moves between you both with a quick shove. Immediately, Igor’s attention goes to Bucky as he sizes him up — he laughs. His nose is nearly touching Bucky’s.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“You should watch your mouth,” Bucky says evenly, “Or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

You’re careful to hide your expression; the feeling the words stir isn’t one that you’re happy about. This sudden protectiveness, though, makes you feel some sort of invincible.

Igor settles back on his heels.

He steps back.

He gestures to the back room with his head.

You keep walking when he calls out: “Careful, bunny, the dogs are going to be looking for you.”

You grit your teeth tightly and push through the fabric curtain.

He barks, taunting you.

Bucky is by your side in an instant, gaze still rooted over his shoulder at the hulking bouncer. He waits until you’ve settled down until you’ve said his name. His eyes fall to you, then to the stairwell before them.

Above it, in curled neon tubing, reads The Glass Cannon.

The windows are blacked out, but from his spot at the top of the stairs, Bucky can feel the rattle of a deep bass vibrate his ribs.

“Come on. We’re on a time crunch now.”

“Alexei?”

You nod as you lead the way down the stairs. “Word travels fast. We need to be quicker. Stick to the crowds. Remember, we just need to find Kiwi — then we bail.”

Bucky nods tensely.

Then, you open the doors.

Immediately, his eyes adjust to the darkness — neon and strobes and the pulse of purple and pink LEDs make his vision swim. It’s warmer down here, and the stairs leading down into the sub-basement is lined with people sipping drinks and chattering over the loud music. It smells like piss and beer and tobacco.

Again, Bucky watches as the person he knows melts away.

The Rabbit in front of him is different.

You reach, as if on reflex, for his hand.

When you turn around and flash him a smile, he has to swallow down a sudden rise of sheepishness.  

The sea of people part around you, and Bucky realizes quickly that people recognize you. He can see their painted lips moving, muttering things into curious ears about the pink-clad woman in front of him; there are smiles there and frowns, and shock. You’re slow in your descent, making a show of the arrival — all while Bucky begins to piece together that The Glass Cannon is larger than he originally suspected.

As they near the bottom of the landing, he can see out across the floor.

There’s a square-shaped catwalk around the dance floor, laden with dancers on their designated poles. Tables line the outside of the cavernous room, and the bars along each wall are crowded — even still, these glimpses of his surroundings come in temporary flashes of light. The music coming from the center of the dancefloor is loud. The entirety of the scene is raucous.

He can’t imagine you finding solace here.

He tightens his grip on your hand. You squeeze back.

When both of you reach the bottom of the stairwell, the sea of people swallow you in a current of dancing and drinking and laughing, and you crawl into Bucky’s personal space to shout in his ear.

You’re still holding his hand tightly, pressed to his chest, as you lean upwards to brush your cheek with his.

“Follow me, okay?”

He nods.

You begin the methodical crawl through the dancefloor, working your way to the bar — there, you pause long enough to be served a drink that’s as pink as the glitter on your eyelids. The flecks dance in the lights, and Bucky graciously accepts a shot from the bartender who smiles sweetly like honey at you.

You bat your lashes, thank her, and stand gracefully from the barstool.

You take a pointed swig and scan the floor.

Kiwi would be in one of the private booths, you suspect — she was enough of a high roller here. But, with the crowded club bursting at the seams, it was nearly impossible to get to the other side. You sway a bit on your feet, still tightly gripping Bucky’s hand in your own. You refuse to let go.

For your sake and his.

Bucky is a silent shadow, eyes roaming the club — he watches a dancer dip down low and snag a green bill from a patron. Someone beside him laughs loud, another bumping into his backside as you continue to weave to the outer rim of the room. The music is so loud his heartbeat could be mistaken for an 808, and he feels the thrum in his bones.

If he wasn’t so overwhelmed, if he was drunk, maybe it could be fun.

Finally, out of the haze of bodies, Bucky can breathe.

You’re leaning over again, speaking quickly.

“I don’t see her.”

“I can’t see shit in here,” he calls back, eyes moving along the ridge of the room. He scans the booths set into the walls, set up on platforms, and roped off with velveteen, “Where would she be?”

“Hard to tell,” you mumble, “But I think I might need to go to Plan B.”

Bucky follows your solid stare.

In the booth directly across the floor from you, there’s a man in black — black everything, save from his hair. That’s the brightest blue Bucky has ever seen. He’s swallowed by a harem of men and women who are laughing and drinking and dancing, and he’s entertaining. Ringed fingers wave in the air, face split into a laugh so wide he swears it’s a mile long. He’s got glasses on and they’re tinted blue.

Bucky watches carefully as you move to his booth.

It’s like a prey surveying a trap — you’re careful.

Finally, when you stand before it, you let go of his hand.

“Hi there, Climber.”

The whole booth falls silent. The man stiffens, back turned to you totally. Bucky watches as his hands fall and slowly, the man you’d called Climber turns around.

His expression is stone cold.

His voice, however, is as warm as a hot poker.

“Oh my goodness, is that Rabbit?”

He ascends from the booth, platform boots leaving him to tower over you — he’s no small man, either. Bucky watches as he bends to kiss both of your cheeks and hug you tightly. He, however, doesn’t pull away entirely.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he hisses, “You want to be roadkill?”

“I need to find Kiwi,” you whisper quickly, expression almost begging, “Please.”

He pauses, dimpled chin wavering a bit. Bucky watches him sniff, push his glasses back, and readjust his posture. Climber licks his lips and his eyes dart to Bucky. He’s thinking, Bucky realizes, and after a quick moment of deliberation, he seems to cave.

“Only because I owe you.”

“I know,” you say, raising your hands, “I know.”

In a dash, his demeanor changes once more. He’s flying over to his harem, waving his hands and blowing kisses and promising he’ll be back in a flash. They whine, they moan, but Climber appeases them with another round of jello shots from strobing syringes that a waitress is carrying by.

“Come on then,” he says, “And stop looking like such a prude.”

He begins to weave.

You follow hand returning to its spot in Bucky’s like a lifeline.

You’re sipping your drink, moving through the crowd easily. There’s a slight sway in your step now, and at one point you and Climber even get noticed by a pod of people who recognize your faces. It’s met with laughing and squealing and in the fray, the both of you slip back into the crowd. Bucky is taking it all in, desperately ignoring the tingle of a panic flaring in the back of his head.

Too many people.

Soon, though, Climber is moving towards a side entrance.

It’s a back room.

Suddenly, the dim lights and neon dissolve, and instead, Bucky is flashed in the face with the abrasive sting of fluorescent lights. It no longer reeks of spilled beer, and his boots don’t stick to the ground. No, there’s quiet chatter back here — Climber continues to lead the two of you through a maze of supply crates full of booze and soda.

Then, a right turn. And a left turn.

Someone is taking inventory.

“Kiwi, I know you’re going to hate me for this—”

The woman who turns around is beautiful. She’s in the midst of eyeing an open crate that looks just like the others but fitted with a hollowed center, marking off what looks like an inventory of burner cell phones. Her brown skin is decorated with glitter, her eyes streaked with the same green shade of her tightly shaved head. The green is bright and it reminds Bucky of summer.

Suddenly, her expression sours.

“What the fuck.”

“I know—”

“No,” she snaps, raising her hand and waving to the assistant beside her to take her tablet and make themselves scarce, “You need to get out of here.”

“I need your help,” you say finally, tone heavy.

It’s enough to make Climber sigh. Kiwi watches you, scratches her neck, and swallows.

She meets Climber’s eyes.

Then she breaks.

“Where the fuck have you been, Rabbit?” she asks, worries seeping into her eyes as she pulls you into a rough hug, “We thought you were dead.”

“No,” you shake your head, “But you know I couldn’t be around here anymore.”

“Yea,” Climber snorts, “Not good for your health, huh, love?”

“Alexei still wants your head,” Kiwi chimes in, crossing her arms, “Does he know you’re here?”

“Igor was on the door, so I’m sure he’s heard by now.”

Both of them curse.

Guilt flashes across your face as you screw your eyes shut and nod. “I know. I know, I just… I seriously need your help, Kiwi. It was worth the risk. It’s — HYDRA. I need to tap into the Alexandria Library.”

Immediately, the woman stiffens.

Her eyes flash to Bucky in the corner. He stares back.

“He waits outside.”

“You can trust him—”

“No,” she snaps, “I can’t. And I don’t. And I won’t.”

You give Bucky a pleading look. Between the two of you, a negotiation happens between your eyes. It’s a compromise, and finally, Bucky relents.

“Fine,” Bucky barks, tilting his head and giving you a tight-lipped smile, “Fine. I’ll wait out here.”

“He’s cute,” mumbles Climber as Bucky rounds the corner, long legs carrying him out of the supply room, “Boyfriend?”

“Shut up, Climber,” you mumble, waving your hand, “Just listen—”

“Who is he?” Kiwi asks, eyes still watching the doorway, “And why did you bring him along?”

You sigh, rubbing your brow. “He’s the one who’s trying to find this HYDRA agent. He knew her before.”

“So he’s HYDRA.”

“No,” you snap cooly, “He’s not.”

“So, just handsome, then?” Climber asks, hands waving, “Right. Great. Really making a case for yourself, Rabbit.”

“He’s trying to find a woman named Innessa Sidrova. She was one of the original agents who helped form the American HYDRA cell,” you explain quickly, “I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and… And he’s a good person. He’s my friend. I’m trying to help him, but I can’t do it without you. Both of you.”

Kiwi hums. She sighs. “That explains why you went MIA.”

“Aside from putting Alexei behind bars?” you scoff, “Yea, the GRC played a part in it.”

The three of you are quiet for a moment.

“Fine.”

You look up at Kiwi. Her hands are on her waist.

There’s an immense wash of relief that floods over you at that moment — and from the looks of it, Kiwi can tell. You move to grab her hand, and she grabs back. Both of you smile, and the hug that follows is warm. You’ve missed her. A lot.

“Thank you, Suji.”

Then, footsteps.

That relief is traded in for an anxious backfire of fear in an instant.

It’s slow. Dress shoes on polished cement.

Then:

“Oh, bunny, bunny, bunny. Tsk, tsk.”

Climber and Kiwi’s faces upturn to the doorway and they tell you everything you need to know.

So, you decide at that moment that you won’t be the prey tonight.

You turn around and come face-to-face with a man playing devil.

Alexei Gardzov is a handsome man — a beard and piercing grey eyes. His hair is tightly cropped, and intricate tattoos decorate every inch of his skin. Some of them are new, you realize, and there’s temporary pride that bubbles up at them. They’re from prison.

You almost smile.

Behind him, three goons loom.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d come hopping back,” he croons as he enters the room with the swagger of a man who trapped his dinner, “Well worth the wait, I think.”

His cologne hangs like smog in the air. He strolls up to you, and in a flash, he’s got your hair in a vice grip.

He yanks it back, you grit your teeth.

The barrel of a gun digs into your cheek.

“Climber, Kiwi, and Rabbit,” he sing-songs, “All in one room again like it’s NYU’s 2014 hack-a-thon. Isn’t that cute?”

Kiwi speaks. “Alexei—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, gun moving to flash towards Kiwi, “And stay out of my business, Sujina.”

The gun’s muzzle is cold. He’s rough, and you try to ignore the twinge of pain that comes with his unceremonious yank of your hair. Once more, he tsks. His breath is hot on your face. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey.

“I spent seven years behind bars,” he bites, “All because a’ you.”

“Me? I wasn’t the one trafficking girls—”

“SHUT UP!”

The pistol cracks across your cheek and the cement floor hurtles towards you. The gasp that falls from your lips is from shock; your fingers dig into the cold ground as you try to blink away the blurriness. Your ears ring. Blood drips from your cheek between your fingers.

Again, there’s a hand in your hair.

Now, the fight begins.

Climber and Kiwi are stuck, frozen in fear.

You don’t blame them, because Igor and the others have guns already drawn. One of them, one that’s young and you don’t recognize immediately, has a baseball bat in his hands.

Alexei drags you by your hair as you grimace, refusing to scream. Your heels scrape against the ground as you try to get purchase, but he’s quick to throw you back against the far wall.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he smiles, “I won’t kill you. Not right now.”

Then, a kick.

Right to the ribs.

You can’t breathe — you gasp earnestly at the white, hot shot of pain.

“Get up.”

You’re not listening, you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

“I said,” comes a growl as he reaches, hand in your hair again as he drags you up the wall. Your legs buckle, and you try to hold your chin high as you stumble upwards, “Get up.”

Then, there’s a hand around your throat.

Tight. Too tight. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t get his hand off your neck, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t fucking think, can’t stand, can’t see, can’t breathe —

“Boss!”

A new voice.

The pressure is relieved for a second.

A new face has run into the room — he looks frazzled, hair askew and gun out. He’s eyeing the scene before him in a moment’s pause.

“Can’t you see I’m a little bit busy?” Alexei snags as you gasp, clawing at his hand. He swings his head to the figure in the doorway with an annoyed bark, “What is it?”

“The cops, boss,” he stammers, “They’re here.”

“What?”

“They’re here for her, boss.”

A slow turn to where his finger is pointing. His gaze lands on you. Alexei laughs.

“Well,” he says as the goon disappears, “Isn’t that just peachy, bunny?”

The choking starts again.

Then, a metal hand.

Vibranium.

You watch it swing, you watch it grab Alexei’s throat.

Suddenly, you can breathe.

Suddenly, Bucky Barnes enters the fight.

You make friends with the ground again as you duck, just as Alexei is rammed into the wall above your head by his throat. As you cough while Kiwi calls your name — you can hear a fight. But everything’s moving slow, and it’s not until the first gunshot that you’re kicked into action. It’s loud. Your skin pricks alive.

Someone screams.

You stumble to your feet, eyes finding Bucky’s form moving quickly between the three goons — the gunshot had come from the pistol that had somehow found its way into Bucky's flesh and blood hand. One of the men is on the floor, suit pants stained with a bullet wound through the thigh. He’s wailing. Bucky doesn’t notice. Or he doesn’t care. Maybe both.

His face is cold.

Another gunshot is fired off, this time richoting between you and Kiwi and Climber and embedding itself into the cement wall overhead. The three of you scream, ducking reflexively.

That’s when Bucky snaps.

“Now would be a good time to go!”

Kiwi’s hands are on your arm as you quickly break through the doorway through the storage room. Climber is following, checking over his shoulder at the carnage that Bucky begins to reap in the room.

He’s hysterical, trying to jog in his white platform boots. “What the fuck, Rabbit!”

Your voice is hoarse. You’re clutching your ribs. “Not now, Climber!”

“I’m parked in the back,” Kiwi says, ducking through plastic flaps as she helps you through the back of the club, “Come on, we’ll go through the trucking entrance.”

You hear Bucky call your name — he’s jogging to catch up, gun drawn in his hand. Seems like he made good work of the others, sporting nothing more than a split lip. You turn, pausing for a moment to take inventory of his well-being.

And that’s all it takes.

Alexei Gardzov, limping, steps in front of you and Kiwi and Climber at an intersection in the hallway.

There’s a gun in his hand.

The first thing you feel is the impact.

Like a truck slamming into you at full speed. For the fourth time tonight, you have the air robbed from your lungs. It’s instant confusion.

Then comes the pain. Hot. Hotter than the sun. Hot like white flames. It tears through your shoulder and all you can do is gasp; you’re sent into a stutter step — and while the world around you continues to move, you’re busy reconciling with the fact you’ve just been shot.

A bullet flies by your head.

Alexei Gardzov drops.

You’re grasping at your chest, staggering, when Bucky breaks into a sprint — but you’re okay. You’re okay, it’s just your shoulder, it’s just your arm, you’re okay, you can feel your fingers and you can breathe and the pain is nearly unbearable but you’re okay.

Then, a baseball bat.

It clocks Bucky directly in the skull. He’s clotheslined.

It’s Igor.

The gun from Bucky’s hands clatters across the ground to your feet, and you’re too busy trying to get to Bucky to realize — but, you’ve got tunnel vision and adrenaline and at that moment, you think a good sidekick doesn’t need anything else in this life.

Igor goes to swing at you, but you duck. Your stiletto crushes through the top of his shoe. He screams and in a flurry of pain and panic, you manage to snag the bat quick enough to turn and clock him under the chin with a roll of the wrist.

His teeth clack together and he falls backward, unconscious.

“God, I really wish you could have seen that, Buck.”

You spit. Blood paints the ground.

The bat clatters to the cement as you fight through the pain. Kiwi and Climber are by your side in an instant.

“No, no!” she screams, “We do not have time for this—”

“I am not leaving him,” you snap, nearly screaming at the woman, “Come on and help me with him. Now.”

After a sigh of resignation, Kiwi shoves the gun she’d snagged from the ground into the back of her jeans. You’ve got your hands around Bucky’s ankles as Kiwi and Climber take his torso — and the four of you make a break for the back entrance. You can hear the cops outside now, and there’s the chatter of Russian following you into the back parking lot.

“Hurry up!”

“He’s not exactly light as a feather, you know!”

“Shut up, Climber!”

You’ve got Bucky halfway into the back seat of Kiwi’s white Cadillac when another bullet whizzes by your head.

“Fuck.”

Kiwi hops into the driver’s seat as Climber scatters to hop the hood and throws himself into the passenger's seat. You lean, clinging to the door of the backseat as Kiwi peels out of the parking lot. It swings wide open and you curse loudly. You can see Alexei’s men watching from the back entrance, shouting in Russian — so you muster all your strength to pull back and throw the door closed as Kiwi’s car bounces over a speed bump and rams through the parking meter’s gate.

In the rear window, the front of the club is surrounded.

Red and blue lights illuminate the street — but Kiwi is quick.

No one follows.

And when she finally makes it to the Manhattan Bridge, you exhale.

Bucky’s head is in your lap. He still hasn’t come to — there’s blood coming from his nose and you’re worrying. You lace your fingers into his thick, brown hair and chew your lip.

Kiwi’s voice pulls you from him.

“When were you going to mention the vibranium arm, huh?”

You laugh. It’s more of a breath of air than anything. Your head rests back against the seat. Your shoulder is still on fire. You’re hot, but cold. You’re bleeding still. Your ribs aren’t right. You know that.

“I can’t believe he shot you,” Climber mumbles, “He fucking shot you.”

“And your boy toy shot him,” Kiwi says, sparing you a look in the rearview, “So you better pray he’s dead.”

You ignore the commentary.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” she says, accelerating into Manhattan, “Where I can get you those files and you can keep your head down.”

Sounds like a plan.

Better than the one you had, anyways.

[aminiatureworld]

Disappearance II

Character: Albedo, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,149

Warnings: None

Premise: In which there is an argument and the reader disappears.

Author’s Note: Idk why I’ve characterized Albedo as a slob twice now. I guess I just think he’s the kind of person to become so engrossed in his research he just, never takes care of himself or his surroundings.

Also this was supposed to be two people but I procrastinated terribly so… here we are haha. Part three tomorrow.

Albedo

It was the third time this week that you had managed to spill his lab notes all over the floor, and frankly Albedo wasn’t sure if he could deal with it any longer.

“You’ve got a lot of papers strewn around,” you said, tone light and joking as you crouched to gather all the papers up.

“You’re the one that keeps bumping into things,” Albedo mumbled, crouching next to you to make sure that you put things back in order.

Seeing that you were putting things together haphazardly he snatched up the papers, frowning slightly as he went through the papers. Honestly, how could you mess up his system so much? As much as Albedo appreciated your interest in his work you were a Knight of Favonius, not a scientist, and as such your visits seemed to cause havoc more than anything else.

“Do you want me to help you with that?” You asked, exasperation creeping into your tone.

“No.”

“Are you sure? You seem, stressed. If you want I could pick up the papers on the tables and organize.”

“Don’t!”

“Albedo?” You leaned back slightly, as if surprised. For some reason that only made the alchemist more irritated.

“If you do that, you’ll just be creating more work for me. I’m very busy right now, I don’t have time to go back and fix your mistakes.”

“Mistakes?”

“It’s already enough that you keep spilling things all over the ground.”

“It’s not my fault that you leave your papers everywhere without even trying to keep them organized.”

“They are organized!”

“Well they certainly don’t look organized to me.”

“You just don’t understand. Besides, I’ve managed not to knock everything over.”

“You know, you’re insufferable when you get like this.”

“I’m not any different than usual.”

“I hope you don’t really think that,” you replied, tone clipped.

Standing up you turned towards the door. Though Albedo made a half-hearted call of your name you didn’t react, simply walking out of the room and slamming the door as hard as possible behind you.

Albedo didn’t even think of you the rest of the afternoon. Anger iced over his slight worry, replacing it with a burning sense of resentment. Your sudden departure stung, and, though it was admittedly childish, Albedo found himself determined not to worry about you.

Besides, you were simply an obstacle to his research at this point. Maybe it was better if you went off to cool your head somewhere, then he could finish up his work. That was what usually happened with other people anyways. Apprentices, clients, the occasional wandering alchemist; they all fluttered around him until he couldn’t stand it and then when they inevitably got fed up he’d finish his work. His relationship with you was still new, and though he couldn’t say that you were the same as all those people in his eyes, he really had no reason to think you would react in a different way.

The sun had gone down long before Albedo finally locked up for the night. It had taken him a good forty minutes to reorganize everything that had fallen, though admittedly most of that time was spent in angry silence. Now as Albedo walked down the streets, still busy with night activity, he wondered what might happen when he got home. He certainly wasn’t ready to apologize, even if his tone was a bit curt his words weren’t wrong; but he couldn’t exactly see you apologizing either. It was bound to be a tense evening. One Albedo was certainly not looking forward too.

All the lights were off in the apartment, something that struck Albedo as odd. Walking towards the kitchen he found a piece of paper crumpled up on the kitchen floor, though when he uncrumpled the paper he was met with eraser marks. Letting out a huff of impatience Albedo went to put some water on the stove. So this is how the evening was going to pass; you presumably at a friend’s house, Albedo in stony silence.

“How petty,” Albedo murmured.

He didn’t expect such a show of emotions from you, having come to the conclusion that you were quite the rational sort. Really, this was all too much. He had been in the right after all, even if he had been a bit cold about it. There was no reason to react in such a way. It was this mindset that carried Albedo through the rest of the evening and off to sleep. After all, it was better than the kernel of doubt that rested in the back of his head, that told him he was the one being callous.

You didn’t show up at the apartment or the lab the next day. Albedo buckled down to work, but by midday the irritation and anger that he’d been holding over were replaced by a deep sense of unease. Hurrying home after work he felt panic shoot through him at the sight of your home empty, nothing suggesting anyone had been there in the time he was at work.

It took all of Albedo’s willpower not to run out the door and go look for you. All the anger and irritation he had felt had been thrown out the window, replaced instead with an intense feeling of worry, and of the realization that his actions might bear actual consequences.

Tossing and turning in bed Albedo stared up at the empty ceiling. He had been certain he was in the right, even this morning. You were clumsy, you had been inconsiderate of his work, you were simply stubborn and petty. Now however he replayed your argument, your fight, over and over again. The more he did so the more he became aware of how harshly he’d acted; the more he wished you would simply appear in front of him so he could apologize. He wanted to go after you, wanted to let you know that he genuinely felt bad. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to do so, to go after you. After all, what if you didn’t want to see him? What if he just made things worse? Once more turning in bed Albedo sighed. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d see you again. Tomorrow he’d make things better.

There was no sight of you tomorrow either. Albedo stood in his lab in stunned silence, heart hammering in his chest as he contemplated what this could possibly mean. Was this it then? Had he messed up that badly?

Staring around him Albedo noticed all the papers scattered this way and that on the tables and the desks. Seized by a sudden urge he scooped them all up, carrying them over to where he kept his files. A part of him jeered that it was too little too late, but still the alchemist didn’t stop until everything was filed away properly. Turning around to look at his desk he collected the dirty mugs and discarded equipment, putting them in the sink before turning around to pick through the no longer needed papers that still lay sprawled around the room. He didn’t stop for lunch, nor did he go to start back up on the experiment he was currently working on. Instead he kept picking up and putting away and rearranging. It was almost a ritual of some sort, and though it brought little relief, at least it finally brought distraction.

Still that distraction was shattered the minute Albedo stepped outside. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, and the people of Mondstadt were still wandering around, enjoy the cool summer evening. Staring at the people around him, their eyes filled either with purpose or contentment, Albedo realized he couldn’t go home. He couldn’t face the empty apartment again. He thought that his anger would last longer, that he might go a week before feeling as if he burning from the inside out; but now he knew that that had been an arrogant, if somewhat funny, assumption. Turning away from the familiar path home he climbed up the steps of Mondstadt. He knew where he needed to go.

Walking up to the Knights of Favonius Headquarters Albedo was met with the sight of Eula, arms firmly crossed in front of her, faced even colder than usual. Hurrying over to your higher-up Albedo felt uncertainty bloom in his chest. Someone this seemed to bode ill.

“Eula?”

“Ah, the Head Alchemist. What do you wish to say to me?”

“Have you seen my partner?” Albedo paused, somewhat unwilling to reveal what had happened. “They haven’t been home for days, and I wondered if you knew where they might be staying.”

The look on Eula’s face was one of pure disbelief. “You, you don’t know what happened?” Her face shadowed over and she seemed to pull herself up. “If I were your partner, I would declare eternal vengeance for your idiocy. I don’t know what you’ve been doing Head Alchemist, but while you were off doing whatever it is you do, your partner was languishing underground.”

Albedo froze, unsure if he’d truly heard Eula right. The Knight tended to be quite flowery after all with her words. Perhaps this was just a metaphor he couldn’t understand.

“I see that it still hasn’t gotten through your head what happened.” Eula sighed, relaxing slightly. “I sent them off to monitor a few Fatui members, as it seems a group had made their way out of Dragonspine and into Windwail. While doing so they attempted to hide in a small crack in the mountains, but there was a steep drop after that onto the next shelf. Thankfully Amber had also been ordered to scout there, or else who knows how long it might have took to realize they were stuck. I just got the report from them, thankfully there was no lasting trauma.”

“W-where are they?”

“At home I presume. Aren’t you their partner?” Eula tilted her head. “Really, perhaps she should declare a need for vengeance.” And with that the Spindrift Knight walked into the Headquarters, leaving Albedo reeling on the step, heart thudding as if he’d just run a hundred miles.

Albedo practically fell down the steps of Mondstadt, so desperate was he to find you, to make sure you were okay. Eula had said that there was no lasting trauma, but what that meant Albedo was completely unsure of. Had you broken anything? Had you been deprived of oxygen? These thoughts catapulted through Albedo’s brain, constricting his lungs and plunging him into a roil of incoherent emotions.

The sight of you standing in front of his lab cause Albedo to stop in his tracks. For a moment the alchemist was overwhelmed by his emotions, switching between dizzying euphoria, terrible guilt, and unending worry. He took a step forward, then another, walking slowly down the stairs, as if in fear that you might disappear or turn away. However instead of turning away when he reached the end of the steps and made his way towards the fountain you let out a sort of shudder, running towards him and throwing your arms around his neck. Albedo wrapped his arms around you in turn, feeling slightly overwhelmed from the sudden proximity, the sudden feeling of once more being able to feel your skin against his. Letting his head drop onto your shoulder Albedo breathed in deeply, centering himself with your presence, grounding himself in the knowledge that the agony of the previous days was finally over.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against your shoulder.

“For what?” You whispered back.

“For not listening to you, for blaming you, for being cruel.”

“I’m also sorry.”

“Why? I was in the wrong.”

“Well, I just went off without telling you where I was going. I was going to write a note, but I was so angry I erased it.” You tightened your grasp around Albedo. “I wish I could’ve seen into the future. I never would have done something like that.”

“I don’t care about that,” Albedo ran small circles around the small of your back. “I’m sorry.”

“You already said that.”

“No. I’m sorry for not being there, for not being able to help you; for doing nothing while you…” he stopped, unable to finish the sentence.

Pulling back for a moment you cupped Albedo’s face in your palms, studying his expression. Finally you bent over to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“I forgive you,” you whispered, breath mingling with his.

Albedo leaned into to kiss you once more, finding that his emotions were blocking out any words he might have been able to say. Everything seemed so surreal, as if he’d been stuck in some awful nightmare that only now faded away. And yet this wasn’t a nightmare, this was reality; and Albedo would have to remember that.

For now though, he only wanted to wipe all the fear and conflict away.

[delimeful]

pull apart at the seams (7)

continued from this fic! some of the chapters for this (5&6) are only on ao3 so make sure to check there if you haven’t!

warnings: arguing, PTSD, panic, dehumanization, angst

-

“Logan Sanders!”

Above him, Logan froze, and for a moment his expression was nearly comical, reminiscent of nothing more than a cat caught with both paws stuck in the canary cage.

A heartbeat later, his features forcibly smoothed down into a cold neutrality, and with the giant’s shadow still weighing heavy over him, Virgil was swiftly reminded just who the canary was in that metaphor.

The giant didn’t reach for him, though, stiffening up from his admittedly incriminating looming position to turn and face Patton’s glare head on. Virgil didn’t think he’d ever seen Patton look so angry, and he probably never would again if his estimate of how likely he was to get out of the situation alive was correct.

Behind Patton’s shoulder, the other werewolf— Roman?— was peeking out past the doorway, making sheepish eye contact with Logan, and silently but exaggeratedly mouthing what looked like an apology. It made a confusing addition to an already alarming situation.

Virgil himself felt as though the rug had been yanked out from beneath him. First, some semblance of a conversation and even a near-apology from the guy he’d been convinced would horrifically murder him for the past week, and now Patton was, what, defending his property from his packmate?

“What in the world do you think you’re doing?” the giant in question continued, lips curling up in a barely-suppressed snarl.

“We were simply having a conversation,” Logan replied, sweeping a hand back slightly to indicate Virgil in the ‘we.’

Virgil just barely managed not to flinch, remaining perfectly still instead. Patton’s gaze flickered to him for a moment before returning to Logan somehow more intense than before.

“Was it really just a conversation?” he asked, firming his stance as though to say that he wasn’t going to let this go.

Logan’s shoulders rose a few millimeters defensively, but his demeanor only grew icier. “I wasn’t aware that you were the only one in this household who was allowed to try and communicate with the human.”

“Communicate with--,” Patton stepped forward, “You looked like a scavenger bearing down on a pup! Why would you corner him like that?”

Logan clicked his tongue irritably. “It’s impossible not to corner him, he’s a human! Being in the same room as a creature that small and slow could qualify as ‘cornering’!”

“You know what I mean!”

Still hovering in the doorway, Roman was grimacing, glancing between the two of them as though watching a particularly heated tennis match.

Virgil felt more like he was watching bombs go off, the argument too loud, too harsh, too reminiscent of his months in conditioning. Each sharp gesture or cutting glare registered as wrong-bad-hisfault, electric-spark phantom pains building up in the back of his skull. He swayed on his feet.

“He’s terrified of you, and you’ve certainly given him plenty of reason to be!” Patton shouted, and the room went quiet and suffocating, Virgil’s survival instincts dragging his attention back to the present.

“He told you.” Logan’s voice was monotone, but it sent terror racing down Virgil’s spine worse than any growl. His mouth formed the shape of protesting words, I didn’t I swear I didn’t, but no sound came out, his lungs constricted by the tense certainty that this was it, this was really how he died.

Patton shook his head, some of the anger fading from his frame, washed away by misery. “I guessed, Logan. The pieces were all there, sitting in front of my face, but I… I didn’t want to see the full picture.”

There was a terrible, fraught stretch of silence, and then Logan’s gaze slid to the side, going distant and glassy. “How long do I have to pack, then?”

“What?” “What?” The other two giants asked, voices overlapping.

“I understand. I’m being evicted for my transgressions,” he forced through grit teeth. “How long do I have?”

“Logan, no,” Patton replied fretfully. “We’re not kicking you out, you’re part of this family! We want you here!”

“I don’t believe the human I tormented will agree,” Logan bit out, but the words were double-edged with guilt, cutting back against himself. “Forcing him to share a residence with me would be cruel.”

Cruel.

There was a sharp, bitter sound, almost unrecognizable as a laugh, and Virgil only realized it had come from him after every eye in the kitchen turned his way. His chest seized with panic again, and he crumpled to his knees.

“Vee!” Patton gasped, and steps thundered closer, a hand hovering overhead--

“Don’t!” Virgil managed, the cry cracking halfway through. He curled in on himself, as though presenting a smaller target and begging would do anything but diminish him in their eyes even more. “Please don’t.”

Patton paused above him. “Don’t-- Don’t what, kiddo?”

Don’t grab him, don’t touch him, don’t look at him. How was he supposed to explain? They didn't understand anything.

“Don’t,” he said again, and flinched away from each of Patton’s movements.

“I-- I don’t understand,” Patton started weakly, and this time it was Logan that cut him off.

“Forcing him to share a residence with me would be cruel,” he repeated slowly, like he was puzzling each word against Virgil’s reaction to see how they fit. “Forcing-- Oh. Forcing him to stay where he doesn’t feel safe… would be cruel.”

A beat later, Patton’s shadow retreated from him entirely. The bands around his chest eased slightly.

“Let me go,” he choked out, each word bringing back memories of singed hair and tingling skin. “Just let me leave. Please. I didn’t want to be bought. I’m a person.”

A beat of silence, and then a set of footsteps rushed out, followed shortly by another set, leaving him behind. The fragile threads of Virgil’s hope dissolved back into nothingness.

“Leave and go where?” the last giant in the room asked.

Roman stepped closer, meeting Virgil’s gaze stubbornly. “To go get caught again? Or die out in the first storm that catches you? Everything here is just as huge as us.”

“Better than… dying here,” Virgil spat, and then his throat closed up, deciding that was enough words for today and quite possibly forever.

“What about living here?” Roman asked, glancing after his packmates briefly with unhidden worry. “Genuine living. Not as a pet or a-- a captive. Just as a roommate. I mean, obviously you don’t precisely trust us at the moment, but a mutually beneficial arrangement could be worked out.”

Virgil stared at him with dull, confused eyes, watching as the giant got more antsy with each passing moment of Virgil’s unresponsiveness.

“Don’t get me wrong, I still find humans downright impertinent, but if you go off and die, my pack is going to be miserable and morose for more than a few moons,” he continued to ramble. “We can negotiate terms, set up rules, anything within reason to ease their guilt and your terror.

“And this way, you have a real chance,” he finished. “Think on it, won’t you?”

It seemed to be an earnest request, but Virgil’s mind had done enough rapidfire processing for one day, and was now thoroughly shutting down.

Good thing he didn’t have to worry about thinking while unconscious.

[lilyclawthorne]

Hunting Palismen Thoughts

y'all I absolutely loved this episode

oh we're JUMPING right in with day of unity stuff huh. we didn't go from 0 to 10 we started at 10.

anyways, starting off, this whole thing is fascinating to me. I mean this literally looks like a small human city. who are the worthy that get to live here according to belos. if its a unification of the realms, what happens to the humans? do they live here too? how does this affect society?? so many questions

kiki is pissed and im starting to predict that the reason Lilith, GG, and Kiki were all apart of the same slide in the title isn't because Lilith will slide backwards like some were worried about, but that all three of them are people who will have betrayed the emperor at some point

what the fuck is belos. the thumping/punching he made was in time with the beat of a heart. makes me think of the heart behind his throne and how are they connected.

UNCLE?? OUR FAMILY IS GONE BECAUSE OF WILD MAGIC??

TITLE CARD CHANGES AHHH

oh im so worried amity's not there because her mom's mad about her hair. that being said, some of the students here I assumed were a bit older (like jerbo and viney) and ed & em also aren't here. could potentially be that their parents didn't want any of them involved with this palismen adoption? or maybe im trying hard to be hopeful she's not in huge trouble over the hair

FREWIN!! this is the outcome for the little guy in Bump's head is better than anything I could've thought of. Aside from his legitimate use of helping Bump see, I am curious though if this is a bit of a "hidden in plain sight" kind of thing as well to protect the little guy.

PALISMAN ADOPTION DAY!! I WAS RIGHT!! I guessed the forest palismen would get adopted and I'm so glad about it.

I love Eda's blazer. She's trying to look professional. I love that this is what she planned on her favor from BQ being. Just to help out some young witches and some lost palismen. She cares so much 🥺

ok but if the unification of the realms does end up happening, I totally see Gus being an ambassador to the human realm.

There's a lot of attention of Luz here, and I'm just imagining how a similar situation might've gone down on the human realm. I don't blame her for getting anxious here, because I feel like in the past attention like this would've gone far worse at her school. I appreciate that most people here are just calm asking questions that are intended to help (except you Boscha) or Eda just checking in on her.

"I've read stories like this, the main character always has to return home" very interesting. seeing how this show has emphasized how life isn't like fiction.

Eda's just listening in like a mom concerned about her child

Tired Luz is adorable.

LMAO WHY IS GG WHISTLING THE THEME SONG

These two have such an insane amount of sibling energy I love it. This situation? Me and my brothers have done this way too many times.

uh so can a coven mark actually be removed?? since the EC one is also on the wrist but Lilith definitely hasn't been seen with anything there? that's kind of a relief since I was worried that since coven marks can help control magic that her still having one could be bad for her

It's not unsurprising that GG, as a powerless witch, would be interested in wild magic and Luz's glyphs. the kind of stuff you don't need a bile sac for. that kinda sucks he knows there's something out there he probably could use, but isn't allowed to do so

Hunter!! I don't need to do a name meaning here this one's obvious. Also, this boy's gonna crack and swap sides I can tell.

This is the most shit-eating grin I think I've ever seen on Eda. She's so proud of herself and she should be!

I also love this because we literally started this show with Luz helping Eda and King rob the conformatorium, and now we're at King and Eda robbing somewhere to do something special for Luz 🥺

Kiki and GG are so petty with each other, it's not just Kiki and Lilith. This is the whole workplace dynamic isn't it.

GG's room design definitely came from the Lilith bedroom design didn't it. Also I love the little Sprig plush!! I think that's a Big City Greens reference in there too but I've never watched that show.

I am very concerned about him and this palisman too. Not about him but just about Belos finding the palisman.

My one other thing I wanted to mention is I definitely feel like I'm seeing more and more disability metaphor in the show. If we see Eda's curse and her subsequent loss of a power as a disability, then GG/Hunter being born without magic could be considered a disability too. He's only been given access to one way of doing magic and it seems to limit him, he's being cut off from a different way of doing magic, the glyphs that Eda is learning, which clearly seem to be able to allow the user to do magic almost anywhere and could be more effective than Belos' artificial magic.

I'm also curious about Bump, he has the kind of palisman Belos wants to do away with, but it's not just a way to do magic for him. It's an aide for his vision. Belos' ideals would also be taking away something from him or other witches who may also be using their palismen as an aide.

[supermanshield]

These steps you take

~~~

Bruce makes Clark pancakes. They share experiences on an early morning.

~~~

Words: 1,661

Relationship: Clark/Bruce

A/N: Another morning after at Clark’s apartment, because I love those.

This one is a culmination of me making pancakes for breakfast, and remembering some specific comic panels about Bruce's cooking skills (just reblogged).

Read on AO3

______________________________________________

It was an unusually early morning for Bruce, and Clark was still asleep next to him, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore. Clark’s apartment, a forced night off, and a mind restless with unsolved cases all played a part in this, and so much so, that it was one of those rare mornings that he got out of bed before Clark, quietly and careful not to wake him. 

In the living room, he scrolled through some work emails on his phone and Oracle’s backlog of cases from last night, until he knew exactly what everyone had been up to. The light outside was still faint and grey and not quite dark-blue, and some of the windows in the city had coloured yellow with light. A pair of feet shuffled around in the apartment above Clark's. A child started crying in an apartment on the other side of the hallway. Breakfast seemed like a good idea. 

Clark’s kitchen was small, and messy, but the counter was clean. Bruce located a bowl, flour, milk, eggs, butter, and a scale that he wasn’t sure Clark ever used. He used a whisk to mix ingredients, as to not wake Clark up, although to be fair, he should be able to wake up from a sound that small if necessary. Shortly after, he was flipping the first pancakes with a practiced flick of his wrist, and looked satisfied at the golden-brown colour of the three somewhat-round cakes. It had been a while. 

He made sure not to burn any, but also not to undercook them, patiently waiting for them to solidify, start bubbling, change colour. He stacked them onto a plate before pouring more batter in the pan. Lost in concentration, he didn't hear Clark enter, but there he was, with a stretch and a yawn. In his flannel checkered pyjama pants, hanging low on his hips, and his black hair, sticking up in a wonderfully soft mess, more so than Bruce’s own. After a quick glance, Bruce returned his attention to the pancakes, and felt Clark’s bare chest touching his bicep. He hugged Bruce, kissed his ear, and Bruce allowed him to turn his face to kiss his mouth, even though they had just spent the whole night next to each other. 

“Hey, good morning,” Clark smiled. 

“Morning.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“You know I always sleep better after sex with you.” It was their game of catch and return, this. Replies to put them two steps ahead of each other, a set-up for the next quip. Most people would call it flirting, and whatever it was, it kept Bruce on his toes, and Clark never missed a beat. 

“Hmm, my true superpower,” he smiled, and then, finally, looked down at the stovetop. “Pancakes? Smells delicious.” Clark’s warmth at his side was unsurprising, yet overwhelming on a cold morning, and Bruce hadn’t realized the cold of the floor under his bare feet had seeped into his body. He let himself relax a little against Clark.

“You’re warm.” 

“The bed was warm. I mean, metaphorically it was cold because you weren’t there anymore… Do you think I should change the covers already?”

“Hmm. Do you have blueberries? I couldn’t find them.”

“Freezer.”

“That’s where I looked.”

Clark looked over at the freezer at the bottom of the fridge, his eyes going glassy for just a second. “They’re there. Kind of at the back.” He squatted down to open it and dug out pizzas, frozen veggies, and casserole dishes that surely came from Kansas, until he got to the blueberries. “Here you go.”

“Put them in the batter, we can still have one half with blueberries. You change your blanket? Why?”

“Um, force of habit, I guess? Ma always put thick covers and a wool blanket on my bed back home in the winter, even though I never actually needed it.” Keeping up appearances, a form of pretend-normalcy, then. Little habits that made Clark more human than his powers could ever make him alien. “I told her, but she insisted… every little detail had to be right. Hiding who I was even at home, in my own room… I mean, you never knew…” 

“If anyone would ever see something out of the ordinary?”

“Yes,” Clark sighed. He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. The pan sizzled, batter slowly solidifying again. 

“She’s smart, your mother,” Bruce said. 

“Scared. They were always so scared someone would come take me away.”

“They were right to be… protecting you.”

“I know that.” He smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I had a good childhood, Bruce. I shouldn’t...”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t complain about it.” Another flip, and sizzle. “You don’t have to hide now, not here.”

Clark uncrossed his arms. “Thank you, B.” He hugged Bruce again, chin on his shoulder, and looked down at the stack of pancakes that were already finished and resting on a plate. “Hey, these actually look good… I haven’t smelled any burning… And here I thought you didn’t cook.”

“I don’t.”

“Bruce. You’re making pancakes. Don’t play tricks on me.”

“I don’t cook. I know how to make pancakes.” Clark looked at him, questioningly. Go on, he motioned with the smallest jerk of his head and motion in his eyebrows. A personal story. Clark had just shared something personal. That’s what you do in a relationship, right? He poured another ladle of batter in the pan and cleared his throat.

“When Dick had just moved in with us… he woke up very early every day, earlier than Alfred, even. Maybe a circus thing, I think. I would hear him just… pacing outside of my room, not knowing what to do, too scared to wake me up, maybe.”

“But you heard him anyway?”

“Needless to say, I wasn’t sleeping much, back then.” 

“You don’t sleep much now.”

“Fine. I was barely sleeping at all.” Some days, he had been able to catch a couple hours of rest after Alfred took Dick to school. Most days, he ended up falling asleep in board meetings. He continued: “Whenever I heard him, I would get up, and take him down to the kitchen, where I would try to make pancakes, because Dick liked them. I… tried to make it like home, for him. Or, at least, to resemble the mornings he’d had with his parents.” 

“You learned how to make pancakes for Dick.” Clark stated.

“It took me a while to get it right.” Bruce remembered Dick patiently waiting at the kitchen island only to stare at his plate of burned, or undercooked, or completely messed up and mis-shapen pancakes with a blank expression when Bruce finally served them. Thanks, he’d mumble, and would start eating them slowly anyway, before Bruce decided it was enough and dumped the rest in the trash, putting down a bowl of cereal for him instead. Until finally one morning, Dick’s blank expression had turned into a smile, humming along while eating his pancakes and then Bruce’s too. He had hugged Bruce after, exclaiming that he shouldn’t change a single thing!  

It had felt like solving a case, one that he could easily crack all over again now that he knew the steps. He smiled at the memory and looked at Clark again. “At least a dozen mornings like that. But yes, I did. It helped.” 

“It did,” Clark said, with one of those sheepy grins on his face. “You’re an amazing dad, Bruce.”

“I doubt the children would agree with you.”

Clark angled his head and pursed his lips. “You could definitely vocalize a little bit more how you feel towards them, but they know.” Bruce huffed. He was not a good caretaker, not really. Alfred had said as much, in his Alfred-way, and Barbara, curt and to the point, and Dick, clear and unmistakable. “You’re dedicated,” Clark explained.

Some would call it obsession. Not Clark. Bruce tried a smile.

“So, just pancakes?”

“Just pancakes. When Dick started feeling more at home he started sleeping in more, and so did I. Alfred took over on breakfast again.” He flipped the last pancake out of the pan and onto the stack. “Done. Let’s eat.”

Clark zipped out of the room to get a shirt, got them each a glass of orange juice, and cleared the table before Bruce had reached it with their breakfast. 

Taking a bite of his first pancake with butter and maple syrup, Clark hummed. “I would almost say," and his voice dropped down to a whisper, "these are better than my mom’s."

“Don’t tell her that,” Bruce said, washing down his smile with a gulp of juice. Outside past the window, Metropolis lay quiet, shining under a blue sky and a rising sun. Clark looked out too, catching that light on his chin and closing his eyes. Clark, who rose with the sun but waited for dark to meet in the middle with Bruce, however long it took. Clark, who literally came to find him in the deepest darkest parts of his mind, who would gladly let Bruce pull him up to his feet after a hit even though he was the one with super strength, who was forced to live his life a 1000 miles a minute and still found the time to appreciate the world's beauty. If he weren’t here, Clark would have opened the window to really feel the sun, Bruce was sure. 

“Hm,” Clark swallowed another bite. “Any chance you’ll figure out how to make waffles for me? Or croissants?” Clark’s narrowed, smiling eyes didn’t disguise much. Another set-up, for more.

The reply, easy. Bruce only finished his bite properly to feign nonchalance, to tease. He put down his knife and fork, knowing he couldn’t fool Clark, not with the skip that his heart made. “Give me a couple more months of mornings like this one.” 

Clark’s retort, honest and uncalculated, was much faster. “Yes.” 

Yes. He could do that for Clark.

.

.

.

end note: 

So yeah, I’ve just reblogged them and maybe you have seen those panels of Bruce making pancakes for Alfred, Dick, and Tim (Batman: Gotham Adventures #60, he says it’s his first time making them, but they come out perfect. Bruce you’re a liar, you’ve done this before). And at the same time, this man cannot make a tuna sandwich for the life of him (“How can you screw up a tuna sandwich? ...Oh. that’s how” :/ - Tim in Detective Comics #698). Anyway, this is why my Bruce can make pancakes and literally nothing else.

(yes I'm aware that's two different canons, come at me)

[allie1804-fan]

Kerensa

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 , Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

Chapter 9

The Griefcast Record

Keanu got out of the taxi at Whistledown Studios and headed in. Cariad and the recoding team greeted him and they got set up with teas, biscuits and a box of tissues on the table

“God, it’s just like a therapist’s room!” he joked

“Best to be prepared! They might be for me anyhow” she laughed.

Before we start though, can I just spend a moment being a fangirl and just say how amazing it is for me to meet you. There are so many films of yours I love – and my kids adore Duke Caboom!”

“ahh yes, Canada’s Greatest Stuntman” he boomed - “that was a fun role”

“and so perfectly cast right?”

“Yeah yeah I guess. I’m glad they picked me from the roster of Canadians they had lined up!”

“Ok, so thanks for letting me just gush for a moment! Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be!”

“First tell me the story of how we managed to get you as a guest.”

“Ok so right, so errm my friend Kerry is the link. I was filming in Cornwall this past year and uh, after we wrapped I was so charmed by the place that I decided to stay and rent a place for a couple of months down there. Kerry was my landlady and one day I came across her walking along the beach, tears streaming down her face and she was listening to your show which she highly recommended to me. I admit it took a bit of persuading to listen, given the crying thing!, but she told me it was more reassuring and uplifting than upsetting. Anyway, so sorry, this is turning into a shaggy dog tale!, so I did give it a go, really loved it

“Oh thank you”

“So then one day we were discussing an episode about baby loss, something we had in common and had talked about before and she said I should do the show. Now THAT took a lot more thought and persuasion, but she said it would do me good and there would be the angle of the man’s perspective and being someone with a public profile going through loss and you know yada, yada yada so here I am, finally!

“That’s amazing and thank you so much to Kerry for listening to the show and for your persuasive talents in getting this lovely man here today. So Keanu, as you know we always start with this question. Who are we remembering today?”

“Today we’re remembering my daughter Ava who was stillborn 23 years ago this year.”

“Ok so would you mind telling me a little bit about what happened.”

“So, ahh, it was in the spring of 1999. The Matrix had just come out and my life was pretty full on. My girlfriend Jennifer became pregnant around that time. It was unplanned and I’ll be honest, I wasn’t super happy about it at first, but she wanted to keep the baby and I said I’d support her, you know, and as time went on I was more excited than worried about becoming a dad.”

“And how was the pregnancy? How far along was Jennifer when Ava died?”

“Everything seemed fine, she, Ava was growing and developing normally. Jen was healthy. Then I was away filming, a god awful project as well! And, Um, ahh, give me a minute” Keanu cleared his throat and took a drink of water.

“I swore I wouldn’t do this” he said gesturing at himself tearing up, his voice cracking slightly “but sometimes, the memories can be, uhhh, very powerful, very vivid”

“Yes you can be taken right back like it just happened can’t you, however long ago - you know I’m 20 plus years out now and still very occasionally I can be catapulted back there. So, everything looked good but you were away, filming - and I’m sure it can’t have been an awful film”

Keanu snorted

“I assure you it was!, yes anyway, Jen went for a last check up at a little over 8 months and uh, there was no heartbeat. Ava had died and so I flew home and she had to, you know, give birth in a maternity unit, hearing all the other babies being born - I mean they have to do it there because you still might need, you know, that expertise and they tried to keep us private but those places they get busy and she had to go through all that with those sounds sometimes breaking through”

“Yes I hear that that is a common experience here in the UK too and one that SANDS, the still birth charity is trying to address. It’s interesting your choice of words: “she went through that”, presumably you were there so didn’t you go through it too?”

“Yeah, yeah - I guess, I just meant that it was worse, more traumatic mentally for her and obviously physically too”

“Sure sure, but awful for both of you nonetheless”

“Indeed, it was” Keanu paused a moment as though something important had just occurred to him “and she was beautiful too you know”

“awwwww” Cariad moaned sympathetically

“she was beautiful, perfect and warm, just silent, still”

Keanu looked up at Cariad, his eyes filled with tears once more and they both just sat for a moment, taking in the pain of his loss. Eventually, Cariad started the conversation again.

“And did you both hold her? Did the hospital staff help you, you know, to say goodbye to her?”

Yeah yeah, we did hold her. They left us be for a good amount of time, they took prints of her hands and feet and a photograph. You know they were supportive in that way, especially as we knew already, you know, that she had died, they were prepared. I don’t think we were, I mean I don’t think you can prepare for that, right? Your brain won’t let you, not really.”

“Yeah yeah, we talk about that a lot on the show, there are people who say it’s better when someone dies of an illness so you know it’s coming whereas with a sudden death you suffer more shock but I still think there’s a degree of shock you experience even when you have some warning.

“Yeah yeah and it’s so stupid, we’re all just so dumb because death is coming man, to us all but we just don’t want to think about it!” He chuckled

“So are you someone who thinks about death a lot?”

“Yeah yeah it’s always there in the back of my mind, spurring me on to do things, make that film, write that script, build that bike!”

“And do you think that’s because of losing Ava?”

“I don’t know, no not really, well maybe a little but that’s come more with getting older I think - I didn’t really have that reaction at the time”

“So what was your reaction, how did you grieve for Ava?”

Another chuckle came from Keanu.

“A more appropriate question might be how didn’t I grieve for her, at the time I mean!”

“Oh?”

“Hee hee you’re like a therapist, leaving the gaps for me to fill!”

“Some of my critics say I interrupt too much and start talking about me so…..”

“We’ll that’s not very nice is it? And also not true!”

“Thanks - Comes with the territory I guess, so please, go on, fill the gap”

“What was the question again?”

“It was about how you did or didn’t grieve for Ava after her birth?”

“Mmmm well we buried her, in the new year, she was born on Christmas Eve, which is uhhh, another tricky thing about it”

“Oh that’s awful, death on high days and holidays just adds another layer right?”

“Yeah yeah. They do - so um after that I went to Georgia to shoot a movie!”

“So you threw yourself into work then?”

“Yup, my trusty friend in times of crisis. In fact I did, let me see, 1, 2, 3, yes 3 movies in the next year and then started training for the Matrix 2 and 3 so I guess the answer is I put my feelings in a tightly locked metaphorical box and didn’t open it for quite some time!”

“And was there intrusion from the press , I guess this is pre the days of the internet being so developed and social media but how was that side of it?”

“Yeah there was some, you know photographers with long lenses at the cemetery”

“God! I can’t imagine”

“Yeah pretty low, right but in a way because of the taboo of stillbirth, people, you know interviewers and stuff, didn’t ask me about it. I mean I would sometimes say “no personal questions” but at other times that hasn’t stopped people.”

“Oh like what?”

“I’m thinking of when River, River Phoenix died, even if I said I wouldn’t answer anything personal they would still ask how I felt, did I miss him. I mean, fuck! Oh sorry I can swear right?”

“Swear away, sure, and god, fuck yeah, that deserved it. I mean obviously that’s a bit of a contradiction coming from me given we’re here and I’m making you talk about private things but”

“But I agreed, that’s the deal here, it’s not the deal to segue from “how was it jumping onto a moving bus to “how do you feel about your best friend dying!”

“Absolutely. So you said you dealt with it, but much later? What about Jennifer, how did she cope?”

“Umm, I don’t know - I mean what’s normal in that situation? She cried, she wailed like a wounded animal. Her mum moved in. I was away and not there to support her like I should have been. We weren’t really a couple either by then. We were going to co-parent but not as a romantic couple you know so it was complicated. To be honest I think a little bit of her died right then - and then she died herself the following April so you know, what you see before you is the last man standing of that family unit that might have been.”

“Woo that’s tough. You’ve really been through the mill as it were.”

“Yeah, yeah but you know I AM still standing. I’m lucky.”

“And how did Jennifer die?”

“Car wreck”

“I’m so sorry”

“Thanks, me too”

“So how is that, being the only one left? Some people talk about losing key people as losing their witness.”

“Yes! That’s it, exactly. Now it’s just me here to remember Ava, to remember her coming in and out of this world”

Yeah yeah that’s hard. So you said you dealt with it later? How did that come about?”

“Midlife crisis I guess - when I turned 40, I had a bit of a meltdown, you know, wondering about my goals, what I had or hadn’t achieved. I basically “ran away” alone to Paris on my 40th birthday, to escape any awful surprise party! And you know, I quietly fell apart in a vat of wine! When I went home my friend Janey was just like “Keanu, it’s time, time for therapy!”

“Ahhh it’s great isn’t it, big fans of that on the show!”

“Yeah I guess, I mean, ahhh I wasn’t that comfortable taking the lid off but yeah it did me a favour and helped sort my shit out. And a lot of the guilt and pain of losing Ava was gone through belatedly during that process”

“And why did you feel guilty?”

“Mmmm well I think I started to think I was a curse - my sister had been sick with leukemia, Ava had died, Jen had died, River, others as well and I felt guilty for that stupid film I was working on when it happened! So yeah, there were lots of rocks to lift up, inspect what lay beneath and deal with my emotions.”

“Well you seem like you have your shit sorted now”

“I’m a work in progress!”

“So now you’re, 23 years on, how do you remember Ava and Jen now.”

“Well it’s hard to forget the day for Ava what with it being Christmas Eve. I sometimes visit their graves - after dark if I can to avoid being hounded”

“What has the world come to when a person can’t be left in peace to visit a loved one’s resting place”

“Yeah it’s fucked up right?”

“Precisely.”

“And what else? , well I do have one little thing that my friend Alex who’s an artist, made for me. It was because of something she said she did to remember her lost loved ones. She would get a Christmas ornament that in some way represented the person and hang it on her tree at Christmas. So she made this beautiful little stained glass bird to hang up on my tree or in the house if I don’t have a tree which sometimes happens. So, uh, Ava’s name in Latin would mean bird or bird like so that’s why she did that, yes so I always think of her then and you know I would think about where she would be at a given point like when my friends kids have started school again after summer break I would think “oh Ava would be starting you know kindergarten or elementary school etc.”

“And do your family share in that?”

“Yeah, yeah - especially my mom. She has no grandchildren so yeah she remembers and we’ll have a moment sometimes yeah but it can be lonely, not having the other parent there who shares the same loss.”

“Yes I’m sure it is. Grief can be very lonely sometimes. Well, Keanu I really can’t thank you enough for coming on my little podcast and sharing your experience of baby loss and loss in the public spotlight with us today. Thank you so much for telling us about your beautiful baby girl Ava and her mum Jen.”

“Thanks for having me - I know this might sound weird, but it’s been a pleasure talking with you and remembering them today so, thank you and thanks to Kerry who suggested it. She said it would be good for my soul and she, as always, was right!”

@fortheloveoffanfic @omg-imagine @iworshipkeanureeves @toomanystoriessolittletime @ladyreapermc @paperplanesandwallflowers @patric9

[kaplanwrites]

02.7.Other Side.

sound: The other side by UNKLE, Tom Smith

***

Kon knows when he fucked up this relationship (started to fuck it up more and more). 

He supposes, he also knows why he did this - as an unconscious protest to the unfairness of life, of the circumstances. To Tim’s decisions. 

Mostly out of his own frustration to being unable to protest the pound of a replacement Tim made all for himself, but who somehow became an anchor for the both of them(the sum of them). 

(Somehow on the shitty end of his mulish egoism, as always, Tim ended up being.  )

Jeez, is he an asshole.

It’s no wonder that as he earnestly tries to make this pretend-family real, more than simply real: strong, lasting. Romantic. (oh God he’s so fucked. Everything he fucked, in the end, is just himself over). Tim is being difficult. 

The kid is in the heart of it, but it is not about him, right now it’s about Tim and making Tim understand how he is making Kon feel.

Frustrated. Angry. Miserable.

Fucked.

Tired and sorry, and stuck in front of the wall that Tim’s self-loathing is. (“Self”, though? Tim was never the one to doubt himself, he's the most driven and sure person Kon knows. So is it just, “loathing”? Is it “Kon-loathing”?)

(But then again, Tim was confident. He also was cheeky, and an ass, and Kon’s best friend and confidant, and now he’s… kinda pushed a stop button on all of those things).

It’s like they coexist simultaneously in the same and parallel place together, it’s like Tim can hear him only if making a conscious effort (which he is not always trying to make. Or, to be fair, has time to).

See, Kon understands that things should be unfucked, and then they start to fuck. It also happens unconsciously (for him at least, but, he thought that they started to fuck to make it all better, but all they achieved - is fucking it up better). For all that he wants Tim to open up, he doesn’t really want to know why he did it. His peaceful rest lays on trusting Tim not to have a malicious cause for it. 

For the first month, Kon thinks this arrangement to be blissfully awesome, then entertaining and convenient. As he starts to stay in Tim’s bedroom for nights, he starts to see cracks in Tim’s facade.

(He knows, that when he’s not contemplating Tim’s disassembly drilling metaphorical  (and wanting to blast very real ones so badly) holes in the ceiling, he is being watched. He also knows it’s the only time Tim looks at him directly now (after they started to fuck(this up)).

He wants to feel loved again like he was - for years now, he realizes, and isn’t it an asshole thing to wish? The worth in the want, isn’t it?

 This whole cohabitation started off as weird, but now they push to unhealthy. Then again, he suspects, maybe “fuckbuddy relationships with your best friend who nursed your child to life while you were dead” have very shaky foundations for “normal”.

Also, he’d never was able to do fuck all to shift Tim from his path, but together, oh, they’ve always been synergetic. Hence, fuck-up of cosmic proportions. Fast. Brutal.

He dreams of his cheeky snobby overthinking Robin.

He lies in bed and thinks about tearing the gorgeous sharp man lying next to him apart and finding his old chum wonderboy inside. Cradling him to the chest and reassuring that everything will be back to normal. Eventually. Sometime later.

(sometimes he resorts to pushing his forehead into Tim’s jaw, putting a tentative hand on his shoulder) (sometimes Tim doesn’t pull back)

Sometimes he thinks that if they’ve started to fuck back in Metropolis, it wouldn’t be that much of an issue right now. At all. This whole…

Then again, Kon doesn’t think Tim is that shallow of a person to think that Kon will chase the first convenient skirt when Kon will get bored with him.

Then again, Kon didn’t think that he will be that shallow of a person to treat this whole… this. As friends with benefits.

(With the benefit of doubt size of Manhattan.)

He tries to speak, but every time he opens his mouth, he finds words… lacking.

(‘Hey man. Back a couple of months ago, when we fought about your fuckbuddy who wasn’t me? Remember that? So I’ve figured it wasn’t that I was just horny, I was really jealous of this dude. Weird, huh?)

Sometimes (when they’re angry) it’s for the best.

The Kid awful lots of time was more about words than deeds, now Kon mostly resorts just giving everything Tim needs.

If that needs to be spreading out on top of still hot bike, balanced only by Tim’s hand in his hair and spared scraps of TTK, well, it’s worth it.

(For all it looks like Tim punishes him for being careless, his second hand strokes Kon’s outstretched thigh, soothingly, and Kon lets go. Lets them both feel it).

---

Kon keeps his stretched and primed canvases on the wall next to the windows in his room; white and greyish rectangles hanging on nails in odd angles form unsettling ghost gallery around the window frame.

Tim usually doesn’t spare much thought to them, but faint acrylic smell wafts from the open window, and it catches his attention.

There are no new paintings in the room. The easel stands empty, all pots seem to be shut. 

Tim smells paint as he looks for a new brush on shelves; smells it as he turns to leave after he finds one that will tech cleaning job done. Stops.

He stares at empty queen-sized mattress negligently pushed towards the wall, to make more space in the centre of the room. It stands right in front of the door uncovered - Kon was gathering laundry a couple of days ago. It makes the bed look barren and unnecessary. There’s an empty shopper bag with receipts for paints and condoms on it, the latest lie now in his nightstand. Tim chews on his lips.  

The smell itself is nothing of a notice: it could be any of the rags thrown around the room, but something tugs on Tim’s mind, brings him to the windowsill.

There’s that one canvas peculiarly hanged near ceiling facing away from the room, obviously darker than others. It would be a hard job to put it this way if you don’t have a TTK, Tim guesses.

He contemplates how exactly hard it could be to get it down and back up again.

He wants to think that he didn’t mean to climb the windowsill.

He takes first look on the painting as he grabs it from the hook, and almost flops down to the sill from his precarious position hanging from the window frame.

Tim is fascinated by the vividness of the painting: maroon backdrop seamlessly merges with shadows around the sole figure on painting creating vertigo of strokes and dots,  almost like the bird-eye view of a night city.  

Startled,  Tim recognizes himself on painting,  bare-chested and barefaced,  but very unmistakably Red Robin.

Man on painting poised over the viewer reaching over the upper right side of the canvas, eyes either hooded in bliss or slit in anger,  with multicoloured strokes proclaiming sweat over his chest.

He remembers a red streak of blood on his cheek,  remembers the anger and anguish of the night Kon was knocked out on a team-up with JL Dark. Remembers vindictive way he fucked into pliant body splayed on his bike,  barely into the garage after a long night. The way Kon’s dazed eyes never left his.

The way he later tugged both comforter and Tim over the spread of bed, murmuring ‘Cold’ into the back of Tim’s head. The way he felt (not normal. human. cool) on Tim’s back.

Tim figures that the voodoo sucked the sunlight charge out of Kon, and kicks him out of the bed first thing in the morning to park with Eli. He looks wrought and miserable leaving, but when hours later he returns, perked up and with two more kids in tow, Tim is relieved to learn that he was right.

He’s not particularly clingy that day, but he touches Tim more. A handclap on the shoulder. A brush of fingers as he passes Tim’s laptop charger. He goes to fly some more, leaving kids to distract Tim from work and destroy the living room.

During the dinner he pushes his bare feet under Tim’s, twine them together. Looks at Tim.

(he’s running a fever again, and Tim’s feet are cold. It is convenient (it is a relief)).

Smiles.

---

As Tim turns the light off in his office, he realizes that the cityscape outside his window looks almost like the background of that painting.

He’s already too late but really wants to take this photo now.

He finds the drone in the lowest drawer of Yves’ worktable, contemplates flying it through the labs to the roof. Nobody will bat an eye about it (it says something about his department, but he’s not sure what exactly). Thinks about the half-dead battery in the drone.

When it’s finally outside, paired with his cellphone and poised at the right side of the roof,  Tim activates it; lowers it down to the right floor,  makes a couple of sweeps to and fro until he sees himself through the drone's cam.

He toggles with controls a bit and pushes drone back and forth until he catches frame right and sees the reflection of city lights clearly behind the drone - in front of Tim.

Momentarily distracted by this dichotomy,  simultaneously seeing this landscape both in the window and mirrored on his cell’s screen.

He gets rid of the tie and opens the collar,  puts his right palm to the glass just over his right shoulder.

It's not right.

It’s too crystal, too precise, and although he likes that in his photographies, it’s not like that painting at all. He can see the drone in reflection,  for one,  and his face - tense and annoyed, for another.

Warning of low battery, peacefully blinking in the upper right corner turns angry red and the drone begins it's slow descend to fickle safety of the solid ground.

Tim pushes forward,  tries to catch a couple of shots more. Transfers everything drone shot to the cloud.

Pages security to retrieve the drone sometime during the night.

He swipes through photos in the elevator, and luckily finds what he looks for. There's one accidental shot where he's slightly off-centre, with tightly pinched eyebrow looking down to descending drone. His palm cut in half by the border of the frame, and the cityscape is a blur of lights, highlighting his face with a soft glow.

It’s perfect,  but he still tweaks a bit with colours. Deepening shadows, pulling contrasts. Making sloppy seem intentional.

His phone buzzes with an inquiry from Kon if he should tuck the kid in.

He sets home, sending a photo instead of an answer from the car.

***

Years later both painting and printed-out photo hangs in Kon’s studio in the new house.

flies drone

takes dozens of pictures

they’re pretty but not it

than battery dies and the drone takes last shot before descending down to its sure death

and the picture has blurred lights in the reflection, and Tim’s brow pinched in concern as he looks at descending drone

and it’s perfect

[booksncoffee]

get lonely with me, four

the one with the difficult scene

“You didn’t answer Heather,” Iris points out. Only because she’s curious to know the answer. Tom looks at her, confused. “Are you secretly a romantic?”

His grin appears and he raises an eyebrow at her, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Iris is pretty sure she’s never been this nervous. She was nervous for her chemistry test — before and after she found out she’d be running her lines with Tom. She was nervous for her first day of filming — because she’s working with Tom and she could feel his eyes on her when they’re on set. But if you ask her, she’d tell you that it’s because she’s working with Kim Davison. 

Not Tom Holland. 

Who she’ll have to kiss today. 

The scene they’ll be acting out is the one where Sabrina and Leon realise that they actually have a lot in common — apart from them not liking each other — and they realise that they’re drawn to each other, both literally and metaphorically. It’s one of Iris’ favourite scenes from the book because it’s such a soft, tender moment between those two. A complete opposite of how they usually act around each other. There’s tension there, but there’s also understanding. 

It’s The Moment for Sabrina and Leon. And Iris has a feeling everyone wants it to be perfect. 

This time, she’ll openly admit that she’s nervous because of Tom. 

She’s kissed actors on screen before — several times. But she wasn’t as nervous as she is right now as she sits in her trailer, trying but failing to keep her knees from bumping up and down, up and down, up and do—

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” Her makeup artist, Julie, asks her, snapping her out of her thoughts. 

“Sorry,” Iris apologises as she stops bumping her knees, cheeks heating up with embarrassment.

Julie smiles at her as she goes back to applying concealer under her eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you nervous?”

“Mhmm,” Iris answers. She doesn’t trust her voice all that much today, afraid that it’ll betray her. 

Her hand itches to reach for her phone and ring her mum, but she’s not sure if her mum will be much help when it comes to this. She’ll probably just ask her why she’s so nervous about it when she’s kissed people on screen before and Iris really doesn’t want to go there. Her mum is convinced that she still has a crush on Tom and if she rings her and tells her how nervous she is for the kissing scene, it’ll just confirm her mum’s suspicion.

“About today’s scene?” Julie asks. 

“Yeah, it’s just… It needs to be perfect.” 

“And it’ll be,” Julie reassures her. “You and Tom will do the scene justice.”

The mention of Tom’s name makes Iris’ heart beat faster. She can’t help but wonder if he’s nervous too. She bets he’s not. Just like her, he’s kissed actresses on screen before. But unlike her, he’s probably not nervous about today’s scene. Sure he seemed nervous on the first day of filming but that’s normal. Everyone gets first day jitters, she learns, even the Tom Holland.

The production team had an intimate coordinator come in a couple of days ago to help them with the scene and to choreograph Sabrina and Leon’s first onscreen kiss. It was nerve wracking but the coordinator was so friendly, so bubbly that she made Iris forget about how nervous she was about kissing Tom. They started by asking the people involved about the context — why is the kissing scene there, if they think it’s necessary for the story as well as for the characters — and once they’d gotten that out of the way, they started working on the choreography. 

Iris couldn’t tell back then if Tom was nervous. He’s an actor, after all, so he’s good at masking his emotions. And he’s a professional. Iris likes to think that she is too but when the coordinator, Heather, told Iris to press one hand on Tom’s — Leon’s — chest and the other on his cheek, her hands shook. She quickly apologised but Heather brushed it off and Tom, well, she’s pretty sure he was laughing at her. But then he also messed up his lines and it was Iris’ turn to laugh at him. 

All laughters aside, they managed to nail the choreography down by the end of the day. It took many tries, many corrections — Heather changing her mind several times to make sure they’ll get the scene right for the day of filming — but in the end, they got it. 

Still, Iris’ heart jumps to the base of her throat when she’s told she’s needed at the set and when she sees Tom already on the set talking to Kim, she thinks she might throw up. 

“Nervous?” Harrison asks as he sidles up to her out of nowhere.

“Jesus,” Iris mutters to herself, clutching her chest. “Where’d you come from?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harrison answers. “Are you nervous for the scene?”

Iris presses her lips together, considering. Harrison is Tom’s best friend so she has a feeling that whatever she tells him, it’ll get to Tom. But Harrison has also become her friend because they’ve spent loads of time together on and off set. And because there are occasions when Harrison would take her side instead of his best friend’s. 

“I am,” Iris admits before she can change her mind. 

“Tom will kill me if I tell you this,” Harrison says, dropping his voice a little, as he shifts closer to her. “But he’s nervous too.”

Iris looks over at Tom just in time for him to look over at them. He has a smile on his face but it disappears when he catches Harrison standing next to her. Then, he says something to Kim, probably to excuse himself, because seconds later, he’s stalking towards them.

“Hey, guys, what’re you two talking about?” Tom asks, his eyes darting from Harrison to Iris. There’s an edge to his voice like he already knows what they’re talking about but he wants to ask anyway. 

“Nothing,” Harrison grins. “Just wishing her good luck for today’s scene.” Then he turns to Iris and smiles, “Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

“You too, mate,” Harrison says to Tom, squeezing his shoulder as he walks past his best friend. 

As soon as Harrison is out of earshot, Tom turns to Iris. “Are you ready?”

Iris swallows the lump in her throat. “Yeah. You?”

Tom cracks his knuckles and nods, “Yeah, yeah, I guess. I just hope I won’t mess up my lines again.”

“You won’t and I hope I won’t too,” Iris tells him because if either one of them messes up their lines, they’ll have to redo the scene over and over again. Which means they’ll have to kiss each other a lot of times before they get the perfect shot. They didn’t practice the kiss with Heather, only the choreography leading up to the kiss, so today will be the first time they’ll kiss. She just hopes that they won’t mess up. 

Iris might or might not have thought about kissing Tom and not just as Leon. How it’d be like to have her lips pressed against his. Where his hands would be like when they kiss — would he put them on her cheeks? Jaws? Neck? Or would he wrap his arms around her whilst they kiss—

Iris snaps out of her thoughts, shaking her head, willing those thoughts to leave her mind. 

Tom looks at her, brows furrowing in confusion. “Are you okay?”

Iris nods.

“Shall we?” Tom asks, gesturing towards the set. 

The scene they’ll be playing out today is set in Leon’s bedroom. Sabrina was there because Ruby made her come with her for a movie night at her boyfriend, Daniel and Leon’s shared flat, and against her better judgment, Sabrina found herself in Leon’s bedroom because both her and Leon couldn’t stand the movie Daniel and Ruby had chosen to watch. There, Sabrina learned more about Leon and they started talking, realised they had a lot in common and then, the kiss happened. 

“Iris! Tom!” Heather greets the both of them with a hug and airy kisses. “How are we feeling today?”

“Nervous,” Iris and Tom answer at the same time. They share a look and then crack a smile. 

“You’ll do great — both of you,” Heather tells them. “You remember the choreography, yeah?” 

Iris nods. “Yeah.”

“I just…” Tom scratches his head. Everyone turns to look at him. “I may have a suggestion as to how we could make this scene better.”

Heather frowns. “And you didn’t think to tell me about this at least 24 hours before we film the scene?”

Tom flushes. “You’re right. Nevermind. Forget I said anything about it. It’s a stupid suggestion anyway.”

“But I didn’t say you can’t tell me what this suggestion is,” Heather continues. “Go on. Share with us.”

Tom looks at Iris briefly, cheeks still red. “Erm, so can I…” Tom trails off, pointing at the script in Heather’s hands. Heather hands it to him. He opens to the page where the kissing scene happens and then points to the line before Leon pulls Sabrina in for a kiss after they both opened up to each other. “Right. So I think there should be a bit more hesitancy? I know they opened up before that kiss but uh, up until this moment, they thought they hate each other so I just think instead of Leon kissing Sabrina just like that, he should maybe move closer and when she doesn’t budge he’d tuck her hair behind her ear, because we know how much he loves Ir-Sabrina’s hair and he should leave his hand on her cheek and he’d lean slowly and when Sabrina still doesn’t move—”

“They kiss.” Heather finishes the sentence for him. “Thomas Stanley Holland, are you secretly a romantic? I’ll let Kim know about this and if she says it’s good then we’ll go with it.”

Heather disappears and Iris turns to Tom. “That’s… amazing.”

Tom finally meets her eyes again. “What is?”

“That suggestion. It shows that despite how confident he is and how open he’s always been, he is still a vulnerable person after all. He’s still scared. And in that scene, Sabrina scares him.” 

“Yeah,” Tom says, swallowing. “And besides, he doesn’t really want to ruin what they have, you know?”

Iris agrees. The transition between enemies to lovers isn’t easy — it should be well executed for people to not feel as though the characters go from hating each other to liking each other in the blink of an eye. There should be hesitancy, doubts — lots of them.

“You didn’t answer Heather,” Iris points out. Only because she’s curious to know the answer. Tom looks at her, confused. “Are you secretly a romantic?”

His grin appears and he raises an eyebrow at her, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Iris lets out a surprised laugh and that seems to put Tom at ease. Before Iris can tell Tom to be more serious and answer her question, they’re called to set and Iris’ heart speeds as they near Leon’s bedroom. 

Before they step into Leon’s bedroom, Iris takes a deep breath, clears her head and counts to three. When she walks into Leon’s room, she’s no longer Iris Liu, she’s Sabrina Woods. And Tom isn’t Tom, he’s Leon James. 

Kim gives the cue and Sabrina looks around Leon’s room, taking everything in. She’s never been in here before and she can’t believe that she’s here. In her nemesis’ room. Her eyes land on a stack of vinyls next to his drawer. She crouches down in front of it and starts browsing. 

“You know I’ve always wished you’d stay quiet more but now that you’re so quiet, I’m scared,” Leon says behind her. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes following her every move. She thinks he’s nervous to have her in here but he’s doing a great job at hiding his emotions. “Are you plotting my death?”

Sabrina cuts her eyes at him. “Death by vinyls?”

“Hmm doesn’t sound so bad,” Leon grins. 

“I can’t believe we like the same music,” Sabrina says as she stands up and moves to his drawer. “Disgusting.”

“What, you’re the only one allowed to have taste?”

Again, Sabrina glances over her shoulder and narrows her eyes at him. “It’s just surprising,” she says with a shrug. “I thought your music taste is more like Daniel’s.”

Leon recoils with disgust. “How dare you…”

“Huh, look at that,” Sabrina picks up a picture frame. “You were… cute.”

Leon gets up from his bed and makes his way over to her, looking at the same from over her shoulder. “I was, wasn’t I?”

Sabrina lets out a small laugh. Before she puts down the frame, she points at the couple standing behind him. “Your parents?” He nods. Sabrina notices the slight tick in his jaw. “You guys aren’t… close?”

“You could say that,” Leon answers. “They, uh, got divorced when I was 11.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Leon brushes it off with a shake of his head. “I was close with my dad,” he shares, surprising Sabrina. For someone who’s an open book, Leon doesn’t talk about his family much. “He’s the one who introduced me to those bands. I used to hate them—”

“I knew it,” Sabrina mutters. “You didn’t actually have taste.”

Leon chuckles. “But I guess they grew on me. It reminds me of when things were good, you know? When my dad would take me to the record store ‘round the corner every weekend and we’d pick a vinyl or two and then we’d spend the rest of the day listening to these songs.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It was,” he agrees grimly. “So, what about you? What’s your story, Sabrina Woods?” 

“My parents aren’t divorced if that’s what you’re wondering.” 

“Lucky, but that’s not what I wanted to know.”

Sabrina raises an eyebrow at him. “Then, what do you wanna know?”

“I want to know why you’re here.” 

“Because I can’t stand that atrocious movie they’re watching,” Sabrina answers. “I’m pretty sure they’re just making out right now.”

“Wanna check?”

Sabrina crinkles her nose in disgust. “No, you pervert.”

Leon laughs. “Do you have any family tradition?”

Sabrina shakes her head. “I’m… not exactly close to my parents.”

“You’re not?” 

“Guess that’s one thing we have in common,” Sabrina admits.

“And that we have the same music taste,” Leon grins. 

Sabrina makes a disgusted face. 

“And that we hate the same movie,” Leon adds. 

Now Sabrina pretends to throw up at the only plant in his room and that makes him laugh.

“Accept it, Woods, we have a lot in common.”

“Eh,” Sabrina shrugs. She walks over to the stacks of vinyls again and before she can stop herself, she finds herself saying, “You know, there’s a record store near my neighbourhood.”

“I know.”

Sabrina rolls her eyes at him. “You should go there. Keep up the tradition.”

“It won’t feel the same going there alone.”

Sabrina takes a step closer and Leon looks at her, confused but not at all against the idea of her getting closer to him. It’s a strange thought because most days, he can’t stand her. The only reason he spends time with her is because Daniel is always around Ruby and Sabrina comes with her. He’s pretty sure she feels the same way. 

“Take Daniel.”

“I think we’ve established that he has shitty taste in music.”

Sabrina chuckles. “Or you could… take me.”

Leon raises an eyebrow at her. “You’d spend your weekend with your nemesis?”

“Would you?” She asks. There’s a challenge in her voice. A twinkle in her eyes. 

“Do you know what we’re doing right now?”

“What?”

“We’re… bonding.”

“Disgusting.”

“And for once, I’m gonna agree with you,” Leon says as he moves closer. Their fingers on top of his drawer touch and he’s pretty sure Sabrina feels it too. The electric running down their spine. Leon takes another step forward and when Sabrina doesn’t move, he swallows and takes another step until there’s barely any space between them. Then, he reaches for a strand of her hair and tucks it behind her ear, his hand lingering at her cheek. He loves her hair. It’s so beautiful. She’s so beautiful. Leon swallows again. “Sabrina…”

Sabrina doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t move either. She just stares at him like she’s waiting for his next move. 

Leon starts to lean in and he expects her to move. She’s going to push him away, remind him that they hate each other, but she doesn’t. She lifts her chin up towards him, places one hand against his chest, the touch sending shivers down Leon’s spine. Their eyes meet, an unspoken confirmation that this is really happening. That Sabrina and Leon are crossing the enemies line. Then, in one single smooth move, their mouths meet in the middle. 

At that moment, Iris has to consciously remind herself to stay in character. That although she’s kissing Tom, she’s not really kissing him. And he’s not really kissing her. Their characters are kissing. So she shouldn’t be wondering if this is how Tom kisses or if this is just Leon. The thoughts of Tom shouldn’t at all invade her mind. And she shouldn’t be thinking as Iris. She’s Sabrina Woods and the guy she’s kissing is Leon James. 

“So that’s what it feels like to kiss Sabrina Woods,” Leon says breathily, breaking away at the right time. 

Sabrina shakes her head at him and is about to turn around and leave his room because what the hell were they thinking and holy shit did she really just kiss Leon James? Leon James, her freaking nemesis. 

But before she can reach for his door, he pulls her by her hand, spinning her to him until their fronts meet. The collision takes the breath out of Sabrina’s lungs and before she has a chance to react, Leon wraps his arms around her waist and says, “You didn’t let me finish.”

“Save it.” Sabrina flushes with embarrassment. He’s going to taunt her, she just knows it. And right now, she doesn’t need that.

“You don’t want to hear me tell you that you’re a great kisser?”

Sabrina kinks an eyebrow at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“That was… quite literally the best kiss I’ve ever had.” 

Sabrina’s face breaks into a smile and then:

“Cut!”

Tom lets go of her and clears his throat while Iris takes a couple of steps back, putting as much distance as she could without making it seem like she can’t get away from him fast enough. 

Kim and Heather walk over to them. “That was great.” Heather says. 

“I like the hesitancy,” Kim continues. 

“But I think you could do the kiss better,” Heather adds. “It was good. But it was not great.”

Iris’ heart drops. This is what she fears. Tom isn’t a bad kisser, not at all, but kissing him… that was, well, it messed with her head, so much so that she broke character for a moment. That had never happened before. When she had to kiss another actor, not once had she ever stopped and wondered: so this is what it feels like to kiss him? 

But with Tom, fuck, why did she stop and wonder if this is how he kisses in real life? 

“Let’s do it one more time,” Kim says. “Or more if we need to.” 

When Heather and Kim return to the camera crews, Iris turns to Tom. “I’m sorry. It was my fault.”

“No, it’s probably mine,” Tom replies. “I think I didn’t hesitate enough. I guess I got carried away.”

Iris wants to ask Tom what he meant by that but they’re called to set and the question takes a backseat in her mind as she frets over kissing him again. And how her mum might be right: she still has a crush on Tom.

[thegoodprincess]

Together We Are Apart, but Apart We Are Together | KTH Ch. 2

Author: thegoodprincess

Pairing: Kim Taehyung | Original Female Character

Genre: romance, fantasy, action, forbidden love, human KTH | angel of death OC, supernatural au

Word Count: 2.1k [series, ongoing]

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of violence [a stabbing occurs]

Summary: After admiring a handsome boy from afar, an Angel of Death reluctantly rescues him from his own demise. As a result of going against her better judgment she inadvertently invites him into her world.

(I recommend listening to this song while reading)

Together We are Apart, but Apart We Are Together

Chapter 2. Fate

“Fate has a funny way of intervening in people’s lives.” ― Katie Ashley

It was a few months later in the dead of winter when I was walking near the Han River. Due to the icy temperatures the river was partially frozen. The ground surrounding it was coated in a fresh blanket of snow that came down earlier in the day. A chilly breeze nipped at the tender flesh of my cheek, causing an involuntary shiver to rake down my spine.

Sighing out my condensed breath formed a cloud that mingled with the crisp air. I glanced up at the sky. Overhead the pale moon glowed bright, illuminating the night sky against the backdrop of countless glittery stars. Looking around I stood alone admiring the the way the shadows created by the city lights flitted across the pavement. It was quiet, not eerily so, but in a way that emphasized the bare stillness of wintertime. Most people were at home presumably getting ready to go to sleep as it was fairly late.

I was waiting for my next patron to arrive: a man who was going to be murdered during a robbery gone wrong. This was a common occurrence for me. I was one of many angels of death. I was not a malevolent force. I did not decide who lived and who died, and how the act itself was carried out. I simply collected the souls of the fallen and escorted them to the afterlife.

It was bittersweet condoling the newly deceased once they realized their predicament. I would allow them to say their last goodbyes to loved ones and others they deemed fit before they departed into the light. But it was harrowing having to witness death first hand and being strictly forbid from interfering.

I had seen countless people perish a variety of ways. I had seen it all from natural deaths having to do with diseases or natural processes like aging, to accidental deaths like car fatalities. Suicides and homicides were some of the worst. While death was inevitable, loss of life done by the hands of oneself or by another wasn’t. There always lied a choice, humans just choose to be masters of their own and sometimes other’s destinies.

While I was a creation of purity, I had been become well acquainted with grief. It was almost as if I was stuck in an endless cycle; each time the metaphorical wound was healed it was being habitually ripped open. In the grand scheme of things it was woefully the one major downside of the duty. Tonight would be no different. I would again begrudgingly be a bystander to yet another fateful demise.

As if on cue an older man adorn in designer clothing came into view, walking cautiously with shifting eyes assessing his surroundings. His shoulders were tensed and his pace was quick as he shuffled across the sidewalk. He looked genuinely frightened as if he was paranoid that someone was following him, and I guess he wasn’t wrong.

Then seemingly from the shadows a man wearing a black ski mask and gloves appeared from behind some foliage. He snuck up and roughly grabbed the older gentleman from behind with gloved hands, startling him.

The two men fought for a short while until the masked man managed to get his forearm around the older gentleman’s neck. He began to strangle him. However, I don’t think the masked man’s intent was to maliciously murder him. Rather he was meaning to strangle the older man to the point of him passing out. This would ensure that the masked man could steal his wallet without the risk of being followed and potentially caught.

But nevertheless, the masked man exerted lethal pressure for way longer than necessary to the elder’s neck. The older man’s knees began to buckle and his struggling became less erratic. Regardless of the older gentleman involuntarily becoming compliant, the masked man had yet to let up his hold on him. The older gentleman’s arms dangled limply at his sides. He was dying.

Just then a third party came into view. I was bewildered as I wasn’t expecting anyone else to show up. A young man with a bag slung over his shoulder was inching closer and closer, until his face came into view. He seemed vaguely familiar, the distance between us was making it hard to distinguish certain features.

Then almost instantly I recognized him. It was the boy whose face I had found to be bewitching. He was indelibly engrained into my memory. While I had stopped secretly hoping to catch a serendipitous glimpse of him when I was out, there hadn’t been a day that went by where I didn’t wonder what he was doing, who he was with, or if he even frequented the same places.

He still looked the same dressed smartly in a white turtleneck, tan trousers, wool trench coat, and tartan print scarf. It was apparent that the overcast winter weather had subtly lightened his complexion by a few shades. The only significant difference about him was his hair. His once dark locks had been dyed to a golden blonde hue. In addition to the new color, the parting of his hair now showcased his entire forehead.

Regardless of the butterflies that had erupted in my abdomen from seeing him again, the feeling dissipated all too soon as my stomach sunk. There had never been a greater time where I wished he hadn’t show up, especially considering the circumstances of this situation.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

My veins ran cold, as if the very ice water of the river before us, coursed through them. Every hair on the back of my neck rose on end. I silently prayed he would turn around back in the direction he came from and not involved himself. But I was sorely mistaken. He stopped in his tracks, witnessing the killing of the elder. Swiftly dropping his bag, he ran over to help.

What ensued caused me to let out an audible gasp. The boy threw a hard punch and was able to stun the masked man momentarily, as the criminal fell to the ground. Assuming the masked man to be knocked out, the boy then attempted to help the older man who fell to his knees gasping for breath. Crouching down, the boy pulled out his phone to call for an ambulance. But his attempt was short lived.

Rising from his place on the ground a bit disoriented, the robber fumbled around in his front coat pocket and hastily pulled out a small pistol rashly pointing it at the pair with a quivering hand. The older gentleman cowered low behind the younger boy, almost as if he was using him as a shield. The boy’s arms immediately came up to surrender, remaining perfectly still. The gunman agitated at the boy’s heroics fixed his aim directly to the boy’s chest. He was purposely planning to deliver a fatal shot to his heart. All to quickly the gun shot’s sound reverberated off the concrete. I could only watch in horror.

In that moment the world seemed to turn upside down. My mind was reeling. I felt dizzy, bile crept up into my throat while all I felt was I was my heart slamming against my ribcage. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the bullet exited the barrel of the gun. Naturally the boy screwed his eyes shut while he tensed his entire body, bracing himself for the inevitable impact. A second later he flinched backwards.

Shortly after the deafening crack of the bullet penetrated my eardrums, I squinted my eyes to check where the boy had been shot. To my relief the middle of his chest was still intact, but a bright red substance began to slowly spread from his shoulder region and seep down into the area where his heart lay beating. The gunman had indeed missed his intended target, and instead shot clean through the boy’s left shoulder. The boy’s facial expression twisted into a state of confusion, shocked at what had just occurred. I assumed the adrenaline numbed his senses, altering his frame of mind.

The older gentlemen looked like he wanted to help but he remained unmoving still afraid to come out from behind the boy. The gunman tried to shoot again but to some miracle his trigger jammed. Seeing this as an opportunity to escape, the older man quickly abandoned the boy, scurrying off without looking back. But the boy was too weak to follow, he remained holding his shoulder nearly doubled over. The pain was beginning to set in.

In an effort to make due with the boy, the gunman reached into his interior coat pocket to withdraw his hand holding an odd black object. It was revealed to be a switchblade when he subtlety flicked his wrist and the blade sprung out. Since the older man escaped on the boy’s behalf, the masked man felt it was only fair the boy be robbed instead. The boy assessing the situation held out one of his hands as if to plead for mercy. A pained grimace painted his pretty face.

Then I saw the boy’s lips begin to move. The two appeared to be exchanging words. I felt petrified, so I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Their voices came out distorted, sounding more like unintelligible mumbles than any actual language. It was as though they were talking underwater.

In a last ditch attempt to save himself from further harm, I saw the boy slowly reach into his back pocket with his good hand and pull out his wallet. He dangled the wallet in front him to show the criminal before he chucked it into the snow at the criminal’s feet, hoping this would satisfy the man.

The man hastily grabbed the wallet off the ground and excitedly opened it to reveal its contents. But his smile soon faltered, boiling anger brewing in his eyes instead.

Originally it seemed he didn’t intended to stab the boy after already shooting him in a fit of blind rage, the knife was just the extra assurance he needed to intimidate the boy into cooperating. But the boy stuck his nose in business that didn’t concern him and ultimately costed the masked man.

Not only did the boy escalate the situation and cause the victim he purposely targeted to get away, but the masked man wasted time and energy grappling with the boy which increased the likelihood of him being seen and or arrested by the authorities. He went through all that troublesome effort and for what? Some chump change he could have easily pickpocketed off someone on the subway. He was throughly pissed.

The criminal was going to teach the boy a lesson. Taking the measly amount of bills out, he hurled what remained of the wallet back into the snow. He stalked closer to the boy ready to attack with a sadistic smirk.

Slowly the boy began taking small steps backwards subconsciously putting distance between him and the impending danger. Unfortunately he was unknowingly inching closer to the water.

But all hell broke loose when the boy accidentally slipped on some dangerously slick ice that caused him to lose his balance. He then clumsily stumbled backwards and plunged into the frigid water of the river, breaking through the ice in the process.

The gunman realizing the gravity of the situation, almost instantly snapped out of his aggressive trance-like state and stood there with a blank expression. It was then that he began to visibly panic, nervously looking around to see if anyone else had witnessed what had just happened. He apprehensively neared the edge of the river and looked as though he was debating whether to help the boy or not. But he knew if he did, it would only further incriminate him.

Deciding to conceal his involvement in tonight’s events, he plucked the jammed gun and wallet from the snow and hurriedly planted the two respective items by the river’s edge.

The gunman made it appear as though the boy had committed suicide by first shooting himself and then falling into the river. He subsequently raked his feet sloppily over the snow in a back and forth motion to disguise his shoe prints. Once he was pleased enough with his work, he bolted off fleeing the scene.

Quickly wrenching myself from my deep stupor, I rushed over without taking a second to assess the severity of my actions and immediately jumped in to rescue the boy.

[ressyfaerie]

Vampire Tyka? Who is the vampire is completely up to you ;)

I have never written vampires before (a 90s kid? Crazy right?). But man do I love that idea. I have a decent idea for it (No specify for dub or sub names, so I’ll just throw in dub names for now) here we gooo- 

I wrote it and damn- hot. Throwing into a read more cause long and slightly NSFW but its not bad.

Me starting to write this: Ah yes, the vampires

My bite kink:

“How could you just leave during my match? Aren’t we a team?” 

Kai was cornered in the locker room- alone- with Tyson. Tyson was yelling at him now. 

“You just got up, and left! If you were there, I probably wouldn’t have lost.” 

 Tyson held his forearm, now he looked sad, “ever since we got back from Europe, you’ve been weird.” 

Tyson was right, he was so right. Kai had been different, ever since the weird experience he had with the dark bladers. He would have never guessed they would have reappeared in his late teens, and tried what they did.

Ever since, his desire for Tyson had grown stronger- no that’s a bad choice of words, it was different. 

His amount of desire was the same, he did such a good job of hiding it before, but now- 

He craved blood. 

It scared him that that wasn’t a metaphor. 

He craved no one else, he could feel his heartbeat from across the room, see the veins under his skin. He continued to hide his cravings, he was aware this was making him sick, but he couldn’t- 

“What’s wrong Kai? Tell me.” 

Kai wanted to, he wanted to so badly, but he didn’t know where to begin. 

At this moment, Tyson’s heart raced with anxiety. Kai loved feeling the different ways his blood flowed showing his emotions- the worst, was when he was battling. 

He sat away from the rest of the team, desperately trying to ignore what was going on in the arena. 

Today he couldn’t, he could smell it, the iron taste in the air, the warmth, his ears screamed with the continuous heartbeat, he had to go- so he left- but now-

“Talk to me.” 

Tyson begged, and when he did his heart thumped faster. Kai felt his body go numb. 

“Let me leave.” Kai’s voice sounded hoarse. 

“Again? No.” Tyson scoffed, finally standing up to Kai. 

Kai had to leave, he was worried what his body would do if he stayed. He needed to go. He marched to Tyson's side, Tyson slid his body over, blocking him, Kai tried to go the other way, he still stopped him. Kai caught his bare skin in the corner of his vision, closing his eyes tightly, trying to get the idea of his veins flowing out of his head. 

“Tell me what’s wrong-” 

“Fuck off.” 

Tyson hadn’t heard Kai use that tone with him, it made him furious. 

Big mistake- his heart- Kai felt his stomach twist. 

Tyson screeched, winding his fist backward and throwing it forward to Kai’s face, Kai dodged it expertly, grabbing his fist mid-air without a problem. 

Kai held his first, Tyson’s breathing was erratic, Kai grew panicked, the whole room felt like an oven, he could taste it in the air- the sweet metal taste. 

“What’s wrong with you!?” Tyson screamed and tried to pull his fist back. Kai kept holding on to it, he tried to let go- but he couldn’t. 

“Let me go.” Tyson calmed himself down. 

Kai forced his body to let go, just a bit. 

Tyson did the unexpected, he used his other hand, running his fingers along Kai’s cheek. 

“Tyson don’t-” he started to panic, his hand was too close to his mouth. 

Tyson took a deep breath, he exhaled, using his familiar friendly voice.

“What happened to you in Europe?” 

Kai’s lip twitched, not out of annoyance, from holding himself back. 

The silence made his heart beat more, it was too much, he could feel his pulse from his thumb against his cheek. Against Kai’s will, he jerked his head, moving his mouth to Tyson’s hand, one of his fingers slipped in his mouth, and he bit down with one fang, hard. 

“Ow!” Tyson screamed pulling his hand away

He drew blood. 

He drew blood?!

Kai felt the warmth of the few droplets that fell in his mouth, his tongue tasted it, it was everything. 

“Kai what the fuck!?” 

He only had a taste, and it was gone. Trying to find the lingering taste in his mouth desperately he hung his mouth open, his eyes unmoving from Tyson.

Tyson held his fingers, blood trickling through the gaps, creating small droplets on the floor. 

Kai’s pupils grew wide as he gulped, staring at the crimson on the floor. 

“Are you on drugs!?” Tyson screeched, worried for his friend, who had changed into a monster. 

Kai had drool falling out of his mouth, the taste was more than he could ever wish for. When he let his attention fall on Tyson, he scared himself. 

Tyson was distraught, Kai wiped the drool away from his face, “Tyson- Please leave.” 

“I’m not leaving you-” 

“Go, run away- please.” Kai’s legs shook, and he fell to his knees, “go!” 

Tyson backed up, watching his friend in every kind of agony. He backed towards the door, throwing it open and running away at full pace. Kai could hear his footsteps echo and disappear down the hall. 

Kai crawled towards the droplets he left on the floor, he wiped it up with his hands and licked it off his fingers, completely losing himself in the pleasure. He felt the guilty tears roll down his face. He didn’t know where to go from here, but he knew he couldn’t be anywhere near Tyson. 

Kai had locked himself in his apartment for days. No food, no water. He wanted to punish himself for doing what he did. He had the short text chain he had with Tyson open on his phone for hours. He wanted to apologize, but how could he even start? 

It must be nighttime now, he had the blinds closed for days, he had no way of knowing. 

There was a soft knock on the door. 

Kai crawled off his couch and pushed the mass of blankets he had been holed up in. 

He checked the peephole. 

His breath got stuck in his throat when he saw Tyson. 

He should have known, he felt his heartbeat approaching from miles away, but he felt so weak he didn’t pick up on it. 

He wanted to open the door, but he was terrified of himself. 

“Kai? I know you’re in there. I want to talk to you.” 

Kai let his forehead rest on the cold door. Knowing this was the closest he should ever be to him. 

“Let me in.” 

Kai’s hand held the doorknob. 

Tyson knocked again, “Kai.” 

Kai unlocked the door letting it open just a crack, then he absconded to the corner of the room opposite to the door. 

He leaned against a wall, as far away as possible. 

The door creaked open, “Kai?” 

Tyson’s familiar soothing voice cut through the darkness. 

The light from the hallway hurt Kai’s eyes, he placed a hand over his face. 

Tyson closed the door behind him, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. 

“Kai. I think I know what happened to you, and I am so, so sorry.” 

Kai heard Tyson whimper in the dark. 

“I want you to know I’m here for you- whatever you need.” 

Kai felt the offer was funny, the only thing he wanted, offering everything he wanted, but he couldn’t do it. Not to him. 

“Is there a light I can turn on in here?” 

Kai managed to push out words in a rough voice.

“Lamp, by the couch, dim it though-” 

When Tyson turned it on it came on full force, Kai hid his face with his arms, Tyson was thrown into a panic when he saw his friend. 

“Kai! You’re white as a ghost?!” 

“Dim the light-” Kai begged, and Tyson did as he was told. 

Kai could see better in the low light, he saw a bandage over Tyson’s hand. 

“Tyson- I am so sorry.” 

Tyson held up his hand, “it’s healing.” 

“I’m sorry- I never should have done that-” 

“I’m surprised you held up that long… I did some research- have you- had any?” 

“Any?” Kai was confused by the question.

“...Blood?” 

Kai felt a heatwave ascend through his body, “no.” He answered simply, “I haven’t.” 

“According to my research… You should be dead. There’s no way you should be standing in front of me right now, and not- not attacking me.” 

“I feel dead,” Kai admitted, his limbs felt like rocks, weighing him down. 

“You need blood of some kind- haven't you been having… Cravings?” 

Kai looked Tyson up and down, “yes.” 

“For what? Everyone? Animals?” 

“For you.” 

The room was instantly silent.

“What else?” Tyson’s voice shook. 

“Nothing else. Just you.” 

“T-That’s not right.” 

“I know. That’s why I’m punishing myself.” 

Tyson tried to take a step towards him.

“Dont!” Kai placed his hands in front of him begging him to stop. “I can feel you from here, everything, every vein- heartbeat- if you get any closer I could lose it again.” 

“You have great self-control to have made it this far Kai…” 

Kai nodded. Tyson unzipped his jacket, throwing it on the couch, underneath was a thin muscle shirt. 

“Put it back on…” Kai felt saliva form in his mouth when he saw his bare skin. 

“No.” 

Kai closed his eyes, “Tyson please…” 

He heard the hardwood creak as Tyson came closer. Kai slowly opened his eyes.

“Kai, I want you to.”

“What?” Kai squeezed himself into the wall more. 

“Bite me- You need to. If you don’t-” 

“I’m not doing that.” Kai felt sweat form on his back. Tyson’s heartbeat was picking up, and he was way too close. 

“Do it,” Tyson demanded. 

“No.” Kai gulped.

“You can’t turn me. I can help you- you just can’t do too much. Can you do it?” 

Kai felt a tear roll down his face. 

Tyson took his uninjured hand and shoved it in front of his face, “do it! Bite me!” 

“No!” Kai tried to slip away but Tyson shoved his hand over his face covering his mouth.

“Do it, Kai.” 

Kai felt the cold of Tyson’s flesh against his lips, he held back, even though every nerve in his body screamed: do it. 

Tyson backed off, he grabbed the end of his shirt and threw it up over his head, now shirtless in Kai’s apartment, Kai’s desire skyrocketed. 

Before Kai was turned this would have thrown him into a frenzy, and now- 

“You said my heartbeat makes you go crazy right!? And my bare skin?” 

Tyson reached for his belt buckle undoing it, “then I’ll show you all my skin.” 

“No!” Kai ran forward grabbing his hands over the buckle, “stop this Tyson…” 

Kai saw his stomach, his chest, everything, his neck- so close.

Tyson used the opportunity to pull him into an embrace. 

Hugging him with all his might, he made sure Kai’s face was buried in his shoulder, closest to his neck. 

“Kai. I’m letting you. This is me telling you- Do it.” 

Kai tried to struggle away, Tyson held him harder, not letting him go. 

“You wanted to do this even before you turned right?” 

Kai’s body became motionless, still as stone. 

“I wondered if you liked me. Now I know, I’m the only one you desire right?” 

Kai wiggled away from his neck, now looking in his eyes. He was too weak to explain or fight back, but he at least could give him an answer.

“Yes.” 

 “Good.” 

Tyson grasped his neck, he made sure he couldn’t pull away as he kissed him. Pressing his lips against Kai’s he could feel Kai becoming weaker, he couldn't let him wither away, not like this. 

Kai wanted to bite him, he did, and he tried, but he was too weak, he couldn’t even do the thing he always wanted to do, kiss him back. 

“Kai, do it now.” 

Kai’s eyes were only half-open, “okay…” 

Kai weekly let his face fall from his lips to his shoulder. He let his tongue roll over his neck slowly. He tasted the salt of his skin, he already felt more alive. 

He placed his mouth over the soft flesh of his lower neck. His mouth watered, Tyson shivered, saliva rolled down from Kai’s mouth. He wanted to ask Tyson if he was okay, but he was too weak, his fangs just poked his neck, with a slight movement from his jaw he could have the ultimate dessert. 

“What are you waiting for…” 

With Tyson’s permission, he bit down. 

He felt his fangs sink into the flesh, he tasted the crimson delight that flowed from it. He sucked, feeling it trickle down his throat, it filled his whole body instantly. He felt the nutrients flood his organs. 

“Mm!” Tyson made a noise, Kai was instantly worried, he wanted to pull away, he let himself have one more sip before letting go for a moment. 

Blood seeped from his fang wounds, “Are you okay Tyson?” Kai couldn’t hold himself back from licking the red liquid off his perfect skin.

“You have amazing self-control…” Tyson cringed. 

“Are you okay!?” Kai stopped licking for a moment to ask again, then went back immediately to roll his tongue over the seeping wound. 

“It felt…” Tyson mumbled, “Good.” 

Kai’s eyes widened in surprise, he pulled away from Tyson’s neck. 

“You already look so much better…” Tyson looked over his face, which was now flushed with colour. 

“I feel better… You liked it?” Kai tilted his head confused. 

“I did…” Tyson blushed, “I really did- Do you want more?” 

Kai started at his neck, the wound hadn’t clotted, it was calling to him. 

“Yes- but I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t. You know when to stop.” 

“I do.” Kai could sense the blood in his body, he knew how much he needed, and how much he could take- safely. 

 “Do it again.” 

This time Tyson turned around, so Kai saw the back of his neck. He pulled his long hair to his front, so he had a bare area of his neck ready for Kai. 

Kai reached around his abdomen, Tyson grasped one of his hands, bringing it to his neck and holding it there. 

“Woah.” Kai was pleasantly surprised. 

“Bite me again.” This time Tyson wasn’t demanding but… Teasing? 

Kai licked around the wound from before, from this position it was easier to get a good grip, he bit down, creating new bite wounds, and sucked. 

“Ah!” Tyson made sounds of pleasure, Kai couldn't understand how he enjoyed this- but he wasn’t complaining. 

Kai could feel it- it was about time for him to stop, he sucked, making sure to savour the last he could, he popped his mouth off the soft area. 

He still bled a bit, Tyson begged, “more…” 

“I can’t do anymore Tyson-” 

“More-”

“I can’t-”

“No,” Tyson grabbed his other hand, He pushed it down, over top of his jeans-

“More.”

[skamamoroma]

WTFOCK Season 3 Analysis- Touch and Distance - (Sander focused)

First of all, this will be long. As in, VERY long. If you know me and you followed me at ALL for Skam Italia or WTFOCK ‘analysis’ posts (which I WILL finish) then you’ll know the length to expect… so if you get even half way, you deserve a medal. 

So, I have been promising this for a LONG time. I think I first said I’d write this when the reunion clip was released and I just… haven’t but seeing as we’re all in quarantine and I’m doing anything and everything to stay sane in my flat alone and we could all do with stuff to cheer us up, I’m offering this to fandom and I hope it makes you smile.

I think the reason I fell in love with Skam, the format and the intense character focus is because I love just that. I have always had an obsession with strong character driven TV shows/movies and even when I was tiny, I wrote an essay about Mary Poppins because I found her so mysterious and amazing. Shows like Skam and its remakes, when they’re GOOD they’re really really bloody amazing, mainly because they hone in on character detail and really use it for that perfect Skam-esque “show not tell” format. I’ve always found that kind of stuff so interesting and over the years have held this little collection of couples/characters/friendships from allsorts of shows/movies/theatre dear because they celebrate nuance… and Skam just spoils me!!

I have been MASSIVELY impressed with WTFOCK have done with Sander. He feels so fleshed out and dynamic as a character and in SO MANY DIFFERENT WAYS too. I think one of the things I was so giddy about was the way they still managed to keep the mystery there while also making it seem like we knew him so well. And we do. But I think that’s the reason it’s so cool because a lot of the things we know about Sander, he hasn’t really TOLD us. We’ve learned it through his actions or from reading into his words, from his reactions to people and the way he lives his life. That, to me, is like crack hahaha. I live for that stuff and for analysing a character and so I became a bit fixated on the way they used touch in season 3.

Now, it’s not just with Sander but with Robbe too. Touch was an ENORMOUS part of the season and we never really EVER had either of them talk about it. Robbe never really expressed verbal discomfort with touch early on but we saw it and Sander never expressed how important touch was to him but we witnessed it...and now we’re watching wtfockdown with Sander specifically struggling with lack of touch. Safe to say, I knew I had to write this eventually and after quite a few messages (you lovely lot), I am doing this for you. Enjoy!

SANDER FIRST...

SANDER.

When it comes to Sander, I feel like I have SO MUCH TO SAY but I think, the most important thing, is that touch is a cornerstone of character in terms of what calms him, what makes him happy, what makes him feel connected, what soothes him, how he expresses love, how he wants to show love, how he flirts… ALL OF IT, and distance is what plagues him. 

I re-watched each clip in turn and I’m still obsessed with how they layered his character with this idea. No other Even and not even Even himself has this element so strongly emphasised. Yes, they all like touch and some of the parallels have specific things that form part of their character like Eliott and Lucas and the whole touch of skin thing and Cris/Joana with the hair/cheeks thing and Even always loved to ground himself in touching Isak ETC… but with Sander, it’s such a narrative and it’s woven in so beautifully. ABOVE ALL, what makes me smile and what is so meaningful is that as Robbe grows and opens up and learns about touch himself (see my Robbe post to come), we see that Sander is gifted this really sweet boy who LOVES to touch and who is incredibly affectionate and finds himself learning that he is INCREDIBLY good at providing comfort. So their love story also becomes a story of touch and navigating distance from those perspectives.

I guess writing it out helps to see it so I’ll go chronologically. 

The first time we see Sander use touch is when he’s in the kitchen with Robbe. The entire scene is practically choreographed it’s so fluid but the lack of space, the shuffling around each other and the general ‘oh my god this person makes me feel things’ vibe makes the fact that when Sander purposefully touches Robbe for the first time, it’s a THING… that hand on his back. They do kind of brush up against each other a few times but that little linger of the camera on Sander’s hand on Robbe’s back makes me GIDDY because it’s all so intentional. It’s Robbe’s face that does me in. You don’t need his words because he does this sort of glance behind him and a bashful sort of dazed stumble… it’s so obvious that being touched like that by Sander got to him in an overwhelming way. It’s all electricity and that kind of giddy new love thing in the kitchen but that moment KILLS me because it’s touch that Robbe WANTS but doesn’t feel able to have… but Sander gives it because he’s SANDER. He’s demonstrable and purposeful (I will use that word a lot!) with touch.

Sander does stuff in a way that’s bold and purposeful (told you) and touch is part of that. ALL THE WAY OR NO WAY - right? So many times, you can see Sander decide and then act immediately. SO MANY TIMES. In the supermarket, feeding Robbe, in the bar when he decides to take Robbe off on an adventure, at the swimming pool ETC. SO MANY. And touch is a thing all wrapped up in that sense of purpose and spontaneity. His actions are mostly not overbearing or unwanted though which is so key. People seem to feel comfortable with him even if he is a little forward and NOBODY more than Robbe. Robbe doesn’t recoil, he lets it happen and not in the passive way we see him do early on but in the OH WOW HE TOUCHED ME way that can only come with attraction and early feelings. BUT THEY HAD KNOWN EACH OTHER HOURS. Hours, and Robbe was fine with it. 

Sander and flirting... HE IS SO OBVIOUS and touch is part of it every single time. That whole ‘oops I rolled into you in the sand’ is just textbook, man! Hahaha. I laugh at him early on because he is genuinely adorable with how obvious he is. Same can be said for the “oops I just need to grab this bottle that just happens to be right next to you which means I need to stand so close to you and wrap my arms around you’ - hahahaha. Not to mention the ‘oh let me teach you to turn on the oven and lightly touch our fingers’. Purposeful. 

Then you get the first time they’re together alone for their bike ride. I mean, we all know Sander is giddy. It’s what makes it so sweet to watch because he’s just SO HAPPY to have Robbe by himself and to go off on this adventure together. I LOVE the way he holds Robbe’s hand after they high five…. BOY. He takes advantage of stuff while he can. But when they get to the pool, it’s obviously an Even move and we all know how it goes but the first time he touches Robbe is to kiss him. We know it’s all he wanted, we know it was his plan, we know he’s been wanting to do it a long time but I LOVE that they kept in the recoil from Robbe because it is absolutely NOT a gradual progression for Robbe when it comes to Sander… it’s ALL IN and scary and overwhelming and Robbe’s instincts kick in but the second Robbe kisses Sander back, we get the start of seeing Sander and touch being a HUGE DEAL. Robbe is still learning and faced with the way Sander acts first, thinks later, the differences between them in this moment are STARK. It’s why it all goes so catastrophically wrong afterwards but why I understood what Robbe did even if it was so very wrong. 

Sander is SUCH an Even and I’ve always said he reminds me of Even the most of all the parallels but especially when he kisses. He’s a passionate dude! He kisses with meaning and with all he has and it’s little wonder Robbe described it as his head exploding… poor guy! You get that first glimpse of Sander acting on his feelings and he’s overwhelming. In that pool, he grasps and holds on and Robbe’s hair becomes a total THING for him. 

For me, I get most interested in touch from Chernobyl onwards. THAT CLIP. The stuff in it that’s so subtle but AMAZING when it comes to Sander makes me roll around in it, in the way it MEANS so much and says a lot about who he is. The DISTANCE he keeps from Robbe is not something we’ve seen from him yet. It’s clearly not comfortable for him but he deserves to keep it until he feels comfortable and I LOVE LOVE LOVE that he only moves closer but DOESN’T touch Robbe yet. And this next moment is what sparked my obsession…. The “i’m going to nearly kiss you and then not kiss you” moment. He uses touch to make a point. Purposeful. He stands close but they don’t touch and then he teases with it… tests Robbe’s response with it to see what he’d do. Robbe doesn’t move and allows it. He then clarifies how Robbe feels about stuff now and the second he gets his answer … fuck all of that noise and fuck all the issues I had in my head (a sentiment we KNOW Sander understands and grasps onto eventually - Chernobyl being the way he himself describes the effects of his bipolar disorder) he goes all in and closes the distance. KILLS ME. That use of touch to make a point is Sander ALLOVER. Never without purpose.

They don’t STOP touching AT ALL… until it’s used AGAIN. This time, this huge focus on pulling apart. It’s gradual. They disconnect from their bodies then they disconnect from lips and then that lingering shot on their hands and the whole holding on until the very last second…COME ON. It’s so perfect. So intentional and so meaningful. The fact that Sander holds on purposefully for so long until he absolutely can’t anymore, it makes him STUMBLE…. If that’s not a whole metaphor for who he is as a character then I don’t know what is! He WON’T allow that distance until he absolutely has to… and that fact characterises their ENTIRE story right up until wtfockdown!

Onto the cuddle scene and again, from Chernobyl, it’s full of poignant moments. It’s an overload in terms of seeing Sander respond to touch. There’s a lot of touching in this clip, a lot of playful stuff and kisses and cuddles but I think there are a few specifics that are in there for a reason that say so much. The first is the hair stroking. Now, we know Robbe and Sander LOVE touching each other’s hair and there’s a fair amount of pulling involved too… haha… but it’s so telling the way that Sander relaxes under Robbe’s touch. He spends most of that scene with his eyes closed. It relaxes him, makes him sleepy and comfortable and Robbe clearly realises it because when Sander seems distressed, Robbe goes straight to do it again. It’s all part of Robbe’s journey wrapped up in there too, learning how his touch can be soothing.I love that Sander barely moves from his position upside down on the bed. He allows Robbe the ability to do ANYTHING. He lets Robbs move around him, lets Robbe touch him and climb on top of him. He just basks in it and please go rewatch it and watch his eyes even when Robbe is talking… he closes them constantly like it’s making him fall asleep. He’s so comforted by it. When Robbe climbs on him, his eyes are even closed! He’s just VERY VERY happy allowing Robbe anything when it comes to moving around him and in his space. He lets Robbe koala himself on his back without a flinch, is so comfortable with the affection and clearly soaking it all in. I think the other moment is when Sander realises Robbe’s jealousy/upset and goes to very purposefully lie down against him to tuck his head under Robbe’s chin. The purpose in it, at the time, seemed kinda sheepish but we know better now. We KNOW Sander had tried to distance himself from Britt but she wasn’t allowing it and this is Sander purposefully closing that distance, taking it back and seeking Robbe’s touch again. It’s like he’s had that comforting touch now and, without it, it doesn’t feel right so he closes the distance the VERY SECOND he can. He does this a few times from here on out too… that lack of ability to stay apart from Robbe, the wish to keep that comfort coming. 

There’s this struggle we see from him AGAIN and AGAIN. When stuff with Robbe suffers because Sander’s truth gets in the way (with Britt texting in the cuddle scene, with their distance before the reunion where Sander tried to leave Robbe behind etc)... he CANNOT wait to remove the distance as quickly as he possibly can. The only exception is when they’ve been apart post hotel and Sander is unwell… but we know he’s frightened, embarrassed, worried about hurting Robbe and we know that he’s trying to keep Robbe at arm’s length to protect him but… and I’ll get onto it later but it’s PERFECT to me that the second he has touch back, the second Robbe kisses him, he crumbles. It means THAT MUCH to him. It’s such a pattern with him and it starts here, with Sander crawling across the bed, not allowing Robbe to be too far away while he still has him. 

For me, it epitomises that idea of “i don’t know if I’ll find someone like that, at least not someone who loves me”. Because, for Sander, he WANTS so badly. He wants to be in love and to find someone special and be able to show love but he’s terrified. For such a purposeful person, someone who acts on instinct, that is clearly so hard for him. He WANTS but he has to force himself NOT TO for all of the reasons he gives and for all of the reasons we can read from his behaviour. Those moments he stays away - aka post assault, post hotel - are all for a good reason and yet the second he realises that the worries that lead to his belief that he can’t HAVE are unfounded or resolved, he closes any and all distance and holds on for dear life. “I’m never ever letting go of you”. ALL THE WAY OR NO WAY. He either allows himself everything and that ‘all in’ sense of falling head over heels and clinging on for dear life or he cuts and runs… and the cutting/running part honestly must have hurt so badly for him. We know how much Robbe means to him and how much touch and comfort he gets from their relationship… to leave that behind when he can’t remain over the other side of the bed from Robbe normally must have been so hard for him. 

ANYWAY. The date. I’ve talked about this endlessly but the first minute or so of this clip is some of the best chemistry I’ve seen in the SCU and, in general, to be honest. It hit me like a freight train when I first saw it. For LGBT+ folks, seeing stuff like this is impactful. Mainly because it’s shown as so natural and normal and given the same respect and focus on desire and sweetness and simplicity as hetero love stories have been given for millenia! 

They touch constantly throughout this clip but I just LOVE the focus on it. The camera lingers. Every shot is there for a reason. Sander’s touch goes from playful to casually affectionate to passionate to suggestive within seconds and he drowns in it! It’s mesmerising to watch. Again, it almost feels choreographed. The moment that kills me is Sander just running one finger across Robbe’s collar bone. WHOEVER decided to include that --- director or writer or even actor --- it’s just perfect. It’s so Sander. He doesn’t stop touching and that little focus on the fact that he always wants to show how he feels through touching Robbe...the fact that it is on his skin when Robbe is wearing a full on sweatshirt shows how much Sander seeks intimacy out. It’s so purposeful once again and yet so simple… but the main thing is that Sander uses touch to keep that connection going. The music change at that exact moment is what does it for me. It’s dream-like, swoony and mesmerising. You can feel the dazed sense of love and adoration, the intimacy of the fact that Sander can’t help but hold onto Robbe’s hair again and even when he’s whispering to him, can’t help but chase it with kisses. Sander uses every thought and feeling he has inside and translates it directly into touch. He communicates with it! 

Which leads pretty nicely onto the reunion… because the next time we have Sander able to reach out physically is SO MUCH LATER. The assault, the distance Robbe enforces (for good reason because of what he believes happened at the party) and then the confusion about the mural creates SO MUCH DISTANCE.

The start of the reunion clip is one of my all time favourite SCU moments from any remake. The acting is near perfection. I’ve posted tons about it before but GOD. I love that, to this point, after that intense, hazy kind of love they were starting in the bar… everything was torn away from them. As I said before, Sander is either ALL IN or not at all. When he’s in, he’s REALLY in and touch is fundamental. 

So it KILLLLLLSSSSSS MEEEEEEE (Yes, I am being dramatic but GOD) that the first thing he does when he walks in the foyer of Robbe’s building, without explanation and after so long apart and so much mess existing between them is… close the distance between them physically. 

This scene reminds me of the La Grotta scene from Skam It s2. Every touch and movement in that scene with Marti and Nico is a form of communication and it’s the same here. I guess it’s why I love both scenes so much because ‘show not tell’ is precious and intelligent and so so much more meaningful for a viewer. The way Sander just stands there and then without words, kisses Robbe and tries to do what he can normally do so easily and communicate through his touches is heartbreaking. But too much has gone on. It’s not possible to communicate that way after so much hurt and confusion. 

Then that forehead touch. GOD. I remember watching it and being so bowled over without how much was SAID by both of them. The way that Sander leans into it like he KNOWS he can’t use kisses to sort it all out but just NEEDS comfort and Robbe’s touch… and the way Robbe lets himself have it for a moment but then makes genuine crying noises of frustration to get Sander to stop. The “I want this so much but stop, it’s not fair what you’re doing” is so obvious in his actions. It’s all because it’s how they communicate. BECAUSE touch is their love language, the fact that they can’t give into it is PHYSICALLY painful for them both. They both just stand there with their eyes closed. Sander looks exhausted, devastated but also so deeply comforted by Robbe’s presence and the fact that he can be close to him again in equal measure. Robbe lets out this big sigh and it screams “I know, I feel the same, this feels so right and I miss you so much but I can’t let you forget everything that happened” - YET THEY DON’T STOP TOUCHING. I love that regardless, they stay connected and cannot physically part themselves. It’s written all over Sander’s face how much it means to have Robbe so close and Robbe’s little nose rub is plain adorable. They are literally standing there comforting each other while at the same time trying to communicate through nothing but touch… and the RELIEF in those touches too. 

It’s little wonder that what happens next happens in the way it does. Those few words from Sander and the touches between them are enough for them to just KNOW. Their connection is so fundamental that it’s worth fighting through and relying on that gut instinct for them. 

Sander is then able to do what he’s good at and be purposeful, firm and to throw himself into it. ALL THE WAY. Once he knows he is ok again, that he has permission and is allowed to let his heart go, he just falls into it and it’s ALL TOUCHING from then on. Every kiss is so meaningful and there are a few specific moments that are really meaningful to me. 

The first one is Sander’s smile when he lands on the bed. He is never happier than when he’s able to be free like this. He revels in the ability to throw himself into his feelings. He’s ridiculously enviable tbh. The next moment is the whole clawing, clinging thing he does. Yet again, poor Robbe’s hair gets yanked every which way but I love that we get that glimpse of ‘never letting you go’ mentality he has to keep Robbe as close as physically possible and the way he closes his eyes, smiles and loses himself in those moments. They’re so close to Sander POV it’s crazy. It reminds me of during the cuddle scene when he closed his eyes. Touch grounds him in the most astounding way! I LOVE that the lyrics during this as “take it how you want it, take all my love”. PERFECT, man. That idea of give and take is SO IMPORTANT for them, for Sander especially. The ALL THE WAY mentality he has means that he could only EVER fall in love with someone who is able to counter it, someone who is able to GIVE IN to Sander the way he needs and lose themself too the way he likes. He could only ever fall in love with someone as willing to give and take the way that he is with comfort… and Robbe fits the bill, which is obviously as much of a surprise to him too! I think that’s where their connection comes in. That spark between them and the way they feel for each other is one of contentment so they’re quite happy taking what they need from the other person because the other is SO GIVING. Robbe is so affectionate which is what Sander craves and Sander is so purposeful and bold in his ways which is what Robbe needs. The last moment is the hand holding. Again, Sander is grounded by that physical connection. He clings and holds on and receives so much comfort from it. The knowledge that they’re in something together is clearly huge for them both.

The morning after scene is most meaningful in terms of touch when they get into Robbe’s room. I LOVE how natural it all is. Sander is very happy letting Robbe do what he wants again and it’s almost seamless for Robbe just to sit on his lap. But he’s completely incapable of reigning himself in. The purposeful side of Sander comes out in full distraction mode with Sander genuinely incapable of keeping his hands to himself. The whole playful kind of sexy “I’ll throw you around” thing is not only them at peak comfort with each other but Sander’s way of physically showing he’s not going anywhere, of reminding Robbe that he’s all Sander’s attention is on and all he cares about and that he can DO this now, just toss Robbe onto the bed and crawl all over him - hahahaha. He treats Robbe like he’s precious and completely focused on but also treats Robbe perhaps the way HE wants to be treated… those promises followed by touching with a little possessiveness, that reminder that he won’t be left alone. He gives it all to Robbe and in true Sander style, tries to communicate through touch as much as he possibly can because words mean honesty and they mean a risk of losing it all. 

The next notable moment is YET AGAIN, Sander playing with touch when he arrives at the flat. The “nope, Robbe, you’re not getting what you want until we do this fun thing I want to do with you to create a tradition”. He does it twice, playing with denying Robbe touch and physical contact. He has a task to do and he needs Robbe focused on it so he uses touch to keep that focus sharp… and then the fact that the VERY SECOND that task is done, Sander literally walks straight into Robbe’s arms and kinda carries him off towards Robbe’s room makes me laugh. He’s like “ok touching is allowed right this instant” … he knows himself. If he’d have allowed them to touch before he did his task, there’d have been ABSOLUTELY NO SHOE PUT OUT! He’s self aware ;)

Then the hotel… and oh my heart breaks and is soothed in equal measure because this evening was HANDS DOWN one of my most favourite Skam watching experiences. It is gut wrenching in real time and so beautifully acted, I can’t handle it, especially from Willem DS. That kid can act rings around most professional Hollywood actors. They both can. Yet another Skam remake showcasing young talent at its most special and honest. Anyway, I digress!

The shower scene has to be talked about. The show runners etc explained why they included it where the original didn’t (although planned to!) and I get why some found it a little too much but, for them, it worked. I mean, I’m not the person to talk about sex scenes but I definitely CAN talk tons about them when they’re MEANINGFUL and layered and this one is. It’s complete and utter trust. I love so much of the camera work here because you can see they tried to be as respectful as possible while also getting the meaning across and it worked so well… especially as the stuff that clicks for me is Sander’s behaviour. He’s so lost in it. Again, he’s someone who acts on instinct and needs someone who will respond to him with understanding. If someone’s not on the same page then he’s THROWN (and this is why the whole cyber sex things is killing me with its meaning for him!).  Again with Robbe’s hair being pulled all over the place but Sander allows himself take and be taken and it’s so important to who he is that it’s ALL THE WAY kind of love and that he’s allowed to be both in control and also completely vulnerable.

The way they segue into the shot of the bed and sander is completely wrapped up in Robbe’s arms kills me. There’s no one right way for them. Touch comes to Sander in his ability to be DEMONSTRABLE and also to RECEIVE. In these moments, he just snuggles into Robbe and takes and takes and takes and takes… but only because Robbe is so perfectly willing to provide. It’s why they work. That balance is what is so key about their relationship. Sander feels ok to suddenly go from firm and handsy to extremely vulnerable and the shot when the camera closes in on his face so serene and at ease, happy to be kissed repeatedly on the forehead by Robbe is just incredibly meaningful and emotional. He is allowed to be himself and to fall into it without worry even when he’s at his most vulnerable. He basks in it and it’s so comforting to watch. I love that he plays with Robbe’s necklace because not only is it him looking at a guardian angel around Robbe’s neck but it’s like a tick to ground him and comfort him right back. A touch to something so fundamentally Robbe.

The segue into the second clip where Sander is even MORE wrapped up in Robbe’s arms breaks my heart. I remember seeing the og Skam cuddle clip all those years back and realising that my god, I’d never seen affection from an LGBT+ couple before in that innocent, gentle, normal way! It’s sad that this was the case but it’s why Skam got under my skin and why the s3 storyline is always so precious to me. This is yet another example but throw in the respect shown to mental illness in a really human and raw way and I’m gone. I love that Sander is able to be so cuddly and open without worry. He’s going through it, struggling and when this clip aired I remember almost every post in the tag was about his eyes, the frantic eyes showing that so much is going on inside his head while he lies there still, soaking up the comfort Robbe is willing to provide. The antithesis is insane but works so well. Robbe has no idea that he’s effectively holding Sander together. He’s clinging on. He’s doing what he always said he would and never letting Robbe go.

The night time switch into Sander’s struggles hurts because he’s still trying so hard not to let go but his brain is struggling, he’s panicking, he’s not in control of himself and he’s scared. You can see it all over his face, in his eyes and body language that he WANTS to stay with Robbe and when Robbe asks him to come back, tries to pull him back to cuddle, Sander goes because he ALWAYS DOES. He tries so so hard till he can’t try anymore and that distance is forced upon him. It was devastating to watch in real time because we all KNEW what was going to happen (we’d seen it all before) but, for some reason, the way Sander was and what we’d learned about him made him being separated from Robbe in this vulnerable state really upsetting. He was so happy in Robbe’s arms, so comforted and then all of sudden it was gone. 

The fact that the cycle happens again to lead us into the next time we see Sander physically WITH Robbe is just crazy meaningful because this time, Sander’s truth is not able to be hidden. He can’t use touch to distract and to ignore his thoughts and reality. Everything about the way he acts is out of shame and embarrassment and fear of not being loved for who he is - flaws and all. When I eventually finish my analysis posts, I have SO MUCH to say about this but my goodness, Sander is the only Even aside from Eliott who doesn’t reach out and they both have that same feeling of shame in common. The difference is that Sander actively tries to hide away, to push Robbe away and ACTS on what the other Evens said aka I’ll hurt you, it won’t work, I should leave… he physically does that. The thing that makes me a little misty eyed is the fact that he also provides Robbe with information to help find him. He desperately wants Robbe to be the only one to find him while also simultaneously wanting him as far away from him as possible. He’s done it before with the mural, that “I love you and I need to show you but I can’t be with you”. It’s that desperate pull they have that just ends in mess but at the core has such love and comfort. Sander has run away from everyone, hasn’t reached out to any of them except Robbe and it’s his way of closing that distance even if he’s so sure Robbe is better off without him. Why else would he send Robbe that message, effectively using their history and experience to suggest where he is. Robbe was all he wanted, was all that comforted him (hence the drawings all over the walls) and the fact that when Sander is found, he kept pushing and pushing and pushing and resisting and falling apart through grief and pain and shame and every other negative feeling that overwhelms him… but STILL follows when Robbe asks. He’s trying so hard for the NO WAY of it all but it was never going to work. The fact that when Robbe properly touches him, he falls apart is just about the most obvious thing for me. Robbe is comfort and safety. He may not have all of the answers but just being close is so clearly and viscerally affecting for Sander that he collapses and lets Robbe take the weight of him both literally and metaphorically. That touch is all he needs to fall back into ALL THE WAY and let himself believe.

The fact that the next scene starts with Sander, completely wrapped around Robbe, their skin touching and Robbe stroking Sander’s hand just goes to show how much he allowed himself to use that touch again not only as comfort but as belief that he doesn’t need to mask things anymore. He doesn’t need to pretend and hide his reality, he can be open and vulnerable and also have the ALL THE WAY too. Robbe is that solid warm weight and reassurance. The purposeful Sander is still buried there, it’s just the vulnerability is too overwhelming and so he relies so much on Robbe here to provide what he needs. And god BLESS Robbe’s enormous affectionate heart because he’s perfect with him. Sander clearly meant the words from the day before, signifying he really expected Robbe to change his mind in the morning...those really quiet questions in the dark to Robbe are just heartbreaking because he needs reassurance. Robbe closes the distance to him, gets so close, kisses him multiple times, presses their foreheads together and doesn’t judge… and Sander is completely comforted enough to be able to fall asleep.

THEN… one of my ultimate favourite moments of Sander and touch. It’s like a culmination of EVERYTHING we’ve learned about Sander (and also it’s the same for Robbe but I’ll leave that for my Robbe post!!). He’s still vulnerable but getting back to his usual self a little playing games with Milan and you can see the spark in his eyes, the way he uses his words again to assert how he feels but, above all, it’s that contrast between him asking for a kiss and leaning back into Robbe in this purposeful way that’s perfectly softened by the fact it’s him receiving and seeking comfort too. It’s then that both sides of Sander come together and the fact he’s found what he seeks it in one person is so special. Robbe is EVERYWHERE. He’s all hands in Sander’s hair, legs either side of him, resting his chest against Sander’s back, holding his head gently, kissing everything he can get his lips on (mouth, nose, head, hair) and then settling with his arms around Sander’s neck. It’s EVERYTHING. Sander has shown from the start in most things he does how much touch is important in terms of asserting himself, seeking comfort and showing love and in this tiny little scene it has ALL THREE and is why they are both so dear to me as a pair. It’s INCREDIBLY romantic and very reassuring for anyone who has ever struggled in the way Robbe or Sander has… because it confirms that it is possible for people with specific needs and people who have been shaped by their experiences and come out of it with certain needs and vulnerabilities are able to be loved completely without judgement.

“In good time, you’ll come to know, when you release, when you let go, you can find yourself where you belong”

The best thing though is the way that Sander responds in this moment. He shakes his head and smiles to himself like he’s coming out of a trance. That little ‘yeah’ is adorable. That moment is enough to say all there is about what touch means to Sander as a human being and a partner. For a moment, Robbe helps him forget, sends him a little dizzy with love, gives Sander overwhelming comfort that Sander disappears into it and, as cheesy as it sounds, they fit. It’s exactly what all of the Even and Isak parallels had, that ‘i save you, you save me right back’ love story. They all did it in different ways but with these two, I was stunned with how much they put into the unspoken, especially with Sander. We don’t see him as much, we don’t get inside his head like Robbe’s but we still understand him, possibly more than any other Even parallel by the end of season 3 and this is the season closest to the original for unanswered questions! It’s why I don’t at all mind questions left unanswered and a lack of exposition and clean cut resolution because if the emotion is there and the nuance is there then it does half of it for you. 

I love that the final scene of the season, for Sander purposes, is him wrapped in Robbe’s arms! It’s kinda poetic.

I love his character so much. He’s insanely expressive and complex and he’s fascinating to me and to have WTFOCKDOWN is a total gift...because not only does it give us insights we’d never have gotten otherwise, we get this continuation of Robbe and Sander’s relationship and what is it about…. TOUCH. Hahaha. I mean, I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect topic for exploration of who they are together as a starter for ten, not to mention it’s so Sander focused too!

When it comes to Wtfockdown, we get to see Sander operating in enforced distance. We KNOW that when distance has been a thing in the past, he has tried everything he can to make up for it (murals, drawings, reaching out to Robbe cryptically). That compensation for the distance never ever worked. It always made it so that when Sander eventually had Robbe close again, he threw himself back in head first and touch was HUGE when it came to that. Now, Sander has Robbe completely and vice versa and no doubt knows fully what it is like to have that comfort and touch all of the time… but now it has been taken away. For Robbe, he’s an affectionate koala of a human but his relationship with touch has been a journey of discovery and of self but he doesn’t depend on it like Sander does. He communicates with it but, for Sander, it’s a vital part of who he is. I love that the first clip has Sander asking to meet up… hahaha. I remember being so giddy reading that because OF COURSE. He’s trying everything he can again. Then he broke my heart because this time, his form of compensation is to take Robbe with him on his walks. It’s yet ANOTHER form of compensation to try to fill that void where touch once was! 

Clip 2 starts their face to face journey and GUYS. I mean, Sander flat out saying that the thing he misses most about Robbe is his touch just about broke my heart and made me giddy once again! They really did that. He’s so happy to see Robbe, to spend time with him but over and over again he’s repeating ways to stop the distance like swapping places with Robbe’s mamma…! Bless his heart. The fact that he says “there’s nothing better than you”, he REALLY does mean it. We’ve seen a whole season of why that’s the truth! We’ve seen him reach that conclusion! Also, that compensation once again on dreams and daydreaming… ANY WAY HE CAN to stop the distance. He breaks my heart. 

Clip 3...ONCE AGAIN. “The endlessness of this tunnel symbolises the physical distance between them”. He cannot cope with it. This one made me a bit emotional when I first saw it. They’re not just words for his fairytale; he means them. The distance is DIFFICULT for him.  You can see it on his face when he says those words, he frowns. He’s speaking the truth even if he’s making it seem a little light hearted. Then that little private moment where it says he just wants to be with Robbe. It’s genuinely incredibly hard for him to not have Robbe nearby. For someone who thrives and depends so much on touch, the distance is painful and a genuine loss. It’s not just ‘i miss my boyfriend’ because there’s a real nuance there, a real part of who Sander is that prioritises touch and closeness so significantly. 

Clip 4. It took me FAR too long to get through this clip the first time around because I SHOULD NOT BE SEEING THIS but hey ho. I watched it again for you, dudes. Sander’s on the quest for compensation for the distance again, this time trying something new and yea, it’s a risk but he means it. It’s something he wants to try because it’s Robbe and it’s fun and he loves him and misses him and feels like it’s another way to feel like the distance isn’t so vast. The moment Robbe tells him he’s not into it, Sander looks a little crushed but immediately understands and lies down. Now, for me, I might be reading so much into it but because we have seen what touch means, as a stand in for it, and Sander now feeling so comfortable with Robbe, that moment of ‘I’ve gone too far’, ‘we’re not on the same page’ is huge for them. Sander can’t find what he’s looking for during the distance and you can see he feels so embarrassed but the moment he laughs at himself, tells Robbe that just lying together is enough and respects Robbe, you can see him trying to get back on that even plane. He loves Robbe so much and would never want to make him feel uncomfortable but for that split second, the comfort they have built wavered and Sander’s ability to be completely vulnerable was questioned… until it wasn’t and all was well for the moment because they talk and love and try. I love that they did that. I love that Sander’s inherent need for closeness was brought to light and Robbe’s need to GIVE affection was shown to be so true… only in person. Robbe thrives off that honest touch whereas Sander is grounded by it, comforted by it and finds it necessary...so without it is left floundering. THE LAYERS, guys. Rolling around in them!!!!

Clip 5 and we see Sander questioning himself. Sander still hasn’t quite felt ok since the other night and  he’s letting it affect him. That questioning himself is the same stuff we saw pre-final reunion where he allows his issues to cloud his judgement and he spirals a little when left to his own devices. It’s that insecurity that Robbe managed to settle in him, that push and pull they have but Sander is human and he’s struggling and Robbe’s not there to provide that settlement. He doesn’t RELY on Robbe so much as WANT him because he makes things better. The fact that all the while, Robbe is learning how far his own ability to provide affection and closeness from afar is able to go by seeking advice from Milan makes me want to weep… because the writing is perfect! Of course he is. Everything we know about him tells us he’d do this!

So we’re in present day and I can’t wait to see what they do next. The way they write these two separately and together shows so much understanding of who the characters are, what they mean to each other and this great respect for honouring what they’ve created with so much gentle nuance and emotion. If the past 50000000000 words didn’t suggest it clearly enough - I love what they’re doing so much!

If you’re still awake after all that, you’re super human. Thank you for reading and this post is LONG overdue but it’s here and as rambly as you’d expect. Robbe’s specific post will be along soon! <3

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Speak No Evil (Part 7)

“Don’t be angry with her, Mai.”

“Don’t be angry with her?” Mai asks. “Don’t you see what this is? She’s playing with you, she’s trying to guilt you into coming back to her. This is another tactic.”

Tylee shakes her head. “That was different Mai. She can’t help that.”

“She’s not even trying to help that.”

“I think that she is...was. She hasn’t said anything to me.”

“Yeah, because she either hasn’t had the chance or is going for the cold shoulder method. Stop trying to defend her, she just hurts and manipulates you. She takes advantage of you.”

TyLee squeezes her eyes shut, they are already growing watery and her head is throbbing. With stress and sadness and...confusion. And she can’t take it anymore, can’t take any of it anymore. “So do you, Mai!” She shouts. “You think that I don’t know what I am to you!? I’m a rebound! I know that you guys think I’m…” she taps her head, “that I’m thoughtless and oblivious but I do know! I know that you wouldn’t have kissed me if you weren’t mad at Zuko.”

“TyLee…”

“No!” She yanks her hand free. “You’re just like her. You’re like all of them. You all just use me.” Her voice cracks and softens, “why do you all just use me?” She doesn’t think that she needs an answer. She knows that it is because she has a pretty face and a puppy-eyed innocence. “Just...just leave me alone.”

“Come on, TyLee. I really do love you.”

“Only until you make up with Zuko.”

“No.” Mai insists. “If he comes back apologizing, I’ll choose you.”

.oOo.

She has gone entirely numb. She likes it that way. It is preferable so she clings to that numbness with a steely grip. Though she doesn’t have to cling so furiously, she is simply too exhausted to feel anything but numb anyways.

Zuko rubs her back, up and down, up and down, up and down. It isn’t a comfort but it is a constant. A constant that keeps her from slipping off and away again. “Believe it or not, I want you to be okay.”

She doesn’t believe it in the slightest.

“You…” He starts. “I don’t understand you, Azula. One minute you’re nice and caring and then it seems like you’re trying to tear TyLee and everyone apart.” She wishes that he would just stop talking. She can feel horrible about herself without his aid. “I can’t tell if you really care about her--about anyone--or if you’re just…” he pauses and shakes his head.

And that is just it, she can’t tell if she truly cares either. She thinks that she might just be incapable of feeling care and love. She rolls over and bunches herself up. She is a vile person if she can be called a person at all. People love. People empathize. She doesn’t. She is not a person.

“I guess it wouldn’t bother you this much if you didn’t care.” Zuko finishes at last. Her heart quivers, she isn’t sure if it is the good sort or the sickly sort. “Do you feel bad?” He asks. “For hurting TyLee? I need to know.”

She thinks for a moment that he might not like the answer until she remembers that she has willed herself hollow to drive out the voices--inner and outer--that tell her she is rotten through and through. They surge back in and she knows that the sound she would have uttered would have been gross and choking. Instead she just covers her face with her forearms and claws at her scalp.

She hears Zuko take a sharp breath and he fights to untangle her fingers from her hair. She gives in and slackens her hold.

“I don’t expect you to just,” he snaps his fingers, “get better…”

She doesn’t think that he expects her to get better at all. Not after this. Not when she had everything going for her. Not when she was on walking down the right track, well lit and perfectly free of obstacles, and still managed to leave that path for a more shrouded one.

“It didn’t work like that for me either.” He continues.

She nestles her head against the pillow.

“I don’t think that it’s healthy for you to stay here.”

And there it is.

He laughs. “I don’t think it’s good for me either. We had a fight and Mai cheated on me…” He trails off. “I know that you’re going to hate me more than you already do but this,” he points at the crown. “Isn’t all that great. Sounds fun to rule and have power but really everyone is just judging you and no matter what decision you make, it’s wrong. And so you fight with your girlfriend…” He gives another bitter laugh. “I’m probably not helping am I? I’m making this about me.”

She shrugs. She would much rather him talk about his own problems than throw hers back in her face.

“That’s not what I’m trying to do. Maybe I should just say my plan instead of giving you the loaded backstory. Mai says that I have a problem with doing that.” He rubs his hand over his face. “I think I just did it again too.”

She flexes her fingers. She doesn’t particularly mean it, but she is losing interest in his ramblings. She can feel herself falling away, retracting and retracting into that special sort of unfeelingness that she can swear exists halfway between life and death. Her eyes feel so heavy, she should like to close them and keep them closed for as long as she can.

She wonders if he notices that she is slipping away because she feels his hand on her back again. The sensation of the fabric of her shirt against her back dances somewhere between unpleasant and soothing.

“I was thinking that we could go to Ember Island together. Like we used to when we were kids. I think that it would be nice to uh…” he rubs the back of his head. “Bond or something like that, I guess. It’s a stupid idea, isn’t it?”

She inhales deeply and forces herself up. She nods, it is the very worst idea she has heard. So horrid that she had to sit up and acknowledge it’s awfulness. If Ember Island truly is a magical place that can smooth even the roughest edges, that has a way of helping one understand themselves, then it would do her well to stay as far from it as she possibly can.

“Would you go with me?” He asks in spite of her nod. “I don’t want you to go through this alone, you already did that once.”

Her stomach grows fluttery and her lower lip quivers. She resents him unremorsefully for driving the numbness out of her before she could truly bask in its comforts. “Let me help you again. It worked the last time.”

She looks away from his helping hand. It couldn’t have worked all that effectively if she is right back where she started at. If she hasn’t truly left that place at all.

“This time we won’t just hide the mess under the bed. We’ll clean it.”

She wishes that he would have picked up on Uncle’s better metaphors. She presses her lips together and fixes her eyes straight ahead.

“I think that, maybe, part of the problem is that you’re still in the same place. How can you change if you stay in the same place?”

She thinks that, that might just be it though; she doesn’t want to change. She doesn’t want to lose her essence completely. She realizes with another wave of discomfort, that nobody wants Azula, everyone wants an entirely new person. She doesn’t want to be a new person. She can’t be a new person. She can’t even manage to tweak a single aspect of herself, not in any way that means anything at all. She doesn’t think that she has a reason to put in the effort. And a fool she has been for hinging all of her efforts on one person.

“Will you give it a try, I know that I could use some time away from here.”

She points at his crown. She doesn’t know how, but for once he gets it. Maybe it is just a lucky guess, “I’ll let my advisor watch over the Fire Nation for a bit. He’s good at what he does and if there’s anything really pressing, he can just send a messenger hawk.”

Azula crosses her arms. It is stupid and irresponsible among other things. Mostly, she just wants a solid excuse to say no. One that he can’t refuse. She looks back at her palms and flexes her fingers. Maybe it would be a good idea to go off to Ember Island and disappear. She’ll go. Go and then slip away when she gets the chance.

“I can have the servants help you pack your things.” He tries.

She gives him an affirmative nod. She hadn’t expected his face to brighten that much. He takes her hand. “This is going to be good for you. For both of us.” He smiles. “I promise.”

[elderkale]

all you have to do is breathe. but you could never do that right either, could you?

tell me we’ll never get used to it - all you have to do is breathe. but you could never do that right either, could you?

“Glospin?”

“Theta. How nice of you to join us.”

“Why’re the lights off, what’re you—”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, cousin dear.”

“Glospin, what—oh.”

“Back away, Theta.”

“Glospin, what did you—”

“Ow!”

“Glospin!”

“You’ve stabbed me! You stabbed me!”

“What the hell are you doing? Get up, he—shit.”

“Help! Somebody, help!”

“Stop it!”

“What’s going on?”

“Oh, my god.”

“She stabbed me! She killed him, and she stabbed—”

“I didn’t do this, I just found—”

“Fuck, I can’t feel my fingers—oh, god, I’m faint—”

“Shut up!”

“Get her away from me!”

“Quences, he—”

“It was him—”

“I can’t—”

“I didn’t do this!”

“Stop it!”

“Get her off—fuck!”

“What the hell’ve you done?!”

*

“Hello, Theta.” She glances up at the new man.

“Hello. I like your waistcoat.”

The doctor smooths the wrinkles in it as he sits, placing his notebook on his knee. “Thank you.”

“They won’t let me have a waistcoat,” she says. Her chin is in her hand, elbow propped up on the armrest. It’s an expensive chair—it feels like one, at any rate—and she’s half-afraid her arm will sink into the leather. “Or a suit, for that matter. I’ve asked for one, asked them to bring me one from home, but they keep saying no. Why do you suppose that is?”

“When you say they, are you referring to your family?”

“Lovely weather, isn’t it?” she says, cocking her head in her hand. It’s pouring buckets, and the window panes rattle with every fat droplet.

“I suppose it is,” says the doctor, “if you like the downpour.”

“Rain’s nice,” she says. “Rain’s brilliant.”

He chuckles. “No shortage of that in Cardiff.”

“Love a good rainstorm,” she says. “And there’s always the best puddles afterwards. Mud, too. Love mud. Bad rep.” She frowns. “Too bad.” She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. There’s something written at the top of the page, but she can’t make out what it is. Shorter than a note, longer than the date. “Are you going to tell me that that’s a metaphor?”

“Do you see it as a metaphor?”

She shrugs. “Don’t know. Sounds like something you’re supposed to say.” She drops her arm and rolls her head back, staring up at the ceiling. “Why’s it always got to be a metaphor? Can’t anything just be what it is? Though,” she says, tilting her head from side-to-side, letting it roll across the back of the might-be-be-expensive chair, “I guess things wouldn’t be as interesting, then.” She glances up. The doctor is looking at her, a look of amusement writ across his face. “Sorry, were you talking? Carry on.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he says, still smiling. It’s a bit condescending, that smile, like he’s talking to a child. She wants to smack him.

“You’re supposed to. Maybe. I don’t do this often.”

“These sessions are for us to speak to each other, and for you to help me understand.”

“Understand.”

“You. Your issues.”

“Ah, of course.” She grins. She’s sure it doesn’t reach her eyes. “My issues.”

“You don’t think you have any?”

“Oh, no, I have plenty.”

“Which are?”

“I’m delusional, I suppose,” she says. “Mad? I’m afraid I don’t know the terms. I mauled my cousin, and I’ve been told by various—” she picks at a loose string on the pocket of her jeans, “—irrefutable sources that I stabbed him and killed my great-uncle, too.”

“You don’t believe it.”

“Oh, no.” She smiles pleasantly. “I’m a pacifist, you see.”

“Oh?”

Theta makes a face and leans over the armrest. “Nice courtyard,” she says, peering out the window. “Bit bland, but nice. Cobblestone, very daring, especially in this economy. Are we allowed outside? I think some fresh air would be nice, don’t you? Very good for—” she mimes a deep breath, then twirls her finger beside her head. “You know, clearing the head?” The doctor opens his mouth and she cranes her neck a bit further. “Lovely flowers,” she says. “What are those, daisies? Chrysanthemums? Dianthus caryophyllus?”

“. . . Dandelions.”

All in all, it’s a fantastic waste of time.

*

The thing about time, see, is that it passes. Obviously.

It’s not something she normally has the time (ha) to dwell on. Better things, yeah?

The thing about being shoved into a box is that she fancies she can feel each and every individual second scraping by. It’s grating, the boredom, and she thinks that, if she hadn’t been mad before, she certainly is now.

She’s finished all the books by the second week. She’s exhausted all scenarios of revenge by the third. She’s had two lamps, a chair, and her curtains confiscated by the fourth, and cutlery privileges revoked three days later.

She bursts into hysterical giggles when they come back and search her bedframe and even the pack of cards she hasn’t touched, and gets sedated for her effort.

It’s the first time she’s laughed since Christmas.

*

“Still no Black Sabbath?” asks Manny-with-the-hair.

“Nope.” She grins up at him, strumming a G.

He shakes his head, and his hair flops around his shoulders. It’s a fascinating thing to see from upside-down. “Shameful,” he tuts. “What’s this, then?”

She plucks a D. “Brahms.”

He watches her swallow her medication, and she waves him off with a grin. She spits out the pill the second the door shuts, wrinkling her nose as she wipes her tongue on the back of her sleeve.

She unwinds the axe that night, and cuts through the paint on her window with the tip of the D string. She picks the lock with E and B, and swings to the ground with the help of her bedclothes and G. She leaves the body on her bed with a smiley face drawn in black marker below the bridge.

She doesn’t get far. But that’s not the point.

*

“You’ve escaped twice this past month, Theta.”

“I’ve been caught twice,” she corrects. “On an unrelated note, I’m playing at a pub in Riverside next Thursday, so don’t be too disappointed when I don’t show up for our appointment.”

He gives her an admonishing look. “Theta.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” she sighs. “I lied. It’s on Tuesday. Hey, you should stop by!”

“You haven’t been speaking with any other patients.”

“You’re not going to tell me that I’m antisocial, are you?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you, Theta.” He leans forward. “It’s not good, to isolate yourself.”

“It’s not good for me to be locked up,” she counters, “but you still do it anyway.”

He ignores her. “You’ve only got one person on your visitor’s list. Isn’t there anyone else you’d like to add?”

She shrugs. There’s a ragged part of the armrest where she’s been putting her elbow, and she picks at the cracking leather with her nail. “Not that I can think of.”

“The number of people you keep denying says otherwise.” She ignores him. She slides lower in her seat and glances out the window. It’s sunny, ridiculously so, and the light bounces off the window and back into her eyes, making her wince.

She rubs the edge of her jumper between her thumb and forefinger. The wool is worn and growing threadbare. “Don’t wanna see.”

He tilts his head. She sees him ready his pen. “They don’t want to see you? Or you don’t want to see them?”

“Bit socially awkward, me,” she says over him, twisting a loose curl of purple yarn around her finger. “Wouldn’t know what to say. Not much to talk about. I think I’d just—” She waves her hand. “Make a weird noise and drift off. No point in them making the trip for that.”

“That’s just an excuse, Theta, and I think you and I both know it.”

“Excuses are just reasons you don’t like.” She shrugs. “Anyways.”

“Yes?” She shrugs again. He switches tactics. “Tell me about your family.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were supposed to be subtle.”

“You don’t respond to subtlety,” he says frankly.

“Eh.”

“You don’t get on with them.”

“Gold star!” she proclaims. “That doctorate is well-earned, I see.”

“Your relationships are strained. How did that happen?” Silence. He tries again. “What sets you apart from them, Theta?”

She groans. “My grandfather made his fortune digging up rocks,” she says. “My brother made his carving them into octopi with boobs. My father wasted his on his woes and exotic cheese. Meanwhile, I live in a loony bin and have no money. Happy?”

“Not particularly.”

“Hm. Shame.”

*

She spreads the envelopes out in front of her like a puzzle. The edges and corners slot together, just, and she runs her fingers over the gaps in her mosaic of correspondence. The paper is rough, just enough to bump and drag against her skin, and she runs her fingertips along the scalloped edges of the stamps.

There’s quite a number of them—not as much as she’d thought, but still more than she’d expected. She sees a magazine she doesn’t remember taking out a subscription for, and a handful of letters addressed in a familiar cramped scrawl.

She relishes the dig of hard edges into her hand as she balls each one of them up and drops them in the bin.

*

“You can’t keep doing this, Theta.”

“I’m insane,” she says with a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. “I can do what I want.”

“You’re not, and you know it.”

Brax looks conspicuously out-of-place, washed-out and sickly, beneath the dingy fluorescent lighting. The maroon of his suit stands out like a sore thumb against the stained yellow of his seat.

Theta nudges a pawn forwards. “Really? I don’t know, everyone else seems pretty insistent on it.”

Brax barely spares the board a glance as he picks up his knight. He taps the base of the plastic piece against each square, and Theta scowls. “It’s this or prison, and—”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She scowls, slamming another pawn down. Brax glances down his nose at it, and shifts it closer to the centre of the square. “My sincerest apologies. How selfish of me to forget about your reputation when there’s a murderer walking free.”

He captures her queen and places it on his side of the rickety table, lining it up with her other fallen pieces. She glares at the board for a moment, then moves a piece at random. Brax lets out a long-suffering sigh that makes her want to punch him, and corrects its course. “This is a situation, Theta, and, as usual, you’ve done nothing to help alleviate it.”

“Far be it for your best speeches to be wasted in a hospital sitting room.” She sinks lower into her seat and stretches out her legs. Her scuffed trainers bump against the polished toes of his shoes and he shoots her a look promising nothing short of bloody vengeance before moving them out of the way.

“Petulance won’t help you.”

“Oh, no,” she says monotonously. “My great plan has been foiled.”

“They’ve told me that you’ve been escaping.”

“It’s not that hard, after the first few times,” she says. She kicks the seat of his chair. Thump thump thump. His eye twitches. “You should try it sometime. I’m sure you’d look lovely in a straightjacket.”

“Theta.” She throws her hands into the air.

“I’m going mad, Irving,” she spits, “madder than usual, and this is not my fault! Fuck’s sake, I didn’t kill him!”

“I’d stop shouting, if I were you,” he says drily. There’s a nurse glaring at her from the corner, and she makes sure she sees her stick her tongue out at her before turning back to her brother.

Brax shifts a bishop forwards. Theta stares at it, then reluctantly moves a pawn into the empty space. The sleeves of the stolen jumper are just a bit too long and loose, covering her hands, and the dangling ends knock a piece over. Brax straightens it. “How are the elections?” she asks. He ignores her, and captures the pawn. “Oh, am I not allowed to ask? Or are those over? It’s just so hard to keep track of things in here.”

“Theta.”

She cocks her head. “What about the funeral?” He glowers at her.

“Which one?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

He lets out a hiss of annoyance. “Haven’t you read a single letter?”

She lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. “It’s just so hard, you know?” she says. “To hear about things and know I won’t be able to take part?” She flutters her eyelashes. He looks nauseous. “Solitary confinement’s considered a form of torture, you know.”

“Glospin’s dead.”

She blinks slowly. Then again. When she opens her eyes for the third time, she’s still watching him. She leans forward and captures a rook. His eyes flick down to the board for a fraction of a second, then back again. “My condolences,” she says slowly.

“And mine.” He sounds almost bitter.

“Open casket?” she asks innocently.

She thinks he might have cracked his bishop. “Cremation,” he says with a glare.

“Conservative.” She nods. “Nice. Were there cocktails at the reception?”

He slams his knight into check and stands, straightening his suit. “Koschei Oakdown wants to be put on your visitor’s list,” he says shortly, doing up the buttons of his jacket. “I’ve denied it for you.”

She twists the corner of the jumper. “Thanks.”

“Lovely seeing you. Don’t get well soon. And read the letters, will you?” He slings his coat over his shoulder and then he’s gone, the door slowly swinging shut behind him. Not quite as dramatic as she thinks he was aiming for, but they’re not allowed to have slamming doors.

Her captured pieces are neatly lined up across from her like an army of ghosts, the remaining ones pinpricks across a board dominated by black. Her handful of hostages are scattered across the table, sad and pitiful in comparison.

She grabs her king and hurls it to the ground.

The floor is carpeted. It lands without a sound.