#my history obsession might have made me a little cracked in the head

[tell-them-the-north-remembers]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers (ू•‧̫•ू⑅)♡

Thank you for this, babes!

In no particular order:

1- The IT Crowd. I swear, I watch a single episode and I am suddenly the happiest, the most joyful person on earth and everything everyone says is funny.

2- If Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me makes me go through a mental crisis then Japanese Whispers makes me feel the purest, simplest form of joy. Live, laugh, the Cure. But seriously though, amazing album.

3- Reading. Mostly classics, also read ASOIAF (omg can you believe it?) and I read and love classic gothic literature above all else but putting all of those aside Emma by Jane Austen just makes me feel so much better by just reading a chapter of it whenever I am bored.

4- Musicals. I love stage musicals. My all time favourite is probably Sweeney Todd (the Broadway musical, NOT the movie). And yeah, I don't really like movie adaptations and have comically serious one-sided beef with Tom Hooper. But unexplainably in love with Funny Girl. But it makes me sad rather than happy so I don't think it really counts.

5- I love making my little pinterest moodboards and spotify playlists for characters. Whether they be original characters or canon characters I am writing fics about. I also do them for historical figures, I legit have playlists like "Hey, this is so Katherine of Aragon" lol.

[cookie-nom-nom]

[“But I’m not even human.” 

Miles shrugged. “Human is as human does.” He forced himself to reach out and touch her damp cheek. “Animals don’t weep, Nine.”

She jerked, as if from electric shock. “Animals don’t lie. Humans do. All the time.”

“Not all the time.”

“Prove it.” She tilted her head as she sat cross-legged, her pale gold eyes were suddenly burning. Speculative. 

“Uh, sure. How?”

“Take off your clothes.”

“Wot.”

“Take off your clothes and lay with me as humans do, men and women.” Her hand reached out to touch his throat. The pressing claws made little wells in his flesh.

“Urp?” choked Miles. His eyes felt wide as saucers. A little more pressure and those wells would spring out red fountains. I’m about to die. 

She stared into his face with a strange, frightening, bottomless hunger. Then, abruptly, she released him. He sprang up and cracked his head on the low ceiling and dropped back down, the stars in his eyes unrelated to love at first sight. Her lips wrinkled back on a fanged groan of despair. “Ugly,” she wailed, her clawed nails raked across her cheeks, leaving furrows. “Too ugly. Animal. You don’t think I’m human.” She seemed to swell with some destructive resolve. 

“No no no!” Gibbered Miles, lurching to his knees and grabbing her hands and pulling them down. “It’s not that, it’s just— how old are you, anyway?” 

“Sixteen.”]

——

Miles instantly recoiled, cracking his head on the ceiling again because those who didn’t learn history were doomed to repeat it, as Commodore Tung was fond of reminding him. Immediately her eyes narrowed, a snarl creeping over her sharp teeth. “You don’t think I’m human enough,” she accused, voice still husky from disuse. “I knew it.” Her claws slipped back up to the scratches on her damp face, and he jolted forward, batting them down again in a reckless manner. 

“No, it’s not that,” Miles insisted, eyeing the way her claws were curling into fists about the same size as his entire face. “You’re a child! I can’t do that.”

“My life expectancy was barely a few years. The rest of the projects have been long dead.”

“Well, it’s still wrong in human years, which is the point. There’s plenty of other tests for humanity, anyways.” Sex was by no means the epitome of human existence. “What about Socrates? Human choice motivated by the desire for happiness? Or, oh, what was that test for AI centuries ago? The Tuning Test? That would work too.” He didn’t remember what it actually entailed. “There’s many tests. You yourself said only humans lie. By your own logic, lie, ergo, human. Human is as human does.” That’s what he’d meant it to be applied to, anyway. 

Her eyes narrowed. “None of those prove your belief to me. I still like my test.” Well, naturally. [Sixteen. God. He remembered sixteen. Sex obsessed and dying every minute.] 

[“Aren’t you a little young for this?” he tried hopefully.] She started a protest, but he continued. “It’s illegal. There. I applied human laws to you.” Probably a first for Jackson’s Hole. “I also just offered you a job, and regulations ban interrank romantic interactions.” No matter how much he might want to with one particular Eli Quinn...

The power dynamic was entirely wrong, between his age and rank and the fact he was beginning to suspect he was about to rescue this girl. Or, hell, look at it the other way, at the underlying threat that he must prove he believed her human or die. It was a messed up power imbalance from nearly every angle. 

A crumpled look crossed her wolfish features. Miles tried to console her. One for it being the Vorish, gentlemanly thing to do, and two because while he thought it unlikely she’d kill him at this point, he still didn’t want to increase his chances. “I’m probably the first nice face you’ve seen in a while. Don’t settle for me simply since I got here first. There are plenty of suitable partners once you get out of this basement. Which, reminder, we’re in a hostile environment surrounded by enemies. We still need to escape.” 

Moroseness slumped her features. “It’s impossible. I stopped trying years ago. And…” a shudder ran down her strong back, ears flattening. “...they don’t like it when you try,” she said lowly. “They wouldn’t do this to me if I was human.”

“Eh, actually they would. I mean, I’m human, and I’m down here, aren’t I? I’ve been deemed subhuman before. It hurts when they think it’d be a mercy to ‘put you out of your misery’.” He was going to strangle that scientist.

She gave him an odd look, scrutinizing him more thoroughly. “You don’t look like Jacksonian work. And you said you’re human. Why isn’t that enough for them?” 

Miles spread his hands wide, a wry expression crossing his features. “Ah, but I’m a mutant. A weakling. A curse from God upon my father’s house for every sin they can think to lay at his feet. They will find anything and everything they can to hold against you, Nine, no matter what it is that makes you different. Eight feet tall or four foot nine, unmatched strength or bones of glass; they will despise you either way. Well damn their notion of being born wrong because I intend to be ten times the man they ever could be.”

“Then it’s hopeless.” 

“If you want it to be handed to you, yes. You can’t rely on someone else to give you your humanity, because that implies they can revoke it at any time. It’s a value you have to find within yourself.” It sounded like some pithy Betan advice he would’ve picked up from his mother. “With your test, you wanted your body to feel human. But what about your soul, Nine?” He paused. “No, we need a name for you. I can’t be calling you a number like some type of lab rat.” Something strong and pretty, like her. He fell into that well of old earth philosophy he had initially fallen back on. Socrates, the Greeks, the like. When he finally found the name, it seemed perfect for the girl called a monster and trapped deep in the heart of a labyrinth of labs. Wasn’t Miles intended to be some blood sacrifice to her as well? And hadn’t the minotaur been a child when he was imprisoned for life? Punished for the crime of being born, just like them. “Taura,” he breathed. “I think I shall call you Taura.”

She went still, enraptured. “A name.” Tears welled in her golden eyes. “No one has ever given me a name.” 

“I’m not giving it to you. I’m letting you take it, to seize it, to make it your own. As much as I’d like to, I can’t give you your humanity either. That’s all up to you. Break free of every cruel moniker hurled at you. Monster, mutant– who cares what any of them think!? Prove them all wrong and never look back. That’s what I did. So here: I may reject your test, but I offer my own. I believe you’re ‘human enough’ because I believe you’re worthy of freedom, of a future, of a name. I certainly can’t give any of that to you, but I sure can help you try.” Something sparked in her gilded gaze, the tantalizing offer she’d likely never been given before. It was a hope doused quickly, but it had been there at all. Miles had a chance of relighting it, of fanning the flames. 

“You really think so?” Uncertain, her fangs twisted into a guarded frown. 

Miles batted aside a twinge of guilt. It wasn’t just because she was his only shot of escape, and it certainly wasn’t for a particular scientist whose neck he wanted to wring. This was because Taura didn’t deserve to be trapped in a basement eating rats for the rest of her tenuous life. He might have needed her, but she needed him, too, if only for a little while. 

“I don’t make offers I don’t intend to provide. So, care to escape with me?” He held out an arm, almost ridiculously formal, and she took it, choosing to trust him if only hesitantly, if only for that little spark of hope still in here somewhere.

[secretsofthestorymakers]

The Saga of Aren

I absolutely love Arendelle History, so when I read Forest of Shadows and learned about the Saga of Aren, I was so excited. The only thing that disappointed me was that we didn’t get the entire thing. So, being the obsessive overachiever that I am, I wrote my own idea of the rest of it. I worked super hard on this for like a month and a half, and I am so proud of how it turned out! I had never really written any poetry before, but I had more fun with it than I expected, and have even written a little more since (not Frozen related, sorry). I might post an in depth analysis later, but for now I’ll just say that I wrote this to be intentionally vague, and to represent Anna and Elsa’s story as well as Aren’s.

The parts in italics and quotes are from FoS, so were written by Kamila Benko. I wrote the rest. (With a few exceptions that are quotes from something else, noted at the end)

The Saga of Aren

By: Kamila Benko & SecretsOfTheStoryMakers

“A long time ago in a time before time, a great darkness swept over the land”

A dark fright came, the people fought, but could not make their stand

They fled their shores and took to the seas, their homeland all but lost

To Dark and Cold and Past and Fear, the silence and the frost

As ages passed and people still were trapped upon their ships

The storm roared on, there was no end to the sun’s total eclipse

They begged the earth, the wind, the flame, the oceans heard their cries

And from their unknown, watery depths a spirit did arise

The water spirit too, had felt the chill of endless night

It told the people, for a price, it could help bring back the light

The people were so fearful, urgently they did agree

In return they promised someday that the spirits would be free

As the earth’s ancient spirits have foretold, there will come a fearful age

All that live upon the earth will be trapped within dark’s cage

The sky will be shadow, fade away, as the spirits lose their song

The world needs a leader and protector, someone to right this wrong

To scale fear’s greatest precipice, as the mountain’s facade comes crashing

To face the fear with light’s greatest strength, upon past and present’s clashing

It comes on the world’s great eve of change, as the north wind’s song is turning

Beware what you may think you know, for “the past has a way of returning.*”

The mythic Nokk came to the end of the spirits’ prophecy

It bowed its head and flashed its eyes, returning to the sea

The people knew it spoke the truth, the world would be free again

They only needed a bridge, a bond, to let the light back in

They needed someone fearless, with love enough to light the dark

Only one of their number was brave enough to bear the spirits’ mark

“Young as the morning, as fierce as a twig, Aren stepped out onto the land”

He’d made his choice, to protect his people, against the dark he’d stand

And so Aren set off, alone as the sun, armed only with his love

His plan was simple; persuade the moon to make peace with the sun above

Night’s dark creatures of memories corrupted, tried to stop him on his quest

But Aren persevered, held on to love, despite fear’s every test

He scaled the greatest, northern mountain, and when he reached the top,

He called to the moon, showed her their pain, told her this night needed to stop

The moon felt remorseful, her tears fell to earth as she realized what she’d done

She crossed the sky, returning home, to find her sister sun

The moon and sun were reunited, together at long last

The sisters agreed they’d rule together, “the past was in the past**”

Their strengths combined would bring peace to the world, as the spirits had foretold

With a “yellow diamond, bright as an eye”, they made Aren a blade of gold

“Revolving moon and spinning sun forged a crescent blade

From light and dark within the heart, the burnished sword was made.

He raised it high above his head and smote the edge of land”

The curve of his blade struck the earth and carved the kingdom’s span

As he cracked the ancient, unbroken rock, Revolute began to glow

The earth’s core tremored, shaking, shifting, disrupting the water’s flow

“The sea rushed in as hidden power flowed from the gleaming sword

And shaped the rock and forest crown of the first majestic fjord!”

The people rejoiced as they came to the land and deemed it “Arendelle”

At last they’d returned, to summer’s embrace, where they’d forever dwell

“As revolving moon and spinning sun, once forged a crescent blade,***”

Forever may true love endure, “may the flags of Arendelle ever wave”

*This is a quote, but it is not stated to be in the Saga. It is the tagline of Forest of Shadows.

**This is a quote from Frozen (Let it Go to be specific), but it is not stated to be in the Saga.

***I slightly adjusted this line from what is said in the book. The direct quote is: “Revolving moon and spinning sun, forged a crescent blade.” Normally, I wouldn’t adjust the line that was directly stated, but this was only said once, by Anna, who also said “something something something something” for the first part of the next line. I’m just assuming that maybe she made a mistake with the first part she said too, since the line that she actually said is definitely in the Saga elsewhere.

[maraleestuff]

Hero x Villain

The sky is falling.

It’s the first thought Hero has as she fades into consciousness; metal creaks and groans around her. Boulders, loose stones, chunks of concrete fall into a large chasm below.

For a brief second, she thinks the floor fell too; building debris and stone falling apart like melting snow, so perhaps she’s not that far off.

It takes an alarmingly amount of time to realize she’s suspended by something, not flying of her own accord. A warmth beside her, around her, and someone grunting, calling a name.

Her name.

“Hero! Hero, you’ve got to wake up!” The voice, familiar, calls, fading in and out as if from a great distance. Another grunt of effort, and Hero is jostled in a broken fall. “I can’t hold us for much longer. C’mon!”

The voice is desperate, pleading. Hero is just trying to make sense of everything—what happened? How did she get here?

Hero raises her head, squinting through blurry eyes. Someone’s holding her, an arm wrapped tightly around her waist; their other hand grips a twisted beam, knuckles white against the metal.

“Hero!” The voice cries, from a pale, swimming face. “You—you have to fly us out of here!”

Hero blinks, head mazy. “Villain?” She asks. Her head is light, drifting, floating. If she could just close her eyes for a moment…

“No!”

Hero is jostled from near unconsciousness, head clearing somewhat. They were in a fight, she recalls; Villain had made a machine that malfunctioned, creating a sink hole beneath their headquarters. Hero had evacuated everyone already—except for Villain.

Her last clear memory was shoving Villain away from the explosion.

“Hero!” Villain says again, impatiently. Hero has the vague notion that if she could, Villain would be snapping her fingers for Hero’s attention.

Hero would be irritated about it, but as it is, she’s having a difficult time keeping focus. How had she never noticed before that Villain’s eyes are green, with little flecks of gold?

Blinking harshly, Hero tries to bring herself back to attention. “What?”

Villain sighs harshly, teeth gritted. “Fly. Us. Out.”

“Right.” Hero tilts her head back. Above, the building is in slow collapse; portions leaning heavily on each other, ready to give in any moment. Sunlight shines high, high above, swimming in circles of two, four, eight. “Don’t let go.”

Hero flies almost drunkenly, bobbing left and right, only steered correctly when Villain shouts in her ear, or pinches her arm.

“Don’t backseat fly,” Hero mumbles, managing to evade a falling beam.

“Believe me, if I could fly on my own, I wouldn’t be putting my life in the hands of someone with a likely concussion.”

“Hmm.”

The collapsing building falls away, bright blue skies all around. A city sprawls out under them, tilting oddly.

“Woah! Easy, Hero. Land us down there. Carefully, please. Steady, steady. We’re almost there. Just hold on.”

Hero lands them on a rooftop, legs folding underneath them. Villain stumbles, but, surprisingly, catches Hero in her arms.

Sirens ring in the distance. Hero stares up at the Villain’s face, cheeks covered in soot, her dark hair haloed by sunlight.

“You saved me,” Hero murmurs. Villain could’ve simply let her go, let her fall while she was unconscious. Their eyes meet intensely, a moment between a hero and a villain, their history, their obsession.

Hero sinks into Villain’s arms, exhausted, eyes drooping. Her cheek against Villain’s shoulder. She smells vaguely like perfume among the dust and gritty earth.

“I did,” Villain says, strangely breathless. Her eyes dark and beautiful in the sun’s shadow. She swallows, brushing a strand of hair from Hero’s face; it might be the concussion, but Hero could swear she is relieved. “It’s what you would’ve done.” Villain cracks a smile, a rare, precious thing. “It’s what you did.”

“Finally a damsel,” Hero sighs, laughing to herself, a growing ache in her ribs. “It’s not…all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Well, it’s over now. I’ve learned my lesson about those experiments.”

Hero hums, closing her eyes, too tired to respond.

“It’s going to be alright,” Villain murmurs, as the sirens grow louder, perhaps near the base of the building. “Help is on the way.”

Hero loses consciousness. When she comes to, briefly, she’s in an ambulance, paramedics a flurry of activity around her; Villain is nowhere to be seen.

Later, she’ll learn from news reports that Villain brought her directly to the paramedics (but predictably evaded the police).

And later, when she finds an unsigned Get Well Soon card, Hero knows exactly who it’s from.

[tfatwsiguess]

Exposed

Berlin, Germany

The next morning, you and Sam followed Bucky through a corridor in the Joint Counterterrorism Center residing in the capital of Germany. It was silent as a guard led you down to the baron, Helmut Zemo's, wing. It felt like you had to bypass a dozen sub levels and guards before you got to the right floor. But your mind wandered elsewhere as you followed through the halfway submersed prison.

You were a little concerned with the stakes of this situation, considering how hard a time Bucky's already had on this mission. Of course, yesterday was rough on all of you. And in more ways than one. But you had thought about it overnight. The way he had been the one to suggest going to talk to this guy despite it being the hardest to deal with for him especially. Whether that was nobility or instability, you were yet to be sure of.

"He is just through this corridor."

"Alright. Give us a minute." Buck nodded to the man in uniform before he left you all with a sub level clearance pass to get into the cell, then turned back to you both. "I'm gonna go in alone."

"What? Why?" Sam immediately questioned, while your eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Because he didn't know you," he turned from you to Sam, "and you're an Avenger."

"And you're a super soldier."

"Yeah, but he might be more inclined to help if it's only me."

"Why? 'Cause he used you as his weapon the last time you two met? Ya aren't exactly known for frolicking in the sun together."

"He was obsessed with Hydra. We have a history together." His blue crystalline eyes flicker between you and Sam as he tries to reassure. "Trust me. I got it."

To your right, Sam's head shook doubtfully. "He's gonna try to get in your head."

"Yeah, well, he can't do that anymore."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant."

Sam sighed, but you observed the soldier as they talked. Noticing his taut shoulders and gnawed lips and baggy eyes. You kept waiting, expecting to see any sign that too much of his past was being drenched up all at once in talking to this man. That it would become too difficult for him to handle. But he only ever responded with his insistence. So when he turned to you, you nodded firmly. "We'll wait out here."

His stare held with yours for a moment, still never giving away a single transparent thought to you that he didn't want to. He nodded gruffly before carrying himself through the corridor's doorway.

"Sam, with or without us, are you sure Bucky talking to Zemo at all is a good idea?" You finally asked, leaning your back against the opposite wall once Barnes was out of sight. "He's been kind of on edge..."

"That's his natural state." He responded shortly, arms crossed and eyes staring off distractedly as his back rested against the wall across you. When your eyebrow raised and he caught your gaze, he gave in. "He's still upset over the shield."

"Is that what happened with your couple's therapy yesterday? He brought up the shield?"

"Joint therapy... And, along with other things, yeah." Your head bobbed in confirmation, lips sealing. "What, you're not gonna ask about it?"

"Not if you don't want to talk about it..." you reasoned, stare lingering on him as he reflected your silent gaze right back. A grin tugged at the side of your lips. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Only if you're on my side," he cracked a smile.

Yours grew, and before you knew it you were beaming back at him. "Well of course I'm on your side, Samuel."

"Really?"

"Against the government jerks who gave away the shield, yeah. But I'm not against Bucky." You clarified.

His face fell into pouty disappointment. "Oh."

With a light chuckle, you straightened up from the wall. "I'm sure you made the choice that felt best for you. I'm just saying that with Bucky... I get it too. Fork what I know it's important to him for different reasons, ya know? You're both at different mercies with that thing."

"You think I shouldn't have given it up either, right?" Both his eyebrows raised, expectantly waiting for what everyone else has said, or, avoided saying to him out loud.

"Don't you?"

"Of course I do. But I certainly didn't think they'd turn around the next day and hand it to someone else either." Disappointment etched into his features. "I guess I should've seen that coming."

You shook your head at seeing his self scrutiny, all because of those lying government asshats. "Honestly, if the shield had stayed retired in the exhibit like you wanted, things wouldn't be as bad. But since those assholes lied to you just to give it to the next Steve-Rogers-look-alike, it's different. I mean I don't really know about this Walker guy."

"You're not the only one." Sam sent you a look, in accordance with you. He straightened away from the glaringly white wall. "Look, you can bet I wouldn't have given it up if I had known the GRC was gonna try to remake a new old Captain America. But I didn't, and it's done now. There's no point in bellyaching over it anymore."

He was confident as he said it, but it was still there. The subtle ache of resignation on his face. And you knew it wasn't yourself he wanted these words directed at.

"... I'm sorry." You said genuinely. And judging by the look on his face you guessed he hadn't received a lot of sympathy on the topic. "It's wrong. They shouldn't have taken advantage of you like that."

"Thank you... I can't really expect the tin can to understand that."

You smile a little, but shake your head. "Well all the robot jokes don't really help."

"It's how we communicate." A devious grin finally tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I just don't understand why he's making such a big deal out of something that has nothing to do with him."

"Is that what you said to him? Well no wonder he hates you!"

"There it is. I knew you were on his side."

"No, I just mean," you couldn't help the laugh that escaped. "I know he's giving you a hard time about your decision, even if it's not fair. But... look, if Steve was his best friend I get why it's so important. He's lost a lot. Including the last person he considered family. The one person he knew in this world." You thought back to what you realized the day you heard the news of Bucky's lost connection, shortly before his being pardoned. "He's just getting back to the modern world, which he doesn't know anything about. And clearly he's still adjusting. Even more than the rest of us. The shield is like, the one thing he has left that's familiar... I can understand that."

Sammy shifted again, those eyebrows scrunching in consideration of your point. "... You sure know how you feel after just meeting the guy."

Your eyes flick up to him, realizing how deep in thought you were over the circumstance. "... I listen and assess more than I talk." You shrug with a loose smile. "It's important skill."

He nodded slowly, taking in your input. "... How long did it take for you?" Sam knew bits of your past. Like your life without parents, emancipation, and entry into agent work, and that's about it. That's how you knew exactly what he was asking. "To adjust, after everything that happened in your past?"

You immediately thought back to mere months after you were reinstated in school as a teenager, around the same time Uncle Nick got you your own apartment and worked out your official emancipation. It took that long to even start to get back into a rhythm.

"Hm... I think the middle of high school was the only time in my life when almost everything felt normal, and mundane. Other than that it's kind of all chaos but, since then it's not so bad."

"It must've been hard, being on your own that young."

"Well, taking care of myself wasn't the hard part." The hard part was actually the constant paranoia for years to come, but you weren't going to say that. "After everything I kinda liked being alone. Having my own space to process. But, after all the years of solitude now I don't find others' company so bad." A smile comes to your face as you look across at Sam, his expressions mirroring the same back at you. "But, I still had help getting readjusted, and it made every bit of difference." Two faces came to mind. The ones who were such a big reason for you having the freedom you have today. It'd been too long since you'd seen them. "The point is, as much as people try to isolate themselves, you really can't get through the hard times without someone there to help you. Some kind of support. But isn't that exactly what Bucky's trying to do?"

Sam blinked.

Out of all the soldiers feeling out of place he's worked with, he hadn't stopped to think about Bucky's new life now. Not between all the chaos going on in his own life.

Before he had reached out to him, knowing that between Stark's funeral and saying goodbye to Steve, he was processing a lot. Otherwise, Sam had Sarah and the kids to worry about, to work out his own financials and personal post-blip reinstatement business to tend to. It was relentless work, but he realized how much easier it was for him, as someone who's already lived through today's world.

Maybe it was just harder to understand that with someone he had didn't have the best personal relationship with.

The silence that stretched as Sam was caught in his own head made you think about the weight of the topics and memories brought up.

"Yeah. That was a lot to bring up at 10 AM."

"Well don't try to take it back now," he teased with a tug at his lips, but you could see the thoughts spinning behind his eyes. You grinned before pointing a look at him, tilting your head. "Okay, maybe you have a point."

"Oh maybe I have a point?" You repeated, nodding.

"Alright, alright. Suddenly you're the counselor and I feel like the kid."

You chuckle and shake your head.

After that, it wasn't much longer before an alarm went off all around the compound. Red flashing lights blinked out of nowhere and sent the facility into high alert. You stepped away from wall, shooting a concerned look to Sam. Before either of you could bolt to the door Bucky had gone through, he reappeared out of it and headed down the corridor past you two, not stopping.

"We should get going!"

"Wha– how'd it go?" You asked. "What did he say?"

"Not here."

"You have any idea what's going on with these alarms?" Sam followed behind quickly, some accusation lacing his tone. "Maybe anything to do with our little visit?"

That question, Bucky never answered. Between the blaring sirens and his reluctance to say anything yet, neither of you asked anything else until you took an elevator up and finally exited the blaring compound.

"Bucky, stop." Sam finally stopped your group outside the door, an emergency exit that you probably weren't supposed to use rather than checking out with security at the main entrance; especially while the prison was going on lockdown. Turned out that visitor's card permitted a lot. "What happened?"

"Zemo said he knew where to start." He said vaguely, making you wait. "He wouldn't give me anything else."

Sam's head shook. "That's all you could get?"

"At the time," he answered, then continued down the valley towards the street.

You followed along again, squinting at the back of his head. "What do you mean 'at the time'?"

"We need to break Zemo out."

"Bucky, where the hell are we?" Sam demanded as you all made your way through an empty, darkened building.

It seemed like you had been walking for forever between small buildings and back alleys without getting answers. Until Bucky led you inside a small building that was too dark to see inside.

"And do you wanna explain what you mean by 'break Zemo out'?"

Sam had immediately done a double take and proceeded to harass Bucky with a string of questions like if he had lost his mind or if Zemo had, in fact, brainwashed him again during the brief time he was in there. You may have partially gotten through to him about Bucky, but clearly it wouldn't stop him from holding back now.

"We don't have any leads, any moves, anything."

"Well we got one of the most dangerous men in the world behind bars."

"And we also have eight super soldiers on the loose." Barnes rebutted, reaching some box you could barely make out on a pole in the middle of the floor.

"Look, Zemo's gonna mess with our minds, especially yours." Sam stressed, to which you nudged him for. "No offense."

Bucky turned a lever, finally illuminating the place. A car repair garage of all places. "Offense. Super soldiers go against everything he believes in. He may be crazy, but he still has a code."

"And I've been on the wrong side of that code. So have you! He blew up the UN meeting, killed King T'Chaka and framed you for it." Buck paced back over to you, clearly getting annoyed at all the chatter. "If word gets out that he's escaped who knows who's gonna come lookin' for him? Who knows what he'd do if he finds out Alex has her own powers?"

"What, you think he's gonna get trigger happy over a retractable glow stick?" Buck snapped irritably, to which your head tilts defensively at him. "Sorry– that frustration was at the wrong person..." He retracted, sending Sam a look before turning back again and switching up more lights.

"Look," Sam takes a breath, taking his time down a few noticed. "I get why this matters to you so much, but it's pushing you off the deep end."

"We don't know how they're getting the serum." Barnes counters easily. You watched him in the stretching silence as he so ambitiously argued for this case. "We don't even know how many of them there are right now."

Sam shook his head at the 100-year-old, turning away when he had no another attempts.

"You're really willing to risk it? After everything?" He looked to you, as it was the first you spoke in the matter while they argued. By now you were used to getting past the bickering to get to the rationalizations. That and, you were at a disadvantage when it came to comparable knowledge about this guy. "It is a big risk to let him out. Could we even keep him under control?"

"I know he's dangerous. But his speciality is mind games, and other than that, he's just another guy with basic training. He only becomes dangerous if we let him." You hear Sam scoff, and Bucky looks back to him. "Between the two of us and our secret weapon, it won't be a problem."

Sam laughs when Bucky gestures to you. "Oh, from glow stick to secret weapon, huh?"

"Okay– can we all stop saying glow stick?" You groan.

"Look, can I just walk you guys through a hypothetical? Let me walk you through it–"

"A hypothetical." Your eyebrow couldn't help but inch up doubtfully.

Sam turned back to him slowly. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything." He gave an unconvincing shrug.

None of you said anything, the awkwardest pause stretching after the blatant lie. You took a breath and went for it. "And, what is this hypothetical?"

"How to Break Someone Out of Jail 101."

"We're not breaking Zemo out! It's never gonna go the way you plan."

"Just let me break it down, okay? The weakest point in any system isn't the software, or the hardware. It's the meatware. The human element." He begins, voice gliding over the premise like butter. "In their lockup, it's nine to one, prisoners to guards. And if two prisoners start fighting, then the protocol says four guards have to respond."

"So why would two prisoners randomly start fighting at that moment?" Sam questioned before you could ask how he even knew these details from a single walk through the compound.

"Who knows? This place detains some of the most high level threat terrorists in the world. There could be many reasons. But the point is, things escalate. Lockdown procedures would have to be initiated, and with all those bodies flying around left and right, it wouldn't be hard to slip down a hallway or two." He continued, making a jailbreak from such a high security terrorism prison sound so effortless. "And if the fire alarm got tripped while the prisoners were being separated, they'd have to let the prisoners out to be accounted for. Someone could easily use the chaos to their advantage."

The beginning of the plan sounded well formulated enough, you couldn't deny; but it didn't seem like the first time he'd walked someone through it either. And getting Zemo out, in the "hypothetical" would only be one of the many problems that came with it. At this point, it was clear to both of you that he was up to something.

"I don't like how causal he's being about this..." You mumble.

"It's unnatural," Sam concurred. "What did you–" He cut himself off, finally looking around in frustration at the odd choice of location. "Where the hell are we, man?"

Just then, a door opened. You all looked towards the end of the room, where a silhouette moved behind an opaque tarp. A man in what looked to be a captain's hat walked closer, but from the other side what actually came was a familiar looking figure in a prison guard's uniform.

Your eyes narrowed as the man drew nearer in the dim lighting. "Did you actually..."

Your half-question was answered when you heard Sam utter, "Whoa."

You looked over the man standing before you in the flesh, a ways away from his cell. "Oh crap..."

"Whoa whoa whoa– What are you doing here?!" Wilson marched towards the newcomer, and Bucky was already holding him back.

"Well. That whole conversation was pointless." You stared at the man, and it was clear who he was. You never even had to dig him out of Bucky's past. The guy was all over the news right after Bucky was, when the police cleared his name and revealed Zemo as the murderer who framed the poor guy.

Wow, you thought to yourself, two highly acclaimed criminals in two days. Can't wait to slap this on my resume.

"Hold on, look! I didn't wanna tell you 'cause I knew you wouldn't let this happen..."

"What did you do?!"

"We need him, Sam–"

He didn't listen, throwing a finger to the Sokovian. "You're going back to jail!"

"Listen, Sam!"

The blond man raised his hand. "If I may–"

"NO!" Both barked at him, causing his mouth to clamp, and he nodded understandably. "Apologies..."

Bucky turned to Sam once he was finally calm enough to listen."When Steve refused to sign the Sokovia accords, you backed him. You broke the law and stuck your neck out for me. I'm asking you to do that again." His voice was low and gravelly as he really tried to level with Sam for the first time. You knew this was probably the closest he'd get to begging.

Although the speech wasn't even directed to you, and clearly there were no other choices anyway, it was hard enough to say no to that. You could see it on Sam's face too, but he still seemed well against the idea of working with Zemo. "... Okay. Ya know what? I think Alex should decide."

"Great idea." Bucky slid his hands off of his shoulders once he was certain Sam wouldn't lunge at the escapee, and both turned to you.

You sighed when their gazes set upon you, sensing a pattern. "Seriously?"

"You're the most reasonable between the three of us." Buck gestured between the two of them, then glanced back to Zemo, who was already sizing you up. "Your call."

Yep. There was definitely a pattern going.

You thought more over the new situation at hand. On the nay side, it's not like if you decided against this Zemo would ever let you take him back to prison so soon. Especially with the chance to take down a group of new age super soldiers. And even if you did, Bucky would be in serious trouble with some higher ups after bringing him right back. If he's not already, that is... Which reminded you how much he's risking with his pardon, too, by doing all of this. Those two points alone were enough for you to conclude that Bucky was either out of his mind, or just as desperate as Sam says to figure out this whole super soldier mess.

Above all else, it was clear you had no other choice now. Barnes knew exactly what he was doing letting this guy out before saying anything about it.

You took a breath and turned to Sam, knowing he wouldn't be happy. "He's already out..."

"What?" He groans in disbelief the same time Barnes throws his hands up, shouting, "Thank you!" Gesturing towards you with a glare to Sam, who clearly only suggested your decision under the impression that you would side with him.

"Are you serious?"

"I mean, he just got out we can't take him back now. And it's not like he's hurt anyone!" You immediately turned from Sam to the baron with deadly seriousness. "You haven't hurt anyone right?

"None other than the guard I took out to acquire this uniform."

"... You mean knocked out."

"Yes, of course." He amended through his thick accent, no hesitance.

"And then there was the walk over here where no one kept an eye on him–" Sam pointed out.

"I really think I'm invaluable."

"Shut up." Wilson silenced him again, rubbing his temple. "Okay... if we do this, you don't make a move without our permission."

"Fair." The stranger agreed, a little too reasonably than what felt right for you. You all shared a look, on your toes.

"Okay, Zemo... where do we start?"

Life sure was exciting in your line of work. One second this was only gonna be a duo mission with Sam, and the next second it turned to a trio with the infamous Winter Soldier himself. Someone who nearly killed you and sent you into hiding for years. And now, you're working with a real jail-breaking murderous criminal. Bucky surely caught you off guard with this decision.

You were at another garage now. Zemo's car garage with a ridiculous amount of vehicles for any one person or family to possess. The soldier and falcon didn't seem too worried about the baron digging around in his cars for minutes on end, but you kept a close eye on him as he was packing, even as he leaned out of eyesight into his car. You were the only agent here who hadn't interacted with Zemo firsthand before, and the disadvantage made you extra cautious. You made your choice, but knew Sam was so against it for a reason.

You saw his hand linger on some weird looking rubber mask, and you watched him take it, shoving it into his bag a little too quickly for something that should be harmless. Oh yeah. Dude's up to something.

As he packed and explained his search methods, you could see sneaky running through his veins; in his eyes and in his accent. You didn't have to watch the news coverage to know, it was an intuitive feeling you sensed in abundance. You were good at working with what you knew, even if it wasn't much. Your instincts weren't gonna let him out of sight, even to pack a post-jailbreak bag.

"I've ended The Winter Soldier program before. I have no intention of leaving that work unfinished. To do this we'll have to scale a ladder of low lives."

"How ironic," you mumble.

"First stop is a woman named Selby. Middle level on the ladder, we climb up from there."

"How long is this gonna take?" You asked as you three followed him out.

"The jet ride should be less than a day," he responded, only raising a second question instead of answering the first.

"Where are we going," Buck specified for you.

"Madripoor."

He seemed unimpressed. "Of course we are."

"Never heard of it."

It seemed Sam hadn't either, judging by his expression of thought when you looked over. "Unbelievable..." You hear him utter, then look over to see the sleek private jet awaiting outside. "You've been rich this whole time?"

"I am a baron, Sam. My family was royalty until your friends destroyed my country."

While that was a big piece of the puzzle for Zemo, it didn't explain how all this luxury was still here while he was being imprisoned. Like it was all just waiting for him to return.

Zemo took his seat across from you once on the jet, and Bucky to your right, Sam adjacent. The baron mutters something to the flight attendant in Sokovian, nodding to the boys, then glancing his eyes to you for a moment.

The white-haired geezer let out a laugh. That old man chuckle made it sound like he was close enough to Bucky's age. "Good to have you back, sir!" You rolled your eyes as he turned to hobble back to the front.

"He sounds like he's on the verge of death," you remarked in skepticism.

"Be kind. Oeznik is sensitive about his age and I insist on keeping my staff happy." He smiled diplomatically to you, as he pulled out his book titled 'Machiavelli' from his bag. The hint of smirk on his face made you feel like a cold hand was reaching up and tickling your spine.

"Why don't you tell us about where we're going?" Sam diverted, but Helmut waited before responding, eyes moving across a line of words.

"... I'm sorry. I was fascinated by this book." He was looking down at the pages, but pulling something else out from between the folds. Small and black from what you could see. "I'm not sure what to call it, but, this part seems important. Who is Nakajima?"

Bucky leapt out of his chair and had his metal hand around Zemo's throat in an instant. No one else even had a chance to move before the little journal was back in his other hand. "Touch this again and I'll kill you." He promised in a whisper, looking him in the eyes.

Zemo was stiff, but nodded. It was the first, and will probably be the only time you had seen him taken off guard. You wouldn't know what the significance of that journal is, but you knew Zemo should've been expecting such a reaction when he brought it up in such a slimy way.

The little book Bucky held nearly folded in his his tight grasp, causing your eyebrows to crease in peaked curiosity. Your eyes flickered from Bucky to Zemo as he released his hold, and sat back down with the notebook protectively in hand. Less than a minute on the plane and it seemed this master of mind games was already making it a priority to mess with his former victim.

Sam sat back once hands were no longer around throats, but Zemo kept going.

"I'm sorry. I understand, it's a list of names of people you've hurt as The Winter Soldier?"

At that revelation, you couldn't help but glance over to Bucky; to the book. Both your eyes caught one another's for a moment before you averted your gaze, and he looked out the window. "Don't push it."

"I recognize that journal. Steve used it when he came outta the ice." A smile came to Sam's face as he glanced at you, then back to Buck. "I told him about Trouble Man. He wrote it in there. Did ya listen to it? What'd ya think?"

"I like 40's music so."

You felt a ghost of smile trace your lips at the response. In an entirely new time he still managed to be an old soul. You looked to Sam, expecting a reaction.

"You didn't like it?"

"I liked it," he shrugged defensively.

"Oh but you didn't love it though..." He questioned, tone accusatory.

"Sam." You warned on Bucky's behalf as your grin spread, because you could tell how he was about to get.

"It is a masterpiece, James." Zemo weighed in. "Complete, comprehensive. The soundtrack truly captures the African-American experience."

Not completely aware, you shot him a look, but Sam was the first to speak.

"Wha– Okay, he's outta line, but, he's right. It's great... Alex tell him, didn't you love watching it?"

"Huh?"

"The movie, the soundtrack, didn't you love it?"

"... It's– it’s a movie?" You blinked.

And as deep disappointment bled into The Falcon's face all over again, you knew you said wrong thing. "Oh, my God."

"Uh oh," Zemo singsonged in a baritone voice, and didn't miss the narrowing glance he got from you.

"So you haven't heard it either."

"Well, no– not that particular Marvin Gaye album. The way you talked about it I thought you were only talking about songs."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing!" He shakes his head, looking up to the heavens.

"You forget she is much younger than you, Samuel."

"Now hold on, I wouldn't say 'much'–"

"You're making this as weird as you possibly can, aren't you?" You smiled thinly at the commenter.

"This isn't the point. Everybody loves Marvin Gaye!" Sam redirected, looking between the two of his partners.

"I like Marvin Gaye." Bucky countered, hardly fazed.

"Steve adored Marvin Gaye!"

"Sam, come on–"

"Nah I'll deal with you later," he shut you down before going right back to the irritated soldier cross from him. "My question is, how could you not love the soulful stylings of The Prince of Soul himself?"

You laugh incredulously as he went off on his tangent. Bucky just looked over at you instead of dignifying him with an answer. "I think we're in trouble."

"Yup. Should not have said that." You and Buck turn back to him simultaneously, and you whisper to Sam, "Am I uninvited to the cookout?"

Bucky cracked a smile, but Sam wasn't amused. Though he digressed while you laughed.

"You must have really looked up to Steven... But I realized something when I met him." The air became heavier as Zemo began. "The danger with people like him, America's super soldiers, is that we put them on pedestals–"

"Watch your step, Zemo."

"They become symbols. Icons. And then we start to forget about their flaws. From there, cities fly. Innocent people die... Wars are fought."

You cocked your head to the side at his dramatic speech. "I'm sorry, didn't you blow up a peaceful UN meeting? In fact, the very one that was meant to prevent stuff like what you just said from happening?"

"That particular sacrifice was not my finest moment." He conceded a little too casually. "Though I have no failures or regrets on the subject, I was still very much in grief."

"Oh! I didn't realize you were in grief." You stared at him blankly, deadpan. "Silly me."

"My point being, when there are idols, there is always a butterfly effect." His gaze zeroed in on the WWII veteran, who was tense again in his seat. "You know that, don't you? As a young soldier being sent to Germany to stop a madman? The question is, do we want to live in a world filled with people like The Red Skull? Certainly not. That is why we are going to Madripoor."

"Great. So what's up with Madripoor?" You ask, wanting to segue out of his sermon.

"Yeah, you guys talk about it like it's Skull Island."

"It's a place where pirates settled in the Indonesian archipelago in the 1800's," Bucky spoke up, his voice low and thick again, gaze still averted out the window.

"It has maintained its lawless ways since then. Think of it as a criminal safe haven where we can find the answers we need about the serum. But, we still cannot walk in there as ourselves."

Sam eyes the blond, just as the jet starts to take off. "So what are you thinking?"

"We go undercover of course. I know a place where we can get what is needed for your fake identities."

Madripoor, Indonesia. It was definitely beautiful from a distance, but you could imagine the facade of perfection chipping away the closer you four walked down the bridge. And your suspicions were only supported by the acidic smell.

Zemo practically gave you and Sam extreme makeovers. At least, yours were more extreme than his and Bucky's. Colorful accessories were added into your hair and around your ears and neck. Zemo insisted it would complete the cultural look.

You switched out your pants, top and jacket for... well, he practically got you the same semi-tactical fit you were wearing before, but much... brighter. And with many more patterns. It seemed he was going for a more African mixed with western fashion look that Sam was also sporting. Cultured but still modern, some of your prints matching with his suit. But luckily you didn't stand out as much as he did. It wasn't exactly subtle like you were used to, but strangely enough, you kinda liked it. For your undercover character anyway.

You couldn't help smiling to yourself as Sam fiddled with his colorful suit. "We gotta do something about this, I'm the only one who looks like a pimp!"

"Only an American would assume a fashion forward black man is a pimp."

"Nah. That suit, all the patterns and designs? Straight up pimp." You scoffed in amusement, tinged with some annoyance. "That was outta pocket by the way. Points for saying 'black' this time though."

"He looks exactly like who he's supposed to," Helmut digressed. "An African rake. Very charming, sophisticated."

"Well that's great. Ya know I've been working on my Wakandan accent lately," the pimp griped sarcastically.

"Ya know there are other African countries besides Wakanda, right?" Bucky remarked.

"I know you didn't just ask me that."

"Do not worry, he was raised here most of his life but has been traveling the globe for years now." Zemo cut back in, and handed Sam a phone with the picture pulled up. "His name is Conrad Mack, a.k.a., The Smiling Tiger. No accent required."

You looked down at your tiger print protective jacket. "Is that what's up with all these loud animal prints?"

"You need to look associated with him. You will be his body guard. He never travels here without one."

Sam looks to Bucky, who simply traded his hoody and jacket for a black leather one with a protective vest over it. "Why's he get to look normal?"

There was the slightest of teasing in Zemo's voice as he answered. "James will have to become someone he claims is gone."

His amusement was clear in his face, same with Bucky's apprehension. You shook your head, wondering if he was ever going to let up on the guy, especially considering he's the reason Zemo was even seeing daylight. You quickly changed subject before the psycho could do a deep dive into Bucky's past opportunities to use as method acting.

"What about you?" Your criminal had changed into what you had to admit was a nice ass coat. He certainly looked at home in it.

"I have an old contact to reconnect with. James will be my protection." A car comes up the otherwise empty, lit up bridge. "No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. There is no margin for error; our lives depend on it."

No one said anything else, but there was no doubt everyone was on their guard. You figured it should be easy enough for you, as a faceless bodyguard. They're more seen and not heard, and it would give you the opportunity to be extra cautious of your surroundings without seeming suspicious.

The car drives into town, six motorcyclists surrounding the car closely as it entered the city. It followed the sound of music and chattering dwellers until you finally got to your drop point. And Zemo was right, you all truly fit right in. Your cover would've been blown the second you walked in, had everyone been wearing their American sneakers and hoodies.

You couldn't help noticing all the different things going on: exchanges of unfamiliar currency, exotic animals, traffic flow in and out of bars. Ominous spray paintings about some 'power broker' all over every other brick wall, people standing around with full on rifles flashed about like it either was their life insurance or merely a fashion accessory. But you didn't stare or make eye contact with anyone as you all walked through, maintaining a stone face. You were here on business after all.

"Wasn't expecting you, Smiling Tiger."

You stood adjacent to Sam at the bar, letting yourself look over the room now. Brass knuckles on fingers, and guns in raggedy holsters. It was a room full of paranoids. The bartender was no exception.

"His plans changed. We have business with Selby." Zemo answered for him.

With a nod, the bartender turned back to your boss. "The usual?"

With his best pimp face, presumably, Sam gave a silent nod. You tried with everything in you not to make a face of disgust or laughter as Sam stared at his snake-gut tainted drink.

"Ah, yes. Your favorite, Smiling Tiger."

"Mm... I love these..." He stalled, staring at the shot glass in hand. He hesitated a little too long, but eventually downed it in one swift motion, barely maintaining character as his face twisted. You didn't miss the satisfied nod from Bucky either, and had to restrain your lips from tugging up.

As the bartender tended to other patrons, you watch as a bearded man walks through the crowd, up to Zemo. "Got word from on high. The Power Broker don't welcome you here. None of you."

"We have no business with The Power Broker. But if he insists, he can either come and talk to me..." At this, Zemo gestures to his own guard.

"Get a new haircut?" The thug sneered, to which the soldier only remained stoic faced, like a blank slate. If you hadn't just spent the last day with him, observing him, the hint of uneasiness coming through his eyes might've been invisible to you.

"Or, you can take us to Selby for a chat."

He must've not known what to do with that response, between being challenged with The Winter Soldier, and following his boss' orders. Cleverly, he walked away. For now.

You eyed the group he retreated to, seemingly all interested in the infamous celebrity brought along with the baron. "What was that about?" You muttered, voice low.

"Seriously." Buck added, eyes shifting about. "A power broker? Really?"

"Every kingdom needs its king. Let's just pray we stay off of his radar."

"You know him?" Sam leaned on the bar, trying to look comfortable, but even as you continue sizing up room while tuning into the convo, you noticed the taste in his mouth still making him grimace.

"No. Only by reputation. Here he is judge, jury, and executioner.

Another man, bigger than first one sent, made his way over towards the group now. You turned from the bar to face him, but Zemo turned his back to him, and muttered something in German to the super soldier at his side. By the look on Barnes' face directed at Zemo, you could something unpleasant was about to go down. Zemo didn't make a move as Thug Number Two grabbed his well-clothed shoulder.

That poor hand was hardly even full grip before Bucky twisted it into his hold and walked the man away from the bar. He moved out to the open floor as the guy squirmed in pain. People began onlooking, but Barnes was looking back to Zemo with a glare of masked reluctance. Like he was about to do something he'd regret.

Your eyebrows raise slightly as the tension became palpable with that single gaze, before the beat down could even begin. And you watched, captivated as he took the man down in a single motion, like it was as effortless as snapping a toothpick. More of this Power Broker's followers foolishly came after him, and your first instinct was to step in, but Barnes didn't give any of them a second to breathe. The way he blocked every blow and returned it tenfold, sending men flying back, was somehow so undeniably smooth.

Maybe it shouldn't have been the spectacle it was to you, but when you saw him before he wasn't fighting. Just blew up the car you were in. And you could tell even during the truck top fight he was holding back. Now, he had plenty of motivation not to. And it was way too mesmerizing not to stare as he let loose. Even with the level of skill he brought to a bar fight with a bunch of low life thugs, it was like he was freaking indestructible.

Men kept coming from every angle. The former assassin swiftly kicked a table leg off its side, sending another to the floor, and kicked one other guy from behind him far back into the crowd without even looking in his direction.

"Damn," you whispered beneath your breath.

Onlookers emitted ooh's of secondhand pain as they watched the fight, if you could call it that. Some people were recording, and for a moment you worried of the risk of word getting out that The Winter Soldier is back.

"Didn't take long for him to fall into form," Zemo smiled from aside Sam, whose concerned face morphed into a glare. But you didn't even register as you watched Bucky take six men down so effortlessly in one spot, in a span of thirty seconds, no sweat. You had become captivated, even though violence wasn't something you were typically drawn to like this... He was certainly impressive when he did it.

Your focus only came back when Bucky singlehandedly picked up the first man from off the floor by the neck, marched back to bar and slammed his back on the tabletop. He was held down in a merciless chokehold, unmoving. That's when everyone decided to square up with their guns. Clearly this Power Broker had a lot of loyalists.

You stepped forward in front of Sam, fingers twitching and ready to catch some bullets if need be. Sam placed a hand on Buck's arm, but it was unclear whether it was for the gangster's sake, or Bucky's.

"Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us," Zemo whispers quickly, as if every gun in the place wasn't already trained on you. Sam slowly stepped back, but you ignored him as your eyes scraped over every gun in the crowd. Your palm tingled, already feeling out the mass of weaponized metal in the room. Maybe The Smiling Tiger's bodyguard didn't have metal-bending superpowers, but you weren't about to let a wall of bullets take this team down.

Zemo's hand slapped proudly onto Bucky's back. "Gut erledigt, soldat."

You heard a desperate gasping for air, but Barnes doesn't let the man go until the bartender looks at him with wide eyes. "Selby will see you now..."

Metal plates moved as Bucky released, and the henchman finally fell to your feet, coughing and gasping. When you looked up, the shifting features on Bucky's face coiled a knot in your stomach. Before it had been scrunched in deadly focus; intense and menacing. Now, there was shame and mortification. Like he had just woken up from a nightmare. It all happened so fast, and as the adrenaline wore off, you could see he wasn't ready to see what it felt like to step back into that role again.

"Thank you." Zemo smiled, following behind, taking no notice of what he had so much fun bringing about.

But Sam only watched the man who was breathing heavily with wide eyes. "You good?"

He looked to Sam, snapping out of his trance. His mouth shut, masking his true expression again. With a quick nod, and a sniff almost too subtle to miss, he marched after the baron. It did nothing to curve his overwhelming emotions, nor your desire to make sure he would be okay. But you only moved once Sam followed him too, and they all walked out unharmed.

"You should know, Baron. People don't just come into my bar and make demands." A blonde woman was draped along a couch when you walked in. "I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?"

"People like us always find a way, don't we?" Zemo makes himself comfortable across from her. Bucky stays by his side while you follow "Conrad" across the room. "I'm sure you've already figured out what I'm here for."

"You're taller than I'd heard, Smiling Tiger." She waves a finger towards where you and Samuel settle above them. Again, Sam only gives a curt nod, causing her to emit some sort of flirtatious growl. Satisfaction sets in her face upon seeing yours and Sam's disturbed expressions. "What's the offer?"

"Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum..." Zemo arises from his chair, striding towards James. "And I give you him."

Your jaw tightened shut. He was already at it again, and that shit-eating smile on his lips forced you to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Who cares if it was strategy at this point, he was clearly enjoying the opportunity to torture Bucky while he had no choice but to be unresponsive.

"Along with the code words to control him, of course." He rasped, circling the offering. Personal space was of no concern as his gloved fingers cupped the soldier's taut face, as if he were a prized weapon to auction off. "He will do anything you want."

You couldn't explain the bubble of anger that ignited wildly in your stomach. Your fists clenched in your stance when you saw Bucky's embarrassment slipping through, and Zemo eating up every bit of it. You had no idea where it came from, but you had to resist your sudden urge to cross the room and choke out that shit-faced psychopath while he gripped Bucky's chin, for inflicting and relishing in this so much.

"Now that's the Zemo I remember. I'm glad I decided not to kill you immediately. Yeah, you were right to come to me." Satisfied when Selby's eyes rake over the soldier, Zemo leaves Bucky alone, sitting back down in comfort as if he hasn't just offered to trade a person for information.

The woman couldn't tell, but it was clear enough to you the distress all over Bucky's face of having to stomach that as if he weren't completely aware of it.

"The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or... condemn, depending on what side of this you're on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but... things didn't go as planned."

"Is Nagel still in Madripoor?"

"Ah ah, Baron. The breadcrumbs you can have for free. The whole bakery's gonna cost ya. And before you get all cute, don't think for a second you can find Nagel without me."

The sound of a vibration stopped the conversation. Everyone's eyes shoot over to Sam's pocket. You didn't move. He grabbed the phone and glanced at Selby, looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Everything in your mind just screamed at him to play it off better than he was now. It felt like you were looking at a little Sam from thirty years ago being berated by his mother.

You heard boots click and felt Selby moving closer to where you and Sam stood. You turned to see her stop beside you, and Bucky who was quietly following over behind her, ready to act.

You actually decided to remain calm, unlike Sam, since a phone call in itself wasn't anything to be suspicious of. But the way this lady moved about with wolfish eyes still kept your defensive sights set on her. A phone call was normal, and as his bodyguard used to being at his side, you had to play it off better than he was doing now, while still staying ready at his side.

"Answer it. On speaker." She gestures toward the guard behind the two of you who stood ready with a gun in his hands. When he moved closer and readied his finger over the trigger, you turned to him before he got any closer to Sam, daring him to make a move. He looked over your smaller form and didn't seem the least bit threatened at all.

"Hello?"

"Hey, um, we need to talk about the situation. It's been driving me nuts."

"What situation are you talking about exactly?"

"... Are you high? You know what situation, it's the only situation you and I have."

Oh. Must be his sister.

"What situation, Sarah? Say it!"

"The damn boat! And watch your tone. I may have let you slide at the bank but–"

"Huh, yeah the bank. Laundered so much money," he laughed obnoxiously, and you wanted so badly to facepalm. Oh God, Sam. "They'll come around."

"If that was the case then why'd they dog you out, big time?"

"Damn right I'm big time." He boasted, haughty. You were praying he'd receive your telepathic messages to just hang up the damn phone. But he kept going, his gaze turning dark when he delivered a pretty dramatic line– and pretty well actually. "You'll see, when I have that banker killed."

Okay, Sam, there are those acting skillssss.

You turned your head to sneak a peek at Selby who was walking around the room as she listened. She was eyeing James up and down, and then wandered behind an alert Zemo, running her finger along the back of his chair.

"Cas! What did I say about the Cheerios?! I don't have time for this– Sam, I'm sorry, lemme call you back."

"Sam?"

You sighed heavily.

"Who's Sam? Kill them!"

The giant guard pulls up his gun, and you lunge forward, grabbing it from his hands and hitting the butt of it on the side of his head swiftly. When he crumpled you turned with the barrel pointed to her, but her body was already dropping after another shot already barreled through the window and into her chest.

Bucky didn't miss a beat and took out the second guard, grabbing his firearm, too. Everyone moved toward the entrance at once, away from windows.

"What the hell was that?"

Sam pressed his back to the door as he looked at Selby's bleeding body on the floor. "Too many people know we came to see her, they're gonna try to pin this on us."

"We have a real problem. We need to go, now. Leave your weapons and follow my lead." Zemo rubbed his gloved hands together, actually seeming nervous. But the three of you still followed him out through a back exit, into an alleyway back outside. The plan must've been to get out of the area before anyone discovered what had happened. After that spectacle Bucky– well, The Winter Soldier made in the bar, everyone knows who was last to see Selby.

The four of you walked quickly, but unanimously tried to seem anything but suspicious as people passed by. It was only a few seconds before phones were buzzing and chiming all over after that. People looked around, and you had some idea of what the message must have said. Next thing you knew, you heard gunshots all around you, and the rest of your team broke into a sprint. Even more rounds followed your footsteps, just missing the four moving targets.

You and Zemo split off down a different way, acting on the same impulse since the shots came from behind and the two of you were in the back.

"I can't run in these heels!"

Sam and Bucky had run off straight ahead, missing the bullets as far as you could tell.

Motorcycles are flanking on the left, and you both make a hard veer to run down a path on the right. Only more men appear riding from that direction, too. You scramble to change course at the speed you're fleeing, leading Zemo on your heels through the only course left. The two of you moved swiftly between the market tables, luckily losing the pursuers that were closing in on the left. There was another opening at the end of this road, but with the cyclists converging on you from every direction it could just as easily be a dead end.

It didn't stop you from evading the men by sprinting that way, but you only caught up with Sam and Bucky also running into the back alley with their own group of attackers riding after them as well. All four of you reunited at once, boxed in while shots began firing at your partners.

"Shit!" You slide to a stop and your hands fly up. Rounds of lead speed towards them, but the array of bullets stop and hover just a foot away from them before they can make any contact. Seconds later, when the gunman saw their pointless efforts and the firing stopped, you dropped your arms, the wall of lead clinking at their feet.

The sound of more motorcycles coming to a stop behind you and the baron, along with firearms being cocked, caused you to whip around. Quickly, you reached a hand up and yanked it back with a grunt, lurching every one of their scooters from underneath them, and watching the men hit the ground.

Bucky watched slack-jawed as you revealed even more powers, taking down multiple shooters so effortlessly. Zemo wasn't exactly keeping his cool from beside you either.

Your ears perked when once again, guns clicked from behind you. "Take her down!"

You spin around in irritation, ready to rip them from their hands, but you didn't have to bother. Some hidden sniper fires shots on your attackers before you can, and they drop lifelessly to the ground as well.

Your hands lowered slowly as the others looked all around the alley, the fiery green energy dissipating. It seemed like invisible snipers had been following you all since you stepped foot in this place.

"We seem to have a guardian angel," Zemo commented aloud, then stopped searching amongst the upper levels to narrow the disgusted shock in his eyes on you. "And you seem to have some explaining to do."

"Well this is just too perfect."

A voice and figure finally emerged from the shadows behind Barnes and Wilson. Once she stopped between the motionless bodies and unhooded herself, you saw it was...

Well, you were finally beat. You had no idea who she was.

"Sharon?" Bucky breathed out.

"Drop it, Zemo." That gun rested well in her hands, and she had it set on the rake.

He slowly set the weapon on the ground, and you realized you didn't even know when or where he got it from.

"Sharon, wait." Sam held his hand out as she kicked it away, well out of the baron's reach while still pointing hers at his forehead.

"I lost everything because of you."

Zemo straightened very slowly, his hands in the air. He backed away, putting himself between you and Sam, who spoke again. "Someone recreated the super soldier serum, and Zemo had a lead."

She laughed, looking up at the sky incredulously for a moment. "That explains why you guys are here. And why Selby's dead."

"We didn't kill anybody." He clarified.

"Then someone must have framed you for it to get a lot of money. Welcome to Madripoor."

"What are you doing here?" Bucky cut in from beside you.

"I stole the shield, remember? I also stole the wings for your ass so you could save his ass from his ass," she swung the gun about, pointing it aggressively from Sam, to Bucky then Zemo.

"Okay, easy." You warned when the others tensed with guilt.

This shifted her attention to you. "I didn't think I'd ever meet you though. Then again I never thought you'd end up anywhere near these guys. Now how did that happen?"

"What are you talking about?" You shook your head, confused as to why she looked over you with such familiarity.

With a huff, Sharon finally lowered her gun. "You're Alex. Nick Fury's precious little niece."

"Say what?" Sam looked from her to you, but you only stared at her in confusion.

"... How do you know that?" There were only two other people on this planet who should've known about you and your Uncle's relation, and one was dead now. Neither of them included this Sharon, but they both at least knew better than to just go around saying it.

"He enlisted me to watch over you after you got in that car crash–" Fuck, STOP TALKING. You screamed mentally before she would reveal one of the other secrets you were keeping. You couldn't help but glance at Bucky whose eyebrows were creased in confusion. "He wanted me to make sure you didn't get into any trouble or draw attention with those nifty powers of yours. Of course, that only lasted two years until I went off the grid after helping you guys get all your weapons back."

It took you a moment to realize she was talking about the in fighting between the Avengers that happened two years after you went into hiding, but suddenly pieces of the past were starting to make sense. She watched over you for the two years you were in hiding from The Winter Soldier. After you found out Nick was a secret agent but before you knew it was in SHIELD, or what SHIELD even was. Two of those three years of constant paranoia at least made sense. There was someone watching you... They were just sent by a friend, not an enemy. 

"Wait. You're Nick Fury's niece?!" Sam backtracked, stepping out of line to face you now.

You looked to Sam and opened your mouth to say something, though you had no idea what it was. Honestly your head was still wrapping around this complete stranger not only knowing you and your uncle, but spying on you for two whole years.

It's not like you would deny the truth to Sam, but you weren't used to being forced into admitting it either.

"Don't take it personally, Fury's always been the need to know kinda guy. I guess it's still not something they're telling people." At that remark your head rolled to look at her, to which she shook her head and shrugged. "My bad."

"And the surprises keep coming." Zemo drawled. "This one's sneakier than I thought."

Bucky had become quiet, his cheeks sinking inward when his jaw clenched. Nick Fury was one of many names that always pulled him back into guilt-ridden thoughts when mentioned around him. Only now, that guilt suddenly extended to you. A detail you completely missed since your focus was on Sharon.

"You spied on me for two years?"

"Just doing my job."

And all that time you spent convincing yourself it was just paranoia. You rationalized there was no way they could be surveilling you after their demise. Sure, you knew there was always a possibility of a rat or two escaping, but your old connections bent over backwards to make sure they'd never go after anyone ever again. It took many years for you to finally convince yourself it was all in your head. And apparently it still was, all that time before the car wreck and going into hiding. Now after finding out there was someone watching you, you didn't know whether to be disappointed in yourself or not for forcing yourself to ignore instincts for the sake of blissful denial.

Sam looked back and forth between you and Sharon for clarity. "You're telling me that Nick Fury... is an uncle."

"They come in all shapes and sizes. There's a reason he enlisted me to keep tabs on you. That is, right up until big time terrorist here blew up the UN Sokovia Accords meeting." She answered rather casually. "But unlike these guys I didn't have The Avengers to back me up, so, I'm off the grid in Madripoor."

"Hey, don't blow that smoke at me, I was on the run, too."

"Yeah, was. Big difference. I haven't spoken to my family in years. I can't. My own father doesn't know where I am." Anguish dashed her eyes, causing Sam to back off.

"Look, Sharon..." Bucky spoke up again, more timid now. "We need your help." She laughed incredulously, and even though you didn't exactly like the idea, you became more distracted by the pleading expression breaking through the barrier of Bucky's features. "Please."

Sharon was looking up at the sky and shaking her head, as if she could see the cruel god so amused by her life. "This isn't over...” Her eyes cut at Zemo specifically. “I have a place in High Town where you can lay low for a while."

She didn't need any more discussion before turning away and walking down the alley. Bucky was the first to follow. There was a reflective silence as one by one, the group followed the third impromptu addition to the team. You don't miss her he glance Sam couldn't help giving you before pushing Zemo along ahead of him. It seemed that matter was dropped for now, but you knew you would have to acknowledge this later.

You just hoped she couldn't unbury anything else from your past.

[all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth]

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Unusual Suspects (5x03)

“Get anything from the normal-looking one?” his partner asked.

Munch walked over to their desks and sank into his chair with an exhausted sigh. “Only that the rise in American patriotism immediately following the Kennedy assassination went so far as to influence the baby names of the early to mid 1960s.”

Bolander stared at him for a moment, and upon his silence, stated: “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Listening to those three talk makes me feel like I need to go be strapped down to a hospital bed. Don’t get me wrong. It’s a great story, but that’s all it is.” The captain was up their asses about this case, but as far as Munch knew, watching one too many science fiction movies wasn’t a crime.

He glanced at the security monitor and, through the grainy black and white footage, watched the three men at the heart of their investigation squabbling with one another. Usually, he’d send a rookie to go de-escalate the situation, but none of these guys looked like they could cause much harm. 

“Maybe they’re roleplaying,” Bolander offered.

“Roleplaying as what? Larry, Curly, and Moe?”

“Nah,” his partner replied, shaking his head. “I saw it back in the day. Ya’ know, those people obsessed with Star Trek and whatnot. They put on little ears with laser beams made from tin foil and run around the woods pretending to be Han Solo.”

“Captain Kirk,” Munch corrected.

Bolander shrugged, cracking open the tab of his soda can. “Whatever.” 

Munch rubbed the back of his neck as he drank his lukewarm cup of coffee from the squad room, trying to make the liquid bypass his tastebuds on the way down so it would be tolerable. The warehouses in that part of town weren’t a hot spot for violent crime. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever known what that warehouse held or who owned it. It was pretty nondescript. He just remembered always seeing men dressed in black guarding the building.

“Did either of the other two say anything interesting?” he asked.

“ You might’ve found it interesting, but you know I’m not interested in all that conspiracy gobbledygook,” Bolander dismissed. “I don’t care about any grassy knoll, why someone might carry an umbrella on a sunny day, or who might’ve been hiding behind smoke and mirrors.”

“That’s amateur hour, talk to me about what they did with the coffin and you’ll have my attention,” he teased. “Did the drug screen for the blonde one come back?”

“Faint traces of marijuana in his system, but that was expected. Guy talked my ear off about anti-authoritarianism and how the FCC commits violations against citizens’ right to free speech, yadda, yadda.”

They looked back at the monitor and Mr. John Fitzgerald Byers was standing in between the other two, waving his hands around emphatically. “Doesn’t look like they’re well acquainted. Do you think the other two might’ve been trying to buy some pot off of him?” 

Bolander clicked his tongue in disagreement. “FBI doesn’t have time for that.”

“Think he might be crooked? Any history of–”

Before Munch could even finish the thought, Bolander cut him off. “Got a call from his superior. Reggie… uh,” he glanced back at his sheet and waved his hand dismissively, “Something. He says this guy is a genius, one of the best profilers the FBI’s got.”

“Does Reggie Something know that his star agent just spent the night doing a rather convincing impression of Napoleon?”

The harsh trill of the office phone cut off his line of inquiry. “Detective Stanley Bolander, Baltimore Homicide.”

Munch was about to get up and take a leak when Bolander put his free hand  over the phone’s mouthpiece and whispered, “Speak of the devil.”

Bolander removed his hand as Munch walked closer. “What can we do for you, Agent Mulder? You feeling any better?” 

While the agent answered, Munch took a legal pad off the desk and scribbled a note across the yellow page.

Tell him we have those three in custody.

His partner read the note and nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. I just wanted to let you know we have the suspects in custody.”

Munch could only faintly hear the reply through the phone’s speaker, but based off Bolander’s contorted expression, it wasn’t the reaction they were expecting.

“You know, the unusual-looking fellows. Melvin Frohike, John Byers, and Richard Langly. They claim that they stumbled across some sort of conspiracy to infect the general public with a chemical substance. They say that’s what you got doused with, and caused you to go… you know,” Bolander trailed off.

There was some nodding and monosyllabic responses that he couldn’t decipher, but he was shocked when he got a response on the legal pad.

He says let them go.

“What?” Munch whispered in surprise.

“How can you be sure they aren’t lying if you don’t remember?” Boldander pressed.

His partner looked up at him and shrugged his shoulders in defeat. “Okay, well, we’d like to get your statement if you could drop by.”

Munch waited for the phone to return to its cradle before exclaiming, “The man was found delirious on the floor of a dirty warehouse, and he wants us to release the only suspects?”

“Guy sounded concerned for them,” he sighed.

“Back in my day, people who liked tripping balls while naked and spent their time spewing anti-government conspiracy theories usually tried to avoid the FBI,” Munch grumbled.

“Was the FBI even founded yet back in your day?” Bolander teased.

Rolling his eyes, Munch stood up and started making his way towards the cells. “You know what? If the Three Stooges want to finally leave their moms’ basements so they can play spy in between sessions of Dungeons and Dragons,” Munch said, shaking his head in defeat, “Let ‘em.”

Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on AO3!

@gaycrouton

[deluluass]

hi

could yoy do please some yandere kuroo and kageyama headcanons? 💕

nsfw is welcomed 😊

My first headcanons 🤞🏽

Yandere! Kuroo Tetsuro

Content warnings: markers of a toxic/emotionally abusive relationship; dumbification; daddy kink; sex toy(s); mild public play/exhibitionism

😇SFW😇

This boy has a fascination for messy people.

And by "messy", I mean that Kuroo has a soft spot for those who put up some sort of front. A performative mask to hide their crumbling psyche.

Oh.

Those are his favorites. (Especially when they're not even aware that they’re hiding something.)

Maybe it's because they're so easy to manipulate? (Or perhaps it's a mild case of schadenfreude?)

It's the instigator in him.

He knows which buttons to push and at what time to exactly do it.

Kuroo lives for being that guy who causes a full blown fight by simply dropping a backhanded comment or two.

For being the final straw that eventually breaks the proverbial camel's back.

And then slipping back into the shadows to watch the Drama unfold.

So it's not unlikely for him to form an obsession for someone who's so emotionally vulnerable.

Someone who has the weight of the world on their shoulders; who has everything locked up inside to the point of bursting.

Because then it won't take much to have them falling apart and unraveling before him.

But he's also a caretaker, you know.

He's opportunistic and covertly callous and mischievous, yes.

But you've seen how much he tends to those close to him.

So when you do fall apart, you will do it in his arms.

He will take care of you.

He'll say everything you've always wanted to hear.

You're beautiful and wanted and loved and you don't have to be brave anymore.

Kuroo's here and he understands you.

From the barest changes in your inflection to your most subtle facial expression.

Other people won't catch it.

To Kuroo, though? Tell-tale signs that you're hiding your feelings again.

He understands you in a way that no else had; that no else cared to try.

And eventually that’ll be the very thing that you’ll hold onto.

Never mind that his every word has become an indisputable fact (when it shouldn’t be).

Never mind that the line between Kuroo just being a mindful boyfriend AND Kuroo disregarding your boundaries has become too blurry that it’s impossible to tell which is which.

Never mind that your entire world has narrowed down to just him and you.

Because all your friends have, one by one, made their way for the exit.

They tell you that they're so tired.

They've warned you- begged you, actually- to end this insidiously suffocating relationship.

"I know he's only been nice to you and to us, but there's just...something wrong about that guy," they say.

But until they pinpoint, exactly, what that "something wrong" is; and until you see it for yourself, you're sticking by his side.

Damn whatever people say.

So.

Kuroo's not the yandere who'd chain you up in his basement or something.

Not that he's above it, but because he doesn't really need to.

Not when he has you bound right where it really matters.

😈NSFW😈

Kuroo has perfected being a dom down to a Science.

He knows exactly when to be mean and hurtful and sweet and kind and giving to you.

Kuroo's very generous, methinks! But only if he believes you deserved it.

So you better prove that you earned it!!

He'll having you cumming and gushing into his hand if you pleaded just enough!!

Looked into his eyes all pouty and teary and pliant to all his wishes.

Very into treating you and talking to you like you're not capable of comprehending words.

Oh, darling. I know I'm hurting you. I know I am. But you like it, don't you? That's right. Fuck yeah, you do, you fucking slut.

That's because you're just a dumb little baby, aren't you? You'd be happy as long as daddy makes you cum?

And you'd nod and say yes so obediently as he pounds your little hole even though you can't hear him over the sound of your own moans.

ALSO!!!

HE IS A TEASE!!!!

A FUCKINGN!!!!!!!!! TEASE!!!!

Every seggsy time is edging time!!

Has a thing for slapping your ass until your cheeks are bruised and tender under his palms.

And for sticking a vibrator inside you while you're out in public.

Just to teach you a lesson whenever he feels like you're not learning enough.

"Do you want me to come back until you're ready?" the waiter droned, obviously suppressing the urge to roll his eyes when all you did was grip the napkin in front of you.

You couldn't even look at poor kid; couldn't even make out a sound. You're too busy stifling the tingling within your walls, prompting you to cross your legs beneath the table and squeeze your thighs together.

And Kuroo's just...scanning the menu. Sitting idly before you. He's resting his chin against his open palm, long fingers brushing under his nose, while you're practically grinding down the chair.

You feel yourself leak into the crotch of your underwear, sticky liquid squelching against the crack of your ass as the toy continued to vibrate, burning you up and melting your insides, the buzzing a white noise only you could hear.

His indifference was unflappable. Kuroo even managed to call out, "Excuse me. Sorry about that earlier. We're ready now," so smoothly despite your desperate attempts to catch his attention. Then, he recited a bunch of dishes that you didn’t have the appetite for. Like you’re not outright writhing and earning a few disconcerted looks from the table next to you.

All you wanted was for him to put an end to this. You've learned your lesson. You're not gonna disappoint him again.

Instead, you watched in agonizing fear as he reached for his pocket. And immediately, without a warning, you felt the toy shake violently inside you.

"Ah!" you cried, sharply folding your arms and legs, making the plates and utensils clink against each other as your wrists chafed against your hard nipples.

Your boyfriend halted, leaned closer, and looked at you in a convincing display of concern.

"Are you alright, babe?" he muttered, caressing your knee, his nails pressing down just a tad. Not too hard. Just enough for you to hiss in a heady mixture of pleasure and pain.

You managed a small, quivering "uh-huh" as you begged him with your eyes. Conveying as much message as you could.

"Daddy, I'll be good for you. I swear. I won't lie anymore. I won't make you angry. I won't do anything that you wouldn't be happy about. Everything I do from this moment on will be just for you, daddy. I promise, daddy-"

But Kuroo only huffed out, a small, faint grin tracing his lips as he turned back to the waiter and said, "One cream pie, please."

Yandere! Kageyama Tobio

Content warning(s): rape/noncon

😇SFW😇

Fourth wall break, if you will: thank you, anon, for putting these characters together because I Believe that they’re each other’s foils in terms of yandere-isms. And this is gonna be an interesting contrast to see (at least, I hope it would be).

So Kuroo’s all subdued mind games, right? Like, you have to do a whole routine of mental gymnastics if you want to dig deep and analyze how he had your head spinning. 

But Kageyama? 

Kageyama says fuck that.

Kageyama, genius though he is, is about as subtle as a metal bat to the head when it comes to his darling.

He has no qualms about tying you to his bed once the opportunity presents itself to him.

But it didn’t start out like that.

At first, perhaps Kageyama was just an aloof classmate whose entire life revolved around volleyball.

The one who couldn’t even take a time out of his day to hang out with the rest of the class on a weekend.

Though Kageyama has a knack for attracting hostility from other people, there comes a time (rare it may be) that it is offset by people who are sympathetic to his idiosyncrasies.

His darling falls under the latter.

That's what draws Kageyama to you.

Hearing stuff like "D'you know what they used to call him before? King!" and "King because he's an arrogant dickhead who thinks he's better than everyone" are not new to him.

But hearing these are: "Stop that. It's rude to talk behind a person's back."

"Kageyama's passionate about volleyball. More than anyone we've ever met. Ok so it's alienating for us! Whatever! But isn't it admirable that he's doing his best at a thing that he loves?"

Kageyama did not get it.

You're not his teammate.

You're not his..anything.

You had no cause to try and be nice to him and defend him and..understand him, really.

So the rest was history.

The beginning might have been awkward.

Every time he tried to talk to you, Kageyama, for some reason, always blurted out the wrong things.

But you didn't mind. You just liked being his friend.

And Kageyama liked having you by his side.

Kageyama liked it, especially, when you're in the sidelines and cheering him on. (This caused quite a ruckus in Karasuno.)

It should have been weird. Kageyama had not known anything else besides volleyball.

Your presence should’ve been that of a stranger encroaching on someone else’s property.

Somehow, though, you fitted in so perfectly.

Like you’re made to be there.

So he tells you: “You’re free, aren’t you? You should be watching me play by now” and “You should be waiting for me after class” and “Stop making excuses. You’re not tired. You can still drop by practice” 

You’ve tried to reason with him. (Even contemplated about ending your friendship.)

But it’s not like you’re ever gonna shake him off.

Besides, you know that he wouldn’t accept anything less than perfect.

😈NSFW😈

His darling was his first sexual experience. 

And like any beginner, Kageyama was pretty...uh..bad at it ngl.

Add that to the fact that he’s on the bigger side and your first with him wasn’t consensual.

At that time, all Kageyama knew was that he really, really wanted to touch you and kiss you and fuck you senseless until you acknowledge that there’s no running from him. 

Trust, though, that Kageyama will not settle for being bad or, heaven forbid, mediocre at it.

Nope.

Not. a. chance.

Doesn’t matter that you’ve spent the entire day fucking.

Kageyama will not rest- not let you rest, until he drags out a moan from you; until you’ve ruined the sheets with how much he’s made you cum; until he has you begging for more. 

Will experiment a lot.

Will test out how fast and hard he has to fuck you to get what kind of reaction he wants from you.

Very attentive even to your quietest gasp.

If you so much as show a sign that you’re finding whatever it is he’s doing to your body pleasurable- curl your toe or arch your back- Kageyama will amp it up to the point where you’re screaming.

He’ll have this haughty, shit-eating grin while doing it too.

“Yes, you can,” Kageyama growled. “Spread those legs and show me how you do it.”

You shook your head, your body protesting at the slight movement. You’re already on the verge of blacking out. And you don’t have to check the ticking wall clock to know that, by now, Kageyama, too, should be knocked out and dozing off beside you.

But he only grabbed your wrists, making you howl in pain as soon as he touched the cuts and bruises across the skin. Remnants of the nylon rope that bound them together not too long ago.

“Touch yourself,” he repeated.

Kageyama’s voice is a rasping noise to your ears, his hot breath causing goosebumps all over you as he pressed his lips against the shell.

“No-no more, Kag-Kageyama,” you forced yourself to say, though your throat was dry and aching from all your screeching. 

He clicked his tongue. 

You flinched.

And you didn’t think it possible for Kageyama to be more frightening than he already is. Until you’d done as he’d told and, like a wolf patiently waiting to pounce, Kageyama zeroed in on how you moved your hands, his own reaching for his cock.

He didn’t take his eyes off of you, groaning as you trembled and mewled under your featherlight touch. Kageyama stroked himself, grinding into his fist until pre-cum dripped from the head.

“That how you like it, huh,” he croaked.

Before you could even reach an orgasm, Kageyama had already pushed you on your back, mimicking the way you pleasured yourself. Only this time it was rougher, more unforgiving, and indifferent to your cries of “Stop! Stop it, I can’t- Enough, Kageyama!”

[consumeconstantly]

A Discowing at the Wayne Gala

Summary: Getting Jason to go to the Wayne Gala each year was more difficult than putting the Joker away in Arkham; he insisted the part was full of pretentious, rich social climbers who were horribly boring. As it turned out, all he really needed to persuade him was an upset, drunk girl rambling about how much she was going to deck her highschool enemies there to convince himself that he’d be in for a great show. (AKA the extremely chaotic and nonsensical salt/crack fic)

____________________________________________________

“I, Mar--” she hiccupped, “Marinette Dupain-Cheng solemnly swear to rip Lila a new one with Discowing’s godawful costume.”

“You say it girl!” called some random person from across the bar. 

“I will--” another hiccup “--use Batman’s Batmobile to run over Kim. And slam Red Hood’s ugly ass helmet onto Adrien’s stupid face.”

“Better yet,” Marinette pounded the table, “I will use their stupid utility belts to dismantle Gabriel’s empire. Somebody give me a yeah!”

“Yeah!”

All in all, the sight wasn’t that atypical for a bar in Gotham, if it weren’t for the fact that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was barely five feet, wore pigtails, and knocked five men on their asses when they tried to approach her. 

“Take that, Hawkass,” she hissed. “Think you can pull a fast one on me when I’m drunk, do you? Well I’ve got news for you!”

Her words slurred together, and she leaned on the bar for support. “When I get my way, you’re going to be tied up into a pretzel and dumped into a volcano, then the tundra and then we’ll see how you like your stupid little jewlery touched.”

“Dupain-Cheng,” her blonde companion hissed. “Get yourself together. We don’t need another one of your breakdowns now. You know we’re going to be busy tomorrow night, and I don’t want to deal with you completely hung over all throughout the gala.”

“Aww,” Marinette squished her cheek onto Chloe’s “You know you love me.”

“Yes, yes, but I’m not going to tolerate this bullshit. If you want to make good on your plans, you need to be in tip top shape.”

“Ughhhh, why are they even invited to the stupid gala? It’s not even like they’re rich! Oh wait, I guess they are…” Marinette pressed her face to the bar, which was undoubtedly dirty. She reveled in it’s coolness, brushing her bangs out of her face. “And why do you have to be right? I guess I have to stop drinking if I want to make any of my plans work.”

“Your plans will work, hungover or not. It’s just a question of how much you’ll be able to enjoy them. I don’t want you complaining for months after the fact that you don’t remember half of what happened.”

“I guess you’re right. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and I'm feeling a little too warm to ice them out.” Staggering, Marinette got to her feet. “Call an Uber?”

“It’s already here.”

#

“What made you change your mind?” Tim frowned at Jason, doubtful that he wasn’t going to cop out at the last second. He was sure that he was only putting on his suit as some sort of deliberate ploy to get out of the Gala. Truthfully, it wasn’t required that all of them attend the Gala, but it was one of the few events that brought together most of the Wayne family.

Jason ran a hand through his hair and smirked. “Let’s just say I’m expecting quite the show.”

#

Jason kept a hawkish gaze on the entrance, waiting for the appearance of one short, pigtailed girl, and a taller blonde. They arrived almost forty five minutes into the Gala, which was good timing; not late enough to be considered rude, but most people have already arrived and have made their rounds.

Marinette looked different out of the dim lighting of the bar, and even though she definitely looks like she’s nursing a light hangover, she still managed to look stunning. With a matte-black floor length dress that attracted all light in the vicinity towards it, it’s hard not to look her way; Tim, for one, stared at the outfits that Marinette and her companion are wearing with stars in his eyes. Any moment now, he’s going to approach them. Or he would if he weren’t on Jason-sitting duty.

“I’ll play nice,” Jason promised.

“You? Nice?” Tim sounded incredulous, and it’s not like he can fault him. Whenever Jason did successfully get roped into coming to the Gala, it’s a sure thing that he gets at least one fist fight started, if not an everyone for themselves sort of situation. 

“They’re the reason I decided to come. It’s not me you have to be worried about.”

Tim groaned. “Really? They’re trouble makers? But they’re wearing MDC!”

Jason chuckled, slipping a hand into his pants pocket. Tim was weirdly obsessed with the highly secretive French designer. Nobody ever saw them in person. “Wearing your fashion icon doesn’t mean they can’t kick ass.”

Tim rocked back on his heels, looking at the two girls calculatively. “That’s right. If anything, they’re more likely to kick ass, because that’s the kind of confidence that MDC inspires in their designs. Well, if you’re not going to fight them, I’m going to introduce myself.”

“And I can’t leave my little brother alone.” Jason said, watching the blonde girl point in the direction of, if he wasn’t mistaken, Gabriel Agreste’s son and his plus one.

Who knew that doing a preliminary reading of the guests would be so informative? He could only guess what kind of beef Marinette had with Agreste Jr.--Bruce had enough problems with Gabriel; even though Wayne Enterprises only dabbled in fashion, Gabriel was a ruthless man when it came to his competitors, and tried to edge them out of the market multiple times. Foolish on his part, not taking into consideration that both Bruce and Tim were very, very stubborn people who only get more difficult to face when dealing with a challenge.

Wayne Enterprise might primarily be considered with R&D and technology companies, but underestimating the amount of influence Tim could gather when someone pissed him off was just a bad idea.

“Hi, I’m Tim--”

“--and it’s lovely to meet you, but we’re on a mission right now,” finished the blonde girl, who Jason was now 98% sure is Chloe Bourgeois, daughter of Paris’ mayor and Style Queen Audrey Bourgeois. “Dupain-Cheng, it’s your time to shine.”

“God,” Marinette muttered underneath her breath, ducking her head. “I can’t believe you’re holding me to what I said while drunk last night.”

“It’s not just what you said drunk last night, it’s the most effective way of dealing with that liar. She’ll be so embarrassed she’ll hide away forever. Maybe get some plastic surgery and change her name. Daddy will make sure she can never step foot in Paris again.” 

“Chloe,” Marinette groaned. “We all know how that panned out last time. Do you want a repeat performance?”

“By that time Hawkmoth will already be taken down. No need to worry about evil butterflies.”

“Evil butterflies?” Tim frowned. 

“We can fill you in later, Marinette has a car to steal.”

“Chloe!” 

“Oh stuff it, Dupain-Cheng, you’re no goody two shoes, even though you pretend to be one.”

Marinette whispers into Chloe’s ear, eyeing Jason and Tim. “Do you have to discuss that with other people around?”

“Well,” Chloe crossed her arms. “You boys aren’t going to rat us out, are you? They’re part of the infamous Wayne family. They’ll definitely be in.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You know they already reached out-- I can’t risk--” Marinette kept cutting herself off. “Fine, but if you-know-what falls through, I’m putting it all on you.”

“Like they’re going to pass you up just because of what’s going to go down at this gala. If anything, they’ll be glad to know that you’re as vicious as you are creative,” Chloe checked her nails and touched her hair, making sure it was in place.

“Sorry, what? I’m a little bit lost.”

“Keep up, Drake. I’m beginning to doubt your title as child-genius.You have the unique opportunity to watch history in the making.”

#

“Wait,” Tim’s jaw almost dropped at the display in front of him. “How did you even--”

“Trade secret. Marinette doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“But that’s the Batmobile.”

“Yeah, and?”

Jason laughed. He stole the hubcaps off the Batmobile, Marinette stole the whole thing. What a sight.

#

Here’s how the rest of the night went: Chloe plied Marinette with copious amounts of water, trying to get rid of her headache. Marinette hopped into the driver’s seat of the Batmobile (to which Chloe cackled, “And she doesn’t even have a driver’s license yet,” and Tim paled to the shade of freshly fired ceramic plate.) They ran over Kim, who, somehow managed to get into the event as a server of sorts, at which point Tim swore that the background checks would have to be upped again. Marinette landed the Batmobile in the middle of the gala, barely managing to avoid several innocents who were in her path. She reached into the convenient storage compartment that Jason was previously unaware of and pulled out the Discowing outfit and his helmet-- seriously, how did she get those?-- and slammed the car door.

Security, of course, was waiting for them. How couldn’t they, with that big of a disturbance? Half of the guests were up in a tizzy-- mostly the ones who were experiencing their first Wayne Gala-- and the other half were looking on, amused. Tim waved the guards off as Marinette made her way to Lila and Adrien, like a vengeful Valkyrie.

“You,” Marinette grimaced. “Chloe, say the words, I forgot them.”

“We decided that words were useless, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Marinette said, before promptly slamming Red Hood’s helmet onto Adrien’s head hard enough for him to fall to the ground, likely concussed. Lila, who started screeching and running away made for a surprisingly difficult target. Well, difficult in the fact that she was using other people as shields, but once she came across a group of Experienced Wayne Gala Goers, she got pushed out of her comfort zone.

In eight inch heels and with her hair down, Marinette stalked towards her prey. 

“Lila Rossi,” Marinette intoned. “Your sins will be judged.”

“What are you going to do, Marinette? You have no power here. We’re in America now. No Ladybug to back you up. No public opinion in your favor.”

Marinette shuddered. “Ugh, your voice makes me want to vomit. In any case, I sentence you to life in Discowing’s costume.”

“You can’t make me wear anything!”

Famous last words, Lila.

#

“I’m still so confused. What just happened?”

“Don’t worry,” Chloe gave Tim a pat on the back. “You’ll get used to this kind of thing if you end up hanging around Marinette more often.”

“I think I’m in love,” said Jason.

“Get in the back of the line. The only thing Marinette has time for now are her plans to take down Hawkmoth.”

“I’m not opposed to joining you. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” Jason paused. “By the way, has she already stolen the utility belts to take down Gabriel or does she need more? I’ve got contacts.”

 "Fair warning, everything in Paris is at least twenty times crazier than what you’ve seen here today.” Chloe swiped through a few notifications on her phone. “And please, do you think someone who hotwired the Batmobile needs your help getting her hands on a couple utility belts? If she really put her mind to it, she could get the Lasso of Truth from Wonder Woman.”

“Yeah, Jason, I’m definitely not going to join you on that trip.” Tim turned his attention towards Marinette, who was currently passed out on the hotel couch. “Anyways, You two are wearing MDC, right? I have a meeting with them tomorrow!”

Chloe looked at the poor boy with pity. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

@jasonette-july-2k20

________________________________________________

i’m really churning out these jasonette prompts like butter (god butter is so freaking good you ever eat butter straight? i do. heart attack city & the next paula dean) even tho i only thought about joining in right when july was ending but here we are 

[demonologistfucker]

Free Angel GN! Angel MC x Obey Me, Part 1

Summary: You are the third Angel to be welcome in Diavolo’s exchange program. This is the first time in your life that you are free from any Angelic codes, and you’re interested to indulge. You can’t explore hell alone though, so you’ll be given the Avatar of Wrath as a guardian.

This is my writing out the AU i had for my own mc, but as an MC insert. This first chapter is SFW, but if I continue, there will be NSFW smutty chapters. This Angel wants to have some fun in hell, and is Poly so ✨

Word Count: 3459

“Are you excited?” Simeon looked down to Luke. Who was fussing over his own clothes. Making sure everything was neat and presentable. 

“Of course not,” Luke huffed. “This is going to be the worst year.”

“I don’t know about that,” MC grinned as they rocked back onto their heels. “We’re going to learn quite a lot.” So much about the Devildom had been kept away from the angels. MC was created by God after the revolution. All they had ever been told was what to fear about the devils and their land. However, MC knew there were gaps in the story. Noticed the longing that flared in Simeon’s eyes whenever The Morningstar and his family were brought up. Which is why, as the magic circle began to glow, MC felt a great excitement. Luke watched the magic circle glow with wide eyes. While Simeon continued on as if nothing was changing.

“Try to keep an open mind, Luke. The Devildom is not all bad.” Simeon patted Luke’s head. “You might even make some friends.”  just as the magic circle completed. Reality spluttered for a second, and then everything was dark. 

“Absolutely not!” Luke’s shrill voice was all that MC could sense. Then they tasted the air, cool and tinged with sulfur. “Make friends with Demons? I could never!” Luke prattled on while his eyes adjusted. After several blinks, MC could see the palace they stood in. The grandeur was almost repulsive. Gold trim and deep red walls. It was the beauty of wealth and statues. 

“I hope you’ll be able to make friends during your stay.” A deep voice said from behind. MC spun around, and then had to crane their head upward to see who was there. His broad smile was so warm that it clashed with the royal regalia the man was dressed in. The red jacket  with a medallion on the shoulder. MC scrunched their nose, wondering why Hell would choose to continue earths obsession with war decoration. “Thank you for joining us.” The Man continued, and he bowed his head to the Angels. “I am Lord Diavolo, Prince of the Devildom. As well as the head of the exchange program.”

“Thank you for having us,” Simeon smiles as he walks over to the prince. Without hesitation, the two embrace in a familiar hug. 

“I’m just so happy the program worked.” Diavolo rubs the back of his neck. “The humans will be coming this evening. So I’ll be able to help you all settle in and still make it for the humans.” Simeon and Diavolo continued to talk about details. Mainly the excitement over the humans. While Luke looked on with a fury. 

“I can’t believe Simeon is being so familiar with the Demon Lord.” Luke crossed his arms. “We cannot befriend the enemy.”

“Yah.. Enemy.” Mc can feel something tighten in their stomach. Instead of processing that, the angel turns to look about the palace a little more. Now that they knew what the Prince looked like. Some portraits on the walls made more sense. The one that caught the angel’s eye was of a young Diavolo. He stood alone in a field of red. A skull of a dragon under his foot, and a toy left in the distant background. It had been commissioned to show the great power Diavolo had ever as a child. Unintentionally, it spoke some truth. A small child alone in a field. Left with death at his feet. 

“I won’t be able to be around much in your day to day, I’m afraid.” Diavolo was now standing to face the whole group. So MC turned their attention back to the conversation. “But I do want to do my best to keep your stay in my realm as comfortable as possible. If there is anything we can do, please let us know.”

“Is there a way we can go back?” Luke asks with great seriousness.

“Luke!” Simeon gasps. 

“That is what would make me most comfortable,” Luke huffs and crosses his arms. 

“Luke, you can’t just-.” Simeon rubs the space between his brow.

“It’s fine,” Diavolo shrugs it off. “We all process homesickness in our own way. The spell to move between heaven and hell is a powerful one. So we truly won't be able to do this till next year, but if there is anything else we can do. Do ask and I will try to accommodate. Lucifer should be here soon, and he will bring you to your dormitories. As well as go down the basic rules of staying here.”

“Rules?” Mc asks, finally speaking up. 

“Not much but briefly - Michael requested that you three still follow your codes, but there is no way for them to actually check.” Diavolo puts a hand on his chest. “One of our realms defining features is that your god’s awareness cannot reach here. So the rules you must follow are the rules of the devildom and whatever you personally value. Our rules you’ll find are much more lax.” Luke gasps in horror, but excitement only brewed within MC.

Two men in uniform walk into the Palace hall. One walks directly to Lord Diavolo’s side. Dark hair falling into a shock of green that followed framed half his face. They were stiff and despite the collected look. MC could see the anxiety running through their spine. The other kept a distance from the Angels. A cool dark look, judging each of them openly. 

“My Lord we must be going.”

“I don’t have any more time?” Diavolo’s face falls. 

“No, your next meeting has already begun.” They kept their voice rather calm, but their eyebrow twitched. 

“Alright,” Diavolo sighs, but turns back to the angels quickly. “I truly hope you enjoy your stay in the Devildom. It’s an honor to have you here.” With that, Diavolo is ushered away. 

“Now who could that brooding gentleman be,” Simeon was once again walking up to the strange demon. Though the man looked as disagreeable as before. He did let Simeon hug him. Only adjusting his jacket the moment he was free. 

“You know who I am,” 

“I am asking for the children,” Simeon looks back to Luke and MC. While Luke gets all huffy about their age. MC is truly an adult by the fact that they can just roll their eyes and get over it. 

“My name is Lucifer,” He bow slightly to the three angels. “Avatar of Pride, and right hand to Lord Diavolo. When you need his help, come to me.” Lucifer sharpens his gaze on MC. “Diavolo is very busy, and I would prefer you to bother me than him.” Then his glare moved to Luke. Who paled and shuffled towards Simeon. “Now, if you will follow me. I’ll lead you to your housing for the year.” Lucifer walked briskly out of the Palace. “ Compared to the celestial realm, the Devildom functions much more like earth. The city is based on a money exchange. We will provide a small allowance once a month, but if you want to indulge, you’ll have to get a job.” Lucifer says all of this while walking briskly out of the Palace. Luke grumbles about nearly having to run, and MC has to fight back a laugh. “If you stay within the Devildom your life will be remarkably like that on earth. With a key distinction that there will be demons who lust for your blood every so often, and there is no sun.” Lucifer swung open the front door of the palace. Exposing the dark courtyard beyond, and the block void of the sky. Illuminated on the horizon was The Devildom. The glowing sector of Hell where Demons and spirits lived their personal lives. It glowed beautifully, and illuminated the Palace like a setting sun. 

Normally, this effect was made greater by the fact that the courtyards had no lights. If one was to see, it was their own gift, or from the light of the city. The angels broke this by having their own innate glow. Casting warm shadows against the cool nature of hell. Lucifer glanced at the glow with mild annoyance. Normally, the walk from the palace to the road was his moment of peace. Now each step he was reminded about the great task this year would be.

“To help with the exchange, we have enrolled you three in the local university. There you can learn about how the systems of hell truly function, as well as our magical training programs. We have some of the most skilled magic users training with us.” Part of Diavolo’s plan was to show what Hell was truly worth. The eons didn’t pass without change, and under Diavolo that change was being brought to its most refined point. Lucifer himself had led many of the projects to start translating Hell’s data into deeper means of understanding… Books with narrative instead of strings of numbers or archaic runes. 

“So you won’t be making us torture humans?” Luke snaps. 

“Only if you want to.” Lucifer doesn’t even look back to Luke. He knew enough about the little angel to know it would start on a rant if provoked. He was already battling a headache and couldn’t stand the thought of being lectured by a child. 

“I could never!” Luke brings his hand to his chest.

“Then you won’t.” 

“What will we be learning then?” MC asks. 

“Standard education for someone new to our system. History of the Devildom, Grimm economics, Devildom literature, Alchemy and potions 101, art, athletics,” Lucifer twirls a hand around. “The basics,”

“Oh that sounds… Fun” MC grimaces.

“Did you come here to have fun?” Lucifer glances back at the angel. 

“So what if I did?” MC tries to be defensive, but can’t help cracking into a smile. It was rather funny seeing the confused look on Lucifer’s face. 

“MC! We are not here to have fun, we have to learn and do as much research for our arch-”

“I know Luke,” MC groans. “We’re allowed to have Some fun.”

“Indeed,” Lucifer nods. “None of the classes should take all your time, so you’ll be able to have your own time. If you want to explore the Devildom please go in pairs. While you have Diavolo’s blessing, not all demons listen to authority. There is no promising what a rogue demon would do to a lone angel.” 

MC scrunches up their face, which makes Simeon laugh. Meanwhile, Luke is actually trembling. 

“Oh Luke, you look like a scared puppy.” Simeon tries to keep his voice sympathetic, but the hint of laughter is clear. 

“A little chihuahua,” Lucifer smiles. 

“I am not a chihuahua!” Luke shrieks! 

---------------------------------

Purgatory Hall was a lot more comfortable than MC had expected. The interior was surprisingly bright and cozy. Though still favoring the overly ornate and plush. MC was wandering aimlessly through the halls. Luke was still hurt from the chihuahua incident by the time they were done getting situated. So Simeon had taken Luke out to get something sweet to make up for it. While at the time, MC had said they wanted to stay here and explore the house. They were now realizing that was a foolish choice. After looking in the rooms once,  MC was more than satisfied with exploring the house. So now they were draped across the couch. Flipping idly through their D.D.D. When MC opens the messages to pulls up Lucifer.

“You said I shouldn’t go out by myself. Simeon and Luke are often a pair without me. I could just risk it?” Dots appear quickly.

“No, let me find you a guide.” 

Lucifer leaned back. Thinking about which of his brothers, he wants to make baby sit an angel. No one who might find it enjoyable like Asmo or Beel. He already planned on having Mammon for the human...

                    ----------------------

“Satan, would you be a guide for one of the Angel exchange students?”

“Are you actually asking me?” Satan looks over the top of his reading glasses.” Or are you just telling me in a passive manner.”

“It’s not passive,” Lucifer crosses his arms.” Answer my question.”

“No,” Satan leaned back into his chair. Lifting his book up to block Lucifer from view. 

“You are just saying that because I am asking you.”

“Yes,” Satan smiles. 

“Which is why I am going to make you do it.” Lucifer smiles back. “I think it will be an informative experience for you.” 

“Informative?” Satan can feel the fires in his stomach boiling over, but his keeps his composure calm. It was centuries of practice. “As if I don’t hear enough about the celestial realm from you?”

“You hear our side of it, and now you can learn another.” Lucifer looks so sure of his convictions that it made Satan want to lift his chair and throw it through a wall. Instead, he took a deep breath for seven seconds and let it out in ten. 

“How do you intend on making me do this?” Satan propped his elbow on the armchair, and then his head in his hand. 

“I will tell Diavolo you refused to use your strength and knowledge to help his exchange program. If the angels are to learn the best qualities of Hell. Who is better informed than you? No harm would come to that angel with you near.” Lucifer has pride in many things. Not just himself, and that was one of his worst qualities. The way he looked at Satan with such knowing. Then how it could vanish into cold apathy. “It’s lazy work, really. You could have an audiobook in your ear if you truly needed it.”

Satan looked from Lucifer and down to the floor. Then he switched which way he was leaning in the chair. Fidgeting as he thought. Trying to find a way to accept that he will have to do this. Without having to agree with Lucifer. 

“Fine, I don’t want to be lectured by Diavolo as well as you.” Satan begins to read his book again. “When do I start?”

“Now, they want to explore.” Lucifer’s face was full of mirth. If Satan showed that he was irritated, that would only play into what He wanted. So Satan sighed as he picked up the bookmark and wedges it in. 

“The angels will be living in Purgatory hall, correct?” At least Satan could show he’d be competent in the task. 

“Indeed.  MC is an Angel a little younger than you and will not know what to expect in the Devildom.”

“That we’re not all monsters or that monster’s still exist?” Satan slowly took of his glasses. Cleaning the lenses before tucking them away. 

“Bit of both. Which you’re a perfect example of. ” Lucifer ignore the scowl that rips across Satan’s face. Instead, tapping his watch. “They asked me for a guide an hour ago, so I would appreciate it if we could hurry up.” Satan stands up and again takes a deep breath. Then many more. A deep breath each step of the way to purgatory hall. Asmo was hanging out in the hallway, but the moment they saw Satan. Asmo found an excuse to leave. 

It was right up to the moment that Satan knocked on the door. That’s when he took one final breath and let the tension fall from his shoulders. Suddenly the portrait of composure with a grace in his eye. The door opened easily, and there stood MC. Satan was shocked to see that, despite being an angel. They had changed out of any holy robes and into something more comfortable. There wasn’t the annoying level of arrogance Satan had come to expect. Off to a good start, it would seem. 

“Hello, My name is Satan. Lucifer sent me to be your guide.” Satan bowed slightly and smiled brightly as he stood up. His green eyes were glowing with genuine warmth. 

“Oh, awesome,” MC rocked back on their heels. “I don’t really know where to go. I just want to see… stuff?” MC shrugs and smiles sheepishly. Satan felt something new in his chest. This Angel was genuinely curious about the Devildom. 

“I know lots of lovely spots. Do you want some history or a bit of culture?” Satan raises a brow. Looking at MC as if they were co conspirators on some great plan. MC’s heart pick up the pace. 

“Why not both?”

“Good choice,” Satan offers an elbow to the Angel. With flushed cheeks, the Angel accepts. “A friend of mine commissioned a new branch in the museum nearby. It’s full of artifacts that were destroyed by invades. Now in the Devildom we can restore the artifacts and get first-hand facts on the culture.”

“An accurate history or ones written by victors?”

“Accurate, of course,” Satan looks almost offended. “We are not on any side of humanities battles.”

“You like their military regalia.”

“I don’t. Those in charge think it’s pretty.” Satan rolls his eyes. “One part of hell is under strict authority, and another is nearly pure anarchy.”

“Anarchy with demons must get interesting.” MC tries not to giggle. “I have the image of Demons fighting to create and making utter chaos.”

“You’re close, just throw in some packs working together, and rogues wandering around the city trying to push their chaos were ever. The principles of anarchy aren’t too bad, actually. I’ve read the literature, but in practice with magic beings, too many hot heads can ruin it for the rest.” 

“There’s so many rules in Heaven,” MC sighs and rocks their head back. “Anarchy sounds terrifying, but also refreshing? If that makes sense.”

“It does,” Satan nods. “What sort of rules does heaven have?”

“Well, the rules of angels and people are different.” Satan nods instead of saying, Obviously. “For angels, we literally have a mandated outfit. Can’t wear anything but the one holy look. We cannot stray remotely close to any sins, and must keep peace at all times. Which isn’t difficult with 1000 of human souls all wanting their own ideal conflicting paradise.” MC tenses with the anger, and then lets it slide out. “Sorry about that-”

“Don’t apologize,” Satan squeezes the Angel’s arm a little. “You got more than the right to be annoyed with such treatment. Speak what you feel.” MC looks up at Satan with bright eyes. 

“If I have to sing in another chores for God, I will scream.”

“You should! Screaming is cathartic.” The talk the whole way to the museum and through it. Both have more than enough to say, and genuinely want to hear the other. Satan has carefully made opinions and seems to be educated in every topic under the sun. The Niches of thing MC thinks of Satan can keep up with. He also seems to have causes at least half of the wars which destroyed the artifacts now on display. “Alexander was rather easy to manipulate,” Satan hums. “Just had to bat my eyes at him and ask if that’s what he really wanted. He would be up for anything after that.” Satan can’t keep back his mischievous grin. 

“Did you… Seduce Alexander the Great?”

“And helped kill him.” Satan smiles proudly. “He was an asshole, but fun to play with it.” Now Satan looks off with a distance in his eyes. Clearly lost in the past, where he could saunter about Rome. Arm and Arm with a brutal conquer. 

“How often do you accompany brutal killers?” MC asks with a sharp look. 

“This is where our working on opposite sides could come to a point,” Satan chuckles. “I am the avatar of wrath. I accompany most of the greatest killers. Push them to indulge just a bit more. If not me, one of my many underlings is probably there.”

“Funny,” MC says with a rather serious face. “I haven’t been given a title yet, but I spent the last century working with the angels in the peace department.”

“Oh that is some hard work,” Satan looks over to the Angel. MC had been prepared for Satan to look annoyed, but instead he looked more impressed. “Humans are so easy to manipulate with their emotions. Peace is going against their instincts.” By now, Satan and MC had entered the museum. Other demons milled about. Quickly commenting on the pieces of history elegantly on display. The explanations that come with each piece are at best wordy paragraphs. At worst, there is an essay attached. MC is saved from any reading by having Satan in toe. He knows all the information backwards and forwards, and the fact he’s more curious about the Angel. Saves MC from having to sit through lecture after lecture. Satan pauses to breath, and to hear the Angel’s own thoughts.

----- Rest of the museum date will be finished if people show interest in it.

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you have any requests for what Angel MC get’s up to feel free to ask! If people actually like this I’ll writing more parts consistently. If not more will just come as I feel like it.

[jaskierswolf]

Hello my dearest darling love of my life 💜 I am here to request geraskilion! Established geraskier, open to a poly situation. Mayhaps Dandilion (book) is their waiter and Geralt picks up on some vibes between the other two? But Jask is oblivious bc disaster boi.

@dani-dandelino my love! Please enjoy this little treat! Thanks to @officerjennie for being a wonderful beta.

Just a note, Dandelion has Julian written on his name tag. I don't know if I really explain that 😂 But I don't think there are any content warnings?

______

Geralt smiled fondly as his boyfriend kept chattering away, seemingly oblivious to the fact he’d been talking pretty much to himself for the past ten minutes. Yes, Geralt had been there but he hadn’t said a word since they’d sat down. It was an enviable talent; Jaskier could just keep talking and talking and talking, without pause or breath. The strangest thing was that he very rarely revealed anything about himself. He spoke about the town and its history, whatever project he was working on, whatever his latest obsession was, but it had taken Geralt almost an entire decade to learn anything of note about his best friend. It wasn’t until they were drunkenly making out in the closet of Jaskier’s childhood home that the mask started to crack. He let slip that his parents had never approved of his lifestyle, and then spent the next hour sobbing into Geralt’s shirt.

They’d been dating ever since.

But Geralt wasn’t an idiot. By now he knew Jaskier better than anyone, better than he knew himself, and he saw the glances his boyfriend kept giving their waiter. Every time Julian breezed through the patio seating area, laughing as he balanced plates upon plates of pancakes, coffee cups and even the odd bottle wine even at this time of the morning.

“And then Essi, god bless her little cotton socks, decided to jump right in! It was a miracle that she didn’t get hypothermia,” Jaskier cackled, his eyes sparkling mischievously at the memory.

Geralt rolled his eyes and stroked his thumb along Jaskier’s wrist. “Love?”

“Yes, dear heart?”

“I was there.”

“Oh… really?”

Geralt chuckled and nodded, pulling his boyfriend into a chaste kiss just as Julian laughed at a joke at a nearby table. Jaskier turned away from the kiss, his eyes meeting Julian’s and Geralt smirked as his boyfriend blushed.

Before they’d started dating, Jaskier had flown through partners faster than lightning, but Geralt had never felt threatened by it. At the end of the day, Geralt had been the one constant in the whirlwind that was Jaskier’s life and he knew that whether they were friends or boyfriends, that wouldn’t change. He’d also never expected Jaskier to want to be in an exclusive relationship, that revelation had come as a surprise, and he’d always suspected that Jaskier was trying to push himself into a box that just didn’t fit him.

The way he was looking at Julian confirmed his suspicions.

“Hey?” Geralt squeezed his boyfriend’s hand to pull his attention back.

Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he stammered a ridiculous excuse that wouldn’t have fooled Geralt’s young ward, Ciri.

“It’s alright, Jask. He’s good looking, not too dissimilar to you actually,” Geralt teased. “Cornflower blue eyes, the voice of an angel… and weren’t you called Julian once upon a time?”

Jaskier shuddered. “It’s a terrible name, my parents hated me.”

Geralt scoffed and waved the waiter down. Julian smiled brightly and trotted over to them, a tune on his lips and he winked as he neared their table. “Gentleman,” Julian greeted warmly, “what can I do for you?”

“Gonna be blunt,” Geralt grunted, ignoring Jaskier’s protests. “My boyfriend fancies you, Julian.”

The waiter grimaced, wrinkling his nose in a way that Geralt found completely endearing. It was a habit that the waiter shared with Jaskier, one that Geralt adored. “Dandelion, please. They made me put Julian on the nametag.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows and shared a look with Jaskier. “Dandelion, meet Buttercup.”

“Jaskier,” Jaskier corrected, glaring at Geralt as he offered to shake Dandelion’s hand, “and I am so so sorry! My boyfriend is an arse.”

“Ah yes, but with an arse like that,” Dandelion winked at Geralt, “you just have to forgive him.”

Relief flooded through Geralt. Dandelion wasn’t creeped out by his pretty terrible attempt at flirting, in fact he was actively flirting back, which had Jaskier floored.The poor man was stammering and stumbling over his words nonsensically, his hands flailing until he ran them through his hair with a defeated sigh.

“Please just shoot me now,” he groaned, flopping forward dramatically so his head thudded against the table, almost knocking his plate flying.

Dandelion pouted, so very reminiscent of Jaskier’s own perfect pout, and cocked his head with one hand on his hips. His curls bounced with the movement, the golden locks catching in the sunlight.

And perhaps it wasn’t just Jaskier that had a crush on their waiter. Geralt was slowly realising he might be a little in over his head. Especially when Dandelion just sighed dramatically and cooed “Oh but darling, if we shoot you then I’ll never get to give you my number.”

“Wait, what?!” Jaskier’s head flew up and he gawped at Dandelion, his jaw almost hitting the floor.

“If your boyfriend doesn’t mind, that is?” He winked again at Geralt, making Geralt’s heart flutter in his chest.

He was suddenly bombarded with images of Jaskier and Dandelion giggling as they kissed each other without a care in the world.

Yeah, he was definitely in over his head. “Don’t mind,” he grumbled, trying to hide his own blush.

Jaskier beamed and pulled him into a fierce kiss, knocking both their drinks over in the process and Dandelion whined as he jumped back from the table to avoid getting splashed, but Jaskier didn’t seem to notice. “I love you,” he whispered in Geralt’s ear and then pressed another kiss to Geralt’s cheek.

Geralt tilted his head as he smiled dopily at his boyfriend. “I love you too, Jask.”

Dandelion laughed, a beautiful melodic sound that made Geralt ache to know him better. “Oh, this is going to be divine!”

And he wasn’t wrong in the slightest.

[joonkorre]

To my love,

@drarrymicrofic prompt: forbidden

read Paper Hearts by @dorthyanndrarry and have been completely obsessed w draco doing little mundane things as a hobby or bc it's therapeutic etc etc. i had to fold these paper cranes for an art project once. it's fucking addictive lmao. ao3

tw: very brief mention of blood

It’s just a thing Draco does when he’s bored. A past-time, or a hobby, even. If it’s past midnight and less tiring to be honest, he’d admit that it’s a coping method. But he never really feels like that as of late, as expected from a permanent resident in what is now the Dark Lord’s lair.

Light, clean air, silence, and Merlin knows what else, are lacking in abundance in the Malfoy Manor these days. However, with owl posts too easily intercepted and words too eagerly etched on skin rather than blank pages, paper is readily available. Draco has a lot of free time, being ‘Lucius’s worthless son’ and all. Thus, he writes.

Are you out there? How do you fare?

I haven’t eaten breakfast today. Perhaps I should’ve, but Nagini never leaves.

Will Harry Potter ever get caught?

I tried to go out today. Do you know how it feels to have blood drained from your feet?

Comments of nonsensical nature like so. They help, though. Draco doesn’t quite know the psychology behind it, but he can’t help writing them. A passing interest, then once every two weeks, then every other day, then any piece of paper he can find. Any piece large enough.

To my love,

That Luna girl cries again.

He doesn’t understand why—he’s never understood much, now that he thinks about it—but he’s taken to writing those three words before every message. It feels nice, he supposes, to pretend there’s someone who looks forward to reading his letters, regardless of how boring or awful they are. No matter, a tiny phrase never hurts anyone. He hopes. How many things (small, insignificant things) did he say that—?

To my love,

The last of Mother’s roses have faded to a dull grey. They used to be the color of lilac.

He’s used his wand as a light tonight, a whispered Lumos scarcely bright enough to write down a sentence and cut a strip of paper away, making a square. Familiar folds and creases give way easily beneath his calloused fingers in the dark. Feeling the precise pleats, he bends the wings, then pulls out the tail and the neck. He runs a finger down the neck’s tip. Its head is formed.

To my love,

Should I have killed him?

Cracking open the dirty window right beside his bed, the cool scent of fog and sleepy meadows wafts against his face. A gentle tap of his wand, and the paper crane floats away into the night with minute flaps of wings. Where is it going? He never knows. To his love?

To my love,

There’s a suitcase hidden inside my mattress, ready to go.

Draco closes the window and slides under the cover. Staring up at the swirling darkness of his canopy, he hopes the crane gets to, say, the nearby valley before descending.

To my love,

Let’s run away together.

The scenery is nice there, at least.

----

There’s an analogy to be made about shackles and penance and father’s sins. Draco wouldn’t know. He’s not in the right state of mind to ponder it.

A shame. It’d be nice if his last thought before the Kiss is something poetic.

“He was but a child,” he hears his mother scream. A deafening crash echoes throughout the vast space as her chains weigh more with each word spoken out of turn, forcing her to the dirty floor. “A child!”

Titters and jeers swell in the overheated courtroom. Draco shifts his neck against his collar, silent. Much herculean effort has to be made to ensure his legs are still, lest he rushes to his mother’s side and. Well. He doesn’t know if moving without permission also results in the same punishment. It’ll be improper to collapse in defeat before he’s supposed to: after the Dementor’s had its way with him.

He stands there, unable to do all but look at the particularly orange tile four paces from his position.

“Before Draco Malfoy is given the Dementor’s Kiss as punishment for his crimes, relatives and loved ones are now allowed to say their last words to him,” the Wizengamot judge whose name Draco has let slipped out of his mind in a daze says with a bored drawl.

“If Mrs. Malfoy had just waited for this announcement, she wouldn’t be in her… predicament,” he says, his ‘but what can I do?’ attitude spurring the courtroom to snickers. Draco asks himself, for a brief, horrid moment, if Fiendfyre can be called forth without a wand.

After the laughter has died down, the judge says, “Is there a relative or loved one here who has something to tell Draco Malfoy before we proceed?”

The only one in the vicinity is his mother, whose sobs are choked off by heavy chains. His father has fled. Probably died, too, bless him.

The judge doesn’t even let Draco finish taking a breath and continues, “Alright. Draco Malfoy, you—”

“Wait.”

All noises cease, leaving behind the squeaking of trainers against tiles. Draco doesn’t look up even as the sounds get closer to where he stands.

“Mr, Mr. Potter,” the judge stammers, “you are not Mr. Malfoy’s relative nor loved one.”

“We have history. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

Ratty trainers come into Draco’s field of vision. It’s already too late.

“I—yes, that should be enough, Mr. Potter.”

“Thought so.”

Potter’s presence covers up the especially orange tile, and now Draco can look nowhere else but at the many pockets of the man's olive green jacket. Lifting his head remains a horrible idea.

Nothing seems to move, then, even dust particles seem to pause mid-air. From what Draco can deduce, Potter is content to just stare at him for a bit.

“Thanks for helping me out that time,” Potter finally says. Draco doesn’t know what he wants him to say. That night was fucking hell on earth, he could barely remember it with how hard he blocks it out of his head. So what if he didn’t turn Potter in? What does it matter?

Draco stays silent, even as Potter rustles in his innumerable pockets and grumbles when he can’t seem to find what he’s searching for. Before Draco knows it, Potter hums in pleasant surprise.

“I want to give you something,” he says, holding the mystery object out in a closed fist. Draco frowns, tempted to let his face shift into something long-past and glare at the man in front of him. “Come, now, don’t be stubborn.”

Rolling his eyes, Draco reaches for the object, wrists aching from the iron bands, pulsating with heat. To his confusion, Potter covers Draco's hand with both of his. The man is a furnace, his palms possibly even warmer than the iron bands, the sensation sending volatile, feverish streaks of lightning up Draco’s arms. Potter then tucks an item into Draco’s hand, keeping his hands close by as Draco peers at what he is gifted. His eyes widen.

A paper crane.

Potter's left forearm shifts a bit, jostling the jacket sleeve and capturing Draco’s eyes. This can’t be right. Draco glances at Potter’s right arm and the visibly holstered wand that he always carries with him. Back to his left arm, where the head of another wand is but a hint in the shadow. Draco would’ve thought so as well, would’ve thought Potter is being cautious, if not for the instant familiarity striking him like an elbow to the throat.

His head whips up so quickly his neck strains within the collar. Knowing emerald eyes meet his gaze. “Potter, no.”

An eyebrow cocks up. “Did you not say you want to run away?” Potter whispers back. His fingers trail to the edge of Draco’s armbands like they’re trying to sneak under and touch bare skin.

Draco gasps. Nothing makes sense anymore, absolutely nothing at all.

But from the way the court is growing evidently agitated, from the way Potter doesn’t let them bother him one bit, from the way he waits, endlessly patient.

Potter might be the only one able to make sense of anything at all.

Draco leans a hair closer, so his voice is clear to no one but the two of them.

“My mother,” he says, watching Potter’s irises get swallowed up by pure black. “Remember what she did for you, Potter, please. She can’t stay here…”

Potter nods, promising a later date, that they will both get her. And Merlin help him, Draco trusts every word.

A chair tumbles onto the ground. Shouts explode into existence, footsteps thumping. Draco grips Potter’s left forearm as Potter’s wand effortlessly slides out of its holster into a waiting hand. The fizzling heat of hastily casted hexes slices through the air. With his mother’s shout of relief in his ears, Draco succumbs to the squeezing suffocation of Apparition.

[st4rlabsforever]

post-episode 3 fix-it

words: 2.9k

notes: i started a long fic based on this post after watching ep 3. i cannibalized some snippets from another fic i wrote last week so if you see similar scenes, that’s why. i think this will end up being 12-15k words endgame sambucky by the end, but i refuse to post on ao3 until it’s complete. this is the first 3 scenes. feel free to comment and message me your thoughts since i’m still very much in the writing phase :)

summary: “It’s the kind of statement that should be screamed into Bucky’s face, but he’s learning that when Sam’s angry – when he’s truly angry – he’s just as soft-spoken as he is when he’s in one of his pensive moods. And he lets his anger build and build and build until it bursts in spectacular fashion.”

“I didn’t back Steve on the Sokovia Accords,” Sam says unprompted one day. They’re so close to apprehending the Flagsmashers and wrapping up this ridiculous saga.

“I don’t follow,” Bucky says.

“I was the one who refused to sign it first. Not Steve.”

Sam says it so softly that Bucky has to strain to hear him. Sam is loud and chatty and half the time he keeps up a constant stream of chatter just to get on Bucky’s nerves, but Bucky’s coming to realize that when he really wants to make himself heard, he’s soft spoken and mild. Bucky doesn’t entirely follow his train of thought, though.

The thing is, Sam is unreadable when it really matters. He offers words of comfort where needed – in Germany, after seeing Walker with the shield that wasn’t his, knowing that it had affected Bucky just as much as himself; in Madripoor, Bucky’s hand on the throat of some henchman or other, Sam’s hand on his when the Soldier’s memories threatened to overtake him; even in Riga, when Bucky’s guilt over releasing T’Chaka’s killer bubbled to the surface and Sam had checked in with him even though he couldn’t have possibly known about Bucky’s meeting with Ayo. Sam speaks with his eyes, always a searching look that leaves Bucky raw and feeling like he’s been x-rayed. I see you, is what those eyes say.

In contrast, Bucky’s words of comfort feel hollow. He knows that Isaiah is still a live wire for Sam, checks in with him after Madripoor when he can tell the conversation with Nagel weighs heavy on his mind. But he doesn’t see the way Sam does. He knows he’d missed something important because that conversation had ended in an argument and a threat from Sam to destroy the shield.

He never gets a chance to ask Sam what he’s getting at, because Torres signals to them that they’re at the drop point before all hell breaks loose.

***

In the end, after Karli and the Power Broker and whoever else decides to show their head from the emporium of supervillains are dealt with and they finally have a moment of peace, Bucky says, “The shield looks good on you.”

Sam freezes a few paces ahead of Bucky, the shield strapped loosely to his wrist.

“We make a good team,” Bucky says softly.

What he doesn’t expect is for Sam to whirl around suddenly. The look of barely restrained fury is enough to nearly knock Bucky off he’s feet. They fight without ever really fighting all the time, squabbles over who went left and who went right and who was supposed to lead and who was supposed to follow, but never has he seen Sam look like this before. The fury verges on hurt and it’s so fucking visceral that Bucky can barely breathe.

“You don’t get to say that,” Sam says quietly. His voice shakes and he closes his eyes like he’s steadying himself.

“I said I’d squash it until the mission was over, and I did. But you know what? I’m not doing this anymore.”

“Sam–”

“You don’t get to tell me what a good team is. Not after all the shit we just went through. You invited yourself to Munich, and I thought, ‘Fine. I could use the extra set of hands.’ We went through it together against Thanos and I respected that.”

Sam shakes his head. “But then you went off on some lone wolf woe-is-me bullshit, and look at where it got us. You broke Zemo out without even asking if I was down with that. You knew I wasn’t and you forced my hand. Now I’m an accomplice.”

“He was our only lead–”

“Bullshit. That field trip to Madripoor led us right back to Karli. Torres ended up tracking them to Riga anyway.”

“But the Power Broker–”

“–showed his ugly face in the end. All we got out of Madripoor was you digging up your trauma and us getting our faces plastered all over the internet. I promised Sharon one goddamn thing and I can’t even deliver on that now.”

“But I went along with it, fine,” Sam continues. “I knew it couldn’t have been easy reaching back into that headspace, doing what you did to Selby’s men.” The memory blindsides Bucky. “So I tabled it.” Sam taps out a tally with his fingers. 

“And back in Baltimore, you’d been too keyed up about Steve being wrong about you to even listen to what I had to say. Again, I tabled it.” Another tally. 

“I’ve been meeting you halfway this entire time, man, and I’ve gotten near nothing in return. You kept Isaiah a secret from me, and at first I thought you were just clueless about how damn significant it would’ve been for me to know about him.” Sam shakes his head. 

“But then we met him. You saw what they did to him. The one Black supersoldier – a fucking hero – and look what they did to him. You saw it with your own eyes and you still sat there and lectured me about what you thought I should’ve done with that goddamn shield.” 

“There’s precedent for it, you know,” Sam says. It takes Bucky a moment to realize Sam is expecting an answer.

Bucky doesn’t know, is the thing. He feels like he’s all of five years old again, put on the spot. He’s reminded of when Zemo just had to let him know about the African American experience; he’d felt chastised and embarrassed enough to pretend like he’d had any clue what themes lurked in Marvin Gaye’s work. Sam just searches him with those eyes, searches Bucky for something yet unfathomable and decides he hasn’t found it. That hurts more than anything else; Bucky wishes he could sink into the ground, make himself as small as possible. Sam doesn’t notice, or else doesn’t care, and just plows on with a scoff. 

“You don’t even know the true history of the country you’re living in. Figures.” He shakes his head. “You’re not ever going to be able to separate the shield from the history Black folks have endured at the hands of this country. Not now, not ever.”

Sam doesn’t even look angry anymore. Angry, Bucky can deal with. It would be a relief, even. 

Instead, Sam looks at him with a disappointment that somehow surpasses what Steve could have ever accomplished.

“Whatever. I tabled that, too,” Sam says. “And then after Madripoor, after we heard that doctor go on and on about Isaiah’s blood like he wasn’t even a real human-being? I said my piece and all you did was throw that shield bullshit back in my face.”

“Sam–” Bucky tries again. He’s mortified to hear the crack in his own voice.

“It’s honestly breathtaking,” Sam says with something that might be akin to genuine wonder, or maybe even morbid curiosity in his voice. “We saw the same things in Baltimore and Madripoor, but your head was so far up your own ass that you never once stopped to think all of it was just proof to me. That the shield in the hands of a Black man wouldn’t make any damn sense.”

It’s the kind of statement that should be screamed into Bucky’s face, but he’s learning that when Sam’s angry – when he’s truly angry – he’s just as soft-spoken as he is when he’s in one of his pensive moods. And he lets his anger build and build and build until it bursts in spectacular fashion.

Sam’s not even done yet. “And that’s another thing. Stealing the shield from Walker…” Sam rolls his eyes at the memory. “You want to run around with that giant frisbee, fine. That’s your business. But then you forced it on me–”

“That’s not fair,” Bucky says immediately. Desperately. “You didn’t have to accept it.”

“The whole damn country was watching,” Sam says hotly. “It was either accept it, or shit all over Steve fucking Rogers’s legacy and make myself into the villain half the country was already hoping I’d turn out to be.”

“You were dead wrong for that,” Sam says. “I stuck around until we took down Karli because it was the right thing to do. After Munich, though, this little adventure was all you. Zemo, Madripoor, the shield.”

Sam shoves the shield into Bucky’s arms, the impact so sudden that it forces him back a step.

“Since you’re so obsessed with this thing, it’s yours. Congrats,” Sam says sarcastically. “I’m sure you’ll do it proud.”

Bucky lets out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

“For what it’s worth,” Sam says, “Steve might not have understood everything about me. But in Vienna, when it came time to sign the accords? He was considering it. I put my foot down first and he listened.”

Sam shrugs. “Whatever you thought we were, it's not a team.”

Bucky knows where to drive the knife in to kill a man in as few twists of the wrist as possible – a brutal economy of movement and technique. But Sam...it pales in comparison to what Sam’s capable of. His weapons aren’t knives and his targets may not be made of flesh and blood, but he knows exactly where he needs to strike to rip Bucky open raw. Bucky feels like he’s been flayed alive.

“How about that long vacation?” Sam says, and claps Bucky on the shoulder. 

And we’ll never have to see each other ever again goes unsaid.

Fuck.

***

The thing about ignoring Sam’s texts was that Bucky responded if they were actually important. It just so happened that most of the nonsense Sam sent was inane prattling about his day, about his job, his sister, his nephews. Now that he’s on the receiving end of it, though, it feels awful.

3/25/21, 2:58 AM

I’m sorry.

Delivered

3/28/21, 1:51 AM

Can we talk?

Delivered

3/31/21, 3:05 AM

Let me know what to do and I’ll do it.

Read 3:34 AM

4/1/21, 12:42 AM

Or if there’s anything you need.

Read 1:05 AM

Yesterday, 1:00 AM

I’m available if you need another body for a mission.

Read 1:02 AM

A week into the admittedly one-sided exchange, Sam turns his damn read receipts on. It’s ridiculous and it’s fucking asinine and it gets under Bucky’s skin immediately. It’s a form of twenty-first century psychological warfare that he’s unfamiliar with and already can’t stand. Mainly, he hates that it makes him seem desperate (he’s not), needy (he might be, especially when he realizes with horror that he actually misses Sam’s rambling texts), and ridiculous (he definitely is, because he’s letting petty mind games get to him).

Normally, Sam would send him nearly daily updates on his comings and goings – whether he’d been in New York, D.C., or New Orleans. The radio silence is unsettling. Bucky wonders if Sam made good on his promise to take a long vacation. And then....

The thing about apologies is that Bucky isn’t sure he’s ever done a proper one in his entire life, at least nothing beyond a rote “I’m sorry” with the “let’s move on” part left unspoken. But it stands to reason, Bucky thinks, that a proper apology can’t be given if he’s not completely certain what he’s dealing with. That’s all well and good because he’s got the world at the tips of his fingers, is what Yori always said. And when he grows frustrated with reading on his tiny phone screen, the New York Public Library is only a train ride away.

Sam had mentioned precedent, so Bucky’s first search is for medical experimentation. He knows for a fact he was good at this once, a memory of Steve whining about him being too good at exams coming up unbidden. He reads voraciously. Anything and everything that might offer a clue on what he’d missed. And it doesn’t take long for him to find what he’s looking for. 

He reads with dawning horror. The Tuskegee syphilis experiments. Eugenics. God, the fucking Nazis had even modeled their race science on the American school of thought. The things that the history books left out. Some of it was even happening under his nose in the 30s, he’d just been blissfully unaware. He somehow ends up down a rabbit hole where words like `prison industrial complex’ and `school-to-prison pipeline’ make increasingly more persistent appearances. New Jim Crow. COINTELPRO. War on drugs. The way all of these horrors reached their long arms into the twenty-first century.

Bucky’s going to be sick. The memories come up one after another.

Just give him your ID so we can leave.

You think you can wake up one day and decide who you want to be? It doesn’t work like that. Well, maybe it does for folks like you.

So you’re telling me that there was a Black supersoldier decades ago and nobody knew about it.

This is what you’re not going to do. You’re not going to come here in your over-extended life and tell me about my rights.

The shield wasn’t yours to give away.

He spends the next week in his downtime reading. With the mission being over and his parole in jeopardy, his downtime mostly coincides with every day of the week.

Had Steve known?

No, he thinks. Steve was compassionate, but he wouldn’t have known because he’d taken one look at the problems of twenty-first century America and decided he’d had enough. Then he’d ran back to the 40s to live out some fantasy that simply didn’t – couldn’t – exist anymore. Had he eventually become aware of all the issues plaguing this country that they’d been able to ignore as starry-eyed kids in Brooklyn? Bucky hopes not, because that would mean he’d...no. 

A part of Bucky thinks he’s so surprised because he’d thought things – race relations, civil rights, not things, his brain amends – had been getting better in the 40s. Deep down, though, he knows that’s a lie. A 2 AM read through Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States confirms it. Shady politicians. Klansmen who went back to their day jobs as cops, judges, firefighters. Mass incarceration taking its place as the new king on the throne of segregation. Evidently, 

There had been plenty of folks – white folks – raising an uproar about these hidden horrors back then. The seeds of those movements had even been there in the 30s. Bucky tells himself that he’d been raised during the Great Depression, that his family had been too focused on putting food on the table to focus on social movements, but that, too, ends up being a lie. The poorest and working class whites – some, at least – in movement and solidarity with civil rights. Not him, though. Apparently he’d had his head up his ass back then, too.

Bucky can see the bigger picture a tiny bit more clearly, now. 

Fine. So he’s been disarmed of the little lies he’d used as shields, and he also owes Sam one hell of an apology.

Somehow, he doesn’t think “I’m sorry, I was ignorant then but I read some books and now I know better” is going to cut it. Maybe a commitment to do better would work? Perhaps after Baltimore, but not now. That ship had long since sailed. Some grand act of service, then? He’s sure he can think of something Sam needs in this post-Blip world that he can provide. He vaguely remembers Sarah mentioning something about a ship and bank loan. That could be a starting point.

It doesn’t take much time to find the public records on the Wilson family business and then the not-so-public records on the denied bank loan. It wouldn’t take much for him to pry a little, not when seedy bankers were astonishingly amenable to the threat of violence. But he’s reminded of Zemo and figures that he ought not to do anything so drastic that could jeopardize Sam’s family situation further.

He snorts. Did growth that came several months late still count?

In the end, he decides to rip the bandage off quickly, which is how he finds himself in the sticky Louisiana heat with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring back at an incredulous Sam through his open door.

“I did some reading recently,” Bucky says. 

“Hmm.”

It’s not outright refusal, so Bucky continues.

“About, um, the things you mentioned last time. Precedent.”

“Huh.”

For someone who’s normally so expressive with his language, Sam’s one-word answers as nerve-wracking as anything.

“I didn’t fully appreciate the situation that you were in. That you’re still in,” Bucky amends.

Sam shrugs. “It’s cool,” he says in a way that doesn’t sound like he really believes it. Bucky wonders if this is a test; he feels just as lost as he did on that plane a week ago.

“Let’s do this outside,” Sam says, closing the door behind him and ushering Bucky away from it. “Walk with me.” 

They head down to the pier mostly in silence until Bucky breaks it. “I’m sorry for making it all about me,” he says.

Sam stares at him. It’s true Bucky might stare a little too much on occasion, but Sam’s stares are utterly unnerving in the way he seems to see right through Bucky when he really wants to, like he’s already mapped out all there is to know.

[avversiera-writes]

touch your heart [senju tobirama/you] - chapter 2

Summary: Hashirama might go down as the worst matchmaker in history, but he thinks he might be on to something. Tobirama sees through his brother's schemes and is determined not to fall for it. Or fall for you.

Word Count: about 4k

AO3 LINK TO TOUCH YOUR HEART

AOR SERIES LINK TO ‘TIL DEATH DO US PART

[<<<CHAPTER ONE]

The due dates that Tobirama gave you are more reasonable and flexible than you thought. You try to find something to complain about so you can relay it to Madara later and earn a small smile from him, but no, there is no reason to complain about it. The only thing you want to complain about are his so-called rules. Tobirama is not about leisure or lightening up, though that is not a bother to you if you are going to be honest. Planning to mess with him a little is just an attempt to wipe off that serious face of his. You want to know him based on what you see from him, not from what other people have told you.

However, you also do not want to mess things up. You are determined to work as hard as he does for this project because it is special to the village and for the children that are going to be attending the Academy. 

Also because you know you’ll get paid for it. You have been running low on money these days ever since you bought your own place. 

 Now that you are older, you wish you had the proper education to be a shinobi. You have to learn most of your skills along the way and apart from your family who had basically banished you, and even now, you are still learning as there are a lot of things that you missed. 

 Now, the children that are going to grow up here have something better for the future. They have more choices and bigger chances to become good shinobis. 

You get settled in your bed, which is literally the only furniture your place has. It is your dining table, your workplace, and also your resting place. Your weapons are littered on the floor, and your swords are leaning against the wall in one corner of the room. The books and the scrolls given to you lay open or stacked near your bed where you can reach for it. Some clean laundry you have yet to get to sit on the foot of your bed, and the space you are currently lying on is the only space your bed can make for you at the moment. 

 Quaint, but it has a lot of potential. 

Your new home, which is situated just at the edge of the village and newly built, is a home for civilians and also other shinobis who are not part of a clan, or those who rather have a place for themselves. This is a sign that the village is growing, and more and more families are becoming involved with it. 

You force yourself to go through the many materials that you need to read and study up on for the rest of the night until midnight, and you begin to write your suggestions after going through the material once again. You are good at absorbing information, but at the same time, you have trouble keeping still for a very long time. Sometimes you have the unfortunate ability to memorize the wrong things because your mind zeroes into whatever your brain wants to obsess over. 

 However, you have made it this far. You can adjust. 

You hope. 

//

You are pretty sure that Tobirama is sending you around the village in a goose chase just so that he can work on the curriculum himself. It’s obvious he did not want you near him with all those rules about preserving his boundaries. The said goose chase sounds reasonable enough–talk to the members of the clans, the ones who are the keeper of their knowledge and history and write them down. He did not even look you in the face when he sent you away, he just gave you a list of what to ask the clans residing in Konoha and a blank notebook and a scroll for you to record all of the information in. 

 This whole ordeal occupied you for the whole day and it also happens to bleed through the next day, in which you are convinced Tobirama has completed at least half the work. 

The thought does not make you happy. You want to do something, damn it. You feel like your life depends on it. 

Another day passes, and this time, Tobirama has you looking for artists, merchants, inventors and other skilled people in Konoha and recording their name and the location to find them. This part you understand well because you know that Hashirama wants to expand on other skills, but it feels so tedious and it makes the day longer. Not to mention, you do not really know anyone since you have been busy polishing your skills with Madara. Now that you think about it, you spend an awful lot of time with the man, ever since you came here. 

 Before you know it, you are breaking into a run towards the Hokage mansion. 

 Tobirama cannot be left to his own devices. You will not let him take this from you. 

You find the white-haired man seated on his usual spot, hand poised elegantly over a sheet of paper and eyes moving along the lines of a book he is reading. 

“Finished already?” Tobirama says in a very flat tone. 

 “Yeah, of course, I already know the people to put down.” Okay, that was a lie, and you know Tobirama had caught that because he glances at you briefly with narrowed eyes. 

You walk up to him and you lay out the information you gathered today. 

“Where’s your family from?” Tobirama straight up asks you without any preamble. The expression on his face does not change though you can feel that he is bothered by you. 

 You are taken aback by a beat, but you have no problem answering it. You have memorized the lines that you have to say that it begins to feel true. “They are a little far north from here, but they’re just traders, merchants, skillsmen.” 

 “Of what?” 

 “With the right amount of money, anything.” You say in an even, but casual tone. “They don’t like shinobi, so I left to make a living of my own.”

You can tell Tobirama did not like your answer. He puts his pen down and you feel him scrutinizing you. 

 "You have any friends?" He immediately follows up. 

 However, you have long mastered the skills of deflecting and only letting people know certain things about you. They always see what they want to see in you, never bothering to put two and two together that you are just painting a pretty picture for them to look at. 

 "Too many," you reply vaguely. 

 Tobirama sighs, and his eyes narrow. 

“I cannot trust you if you continue to evade me. This is integral to this village and its future, and I cannot have, no, I cannot afford to waste time or make mistakes,” Tobirama says and he meets your eyes. 

“I can promise you, I am ready to work just as much as you so let's not get personal,” you lean back and cross your arms. “And after this, I will get out of your hair forever. You wouldn’t even have to hear from me.” 

 Tobirama rolls his eyes, but you can tell he is satisfied with your answer. “Oh please, with a village this small, and me, holding an important position in the said village, you cannot guarantee that.” 

 You smirk and you pull out the chair across from him. “Touché, Lord Tobirama,” you emphasize the lord with a mocking tone. 

Tobirama grits his jaw visibly and he grabs his pen almost angrily. You are starting to think that maybe this is what Tobirama generally looks like. 

 “Get to work.” 

 “What is it this time? List the several types of drinks the people in this village make? Investigate the best type of fabric to wear for each season?” You prompt, unable to keep the grin from spreading across your lips. He just let you get away with calling him lord. 

 Adding a title to someone’s name is supposed to be a sign of respect, but the way you say it makes it sound derogatory. Like you’re cursing him. 

Tobirama looks about ready to yell, and part of you wants him to take the bait. You lean closer to gauge his reactions and you watch him immediately school his expression. It is like watching a magic show, one moment something is there, the next, it disappears. 

“Well, if you wanted me to make up more tasks for you to do, you should have just asked,” Tobirama deadpans. 

You watch him, intrigued. “Wow. Are you trying to be funny, or are you trying to insult me?” 

 “Please stop talking when I am working,” Tobirama does not sound like he is pleading. He hands you a stack of books to go through. “I want you to compile a list of necessary skills that you deem important, and I will do the same. We can discuss and vet on which skills are required to learn for each grade level right after.” 

You let out a breezy laugh, and you note how Tobirama seems to twitch at the sound. “Right, right, fine.” You pause. “Have you looked at my notes?”

“Of course I have,” Tobirama huffs and he shoots you a distasteful glare, and to you, it looks like he’s tired of talking. “I will make my own notes on where you’re lacking and then you revise it.” 

 “What do we need those for?” You ask, genuinely curious. “What else are we in charge of making?” 

“The reason I had you seek out artists, writers, bookmakers, and the like, is because we will commission them to make textbooks,” Tobirama explains. “We just need to get the information together. Meanwhile, I would also like to fill this library and another public library with other kinds of books.” 

You tap your chin. “Your brother tells me you like to invent things and all that. Are you going to include your research and your inventions in the library?” 

 Tobirama sighs, visibly withering at the statement that his brother talks behind his back, but he revives himself enough to get back to his work. “Depends on what my brother approves of.” 

You let out an involuntary chuckle. Here are the two most powerful known shinobis in the world right now, and they argue over mundane things. 

 Tobirama raises an eyebrow at you and you shake your head. 

He takes that as a sign to keep on working, so you decide to keep to yourself. 

 Surprisingly, you are starting to enjoy this. It’s not as bad as you imagined. 

//

Perhaps you spoke too soon, because here you are at the crack of dawn–no not even the crack of dawn because the surroundings are still dark blue. You yawn as you arrive, and find Tobirama waiting in the middle of the training ground in a different outfit you have not seen him in. He seems to only have one color palette; he wears a navy wrap-around jacket that has a collar in a lighter shade of blue. The sleeves are short, showing off his muscles, and all of this is tied with a light yellow-green belt around his waist. A sword is secured to his belt, and it hangs on his side ready to be drawn. A happuri guards his forehead and the sides of his face, and for some reason, this makes him look more authoritarian and older. A mesh armor peeks through the space between his collars and even in your sleepiness, you note a defined torso that you keep to yourself. 

You do not even see an ounce of sleepiness in him and you huff.  

 Tobirama merely glances at you, but every time he looks at you, it feels like he is already exasperated. 

 “Is it just us?” You try not to sound too whiny. “Also I ate breakfast, I’m not falling for whatever it is you have in mind.” 

 “And what do you think is on my mind?” 

 “I don’t know? A test of survival, starving us for days in the forest with only the surroundings as our resource?” You rest a hand on your two swords–an uchigatana and a wakizashi, both the same in appearance and made from the same metal. 

“I said not to eat too much breakfast, I did not discourage you from it.” Tobirama lets out a sarcastic sigh–something he can really pull off well. “I am not that cruel.” 

 You hear an excited gasp behind you and you turn to find Sarutobi Hiruzen and Shimura Danzo walking towards the two of you. 

“Tobirama-sensei!” Hiruzen calls enthusiastically, at the crack of dawn. “I hope you don’t mind, I brought my friend again!” 

You glance at Tobirama and you see his face visibly soften at the sight of his student. 

“And I didn’t know Y/N-sensei’s joining us!” Hiruzen bounds up to you and you reach up to ruffle his hair. He turns to you and points at Tobirama. “He’s a really cool sensei! Really cool!” 

Tobirama suddenly looks constipated and you laugh out loud. 

 “We’ll see, kiddo,” you tell him. “We’ll see.” 

Two more kids come, and the girl, Utatane Koharu, somehow looks pissed, which you can suddenly relate to. The boy beside her, Mitokado Homura, looks more calm and composed as he adjusts his glasses on his face. 

Tobirama nods, and then he breaks off into a light jog. Obediently, the kids follow after him and you grudgingly follow behind them. They must be used to this. 

 After a few rounds, the kids start to stretch and you do the same as well, and everything has been pretty calm. You watch as the kids do sets of push-ups, sit-ups, calisthenics and you are impressed at their stamina. They’re barely twelve, but then again, if you are training under Senju Tobirama, you can tell that you will be pushed to your limit. 

You feel a pang of envy from these kids for a moment, but you push it away. There is no reason to look back into the past and feel bitter about how things worked out. 

“So what’s next, sensei?” Hiruzen inquires. You can see how much these kids admire the man. 

 “Sparring,” Tobirama replies. “Since Danzo’s here, you guys are evenly matched. Last man standing gets to fight me.” 

 “What about Y/N-sensei?” Danzo interjects. 

 “Yeah, what about me?” You smirk, and you lighten your voice so that it sounds more childish. 

You can feel Koharu rolling her eyes. 

You narrow your eyes at him and let out a small stream of breath through your mouth. “I see.” 

 Tobirama slightly raises his chin haughtily. It suits him. He does not need to speak to dominate the atmosphere. He shrugs, and it sparks something in you. 

 “I’ll still try my best,” you smirk, but underneath your facade, you are starting to get annoyed. Which is new, because you are generally a patient person. 

Tobirama takes Hiruzen and Koharu while you take the other two to coach during their matches. You stand in between Danzo and Homura, watching their small faces study each other. 

“Don’t kill each other,” you advise, and you start their match. 

 The two go at each other, with Danzo throwing the first punch. You back off a little to make sure that you can see their stances. 

 Homura whirls around and his foot juts out, with his heel aiming towards Danzo’s head. Danzo ducks down, and kicks at Homura’s stomach the moment he regains his posture from the kick. 

Homura staggers back, and now he is on the defensive, blocking Danzo’s hits and kicks, barely dodging them as he keeps backing away. You notice the hits and misses from each boy.

 “Homura, don’t back away!” You yell out. “Get closer to him!” 

Homura does as you say, and Danzo is unable to land a hit on him, limiting his movements unless–

 Danzo jumps back to get away, and kicks Homura on the chest. 

 “Nice!” You cheer. 

 “Sensei, whose side are you on?” Homura complains and his hand comes up to rub his chest. 

You laugh. “Neither!” You glance at both of their faces. “Okay, you two, come here.” 

 Danzo and Homura face each other again. 

 “Save your movements, don’t be so generous with them,” you tell them. “Don’t punch just to punch. Again!” 

The two boys come at each other and you stand back to watch them again. This time, you do not offer any more suggestions. You glance to where Tobirama is at, and he is squatting on the ground, his eyes trained on the students’ footwork. 

 You hear him call out that Hiruzen’s feet are too far apart. 

You snap back to the two boys just in time to watch Homura flip Danzo on his back. 

You walk over and you peer at Danzo. “You okay?” 

 “Yes,” the boy wheezes out. 

“Alright, you’re done,” you chuckle and you look at Homura. “You win, then. Good job. Help him up.” 

You glance at the other group, and you see Koharu sock Hiruzen straight to his face and Tobirama jump up to his feet. Hiruzen gets to his feet, and you see a trickle of blood coming out of his nose. 

When Hiruzen gets closer, you ruffle his hair affectionately and you laugh as he grimaces. 

 “Not funny!” He whines nasally. 

 “Keep your hands up next time!” You taunt even though he may already know this. 

Tobirama puts a hand on his shoulder and steers him towards a rock so that he can sit. “Sit up and lean forward,” he tells his student. 

 The rest of the kids walk towards him to watch and poke fun at Hiruzen. 

 You stay back and cross your arms to watch them. You know that there is no place for you to be there. 

 Once Tobirama is finished attending to his student, he turns to you. “Koharu, you’re the referee.” 

You size him up, your eyes travelling from his face and down to his waist. What was one of his rules again? 

 Anticipation builds in your core, and your hand rests on the scabbard of your sword, your thumb playing at the hilt. 

“Are we including tricks today?” You inquire. 

 “If you want,” Tobirama curtly replies. 

Koharu starts the fight, and Tobirama wastes no time coming at you. 

 His first hit is heavy, and you block it with both of your forearms and brace yourself by stepping back one leg. You are quick to grab his wrist as you twist your arm and you step forward, meaning to put your leg behind his, but he breaks away from you and disturbs the momentum that you were going to use against him. 

 You are quick to back away because he comes at you without stopping. 

 He is fast, and he is heavy with his hands. You notice his open hands, ready for grappling. His stance is lower, and you know that it will be hard to knock him off balance, and the effects of kicking at his head will go to his advantage. 

You need an opening. 

 You launch yourself at him, and as he prepares himself to grab you, you drop to your knees and slide in between his legs, hitting his knee as you pass him by. He turns to your direction, and you quickly use his bent knee to step and kick towards his head. He blocks you and you see him almost grab at your ankle.

 You do not give him a chance to gather himself, and you swing again at him, this time using his shoulder to propel yourself around him and using his weight and yours, you are able to lock his head with your legs. Just as you are about to go for another twist to bring him to the ground, Tobirama counters by catching you and launching you off of him. 

 “You fight like an assassin,” Tobirama says as you roll to the ground and to your feet. 

“Are you impressed?” You grin at him, half jokingly. 

 Tobirama does not answer you, but it looks like he is about to say something worse as he charges at you. 

You step closer to him so that he does not follow through his movement, and you grab the hilt of his sword and then you strike your palm at his chest to send him back. You whirl around to brandish his sword in the air. 

 What was one of his rules? You suddenly remember.

  Do not touch my things, unless I give them to you. 

For a moment, everyone freezes. 

You study the blade in your hand. 

 “This is a very nice sword,” you muse, and you strike at the air and flip it, testing the weight. You run a finger on the blunt edge of his sword. “Well-balanced and thin, but very sharp. Excellent for accurate and fast hits...and conducting lightning.”

Tobirama’s face grows stormy. His fists tighten. 

 You twist blade with a slight twist of your wrist, and you hand it with the hilt towards him. “Sorry. I was curious.” 

Tobirama takes his sword and quickly sheathes it. You note a minuscule change in his expression, but it quickly passes and you are disappointed for not being quick enough to note it. 

“So, is this a tie?” Koharu asks, uncertain. 

“Yes,” Tobirama grits through his teeth. 

You watch Tobirama’s tense shoulders and decide to leave him alone. You probably went too far today. 

“Well, that was fun, but I have to go,” you say, even though the rest of your day is pretty much free. "I have some friends to meet." 

 Tobirama suspects that you certainly do not have any friends to meet, but he does not say anything more. He’s probably eager to make you go. There is nothing he would want more. 

“Aw!” Hiruzen cries out. His nose bleed has stopped. “Thanks for coming by, sensei!” 

You wink at the kids, and you make your exit, your hand still remembering the feel of Tobirama’s sword. It is oddly familiar, and you wonder if the craftsmanship is similar to your own blade. 

You can feel Tobirama’s stare behind you and it burns the back of your neck as if he is shooting laser beams at you, and just when you glance back to regard it, he is turning away and conversing with his students about hand seals. 

Though it was just a joke and a way to catch him by surprise, you can’t help but feel that you just stomped over the thin olive branch that he was handing out to you. 

You note to yourself to make it up to him tomorrow. 

.

.

.

[CHAPTER THREE >>>]

[olivonie]

biggest fan ; atsumu miya

(1) "maybe he's my laptop wallpaper"

synopsis ; you are the youngest bokuto, and the biggest atsumu miya fan in all history (self proclaimed) so just your luck that a threat from your older brother to go to his game ends in you meeting your celebrity crush, and trying to not freak out, but oh what chaos ensues...

perfumers guide ; is the best friend literally just me inserting into my OWN FANFIC?? W A BOKUTO LOVE STORY? yeah fuck off let me have what i want its my fanfic motherfucker,, u, our beautiful mc, are a fangirl/boy/them/idc,, also i referred to ur friend as ur friend the whole fic, might give them an alias later on but idk for now,, tysm to my loves @scouts-ahoy and my bestie indigo for betaing for me <3 ily guys sm <3

perfume ingredients ; light cursing, rlly funny friend, fanperson-ing???, idk tw atsumu miya/j, bokuto being a butthead brother, gn reader (hopefully it comes across as such), omi being a bad friend/j,, cheesy corny romance movie esc love story <33,, written like a wattpad fanfic so sucks for u

word count ; 1388 words

“I can’t believe he blackmailed me like that!” You cried out, standing outside the building of the volleyball game you were attending.

“Don’t pretend you weren’t gonna show up anyways. Besides, he got us front row seats! Isn’t that awesome!” Your friend of many years squealed, adjusting his shirt before turning to you with a smirk, “Plus~ after, we’re going to dinner with your future boyfriend~” They teased, and you squeaked, chasing after them as they laughed. You both got in line and entered the building, packed full of people as you talked while walking to your seats according to your tickets.

A week prior your brother, Kotaro, had burst into your room in the apartment you shared, jumping on the bed and shoving two tickets to his next game. You had said you would buy your own tickets, since you wanted to be independent and were sick of relying on "big bro ko ko" but he interrupted you, threatening that if you didn’t take them he would tell Atsumu, his teammate, about your “big fat enormous super fan googly disgusting mushy gushy crush” on him and so you begrudgingly took the tickets. You decided to go with your friend, who was more excited to see your brother than the actual game.

“I can't believe you’re a brother banger…” You murmured. Your friend turned to you, a look of mock betrayal on their face.

“Honey Boo Bear! You dare think I’d cheat on you my beloved snookums?!” They said overdramatically and very loudly. You giggled, playing along with their antics with a smile.

“Pumpkin wumpkin! I can see you have feelings for another who is not me!”

“No! My cuddle wuddle baby poo I would never!-” They said, cut off by your laughter, followed by their own. Of course, even if you were pissed at Ko for blackmailing you into going, you couldn’t deny your excitement to see the Atsumu Miya, who had been the apple of your eye since you first saw him play with your brother. You had created a fan twitter for him for christs sake! That fucking enamored. But, even if he was on the same team with Kotaro, you had never met him face to face.

You had dazed off and couldn’t see nor hear your friend, before they had shaken you back into consciousness.

“Oi! The game is about to start, dumbass!” They said, and you turned to look, seeing both teams enter the court. Your friend screamed and chanted when they saw Kotaro, who waved at the both of you with energy filled motions. And then, as if in slow motion, entered the “love of your life.”

He was like a renaissance statue, carved from the finest marble and shaped into this beauty. His eyes were filled with life as he waved to all his fans, and when he swept his gaze over to where you were standing, it felt as if time stopped. It was like that scene from every cheesy romcom movie where the main character’s heart pounded erratically, and just like in a movie, the breath from your lungs was stolen away. Were you in heaven? This is totally heaven right?

His eyes. Oh, his eyes. Like molten gold, the sun's reflection on a lake. Like the sweetest caramel, that you could practically taste on your tongue. Atsumu seemed frozen as well, before Shoyo came over and shook him awake, turning to the court with a single glance back at you.

“Oh my god I think I might die.” You said, practically falling into your companions arms, who raised a brow at you.

“Are you okay? What happened?” They asked, a concerned expression on their face.

“Did you not see?!?! We made eye contact!! For like! A minute! And now I’ve fallen in love with him and I want his children!” You screamed, and they clasped a hand over your mouth quickly.

“One, crowded area, don’t say that shit out loud. Two, what’s the big deal? Weren’t you already in love with him?” They said, tilting their head to the side to look at you.

“Yes but like we’d never made eye contact! And I’m like! His biggest fan!” You squeaked, your voice cracking as you cleared it, looking desperately at your friend.

“How big?” They asked, and you gave an exasperated sigh.

“Maybe he’s my laptop wallpaper..” You murmured, twiddling your hands together. “Laptop wallpaper” had been an inside joke between you two to measure the depth of your obsession. Laptop wallpaper being the biggest, and twitter profile picture being the lowest.

“Oh my god big big…” They whispered, and you two continued to talk over your dilemma as the game went on.

As the game came to an end, with another victory for the Jackals, the two of you ran down the steps with special access passes, also gifted to you by Kotaro, and ran to congratulate the team. There was a sappy moment where your friend jumped into Kotaro’s arms rambling about how amazing he was, as he walked over to you and raised his hand for a high five, which you begrudgingly gave.

“You suck, butthead.” You said with a smile, and he grinned at you, as you walked off to a brooding black haired man, who was staring off in another dimension before you called his name, “Hey Omi! You did great!” You cheered, and he turned to you with a semi-smile.

“Thanks little Bokuto.” He said, and you rolled your eyes.

“The least you could do is say my name!” “I think little Bokuto works just fine.”

“Omiiii! That is so cruel and mean! I am going to report you on Stop It!” You said, and he laughed. Kiyoomi has been your friend since high school. You didn’t like the idea of being overshadowed by your brother, so you chose a school where no one would recognize you as his sibling, and bumped into Kiyoomi. Literally. And decided to stick around the brooding loner who preferred to eat lunch on the rooftop away from the hordes of people.

“So, did you totally fitz out when Miya came on court?” He said with a knowing smirk, causing your face to heat up as you cried out in protest.

“I did not!”

“They totally did.” Shoyo interrupted, and you spun around to throw a fake punch at him. He dodged with ease and stuck his tongue out at you, and you did the same.

“Shut up!” You yelled, groaning when the two laughed at you, “I’m gonna wait outside for you guys! And Omi! You smell horrible!” You cried, grinning in triumph at his annoyed face, looking at himself covered in sweat and sighing.

You walked out of the gym, waiting outside the doors as you said you would, opting to scroll through your phone idly.

“Yer Bokuto’s sibling right?” A light voice asked by your ear, which caused you to jump and throw a punch out of instinct. A groan and head of blonde hair that you’d seen hundreds of times in twitter edits and your dreams made you gasp. “You sure know how to throw a punch huh? Yowch,” Atsumu grunted, holding his stomach as you panicked and apologized, to which he laughed, “It’s okay! I didn’t give no warnin’ so I scared ya! I get it!” He said, and you blushed profusely.

You just punched your celebrity crush in the stomach, there goes your dreams of a fanfiction type first meeting. You sighed, putting your hand out to shake his as you introduced yourself.

“I’m Atsumu Miya.” “Well obviously.” You said and then gasped at how rude that must’ve sounded. You were about to apologize again until he laughed. He looked at you with those eyes again.

“Yer real funny! I hope yer goin’ to dinner with us, it’d be totally boring without ya.” He said, and you nodded.

“Of course, I promised my brother.” You said, and he did a small fist bump, before pausing and taking out his phone, passing it to you.

“Put yer number in there, pretty please.” He said, and you nodded, typing your phone number and name. He smiled when you handed his phone back, checking the time before whispering curses, “Fuck, I still gotta change, but I’ll see ya at the dinner kay? See ya round pretty!” He called and you waved goodbye blushing at the compliment and chuckling before the realization set in.

“OH MY GOD I JUST GAVE MIYA ATSUMU MY NUMBER HOLY FUCK”

extra;;

"you are so loud..."

"shut up ko you're fat."

olivonie 2021

reblogs are welcome !! pls !!!!

[prose-for-hire]

What’s a soul without it’s mate?

Part one

Pairing: Willow x vamp!reader

Request: Mostly requested by myself and a kind and encouraging anon for a sequel to ‘a lie taken to the grave’

A/N: I like a reader with a bit of a backstory/personality. Mention of past Bangel. You guys seemed to like the first part, so I hope the second part is just as enjoyable 🖤💖

You had tried not to wait outside her house like some kind of monster. Like this obsessive creature of the night she had no doubt pictured you as in her mind. But not checking on her, making sure she was safe, was hard. You had tried to speak to her earlier but she was now heavily guarded by her friends at all times, especially after dark.

You had come to speak to her, not just stand around like some lovesick fool. Like the lovesick fool you were for her.

You would have to act, there was no other way. To stand even another minute without her love would be enough to suck the very soul from your body.

You looked up at her window. The light was on. Flickering. Your last ember of hope.

You nodded, resolving you had to see her. Get on your knees if you must. This love was too great. You jumped up to the balcony of her room. Easily spanning the gate and stepping onto the cold concrete under your feet. You paused, only for a moment. Eyes closing, a silent prayer. Not that anybody took heed to yours anymore.

But you were willing to try anything. For her.

“Willow? Oh, sweet Willow, please be home” You whispered, tapping on the door to her balcony.

She opened her blinds, almost instantly. As if she had sensed you there. Her face trying so desperately to be unmoving. To not give away how hard this was for her.

Your heart rose and sank in the same moment. Her face was puffy, she had been crying. Because of you.

She opened the doors to the balcony, allowing her to hear you speak.

“Please, my love? Uh, ‘hear me out’ as they say…”

“Y/n, I’ve read about you, about the people you used to, um, hang out with” Willow warned you, trying to hide the waver in her voice. The fact that she wanted to collapse back into your arms.

“I was young, and foolish. I had not yet learned of love. Of you” You insisted, “How can I prove I never meant you any harm?” You said softly. Your hand slid into hers and she began to soften, her face kind and seemingly ready to make up. You wished to hear about her college work and about the hijinks with her little human friends. She wanted to hear about your life, your history. About how you coped, spent your time.

But all too quickly she snapped her hand away. Removing those possibilities. For tonight, at least.

“Th-this isn’t fair, Y/n. With the pleading and the softness and the… you” She almost crumbled at the end but shook herself in resolve. She clambered onto the balcony to face you, her sweet nature giving you more of a chance than you deserved.

“I take it all back, Willow. I would in a single heartbeat” You rushed these words, you needed her to understand. That it was the single biggest regret in any of your lives.

“B-but you don’t do you?”

“Of course I w-”

“No. You don’t have a heartbeat” Willow said slowly, tears beginning to stream down her face as she shook her head at you. That pout that turns into a grimace when she cries almost broke you into pieces. She felt stupid, as if you had played a game.

Her reaction was physically painful. You were sure you would be ash and dust before sunrise one way or another. Whether by her words or actions.

“Dear, sweet Willow. You have my word, I did not wish to harm-”

“You can’t just do this! You- you lied! That’s big, bigger than big - it’s massive!” She exploded, using her hands as she spoke. You had always found it endearing when she got worked up, but never over something you had done to her. It made you sad, you could have wept freely.

“My love, I apologise. I am laid bare for you, can you not see? I would walk into the sunlight myself, wait for dawn to toss my ashes asunder for what I have done to you. Back to where I belong. The hell that was, that is, when you are not near...” You voice cracked with emotion, your eyes pleading with every intake of unneeded breath.

She shook her head, tears dripping down her neck. You averted your gaze though, less she thought you were thinking something you wouldn’t. Never without her permission, anyway.

She sniffed, managing to look at your face. She had fallen for you so deeply. Your soft touch. Understanding nature. The way you spoke. So lyrical. But so obviously not from this time. How had she missed this?

You took this sign. Her wanting to look at you again. This one shred of hope she had afforded since you appeared to her that her heart may thaw for you. That you may win her favour in some way.

“Y-you mean that? I mean all of that… to you?” She whispered it. She had been unsure of your intentions. Which, you understood. It was natural.

You nodded, of course. You stepped towards her, tentatively at first. But with more confidence when she did not flinch away.

You moved your cold hands to caress her cheeks. Cupping them softly. She closed her eyes at the action and it made tears begin to creep up behind your eyes. Stinging and pushing against the back of your eyeballs. It was painful, this feeling. That once this dam would break it may be over. You couldn’t mourn something that was not yet dead. This was forever, to you. You had only ever felt alive when she was around.

Even now, feeling her skin under yours. It warmed you. Gave you hope.

“I need more time, y/n” she sighed, wiping her tears on her sleeve.

“It has been a week, my love...” you said softly but she was unmoving, except for stepping reluctantly from your touch. She meant it and she could be stubborn, you adored this about her. She backed away, her eyes on you before she slipped back into her room.

Leaving you out on the balcony alone. The darkness and sorrow caressing your broken heart.

It had been months and your heart began to wither as you had spent so much time away from her. An acquaintance of yours had arrived back in Sunnydale and you had convinced him to go for a drink with you. Neither of you fit in with the other vampires and so you had bonded for decades over this.

He chose the Bronze, neither of you were welcome in any demon bar. Both of you had souls. His, cursed upon him and yours transferred after you showed goodness even when you were pure demon.

You made a correct choice, one of mercy despite you not having a soul. Which meant that a coven took pity on you, wanted to allow you to experience something closer to humanity.

It was a gift, your soul. In name, not necessarily in practice. It gave you so much guilt. You still struggled to come to terms with. But you would rather this than be who you once had been.

You and he had bumped into each other every decade or so, catching up and sometimes at odds depending where in the soul-cycle either of you were. He was probably the only person you would dare call a friend although many people did not even know that you were acquainted. Angel gave you an understanding smile as you sat beside him, sliding a drink towards him.

“How have you been?”

“You know…”

“Oh yeah” He muttered in agreement. He knew exactly how you had been. The same as him. And, this was where the conversation died. It was a comfortable silence between you both but filled with your own regrets and horrors twisting through your mind. You sat there, nursing your drinks in silence for a long while.

Angel had returned from LA and wasn’t sure if seeing Buffy would be a good idea. But he ached for her. To see her. Talk to her, even for a moment. You tried to offer some comfort, told him that if the powers wanted them to be together one day they would find a way.

He nodded, knowing that this was all you could offer. Both of you knew better than to cling to false hope after everything you had seen. And done.

“You and Willow then? When did this happen? I would’ve thought you’d learn from my mistakes” He said, knowing you needed to talk about it. You both shared a humourless laugh at his words before you tried to explain it.

“She is… everything.” You breathed, glassy eyed. 

Your voice speaking from the soul. The soul that was now in a constant despair. For what was a soul without it’s mate? 

Without her, it all felt meaningless to you. All of it.

“We found each other, in here actually. She had joked that I was ‘too cool’ for the Bronze and I took offence. I believed she was calling me cold-hearted, or worse, a vampire.” You continued.

“They speak so differently from when we lived” Angel nodded in agreement, although he had at least assimilated better than you had. You kind of missed his Irish accent, but you did not miss the demon that came with it.

“She found my grave, I had never told her that I had died. I fell for her, completely and couldn’t find a way to explain. I hate it, it’s one of the worst things I have done. Her poor, sweet, heart”

Angel didn’t mention that he had seen you killing and torturing people before, which might have been a regret worth thinking about over lying to Willow. But he understood, you had never had an attachment like this. Your love for her was pure. Probably the only part of you that had not been touched by the demon was your love for her.

So, you had clung to it. Selfishly.

As you spoke, Willow and her friends had arrived at the bar. Both you and Angel sensed it and shared a look. Your respective lost loves were walking towards the bar. Your hearts breaking over and over with every footstep it took them to get there.

You both shifted uncomfortably, noticing that their eyes were on you. Anya had announced that you were both there. Apparently, they all knew your face now. Probably because you were enemy number one.

After some drinking and some talking that you and angel pretended you couldn’t hear, Willow shakily got to her feet and walked towards you both. Her eyes the entire night had only been on you and so when she got up to the table she only just noticed who you were sat with.

“Oh, uh, hi Angel” Willow did a little wave before turning back to you, “Y/n, we should talk”

Angel nodded, muttering his good luck to you. It was so quiet that it was only detectable to you, so you nodded subtly and heard him leave. All of this happening without Willow noticing. She was taking a deep breath, trying to categorise and re-categorise her thoughts. Sort through what she wanted to say.

“What you did, it was wrong” You opened your mouth to speak but she shook her head to stop you and you instantly complied, “But I-I understand. You had so many chances where you could have hurt me or Buffy. I was kinda scared that you only wanted to be with me so that you could get to slay the slayer and-”

“Never” You breathed solemnly. You could care less for the slayer, apart from of course gratitude for her saving the world and your Willow.

“- I didn’t get why you would want me for… me” She admitted, taking your hand in hers, “I don’t wanna be apart anymore, Y/n. I miss you so much”

“You mean it!?” Your eyes danced, smile widening more than it ever had. You were overjoyed. To be cast in such favourable light. Nothing mattered unless she was with you. Loving you as you loved her.

She nodded, smiling. Both of your eyes reflected a glassy delight in the others. This felt right. You and her. Together.

You leaned in, pressing the lightest kiss to her lips. It was chaste, sincere. Not willing to pressure her into a deeper kiss less she be snatched from your side again. Her lips grazed yours and you finally felt that breath of life you had been sadly missing since she had left.

“Come home with me” She whispered as you both pulled back. Your eyes lit up, you had been fearful that she would never

But her home was yours, she had always felt this way. She didn’t want to waste anymore time. She just wanted you.

She slipped her hand back into yours and led you, weaving between the crowds. The two of you against the world. How it should be.

All was well in the world again.

[spiltscribbles]

Prompt #37 for you, dear: Things you said with the tv on mute 😌📺🤫

Notes: Okay angel, you have an official IOU from me for a one shot that’s total fluff!!! I love you!!!! Thank you to the gorgeous bitch that is Bethany for making this better than it ever could’ve been <3 <3 

A Reblog is worth a thousand Stars

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Things you said with the TV was muted  |  Send Me A Prompt

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Sirius’s never been much for silence. He was brought up in the heart of London in a household always filled to the brim with guests that his parents deemed worthy enough to intermingle with the ever so illustrious Black name, and then in Hogwarts there was always the chatter of other students or the mysterious sounds ringing from the forbidden forest. Sirius’s always needed that extra layer, that muffled background noise to help ground himself, to help not get lost in his own thoughts of inadequacy or regrets over his vast array of stupid decisions that he’d make in a thoughtless spur of passion. 

If he’s really forced to think about it, the only time Sirius’s ever been comfortable blanketed in quiet was during the few times he spent his school hols in the Welsh countryside. But Sirius tries not to, think about that he means. Because then he’s back in bed, curved against Remus, one of his arms stuck underneath him while the other traced elaborate designs against his sun dappled skin. And it’s hard to reminisce on those sorts of memories, the ones that remind him about burnt toast mornings in their Camden flat and the taste of blackberries on Remus’s lips and the way they had always found solace in folding into one another after a long day out on patrols or raids of a Death Eater hideout. Well, found solace until they had suddenly, abruptly not. Before Remus had begun spending his full moons away, out on covert missions given by Dumbledore and never repeated about to Sirius. Before a thick, uncomfortable tension had clogged between them on the breakfast table that they used to stretch across to interlace their hands with one another’s. Before secrets infested every nook and crevice of their relationship, burrowing through it like deadly, invasive pests— rotting away at the one thing Sirius held with reverence and an aching sort of love that he’s only ever felt towards Remus. 

The night Remus left was only surprising in how long it took their bending to turn to a break that couldn’t stitch back up with heady kisses, and ardent declarations and tender caresses that always were that bit lighter for how afraid they’ve always been to hurt the other. It was early June and it was like every ounce of Sirius was being rinsed of resolve, like the moonlight itself  was bleeding out with the desperation and yearning and pain painted so evidently on each of their faces and what measured their movements when in relation with the other. It was in the midst of an argument, because of course it was— because that had become their only form of communication in those final fleeting weeks in-between the fucking and the cautious glances volleyed around like they were back in sixth year and first beginning to tend this tentative, little flame between them, a flame that became a supernova that swallowed Sirius whole without his permission. Remus had made a crack about Sirius needing to get him a leash if he was so convinced that he wasn’t being forthcoming about his whereabouts, and Sirius had snapped back saying that at this point he wished Remus was actually just sneaking around to shag Dearborn, and then Remus had just slumped over, lying against the wall as if it was the only thing keeping him up anymore.

He had circles as dark as the velvet night sky beneath his bright eyes, and he had such a rigid sort of posture once finally standing back up that it makes Sirius wince even remembering it, and just looking at him in such a state felt like the deepest betrayal. All Sirius knew, all he’s ever known and all he will know for the rest of his days is that he never wants to be the one to make Remus look that defeated or exhausted or just plain sad ever again. Remus had packed his few belongings in the old luggage he’s had since first year in a matter of minutes, and marched out the door without ever looking back, and Sirius hadn’t seen him until after the dust had finally settled in the wake of the end of the war. Remus is the one thing Sirius has always known he never deserved, and now— six weeks removed from the defeat of Voldemort by the hands of a still recuperating Dumbledore, Sirius knows that truth is as inherent as ever.

It was Lily who stayed up with Sirius on nights he couldn’t go back to bed in fear of being met with Remus in his dreams— her missing him in a different but just as painful way. It was Lily who told Sirius about the borderline sadistic recruitment efforts Dumbledore had Remus operating— making him relive his worst nightmare every full moon with the man who had turned him when he was no more than four years old. And it was Lily who called him and James a pair of “bloody prats,” because she had never doubted Remus for even a moment. So it only made sense when it was Lily who tipped her chin in that imperious way of hers two weeks before, and proclaimed that they’d be having a Christmas together as a family. Which meant that Sirius has just spent the last three— Merlin forsaken—  days awkwardly avoiding Remus in the most stilted and uncomfortable manners every time they ran into one another in the Potter cottage, and it meant that Frank, Alice and Neville took one of the guest rooms, while Sirius readily offered the only other one to Remus, and now he’s slumped downstairs, staring at the strange Muggle box that Lily had bought and what James, Sirius, and— and well the rat, had spent an entire afternoon toying around with— pure blooded to the core. Lily and Remus had only left them to it while going off for tea and scones at the cafe down the way, laughing at them all the while.

God does Sirius wish that golden splendor had never faded.

At the moment, the Muggle box is playing a barrage of clips of an incredibly pretty lady, one with dark hair and violet eyes. She looks like she could be a Black, honestly— it’s disarming. He’s sure he’s seen her before.  Sirius furrows his brows that bit more, surprised just how familiar she actually looks, and is shaken when he hears a soft, rasp of a voice— the most resplendent voice he’s ever heard— speaking from behind him. “Liz Taylor.”

Sirius turns around, frantic, as he takes in the sight of him, up close after so long, and Sirius stares, wide eyed and greedy, like he always is when around Remus. “Pardon?”

“The woman on the telly, that’s Liz Taylor. My mum was positively obsessed with her.” Remus’s arms are crossed leisurely against his chest as he lies against the doorway, clad in a white T-shirt and a pair of fading, plaid pajama bottoms. His bottom lip is worn dry and his hair is disheveled and sticking out on impossible angles, and he’s the most gorgeous thing Sirius has ever seen. Even now, even after so many months apart and even while he’s obviously lost in thought about his miraculous mother who had passed away from a Muggle disease their seventh year, taking a part of Remus’s heart right along with her. Even amidst all of it, Remus Lupin is the most startlingly beautiful thing Sirius has ever witnessed.

Sirius can’t stop his gawking, it’s like a warped image of that night over five months ago now, and it fills Sirius with a sort of dread he’s become far too accustomed with feeling when around Remus. “Oh, right,” Sirius says, more because he feels like it was his turn to say something, even if it is stuttering and dumb.

“You remember Christmas break of seventh year? When she made us watch her favorite film? That starred Liz Taylor.”

Sirius’s throat feels dry, can’t believe that Remus is speaking with him at all, wonders how he’ll actually be able to string two words together in any sort of coherency. “Yeah,” he clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah. The one about the bloke who wanted to marry her but got that other bird pregnant.”

Remus’s answering grin is small and mild and a bit threadbare, but it’s a Moony smile, so Sirius will devour the vision of it with hungry piety.

“I think the critics might have an issue with your distilling one of the greatest critiques of American capitalism into a tawdry love affair, but that’s the one,” Remus says as he picks up the clicker and mutes the box, perched on the other end of the couch’s armrest. And it’s so far removed, but the closest Remus has been able to stand being around Sirius in too long and it pumps him with a sort of staggering, hesitant hope that he has no right in indulging himself with— to feel the levitating, helium like sense of it pulsing in his chest and coursing through his veins.

“You know me Moons, just wanna get to the dirty bits.” He tries for broke and casts him a half smile, feels it like a punch in the gut when that doesn’t affect the detached way Remus stares at him from his perch. “But the bloke was fit at least— I recall saying that he looked a bit like you.” That, for some mad reason, makes Remus toss back his tawny head— silver in the moonlight— and laugh hysterically. “I’ve finally done it, made you go barmy.” Sirius marvels, goading but also partially meaning it.

“Of course you’d think Monty Cliff looks like me Sirius, he’s only the most tragic git in cinema history.”

“Since when are you the dramatic one Moons?”

Remus stills for a second— probably over the use of the familiar pet name, but he doesn’t say anything of it, just gives him a one armed, what can you do shrug. “’S true, he got in a nasty accident with Liz in the car when they were out drinking one night.”

“Oh— That’s rotten luck.” Sirius says, still feels a bit delirious with the fact that Remus is even speaking to him at all.

“Quite.”

“Did he die?”

“No, not fully. They were able to stitch back up his face, but he never actually recovered, was haunted by it really. I guess folks used to say that there was the beautiful before, and then the monstrous after, scars and all. So he spent the next decade drinking himself to death.”

Sirius’s insides go cold, flashes of Remus’s own habits bubbling to the forefront of his mind, but he sweeps it away and only nods, thinks he understands the shifty way Remus is behaving now, considering the obvious parallel to his own accident as a lad and how the Wizarding world has regarded him ever since.

“That’s shit Remus.”

He hums, noncommittal as he studies a point over Sirius’s shoulder. “They still call it Hollywood’s longest suicide.”

Sirius suddenly feels sick to his stomach, knows that if this was even just half a year ago, he’d be gathering Remus in his arms now and kissing away the lines melting into his face, and telling him in a gargled repetition that he loves him and he loves him and he’s always loved him. He’d tell Remus how damn beautiful he is and how bright and brilliant and remarkable of a person he is. And Sirius would fall asleep with Remus’s head resting on his chest and the blanket pooling around their hips and it would feel splendid just for that slice of eternity.

But this isn’t half a year ago. This is now, and now is composed of them broken up and awkward and left them unable to even hold each others gazes for longer than a few seconds at a time, lest the hurt becomes unbearable.

“He sounds like someone I’d get a pint with If I’m being honest.” 

That miraculously seems like the right thing to have said because Remus smiles softly as he stands up. “Sure you two would’ve had a marvelous time, his boyfriends called’m a miraculous lay.”

Sirius laughs, loud and abrupt and a bit like a bark. “Come off it.”

“Poor Liz, she was mad over the shirt lifter.” Remus pulls a face and sticks his tongue out, cheeky in a way Sirius has missed beyond words. “But never mind the history lesson, I just came down for a glass of water, don’t let me disturb your telly watching.”

“You didn’t!” Sirius says hurriedly, forcing himself not to actually leap up and corner him. “I mean—“ he coughs, tries evening out his heartbeat.  “You’re never a bother Remus, you know that. You know I’d rather talk to you than just about anything else,” the silent, save for fucking you, doesn’t have to be said, but Sirius reckons Remus caught the implication if the slight flush to his ears is anything to go by.

“Right, well I should still get back to bed. Tomorrow’s actual Christmas Eve and Lily’s practically branded the damn schedule onto my hand.” Remus turns to the kitchen, and it’s all too much like before, but Sirius won’t let him— can’t let him— go off and leave him behind. If there is one inarguable truth in Sirius’s life, it’s that he loves Remus John Lupin more than all the stars in all the damned galaxies combined, and losing faith in that has only ever caused him the worst sort of pain. So he doesn’t let him go, flings himself forwards and encircles one of Remus’s bony wrists with a loose hand, can practically hear his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Wh— Sirius—“

“Are we ever going to be alright again,” Sirius asks outright, probably the stupidest thing he’s ever done but he doesn’t care, is sick of feeling so damn lost and wrong footed and lonesome without him. 

Remus slowly pivots back around, lips set in a firm frown and brows beginning to knit. “What do you mean.”

“Don’t Remus, please, just don’t. If it’s no then please just put me out my misery. I can’t do this sodding in-between shite, this purgatory of nothing and everything. I just can’t.”

The silence that drapes over them seizes with a tension Sirius hadn’t felt since the night Remus had left, and it probably doesn’t bode well, but Sirius doesn’t care, wants an  answer damn it.

Remus only stares at him, measured and noncommittal and with an almost aloofness that Sirius had successfully penetrated by the end of their first term in Hogwarts. It’s really something awful being on the other side once more.  “You thought I was the spy.” He says in a deadpan, void of any warmth, and cleared of even the Welsh lilt to his words that always shone through when he was relaxed, and wasn’t afraid of being cast off as just some country boy.  He sounds methodical, by rote. He sounds like he doesn’t dare allow any emotions to bleed through because he’s afraid what Sirius would do with them, and that realization, above anything else, is what punches him right in the gut.

“I thought everyone was the spy,” he tells him, isn’t above from graveling at this point. “Hell I thought I was the bloody spy for a moment there! Under the imperius curse, or was obliviated or—“

“That’s different Sirius,” Remus interrupts, seething, and tearing his wrist away from Sirius’s light grasp. “Think about why you would presume me to be working for the dark side over Peter!”

Sirius flushes, is getting angry now, hating that Remus wouldn’t even hear him out. “Because you were in the top of the class, and that fucking rat barely knew how to transfigure  a throw pillow to a damn porcupine!”

Remus’s face— a face Sirius knows better than the back of his own hand— twists up in derision, lips curled and nose wrinkled and pinning Sirius with a one eyed squint. It’s completely inappropriate timing, but Sirius wishes he could show Remus just how thoroughly he pays reverence to him and that face. “Well lucky him he was born a pure blood.”

And that, that snide remark is what makes Sirius jolt back, as if he’s been slapped open handed right across the face. Like the one and only time his mother had done so when she caught him and Regulus dressing up in her heels and jewels and lipsticks when he was seven years old. This, this insinuation by Remus is just as striking and probably ten times as painful. “Don’t. Don’t bring blood politics into this Remus. You know I don’t give a buggering fuck about any of that trite.”

“Then what?” Remus almost yells now, face reddening and stepping close enough to Sirius that he has to tilt his head back just so, just enough so that they’re eyes are boring into one another properly once more. “Was it the fact I’m a fucking werewolf? Huh?” He grabs for Sirius’s front, hands knotted in the material of his shirt, and careful not to touch him. It’s a familiar action when Sirius thinks back to the final couple months of their relationship, Remus had always just grabbed onto Sirius’s clothes— wrinkling his jackets and Henleys whenever they kissed goodbye. Sirius had ultimately thought it was because of the guilt eating up inside for his turncoating ways, but now recognizes it for what it was and what it is. He sees that it’s Remus trying to grapple for something, anything. It’s Remus trying to ground himself by touch, and by Sirius, to feel still amidst all the chaos. 

Sirius puts his larger hands against Remus’s wrists once more, doesn’t let him drop his gaze. “Fuck you Remus.”

“Is that it? You got sick of fucking a halfbreed? Figured that if I was just like the lot who actually were enthralled by Grayback that it’d be fine if you could end it.”

“Shut the fuck up!“

“Just say it! Say you didn’t trust me because I’m a werewolf and you believe that propaganda that we’re some sorta inherently dark creatures. Tell me you gave up on me because of that. Just give me an answer Sirius!”

And it’s like Sirius can’t breathe, doesn’t know where to begin his rant. Whether he should shout at Remus for being a self loathing prat, or shout at Remus for thinking so low of him, or maybe shout at Remus for trying to pretend as if he wasn’t the one who gave up on them first. In the end, he does none of that. 

It’s pure instinct when Sirius plunges forwards and crashes his lips against Remus’s own, trying to infuse the love and adoration and acceptance he knows Remus has never allowed himself to truly feel, and is relieved when his lead-like insides lighten just a fraction when Remus opens his mouth and grabs for Sirius’s face, and kisses him that much deeper. His tongue plunging into Sirius’s open mouth and the familiar slide is so achingly welcome Sirius swears he could fall over in gratitude, frantically palms up and down Remus’s lightly muscled back for purchase, and ultimately just gives up and drags him to the sofa, doesn’t let their lips separate for more than a breath at a time.

“I love you, I never stopped loving you Moons,” Sirius tells him as he practically rips Remus’s shirt as he pulls it off and Remus collapses over him, now straddling Sirius’s lap and kissing a path across his jaw. “Don’t ever think otherwise.”

Remus pulls away, only for a moment, but it’s enough to see the watery gleam to his eyes and the doubt that passes across his face. Though Remus doesn’t let him look for too long, plunges back forwards to kiss him in a cacophony of lips, and teeth, and spit. His cold hands glide against Sirius’s abs beneath his own t-shirt, and Sirius is practically arching up with wanton intent. God he’s missed this, missed Remus and the way they fall against one another, and missed the way they’ve always just fit so innately.

“I—I still love you too Pads,” he says against Sirius’s neck, practically shaking but it’s enough to clear Sirius of all his worries and all his doubt. If there’s anything that couldn’t erode, its the foundation they built with one another and that’s enough, maybe that’s all they need to begin healing once more. Sirius knows that there’s countless conversations and apologies and that they’ll need to take this one step at a time, but here, now. This gives him hope that Remus is just as willing to work on it as he is, and that’s all Sirius needs to know.

He slides a hand up Remus’s thigh and dips a thumb into his waistband, asking for permission, and almost laughing at how eager Remus is to the question, eyes fluttering shut prettily as Sirius slips a hand into his front, cheeks blazing when he realizes Remus wasn’t even wearing any pants. 

“Moony,” he moans, tossing his dark head against the sofa and praying for strength from fucking Merlin himself. 

Remus actually does laugh, kisses the juncture of Sirius’s neck and shoulder before he starts rocking back and forth, against Sirius’s rapidly hardening cock, and Sirius is already so pent up and hungry for this that he knows he’s not going to last long.

“Bloody slag.”

“Pot calling the kettle black—“ Remus’s eyes go blown suddenly, absolutely going mental at the pun and Sirius can’t believe the love of his life is such a damn wanker. 

“Oy, I’ll show you what this kettle can do,” Sirius snaps, playful as he flips their positions so that Remus is lying beneath him, canting forwards when Sirius unceremoniously grabs his cock and begins a slow, and steady stroke, absolutely fucking beaming at the small, cut off gasps and muffled whimpers Remus lets out. They should probably worry over someone walking downstairs for a midnight snack or smoke or something, but Sirius can’t be fucked to care, not with the gloriously golden sight of Remus Lupin flat out beneath him and panting and how Sirius knows precisely how to get him to whimper out in that particularly stunning way.

“Sadistic— Hah— Sadistic bastard,” Remus groans as Sirius begins to thumb at the tip and uses the pre-come to slide faster up and down his shaft, his own hips rocking faster against Remus’s leg to catch at the sensation.

“No arguments here,” Sirius whispers, dipping back down to kiss him as he speeds up the stroking, and gets some of his own friction as he rubs against Remus’s thigh in quick and graceless thrusts and it’s only a moment more before Remus is groaning out with his orgasm and another few thrusts of Sirius’s own hips  after that when Sirius joins him, practically collapsing over his body once he does.

“Oof, get off me you prick.”

“Too tired Moons.”

“You’re heavy.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

Remus laughs and Sirius wishes he could be wrapped up in the sound for the next eon to come. For now, he only licks off the come still sticking to his hand, and Remus wrinkles his nose in acute disapproval, but then he kisses him deep and thorough. So Sirius doesn’t take it to heart. 

Eventually they adjust themselves so that they’re each lying on their sides and peering at one another, gentle but with more stability than they’ve felt for nearly a year now. It feels like they’ve come to some sorta equilibrium about where they go from here, and it’s so bloody miraculous. It’s like their lives have finally been unpaused from the war and they have a thousand, glimmering memories waiting to be had. A future painted with a house of their own, and visiting James and Lily and the Sprog every night for supper, and maybe even having one of their own. A future Sirius lost hope in while they were apart but is now suddenly and painfully the brightest spot in Sirius’s world.