#this plot is not the same plot i started with

[overthinkinglotr]

The Two Towers film is actually really impressive for how it feels like a cohesive story despite being about three groups of characters whose plotlines almost never intersect during the film’s runtime (Frodo/sam, Merry/Pippin, and Aragorn/Legolas/Gimli.)

Because the Fellowship almost never interacts with each other during the main plot, the filmmakers instead had to connect the plotlines thematically. Frodo/Sam never actually talk to Aragorn, but their plotlines mirror each other.

The Two Towers film is structured so that each splinter group of the Fellowship ultimately struggles with the same goal: they need to convince a despairing grief-stricken ally to aid in the war against Sauron. Theoden, Treebeard, and Faramir are all people who have suffered some great loss in the past wars. As a result, they are all set in their ways out of grief, and refuse to listen to the Fellowship’s advice or agree with their plans. (Until the very end.)

This is also where the films depart a lot from the source material. The two towers was probably the biggest adaptational challenge of the entire series, because the original book is split into two parts that focus on the POV of two different groups of characters (A Three Hunters book, and a Sam/Frodo book) — and then ends on a horrible cliffhanger. This works in the books but would not have worked on film at all.

The filmmakers’ attempts to build a Structured Film Story led to them emphasizing the idea of the Fellowship recruiting reluctant allies, and emphasizing the thematic idea of people being trapped within grief and stasis. Elrond predicts that the worst fate for Arwen would be to “linger on, in darkness and in doubt,” permanently frozen in grief; and this is the state we find most of the new characters in. Film!Theoden is portrayed as far more hesitant and grief-stricken than he was in the book, film!Treebeard is more reluctant and afraid of what war means for the Forest, and film!Faramir is more overwhelmed by the pressure to be like Boromir… and all three of them are overall far more heavily swayed by the Fellowship’s presence. (Though I still have beef with the way Faramir’s plotline was handled—XD) Because they needed to build out a structure that could work on film, they found this thematic throughline and really emphasized it.

Theoden’s grief over the death of his son makes him refuse the Fellowship’s advice to reach out to his allies or ride out against Saruman’s forces; Treebeard’s grief over the waning of the forest makes him decide that “he is on nobody’s side because nobody is on his side,” and Faramir’s grief over the death of Boromir makes him unwilling to try a solution that isn’t “what he believes Boromir would have done.”

These characters all start the film in a state of hopelessness and stasis and avoidance; then they’re ultimately forced to confront the source of their grief, and end the film by aiding the Fellowship.

This is also connected to the journey that all the Fellowship members need to go on. Frodo and Sam are forced to confront the grief at the idea that Frodo is being consumed by the Ring; Merry and Pippin have to face that “there won’t be a Shire” after Sauron’s victory; and Aragorn’s relationship with the people of Rohan forces him to confront his own fears about becoming a king and leading people to their death.

The plotlines are also really well connected through the use of music— like the Last March of the Ents leitmotif being used for Theoden’s choice to ride out against the Uruk-Hai, emphasizing the parallel between the way both characters have hesitated to “ride out and meet” the source of their grief.

And then Sam’s final speech, where a variation on the Shire leitmotif — (a version of the same variation that played in the end of Fellowship of the Ring)— becomes the final moment that ties all the disparate plot threads together. The film is centered on characters being overwhelmed by grief, and entering a state of numbness or stasis where they cut themselves off from the world. When this happens to Frodo, Sam encourages him to believes that there is still goodness in the world that’s worth fighting for— a culmination of all the ideas that have been built up throughout the past three hours.

Despite its flaws the film feels so cohesive, and the end of the film feels like such a satisfying resolution? Which is easy to take for granted because like, there were so many different moving pieces, and without a really clear thematic focus the film could’ve easily ended up falling apart.

[websterss]

THE WOES OF BOWTIES AND MISSING PUZZLE PIECES — ROBERT REYNOLDS

REQUEST: reemoony asked: loveeee your writing and I hope this request reach you. Can you make Bob and y/n are liking each other but they never say it but everyone is well aware of their feelings. One day Bob having a rough day and void jumps out, creating quite a chaos. She tries to talk him through it but void being void thinking she’s a liability for them, he “consumed” her. Few moments after that he turns back into Bob & other people came back from void but not her. Angsty angsty but with happy ending please. Sorry if this complicated, just change it into what you feel right and easier.

WARNING(S): SPOILERS?? me trauma dumping on page 24 for the plot (google doc verified) ANGST AND MORE ANGST, mentions of toxic relationship, someone dies, Bob needs a hug, and a kiss, and lots of reassurance, and probably therapy, happy ending I swear!! I don’t know what I was thinking when I wrote this one, folks. I hope I hit everything, this should've been two parts lmfao. I am not responsible for your therapy bills.

WORD COUNT: 18,593 (don't kill me I was on the roll)

PAIRING: Robert Reynolds (Sentry/The Void) x fem!reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! :) Feedback is always welcome! I was truly second-guessing posting this. I’m starting to feel like I don’t have the writing means to handle Bob with such care like some of y'all do.😭 but here we are. This took me a week y’all, ya girls tired <3

MASTERLIST

The evening had come around the corner faster than Bob could grasp. Alexei was making last-minute calls to use their time wisely so that they might show up to the event at a cordial time. He would have if he could get his hair to cooperate with him.

"Knock. Knock." Yelena announces, tapping on Bob's ajar door. He stands in front of the floor-length mirror in the corner of his room. His black tie attire contrasts with the baggy, loose-fitting hoodie and sweats he wears around the place. The fitted tux does nothing to hide his trained physique.

Yelena exclaims with earnestness. "Wow! Look at you!" She's whistling for effect. Impressed by how well he cleaned up. "Do I smell cologne on you, sir?" Her smile grows.

He stood straight, his eyes widening in the mirror as he turned to face her. His gaze softened, taking in her all dolled up and out of her usual tactical gear. The green was different from the black she wore. He thought then and there that she should wear more colorful outfits. He nods once, dipping his chin to nuzzle his nose into the collar. He inhales deeply.

"It's the one you gifted me for my birthday…Thought I’d give it a try…Thanks…You're not so bad yourself. You...You look beautiful." He smiles sheepishly as he spares her another once-over, bashful.

Yelena grins, thoroughly pleased to hear Bob’s compliment. In the best of ways, it was pleasant to have her efforts noticed.

“Why, thank you,” She responds with genuine gratitude. She spins in place, the skirt of her emerald green dress flowing flawlessly with the motion. She sits on the edge of the bed, flopping down, grabbing one of Bob’s pillows to hold onto. “You look good in a suit, bud. Almost ready?"

"Yeah...Yeah, just need to finish up with my hair. That's all. It’s not...responding well to the hairspray you lent me, though." He pulls at a strand. Bob’s hair was relatively problematic. No order, flow, or movement that made sense to the careful eye.

Bob turns back to the mirror. Messing up his hair, parting it to the left, before parting it to the right, trying to maintain its order, but he’s made no progress, thus far.

She smirks, amused by his struggle. "Ah, the woes of getting ready. I should have given you gel; it works miracles better than that stuff. Why don’t I take a look, huh? Maybe I can offer my expertise. We do share the same hairstyle, after all." She rises from the bed, approaches him, and notes the tousled locks that stick out at various angles.

“I don’t wanna take up more of your time…”

“Nonsense.” She motions for him to come here to begin her work. "So….trying to impress anyone?"

Bob glances down at her before focusing back on himself. He tilts his head, feeling the way the suit hugs him. The jacket stops at his waist, not swallowing him whole like his hoodies, which secure him like a blanket. Everything fits justly. He feels exposed. Yelena pauses her movements, watching the uncertainty take over his frown, as though he’s weighing something significant. The tension is all in his shoulders.

"No...not really…Just–trying to make myself look the part." His response was vague, not giving away the reason for his meticulous grooming.

Yelena quirks an eyebrow. She’s perceptive. Nothing gets past her, especially when it comes to her teammates. She hums as she moves behind him, scrutinizing his hair from a new angle. "Really? Just trying to look the part?" She questions, her tone filled with skepticism. She playfully runs her fingers through his hair, testing its resistant nature. "So, you're not trying to impress a special someone? Not even the pretty lady getting ready across the hall from us?"

Bob pauses momentarily, caught off guard by her direct assumption. He turns his head towards her, a slight flush appearing on his cheeks. He can't completely mask his surprise at her astute comment.

"N-No." He shakes his head a bit too quickly.

Yelena smirks, her keen insight confirmed. She can see right through Bob's attempts at nonchalance. His sudden denial made it even more apparent that he was trying to hide his infatuation. There was no hiding behind it though. They all knew.

She steps closer to him, her gaze never wavering. "So you got all dressed up and started messing with your hair for an hour, just for the sake of looking the part?" Yelena cocks her head slightly to one side.

"Yes." He nods his head stubbornly. "Just trying to look the part..." He swallows nervously before he fixes his attention back to his appearance.

Yelena lets out a faint laugh at his repeated insistence. Her eyes narrow playfully; she ruffles spots of hair here and there. She moves over to the other side of him before continuing her touch-ups. "Y'know, Bob..." She starts, her voice low and light. "You're not a very good liar." She places a hand gently on his shoulder, leaning in slightly. “I’ve thought you better than that, sir.”

"I'm sorry…" Bob releases a sigh.

Yelena continues to fiddle with his hair from the new angle. Her touch is gentle. "S’alright… You try to hide it, she tries to hide it. You both are not very good at this thing. But we all see the way you look at each other." She speaks with a soft but knowing tone. As if she's been patiently waiting for him to acknowledge his feelings. "You see her like she’s the quiet that fills the void inside you, all the noise goes out and she’s there, bringing you that peace, and she sees you like you’re the sunrise she’s always been eager to see after she’s been living in the dark her whole life."

Bob laughs, the sound nervous, mixed in with a scoff. He's in denial. "I…I don't know what you're talking about."

Yelena chuckles at this, her smirk growing. "Oh, come on, Bob." She moves around him again, standing before him, her eyes meeting his gaze pointedly. "You think we haven't noticed how your eyes light up whenever she enters a room? She stumbles over her words when you ask her a simple question. Your gross motor skills somehow fail you when you see the tiniest hint of her smile? And she spews weird little facts that no one can make sense of." She shakes her head slightly, amused. "You're in love, as is she, and we can all see it. Last week, you fumbled a book when she spoke to you in the kitchen."

"I slipped..." Bob looked down, shrugging his shoulders, feigning indifference to your past interactions.

"You were sitting down. The book was closed."

Bob begins to teeter back and forth to try to calm himself. "Are…Are you done?" He meets her gaze through the glass. His eyes flitted up to his now messily but organized hairdo. His eyes crinkle at the sight. "It looks the same."

Yelena chuckled, her eyes gleaming. His words felt like a cover, a desperate attempt to deflect from the truth. She playfully patted his shoulder before moving closer, standing directly behind him again. She perched her chin on his shoulder. "You shouldn't fuss so much, you look great. As for your unruly hair, I only messed with it a tiny bit." Yelena pinched her fingers. "Figured some part of yourself should remain true tonight..." Yelena reached up to tousle it for show. "Also, I have it on good authority that a certain birdy has told me she likes it when it resembles a bird's nest." He doesn't miss her wink through the glass.

He still can't help but release his doubts to the widow. The way his self-esteem remains low. “I don’t feel great, Yelena. This…This isn’t me. This suit, my hair, and the nice shoes. It feels like I’m putting on a mask.”

"Bob, listen to me," She says, squeezing his shoulder. "I know it might feel weird. It is a bit weird. You're wearing a fancy suit with your hair slightly combed and shoes that aren't sneakers." She lets out a faint laugh. "But you're not hiding yourself away. Putting yourself into a box approved by Valentina." Yelena gently turns him around to face her. "You're just allowing yourself to be seen in a different light.” She squeezes his shoulder again, reassuringly. "You deserve to feel great about yourself."

"I feel good in sweatpants." 

Yelena laughs heartedly this time; she loves how adamant he can be. "We all do." She gives him a light, playful nudge. "But that's not going to fly tonight. You're going to wear the suit, you're going to go out with your friends, have a great time, all while looking good." She grins, her tone light.

"I don't feel good though..."

Yelena senses his unease. She meets his gaze again, her expression serious yet compassionate. "You are incredibly good looking, Bob. You're just not used to feeling that way, seeing yourself in that way. We've all had these moments. Hell, I've had my share," She admitted, her smile briefly fading. She quickly catches herself and tries to uplift the mood again. "It's just one party. How bad can it be?" She nudges him again, this time laying a playful punch to his chest. "Just this once, humor me. Let yourself experience something out of your normal routine." She reaches up to fix a strand playing stubborn. "Also, the little birdie has told me she loves the sight of a man in a crisp suit, too." She nudges him twice with her elbow.

"Okay." He laughs at her incredulous antics and light teasing. A beat passes before his brow furrows. "We have a bird?"

Yelena bursts into laughter at his question. "Oh my god- No." She grabs him on the arm to ground herself. Her voice filled with mirth. “Bob, no. We...We don't have a bird." She shakes her hands and head. "It's just a figure of speech. It means I have inside information. It's- Oh Bob." Yelena's shoulders slump in defeat. Bob offers a timid grin before he laughs lightly with her, finally understanding what she meant.

"Oh right...Y/n’s the bird. I-I get it now." Bob rocks back and forth with a solid nod.

Yelena playfully rolls her eyes but can't help but smile at Bob's delayed reaction. "Yes, she's the bird.”

Bob glances back at his reflection, still weighing his options. "Is it too late to change into my robe?"

Yelena chuckles at his attempt to escape the situation. “Well, you certainly can’t show up to a gala in pajamas. Sorry, buddy. No PJs tonight. You're stuck in the suit until the party's over." She grins at him, her tone playful but filled with determination. "And I'm also eighty-eight percent sure Valentina will kill you if you set foot into the venue looking like you just rolled out of bed, so the tux stays on."

“It wouldn’t be the first time…” He avoids her gaze, his cheeks still dusted with a slight tint, a mixture of embarrassment and reluctance. A bit of his inner turmoil was still cracking through the surface. "I… I should stay home tonight."

Yelena's eyes soften once more as he suggests excluding himself from the event tonight. "No, no. You're going, Bob. Don't even think about backing out now." She steps closer to him, her gaze steady and firm. "You look great! Listen to me; we want you to get out of your robes and that blue sweater you always wear. Take you out for once since you're always here at the tower. Bob, surely you wouldn't want to miss the chance to see how stunning Y/n looks in her evening gown, would you? Gorgeous." She emphasizes.

Bob falls quiet for a moment, contemplating her words. His mind drifts, picturing how you might look all dressed up. Your hair done all nice, maybe some jewelry, nothing too flashy, since you preferred decorating your fingers and ears with simplistic pieces. He can't help but wonder what color might adorn your perfect smile. Red, maybe orange, perhaps that color you told him was called mauve, with your lips lined.

I...I bet you look pretty. He thinks.

Yelena grins, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. She can see the thought of you in his mind, the vivid image of you dressed to the nines igniting a spark in his expression. She catches his brief moment of daydreaming before he catches himself, his gaze snapping away from the pillow to meet hers. 

"Bob..." Yelena's voice edges amused.

"I just..." Bob starts, then lets out a frustrated exhale. "I'm not really... I'm not the party type, you know. I always stayed indoors growing up. I never went out much. I never had this. Friends who wanted to be around me. This gala is far from my normal routine. I don’t think letting me go out so soon would be a good idea. It’s been a year. You guys said it yourself, you don't want to risk Void getting out again. You...You guys would be better off going without me. I can stay behind…I don’t mind."

She understands that he harbors doubts and fears about his place among them.

"Bob..." Yelena tilts her head, staring at him pointedly, her voice gentle yet firm. "We aren't keeping you locked up to contain 'Void'. It's not about that. Not anymore." She reaches up to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You're not a ticking time bomb, you never have been. We want you there with us. Even Y/n, alright? If it puts your mind at ease, even for just one second. She was the one who suggested we bring you along with us. Not because we feel it’s our obligation, and no one can watch you. But because we genuinely want to see you out of this place, cleaned up! We don't want to see you holed up in this tower forever, okay?"

Bob's heart skips at the mention of you wanting him there, too. He fidgets momentarily, avoiding eye contact by looking down at his shoes. The polished shine on them reminded him that he could have these things now. The privilege of owning nice things.

Nice things never last long. In his life at least.

“Okay…” His mind whirls with the never-ending feeling of being a bother and a burden. He's hesitant, torn between his desire to attend and his habitual tendency to keep to himself. He bites his lip, the urge to decline the invitation was tempting against the subtle want of not wanting to be stuck at the tower…alone. "I just..." His hands lingers over his naked collar. 

Her voice is gentle with a hint of encouragement. “You what, Bob?” She waits for him to verbalize his concerns; she’s patient.

"No...It's stupid." He brushes it off with a laugh.

"No, say it!" She encourages.

"No. I should stay home-"

"Bob, tell me." Yelena dipped her head to meet his eyes. He gives in after a moment. 

"...I don't know how to put a tie on." He laments, lamely gesturing to the fabric he had tossed on his bed moments earlier, having given up on trying to do it himself. His father was absent from teaching him how to put one one. He never did get to bond over a silly thing, such as a tie with him. The rite of passage, or whatever they call it. The transition into becoming a man, knowing how to tie one yourself.

Yelena chuckles softly at his confession, her amusement tinged with empathy. Her eyes flicker towards the abandoned tie on the bed.

"Oh, Bob..." She gently pats his shoulder this time. "Don't worry; we can sort it out, alright." She takes his hand and guides him to sit on the edge of the bed. She picks up the tie, draping it around his neck. "You know... You could have just asked me." She says gently, wrapping the tie around his neck.

"You already helped with my hair." He shakes his head.

Yelena playfully rolls her eyes at his stubbornness, carefully ensuring one end is slightly longer. This difference would account for the tie’s eventual knot later. Yelena crossed the longer end over the shorter one, then pulled it under the shorter end and through the loop around Bob's neck. She continued folding the shorter end at the widest part to create a bow shape.

"Yes, but that's no excuse. You could have asked. Nothing wrong with asking for more help." With the bow shape firmly in place, she brought the longer end directly over it. Pinching the bow shape and the longer end together, carefully threading the longer end through a loop she had opened in the back of the bow. She then pulled both ends to tighten them in place.

"See? Sorted out." She pats his chest, stepping back to look over her handiwork and adjusting the fabric until she is satisfied with how it sits at his neck.

"Thanks...I was never taught how." Bob trails off, not wanting to bring forth thoughts of his father. They were never pleasant.

She notices the hint of melancholy in his voice upon mentioning not being able to put on a tie, but she chooses to move past it, not wanting to dampen the moment. Instead, she pats his chest once more, grinning. "Don't worry, Alexei doesn’t either." She winks at him once more. 

He nods out of curiosity before he even registers what he's asking. "Does…Does Y/n know how to tie a tie?"

Yelena raises her eyebrow at his question. She tries to hide a smirk, realizing where his mind is currently at. "Hmm...You know, I'm not entirely sure. But..." She pauses, enjoying the moment. "If I had to guess, I'd bet she would. She's got an endless amount of skills hidden beneath the surface. Surely tying ties is a secret she has, wouldn’t hurt to ask her about it."

"I-I wouldn't put it past her…She's great at everything." His admiration was not lost on her.

"That she is..." Yelena smirks. “You should tell her you know. That you’re in love with her.” She nudges his foot with her heel.

He wrings his hands together, leaning onto his elbows placed on his knees. As tempting as it sounds, he wouldn't be able to gain the confidence to execute it. Confessing to you how he felt. The feelings he harbored. "No…It’s better this way. If I keep it to myself."

Yelena's expression softens at his reluctance. She sits next to him, considering his words. "Bob, listen to me. Life…it’s too short to keep something like that to yourself. I've seen you around her, the way your worries fade. That sense of security that she brings you. That you bring to her. It’s all in the risk worth taking." Yelena continues, choosing her words with care. "Don't let fear keep you from telling her how you feel. You'll never know what might happen if you don’t take that chance."

He meets her gaze. His locks falling over his eyes, hiding him. "What if I mess it all up?”

“I don’t think you could.” 

“And if I do…I don’t want to hurt Y/n.”

“Relationships get messy, Bob, it’s part of growing together. Do you think we’d be here today, as the new avengers if we continued to butt heads every time?”

“No…”

“You have nothing to lose.” Yelena encourages. “Trust me. Just be yourself. Tell her how you feel, and before it’s too late, alright.”

“I'll think about it…" Bob stands up as Alexei's voice rings out from the hall, indicating it was time to head out. With a sigh, Bob steps out of the door frame, ready to face whatever the evening has in store.

-

Bob had a completely different idea about how the night would go. Surely, there would have been busybodies intrigued by his presence and would approach him. Possibly ask him about his powers, his involvement, and what he brought to the table, but that was not the case as he continued to stand in the corner of the venue. Alone. His hands were messing with his cuff links to help pass the time. He raised his hand occasionally, sparing a timid greeting to the passersby who gave him a side eye. He wasn’t aware how much of a wallflower he was being, but he was nonetheless immune to the judgeful stares. He might've guessed that his longing gaze also made people whisper and gesture towards him. The fact that he was staring in one particular direction caught everyone’s curiosity. 

He was looking at you, mingling and laughing with people he didn’t know. He couldn’t stop staring at you since you met the group in the living room. Yelena wasn’t lying when she said you looked gorgeous.

It felt like time itself stopped and nothing else moved, nor mattered, except you. Walker didn’t fight the shit eating grin on his face when he heard Bob’s sharp intake. The kid was so far gone that he had to nudge the man after you had complimented his appearance. 

“And here I thought you were reluctant to go out with us. You look good.” Your sweet grin was making him visibly malfunction. You gave a nervous laugh, looking down as the minutes passed without him saying anything. Heat warms your cheeks. “Did I say something wrong?” Your eyes crinkle with embarrassment. 

“No, he–“

“–Oh!” Bob stumbles to the right from Walker’s nudge. “T-Thank you! You don’t look nice- No you do! You look nice…I meant to say you look nice. You’re beautiful…You look beautiful!” Bob grows flustered. “T-Thank you.” 

“Geezus.” Walker scoffed, walking away from you both. 

“You know you can take your eyes off her for a second, right? She’ll still be there, I promise.” Bucky comes up to him from his peripheral vision. Bob’s face flushed with embarrassment, having been caught. He dips his chin before he locks eyes with the soldier. “Here.” He offers a rounded glass—a golden liquid swirling in its confinement. 

“Thanks…” He carefully encircles his hand around the glass and takes a sip. A loud cough erupts from his chest, making him lean over. Bucky chuckles briefly before helping him back upright and patting his chest. 

“Scotch on the rocks. Thought you could use some liquid courage. Get some hair on your chest.” Bucky pulls away. Bob watches as the man’s eyes avert, inspecting the room. He blended in well, unlike himself. No one looks twice at Bucky. No one suspects him of anything bad. 

“F-For what?” Bob cleared his throat, trying to get over the burn. 

“You’re gonna ask her to dance.” Bucky declares.

“I’m…I’m what?” Bob whips his head to peer at him. Then, back to you, you hit a man with your hand across his chest, throwing your head back. How could he ask you to dance when you looked to have been having a swell time across the room?

“Gentlemen…What are we talking about over here?” Walker chimes over. A hand in his pocket, a rounded glass tucked into his palm, faced down. 

“I told Bob here to go ask Y/n to dance.” 

“No wait- I wasn’t-“ He protests. 

“Ha– That I want to see. Do you even know how to dance? Can you dance?”

“Well, no… I can do the Charlie Brown in the cha-cha slide though…” 

“You don’t say…” Walker closes his mouth. He shakes his head at Bob’s enthusiastic confirmation. “Maybe teach the kid a step…or two.” Walker lifts his drink to his lips. Bucky pats Bob comfortably against his back, his chin face down, embarrassed that he admitted his lack of dance skills. “Before he asks her.”

“I should’ve stayed home…” Bob muttered to himself. 

“No you shouldn’t have. You just need a wingman.”

“A wingman?” Bob’s brows crease. 

“Yeah, someone who can help you get the girl. That gives you advice on how to look good in front of her.” Bucky's words cause Bob to look down at himself.

“What more could I do to look okay? Y-Yelena already helped me do my hair and tie.” 

“This will have nothing to do with your appearance. You already got the face and the build, kid, don’t worry about that. I just meant more of teaching you how to hold yourself confidently and how you speak to a woman.” 

“But Yelena told me to just be my-“

���Forget everything Yelena has told you. Let us help you, alright.” Walker butts in. Bob wrings his hands, he wasn’t too sure about the whole ordeal. Yelena told him to take the chance, to tell you how he felt before it was too late, to be himself, because that’s who you were drawn to. Now the guys were telling him he had to work on himself, on their way to giving him tips on how to bring out his confidence, it didn’t make sense. 

“I don’t know…I wanted to do it on my own terms. N-Not right now…She’s busy.” 

“She’s networking.” 

“I don’t want to pull her away to tell her how I feel…” The idea felt selfish. He didn’t want to be the one to tamper your fun night.

“Trust me, kid. You’d be doing her a favor. She’s miserable.” Bob turns, inspecting your joyous body language. If your discontent looked like you were happy, then so was he. 

“Maybe we should wait-“

“Oh.” Walker draws their attention. Bob turns to him before looking back at you. “Trouble in paradise.” Walker quips, gesturing to the new fellow that caught their attention. Your smile disappears when you turn around to face the hand that tapped your shoulder. 

“Who’s that?” Bob glances back at the troubled expression of his teammates. He rocks back and forth on his heels. Nervously waiting to know of the man, who brought you displeasure from what he could tell. He watches you shake your head no, turning and walking away from him and the group you mingled with. An unsettling torment rumbles in his chest, when the guy grabs your upper forearm, halting your retreat. 

You quickly turn your head around; a quiet disagreement begins. A few other guests glance over at you both.

"Sadly that is Y/n's former partner. His name is Ryker Stride.” Bucky reveals the information about your ex-boyfriend that you failed to talk about. To him at least.

"I had no idea she was with someone…" Despite the fact that he didn't look like your ex, Bob couldn't help but let his wandering thoughts get the better of him. He felt insignificant compared to how Ryker held himself.

“They weren’t together for long, they hit month six before she ended things with him.” 

“Is it ‘cause he’s an asshole?” He didn’t like the way he grabbed you. You pulled your hand back, before you walked away, Turning a corner out of sight. 

“Unfortunately.” Bucky sighed. Walker watched the scene unfold, before an idea struck him. 

“Go save her.” Walker urges, noticing Ryker following after you. 

“What?”

“I didn’t stutter. Go!” Walker nudged him a few steps forward, but Bob only shakes his head. 

“I-I don’t think it's a good idea…Walker, Yelena told me to not get into trouble before she left me here. I-“

“Oh my god! It’s not like you’re gonna kill the dude, you're just gonna follow them, make sure she’s okay. And if he so much lays a hand on her, then you slightly intervene, use a bit of that strength of yours to show him you don’t mess around when it comes to her. It’s completely harmless dominance. Show how much of a gentleman you are. Trust me, she’ll be kissing you by midnight, you’ll thank me later. Promise.“ Walker steps up to him, pats him on the chest. 

“I don’t know…I think we should get Yelena. Get her opinion on this.” He reels into himself, not believing he could carry it all out. He was a gentleman, he thought so, so did Yelena and you, why would possibly getting a man’s hands off you further highlight the fact he’d never do such a thing as lay a hand on a woman. It felt risky…but was this the risk Yelena encouraged him to take things with you further?

“I think it could work.” Now Bucky, mauled it over. 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone. It’s risky…” Bob kept insisting.

“No. It’s not. You should go save her.” Walker persisted. “This is your chance and you’re seriously not gonna take it?” He scoffs. “If you’re not gonna do it, then I will. The guy’s a prick anyway.”

Bob couldn’t believe what he was hearing. First, the guys suggested he should ask you to dance, and now they want him to barge in like some knight in shining armor? Did they seriously expect him to just waltz over to you, interrupt your conversation with your ex, and play the hero? But what really caught him off guard was the fact that he actually considered it. Sure, he didn't think much of your ex when he saw his hand on you, but to intervene?

Walker and Bucky continue to implore him, emphasizing the importance of this moment. Telling him to man up. He knew this was the opportunity to act, but as usual, his nerves get a hold of him. With a hesitant look at the super soldiers, he nods once and moves with small steps in the direction he saw you go.

-

Bob felt nervous when he came to a stop around the corner. Your anger evident with every grit of your teeth. It was daunting to see you so worked up. His brows furrow as he saw Ryker hold you in the exact same position.

You wished you hadn’t walked away from the crowd. Crowds kept you safe, they granted you witnesses if something were to happen to you. Much like so. 

"Let go." You grit your teeth at the man preventing your exit.

"Let's talk about this-"

"There's nothing to talk about. I gave you your answer. I ended things with you for this exact reason. Your aggressive, abusive, and right now a real pain in my ass. If you can't be a grown-up about it, that's a personal issue. Not mine. Let go." Your voice lowers, firm in your conviction. 

“No come on, give me a chance to explain myself. I told you I was going to work on myself-”

"Ryker if you don't take your goddamn hand off me so help me-"

Bob was torn from the sidelines. He understood it wasn’t his place to interfere, but his heart began to beat faster as the conversation between you and your ex grew more heated. He clenched and unclenched his hands, taking a few steps towards the altercation. He had to say something, but he also didn’t have a clue how to approach.

"She...She said let her go." A dark, low rumble emits behind you. The rasp in Bob's voice usually sent a tingling sensation down your spine, but upon seeing how intensely he glared at your ex, and the way his shoulders curled in around himself. It did nothing but give you goosebumps. Bob's gaze settled on his hand, the one currently leaving impressions of his fingers on your skin. Your gaze stays on him as you catch a flicker of amber in his eyes. No. 

"She said, let go." Bob’s gestures with a pointed finger. A nervous laugh emits past his lips. It does nothing to ease the tension.

Ryker's hold on you tightens at Bob's words. The defiance in the man's demeanor only fueled his determination to maintain his grip. "Mind your business, freak. This doesn't concern you."

Your heart hammers as Bob’s eyes go full gold. “She said let go…”

You turn back to the stubborn fool with cogs and nuts for brains. "Ryker, let go of me now." You push against his hand, which doesn't let up at all. "Terco! Suéltame!" You curse at him. "You have a death wish. Surely, that’s the case!" You feign sudden revelation to his unrelenting grip. You shove against his chest, before looking back at Bob, exclaiming frantically. "Bob, I'm fine. Go find Yelena!"

"He's bruising you..." His gaze was unmoving from Ryker's grip. “He shouldn’t be hurting you.”

Bob steps to move closer, but your desperate attempt to keep him away from the impending situation stops him in place. His gaze flicks rapidly between Ryker’s tight hand on you and the sight of your growing distress.

"Bob, it's fine!" You curse under your breath, as you try to hide the pain you begin feeling, etching your features. "Ryker!" A disheartened chuckle slips past your lips, but it's not joyous. Bob didn't misplace your whine. "You're drunk, go home. You're making things worse-"

Ryker's grip on you persisted, his drunken state only fueling his stubbornness even more so. He ignored your attempt to diffuse the situation; a scoff left him. "The only one making things worse is this pri—" His words were slurred and then interrupted. Bob stuck a hand out before Ryker's grip lifted off of you, and then he flew towards Bob. 

Bob didn't hesitate to grip the intoxicated man's neck.

"You were saying?" Bob's raspy growl was not missed.

Ryker croaks, his airway being cut off by Bob's hand around his throat. He tries to form words, but only a strangled gasp leaves him.

"Bob..." You step closer to them. His cerulean eyes meet yours, and a speck of hope fills you, thinking he's not far from being helped. "Bob, can we talk about this?"

His grip doesn't loosen on the guy. Bob's eyes are locked onto yours for a split second before returning to Ryker, the grip on his neck more harsh than what is necessary. His demeanor had changed; his usually soft-spoken words and timidness were gone. He stands straight, shoulders squared. A subtle but commanding aura emanated from him. He was losing an eternal fight that the eye couldn't see, but you saw the signs. His lack of empathy, dissolving, a rugged exterior slamming down like a shutdown protocol. You didn't like the man who wanted to take over.

"Bob?" Your heels click softly with each approaching step. "Listen I know Ryker's a piece of shit okay. It's why I broke up with him..." You put your hands out to show him you mean no harm. "I thought I wanted him gone at one point in my life too, but contemplating about the asshole in such a way didn't feel worth it anymore." Ryker pays you a glare. "Bob, he doesn't deserve one second of your time." Bob clenches his jaw as he peers down at your darkened marks. He twitches as he tries to think through his inner turmoil.

"No, no. He shouldn't have hurt you. He put his hands on you." Bob's voice cracks. "I don't like it when people hurt you..."

"Yeah, well, people do stupid things when they're drunk. He's an idiot." You give Bob a pained smile. "I'm fine. Nothing serious." He still had Ryker in his grip. The man was turning red.

"He-He deserves it." With one final tightening of his grip, Ryker falls limp. You barely register the crack, surely his neck. The sound haunts you as the hairs on your arms rise again.

You watch as Bob releases Ryker. The man flops to the ground, unmoving. Your heart picks up as you realize what he's done. Your eyes go wide before you swallow the lump in your throat. "Bob, you...Did you-"

Bob's gaze was locked on Ryker's unconscious form, and he finally turned to look at you, noticing you had backed up. A flicker of realisation passes across his expression at your reaction and withdrawal. Bob's gaze remains steady, his eyes devoid of the softness you're used to, replaced by something else. Hatred.

"He had it coming." Bob's tone is firm, his voice still hinting at his usual timidness, but tinged with a hardened edge. "He hurt you. What gives him the right to do that to you? To anyone? I did him a favor." He nods more to himself.

"You didn't need to kill him."

Bob's gaze intensifies as he keeps your gaze, the look unyielding. The gold in his eyes is more prominent now. The tension was dense, the moment hanging in the air, thick like fog. "He deserved it." Bob's tone, confident and cold. No remorse. "He hurt you."

"Oh my god…No it wasn’t necessary.." You release a sigh.. "H-He just held my wrist."

Bob's eyes narrow. He scoffs in disbelief. "And you were wincing, were you not?" He steps closer to you, closing the distance. You never liked his gold eyes. Not when he was looming over you.

You hold your head high, trying not to let your gaze waver from his intimidation. "I'm fine. Killing shouldn't have been your first choice. It never should result in death unless the situation requires it. I could have knocked him out, Bob..."

"Maybe you're too kind." The intensity in his gaze was unbroken. "Sometimes, people like him don't understand anything but violence."

"I don't think you do either..." You wished you could have taken it back the second the words fell past your lips. "I didn't mean that-" You close your eyes. Regret hitting you.

Bob recoils at your words, flinching as though you hit him. "I think you did." His gaze sharpens, hurt and confusion flashing across his features.

"No." You insist.

The intensity in his gaze doesn't let up, even as you try to retract your statement. "No. You did mean it." His tone is stern. Grim. It cuts through the air like a knife. "You think I'm as violent as him, is that it?"

You only keep shaking your head, even as he corners you against an adjacent wall. "No. I think-"

The weight of his body is imposing, shadows slowly casting over him starting from his shoes as he corrals you into the wall. His hands find the space beside your head, trapping you in as he leans in close, his voice low and sharp. “Why shouldn't I use my full potential, especially when a damsel is distressed? I'm strong, so why wouldn't I try to help someone in need? Though I'm starting to think this damsel wasn't worth the time or energy anymore. Since she's yet to thank me. I came here to save you from that asshole.”

Your lip trembles as you reach for your gun. You act fast on impulse. Switching the safety off your weapon with precision and speed before a shot rings out. Surely someone's heard it go off.

Bob's reaction was instantaneous as pure adrenaline surged through his veins. He acted on instinct, seizing your wrist in a firm grip. He holds your gun-wielding hand steady. The weapon was aimed at a spot just past his right ear. His voice is eerily calm. “You missed.” 

Your outcry was real this time as the gun slipped out of your hand. Out of reach now. Bob held your wrist, much like Ryker had. Only this grip was severely cruel, whereas Ryker's was bruising you, Bob could easily break your wrist with slightly more pressure applied. "Y-You're hurting me-" You shove against his chest. He was unfazed by your attempts.

"And you were going to shoot me....God, why do we even keep you around?" Your eyes widen as the shadows reach up to his torso.

"'Cause I'm one of you..." You arguably strain.

He doesn't allow himself to give in to your words; he doesn't soften or falter. You press the left side of your face into the wall as he sneers and breaths heavily into your cheek. "You sure about that?" His tone was condescending. He pulls you into his chest, dragging you away before you know it.

-

A yell breaks out when you're thrown across the venue’s dance floor. Your body hits the ground roughly, sending you rolling before you stop face down into the ground. You lay there trying to gather your bearings.

He threw me! Your thoughts alert you.

"T-That hurt..." You mutter to yourself as you take note of the crowd, stepping back and away from the center. Separating a path as Bob, halfway transformed into Void, approaches with steady, slow footsteps.

"Y/n!" Yelena makes for you, but you shake your head.

"No, no, don't." You held your hand out, halting Walker and Yelena from approaching you. Your face fell when you noticed them reach for specific spots on their attire. Weapons. Hidden from wandering gazes. Had they anticipated this to happen? "Stay back!" You warn, pushing off the ground with shaken legs. Your chest rises and falls heavily, trying to push through the pain of being thrown like a rag doll.

"B-Bob stop!" You cry out, a rasp to your voice.

Bob's eyes remained fixed. Golden. The shadow within him, consuming his being. His expression was almost feral. He stops in front of you. He had no hesitation and no mercy. No, not for you. No more.

Bob watches you stumble forward with an unsettling lack of regard. Even though he had been rougher with you than he'd like, his demeanor didn't soften. He begins stepping towards you. "You're a drawback." His tone is harsh, lacking the usual warmth he holds towards you.

Your head falls into your shoulder, defeated and solemn, as Bob's demeanor doesn’t change. Black overshadows his delicate features. He is no longer the timid and awkward man you thought you knew. Now, he is Void—a twisted, broken force to be reckoned with. The two white dots for eyes stare back at you hauntingly.

No trace of warmth or familiarity in his eyes. Just a tormenting, head tilt directed at your vulnerable state. "A liability." His head tilts to the other side now.

Yelena steps closer to you. A hand was held out in front of her, ready to shove you behind her. She was all too familiar with the Void's dislike for you. He hadn't been too kind to you in your shame rooms. Giving you hell the most when the group rejoined in the attic. He hated you, hated how you made things quiet for Bob. You provided a sense of comfort and a safeguard for him to fall back on. Void wanted you gone. Now more so than ever.

"Bob?" Yelena gives it a go before she reaches for you.

Instantly, you're yanked by your wrist, slamming into his chest, forcing you to meet his menacing stare. You watch his wickened grin grace you, the white dots for his eyes reflecting the sliver of hope within him. Barely there.

"No!"

"Let her go!"

"Bob, let her go!"

"Bob, if you can hear me. Stop this!"

Multiple safety clicks are echoed all around the room. You turn briefly, locking eyes with Ava, Yelena, and Walker, directing their pistols' ends towards the shadow man. Bucky is on standby with his weapon of choice. You lock eyes with him, shaking your head. Their hesitance to shoot is noticeably painful.

"You can't be trusted." Void continues speaking slowly, calculatingly, each word falling heavy and deliberate, as the shadows consume you from your heels. "You act impulsively based on your emotions. You're a waste of time. You're only making him weaker."

The shadows wrap around your ankles, coiling around them, consuming them in darkness. You feel the shadows creep up your legs, snaking their way up your body, now to the halfway point of your waist. It didn't take a genius to know what was happening. "Then get it over with already..."

He chuckles darkly before you see your friends and various guests begin being turned into shadows. Void's gaze flickers around the room. People start to scream and flee, while others begin to try to fight back. He remains unfazed by the panic as he lifts you to his eye level, the shadows reaching your chest now. "You don't matter...you never will." You release a gasp, your eyes closing as the shadows curl over your head like a hoodie. Then your body's gone from his grasp. No shadow in sight.

-

Bob sat up, startled. His eyes snapped open, his breathing heavy and ragged as he shook his head and ran frantic fingers through his now messy curls. His heart raced in his chest. "What..." He muttered, trying to shake the remnants of the horrid nightmare from his mind.

"Bob?" He whips his head up fast, causing him a sudden dizzy spell, before he locks eyes with Yelena on the ground. He begins to register not only her disheveled state but also various other bodies, sitting up from the ground as well.

"What the hell..." Ava curses as she goes to stand. Yelena followed suit, as shadows started to disperse from each figure that had stood in the room a while ago.

"What happened here?" Bob, nervous, stood up, trying to find his bearings.

"Great, you don't remember."

Bob's confusion grows as he takes in the sight of everyone around him. He rubs his temples, trying to make sense of what's happening. "I...I don't know..." He shakes his head, feeling dazed and disoriented. "I was... dreaming, I think. It was a nightmare. But, I can't remember much."

"It's fine, Bob." Yelena waves him off.

Bob rubs his hands over his face, trying to shake off the remnants of his nightmare. The group is gathered in the venue, their surroundings in disarray. Chairs toppled, tables were knocked over, and the floor was littered with shattered glass. "What happened here?" He asks again, taking in the state of the room.

"Void." Bucky sighed.

Bob's heart sinks at the mention of Void. He knew all too well the damage and chaos the other guy brought with him. "Void did this?"

"Yeah..." Walker nods. "But from the looks of it, you only maintained it here, so I call progress." Bob was lost.

"I did? I don't remember anything. I only remember seeing Y/n talking to that Ryker guy, before everything got fuzzy again."

The mention of your name had them freezing. Yelena looked to him before her body swirled around in search of you. Yelena's eyes widen with realization. 

"Y/n... Where's Y/n?" The room falls silent as they begin to realize the absence of your presence in the venue.

"What's with the long faces?" Bob wrings his hands together, not understanding the concerned glances everyone threw his way. He turns his head like they do, eyes darting around, falling onto multiple strange faces, searching but never really finding what they looked for. "What's wrong?... Where's Y/n?" His body tenses, dread seeping in.

"What do you mean, where is she?" Yelena's heart plunges. "Bob?" She inched closer, trying to get a read on him. "D-Do you remember anything?"

"No, I told you all that I know. I saw Ryker with Y/n before everything got dark." Bob glanced over to Walker and Ava's hardened gazes. He curled in on himself. He didn't need to be a genius to know something was wrong and that he was at fault. "W-What do you mean? Where is she?"

"Alright, kid, quit messing around. Where'd she go? We all came back, so why didn't she?" Walker rolled his eyes, not in the mood for his oblivious antics. "Where is she, Bob?"

"I-I don't know where Y/n is? What did I do?" Bob frantically shrugs his shoulders.

"No." Dread fell over Yelena's face. "No, no, no." Yelena cupped her stomach.

Bob noticed Yelena's expression, confusion etched on his face, "W-What's going on? What did I do?"

The group looked at him in pity, their faces riddled with worry, fear, and confusion—all except Bucky, who remained silent and stoic. Everyone waited for Yelena to speak. Yelena's voice was shaky, her words softly spoken.

"You didn't do anything." Yelena's eyes started to water, her body trembling. "No..." She looked around the room once more. Nothing. "Okay...Okay. How do we get her back?" She highlighted.

"Get her back?" Bob shook his head.

"You're asking us?" Bucky pointed to himself. "How would we know?" He perplexes.

"I...I don't know!" Yelena's breathing grew ragged, on the verge of tears. She blew raspberries. "She can't be gone...we all came back, there's that!"

"Yeah, but she didn't." Walker voiced everyone's dread. His tone grew sharp and impatient. He pointed to Bob, "Why is that Bob? Why didn't she return like the rest of us?"

"Surely there's some reasonable explanation for this-" Ava tried leveling the situation.

Bob's expression turned somber, his eyes darting to each person searching for an answer. He stuttered, "I...I don't know why. I swear, I don't know. I...I'd never ever hurt her, I promise. I'd never hurt her." 

Yelena's voice was shaky, her words barely above a whisper. "We know you wouldn't, but she's gone. Maybe still in the Void, and we need to get her back."

"The question is how, though?" Walker queried.

Yelena shrugged, her eyes reddened and puffy. "I got nothing...." Everyone remained quiet.

Bob wrung his hands together before a suggestion conjured up in his mind. "W-What if you knock me out?"

The group froze, all turning to look at him in disbelief. 

"What?" Yelena furrowed her brows, confused by his reasoning. 

Ava chimes in, disagreeing. "That doesn't even sound plausible."

Walker let out a scoff. "Knock you out? Are you out of your mind? What good would that do for us?"

"We risk the Void escaping again!" Alexei voiced his concern. "It is a no from me!"

"Sorry, it was just an idea. I thought it could work- Sorry." Bob shakes his head, letting his head fall to the ground again. Bucky, the more level-headed of the group, weighs the idea before speaking.

"Bob..." Bucky steps forward, his gaze fixed on the distressed male. "What do you mean by that? Why do you suggest that we knock you out?"

A spark of hope ignites behind his eyes. Someone's taking a chance on his idea. Bob nods before saying, "Maybe if you guys knock me out. I could find her...in here." He peers up through his lashes at the soldier, gesturing to his temple. "It was just an idea..."

Bucky's gaze remains locked on Bob, contemplating his proposal. Yelena moves from her spot, placing her hand on Bucky's arm. "Bucky, you can't be serious."

"You got a better plan… We don't have anything to go from. It's better than nothing. It could work..." Bucky shrugs at Bob, who straightens. Bob stares at Bucky, surprised that he was on board with it. He turned to the others, waiting for their opinions.

"But how can you know for certain... that it will work?" Yelena counters.

"It's a stupid idea," Ava mutters, shaking her head.

"Alright, how hard do I have to hit him?" Walker begins removing his blazer, rolling his white dress shirt up to his elbows. 

"Woah woah woah! Let's think this through, there are other ways we can do this!" Yelena cuts in frantically.

"She's right, punching him won't phase him."

"Then how the hell are we supposed to knock him out?" Walker complained.

"You could..." Bob swallowed back a lump. "You could choke me..."

Ava whips her head over to Walker's baffled gaze. She nudges him with a shit eating grin. "Choke him!" She urges.

Bucky places his hands on his hips, and a heavy sigh leaves him. "You sure about this, Bob?"

A mixture of nervousness and determination washes over Bob's face. Bob nods, trying to seem brave. "Yeah...I'm sure. I have to try…For her. I wouldn't be able to live with myself, you know?" He lets out a faint laugh, but his smile only lasts a few seconds.

A grimace is on Yelena's face as she watches the scene begin to unfold. Bucky places a firm hand on Bob's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Don’t kill him, Walker. Do it quickly, just enough to make him unconscious. Got it?” 

Walker shakes his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He approaches Bob, hesitant about his decision. He grabs Bob’s forearm before making him turn around. His back now faces him. "Sorry in advance, kid..." Walker swallows hard before he wraps his arms around Bob’s shoulders. It's not long before his arms tighten around his neck. Bob protests, raising his hands to where Walker's hold reduces his oxygen. He knew he had to give in, for your sake, but he'd be lying if he said the whole plan was terrifying.

Bob tries to resist even as he meets Yelena's pained expression. Bucky's head turns away so as not to look, but he thinks twice before looking back, to be there as his source of comfort as he starts tapping against Walker’s arms.

"You'll be fine, kid. Just relax, alright? Don’t fight it." Bucky tries to reassure him. Bob feels the pressure build up in his head and lets out a gasp before he nods. His eyes flicker back and forth between gold and blue. His throat feels like it's being crushed, not the most pleasant thing he's experienced, but what's worse is the way Yelena is watching him. Not at all okay with this. She never liked seeing him hurt.

His eyes meet Yelena's, and her eyes are filled with dread. He manages to mouth his words with a weak smile. I’ll. Find. Her.

Bob's eyes start fluttering. His expression starts drooping as he's on the verge of passing out.

The world blurs as he starts to feel the rush; his head starts pounding. Then his surroundings turn dark. The pressure becomes too intense, and he goes limp. His body falls into Walker’s arms. Walker sighs, letting his arms unravel from his neck before he walks backwards, gently laying the man on the floor. He stays crouched next to him, hating this more than anything. “Now what?”

"We wait." Yelena chimes in solemnly. Grabbing a discarded chair, planting it before her unconscious friend, and plopping herself down on it. “And hope this work.”

-

Bob didn’t know how long he had been roaming through his shame rooms before a particular doorway appeared. The brown door, sticking out like a sore thumb from the white walls of his childhood home, his shame room, where his dad was screaming at him, asking him where he was going. He gave his father one more glance before he rushed towards it. Opening and slamming it shut behind it. But as he put his force behind the shove. The door itself caught on the doorframe. He tried again, but it wouldn’t budge, leaving behind the hope that it would close, but a thin space between the doorframe and the door prevented its enclosure. 

“It doesn’t close…The floor is sunken there.” A high-pitched voice raises the hairs on the back of his neck. He pushes himself from the door before he swivels in place. A small child greets him on the floor. 

"Y/n?" Bob inched closer to what he presumed to be your younger self. You were donning a pink and purple sweater, a sequined puppy plastered on the front of it. A few sequins turned over like you had run your hand across them. Black leggings worn out and fuzzy purple socks on your feet. A mirror of your adolescence.

Your younger self looks up as he approachs. He met her gaze before she pointed to the other end of the room. “She’s over there.” 

He swiveled around, scoping the room's entirety, until his gaze settled on his goal. His search concluded as he saw you curled underneath a desk. His shoulders slumped at the sight. Your face was dazed, staring straight ahead. Eyes barely blinking. You, too, donned the puppy sweater and leggings. Different from your dress, which you looked lovely in tonight.

You hadn't even bothered to acknowledge his presence as your younger self kept trying to build a puzzle laid out before her. An image of a snowman, in a forest surrounded by trees. A few pieces were chipped, and one, unbeknownst to him, was missing, lost, meaning you'd never fully complete it over the years of trying to, in this room.

"Y-Y/n." He reveled in saying your name out loud.

"I don't want to talk to anyone." Bob turned to look back at the child, placing another piece in its correct spot. 

Bob crouched down to be eye level with you under the desk. He held his breath, waiting for any sort of reaction. For a flash of recognition, but there was nothing. No response.

"I-I didn't mean for you to be trapped in here." His voice shook.

Bob's expression twisted into one of deep regret. He reached out to touch your knee but stopped himself, his hand hovering a few inches above as it trembled. His gaze flitted to your younger self. She seemed focused on the puzzle piece in her hand, utterly oblivious to his internal torment. The sight only intensified his agony.

"I–" He opened his mouth to reply, perhaps to reassure you, but no words were forthcoming. "C-Can I join you?" Bob fell back on his bottom and gestured gently to the center. Your younger self looked up.

"Sure." She barely peers up at him, unbothered by his request, but holds out a piece to include him all same.

Bob accepts the piece, his fingers lightly brushing against hers as he takes it. He turns it over in his grasp, examining the surface of it before looking back at the puzzle. He slides his piece into place, his movements careful but precise, ensuring a perfect fit.

"Thanks." He murmurs, his gaze drifting back to your younger self. He swallows hard, his jaw clenching as if chewing on words he couldn’t quite muster. He lets something out for now. "I've never been good at these..." Bob confesses, "Could never finish them. Sit still."

"It's okay...We've never finished this one, but we keep trying to." The child's disheartened smile makes him want to break down.

Bob nods curtly, his throat tight. The sight of your indifference nearly unravels him. He turns his attention back to the puzzle, trying to ground himself in its simple but comforting task. He picks up another piece, turns it over.

"I’m... I can't-" Bob stops short, clearing his throat as it threatened to close up. He tries again. "I can't believe I did this to you." He whispers, more to himself than anything. "I wish I had more control over my powers. I could have saved you the pain."

"We're not mad at you for it. We promise." Your younger self reassures. Handing him another piece after placing another perfect fit down.

Bob's breath hitches in his chest. Your reassurance is like a balm to his wounded soul. Hearing those simple words from you, from her, eases some of the guilt that has been consuming him. He accepts another piece from you, gently placing it into the puzzle again.

"You… You should be." He mutters, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. "I put you in here." His gaze flicks back to her face, taking in her innocence, how calm she remains. It's infuriating. Why are you not raging at him? Shouting? He deserves it.

"The Void put us here." You corrected him. "What's being upset over it gonna accomplish?" Your younger self hovers her hand over a certain area; uncertainty flashes behind her eyes. You're hesitant. Bob, conflicted, reaches forward and guides her small hand over to a spot he thinks it will fit. It does. "Thanks." She’s appreciative before enthusiastically grabbing another, ready to advance in the puzzle's completion.

Bob's heart clenches as you respond rationally. It's eerily shocking how mature you are for your age. The way you forgive so easily is at odds with the guilt he feels. Yet, somehow, your words have an undeniable power over him. He can feel the grip of the Void's hold on him loosen ever so slightly. He helps you slide in the next piece as it clicks into place. Your giggle warms his heart. The corners of his lips curl up at the sound.

"How can…. How can you be so calm about this?" Bob can't help but ask, his voice tinged with disbelief mixed with awe.

"I-I have to..." Your younger self falters. Her composure glitched before she blinked and continued as if nothing had happened. She avoided his gaze, looking back down at the puzzle. "We have to be. Otherwise, what comes next would be unbearable."

Bob's brow creases with concern at the glitch. A ripple in your memory, the imposed calmness that he couldn't miss, faltering. The way you had been referring to yourselves as we, never as I. He was getting somewhere. At least he hoped he was.

"What…" He hesitates, but curiosity gets the better of him. "What's coming next?"

"Ya estoy harta!" Your younger self flinches as a glass breaks in the distance. "Vete con tus pinche putas! Ya no me importa! Largarte! Largarte!"

"Ya no puedo! Ya basta. Pinche loca ya no puedo!"

Bob immediately tenses, ready to protect you and your younger self from whatever threat looms, but as the shouting continues in the distance, he recognises something familiar in the language. Spanish.

"Is... Is that...?" He whispers, knowing the answer but hoping he's wrong.

"S-Spanish." Your body convulses and twitches as the vulgar language is spoken. Feeling gross. You try to block them out, pausing your puzzle making, your hands harshly slammed against your ears. Tears form in your eyes as the screams only continue. You run over to the door, banging and kicking it. The kick makes the door widen, before you push against it. 

"Shut up!" Bob flinches as your small body screeches. "Shut up! Ya cállate!" Your outcry only intensified. Your body shaking with sobs. "Shut up! Shut up!" You turn the lock, knowing it serves no real purpose. Your bedroom door barely closed. The doorframe stopped it from entirely shutting. You've never been able to lock it, not once. You turned and walked over to a corner where a dresser sat. You go to push it until it starts sliding across the floor. Pushing with everything you had in your tiny body, until it sat in front of the door. Blocking them from entering. You didn't want them near you. You kick the wall next to it in anger. To have them hear just how upset they made you. Hoping your meltdown would cause them to stop, to see how much they’re hurting you. You go far as to grab something heavy launching it into the wall too. The bang as agressive as your parents anger. 

It's not long before you move to where you remain under the desk. Your younger self crawls underneath with you. Scooting herself next to you as your older self ticks and shivers at the language exchanged. Your younger self cups her ears and lets out an ear-piercing scream. All the while, yourself sheds a tear. It's only then that he finally gets a real reaction from you. You turn to your younger self wanting to save her the pain. You wrap an arm around her and tuck her in close to your side.

Bob is frozen in place as the scene unfolds before him. The sheer desperation in your voice is gut-wrenching; you just want it to stop. He watches with staggered breaths as your younger self curls into you. The shouting and screaming continue in the background.

He wants to move, to grab the dresser and shove it through the wall, to put an end to the shouting and the pain taking place on the other side of that door. But he remains where he is, watching yourself try to help your younger self find solace. His eyes dart to the blocked door, listening to the muffled yelling from outside. He grits his teeth, anger bubbling within him.

When he turns back to look at you both. Your younger self is nowhere to be found beside you. "Here!" His head turns to the child sitting before him again on the floor. Another puzzle piece was offered to him once again.

How long did you relive this before he got here? The memory had reset again, he realized.

Bob's hands tremble as he gradually accepts the puzzle piece. Peering down at the upright face, snow-like texture painted on the piece to help him determine where it could go. He stares at it, guilt slowly seeping into his bones as he lifts his head to watch your younger self concentrate on the image the pieces were curating.

"How...How many times has she-you-" Bob can't even fathom how long you've been sitting under your desk, to appear so numb to everything. "How long have you been in here?"

"This is loop ten." Younger you, spares him a pinched grin. It doesn't reach her eyes.

Bob's stomach churns at the revelation. Loop ten? You've had to face this same scene ten times over, stuck in an endless cycle. He wants to scream, to tear everything apart, to make it stop. But he can't. He's just a participant in this twisted nightmare. His eyes shift between the puzzle and your younger self, his guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders, but he'd be damned if he didn't try. He had to try; this was you he was talking about. You'd done so much for him; he owed you that much. To push past how scared he was of screwing things up even more.

Your younger self looks up, halting her movements. "I-I can't finish it." You finally refer to yourself in first person. You look down at the puzzle. "I just wanna finish it."

"You want to finish the puzzle?" Bob questions, his words tinged with both confusion and understanding. He glances at the puzzle, taking in the incomplete image. It's beautiful in its own way, even without all the pieces. But the thought of you stuck in this repetitive loop, trying to complete it, it's unbearable. "You... You don't have to finish it." He says softly, his hand hovering over yours, unsure if he can even change your mind within the confines of this memory.

"I want to." Hope. A small spark ignites within Bob as your younger self expresses her determination. He picks up on the subtle changes in your expressions, the way your younger self glitches and gives way to glimpses of your older self. He clings onto this as a sign of change, that he can somehow alter this loop. 

His back straightens. He looks back at you under the desk. You were still there, but a sliver of hope had him realizing you wanted to crawl from underneath there. "I... I get close, and then I never do. There's always a piece missing." The child's brows furrow with frustration. You go to place the remaining six pieces before pulling your hands into your lap.

"Missing piece?" His eyes flick back to the puzzle, taking in the image, searching for what could be amiss. Then there it is, the center spot, vacant. His gaze darts around the room. "Maybe it's somewhere else? In a drawer? Or under the bed?" He muses, his mind racing with possibilities, until the screams of your parents have him glancing at the door. He glances down at you, then at you under the desk. 

"Hey!" You peer up at him. "Just... Just focus on me. Listen to my voice…not theirs. Okay?" With labored breaths, his grin grows as he tries to reassure you from the shouting behind the door. "Where would you look first?" Your younger self gets up and heads for the door, when suddenly you appear criss-crossed before him. His eyes widened, trying to gain your attention this time. "Y/n? Hey!" He exclaims, reaching forward, touching your shoulders. "Hey. Hi, oh my god hi!" You turn back to face him after having peered over at the door.

"B-Bob?" Your voice croaks.

"Yes!" Bob lets out a sigh of relief. He can't help the small laugh that escapes his lips. "Yes, it's me. Me Bob. That's me!" He gives a firm nod, still holding onto your shoulders. He leans down to meet your gaze. "I'm so sorry. The team told me what happened and how Void got out and ruined everything. How everyone came back, but you never did. I... I should've stayed home. I knew it was a bad idea to go to that gala, but the team insisted, you insisted, on getting me out of the tower, and...I screwed everything up again. Like I always do. But I'm here. I'm here and I want to make things right. I'm gonna get you out of here." His conviction bled through.

Your eyes glisten. You looked so small compared to the confidence you carried around him and the others earlier in the evening. You flinch, glancing over your shoulder as another vulgar word reaches your ears. "D-Don't listen to them." Bob turns your chin back over to him.

Bob forces a pinched smile as your attention returns to him. He squeezes your shoulders, his fingers gently kneading into your flesh, trying to ground you. "You want to finish this puzzle…We'll finish it." He says firmly, his eyes never leaving your face.

You muster a nod before looking at the blank spot, mocking you from its completion. Bob pulls back. Your younger self begins screaming and pushing the dresser towards the door. Your eyes close as a tick rakes through you. Bob takes note of your reaction, how the side of your ear hit your shoulder blade. Your younger self finishes under the desk, before she appears beside you and Bob. The puzzle resets back to its previous state of incompleteness once again. 

Loop eleven.

He shifts his eyes down to your hands, something you twirled around mindlessly, catching his attention. His brows furrow as he reels in the object you acquired, the thing you fiddle with, it was the piece you needed to finish the puzzle.

You had it this whole time. His eyes soften.

"It seems almost selfish..." You concur.

His mouth parts as the realization dawns on him. "You..." Bob whispers, his words lost in awe. "You had it this whole time?" His gaze switches from the piece in your hand back to your face.

Your younger self's determination and stubbornness faded, replaced by the realization that you were holding onto the very thing you sought all along. He's struck by the simplicity yet irony of it all. You were so close to finishing the puzzle, but blinded by what was literally in your hands to do it. He shifts and turns to your younger self, peering up at you, expression expectant, waiting, filled with melancholy. She goes back to adding the six final pieces again. 

"This stupid piece…That I could never find. I threw the puzzle away when I couldn’t finish it. It’s so stupid…"

Bob looks at the puzzle piece, a mix of emotions roiling within him. He feels a pang of guilt, knowing how long you'd been trapped here, the endless loop of trying to finish the puzzle without realizing you possessed the very thing needed to complete it. Your younger sits back, wringing her hands together, a mirror of his timidness. It brought him a sense familiarity, something he weighed on now, that you both had something in common. He reaches out, gingerly taking your younger self's hand, before looking back at you.

"It's not stupid." He reassures you. "Sometimes… we search for things so hard we forget to look in simple places." He pauses, his gaze lingering.

Your inner turmoil was evident. You dig a hand into a side pocket of your sweater, he hadn't known was there. "It was in my pocket..." You scoff. Shaking your head. "This whole time!"

Bob watches you, the realization settling in for both your younger and older selves. Younger you then mirrors your actions, stuffing her hand in the pockets, only to pull them out and be left empty handed. It was a poignant moment. "You-" Bob can't even finish the sentence, words momentarily lost on him. It was so simple.

Bob couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, a bittersweet sound. The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on him. You had been carrying the solution to your problem all along, hidden in your pocket. He shook his head, his expression a mix of disbelief and amazement. "I-I once lost my phone…It was in my hand the entire time." A lopsided grin took over his features. ”Though I’m pretty sure it was the meth that hindered my senses from realizing it was there the whole time...” He trails off, noting that his attempt to offer a similar experience did nothing to comfort you.

"It’s not the same…" You shake your head. 

Bob breathes a faint laugh at your pouting, the sound of it reverberating across the room, a stark contrast to the ongoing shouting and aggression outside the room. "I think...I think you'll be okay." He chides gently, trying to bring light to the situation.

“How do you know that?”

“‘Cause you guys helped me…Help me still.” He corrects

Your hesitance was not lost on him. You peer up through your eyelashes, then back down to the piece. "What if this doesn't fix anything?"

Bob pauses as he takes in your question. The weight of it hangs in the air, his earlier optimism faltering for a moment. Hearing your apprehension only solidified the concern. Bob's smile fades into a serious expression. He takes in your younger self’s small form, then to you, the way your shoulders are slumped, and the anxiety settled in your eyes. "I don't know if it will." He admits earnestly, his voice soft. "I just...I just really, really hope it does. It has to."

"Is this all it takes…To just fix it?" You twirl the piece around mindlessly. "This single piece my ticket to getting out of here?"

Bob looks at you, really looks at you. The piece of paper board between your fingers spinning in a rhythmic motion, your eyes filled with a mix of peace and anguish. He sees the way your breathing picks up and the way your eyes dart around the room. He can see how much this effects you, the battle between your logical side and the part of you that's been trapped here for who knows how long, trying to meet in the middle. Conclude a final resolution.

"I...I don't know." He replies eventually. He tries. "I...I mean, you all saved me with a hug." He laughs, its nervous but light, then lets it die out. Bob wants to reassure you, to tell you that this piece will fix everything, but he can't because he's never been great at it. You were the one always putting him back together. You always had the right thing to say and knew when to apply it in your heart to hearts. "So what's to say you can't be fixed by a puzzle piece?"

"Just like that?"

Bob nodded. "Just like that." He affirmed. He knows the simplicity of it, the absurdity, the notion of such a simple thing being the key to your liberation, could probably be seen as laughable. But he didn't see it as such, it might’ve been laughable—yes, but it wasn’t to him. Hope flared in him, a spark of optimism that the solution was so simple, so ridiculously easy. "Yeah…just like that." He repeated, his voice resolute, putting your worries and fears to rest.

"Just like that..." You shed a tear, echoing his words. You take a deep breath, hearing your parents argue once more before you reach forward and place the piece in the center. Your body convulses as you begin to sob hysterically, your younger self sighing as you finish it for once. Bob's lip trembles as he pulls you into his chest.

He holds you tightly, your body trembling against his. His grip is firm yet gentle, a silent reassurance that he's there. His heart aches as he listens to your sobs. The sobs wrack your frame as your emotions come out, a tidal wave of relief and frustration breaking through the surface after what feels like a lifetime. He rubs small circles on your back, whispering soothing words into your hair, as his own eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"I’m sorry I put you in here. I’m sorry." He whispers into your hair. "It's okay. I've got you. I-I got you."

-

“Guys.” Walker alerted the team as a shadow appeared beside Bob’s body—a dark silhouette, mirroring your form. 

The team looked over, frozen at the shadow's sudden appearance. Bucky took a cautious step forward, and Yelena rose from her chair.

It felt like you had woken up from a deep slumber when you came to. Everyone watched as your tar-like self was slowly revealing itself, like a sheet unveiling you. The shadows released you, shedding away from your form down to your heels. A sigh escaped from you as you pushed against the floor. Your dress draped around you like a blanket as you peered up at your team and the guest who lay witness. You hear a grunt to your right, you turn and watch Bob come to as well. His eyes were trying to settle amongst the warm lighting surrounding the gala. His suit was wrinkled and left in disarray as he sat up. Yelena's heels clicked closer as she reached down to help you stand. "Oh my god!" She pulled you in closer for a hug. You were still finding your bearings. "Thank god. I thought we lost you!" You peer over to see Bob take Bucky's arms appreciatively.

Bucky pulls Bob to his feet, and a sigh of relief leaves him as he sees him finally become aware of his surroundings. He pats Bob on the back a few times, his grip on his palm tight.

"I knew you could do it, buddy." Bucky greets him with a small smile, his expression slightly worried as he observes his disheveled appearance.

"Thank you?" Bob blinks a couple of times, a forced smile on his face, before it fades. "Do what exactly?"

"You don't remember-" Bucky confirms. "You brought Y/n back from the-" Bucky's words were interrupted by the touch of Alexei's grasp on his upper arm and the sound of Walker's words.

"Bucky...Let's debrief him later. Not right now." He suggested. "She's back and safe. We'll deal with it at home. Not here."

"Is everything okay?" Bob's gaze flickers over to see you surrounded by Yelena and Ava. They were checking you over, making sure everything was okay.

Were you hurt?

He looks back at Bucky, his expression hardening. "I brought Y/n back from what?"

"Not here, kid." Walker reached forward to pat his shoulder. "You did great, that's all that matters-" Walker inhales deeply as Bob's hand tightened around his wrist.

"Don't- Don't call me kid." Bob closes his eyes, his irritation getting the better of him as his eyes glow amber for a split second. He gestures a pointed finger at Walker. "From what?"

Alexei steps forward, placing a gentle hand on Bob’s tense shoulders. "Easy there." He cautiously speaks. "Everything is fine now."

Bob's face remains stern, his gaze steady, irritation clear in his expression. "Tell me."

Walker and Bucky exchanged a worried look, both of them noticing the change in Bob's demeanor. "Not now," Walker repeated, his voice firmer this time, his grip on Bob's hand that held his wrist, not letting up either. Bob sensed the clear indication that Walker wasn't going to elaborate, not in the middle of this venue. The commotion from earlier was probable cause for them to high-tail it out of there. Bob’s stubbornness didn’t help their favor.

Bucky leaned in, his tone low, hoping to diffuse the situation. He closed his eyes before giving in.  "Look, Void got loose, okay? Something happened. Everyone came back, Y/n didn't." Bob's grip falters, his eyes softening at the information. "Later, okay? We'll explain everything later. But we should probably leave, head home."

"What do you mean she didn't come back?" Bob's confusion only grows. His eyes shifted over to where you were reassuring people that you were fine, who asked if you needed a doctor.

"No, no. I'm okay. Really." He heard your voice bellow out from the short distance between you.

Bob couldn't help but watch as you shook your head, waving off any worried busybodies, and he found himself torn. Part of him wanted to let it go, to leave it be as Bucky and the others insisted. But there was another part of him that yearned to understand. He couldn't leave without answers. He pushed against Bucky's arm, which was trying to ground him.

"Yelena-Yelena!" He called out to her. She waved off another guest, who couldn't mind their business.

“Yes, yes, fine. All is good and well now.”

"Oh my god, what a mess! Is she okay?" Valentina's voice became apparent. Where did she come from? "Y/n, dear, the second you don't feel like yourself, say when. I got medical on call, alright."

"Oh no, I'm fine. I don't need a medic to come-"

"Oh my god, Valentina. She's fine. I promise. Don't intervene." She grew annoyed with Valentina's facade of sudden concern. She wasn't worried about your well-being, just worried about maintaining your image in the public's eye. Valentina continued with her rambling about how much she cared and would prefer it if you were checked over. "Oh my god, we don't need a medic here, ТЫ УПРЯМЫЙ МУЛ!" Yelena cursed. Who knows how Valentina would settle this mess with the press? She double-takes at the sound of her name being called before her attention settles on Bob's concerned one.

"Is she okay?" He mouths.

"She's fine," She waves him off. "Promise." She then nods before rolling her eyes as Valentina rants about having let him out of the house. He reciprocates her nod before his shoulders relax briefly at her assurance, his worry slightly lessened. But something still gnawes at him. His gaze drifts over to you again, his expression turning solemn as he sees the fake smiles and the feigned concern that some are displaying. You didn’t need their fake niceties.

His gaze lingers on you, trying to garner any sign that you weren't fine, but it wasn’t long before you locked eyes.

You catch his gaze, then begin excusing yourself from the small crowd, as a sense of anxiety overcomes you.

"Excuse me-" You politely muttered as you made your way toward him. It was as if a gravitational pull was urging you to him. The room, the people, everything else faded into the background as your focus solely centered on him.

Bob straightens at your approach, taken aback as you nestle yourself into his chest, your arms wrapping around him.

Startled, he initially freezes for a few seconds before his body relaxes, molding into you. His arms naturally encircle your form, pulling you into a tight embrace, his chin perched on top of your head. Your scent and warmth enveloped him, a sense of comfort washing over him. You felt like home.

"Hi…" Bob's voice, a soft whisper, reached your ears as he greeted you. You feel his hands mold more firmly around your waist, a gesture that makes your heart skip.

"Hi..." You return the greeting, your own voice just as soft, finding solace in the familiar sound of his breaths. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah..." His response short. “Are you okay?" He emphasizes, a hand gently stroking your exposed back.

"I'm fine." You wave it off.

Bob's eyebrow raises, his expression doubtful as he peers down at you. "You sure...?" He questions further, knowing you're prone to downplaying. But so was he.

“Yes and no.” A nervous laugh resounded from you.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He offers, even though he’s not sure what he’s saving you from. He’s caught glimpses of your past before, not that you’d ever truly forego the idea of talking to him about it. He was much alike you in the manner of only giving surface levels of his ugly past. You both only knew what you allowed to be seen.

“You did. You helped me.” Your words, their simplicity, but all the more effective, affectionate, sure. He helped you? How could he have helped you, but have no recollection of it? You smile sweetly as you reach to place a kiss on his cheek. Was this your thankfulness wrapped up in an act of endearment? “You might not remember it, but you were enough, and you were there." You nod suringly.

He looks at the way you're molded against his chest. How his hands fit and embrace your figure like he's ready to protect and shield you from harm's way. The way your softened eyes perceive him in this lightheartedness. Like he's somehow hung the stars in your night sky. He can't help but wonder what he's done. What he's done to be truly worth being perceived delicately. You look like you're scared he'll disappear right before your eyes, when he's the scared one, thinking you'll break under his touch.

"Bucky’s saying Void got out again..." He looks down between your bodies. "I should have stayed home- I made everything worse-"

"You did nothing wrong, okay." You reach up, cupping his face gently, lifting his chin so he'd meet your gaze. "You did nothing wrong." You insist. He places his palms over your hands. Leaning into the warmth your touch brings him.

“I remember him..." He nods at his sudden recollection. It comes to him in bits and pieces. "Ryker." His hands slide up your wrist to the purple indentations marring your wrist, contrasting your skin's original shade. He opens his eyes, hoping he's wrong when he peers at the discoloration. But your hurt wrist only brings forth the truth. Telling him everything he didn’t want to be true. He feels guilty for even letting the asshole execute the action, he tries to conjure up ways he can make the injury vanish. Would a kiss heal your wounds? Take away his mistakes? He opted not to, but he was tempted to do so. "He bruised you." He nods, firm and sure.

"Bruises fade, Bob." There you go again, downplaying someone's unforgiving behavior.

"A bruise might...The memories won't." You shake your head at his trepidation. "Why didn't you fight him? You...You're capable of defending yourself?" Bob looks into your eyes.

"I didn't want to escalate the situation..." You shrug dismissively..

"But he hurt you? He hurt you, and I couldn't stop him in time, I-" He pauses, when it hits him like a tidal wave. The way various shouts echo through his head. Your voice bellowing in anguish. A flash of your face painted with pain.

You had been thrown across the center of the venue's dance floor. You rolled and then landed awkwardly on your stomach. Your once neat hairdo was disheveled in your sudden state. You pushed up with your heels and palms.

"Y/n!" Yelena made for you, but you shook your head.

"No, no, don't." You held your hand out, halting Walker and Yelena from approaching you. "Stay back!" You warned.

"B-Bob stop!" You cry out, a rasp to your voice.

"I hurt you..." Bob's eyes widen in fear. He tries to pull your hands away from his face. It was as though he were the Flint Striker and you were the one caught on fire. He was burning you. "No, no, no..." His eyes close as he gently grips your palms and lowers them to your waist. You didn't want to let him go. "I make everything worse. I should have stayed home- I didn't mean to hurt you-"

"Bob." You begin your reasoning. “No, I’m fine. You saved me! You got me out of there, everything’s better now.” You reach for him when he flinches. He hates how your face falls, even more so, when he denies you proximity.

“I-I should’ve stayed home.” He accepts before making his way back to Bucky, asking if they could leave.

“B-Bob!” You call after him, your dam cracking, hearing faint clicks approach your form from behind, you look up.

“Come on. Let’s get you both home before Valentina makes an ever bigger show.”

Yelena.

You peer at her, eyes glistening. She tilts her head, an apologetic smile on her face.

“Come on.” She wraps a blazer around your shoulders. One that smelled oddly like the shaggy-haired man. You were dreading the car ride home, that much certain.

-

“So you instigated him?” The drive back to the watch tower was nothing short of an unbearable experience. Your scowl and crossed arms giving way to how pissed off you were. Bucky and Walker avoided your harsh, directed stare. Bob had sat to your side, curling in on himself as the tension only intensified. His hands were warm, a mock of how close your skin was to touching, but he’d more than likely pull away.

Dreadful.

Now you all had made it out of the elevator with the team hot on your trail. Your heels clicked heavily against the floors. Bob stood off to the side slowly discarding the tie Yelena had done for him. He looked down at the fabric. Messing with it idly to distract himself from the fight he knew would break out. His shoulders reflected that of a small child anticipating his parent’s anger, slumped over on his tall frame.

“I wouldn’t say that? It was more of a friendly bit of teasing. All we did was give him the nudge he needed to confess the undying love he has for you.” Walker sighed as he went over to the bar. “We saw how pissed Ryker was making you…told the kid to go save you or to stop bitching about how much he wants to be with you.”

Asshole.

“So you hazed him and made Void come out.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Walker trails off.

“You’re unbelievable!”

“Look, we didn’t mean for it to happen-“

“Didn’t mean-“ You laugh incredulously. “Spare me, Walker. No one can function properly, when you’re down everyone’s throat with childish antics. What were you even thinking?”

“Y/n, you don’t need to stick up for me-” Bob tried to create space between you and the Soldier.

“He wasn’t.” Bucky stepped in. Running a hand down his face tiredly. “We thought it’d be harmless, Y/n. Why would we ever intentionally put him through that sort of thing?”

“I told you we were gonna get him out of the house so he good have a fun night. Did I not tell you I wanted no weapons for tonight? To not wound him up to the point of his other self being unleashed. I was gonna come back after I handled Ryker. I had it handled.” You sneer at the man. Tears forming in your eyes, shaking your head at his ignorance.

A scoff to your left makes everyone’s head turn. Bob fiddles with his tie, his head shaking, a half smile settled over his face. “He bruised you…that’s not handling it.”

“Bob-“ You sigh.

“It…It wasn’t their fault, Y/n. If anyone’s to blame, blame it on me. I went after you…”

“No-“ You protest.

“Bucky and Walker only brought the idea up to me...It was my choice alone. I made the decision…to check on you. But now…I-I should have stayed home-“ Bob shakes his head. “Valentina was right…I shouldn’t have been let out.”

“Valentina can dig her grave and lie in it. I’m tired of her trying to keep you locked up here. You’re allowed to go outside when you feel like it! You’re not under house arrest, she can’t confine you to this place-”

“I just make everything worse.” Bob's brows pinch together. You cup your stomach as tears begin to spill down your face.

“No. You don’t. Don’t think like that. You don’t, I promise.” Your protest further escalated his self-loathing.

“Void took hold of you from what everyone is saying, and for whatever reason, felt the need to keep you from getting back to us. He hurt you, I hurt you.“

“But that’s not on you! That wasn’t your fault! It was mine. For thinking I could somehow bring you back down from in there.” Your eyes meet his temple. “I made things worse. I mean—I shot a bullet at you! I could have knocked him on his ass, but I didn’t and it wasn’t the right call for me to make.” You argue.

“We’re one whole. How is it not my fault?” His shoulders slumped, looking at the team’s conflicted expressions. “Am I wrong?” He breathes a laugh out. “Nothing ever turns out great when I’m around.” He slowly retreats towards the stairs. “I told you guys I should’ve stayed home...” 

“Bob please…” You call after him.

“Let him go.” Bucky orders. You turn back to look at your teammates. 

“D-Did I just ruin this things between us?” You let your arms flop down to your sides.

“No…it’s not your fault. This isn’t your fault at all.” Bucky reassures you. He walks over to you and squeezes your shoulder.

“Why didn’t you knock him on his ass?” Walker questions.

“I was going to,” You snapped back at him. “-but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I don't know...It felt like I was back there again, enduring his abuse when he grabbed me...I guess I froze." You shrug nonchalantly. "Then Bob showed up...and I couldn't think straight. Couldn't think of a way not to escalate things further, but I only made it worse, and it cost Ryker his life in the end...Cost Bob a fun night."

"He killed him?" Walker closes his eyes; your turmoil didn't do anything to hide it. He didn't miss the coms from the authorities either, claiming one casualty earlier on their way out of the venue.

You looked at the floor. "He did...and he doesn't need that put on him. So don't fucking tell him." You warn.

"I think Bob should decide that for himself, no?" Bucky raised a brow at you. "What happened to letting him make his own choices from now on?"

“Well, he wanted to stay home, but we all kept insisting he go out with us. So I don’t know anymore! And I'm not deciding for him..." Your hands were balled into a tight fist. "He should decide, yes, but when he's ready. He doesn't need to know about it right now...It just happened and a part of me isn’t too upset with him about it, but he's in such a vulnerable state right now...I feel like it’ll only do more harm than good...It'll be another thing for him to hate himself over...He doesn’t need that right now.” You say softly. “You guys should have seen him when we were in the void…He’s so capable and we take his gifts for granted.”

“We never thought he was incapable, it's why we agreed to allow him to make his own choices, decide what he eats for dinner, allow him to find his own hobbies. Tonight was just a one-time incident where we peer pressured him into leaving his room, when he didn't want to."

“Well, that peer pressure backfired, didn’t it?” You said under your breath. You run a hand down your face in frustration. “God, he didn’t even want to leave his room...Did you see how uncomfortable he was at dinner? You said it yourself, we coerced him. And I’ve never seen him more upset about it...” You turn your head, peering at the staircase. "Was it stupid of me to think we could show him a fun night out?"

"No. We all wanted the same for him." Yelena shakes her head. "It's not stupid."

"Then why does it feel like it is? He's probably up in his room beating himself up for even stepping outside."

"'Cause you love him..." Yelena gave you a pinched tired grin.

You look away from her. Your shoulders slumped as your eyes burned with unshed tears. It was quiet. No one was sure of what to say. You closed your eyes as that familiar pain in your chest returned. "I do. I love him..." Your voice broke. "But this isn't about how I feel. It's about him." You shake your head. "He was just starting to feel a little more secure with himself in public...He's gonna hate himself for thinking he ruined everyone's night. I could see it in his eyes...The last thing he needs is to feel guilty over something he has no control over." You continue.

"It's not fair to him...He's had it rough for so long, and every time there's progress, something bad happens that takes him thirty steps back." You let out a small scoff. "Maybe I never should have brought up the idea of a night out in the first place...How can he forgive me after a night like tonight?"

"'Cause he loves you too." Yelena tilts her head at your self-deprecation.

You look at her. Your body stiffens, and your chest tightens as you let her words sink in. "But what good is it to love me if it only brings him pain? How long before that love fades to nothing because of my negligence?"

Yelena shakes her head, taking your hands in hers. "You can't doubt yourself, or his feelings for you. I know it's difficult, but the last thing you need to do is start putting yourself down and feeling sorry about tonight." She squeezes your hands.

Bucky stood next to you, his arms crossed over his chest as he nodded in agreement. "You know that you mean a lot to him right?"

“And he only agreed to go out because you wanted him there with us.” Yelena admits.

“Also, we might’ve encouraged him to confess his feelings for you, but he wanted to do it at his own time…I should have stopped then and there, kid. I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s admission only added to the weight that sat heavy in your chest. You look over at him and nod slowly, unable to form words.

Yelena gently rubbed you on the back. “You know he can’t stay inside that room forever. You both need each other." Yelena chimed in. “Plus he can’t go a day without his cereal so there’s that…”

"He'll come to his senses..." Walker gives you a faint grin. “He’d be stupid not to.”

“T-Thanks guys…” You step back from Yelena’s hands. “I’m gonna be outside if you need me…gonna clear my head.”

“Want some company?” Ava offers surprisingly.

“N-No I’m okay.” You brush her off before you head out to the roof.

“Take the time you need, little one.” Alexei chimes after you. You raises a thumb in the air in your exit.

When you're out of sight, Walker asks. "What time is it?"

Bucky checks his watch. "Just a quarter till midnight. Why?"

At the realization, Walker takes off towards the staircase. "Walker, what are you doing?" Yelena called after him.

"Keeping my promise!" He called from over his shoulder. “You'll see!” Bucky, Yelena, Ava shared a look as he ran up the stairs and disappeared.

"What the hell is that about?" Yelena gapes before shaking her head. “Whatever, I’m going to bed. Someone make sure Y/n doesn’t jump off the roof.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about that…” Bucky shakes his head.

-

You hadn't fully registered how the cold breeze stung you until you felt a jacket fall over your shoulders.  You had been so caught by New York's optics that you missed the metal door creak open. You jump at the sudden contact, thinking you'd see someone beside you, but you had to turn further around to see the man of the hour, who had been running through your mind, stood at the door. You take note of the hand he lowers back down to his side. Putting two and two together about how the jacket made it to you. He made it float. "Bob..."

“Walker said you might be cold…” He said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Right…I-I was...thank you." You turn your head, nuzzle your nose into the fabric as you insert your arms through the arm holes.

He nods his head. “Welcome…” His chest feels tight watching you snuggle into his jacket. His gaze settled down in front of him. Neither of you say anything. The sounds of New York City echo throughout the night air. Car engines, taxi cabs, faint horns in the distance. Time did seem to stop up here, whereas life continued down on the streets. It was oddly comforting. "C-Could I join you?"

You look back at him, surprised by his suddenness. "Yeah...Yeah of course."

He nods then takes the spot next to you; awkwardly fidgets with his fingers in his lap. He turns his head, looking at you in his jacket. It was a sight for sure...He tried to ignore the way his heart palpitated in his chest.

He tries to focus on the sound of the wind and the city in the distance. But his eyes linger on you, taking in your form. How the evening sky envelopes you in its darkness, distant lights from neighboring buildings causing a warm hue to make your face visible to him, the way the wind nipped at your nose, and your sniffles took over you...He couldn't deny it...You looked beautiful, so carefree.

You turn at the right time and catch him gazing at you. Your eyes crinkle with a hint of heat that rushes up to warm your cheeks. You both emit a nervous laugh, settling your eyes onto your laps. His hands wring together, yours fiddling with the jacket's sleeves.

The silence continued, but this time, there was an obvious tension in the air. The both of you were hyper-aware of it. His eyes continued to dart between you and the city lights. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything..."

His heart stutters in his chest. He takes a shaky breath, his nervousness building. He looks back at you. You look at him reassuringly, like you genuinely meant that one word...Anything.

It makes it difficult for him to get the next words out. "...It’s a stupid question." He rubs the back of his neck. 

“That’s okay.”

"I-I just-" He sighs, his jaw clenching as he looks out at the city again. "This might sound weird...But do you know how to tie a tie?" He swallows down any anxiety, forcing his gaze back on you.

“Oh.” Your eyes widen at the peculiar question. “Do I know how to tie a tie?” You ask again to ensure you heard him right. Bob nods yes. 

“Sorry...I warned you it was a stupid question. Just...Forget I asked, okay?" He rubs the back of his neck again, looking away.

"No, No...It's okay. If you really want to know. I do."

His eyes flicker with curiosity, meeting your gaze. "You...You do?" He quirks an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but there was an underlying hint of something in his eyes. "Oh, I was just...I was just curious, that's all...I can’t put one on myself...Yelena did it for me, but I…" He trails off, looking back at the city. "I just thought maybe...You could-" His words die in his throat, cutting himself off before he lets any more words slip. He shakes his head, his hands continuing to fidget in his lap.

You register the implication. "Teach you?" You try.

His breath hitches in his throat as you finish his sentence. He looks back at you, his eyes a mix of vulnerability and relief. He could sense the anticipation in your gaze, waiting for him to respond. "Y-Yeah...Teach me." He finally manages to rasp out. "So Yelena won't have to anymore..."

"Yeah, I can. Tell me when okay." You grip his hand. He nods.

"O-Okay..." He looks down at his lap. Your touch is soft and warm. He can't help letting the guilt eat at him. You were being so gentle with him when he was anything but. "I'm sorry I hurt you..."

"Don't-” You shake your head. “Don't do that. Don't apologize." You squeeze his hand gently. "It wasn't your fault...You weren't in control."

"But that doesn't change the fact that my other half hurt you!" He snaps back, his grip on your hand momentarily tightening. You both look down at his hold, his shoulders lose their tension before he's holding you like you're made out of porcelain.

"Look at me, please." You request softly. He raises his head, trying to avoid eye contact. His chest tightens, knowing he can’t hold your gaze for too long. "It wasn't you."

His jaw clenches, his eyes stinging. "I should've stayed here...Then I wouldn't have ruined the night." His breath shakes, the words leaving him in a broken whisper. His eyes meet yours, tears blurring his vision. He hated this—all of this.

Tears sting your eyes as well. Your free hand reaches up, brushing his cheek gently. His eyes flutter at your touch. "You didn't ruin anything..."

He shakes his head, refusing to accept the comfort you try to offer him. The guilt is too heavy, weighing him down like a thousand-pound weight. He feels so undeserving. "I did...I always do. I-I..." His voice trails off, tears spilling down his cheeks.

"No-" Your hand cups his face, forcing him to look at you. "No, you don't. You might make mistakes, but you don't always screw things up. You're a good man, Bob. You're so much more than what you think of yourself..." You lean your forehead against his. “You’re good.”

He tries not to melt at the way you say his name. His face falls forward, leaning his forehead into yours. He closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of your touch, your words. "How can you say that? Especially after tonight..."

"Because it’s true.” You softly run your thumb over his cheek, catching another tear that slips down. “You are such a good man.” You take a shaky breath, trying to find the right words. “You’ve been through a lot…You’ve been beaten down many times…but you keep bouncing back up.” He’s still against you, his breathing ragged as he lets the comfort of your proximity soothe him. “You brought me back from the Void, you didn’t leave me…You’re so good!” You breathe out a laugh. "I wish you'd see it yourself."

He can’t speak, the lump in his throat preventing him from doing so. Instead, he closes his eyes tighter, relishing in the sound of your voice. He’s desperate to soak up every word you say, to have them sink in, become second skin. He’s been deprived of something so simple for so long, to hear the one person he cares about say those words…It’s making him unravel at the seams. When he finally speaks, it’s barely above a whisper. “Do you love me?” 

The question hangs in the air like the sound of a church bell. You take note of how he’s looking at you. The way he leans into your touch, seeking the comfort of human contact that he’s been deprived of. Your hand gently cups his chin, your other moving to rest over his heart. His gaze is fixed on yours like an anchor, waiting for you to respond. You can read the desperation and need in his eyes, the vulnerability that he's trying so hard to conceal.

You see a man wanting, no, begging to be loved. To be told that he's worthy of it despite believing otherwise. You look at the way he's clutching your hand, desperate for some kind of reassurance. He's hurting, still so damn broken, but not loving him with every fiber in your being would hurt you more. "Yes…God, I’d be stupid not to." You breathe a laugh.

Your words hit him like a tidal wave. His heart stutters in his chest, the grip he has on your hand clenching involuntarily. His eyes search yours again, looking for any sign of deception, anything to tell him you don't really mean it. But all he sees is complete honesty looking right back at him. He shakes his head; a broken laugh escapes his lips as his chest tightens at the confession. "Yeah…You really mean that?"

His questioning. It only hurts you further. So you cup his face, bringing him closer so you could look into his eyes. “I do. I mean it...I love you.” He flinches. He’s frozen, eyes searching your face, waiting for you to take it back. You don’t. 

You run your thumb over his skin, gently brushing your nose against his. You see tears form in his eyes again, and suddenly, his hands are on your waist. Gripping the material of the jacket he gave to you, pulling you close. “Can you repeat it?” He finally croaks out.

“I love you…” You’d tell him three thousand times if he asked.

He shivers; the tremble of his chin is barely noticeable. “Again?” You’re suddenly pulled into his lap with a soft force. The grip he has on you is tight, not rough, as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

"I love you." You trace his jawline. He lets out a shaky breath. It's not long till you're leaning in to capture his lips with yours.

The first touch of your lips against his has him releasing a low groan. His eyes flutter as he melts into it before he suddenly pulls you flush against him, desperately trying to savor it—savor your touch. His lips move against yours in a frenzy, his hands gripping you tighter on your hips. The kiss is filled with need, a longing he can barely contain.

He can’t get enough. The taste of you was so sweet and warm. He’s been deprived of such a simple thing that now his body screams for it. His heart beats wildly in his chest, his hands exploring every part of you he can reach. He can feel your body against his, its heat, that only adds fuel to the fire. The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate and desperate than you expected from him. When you pull back to gather your bearings, to allow oxygen back into your lungs, you can’t help but cry. Bob, already second-guessing the little make-out session, feeling he's done something wrong, was relieved when your words deterred his troubled thoughts.

“You're good, you're worthy, and you are so loved…” You wipe the remaining tears with the back of your hand. "If you ever take anything from this conversation, Bob, let it be those three words. You deserve to be wanted. To be happy, to be loved…"

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

𝐒𝐎 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐖・h.j.

🎸 — you don't think jisung cares about you enough to tell your fans you're dating, fucking. he proves you wrong when he pulls you in on stage, and kisses you in front of everyone.

♟️ — paring・hanji x reader // genres・suggestive, band members with benefits, han writing hold my hand for the reader // words・1.5k // warnings・illusions to sex, kissing on stage, cursing and general crude language, han is kind of an asshole in the beginning, but he makes up for it, kinda silly kinda sexy, a little bit of my weird awkward writing style.

a/n・ ngl it was kinda crazy rewriting this. i wrote this near the very, very beginning of my old blog and i found it rotting in my drafts bc i never got to re-upload it...then i re-read it and remembered why... (why did i never use proper punctuation holy shit) but yeah i had fun writing them on stage ngl also what do we think of the new layout/theme?? (guys im still @lixies-favorite-cookie :))

"So you're okay with fucking me before the show, but telling people we're together—that's where you draw the line?" you spit, narrowing your eyes at a frustrated Han, stress-sweating as he wrestles with his guitar strap, huffing when it gets caught on a tuft of his hair.

He's flustered, cheeks flushed and red as he cards his fingers through his hair, untangling the rogue strand from the slider. It's a Han Jisung staple: rushing right before a performance because, before he can actually get ready, he has to hear the setlist 143 times, chat with the sound tech about his new gaming system, and—his personal favorite—drag you into the bathroom to screw the daylights out of you.

He calls it: jisung's good luck fuck™

You haven't decided if you love it or hate it.

He huffs, giving you an agitated look, "We really don't have time for this, the show starts in 5 minutes." He continues tuning his guitar, testing a few strings.

"You seemed to have plenty of time when your dick was inside of me!"

He buffers, his ears flushing red as he fumbles a loud, off-tune string.

The crew freezes.

"Jesus, just put your damn bass on, y/n." He mutters, his entire face painted dark red.

You clench your jaw, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes. The crowd roars from behind the velvet curtain, anticipating, your now, very soon arrival. He's right, you do need to get ready. Though, that knowledge doesn't make the crack inside your ribs any less painful.

It was futile arguing with him—if he wanted to, he would.

There's no wound getting on stage couldn't fix.

It's already an hour into the concert and the adrenaline still hasn't worn off, thrumming hot through your veins. Han's guitar explodes, threading its way into your last string fluidly. You whisper into the mic, your voice low and seductive, rolling over his riff like whiskey and wine.

The crowd goes wild, stomping so loud it makes the platform shake. Han eats it up, running across the stage and high-fiving a throng of women right before the final riff.

You finish the song with a dark, crisp chord that vibrates through the stadium with a bitter hiss. You're both gasping into the mics when everything's said and done, exchanging exhausted looks. You look over, watching as sweat drips down his forehead, making his hair stick to the back of his neck. The same thing is happening to you.

It's scorching up here, but it's worth it.

Han pants, scrunching his brows as the camera zooms in, tearing his IEM's out. You're both smiling, wobbly and slightly off center, but smiling nonetheless.

Then, he looks at you.

He's looking at you like he's plotting something, like he's in love with you, and like he's about to do something monumentally stupid all at the same time.

Whatever he was thinking, you were down.

Suddenly, the next song erupts from the speakers and he turns to you with a smile.

Han wrote the lyrics to this song after, finally, putting a label on the whole bandmates-with-benefits thing you two had going on.

It was three in the morning when you found him slumped over the bathroom sink, steam slipping out of the glass shower panels. He was butt-naked, a white towel slung over his neck, catching beads of water trickling from his wet hair. It was clear that he was troubled, a tight knit forming on his eyebrows as he stared at the single sentence written on his notebook.

First, you laughed at him for not putting clothes on before grabbing his notebook. Then, you spent the next three hours working him through his writer's block.

It was then, with your hair disheveled and mascara smudged underneath your eyes, he realized he was completely, irrevocably in love with you.

And in a typical Han Jisung fashion, he wrote a song about it

And, also, in typical Han Jisung fashion, he hid that song and his stupid feelings away from you, until, well, now.

You give him a 'what the fuck are you doing?' look before, right as he practiced, he slides towards you, plucking the first dramatic chord. You anxiously flick your eyes over his face, then the crowd, then back to him again.

"Numerous trials and errors and fights,"

A thousand eyes are watching him, and yet, he's only worried about yours. You stand there, looking both very awkward and very pissed, not knowing what to do with the bass hanging off your shoulder. He just smiles.

"Every time I see you cry

I feel like drowning in the dark

You said it's fine, but no, I'm not 'Cause all I want is you, not your tears

눈물이 마를 때까지

I wanna make you the happiest one, no fear"

His gaze never falters as he takes the final step forward, dropping his guitar and pushing away his mic. You were a mess—hair caked to your forehead by sweat, eyeliner streaming down your face from your tears, but, to him, you were as beautiful as you have always been.

It was just you and him in that stadium, when he cups your cheeks, and whispers—

"So baby, hold my hand now"

Then, he kisses you. He kisses you so hard, with so much passion it makes your knees go weak, melting into his arms. Confetti cannons explode around you.

There was no mistaking who he belonged to now.

When he pulls away, his cheeks are flushed and his lips are swollen and he just can't keep his shit-eating grin off his face. Tiny, colorful paper flutters around you, falling onto his shoulders and in his hair. It was magical, all of it was utterly magical.

It takes you a solid fifteen seconds to realize that there are other people in the room.

Forty four thousand to be exact.

He turns to the crowd, throwing his hands up into the air and finishing the song like nothing happened.

Han has been studying music for about as long as he has been alive, and in all of his 24 years of living, he has figured out three things.

One, music was the language of the heart. Two, music can only be created through passion. And three, his heart never stayed silent when he was with you.

[afloweroutofstone]

Before "The Blair Witch Project" properly introduced mainstream audiences to found footage horror in 1999, people were unfamiliar with the idea of a movie made to seem as though it was not a movie. No musical score, no introductory credits, unstable shots that seemed realistic to how early handheld cameras worked at the time— all of this gave viewers the impression that what they were watching was real, actual footage.

Like HG Wells' radio broadcast announcing an alien invasion, the found footage horror subgenre's playfulness with the boundaries between fact and fiction got it in a lot of trouble. Many of these incidents have been obscured by years of rumor and urban legend, but there are at least three examples of pre-1999 found footage horror fooling audiences.

Cannibal Holocaust (1980)— the infamous found footage mockumentary about a film crew being captured and killed deep inside of the Amazon— was the first to experience this issue. Though the extent of the inquiry has been exaggerated over time, there is generally believed to have been some form of investigation by Italian authorities into whether Cannibal Holocaust was a real snuff film.

Guinea Pig 2: A Flower of Flesh and Blood (1985) had something similar happen several years later. A particularly gruesome Japanese slasher filmed from the perspective of the killer, this movie circulated amongst VHS traders until it eventually reached actor Charlie Sheen, who alerted the FBI under the belief that it was real. The FBI took it seriously until they found a making-of documentary which detailed how Guinea Pig 2 did its gore effects.

My favorite example is Alien Abduction: Incident in Lake County* (1998), which depicts an alien abduction in rural Montana. When the film was aired on TV, most viewers only tuned in after the opening credits that made clear Alien Abduction was a fictional movie. Many early internet users came together to discuss their experiences seeing something on TV late at night which displayed a disturbing, seemingly realistic alien encounter, and none of them knew what it was or where it came from. People started reaching out to Montana law enforcement for more details only to be told that no one with the main character's name had ever lived in Lake County, Montana. A TV station in New Zealand even reported that the movie's legitimacy was "a topic of dispute."

Now that most people know about found footage horror, the same type of hoax is far more difficult to pull off. A few more recent entries in the subgenre take this dynamic to an even deeper level of meta-narrative: the plot of Butterfly Kisses (2018) revolves around the idea that, because the public has grown accustomed to these types of fictional found footage hoaxes, no one would seriously believe a genuine piece of found footage horror were one to emerge. If something truly inexplicable were caught on film by an amateur, everyone would just assume that it's part of a marketing campaign for some new film coming soon to theaters.

But I think the events of the last few years have made it clear that there's still lots of unexplored territory for found footage mindfuckery. Why not set up TikTok and IG accounts for fictional characters (like what Cloverfield did with Myspace), have actors run them as normal accounts for a year or two, gradually start introducing weird and inexplicable details to their videos that are minor enough to be dismissed as coincidence or fluke, build tension until a climax in the form of an elaborate livestreamed hoax, and then create deepfake news coverage of the event that looks like it's coming from a real local news station. If we're going to have a general collapse in the public's ability to distinguish fact from fiction, we should at least have some fun with it.

Side note:

*Alien Abduction: Incident in Lake County is often confused with an earlier version of the film released in 1989 called The McPherson Tape. Even though Alien Abduction was just a remake of the equally-fictional The McPherson Tape, rumors continued to swirl after Alien Abduction's debunking that it was a reenactment of a real abduction supposedly captured in the "raw footage" of The McPherson Tape. You can probably still find a few UFO people who believe this, even though the original The McPherson Tape is now available online and uses cheap amateur film-making effects that are easy to spot for modern audiences.

[sleepless-dreams]

ON THIN ICE

summary: letting your brother convince you to take your nephew to his hockey practice turns out to be more than you bargained for. On thin Ice is a quiet, emotional slow-burn about healing, rediscovering passion and falling in love.

word count: 2.3k

a/n: this is the first chapter in a series. unfortunately, this whole thing will be written in first pov, I find it suits x reader a bit better than other narrative styles. I don't usually write in first person, so I apologize if the text doesn't flow as naturally.

This story was inspired by a work done by @wandasfifthwife, unfortunately I don't think their work or account are accessible anymore. While the initial concept is similar, this is my own creation with its own original arcs, tone, pacing and plot.

₊⊹CHAPTER 1⊹₊

My eyes flicker up to the rearview mirror to check on my nephew as we head toward the East Ice Arena for his hockey practice.

His father, my brother, has a lot on his plate these days. He and his wife are expecting Owen's sibling. The baby is due in late November, and despite it still being a few months away, preparations are already in full swing. On top of that, the pregnancy is high-risk, requiring Owen's mom to stay home from work. That’s why my brother picked up extra shifts and begged me to take over driving Owen to and from practice for the foreseeable future.

I agreed easily. I have nothing better to do with the gaps in my schedule. Being single with a fairly low social life, I appreciate any chance to spend time with my family.

The traffic light flickers from red to orange and I press down on the gas pedal, continuing down the street toward the arena. The closer we get, the more nervous I feel.

It’s been years since I last set foot in an ice arena, and the thought of returning makes my stomach twist. Memories and thoughts I’ve worked hard to bury threaten to claw their way back to the surface. I don’t like dwelling on the past, but to my demise the rink has a way of unearthing everything I’ve tried to leave behind.

But this isn’t about me. It’s about helping out my brother and his family. About spending more time with them.

Either way, there’s no time to get lost in my thoughts, because we’re already pulling into the parking lot of the East Ice Arena.

"Come on buddy, we're going to be late!" I usher the boy out of the car as I step out myself, turning to circle the vehicle and open the trunk to take out his hockey gear.

Owen comes up by my side just in time for me to hand him his duffle bag. I grab his stick and slam the trunk shut. With a click of a button the car is locked and we start the short walk to the side hall C where the practice takes place. As we walk we pass the main hall of the Arena–a large, steel building where the major matches take place. Practices like the one we're headed to are held in side halls, of which there are several in this facility.

I hold the door open for Owen when we reach the building. We walk into the lobby, which has a reception desk and a snack bar positioned by a glass wall, offering a clear view of the rink for those seated in the bar area. There's a door there too, that leads to the rink.

"Hurry up, some of your teammates are already on the ice." I tell Owen as I hand him his stick. With a murmur I don't catch, the boy disappears down a hallway, past the reception desk and towards where I assume the changing rooms are.

There's no-one but what looks to be a couple sitting by one of the tables, quietly chatting to themselves and a lady standing behind the counter of the reception. I take a deep breath in and move forward, heading towards the door leading to the rink area.

It's simple in theory. It's not like I'm going to be the one skating, I'm just there to wait for Owen to finish up. Yet the moment I open the door and the chill of the air bites into my skin with the sound of skate blades slicing into the ice hits me, my heart rate spikes up. Suddenly I'm back, years ago, with the same anxiety surging through my body and heart pounding loud in my ears. I force myself to go on, to walk further into the area with a thick swallow. Sitting down high up on the bleachers, I exhale deeply through my nose, the air clouding into white fog.

I busy myself with my phone as soon as I confirm Owen made it to the ice. I can't bear to watch them skate, sitting by the rink is enough for me as of now.

I'm so engrossed in the meaningless news article that I don't notice someone sitting down in the seat next to me until the person speaks up speaks up.

"Which one's yours?" comes a scratchy, gruff voice from beside me and I lift my head to regard the man now sitting next to me. He is a big guy, balding and with a dark beard that had a few strands of silver already in it.

I turn my head away from him to watch the kids on the ice, they're divided in groups, doing different drills across the ice.

"Number 9. And he's my brother's." I reply with a flick of my hand in the general direction of where Owen is currently shooting at the goal. By the looks of it, every fourth one makes it into the net, the others bounce off the boards.

"The newbie? He's picking it up pretty late." the man observes.

"It's never late to start new things." I counter his response.

The man shrugs and leans back in his seat, "he won't make the team if he doesn't drastically improve, not to mention the varsity. He's too far behind other boys." His words make me frown.

"He still has time to get better. Besides he's only 13, he's not even in high school yet. And it's not all about varsity, it's about the joy he gets from playing." I reply, my irritation seeping slightly into my tone.

"You get joy from winning. And they won't win if they have boys who drag them down on the team. All I'm saying is don't get his hopes up for playing the big games." He goes on with a scoff.

I get up from my seat, having heard enough of the man's nonsense. I have a deep rooted hatred for parents who see their children as just an extension of their own desire for success. They are the exact reason behind athletic burnout and slow degradation of child's relationship with their sport. In some cases, that grows over to something bigger– repugnance. And I know how big of a toll that can have on the child's mental and physical health.

I come down to the plexiglass, watching the group closest to me make sharp turns around colorful cones spaced out on the surface. There's a pull within me, a phantom of a memory. Nostalgia, maybe even longing. Yet at the same time a deep sense of unease, fear and dread.

In the next few minutes, the space between the stands and the rink fills up as parents come to wait for their kids to finish up, a good indication that the practice is coming to an end.

"Sorry, I think we got on the wrong foot." comes the same voice from the bleachers, disturbing my train of thought for the second time.

I turn my head to face him, seeing him already opening his mouth to continue.

"I just want what's best for the team, that includes your boy. I was just warning you, that's all." he says, frustration evident in his voice as he returns to the topic that made me walk away earlier.

"How about I treat you to a coffee. We can start over?" he suggests. I just shake my head at the offer. I have no interest in talking with him more than I already did.

"I'm not in the mood for coffee right now." I try my best to politely decline, but he persists.

"Then maybe something else..." he suggests instead.

"No, thank you." I reply, my voice a bit firmer this time.

"Come on, we still have a few minutes left before the practice is over and even more before the boys come out of the changing rooms." He tries again, his voice tinged with mild irritation he's trying to hide.

In the midst of him speaking, his hand comes up to rest on my bicep. "Please don't touch me." I take a step away from him.

Just when it looks like he's going to retort something, the gate opens and the kids pile out. I take that as an opportunity to fully leave the conversation, walking over to where the group of boys huddle with their parents in search of my nephew. I find him slightly apart from the main group, helmet in hand, face flushed and hair sticking to his head with sweat. He's drinking from his bottle.

"Come on, Owen. Go change." I pat him on the back as he passes me with a soft grumble. "I'll wait for you by the bar!" I call after him before he fully disappears from my sight.

I shake my head, heading for the door to the lobby with a smile when my phone chimes with a notification. As I'm unlocking it, I bump into someone, my phone falling to the ground with a muffled thud as it lands screen down on the matted floor, right next to a pair of skates that definitely don't belong to any of the boys.

Before I can react, a bit shaken, the person turns around and reaches down with a hand in fingerless gloves to pick up my phone from the floor.

I take it when they hand it over before lifting my eyes to finally see who I bumped into. I come face to face with a very attractive woman. She's taller than me, with captivating green eyes and auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail, a few strands escaped the hair tie and are framing her face.

I'm embarrassed to realize she has been here for the whole duration of the practice and I didn't really notice her. Not only is she wearing skates and a thick, half-zipped team jacket, but as I look at her again, there's a faint redness to her nose from the cold. I didn't notice her once, too busy running away either from the infuriating man or from my past to pay too much attention to the ice.

"Sorry," I quickly apologize when I catch myself staring. That's not a good look for me, I'm sure. I don't even know what I'm apologising for, if it's for bumping into her or rudely staring at her for a moment. Both, most likely.

"Don't worry about it. Is your phone okay?" she asks kindly. I take a note of her voice. It's on the lower side, with uniqueness I can't quite place. Maybe an accent? I can't really tell.

"Yeah, not a scratch." I reply, looking down on my phone again just to confirm it's true.

"Sorry, I don't believe we ever met." the woman says, extending her hand towards me for a handshake.

"I don't believe we did." I agree, taking her hand and giving it a small shake. Surprisingly, her hand is rather warm despite her spending the last hour an half on the ice. Maybe she wore the pair of thick gloves that are sticking from her jacket pocket over the fingerless gloves she's wearing now..

"I'm Wanda Maximoff, the coach of U15." she introduces herself and rests her hand on her hip when we drop the handshake.

I mumble out my own name in response, quickly following it up with some clarification. "I'm Owen's aunt." To justify what I'm doing here.

Wanda smiles. "It's nice to meet you. Hope to see you around." She bids her goodbye and moves past me in the direction of the changing rooms.

With a sigh, I resume my original journey to the bar where I promised to wait for Owen. The transition between the cold of the rink and the lobby is stark, but not unwelcome. Owen is already sitting behind one of the tables when I walk in.

"Where were you?" he exclaims loudly as I approach him.

"I met your coach, no need to get worked up." I explain with amusement as he shoots me an irritated glare. "Come on, let's go home," I call over my shoulder, grabbing his stick and walking away.

"Can you take my bag?" he asks, his voice pitched higher into a whine as he trails behind me.

"I'm taking your stick already." I point out matter-of-factly.

"Come on, auntie!" he tries again, running the short distance between us to catch up to me.

"What's wrong kid? Can't handle your own gear?" the same unique voice from before asks from behind us.

Owen and I both turn our heads to look at the coach. Her eyebrow quirks in question and her lips are already pulled into a half-smirk. This time, her skates are thrown over her shoulder with a red duffle bag slung over the same shoulder. She may be smiling, but her eyes are stern as she looks down at my nephew.

One shouldn't look so good lecturing a kid, I think to myself. I exhale through my nose, shaking off the absurd thought.

Owen huffs in response, but doesn’t ask me to carry his things again. He just adjusts the bag's strap to sit over his shoulder better and moves first in the direction of my car.

I flash Coach Maximoff a small, amused smile before turning around to follow Owen, reaching into my pocket for the car keys.

"Have a good one," she calls her goodbye shortly after I move after the boy.

"You too." I reply, although I'm not sure if it reached her ears or not.

We make quick work of putting away the gear and getting into the car before I turn the key to start the engine and pull out of the parking lot.

[joeldarling]

Sweet Girl - Oldman!Joel x F!reader (+18)

Summary: You’ve been watching Joel for a long time and when Maria puts you to take care of the horses, you discover that he’s watching you too.

Warnings: MINORS DNI! F!reader, porn without a bigger plot, AGE GAP (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is 60), no reader description at all, fingering (f receiving), handjob in general. Not a long thing, sorry.

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: English it’s not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any typos. At this point I feel like oldman!Joel and I have a long term thing and I love it. You can find more spicy and oldman!Joel in my masterlist as well. Feedbacks are utterly appreciated and my requests are always open. 💌

You have known him long enough to realize that Joel Miller is definitely not the man for you. Your parents disapproved of how rude he was to everyone except his own daughter, how he had arrived years later in Jackson and seemed to own absolutely everything with his head held high and not even tolerating minuscule offenses that the rest of the population there would have found harmless.

You were born and raised in Jackson, long twenty years where you never knew anything in the world beyond the fragile walls of the apocalypse. Your father didn't let you go on patrol with the others, and as an important figure on the council, he had enough authority to spare you from that… but you wanted more. You wanted to know the world or what was left of it, you wanted to face something to feel worthy of such protection when certainly there were people out there who didn't have the same privileges.

Maybe that's why you didn't refuse when Maria offered you a temporary job in the stables, promising that she would soon transfer you to the dilapidated and moth-eaten library they were trying to preserve, even without any regular readers. Maybe that's why you didn't respond sharply when Joel arrived with his horse, asking you to help him, and then started returning every single day.

You started wearing your best clothes, which wasn't much, especially there, and started caring more about your appearance, even though no one was there to notice how eager you seemed to attend a manual labor job that involved dealing with animal dirt and vaccinating them, something Joel taught you very well. He would gently take your hand, his rough skin against yours in a delicate way, you could feel his calluses and it sent waves of heat all over your body.

You had never touched yourself before, your father used to say it was a sin, but you knew that not even he believed in God, after all, wouldn't He have spared everyone years ago when it all started?

Then, you discovered the pleasures of knowing your body and felt slightly dirty, felt that thinking about Joel while reaching your orgasm was almost like a mistake, but his smell, something between whiskey and outdated men's cologne, his deep voice and everything else... drove you crazy.

You didn't stop him when he cornered you against the wall for the first time; he was even older than your own father. Joel's suffocating presence soaked your worn cotton panties and he knew it. He had been watching you from afar since the moment you walked into Tipsy Bison months ago, wearing a short dress, and despite feeling immensely guilty, he didn't let it go to his head. Joel was grateful that your father was a big idiot for protecting you from all those stupid men who stared at you like you were a piece of meat in the city. Including himself.

When he found out you were in the stables, he couldn't contain himself. He claimed he would just admire from afar, but the solicitous way you treated him... Joel wasn't made of iron, he was the worst kind of man. And even with his age and being considerably attractive, he had never dared to give in to anyone since he arrived in Jackson.

Not until you.

He pressed his body against the wall, staring into your big eyes that blinked slowly, completely hungry for you. Joel attacked your lips and didn't even care about the possibility of Tommy or Maria walking in at any moment, he needed to devour you, and he did. He pushed up your yellowish-white lace dress, bringing his rough hands to your pussy over your panties, groaning against your lips as he realized you were already wet for him. Joel deduced that you were a virgin and wouldn't dare to be such an asshole, no matter how much he wanted to mark you as his own. He massaged your clit with his fingers slowly and pulled his face away from your mouth just to capture your reaction; you looked like you were about to melt right there, just for him.

Joel groaned undeniably, his own cock hardening against his dark, slightly tight jeans, begging for some kind of relief, fantasizing about fucking you right there and making you moan loud enough for everyone in Jackson to know who you would belong to very soon. Despite being in his sixties, Joel still had a lot of stamina; you awakened his wildest side.

“Such a good girl that ya’ are… Already wet for your old man, hm?” His voice was completely hoarse, his breathing ragged as you felt your own body tremble with the pleasure granted by his brief touch. Joel continued, as if all that mattered was the fact that you were so vulnerable to him. And maybe it was. “Gonna make ya’ cum for me, bet your virgin tight cunt wont’t hold much longer and then… Sweet girl, I’ll find a way to be in the middle of your legs paintin’ ya’ white with my milk.”

“Joel… Please…” You moaned, sighing as his touch seemed to be in every single one of your bones at the same time, his fingers moving in circles on your pussy while his own mouth was busy kissing your lips, neck, and exposed collarbone. You knew you'd have problems later, but you didn't even care when he made a point of marking your neck with a hickey.

“Cum for me, darlin’. Lemme see this pretty pussy of yours pulsin’ just for me.” He asked, and you seemed to hesitate as you realized you were the only one receiving something, but he looked deep into your eyes and shook his head no. “Nuh-uh, later, sweetheart.”

And then, you felt the peak, but Joel didn't stop like you always did when you felt yourself getting there. Your eyes rolled freely in their sockets and you felt your legs tremble. He was still there, moving his fingers and giving you every extra instant of pleasure. When he finally pulled his fingers away from your pussy, Joel brought them to his own lips, tasting you, his eyes still dark and his own cock clearly hard and needing attention. He would never be satisfied with just a little of you.

“There you go, good girl. So sweet for me.” He held you more carefully, bringing one hand to your hair and pushing the graying curls back in an attempt to look minimally presentable, and then looked deep into your eyes and said: “On your knees, honey. I’mma teach ya’ a lesson and then take care of ya’.”

And you did, you obeyed him. How could you not?

[buckybabybaby]

perfect vision

A/N: saw this photo, had some thoughts, this is the result.

I miss when thigh riding was popular, I feel it's not written so often now? So here I am bringing it back even if its just for one fic.

Could be canon or au Joaquín, there's no plot really.

The plot is very similar to this Bucky fic I wrote in 2017 <3

Plot: you see your room-mate Joaquín in his glasses for the first time. Smut occurs.

(room-mates to lovers, friends to lovers, mutual pining, confessions, smut, thigh riding, excessive amounts of pet names, one swear word)

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x reader (female/afab)

Warnings: smut, gendered terms

Word count: 1.9K

Masterlist

AO3

***

"Joaquín? Did you want to finish watching... that..." You start to ask, trailing off and pausing at the bottom of the stairs in your shared apartment.

The sight in your living room has you completely forgetting what you were about to say, stunned into silence staring over at Joaquín lounging on your sofa. He always looks good, but now, in a soft tracksuit set and wearing a pair of glasses you didn't know he had, you're frozen in shock at how attractive he is.

He's been watching you watching him this whole time, waiting for you to finish your question.

"You good?" He calls over when it becomes clear you won't, smile fading as you don’t respond.

You can't. Usually you like to think your massive crush on Joaquín is easy enough to hide, even when living in the same space, but right now you're not so sure you can pretend. It feels like a punishment from the universe that he's so close, looking like that, without being yours.

"Seriously, sweetheart. Are you okay?"

The knee-weakening pet name shocks you out of your state.

"Since," You swallow against your dry mouth. "Since when did you wear glasses?"

"Oh, forever. But at my last health check up they said I should wear them more, especially with screens." He adjusts the frames, smiling self consciously at you. "Why? Do they look bad?"

"No!" You exclaim far too quickly. "I-I mean, not bad, just-"

"Not bad, just, what?" Joaquín frowns. "If they don't suit me please say, I won't be offended."

"You never look bad, you know that." You let out a frustrated sigh, very close to stamping your feet like an overgrown toddler. "It's just so unfair. You're here looking like this, and when I go out looking for a guy they're all ugly pieces of trash."

There’s silence between you as he takes in what you've said. Your mind is still scrambled, especially now his attention is on you, so you're not sure if you've just embarrassed yourself or not.

The smirk growing on his face tells you you may have.

"Oh sweetheart." Again with the pet name. "Is that what this is about?"

You keep your mouth shut.

"Come here." Holding out a hand, he motions you forward. "Come sit on my lap."

"On your lap?" You question weakly, even as you step closer.

Joaquín nods, linking your fingers together as soon as he can reach, pulling you on top of him easily. You squeak, trying to get back up but his hold is too strong, the hand not gripping yours coming to rest heavily on your waist.

"Okay?" He asks once you’ve settled.

You take a shaky breath. "I don't know. What are we doing?"

"What we've both wanted to do for years."

He let's the statement sit between you, the words repeating themselves in your mind but you can't let yourself believe what you think they mean.

Ever since you moved in together, you've fought the temptation that is the man in front of you. Joaquín hadn't made it easy, particular as he is to shorts and sleeveless t-shirts as casual attire, always looking like a model on their day off.

And its not just his looks. It's how he saves you dinner when he knows you'll be home late, clears up for you when it's your turn but you've had a long week, rescues you from yet another bad date without complaint because he just wants you to be safe. It's not a surprise you've fallen hard, but until today you haven't told a soul.

Maybe you don't need words for Joaquín to know.

"Don’t fight it, cariño." He says quietly, seeing the conflict on your face. "If I say it first will that make it easier?"

You nod, then shake your head no, unsure. "Depends on what you're going to say."

"Nothing you won't like, promise."

Brushing his hand down your back, you shudder. He's so warm and solid underneath you, you've joked that his shower routine rivals yours, always moisturised and smelling like an expensive spa, but you have never got to experience it quite so up close. The delicate chain resting around his neck makes your breath catch, wanting to trace it with your fingers and mouth, the firm muscle beneath so tempting.

You let your own hands come to rest over his shoulder instead, playing with the short curls as the back of his head as you nod again, waiting for him to speak.

His turns serious, locking eyes. "This is going to change everything and I want that. If this happens I'm not going to pretend it didn't."

"What's going to happen?"

"As much as you want, my sweet girl."

Your stomach flips, fighting a whimper.

"So like, kissing?"

He laughs. "And so much more, when you're ready. Dinner dates, weekends away, fancy presents."

"Like, like a couple? You and me?"

"Think about it, it's perfect. Not like one of those awful men you find on your dating sites. You know me. I'm not one to mess around."

"No, I know," You hurry to explain. "But, you want me?"

Joaquín tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, smiling softly. "I know you stare. Do you know how I know? Because I stare too. If you think it's unfair, imagine how I feel watching you get all dressed up for some pathetic loser of a man who isn't going to treat you right?"

He rests his forehead against yours, whispering, "C'mon, cariño. You know we'd be good together."

Closing you eyes, you take a few calming breaths, allowing his presence to ground you.

"I-okay, yeah." You stutter out eventually.

His face lights up. "Yeah?"

Your gaze drops to his lips. "Yes."

"That’s my girl," He mutters before pulling you into kiss.

This moment has been dreamt about by you both for so long, but no fantasy could live up to the reality. It's messy immediately, too many years of pent up yearning to allow for a gentle start, your grip on his hair tightening but he doesn't seem to mind. His hands have found your hips, keeping you flush against him as he chases your mouth. Wet tongue and sharp teeth have you dizzy, and when Joaquín shifts under you and the strong muscle of his thigh brushes between your legs, you grind down instinctively. Whining into the kiss, Joaquín's own moan has you realising what you've done and pulling away with a gasped apology.

"No, don't be sorry." He's so beautiful below you, lips swollen and red and hair dishevelled from your hands, breathing heavily in sync with you. He swallows, gripping you tighter. "I think that's a good idea actually."

Before you can question him, he presses his thigh between yours again and pulls you down in time, causing you to cry out, so much more intense with him staring. Grinning smugly he does it again, before allowing you to collapse against him, heart beating out of your chest.

"Do you think you can get off like this?"

You're so turned on but not quite past the point of embarrassment, hiding your face against his shirt. He chuckles as he props you up with one hand, the other gripping your chin, eyebrows raised as he waits for an answer.

"Yes, probably," You admit. "But it's a lot."

Cooing, he slips his thumb in your mouth and allows you to suck on it soothingly, his own eyelids fluttering at the wet heat.

"I'll help you through it."

His promise is all you need, smiling around his digit as a silent agreement to whatever plan he has. Letting go of your face, he repositions you so you're more over one of his thighs that the other, quickly tucking your skirt into its self so it's out the way, revealing your underwear to him.

"Fuck, you're soaked."

He says it like it's a surprise, as if you're not showing all the other classic signs of arousal and aren't about to ride his thigh to orgasm. You giggle at the absurdity. Grabbing hold of his shirt with one hand and his hair with the other, you let him start to move you on top of him, his own fingers digging into your skin in a possessive manner that has you craving more.

The rough drag of his tracksuit shorts against your core draws out a loud moan, the friction so good, two layers of clothing doing nothing to stop you feeling him. The wet patch on his leg quickly grows as you find a rhythm that manages to catch your clit on the way up.

He watches you open mouthed, observing how your whines change pitch as the heat in your tummy grows.

"I don't think you're going to last long, are you?" You shake your head, unable to form words. "Good. I want to take my time with you later, but right now I need to see you cum."

Kissing is awkward when you're trying to keep the same rhythm but you persist, pressing your mouth to the corner of his as you continue to grind on to his thigh. He takes pity on you, changing the angle so you can do both, smiling against your lips at the desperate little noises you let out.

You're incredibly fuzzy at this point, clit throbbing, right on the edge and choking on air as you try to tell Joaquín.

"I know, sweetheart. Let go for me."

It sounds more like a demand to you than it probably is, your body obeying immediately. White hot pleasure shoots through you as Joaquín takes control, keeping your rhythm for you, murmuring sweet praises to keep the bliss going. It's too much in the best way, shivers wracking your body as you come down from your high in his arms.

He doesn't let up until you start crying.

"M'okay," You reassure him as you can see him begin to panic. "Told you it'd be a lot."

Sweaty and floppy, you try to calm down, resting fully against his chest as he runs a hand up and down your back again. The tears dry as quickly as they came, just a response to the intensity of the situation, to finally getting what you've craved for years.

It's not too long before you feel steady enough to try and sit, wincing at the sensitivity as you move.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Joaquín's tone is low as if not to startle you. You can't help the satisfied smile that grows as you really think about his question, about how different this evening has ended compared to your original plan. You guess the show you were watching with him at the moment will have to wait for another night.

You kiss him, deeply, half to answer him and half in thanks. Letting him hoist you up as he stands, he walks the three steps into the kitchen and sets you atop the counter, then eventually breaks the kiss.

Joaquín searches your eyes as he squeezes your thigh. "All this over some glasses, hmm?"

Grinning, you shrug in defeat. "I guess."

"Imagine if I'd actually listened to the optician before? This could have happened ages ago."

You laugh, tapping a finger against his pout. "At least it's happening now."

Nodding slowly, Joaquín takes off his glasses to place them safety out of the way as he pushes you to lay down over the work surface, settling himself on a barstool so he's perfectly situated between your legs.

"It is happening now, mi amor," He says, dragging one of your thighs over his shoulder, mouth inches away from your centre as he plays with the bow on your ruined underwear. You twitch, butterflies erupting in your tummy as you meet gazes again. "And we better not slow down. We've got so many missed opportunities to make up for."

***

Masterlist

AO3

(And after you're done, which might be in several hours time because Joaquín is serious about making up for lost time, he orders food for you both and manages to get flowers delivered too :) baby boy is about to spoil you so much <3 )

Thank you for reading!! <3

[loudclan-clangen]

What was Dancesun’s mark for? I remember Dogwoodmoth’s markings all had meanings and now I’m curious

~~also poor Siltsplash holy your expressionwork in this one is so good~~

Owlstar may or may not have taken some... creative liberties with Dancesun's warrior ceremony.

What Wildfirecry tried to say: I am frusterated that you feel you have the right to throw your weight around as the healer heir seeing as you haven't put the work in to earn that position.

What Rosehiptree heard: You are not living up to the memory of your sister.

Excellent image. Please accept this photo of my pomeranian wrapped in a towel as payment.

It's certainly possible, especially if that's something that the majority of people want to see, I only hesitate because I know it can be really hard for some people (me) to not peek at a family tree if I know it exists, even if I don't really want to know about the spoilers. Plus I do really enjoy surprises and plot twists and that can be difficult when yall know exactly who makes it to adulthood and who they're going to have kits with. But, yall know yourselves best, and if you would enjoy the story more with the knowledge of who inherits leadership positions let me know and I'll add "giant inheritance family tree" to my to-do-list!

Absolutely! Go nuts! And when possible tag me in it so that I can see the amazing things that you create!

Thank you! I use my Ipad and Procreate almost exclusively. I think it's the perfect balance of having all of the tools that you need while not being completely overwhelming to learn. (Though due to the simplified interface some functions can seem hidden, which I know frusterates some people but I've never run into an issue that can't be fixed with a quick google search). It's a one time purchase which I really appreciate, and I think that the $12 is completely justifiable especially compared to how much I used to spend on physical sketchbooks and pencils/markers/paints. Though if you're just starting out and aren't sure if digital art is for you IbisPaintX has pretty much all of the same tools for free (with adds) it's just a lot less convient to navigate and use. (Absolutely no hate to Ibis I LIVED for it back in highschool and I'm very glad that it's still there as a free option but if you're thinking about paying for the membership I would recommend just making the leap to a more cohesive app instead.) Of course, this is all coming from the perspective of someone who is completely petrified by the Clip Studio/Fire Alpaca type interface, so take everything I say with the knowledge that I have a major bias against them.

[l4ndoflove]

ln4 and 72 please 🙏

ocean eyes

feat. lando norris

lyrics there are two different types of "ocean eyes": magui's, icy perfection, and... lando's

maddie i really can't write a happy one-shot for my life :|

1405 words

It started stupidly enough, like most things did when it came to Lando.

You were sprawled out on the floor of his apartment, chest rising unevenly after he’d made you laugh for an hour straight, the movie you’d put on earlier only adding to your chaos as it kept playing in the background, long forgotten.

Everything—from the sound of his high-pitched chuckles to the smell of cheap takeout spring rolls—felt so familiar it was almost like being sixteen again: just the two of you, some junk food, and a bad rom-com you never actually watched, too busy mocking the corny lines to care about the plot.

Except now, it wasn’t just the two of you.

“Ugh.”

Magui’s groan echoed through the room like a cruelly timed reminder of her presence, making your head snap up from the carpet. She was curled up on the couch, golden locks framing her face in perfect waves even as she tossed and turned restlessly, clearly struggling to find a decent angle for the selfie you figured she was trying to take.

You didn’t say anything, leaving Lando the honor of being the considerate boyfriend he always was.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

Right on cue.

Your best friend jumped up from his spot beside you, resting his chin on the cushion where the blonde lay while staring at her with the same questioning gaze of a lost puppy.

“It’s just… why is the lighting here so bad? I mean, look at my eyes—they’re not supposed to be gray!”

The Brit squinted at the phone his girlfriend had shoved in his face, tilting his head to the side as he carefully inspected her reflection on camera.

Then, he entered the frame.

“Damn, look at this beauty,” he smirked, winking at himself through the screen.

Magui scoffed and pushed him away. “You’re not helping.”

“And you’re mad that my eyes look better than yours.”

You almost expected him to stick his tongue out at her like a toddler—so of course he did. Having known Lando for almost all your life had taught you quite a few things about him (some you weren’t very proud of).

“You’re delusional.”

“You’re a sore loser.”

“You’re blind.”

“You’re blind.”

God, it really felt like you were third wheeling—scratch that, babysitting two children who constantly bickered over the most random things. It was entertaining, sure, but draining in the long run.

“You’re neutral. Sort this out.”

You didn’t realize they weren’t speaking to each other anymore until you felt both their gazes fixed on you, your brows furrowing in confusion at the sudden request.

“I–what?”

“You’re neutral,” Magui repeated, slower this time, like you were a little slow yourself for not understanding something so simple. “So you get to decide whose eyes are the best.”

Your heart stuttered, almost as if it knew something you didn’t and was trying to warn you.

“Neutral? She’s literally my best friend!”

You silently thanked Lando for pointing it out, though something in that sentence grated on your ears like chalk on a blackboard—loud and out of place.

“Exactly,” the blonde nodded, her voice sugary sweet, “which means you won’t have any… effect on her since you’re just best friends, right?”

Every single word that left her mouth was calculated, aimed straight toward—what? You weren’t sure yourself, and that scared you more than anything else.

“Yeah, makes sense.”

Okay, that might actually be worse.

You opened your mouth to try and talk some sense into both of them, but Magui beat you to it.

She leaned down so that you were at eye level, elbows propped on her knees as she held her face between her hands, waiting.

Waiting for what, you asked yourself, your approval?

Not that she needed it: her eyes were strikingly beautiful, two captivating gemstones that reflected even the faintest specks of light, no matter how “bad” it was. The kind only princesses in fairy tales and models on magazine covers had, and that everyone fell in love with at first sight.

Including Lando.

Looking at her now, you didn’t find it hard to understand why.

“They’re… really pretty.”

You weren’t lying, and judging by the unimpressed expression on her face, Magui knew it. Who would’ve ever dared to say otherwise, after all?

“Alright, alright, my turn,” the Brit waved her off, already scooting closer to where you were sitting.

Too close. Definitely closer than he needed to be, anyway.

Classic Lando—getting in your personal space since when you were younger just to annoy you, poking your cheeks when you were upset to earn a smile from you or making weird faces that would always make you laugh even after the worst arguments.

Your logic said you should’ve been used to him acting this way—but that didn’t seem to stand a chance against the storm raging in your chest.

“Get out of my face, Norris.” Please, you wanted to add, but that first sentence already sounded more desperate than you intended it to.

“What, you can’t handle my handsome face?”

No, you couldn’t.

You couldn’t handle his stupid face being so close to yours, your noses almost touching, breaths mingling together.

You couldn’t handle knowing by heart every little detail of it, from the moles scattered across his cheeks and jawline to the shape of his lips—which you should’ve never looked at in the first place.

But most of all, you couldn’t handle his eyes.

Even after you’d grown up mirroring yourself in them, watching you both age and change, they still managed to mesmerize you every time.

Maybe it was how those unfairly long lashes grazed his cheekbones whenever he blinked, or the deep blue edges that faded into a green so light anyone could miss it if they didn’t pay enough attention. You couldn’t really tell.

They were a different kind of pretty from Magui’s, though—two icy lakes against the warm sea of his gaze, an ocean you’d learned how to swim in long before, but that was now pulling you under its familiar waves.

And you let it, hypnotized by the way his irises didn’t reflect light like hers: they captured and shattered it into a thousand bright gold flecks that adorned his pupils like the petals of a sunflower.

You loved them.

You loved him.

The realization hit you so violently that it nearly knocked all the air out of your lungs, leaving you more breathless than you already were.

You loved Lando Norris.

Your best friend.

Magui’s boyfriend.

Your mind was screaming so loud you were afraid the other two could hear you through the charged silence that had fallen over the room.

It was unbearable.

You had to say something. Anything–

“Your eyes have a little green in them.”

You didn’t recognize your voice when you spoke—because you didn’t.

“Fucking movie,” you muttered, grateful you finally had something else to focus on. “Scared the shit out of me.”

That was the safest option, playing it off with humor. Like you always did. Like Lando taught you: take the hit and cover it up with a smile.

You scrambled to your feet as if the carpet had burned you, dusting off invisible pieces of lint only you could see, hoping that the feeling of the boy’s stare on your skin would magically go away as well.

“Hey–where are you going? You didn’t even tell us who won!”

The excuse you were about to give him immediately died on your lips at the sight you caught when you looked up from your feet. It played out in front of you in slow motion, just like one of those dramatic scenes you used to make fun of with Lando all the time: Magui reached out for him from the couch, cupped his jaw with her fingers and made their lips collide into a kiss.

And that’s when you knew she knew. Because she wasn’t showing affection to her boyfriend—she was staking a claim on what was hers after seeing how much you wanted it, too.

When she pulled away, slow and deliberate, her cold eyes pierced right through yours.

“So?” she cooed, honey dripping from her voice. “Who won?”

You held her gaze. Swallowed your pride and the tears already clouding your eyes. Then you smiled, bitter.

“You. Congratulations.”

This wasn’t about your silly competition anymore. It never had been.

© 2025 l4ndoflove. all rights reserved.

[brotherblaze]

doloroso ii —robert "bob" reynolds

—summary: You invite Bob to a makeshift picnic on the building helipad (sometimes makeshift patio) when everyone else is away. He realizes he doesn't know much about you. So, he decides to start somewhere.

—word count: 2,9k

—warnings: n/a

—a/n: bucky gets a b-plot because hey maybe I want to make a spinoff for bucky and reader's previous incarnation

—part 1 | AO3

Bob is improving. Slowly, but progress is progress. He keeps to his schedule and he takes his pills like a champ. He mingles with the team even when they bicker and threaten to throw each other from the top of the building. They have a fascinating dynamic and something inside you stirs every time you see them argue, see them help each other, see them sitting in silence in the same room, doing their own thing.

At times, they work like a well-oiled machine, other times they’re like a trainwreck in action. Try as you might, you cannot look away from them. Hard-headed, all of them, kind of assholes at times, but they make it work. There is so much care between them, so much reassurance buried under retorts with a soft bite to them. They orbit each other like binary stars.

Complete silence in the Watchtower feels foreign. The TV has been on for most of the day to project some artificial life into the place. It has done little to help.

You flip through the channels on the oversized TV (this thing could probably fit inside a movie theater). The collapse of cable TV really is a sight to behold; ads upon ads upon ads shoved down your throat at every turn, every chance. It's almost infuriating how they finesse product placements into shows and movies in a way that’s so incredibly unnatural. You turn it off in a huff.

“Wow, cable really went to shit.” Bob is standing at what should be the doorway if the open kitchen wasn't so open. He has a bowl in his hand. It smells sweet.

“I'm suddenly so glad I don't have a TV at home.”

“Seriously?” He lifts a spoonful to his mouth. Whatever it is, it crunches as he chews. “Bucky said they didn’t have ads back in the day. You paid for a subscription to see the channels.”

“Oh, so they’re double-dipping. You're gonna ruin your appetite, by the way,” you tell him as you stand, smoothing out the wrinkles on your pants. “I ordered takeout. I think it’s for the best.”

“I tried to cook once when they were away,” Bob pauses, scraping the spoon in his hand against the side of the bowl — how is he finishing that bowl already? — “and John almost suplexed me for messing up his spice cabinet.”

You snort and quickly cover your mouth with your hand. “Sorry. Any word on when they’ll be back?”

“Not yet,” Bob says. He shrugs. “It’s normal for them to be gone for several days at a time. Spy stuff, I guess.”

“And you’re alone here?” Your frown slightly, brows furrowed. “Isn’t it lonely?”

“Not — I mean, maybe. Sometimes.” Your eyes meet his from across the room. “But it’s fine, y’know. I’m not ready to go out there and they — they have their job to do.”

You hold his gaze and — he cannot look away. He should look away but there’s something about you that pulls him in like a whirlpool and he’s trapped and he’s trapped and he’s trapped like a rat in a maze. The feeling is all too familiar but he can’t place it. Then again, he remembers very little from after he got jabbed for his blood and waking up in OXE’s vault.

The ping of your phone breaks whatever spell you have on him. You look away first, pull your phone from your pocket and scroll through the notifications. “Food’s here.” You grab the throw blanket from the couch and fold it over your arm. “Can you grab it? They don’t deliver up here, right?”

Bob’s racing thoughts come to a screeching halt and he tries to ground himself back into his body, wiggling his fingers and toes. All in one piece. He wipes the corner of his mouth against his shirt sleeve and immediately cringes. “Sorry. Yeah — yeah, I’ll go grab it.” He leaves his bowl in the sink and rushes over to the elevator.

It takes longer than he would like to get the food. Not only does the delivery driver seem to wilt when Bob shows up, but he doesn’t want to hand over the food. Because the picture in the app is of you and not him. There’s something akin to disbelief that the driver doesn’t recognize Bob, that bubbles in his chest and then immediately this crushing weight pressing against his lungs. Because he’s a nobody next to the team, isn’t he? That’s what the driver was probably hoping for, to see Bucky or John or Yelena and not him. Just Bob.

The driver taps something on his phone and raises it to his ear and Bob fruitlessly tries to get a word in. The man confirms the address on the phone and then — his eyes gloss over. Somewhere in Bob’s mind, it pings as wrong and he simultaneously needs to flee, needs to get out of here right at this second, and grab the man by the shoulders to shake him awake, food be damned. The delivery driver thrusts the paper bag into his chest and turns around, stiff like a puppet on strings, and walks off.

Bob retreats into the elevator, finger spamming the button to the top floor until the doors close and the elevator begins its climb. There’s a jitter in his veins, blood rushing in his ears. He should’ve done something, he should’ve grabbed the man and shaken him awake. That’s what heroes do, right? But he’s Bob, just Bob, not what the rest of his team — his friends — are. Pain pulses behind his eyes and he pinches the bridge of his nose as he tries to will it away.

When the elevator dings and the doors slide open he nearly sprints out of the small confined metal trap. He doesn’t spot you at first glance.

“Patio!”

He scrambles across the room towards the sound of your voice, so alluring and the weight constricting his chest eases.

There’s a large candle on the center of the patio table. He can faintly smell citrus. You’re fussing with the throw blankets from the couch, draping them over the patio chairs and then folding the edges so they don’t touch the floor. You wave him over with a smile and Bob mutters a quiet apology for taking so long. He doesn’t want to go into the details, doesn’t want to go back to spiraling about being just Bob, so he just unpacks the food, trying to make out what’s in each container.

You sit and pull the throw blanket onto your shoulders, reaching for the closest container. Whatever’s in it, seems to be fine and you pop it open.

The sun has set. The city is alight even when the sky's still blue. Could the team get out of the city for the summer solstice? He makes a mental note to ask for their opinion once they get back. The two of you don’t make conversation as you eat but it doesn’t feel empty or awkward. He actually sort of enjoys it. The people below on the street are like small ants, all of them rushing somewhere, organized and disorganized at the same time. Cars honk. The billboards glare reds and greens and whites in flashing advertisements. Despite everything, Bob feels calm.

“I never realized NYC has so much light pollution. And noise pollution." Okay, so you’re not a fan. Bob can’t help but chuckle. When he realizes, he splutters, coughs. Like he’s trying to hide his transgression. You think back to the rooms you’d dragged him through.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he rushes to say, a string of apologies ready on his tongue but you don’t look at him like he’s managed to piss you off. The corner of your mouth is curled upwards, eyebrows raised slightly. He takes a moment to recalibrate. Different environment, different people, he reminds himself. “You’re uh… not from around here, huh?”

“Ha.” It’s something between a laugh and a snide comment and yet there’s no actual malice contorting your features. “No, I have a farm. Well, a sort of farm. Not far from a little seaside town.”

“A farm? Wow.” It dawns on him that he knows very little about you. You’re so proactive in conversations that the topic smoothly gets steered away from you every time. He turns his body towards you slightly. You mirror him. “Like, with cows?”

“Dogs.” You take a sip of your water. Your lipstick smudges against the rim on the glass. It catches Bob's eye. “I rescue them. Mostly from dog fighting rings. I have a whole network set up. Someone discovers it and if a case is bad enough, like, if they can’t get rehomed because they’re continuously aggressive and don’t respond to training, they come to stay with me.”

“So, they have retirement homes for dogs?”

You giggle, a hand covering your mouth. Bob’s ears flush. “Sort of. Yeah, I guess it’s technically retirement. There’s a lot of land for them to roam around. In the summer I usually take them to the sea to swim and in the winter we’ll go sledding on the ice if the ice is thick enough.”

“Oh, so you have seasonal activities,” he jokes and he doesn't even know where it came from but you laugh again and something in his chest flutters. He takes a bite from his kebab before he says anything stupid again. “So,” he starts again when a thought strikes him and immediately places his hand over his mouth. He forces the lump of food down his throat half-chewed because you’re looking at him like that again, with that small smile. He clears his throat once and washes everything down with water. Only then does he dare to speak again. “Is it a… passion? Rehabilitating dogs?”

“More like easy. Dogs are much more susceptible to being dominated than humans are. It’s easy for me to correct their behavior because of what I am. I figured why not give it a shot? Sometimes it’s good to be responsible for someone else; makes you get out of bed in the morning because you need to provide,” you say. “I know pet ownership isn't for everyone but…” you gently jab your elbow against his ribs, “I think it would do you a lot of good.”

“I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head slightly. His curls bounce. “Sometimes it feels like…” his expression fractures for a fleeting moment before he composes himself and gives you a wavering smile. “I can’t even manage myself, y’know?”

You don’t know. There it is again, that feeling in your chest, stirring, slithering, coiling around your organs. Something is missing. Something is wrong with you. So, you steer the conversation.

“Y’know, they make robot dogs now.” There’s a glint in your eye when you say it. He should rebut, refuse, thank you for the food and stand up and go crawl into his soft bed but the way you smile at him… “Those tiny ones with batteries, not the big ones they use for research and in the army — those are kind of creepy.”

“Oh, you mean the small purse robot dogs?”

“Exactly. Walker’s little hat is just the right size to carry one around.”

He laughs. He actually laughs and it feels good. He feels light and warm despite not picking up the throw blanket.

And then it’s silent between you again. A good silence. His nearly-finished kebab tastes better all of a sudden. He reaches for another one. You refill your water glass and then his, too. He mumbles a thank you between chewing.

When the food is gone and he feels full and fulfilled and so warm, sitting there on the patio with you, and you sit up to reach for something on the table, he catches the end of your throw blanket before it slides off your shoulders. He gently tugs it back up. Your fingers brush his as you grasp the two ends together in front of you. His entire face is on fire now. Maybe you won’t notice it in the dim summer night.

“The file Bucky sent on you,” you say. Bob’s thoughts screech to a halt and start racing, all at the same time. If the weight in his chest weren’t so crushing, he’d laugh at how you manage to make his thoughts mimic an episode of Looney Tunes. You read his file? There was enough for Bucky to put together a file on him and send it to someone? Wait, of course there was. He recounts his juvenile record, his involvement in OXE’s Project Sentry, his psychological evaluations pre-OXE and those more recent — that file must be thick. He swallows around the lump in his throat. “You traveled South-East Asia?”

That’s probably the last question he expected from you. There it is again; his need to recalibrate his thoughts and his presence and his existence in his own body. He rubs his palms together, taps the fingers on his right hand to his left to count them.

“Uh — yeah. Mostly looking for drugs.”

“Were the constellations really that different?”

“A little. The big ones are the same, just flipped.” He glances at the sky, and this is probably the darkest it’ll get. Not enough to reveal the stars. “Too bad you can’t see most of them in the city.”

“North Star,” you say, pointing to a star in the distance.

“That’s…” he considers if he wants to correct you (he really doesn’t) but you turn to look at him, head cocked to the side slightly. Like a curious dog. Maybe it is true that owners take after their pets but he wouldn’t know. “That’s actually Dubhe. Second brightest in the Ursa Major. That,” He reaches his finger out and attempts to draw the constellation, “is the North Star”. Your eyes follow his movements and then trace the sky again in that pattern, as if you’re actually able to see the stars that aren’t there in this light.

“North Star is the brightest one in the sky, right?”

“It’s the brightest star in the Ursa Major, but there are brighter stars out there.”

Your eyes meet his and there it is again, a crushing weight on his chest and his blood roaring in his ears. And then you blink once, twice, and the feeling eases, not as oppressive but still present and he can hear the sounds of the city again. You smile at him, tightening the blanket around your shoulders.

“Do you know any other constellations?”

Bucky stares at the locker. The steel is faded and scratched, the door bent. Someone has tried to put their fist through it. He pulls off his glove, traces his fingertips across the dumps and dents on the door. The padlock on it is rusted. It crumbles in his hand with ease.

The hinges on the door creak.

He never came in here with a specific plan. But he saw the sign next to the door and his body moved on its own accord. And now he’s here and he’s looting through a dead woman’s belongings. Truly, how low can he go?

There’s a half-empty bottle of perfume on the top shelf. He picks it up and lifts it to his nose. The rational part of him knows it’s gone stale and disgusting but the irrational part, the part that longs for a soft and warm hand of the very worst and simultaneously very best Handler he’s ever had, overrides it. He scrunches his nose when the smell does not jog a memory, does not bring comfort. Of course it doesn’t and his own thoughts jeer at his actions. Of a dog, pitiful and weak and utterly loyal.

He caps the bottle and places it back on the shelf. His fingers bump against something small and round. He reaches further into the locker, feels around the dust and cobwebs until he finds it. Small, cylindrical. Lipstick, he realizes. He stares at it, debates, wars with himself. He should leave it where he found it, not keep mementos like some sort of psychopath. He should burn this place to the ground and scrub his skin clean, shove his head back into that machine to powerwash his brain and scramble the lingering sentiment towards his Handler. Instead, he slides the tube of lipstick into his left chest pocket.

Her coat is still there. It’s not the one she was wearing when he… Bucky grits his teeth. Her mouth was always so warm. Even with his metal and flesh fingers prying her jaw apart.

He feels the softness of the fur coat between his fingertips. He recalls how much she loved velvet. She always wore velvet coats, no matter how impractical. Fur coats, though, were reserved for special occasions. Maybe she had plans that day he ripped her into pieces.

He takes care to fold the dusty coat over his flesh arm, turns and leaves.

He makes it out before the others. The summer air is stuffy this far inland and the heat of the day lingers. Still, it's better than the stale air of rot and death inside the bunker. The sky is littered with stars. Bucky traces the constellations with his eyes. Ursa Minor. Ursa Major. It feels like they’re laughing at him, at the way he clings to his goddamn Handler.

“Hey.”

Yelena stops next to him. She looks into the sky like he does, squints at the stars. If she notices the coat slung over his arm (of course hse notices, he chastises his thoughts), she doesn’t say anything.

“All done?” He asks.

“We should leave before Alexei loots someone’s skull to display on the fake fireplace at home.”

“What, you not a fan of his interior decorating choices?”

Yelena snorts.

banners by @/cafekitsune

[borathae]

aaaaaaand I can officially say that I've finished "Purple Rain" 🥺. it was a story that I enjoyed deeply and that also made me suffer jsjsjs, but thats how life is, isnt it?

omgmgm yaaay you finished it!! and you loved it!! heheheheh yaaay!!!

Sibiiii, I gotta start with the fact that I have noticed that several stories of yours (like this one) end with a smutty chapter, and I couldnt be happier with it. as a demisexual myself, I find your smut chapters truly fulfiling because they are sooo deep and emotional: a real soul-bonding experience, while at the same time, they add to the plot because its the way your characters communicate and love each other. plus, I think its a whole challenge to write smut, and you do it so amazingly that its just another proof of what a marvelous writer you are💜.

WOWOOWOWOW YAY!! gosh this is the biggest compliment <3 I'm so happy to hear that you just ✨get it✨ like, my smut isn't just there to be smut, it's there to tell a story and to show that my characters are IN LOVE!! 💜

however, the smut chapters are not the only ones that I enjoyed, but the story itself! like the angst was also sooooo chaotic jsjsjs, I got so frustated with some of your characters decisions (like Kook and Yoongi leaving oc, Tae and Jimin for 3 months 🕴️) that at some point I had to think "I need to calm down. Everything's fine. I'm an adult" like the meme JAJAJAJAJA.

fjadsfjasjf the angst was definitely chaotic ababahah also omfg the meme is so relatable hjfadsjf like, some of those decisions really were anger inducing LIKE HELLO COME BACK WTFFFF

I must say that I have had bad experiences with second chances, so I don't know if they are always a good choice, but for this story I think it was perfect because the characters didn't breakup because of a toxic relationship, but because of lack of communication (I mean yeah, at one point that can be toxic but you know what I mean jsjsjs), so it was nice to read a succesful "second chance" story ✨.

okay this is so real fajdsfj me too, I feel like second chances rarely go well 💀 BUT this is my pookie kookie and I needed them to get together again or ELSE 😡 also ohh!! I love that you said that heheh thank you so much for saying this!! 💜

in general, I cannot thank you enough for writing these wonderful stories. I discovered you by the Sanguis Duology a few years ago and I haven't stopped reading your works ever since because they are so addictive ejbsutsidl💖. I will keep giving you review of your works for as long as you decide to share them with us hoping that they can give back a percentage of the happiness your works have brought me 🥺.

You are so sweet and lovely and wonderful!! aaah!! thank you so much for saying this and I'm so happy to have you as my reader! Truly, thank you for being part of this lil blog and for leaving reviews and gosh!! I hope you can always be happy 💜

Hope you are having a good rest and I send you lots of hugs, @borathae ! ✨

heheheheh I'm sending you hugs back heheheheh 💜💜💜

“Two months on the road with Jungkook and his friends and you couldn’t be happier about your life. You spend your days laughing, dancing and rolling around the sheets with the boy of your dreams, all whilst visiting beautiful places. 

But your idyllic life soon changes, when Taehyung’s past catches up with him, putting not only him, but your entire gang in danger. Can the group get through his betrayal and if so can you outrun the danger before it is too late?”

Pairing: Jungkook x f.Reader, Yoongi x Jimin 

Genre: Biker Gang!AU, Road Trip!AU, Smut, Romance, Hurt and Comfort

Warnings: This story contains heavy themes such as portrayal of drug addicition & mental health issues. As well as violence and heartbreak & sexually explicit scenes. If you are sensitive to such topics, I advise you read with care.

Wordcount: 209.447

a/n: This story no joke, it means the world to me. Eight months of hard work and all of my blood, sweat and tears are in this story and I really hope you can feel how much it means to me! 💜

~ Part 2 of “The Cocktail Trilogy” ~

#01 - The Start of a Journey

#02 - Billiard & Jealousy

#03 - Apologies

#04 - Junkyards & Bike Rides

#05 - As Close As Possible

#06 - What is Love?

#07 - Friendship & Couple Discounts

#08 - Purple

#09 - 2010

#10 - Alleyways

Seguir leyendo

[s0phslibrary]

'after school solace'; bakugou x reader drabble ! :*:·ﾟ☆ 。·:*:·ﾟ★

content tidbits: platonic bond but possssiibbleee romance leaning, class 2-A era, following the plot but not the full on war, swearing, gender neutral reader, physical affection, maybe ooc bkg?, somewhat healed platonic bkdk bond, childhood friends bkdk + reader, stressed katsuki, slight workaholic reader, mild angst because bkg is a little insecure at one point , studying, ranting, cuddling, overall slice of life things :)

word count: 983

A/N: I am so making a part 2 for the next day. I also rly wanna write some izuku fics, with his POV of the friendship with 'reader'. Maybe a trio fic/drabble? I have so many ideas HAHA, but I shall work 🫡 also this song bc it reminds me of this dynamic

The soft patter of afternoon rain tapped against the window and balcony door, the warm flicker of fairy lights and orange glow of a nearby salt lamp eased your mind into a milder state, allowing the adrenaline and noise of the school day melting off of your muscles. You sat on your bed, typing away and scribbling notes to catch up from your Heroics class earlier in the day. Your phone pings beside you, breaking your focus away from the tedious details. On the screen, a series of messages.

katsuki, 1 minute ago:

can i come to your room

long day and you're the only one i can tolerate rn

dunceface and kirishima won't shut the fuck up

izuku and four eyes are studying and the nerd looks like he's ab to cry

everyone is just doing too much

so yeah can i?

You snort at the words, and text back;

yeah, ofc :) im just doing some hw, but you're welcome to chill here

mini fridge is stocked up too btw

You sent the texts, and got a quick response

Thank fuck

be there in a few mins

You smiled, and out your phone down, and went back to typing and writing in the time you had that would remain quiet.

Soon after, as promised, there were three, distinct knocks on your door.

"Unlocked." You call out, not looking up from the screen.

In walks Katsuki, hair poofed from the humid rain, clothes daggy and comfortable, and usual scowl replaced with a tired, slightly irritated, yet soft expression. Without saying a word, he goes to your mini fridge, grabs a can of cola, then walks to your bed, and plonks down next to you.

"The fuck are you doing? We finished that in class." He asks, his usual way of words lacking any bite.

"Yeah, but I didn't get to finish it. Love All Might, but he speaks so damn fast." You respond. He snorts, and simply watches you work. You both sit in silence again, before he yet again opens his mouth.

"Today was ass. Aizawa was on me about 'you need to work on your attack aim!", as if he doesn't swing around on a bit of mouldy string to fight. And don't even fucking get me started on English class. Shakespeare is so pointless, like, 'methinks', methinks I'm gonna fucking kill you."

You let out a laugh at his rambling, and look to him. "Oh, come on, he's the greatest playwright of all time. Plus, I've seen you watch the hell out of Romeo and Juliet during that one class movie night."

"The hell I did." He scoffs, but settles back against the bed. "You should finish that tomorrow. You're already doing too much."

"It's fine." "Yeah, you say as you have your 3rd burn out of the month." "Jokes on you, this will only be the second."

He rolls his eyes, and snatches your notebook and pen, throwing them on the floor, closes your laptop, and does the same, only more careful. "No. Not now. You need a fucking break." He says bluntly, and pulls you down on the bed.

"Rich coming from you. Training for 3 hours a day, outside of school, mind you, and you want ME to chill. Love you, but you're a hypocrite." You respond.

He flicks your forehead, but doesn't respond for a bit, but them mumbles something into your shoulder.

"It's becauze I feel like 'm behind."

"Hm?" "I said it's because I feel like I'm behind!" He repeats slightly louder.

"You? Behind? In what world?"

"Fuck off. I know, I'm 4th in the class, my grades are fine, that's all fine. I just feel like everyone else has made some random bout of progress, and I haven’t." He murmurs.

You sigh, looking down at his face. "You aren't. I promise. And if you were, that gives you a chance to race past the rest of us at some point, yeah? Just don't overexert yourself. You're right where you need to be." He nods reluctantly, his hold on you growing tighter. "Dunno what I'd do without your emotionally intelligent ass." You let out a short laugh, but know what he means. You're essentially each others anchor. You lean further into him, pressing your cheek against his hair, rather than verbalising anything. You knew comfortable silence would be what he needed right now.

10 minutes or so pass in silence. The rain still pours down on the window, the slight sound of electricity buzzing in the room. You look down to see Katsuki is now half asleep, expression soft, at ease, almost vulnerable. You smile softly in affection, admiring him. Even in all these years of knowing each other, you were the only person able to lull him into this position. His earlier tensed shoulders sagged against you, the crease in his brows gone. His drink sits discarded on the floor beside the bed, and your study materials sit idle by.

A noise from in the hall jostles him a bit, and he shifts slightly, sighing. "Do we have anything planned for tomorrow? It's the weekend." "Hm, I think we're both on grocery duty. Why?" You ask in a quizzical tone.

""m taking you out for brunch first. We haven't done that in a while. And it's on me, so don't fucking start. We can also go via that bookstore you like, see if there's anything new."

You grin, pleased with the idea. "Sure, if you carry the 5 I end up choosing." "Fuck you." He responds, but you feel his smile against your shoulder.

In that peacefully joyful moment, you both let yourselves be whisked away from the pressures of heroism, classmates, and studies. You could just be yourselves, and allow one another to do the same, no judgments or critiques.

And that was more than enough. As it always would be.

[bladedweaponsandswishycoats]

Justice in the Dark and the Art of Translating Vibes (or: Why the drama's kabedon (ep. 18) is actually the novel's car kiss (ch. 75-76))

I've been mostly burying myself in the material rather than reading what anyone is saying on social media but @lunarriviera said I should share this, so here goes.

I really like the way the creators of Justice in the Dark worked really hard to translate emotional beats and preemptively plan for censorship, and I think it does something interesting because it moves parallel moments around to where they need to be given the exercise in translation that an adaptation must perform.

Spoilers for both Modu and Justice in the Dark versions below!

The main one I want to talk about here is the kabedon/wall slam that takes place when they go to investigate the crime scene where Feng Bin was killed.

Obviously, the scene as it appears in the book at that moment in the plot would not have made it into the drama in a million years, even if censorship wasn't the way it is:

So it is a given that there was not going to be an interrupted wallfuck in the drama, and the creators were well aware of that. In many dramas, the usual thing to do would be to say "well, we'll try and do as much as we can, perhaps a generous shove would be allowed."

But JitD didn't do this. Instead they looked into the origin of the interaction and considered where the characters stand at this point.

Previously, a similar divergence already occurred at the point of the car kiss/Fei Du passing out at the front door that happens in episode 13 after having gotten dehydrated and low blood sugar from being sick in the aftermath of Zhou Huaixin's stabbing. The kiss, likewise, could never have been shown in this particular reality. To compensate, the creators of the drama made Fei Du's state during the car ride worse, and likewise heightened the severity of the reaction when it happens.

First with the car ride, in which Fei Du is arguably worse off in the drama. (And I really recommend rewatching this bit, both for the filming and the incredible music they gave this little mini-montage):

Then when Fei Du collapses, in the drama they make him actually fully fall unconscious:

The novel version, Fei Du IS out of sorts, and the general progression is the same, but they do also make out in the car before Fei Du gets out and I think it is reasonable to say on that basis that he's not quite as obviously out of it as in the drama. Likewise, he never fully passes out:

So what happened here is that the creators turned it to their advantage; recognizing they can't have the kiss, they decided to crank up the angst/whump and make Fei Du even more messed up (which, let's be honest, is almost as good). What's more, it is an option that was not available if they had been able to do the kiss. So, in a sense, they have adapted to their constraints and provided us with a "two cakes" option.

This is a good example of what I mean by the translation/substitution. Another one is the way they substitute the flashback childhood fever scene since they cannot do the forehead kiss in the very next set of scenes. But I think folks have probably talked about that already, and it's not the one I really wanted to get to.

So now for that: the kabedon at the start of case 4 (or Verhovensky/Doestoevsky/the Yufen School case, whatever we're calling it). This was the passage I quoted at the start of this post, and it, like the car kiss, could never have appeared in the drama.

And here the drama team again did a translation, but in this case it takes into account not just the novel parallel at this moment in the case/plot, but also the relationship progression for each the novel and drama.

Specifically, in the drama, as stated, there was no car kiss. In addition, the novel sequence puts two other important and relevant sequences between the car kiss and this scene: Fei Du's first and second nights out of the hospital. The first night is the one that involves blanket-burrito Fei Du being handcuffed to the bed and the non-consensual hairdrying (glorious moment), the second involves their first fuck, which takes place the next night, after Fei Du has gotten up for water and interrupted Luo Wenzhou reading Lao Yang's testament, and Luo Wenzhou telling Fei Du that he can't explain everything to him yet, so please give him a few days. I won't go into the excellent translations that do occur in the drama condensed single night of that sequence, but suffice to say, when drama Luo Wenzhou wakes up covered in photographs from Luo Guosheng's crimes 20 years ago and Tao Ran's urgent call, in the novel he's waking up in Fei Du's arms. And so later when Zhoudu are going to the Lovers' Mirror on the crime scene date, this is the first date after the first fuck—in the novel.

Meanwhile, in the drama, there has instead been much yearning and a sleepless night where I am certain they were both horribly desperately wishing they were in bed with the other—but they weren't. (Aside: yes I do also love the other interpretation that the filmmakers were gesturing towards them being together with overlapping cinematic effects, but I'm setting that aside for now, what can I say, I like multiple interpretations, I contain multitudes etc.) Thus this moment is not the same moment as it is when it happens in the novel.

What moment is it?

It's the car kiss.

As far as the relationship beats, Zhoudu are still at the heightened point of tension without much physical contact that their novel versions were at during the car kiss.

And that—that kiss was initiated by Fei Du.

(Aside: yes, I also agree with the perspective that Fei Du was trying to get rid of him so he could go have some quality basement time, and he knew that kissing him would make Luo Wenzhou aroused and flustered and furious—and probably he'd storm off. But people can have multiple motivations and he DID want to kiss him too.)

Anyway it is here (apologies for the long screencap):

What does that sound like?

Yep. This is actually the car kiss.

Tbh I don't care at all who tops and I think it is a boring thing to argue about, but I started thinking about this because I was wondering what the writers in the drama were doing and at first glance this was a surprising scene if watched with the novel equivalent in mind. I was convinced that there's no intentional choice made to invert/reverse anything, because in all other matters the creators have been paying an incredible amount of attention to trying to follow the novel in spirit and vibes even when they cannot do so literally. So why would this suddenly be an outlier?

And thus my proposed answer: It's not. It's absolutely in line with the translation strategy they've been pursuing in other scenes previously, but it is complicated by the divergence in relationship progression between drama and novel, the consequence of which its equivalent emotional/horny moment falls at a different plot moment.

The drama kabedon is the novel car kiss, not the novel kabedon.

[the-peak-legend-of-first-gen]

Okay, hear me out (I know this might be controversial but still…) I love both James and Jaegyeon but they are fundamentally different as lovers. Here’s my no-sugarcoating, brutally honest two cents on how each of them would be in a relationship:

Jaegyeon:He comes off like a total bitch on the surface, but deep down? He’s a devastatingly soft, pining, and hopelessly devoted puppy. At first, he won’t act gentlemanly—nope, not even close. Especially during his current blonde era, he gives off that annoying energy of guys who watch YouTube videos about how they're "too tough" to need a girl. But plot twist? He has a massive crush on that one girl who shows up at the same petrol pump as him.He’ll pursue you, but in an incredibly tsundere way. Like:

“Why are you even talking to that guy? He’s totally going to break your heart.”

“And why do you care, Mr. Na?”

Rough around the edges? No—very rough. But gradually, once you start noticing the little things he does—like letting you into his car even though it just came out of service, stocking your favorite drinks just in case, or quietly dropping you home—you realize there’s a tenderness there. He’s not bad. Not at all.

Once you’re actually in a relationship, though? Don’t expect roses and candlelit dinners. Sorry—no flowers and cheesy stuff. Fights will happen. Screaming, shouting—you name it. But in the middle of it all, he’ll catch himself, stop, and try to pull you into a cuddle. Still, he’ll give you space when needed… albeit very, very reluctantly.

You can be completely silly with him too—he’s totally down for theme parks, car cafés, and dancing in the rain.

Now the not-so-pretty part: If you guys ever break up, he will let you go. Not in a “get lost, I’m better off” kind of way, but because he loves you too much to keep hurting you. His maturity will come through here. It’ll hurt—a lot. He’ll be a mess after the breakup. Jealous if you move on. But eventually, when he sees you smile genuinely after a long time, that aching part of him will finally let go.

Now to ......

James: Let’s skip teenage James for now (that deserves a whole other conversation) and talk about adult James—both when he was an idol and now as he is.

When he was still in the industry and you two were together, he wouldn’t even look at anyone from the entertainment world. Not because you were some “special princess” above actresses or models—no. It’s just that the risk was far greater. He already had Charles breathing down his neck, and a relationship with someone inside the industry would be much harder to hide. So weighing on the scale of vulnerability, dating someone outside, someone “normal,” was easier to conceal, protect, and cherish.

That said, James will be a gentleman. Gallant, suave, respectful—he treats you like a lady.But he’ll make it up to you with luxury—gifts, trips, anything you want—except his time.

Even in arguments, he won’t raise his voice. He’ll stay calm and composed. He’s the type who’ll quietly keep track of your preferences, your quirks, your dreams—you’ll feel like the one person in the world he truly sees. And you are. You’re the tiny corner of his heart he protects at all costs.

So what could go wrong, right?

Here’s where it gets dark : At his core, James is a manipulator. He’s soft on the surface but harbors a cold, calculating fury beneath. During fights, he won’t scream—but the words he says will sting deeper than any shout. “Sorry” won’t fix the wounds he leaves behind.

He’ll say: “You don’t need to know everything, sweetheart. I’ve already taken care of it.”

He always thinks he knows best. And when your relationship teeters on the edge, and you want to leave?

He. Won’t. Let. You.

You’re his. The only one who’s ever held his heart—and he expects you to cherish that privilege.

Who are you going to leave me for? Who could possibly compare to "James Lee" or "Diego Kang"—for the world?

He has the looks, the money, the power. And if you try to walk away? He’ll make it painfully hard. You’ll suddenly realize what it feels like to pry something from a lion’s mouth.

Now, I’m not saying he’s some yandere (ew, please no—I hate that trope). But in my interpretation, this is just how things would unfold.

To wrap it up: Being with Jaegyeon is chaotic, rough, and emotionally intense—but the guy’s got the right heart.Being with James? It’s a dream… until it’s not. And if you ever try to end things, be prepared: leaving James Lee is not something anyone does easily.

[pycnolite]

Yes!! I keep thinking about the 'Same Glue? Same Glue.' moment we had however many months back, and I feel like that encapsulates our joint vibe <3

And thank you <3 <3 I have soooo many plans for Amber & Heinrix, and when Owlcat finally stop releasing DLC (though I hope they keep releasing it for many years to come too xD) I will finally be able to properly get started on the plotting and structure without any more spanners being thrown into the works lol

But back to you - it's just so so lovely to be around you and I'm very glad we became friends. I'm looking forward to all the game nights to come, and hopefully one day we'll meet up somewhere for real :D

✨️ RT Appreciation Week Reblog Chain ✨️

Use this post to shout out your favorite artist, writer or composer in the RT fanspace!

[arcticwolf144]

Harold Fry show notes

Disclaimer: this WILL contain quite significant spoilers if you don’t already know the show beware. But at the same time I also don’t explain the plot. So…it’s a mess

This will also be rather Jack Wolfe heavy but I make no pretences as to why I went to see this in the first place

- Show opens with Jack (the Balladeer) standing over Harold. They have the flower crown and the baggy knit sweater that you see in the curtain call pics and a guitar. He opens with a ballad and is introduced as the narrator or at least a figure that breaks the fourth wall and observes the story and sings it like a minstrel would

- The Balladeer also leads the ensemble for this song and there’s some very cool choreography. Not complex but very effective

- The whole opening is very Midsummer Night’s Dream vibes

- To quote an elderly lady I heard in the foyer after the show Jack is “absolutely mesmerising” and I agree. Especially in this opening number his stage presence was so strong and his movements so fluid it was incredible I genuinely cannot put it into words or explain it it was just nuts

- Main plot then begins with Harold starting his walk, and the Balladeer going along with him but at this point (other than some ensemble choreo, set rearranging etc.) no one acknowledges or interacts with him so he appears to be for the sake of the audience

- Also the guitar and the falsetto and the folk music vibes Jack Wolfe Orpheus WHEN???

- The little dog puppet that appears is ADORABLE. Maybe I’m just a wuss but omg it doesn’t even have to be a real dog for me to melt. Kudos to the puppeteer because there wasn’t a single moment where that dog was stationary and not doing doggy stuff (at one point it was just gnawing on Tarinn’s shoe and it was so sweet)

- Harold meets some interesting characters along the way and there’s some fun songs

- He also seems to deteriorate little by little, and starts telling stories about his son who he has “failed” - how he ran into the sea one time and had to be rescued, how he went to Cambridge Uni etc.

- Harold’s wife Maureen feels incredibly betrayed that he has left, and through their phone conversations we see the strain in their marriage that seems to have been there a long time

- Sister Philomena’s solo was so so beautiful

- Towards the end of act 1 another character called Wilf appears and asks to join Harold on his “pilgrimage”. He’s played by Tarinn Callender who was fantastic. Has such big, warm stage presence if that makes sense. He’s so funny and brings so much heart to the scenes

- At this point, the Balladeer suddenly flips, gets incredibly agitated and starts to directly try and talk to Harold to shut down the idea. When Harold ignores him and allows Wilf to join, the Balladeer literally goes to punch something (just hitting the air because stage safety we don’t want Jack breaking a knuckle or something) and genuinely roars with anger. Both characters hear this but pass it off as a fox

- Like huh, not just an omniscient narrator then that’s a bit funky

- Also, all through this role is the most aggressive, angry acting I’ve seen Jack do

- The Balladeer disappears

- More people come to join Harold’s journey and there’s some lovely joyful ensemble work of them all having fun together

- Midway through, the Balladeer appears again but this time on top of the barrels at the back of the stage so looming over the scene. He’s now wearing a tank top and carrying a Cambridge college scarf, and starts off crouching (the flower crown however stays on for the whole show)

- He starts to sing to Harold but the whole vocal style has changed from folky mix and falsetto to very chest-dominant and forceful. He fully turns on him, standing over the whole scene, putting on his scarf and becoming incredibly domineering and quite aggressive. Through the song he climbs down to the stage, whirls through the dancers and lunges at Harold in what kind of looks like a hug but is more like a tackle or a headlock. Harold looks like he’s choking. The Balladeer then flings himself away from him, drops his scarf into Harold’s hands and bolts off stage to Harold yelling after him and revealing that this is his son David

- End of Act 1

- I have explained this bit very badly but I’d say listen to the audio that someone was kind enough to post at the start of the week to get a sense of it it was SO effective the way the whole character changes

- Act 2 opens with the walk continuing, and Harold enjoying the company of the people with him, but also becoming increasingly troubled by flashbacks of previous interactions with his son

- Rather than being onstage the whole time like in Act 1, David now only appears at these moments. He’s now dressed in black with his Cambridge scarf, and at one point his graduation robe

- Jack’s dialogue is so well delivered the raw emotion in their performance aaaaaaa

- Harold’s wife Maureen sings a lovely solo reminiscing about how they met, and her confusion over how their marriage has turned out and whether she made the right decision to stay. During this two ensemble members take the roles of their younger selves meeting at a barn dance and it is so romantic and sweet

- Upon finding Wilf holding a packet of pills, Harold is launched into a flashback of a conversation with David, six months out of Cambridge, living at home and taking drugs. Throughout their interaction David is snide and taunting, mocking his father for being less intelligent than him, but gradually becoming more and more agitated. Eventually he breaks down completely, launches himself sobbing at Harold yelling at him to “fucking help me”, grabs him in the same way he did at the end of act 1. Harold pushes him away and he falls onto the floor, then flees offstage

- Wilf is understandably freaked out, reveals that the pills are for hayfever and is so betrayed that Harold would think he would relapse into drug use that he leaves

- Harold decides to leave the group and continue on his own

- He gets caught in a storm where David appears again, this time at the top of a large iron staircase, again looming over him. He launches into a song about all the ways Harold let him down, gradually descending down the staircase towards him

- Ensemble members hitting the stage with huge black feather beaters to mimic thunder was so effective

- Another flashback in which Harold and Maureen are frantically yelling to each other that they can’t find David. He isn’t anywhere in the house. Harold calls out for him and the scarf falls from the ceiling to land on the floor. Maureen breaks down and runs offstage cradling it

- Harold is now completely falling apart. He goes into a cafe sobbing and telling the people there that he wants his son. While he’s there he writes a letter to the girl working in the garage who inspired him to begin his walk. In it he confesses that David didn’t simply leave as he has previously said, but committed suicide. This destroyed his and Maureen’s marriage and he feels he can never come back from it. This performance by Mark Addy was absolutely gut wrenching and the lyrics for this song are so unbelievably heartbreaking

- “It’s the worst thing I have ever seen, and the first thing I see when I dream, so I don’t do much sleeping now, I just keep on wondering how I lost the only thing I can’t replace” ouch?????

- The girl brings the letter to Maureen and they have this lovely heartfelt conversation

- Harold completes his walk and says goodbye to his old friend. It was lovely how they had left such a mark on each other’s lives even though they only knew each other for a brief time and turned to each other when they hit the lowest point in their lives

- Harold sits down on the beach with David (now back in his Balladeer costume with the guitar). They have a short conversation and seem more at peace. Harold talks about how far he’s come, and David admits that he’s proud of him

- Maureen then joins Harold, having driven up (leaving the house for the first time since David’s death) to find him. They talk and resolve to move forward together

- During the final song they have a really sweet moment together, reminiscing about how they first met and paddling in the sea together

- The Balladeer leads the final song again, now much softer and friendlier

- Jack’s portrayal of David in this kind of reminded me of Aaron Tveit’s Gabe which was super interesting. There’s none of Jack’s Gabe’s insecurity, just raw anger, vengefulness and power. It was so cool seeing both performances in one day and how different Jack’s energy was for each