#ugh. i wish i had time to stay in theater

[nerdyqueerr]

Sorry im going to be a theater kid again

[beardedmrbean]

Zoomer Huey rants about fairytales and Disney, okay they been a mess with public domain post Walt… but dear lord the copyright shitshow on the other 18th century-

Shit anyways, let use the earliest Disney movies to say Hercules (I can use mulan but we have very easy access to the og tale vs the classic Disney films)

Let me use the mother of all modern American animation, Snow White and the seven dwarfs

The thing is that Walt Disney grew up watching a version of Snow White in theaters as a child

And he decided that he wanted to do a new SPIN of the Classic fairytale in the then NEW and GROWING style of storytelling that was animation

And that the thing about a lot of Walt Disney era films like Snow White, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, Sword in the Stone, and Jungle Book.

They were SPINS on classics books and stories that were used in live action movies and plays at the time

And while behind the scenes knowledge became more well known after inking and desire to research it became more popular. Surviving documents and quotes always had Walt and his crew doing a different take on the source material. It just the Disney takes on fairytales stood the test of time due to animation styles and the company  preserverstion measures

Also the grimm thing….does anyone look up that the Grimm “fairytales” was a AMALGAMATIONS of different European folklores. So they serve as the basic of where you can get into European folklore…but it always had a citation needed as each region, culture, and era will have a different spin on it

Hell the Arthurian Legends are big examples as they rapidly change over the centuries. Hence why in Sword in the Stone, Merlin mention movies because he was hinting at Art that his life and stories will be retold and remembered for centuries to come.

But Hercules ugh

“Did you know Hera was actually a bitch-“ did you know that the Greek myths been a backbone of western culture stories for years and around the same time of the Disney movie, there were 2 popular Greek myth shows called Xena Warrior Princess and the legends of Hercules?

Not to mention that the animators presumed you would have learn the og Greek myths in high school English class like they did

And there was a ODEIPUS joke where Hercules thought his daddy issues was bad until he saw the play of the tragic Thebes king

Actually that the thing that I I notice with a lot of pop culture media and Wish is prime example…

Do people only know the CONTEMPORARY versions of Stories and don’t look into classic media or inspirations

Actually a lot of modern dc and marvel comics lore got me thinking here this as a example

Current comics writers and fans know that superhero teams like the Avengers and Justice League are contemporary American twists on classic team groups like Argonauts or Knights of the Round Table right?

Sorry, a lot of media is like…someone making a hamburger and think fast food is the basic for that. Make sense?

And that the thing about a lot of Walt Disney era films like Snow White, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, Sword in the Stone, and Jungle Book. They were SPINS on classics books and stories that were used in live action movies and plays at the time

Walt was a storyteller first and foremost, ya so he adapted a lot of things staying mostly true to the story but not entirely, which make them your own if you can at least with the Grimm stuff since you don't have any copyright issues to fuss with there.

Peter Pan is a odd case, there's still a partial copyright in place even though it's way past where it should exist, but the money funds a children's charity so people let that be, and I think it only is a thing in the UK.

But Hercules ugh “Did you know Hera was actually a bitch-“ did you know that the Greek myths been a backbone of western culture stories for years and around the same time of the Disney movie, there were 2 popular Greek myth shows called Xena Warrior Princess and the legends of Hercules? Not to mention that the animators presumed you would have learn the og Greek myths in high school English class like they did

I knew about Hera, Hercules and Xena too. Hercules really had the biggest issues with Hera not Hades too, but that doesn't work for the story. Also Walt was long dead so not on him at least.

One other bit that bugs me to no end, Hercules is Roman, Heracles is Greek and almost nobody in media ever gets it right.

And there was a ODEIPUS joke where Hercules thought his daddy issues was bad until he saw the play of the tragic Thebes king

Ya they do that, throw those in for the parents. Much better than the naked people in Great Mouse Detective lol.

Actually a lot of modern dc and marvel comics lore got me thinking here this as a example Current comics writers and fans know that superhero teams like the Avengers and Justice League are contemporary American twists on classic team groups like Argonauts or Knights of the Round Table right?

I never put that much thought into it, but honestly most media produced is a twist on a existing tale.

Black Panther, to The Lion King, to Kimba the White Lion, ect till we get to Hamlet, and it actually keeps going from there but I forget the stuff in between Kimba and Hamlet and after Hamlet.

Clueless is just Jane Austin's Emma, 10 Things I Hate About You is Taming of the Shrew, to be fair the writers and such were very open about the fact that they were doing a modern retelling on those ones, several others too big thing in the mid to late 90's.

Sorry, a lot of media is like…someone making a hamburger and think fast food is the basic for that. Make sense?

Think so, would be nice to see more effort put forth. At least for some types of films, stuff that guys like Adam Sandler fart out in order to take him and his friends on a 6 week working vacation and get some people that haven't worked in a while working so they can keep their SAG insurance and what not can stay as they are.

[scarlettblack24]

So I finally watched wwdits season finale and I have to admit I’m confused…and angry about many things that are happening with this show. This is mostly me just getting these thoughts out of my head and trying to understand but feel free to comment if you’d like.

Why is Guillermo scared of Nandor coming to kill him? Did they not fight in hand to hand combat in the previous season? I thought he won but pretended to lose so Nandor didn’t look weak. Why would he be scared now?

Despite that has he not had the opportunity to destroy Nandor multiple times throughout the entire show? Did he not say to him “You live because I allow it.”? What did I miss? Where he the Guillermo that destroyed an entire theater of vampires?! Where did he go?!

Guillermo can very much fight Nandor and win and this was before we got some vampire powers! What is making him think he would lose in a fight with Nandor now?!

And I don’t care what anyone says! He went to Derek because he wanted to be a vampire and he went for it! I hate this shit of “well a familiar insults his master if he goes to someone else to be turned”. Fuck that.

In the wwdits film Jackie got Nick to turn her! Didn’t see Deacon kill her! Just talked shit about her like he always talked shit about her! It made no difference to her, she got to live her best vampire life!

Oh but Nandor had a feeling Guillermo would be too soft to be a vampire! So he continued to use him as his servant and treat him like shit for over 13 years as well as letting the other vampires in the house do the same? Hmm sounds abusive to me.

There’s no doubt Nandor cares about Guillermo, BUT he treats him like crap! Making someone your servant isn’t love. Yes, he gave him the opportunity to avoid a lifestyle he couldn’t handle but then he continues to allow him to be his servant! Ugh!!!

I will admit Guillermo’s relationships with the other vampires improved this season. Laszlo was there for him as well as Nadja but they’re still awful to him. Even The Guide realized what a kind person he was and pointed out to them how much they treat him like crap!

But I guess Guillermo cares for them! Sure, why not?! I guess if you treat someone awful but stick by them for many years that builds love and caring??? This is great lesson particularly for younger people. If they treat you crap BUT stay by your side they love you!

Nope. Don’t like that.

My biggest question is now that Guillermo doesn’t want to be a vampire anymore what is the motivation? What are we supposed to look forward to? Please don’t tell me Nandermo because I don’t want that anymore. I don’t feel good about it.

And what about the damn wishes?!?! Didn’t the Djinn give Nandor a smaller lamp with three wishes?! What happened to that?! Ugh!!!

I really think season six should be the last one. Unless by some miracle they come up with a great storyline that makes sense and doesn’t erase character development but if not let it be the end. I’d rather have something new in this universe.

But maybe I am missing something! I don’t know!

[idiotik-star]

based on this prompt.

word count- 1,095

—————————————————✿————————————————

While pulling into the parking lot Lola started gathering her thoughts running through the important things she needed to remind herself. Unknowingly she started mumbling her thoughts out loud. “It doesn’t mater if his eyes look just like emeralds or if he smells wood or if he decides to roll the sleeves of his costume…” Nearly crashing into her cast mate entering in her rush, she’s greeted by Him.

Jeremy, the man she’s been trying to not think about. When they were first cast as Sally, and Clifford, they were good friends but as time went on Lola started to have a little crush on him. It was a subtle growth, it started with looking forward to seeing Jeremy at rehearsal, then she started wishing she’d run into him outside of rehearsal so they didn’t have to talk about the show. Then next thing she realized she found herself thinking about his emerald eyes at the grocery store, and noticing she had favorite things he did.

“Hey, what’s the rush?” He said. “Oh I was just thinking about getting into costume…” Lola trailed off. “You know we don’t need to do that right? It’s just an Intimacy rehearsal.” Lola froze. “I know, I just feel more in character when I’m costume.” Without waiting for him to respond she ran into the dressing room to get charged.

Once Lola was finished changing she rushed to the stage, when arriving she noticed that Jeremy also got into costume. Walking closer to him she whispered, “You put on your costume?” “I didn’t want you to be the only one.” was all he said.

“Alright, it’s time to get this started. I want to get in and get out since we had to reschedule this 30 minute rehearsal.” Elliot, their director, yelled announcing his arrival. “We’re just working on the kiss, currently I have no care if it’s just a peck or if you both want to go all in so it’s really up to you.” He continued while taking a seat in the audience.

Turning to Jeremy, Lola started to ask, “How do yo—“ “How about we just do a peck right now to get the first one over and done with? To get all the possible awkwardness out before we take this seriously.” Jeremy cut her off. “Oh that, that’s actually perfect.”

Lola rushes over and pushing up on her tip toes kisses him quickly. “Okay we got that out of the way so how about we get something in character” Elliot yelled the his seat. Jeremy turned to Lola; placing a hand on her cheek he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. “What if we tried the peck again but we held it?” Lola thought out loud. “That might work.” They both took a few steps to each other meeting at the center with a lingering kiss.

Once they separated Lola stared at Jeremy for a moment. “Personally I think that works perfect, If you wanted to try some others we can but that one has my vote.” Jeremy told Lola. “No I think you’re right it really carries the emotion of the scene.” Lola Mumbled.

“We have our kiss! I’m glad we all agreed that one works best for this scene. Go ahead and change and then head out, I wanna work on the playbill a little bit.” Elliot said. “Okay if you want me to stay and help I can, I’m more than willing to help,” Lola started. “No no, go home I’ve got this but if I need help I’ll text you okay?” Elliot stated while ushering the two off the stage.

The pair both went into their respective dressing rooms, emerging back in the clothes they arrived in. “Lola, you wanna get lunch? Just so we have a buffer of hanging out after all that kissing.” Jeremy asked. “Ugh, I totally would but I’ve been leaving work early for rehearsals so I have an article to finish.” She returned, while walking out of the building.

Lola got into her car and started to drive off thinking about her article. Funny enough she got the text from her editor saying she wanted Lola to write an article about the local theater troupes production of Cabaret right after Lola took two days off to audition for the production.

As Lola arrived at her apartment she pulled out her phone to call her best friend. “Atlas, hey I have a teeny tiny favor to ask. Do you mind watching the local theater troupes production of Cabaret for me?” “Now why would I do that Lola? You know I have my own articles to write.” He retorted. “Well how am I supposed to watch a musical that I’m in. I tried to tell Mary I shouldn’t have this article but she insisted it had to be mine because I did theater in college. I’ll pay for your ticket, and venmo for any snacks you buy, from the theater or a store.” She explained. “Okay fine, but you have to go on that double date with me, I don’t care what you have to say about him.” ‘Who said I was gonna say anything.” “You always say something, and I know you don’t like him but if I wanna go out with his roommate he has to come too.” Atlas said before he hung up.

Lola pulled out her computer to start on her article. “I may not be capable of watching the show, but I has behind the scenes involvement so lets get that started.” She murmured to herself.

After hours of writing and rewriting Lola finally decided to call it quits for the night. After she closed her computer and was getting ready to go to bed. She went into her closet and picked out clothes to sleep in but before she could change she heard a knock on her apartment door.

As Lola walked to the front door she checked the time on her phone, it read 11:21 pm. Being cautious because of the time she looked through her peephole to see Jeremy. Confused she opened the door. “Jeremy what are you doi—” Lola Started. “Lola, I,” He cuts himself off. “Jeremy, spit it out. You’re starting to scare me.”

“I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.” He choked out. Lola froze, everything in her body begged for this moment but her brain couldn’t comprehend if it was. Seeming to have made up her mind on whether she was dreaming or not, she said, “What are you going to do about that?”

—————————————————✿————————————————

first piece of writing (for myself) i’ve written in an embarrassingly long time. now that the first one is done it should be a lot easier to crank these out. anyways i hope y’all enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it

[mlobsters]

supernatural s13e14 good intentions (w. meredith glynn)

well that was a little bit of the old spn spark for a second there, with the hallucination/vision/whatever hot!zachariah was giving jack. very sweet and sad. something about the sound design and the dialogue.. of the offscreen voices of sam and dean, it had sort of a... theater feel to it? (watching with headphones and maybe a little bit high so, grain of salt) plus just the very... childlike wish fulfillment of kiddo with absent parents.

DEAN You know what? We made it, though. You, me and the kid. Finally under one roof. SAM And you know what, honestly, it doesn’t matter where he’s been. I’m just glad Jack’s back. DEAN Right, home safe. Where he belongs.

like 💔 i didn't realize they really went with this nuclear family thing straight out

also when the fake fire is happening sam and dean sound about as distressed (maybe more?) as you'll ever hear them in this show and that was distressing even knowing it couldn't be real

ZACHARIAH Yes. And not just a single one-way ticket like the prophet’s spell. This boy, he can open a rift big enough to march an army through. He has so much power. We just… have to make him use it. MICHAEL Then make him.

ok but like. why doesn't michael make his own army of nephilim? he's an archangel still right? what am i missing

i'm sorry donatello but all i can think is

the zachariah!cas sending the images of destroying the environment and wars etc to jack for proof of why humans are bad, reminds me of the fifth element?? i think? leeloo discovering all the bad parts of humanity? and then i think only will save the world? by the power of human love from bruce willis??? lol i've seen that movie a ton but it's been a long ass time

captions staying on for this screenshot 😂

this random fight scene with these random figures from the bible. and donatello being twitchy and obvious as fuck that he's clearly up to something. demon tablet not to be ingested while soulless and under asmodeus's influence?

donatello choking out dean from a distance and laughing like a loon, all righty

so now mary gets the catharsis of hearing from an unbiased source that her demon deal is what ultimately saved the world

bro. there's some bizarro music going on during this fight over donatello being soulless what is HAPPENING. jay gruska, is that you? (of course it is). ugh, if only i wasn't committed to keeping that earlier video clip 😞 (fine it's so goofy i'm adding an mp3 of it) it's tonally a mismatch to the vibe onscreen and is just super random. the horns that come in... lol. anyway.

but we're escalating up to cas whatever, trying to torture it out of him?

SAM Our plan, Dean. The spell, get mom back. Donatello’s soul is gone. That’s not just something you come back from. DEAN You did. SAM Yeah, because you convinced Death to get my soul back from the cage, but Amara ate Donatello’s soul. There’s nothing to get back. It’s gone. CASTIEL And Donatello’s already corrupted. I… perhaps the kindest thing to do would be to end his suffering. SAM What? CASTIEL I don’t like it either. But if Donatello’s life ends, then another prophet comes into being and they can finish the translation. DEAN So what, you just wanna kill him? SAM No! No killing! We just need the spell.

interesting how frantic padalecki is going with this. terrified the Plan is being wrecked yet again

CASTIEL I am going to do something that I promised I would never do to a human being without their permission. I’m gonna strip the spell from your mind. DONATELLO You—you—you—you can’t. I—I’ve absorbed too much power. Y-y-you’ll fry us both! CASTIEL I might. DONATELLO Ardeat intus— CASTIEL I’m sorry, but I’m not going to let you or anyone hurt the people I love. Not again.

well then. cas saving them from the moral quandary again. like killing billie for them

i don't even know what to say about this apocalypse world business with bobby, mary and jack. jack's just. poppin angels, ready to throw down with michael

SAM Well… guess you could say Donatello is alive. CASTIEL You told me not to kill him. DEAN Yeah, but, Cas, you turned him into… he’s brain dead. Machines keeping him breathing. What’s wrong with you? CASTIEL Nothing. SAM Cas— CASTIEL His soul was gone. He was corrupted. He was a danger to himself and to you and to all of humanity. Did you know that he was working with Asmodeus? SAM What? No. CASTIEL Not by choice, but he was. Some people just can’t be saved. DEAN Yeah, but who gets to make that choice? You? What exactly gives you the right? CASTIEL Nothing. I took it. And if I hadn’t acted, we would still be sitting around and talking about what to do next. We would be wasting time. And it’s time we don’t have, Dean. I told you, war is coming. War. And I did what soldiers do. Now we needed the spell to open the rift, and I got it. We need four major ingredients: the grace of an archangel… a fruit from the Tree of Life… the Seal of Solomon… and the blood of “a most holy man.” We find those things, we can bring everybody home. And together, we can beat Lucifer and Michael. This is the only way we win, and this is the only way we survive. It’s like you said, Dean. Whatever it takes.

i mean, surely sam and dean have made these kinds of decisions time and time again. especially when the "whatever it takes" is saving each other. but now cas can take the responsibility/blame for doing the ends justify the means thing

[hopeamarsu]

Whumptober Day 11: 911, What's Your Emergency?

Whumptober masterlist

Marcus Pike x gn!reader

Rating: Mature

Word count: 892

Warnings: Gunshot wounds, self-done first aid, bloodloss, emergency services

Summary: One call, three numbers. But you never who who is calling.

Sloppy Bandages | Self-done First Aid | makeshift Splint

You placed the headphones in your ears, sighing heavily at the idea of taking yet another call. You were 2 hours into your 12 hour shift and already you had had to help a man deliver his baby and listen to another try and unsuccessfully stop the bleeding of his fellow friend. The highs and lows of the job all back to back. 

You rubbed your temples, wishing you could just not pick up the next time the light came on. Have a proper break, not the meager 15 minutes you were afforded after a call like that. You wouldn’t of course. Your mind would never forgive you for it.  

And with the light flashing to life, you righted yourself and pressed the button to open the line.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“My name is Marcus Pike, I’m a federal agent, ID …” The male voice rattled off his numbered ID and you scrambled to open up the system that housed the names and numbers of federal employees. It wasn’t an often used system but it was there in case of an emergency such as this.

“Hi Marcus, what can I help you with?“ You pulled up his file, saw the name of his superior and sent the command to alert him. Then you clicked out of the system and back to your normal one. 

“There’s been an accident,” He swallowed loudly, some pain identifiable in his tone. 

“Are you hurt?”

“My arm. It’s bleeding.” How did he remain this calm, even though he was obviously in pain, you wondered. You let the thought go quickly, focusing on assessing the situation. 

“Okay, can you tell me where you are and I can send help your way?”

Your fingers moved on the keyboard quickly as he told you the warehouse district he was in. “Good, good. Help is on the way Marcus, we are doing good. Can you tell me, is there a way you can tie a tourniquet to your hand while we wait? I’m not going anywhere, but it would be good if we could stop the bleeding for the time being.”

“I, ugh, I have my tie. I… I tried to tie it around my arm but…” For the first time in your call, you could hear just how much blood Marcus had already lost. When you started out, it was hard to pick up on a thing like that but after a while, you could start to understand how people began to sound a little drunk, a little slur with their s’s and r’s. And by your estimate, Marcus had lost a good amount and it was only his training that hid it so well.

“That’s good. Can you tighten it?”

“Negative. No strength left.”

You hid your grimace, eyeing the small dot moving on the map; the ambulance. It was still a good ten minutes away. Shit.

“That’s okay. Can you lift your arm above your heart? To stem the…”

“I know,” He gave a quiet laugh and you heard shuffling on the line. “It’s up but hurts like hell. It’s also getting really dark here.”

You glanced at the clock, eyes widening when you realized it was only three in the afternoon. The sun was high up and it should be a bright day. If he was feeling it was getting dark, he must’ve lost more blood than you could estimate from his voice alone.

“Marcus. I need you to stay awake for me okay? 7 minutes until I have the ambulance in the location. Just keep talking to me.”

“What about?” 

“Well, if you could plan the perfect date, where would you go?” You quipped, hoping the change in subject would keep him alert. And talking about dates was safe, made them think of a place and a time and an activity, it would keep the brain functioning. It was also so different from the situation people found themselves in while calling the emergency line that it helped to divert the distress they were in. Crude tactic, but one you had found worked well.  

“See Casablanca, make it a picnic. Outdoor theater, warm September, date who enjoys red wine and tapas.”

The way he said the words immediately, sure and unashamed made you grin softly. A man after your own heart. “I like that plan, I’ll need to see if I can steal it from you.”

“Not stealing if…” He coughed, the sound wet and unpleasant. There was also a wheezing sound coming from his lungs that was audible even throught the shoddy connection. Another bad sign he was getting worse. You glanced at the map again, seeing the ambulance stop at the address and your heart jumped with small hope. It wouldn’t be too long now. 

“If what, Marcus?”

“If I… if I take you ou-out.”

“Why Marcus, are you asking me out on a date?”

“You saved my life. It’s the leafy I can make.” Had you not heard the words of the paramedics though the phone, Marcus mixing up his words would have worried you further. More shuffling came though the line and then someone else picked up the receiver.

“We got him and will transport him. Thank you operator.” With that, the line went cold. You leaned back, closing your tired eyes. You hoped Agent Marcus Pike would make a full recovery. 

[lumineescente]

Day 18

I realized today that I'm leaving next Thursday which is insane because the days feel so long and yet time seems to pass by quickly. I'm exhausted but I wish to stay in the theater forever

This morning was difficult as I barely slept due to the heat and overall bad sleeping stuff I have, and it was so hot when i went for the flyers that I felt nauseous and sick so I went back to the theater.

Physically I didnt feel very good all day long, but eventually during my workshop (so surprising.. I was probably just super stressed) I felt better and a child draw 4 little drawings that she gave to all of us in the artistic team it was so cute (last pic) and thoughtful. Actually her mom is another artist playing in the same theater as us so it was so fun to talk to her, and she was adorable and witty (she actually made fun of me several time but I was cool with it)

The day unfortunately did not end very well as there are too many people sharing the house right now including a 2 y.o and I had a panic attack because of the noise and the mess in the kitchen... ugh I should really say something about it but its complicated to just.. blame the 2 y.o and I get it that the mom does not want to choose between her job and being a mother. I feel very complicated about all this

[sheinthatfandom]

How I see tonight’s full Gear going this is gonna be a long one. Also TK a damn liar cause it still went to 13 matches so far not 10 and yes I count the buy in matches. We really not going to bed til after midnight and I wish everyone in Newark a safe drive home and anyone watching in movie theaters a safe ride home.

Nw lets start with the buy in or zero hour. My choices for how the matches will be scheduled is just me guessing and its only for these 3. Blue is who I want to win red is who I see TK picking

1) Ricky vs Brian

One of the few times tonight who I want to win will match who Im guessing is actually booked to win. Ricky and Brian have history and I can’t wait to see Taz’ reaction to his two former team members/ftw champions go at it. Ricky all the way.

2) Eddie vs Jun

I want Eddie because I want him to live his dream to basically beat his hero and idol and just ugh this match on its own us everything to me. But, Eddie also said he could walk away after beating Jun like that’s his dream so I can see Jun getting the win and setting up another match maybe next forbidden door? Or a match for Eddie in Japan and tk booking this in a way that aew will have a foot in to travel and go somewhere else with this.

3) best friends vs the factory

Last match before the show and the match that will be looked at as the one to get people to pay for the PPV. We are getting horrorhausen/whorehausen/darkhausen whatever you wanna call him. It would be beyond stupid booking to have him lose when this has been building up. Its like having demon king balor lose you don’t fucking do it and if you do youre a dummy. Plus champ orange is in there you don’t want a champion losing even if hes not the one getting the pin. No reason for factory to be booked ahead.

For non title matches (and I was really going back and forth if Toni counted since its interim but then decided any physical belt will count)

4) Jungle Boy vs Luchasaurus

This shoulda been in the buy in or not at all. In all honesty is anyone still hyped for this feud genuinely id like to know. With the back and forth injuries its gone cold for me. I want jungle boy to win get a new gimmick and move on luchasaurus can stay a Dino and id very much like to see Christian in a loincloth. Tk would probably have luchasaurus win to keep the feud going until Christian is cleared.

5) Britt vs Saraya

This could really go either way. Honestly im just scared as fuck for saraya getting injured because she was never supposed to wrestle again and its nerve wracking. That said I want Britt to win I want Britt as a tweener I want her to be the legend beater while everyone claims ring rust for saraya and this pissing Britt bad and lengthening the feud. But I can also see saraya beating Brit and being that legend that can’t go down.

6) sting/Darby vs jeff/lethal

I do not care couldn’t even guess what tk would choose I do not care bathroom and snack break

For title matches and we had more than I realized

7)tnt championship Wardlow vs Jo Vs Hobbs

Now with this it can really go anyway. I would like to see Hobbs with gold but I realize they have not focused on him enough to where I think that’s where the booking is. With wardlow i can see him retaining beating both men and then basically stating t hhh at he has in fact NOT lost his momentum so fuck the wrestling tabloids

8 ) womens interim Toni vs hayter

Its Jamie’s time she needs that belt she deserves that belt its hers the crowd is hers the moment is hers the spotlight is hers just give it to her. Tk wants Toni vs Rosa so shell probably retain to combine the belts later

9) ROH championship Bryan vs Claudio vs Chris vs Sammy

Bryan has yet to have gold but honestly hes booked to lose and put over young talent so often I don’t see him winning Claudio should have his fucking belt back we are no where near the roh tv show gibe him back his mf belt. Jericho will probably retain they most likely have a big name ready to take the belt off of him and supposedly he has the belt because they’re shopping the company around to different networks. Homicide and jay briscoe are not names known enough for tv execs, Cody Kevin and Seth aren’t leaving wwe (not that most will realize Tyler black is Seth freaking Rollins and Kevin steen os Kevin owens) so most likely the plan is for Adam cole to take it back or someone new and homegrown. That said if the homegrown is Sammy I will get a plane ticket and fuck everyone up. (Yes I know they’re in nj and i can drive down but it’s Saturday and I don’t wanna go to jail in jersey id rather get arrested in Florida for fucking tk jeriblow and Sammy up) So Chris retains most likely to fuckery

10) tag team belts the acclaimed vs swerve in our glory

I have no idea and I don’t know who I want it could really legit go either way but someone fantasy booked if bowens is injured billy fighting in his place and retaining and keeping the feud alive and like fucking yes please

11) tbs championship Jade Vs Nyla

I know its supposed to be kris and that jade will probably retain but like Nyla has been doing so well and killing it with the stolen belt like gimme more

12) trios world championship Death Triangle vs The elite

They were suspended had an investigation and are still evp’s you don’t get rewarded for bad behavior. Plus death triangle and are really building something here between the heel pac story and then busing up the belts that honestly outside of elite fans no one was excited for cause we ALL knew it would just go to them the whole fucking tournament. Let the belts float freely and give others a chance to do something with it. IE death triangle, best friends, hob, BCC, the firm its way more exciting knowing anyone could lose it at anytime. Elite win cause its their show.

13) world championship Moxley Vs MJF

I love Jon hes had a fantastic several reigns and has carried the company on his back pretty much the whole year. Let that man go on vacation be with his daughter and wife and chill out so he doesn’t break. Mjf has earned this just keep him heel we love to hate him. And regal stays with the bcc.

[i-used-to-wear-the-fedora]

Stranger Things Demon AU, Nothin'But a Good Time

"I think I threw up a little in my mouth."

"You know for a demon from hell you're surprisingly squeamish." Eddie tossed the now empty popcorn bowl into the garbage as they exited the theater. When Chrissy gave him tickets for a movie called "The Fly" he expected a cheesy B movie. It very much was not. The whole time Eddie could feel Steve's nails digging into his arms as he tried to bury his face in Eddie's hair so he didn't have to look at the body horror on screen. "It wasn't even that bad. I mean yeah when Jeff Goldblum's face started to fall it was pretty gross. That movie was awesome."

"You actually liked that? You're sick."

"I've been told." Eddie snorted. Looking Steve over in his new outfit m, Eddie had to admit. He usually didn't like this kind of look but it suited Steve. The demon noticed him staring.

"What?"

"Nothing too just look like you belong to some fancy country club." The two making their way to the theater's exit back into the mall. "Want to grab some ice cream? There's this place called Scoops Ahoy that have awesome waffle cones."

"I guess." The demon followed Eddie close behind, glancing around the mall curiously. "Don't suppose you have any idea what you want to wish for yet, do you?"

"Nope."

"I'm beginning to think you summoned me just to have a friend."

"Hey, I have friends." Eddie protested as they entered the ice cream parlor. A girl wearing a sailor uniform stood at the register, leaning across the counter top with a bored expression on her face as Eddie waved to her. "Hey Robin!"

"Oh thank God, it's just you."

"Ugh, who else would I be?" The metal head asked watching the way Robin was eyeing the glass doors.

"It never fails around this time every day, this kid comes in. She never actually orders anything. She just asks for free samples. Of every flavor. And she stays until we're closed."

"I'm sure it's not that bad."

"You say as someone who's never been forced to work in customer service." The girl paused, just noticing Steve's presence. "Who's he?"

"I'm Steve. Eddie's friend from Canada."

God he wasn't going to let that Canada thing go, was he?

"Right. Well I'm Eddie's friend from school." She looked him over with an audible hum. "Doesn't look like your usual type Eds."

"Oh he's not-I mean we're not, he's not my boyfriend."

"Right." Robin said, clearly not believing Eddie. "What can I get ya?"

"Rocky Road on a waffle cone." Eddie turned to see Steve staring at the menu.

"The U. S. S. Butterscotch?"

"Got it." The teen grabbed two waffle cones and scooped the ice cream into them. Eddie got his wallet out to pay but she waved him off. "Nah you're good. I'll just tell my manager a certain little girl came in today."

"Thanks Rob." Eddie took the cones, giving Steve his. As they walked out she called after them.

"Have fun on your date!"

"It's not a date!" Eddie tried to protest.

"It's kind of a date." Steve added as he took a bite out of his butterscotch ice cream. "I used to do this kind of thing with girls all the time."

"But I'm not a girl and you're not my type." Eddie responded, leaning over and licking the demon's ice cream.

"Hey you have your own!" Steve shoved him away as Eddie laughed. "So, what is your type?"

"Why? You interested?"

"Only in getting you to finally decide what you want from me." Steve retorted. Eddie shrugged as they continued their stroll down the mall.

"I don't know, tall? Like taller than me. Likes metal music, can play a guitar. Doesn't dress like a candy cane member of the local polo team-"

"I feel like you're going out of your way to describe the exact opposite of me."

"And what of it?"

"Just saying, snap of my fingers and I can give you the perfect boyfriend."

"Who said it had to be a boy?" Eddie asked and Steve blanked.

"Aren't you gay?"

"I swing both ways."

"Huh." The demon sounded surprised. "Didn't know that was a thing."

Eddie stared at the demon. Seriously? He was about to ask how this dude was so oblivious to some things when someone yelled his name.

"Hey Eddie!"

"Shit." Steve was confused by the human's reaction to see a group of teens heading towards them. "Ignore them." Eddie tried to speed up but they had already caught up with them.

"Hey buddy." The blonde one wrapped an arm around Eddie's shoulders while the other four hung back to watch. "What a weird coincidence you happen to be here on a Saturday. Could've sworn last time you came here I told you to get lost."

"You don't own the fucking mall Jason. God, don't you have better things to do?"

"Yeah but I just wanted to remind you that this isn't a place for faggy freaks like you."

"Sure does have an open door policy for assholes." Eddie snarked. Jason raised his fist, going to hit the older boy but he was stopped short by someone grabbing him.

"Who the hell are you?" Jason glared at Steve. Surprised by how easily he was holding back Jason's wrist with one hand. "Didn't tell us you got a new boyfriend."

"Hey, how about you lay off him?" Steve growled. Jason laughed as he took his arm off of Eddie.

"Aw, whatcha gonna do? Fight me? I'd like to see you tr-" He was cut off by a fist to the face. Eddie and Jason's crew watched in shock as he fell back onto the tiled ground with a loud thump. Jason laying in a daze before sitting up. His nose was bent to the right with blood streaming out of his nostrils. "You broke my fucking nose!"

"Yeah and if you don't fuck off that's not going to be the only thing I break."

Jason glared at your both of them and for a moment Eddie was sure he was going to murder them. But instead he got up and barked at the other basketball team members.

"Next time Munson, your boyfriend's not gonna be there and I'm going to kick your ass."

"Sure thing Jason." Eddie waved sarcastically as the other young man shuffled away. Not before flipping the bird and stalking away with a confused team in tow. "Holy shit." Eddie to face Steve with a grin on his face. "You kicked Jason Carver's ass."

"Nah, I could've obliterated that asshole if I wanted to." With the way he was dressed, Eddie almost forgot this dude was an actual, literal demon.

"Damn Stevie. That's kind of hot." Eddie teased, focusing back on his now melting ice cream. He didn't notice the demon's face turning red as he said that.

[ptergwen]

warmer than cuddles

w/c: 2.4k

warnings: may plays matchmaker and makes some suggestive jokes

prompt: you and peter get caught in the rain and have to share an umbrella

a/n: thank youuu to the angel who requested <3 swear this is my favorite trope to write hehe ☔️

-

one of the many things you and peter have in common is being lazy. it’s sort of the basis of your friendship. you’re not the kids who drink or party or get in trouble. you play board games and eat pizza on his ripped up couch. the riskiest thing you’ve ever done is sneak into a movie.

peter was so paranoid you’d get caught, he couldn’t even pay attention. he kept whispering to you about paying the whole time. you had to drag him out by his hand after the movie ended. the next time you went to that theater, he bought an extra ticket to “make it even.”

that about put an end to your trying new things phase. you went right back to your comfy nights in pajamas. tackling each other for the remote, baking terrible cookies that you just throw out, sharing a blanket to stay warm. what also helps is that you cuddle under it.

all the fun you need is you, peter, and your love for doing nothing. may disagrees.

she’s always trying to get you two out of the apartment. in her words, it’s “unhealthy for developing teens to spend so much time cooped up inside.” peter once asked which mother’s facebook group she joined. you snickered at that. may gave you a warning look.

well, you don’t have a choice to stay in today. she’s kicking you and peter out because she has guests coming over.

“it’s girl’s night,” may tells the two of you with a satisfied smirk. she hangs her raincoat on the rack and comes into the living room. peter squints his eyes at her. “you have friends?” he sounds too surprised for your liking. you flick his arm hard enough to make him go “ouch!”

“peter, we only have, like, four friends. that’s counting ourselves,” you inform him with a laugh. peter drops his head onto your shoulder. “and i don’t need any of them but you,” he says sarcastically, rubbing his cheek on your sweatshirt. “aw, i know,” you coo and rest your head on his. may crosses her arms and shrugs.

“you should do a group play date with everyone! i haven’t heard from ned in a while,” she suggests, your eyes flicking over to peter. he’s biting back a grin. “play date?” you try to stifle a laugh when you ask. “you know what i mean. a hang out,” may nods at her better word choice. peter winces in protest.

“eh, ned will probably wanna go out somewhere. we don’t do that,” he tells may, like that’s a completely normal thing for a teenager to say. you raise a finger in agreement. she laughs in disbelief at you and peter. you’re splayed out on the couch, on a saturday, complaining about doing anything else.

“you two make me feel young.” may’s words are a joke, but her tone isn’t. “you are young, may,” you reassure her and smile a little. peter says nothing. his eyes become hooded as he settles into you more. “look at you two, like some old married couple,” may gestures to you from where she’s standing. she smiles this time.

peter’s face gets hot from the mention of you being a couple. your heart skips a couple of beats. you’re pretty sure he can tell from how close he is.

“do whatever you want, just not here,” she gets back to the real conversation. peter hides his entire face in your shoulder as a form of protest. you pat his back. “and not each other. unless you’re safe,” may adds. “may, please. no,” he groans out, positive he’s all red now. you blink at her in horror.

may knows what she’s doing. peter isn’t the most subtle person, especially not about liking someone. she’s learned all the signs that her nephew is falling. he’s falling for you. she sees it in you, too. the way your eyes soften when they meet peter’s, how fast you are to hug him back or beam at the silly things he says.

you two spend so much time apart from your other friends, you basically are a couple. you’re just not old or married. the only thing you need is a push to realize that.

“ok, we’re gonna go now,” peter decides and pulls away from you. “god bless,” you say only so he can hear. he chuckles at that, you getting up from the couch. giving him a knowing smile, you grab one of his hands. he lets you pull him to his feet while exhaling. he’s already exhausted. may watches and shakes her head.

peter walks up to give her a quick hug. “enjoy girl’s night. love you,” he murmurs as she squeezes him tight. even though they tease each other a lot, their relationship is really sweet. it’s very telling how a guy treats his mother. well, aunt in this case. that thought has always been in the back of your mind.

“have fun!” you grin at may when her and peter pull apart. he comes back over to you and tugs on your sleeve. “thanks, kids. we’ll be done around eleven,” she lets you know. you’re already getting your shoes on and ready to leave. eleven is a while from now.

“don’t forget an umbrella! it’s drizzling!” may calls after you two. peter grabs hers that’s leaning against the front door. it’s pink with purple polka dots. you giggle at that. “hey, i like pink,” he defends himself and opens the door, letting you out first. you raise your hands in defense, leaving the apartment.

peter waves at may one last time. “good luck, peter,” she tells him once you reach the stairs. he furrows both eyebrows. “good luck with what?” “you’ll see,” may raises her own eyebrows in a way that’s all too familiar to peter. he calls it her face of wisdom.

still confused, peter heads out. he finds you at the bottom of the stairs. you shove your hands in your pockets and push against the door to open it. peter meets you outside, twirling the umbrella between his fingers.

“is there anywhere you wanna go?” he asks as you start to walk. you’re just going down the block for now. “back upstairs,” you sigh out. “i wish. not an option, though,” peter puffs some air out of his cheeks. you fumble to pull up your hood. he easily reaches over and does it for you.

“thanks,” you say quietly. “you’re welcome,” peter pats the top of your head for emphasis. “we could just walk around.” “until eleven o’clock? that’s five hours from now,” you laugh out, adjusting your hoodie to block your face. disappointment crosses over his features.

“should’ve brought my suit,” he mutters mostly to himself. linking your arm with his, your eyes widen. “i’m not trusting you to swing me around in this weather.” his bicep flexes when your arm wraps around his own. “what? i’ve done it before, y/n/n. on patrol.” you turn your head towards him.

“didn’t you get hurt last time?” you already know the answer. “sprained wrist and a few cuts,” he grumbles, you humming because you’re right. he’d called you in tears when he got home, scared he broke something. you reminded him he would heal soon and stayed on the phone until he calmed down.

that ended up being the whole night. you’re probably the most supportive of peter being spider-man. you of course worry about the toll it takes, but you understand why he does it. the least you can do is be there for him while he navigates the superhero world. not talk him out of it or scold him for making mistakes, be there.

that’s why he loves his lazy days with you so much. they’re his break, his escape from what he lies awake worrying about most nights. you’ve seen what he has to go through, so you respect that. whatever he needs to do to unwind is fine by you. as long as you get to do it with him.

“then you couldn’t patrol for weeks. you could barely hold a pencil.” your other arm sneaks around his. they’re both hugging him now. “you had to be my note taker,” peter reminisces, a smile making its way onto his face. “that sucked, man. you’re such a perfectionist about them,” you breathe out.

peter flips the umbrella around in a show-off kind of way. “you don’t complain when i send them to you.” he sounds so cocky you can’t help but roll your eyes. he isn’t wrong, though. “whatever. seriously, where should we go?” “uh,” peter’s eyes scan the block for inspiration. they land on a man carrying takeout.

“dinner? not at a restaurant since we’re in sweats,” he adds the last part so you don’t have to. “ooh, let’s go to panera,” you happily squeeze his arm. peter quirks an eyebrow at you. “you’re always hungry after.” “so? we can get dessert, too. we have a while.” that makes his heart flutter. a while with you.

“cool, cool, cool,” he sings to you, leaning into your side as you walk. you giggle and push at his shoulder. “i think we can make it there before the rain picks up.” there’s a clap of thunder right after he says that, like something out of a movie. it’s followed by a heavier rain coming down on you two. you pull at the strings of your hoodie to keep it tighter on your head.

“jinxed it,” you remark, both of you stopping so peter can open the umbrella. “ugh,” he grunts out. his lower lip is between his teeth while he undoes the velcro. he pushes down and watches as the umbrella springs open for you two. “here, c’mere,” peter welcomes you under as he holds it above your heads.

it doesn’t quite fit you both since it’s only meant for one person. you forgot he took may’s. the two of you have to squish together so you can avoid the rain, which is pitter pattering down hard on the sidewalk.

you’re comfortable under here with him. the freezing cold weather outside of the umbrella is hardly an issue anymore.

peter turns to face you, letting out a breathless laugh. “you can take off your hood now.” your arms slip from around his. you remove it from your head and give him a toothy grin. it’s one that’s meant to be over exaggerated. “there’s that pretty face,” peter’s voice gets quieter. unlike what you did, that wasn’t a joke.

your pretty face loses its smile. you’re suddenly very aware of how close peter is to you.

you can see the faint scar on his chin from when he banged it into a wall in your living room. he’d ran straight into it during your two person game of hide and seek. yes, you still play that. it was gushing blood for half an hour.

there are also the thousands of freckles dotting his face, the ones you only notice by looking at him super hard. you try to count them whenever you get bored. peter stares back at you while you fall in love with every tiny detail about him.

he takes the time to admire your lips, not just because they look really kissable right now. because of every curious expression they press into when he does something you can’t believe. your eyes, that he feels a sense of safety and honesty and familiarity every time he looks into. he finds them and feels like he’s home.

“peter?” you speak up after a few moments. your tone is hesitant, as if whatever you’re going to ask will change what you have forever. that’s because it might. it’s silent except for the sound of the rain hitting his umbrella. peter finally answers, almost in a whisper. “yeah?”

“i... i think,” you clear your throat before going on. his eyes trail down to your lips again, then back up to your twinkling ones. even on a gloomy day like this, they could light up the whole sky. “i think i love you,” you get out, a hand over your racing heart. peter gives you a small but sure nod. “i think i love you, too.”

he takes a step closer to you, if that’s even possible. his hand without the umbrella comes up to hold your cheek. you watch as he uses his thumb to wipe away a few stray rain droplets. your head tilts to the side, lips parted on instinct. peter leans in until his lips just brush yours, letting you decide what comes next.

you choose to close the space between you two. his eyes squeeze shut, whole face scrunched up when he kisses back. this is a release of all the emotions he’s been holding in that he didn’t even realize he had. you slip into a rhythm, using the angle to move your lips against peter’s.

his hand drops from your cheek to your jaw to support you while you kiss. your own hands grab his biceps, fingers pressing into him, depesrate to have him in your arms. peter lets out a content sigh against your lips before detaching them. it’s not for long. he comes right back in after taking a breath.

you get one long peck from him, then another that’s softer than the last. you give him a short kiss back, lips curving into a smile when this one ends. peter’s thumb smooths over your jawline while he searches for your eyes. he grins at you and tightens his grip on the umbrella handle. he’s surprised it didn’t blow away in the midst of your mini makeout.

“i definitely love you, peter,” you state so genuinely, hands on his shoulders now. that has to be peter’s favorite sentence he’s ever heard. the most beautiful combination of words, said by you to him. “i definitely love you, y/n,” peter agrees, punctuating his statement with one last kiss. you haven’t stopped smiling when his lips meet the corner of yours.

may was right about two things that night. you needed the umbrella for that huge storm, but it did more than protect your from the rain. it also brought you and peter together in a way. the second thing she was right about was that peter loves you, and every feeling he has mirror yours for him.

actually, she was right about three things. you two have to get out of the apartment more often.

[squiggledrop]

Trust - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Spencer and Reader have been dating for two months, and haven't done anything more than kiss. But, when Reader has to go undercover in a revealing outfit, Spencer finds Reader hard to resist.

Word Count: 5.2k

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Smut, Angst, Fluff (NSFW, 18+)

Warnings: Swearing, Sex (oral and penetration), Mentions of Sexual Assault, Crying, Guns, Shooting

You and Spencer had been dating for two months. It had been the most amazing two months of your life, but also the most sexually frustrating. Your nights consisted of heated make-out sessions followed by lots and lots of cuddling. Spencer was the first guy you dated that didn’t try and get in your pants on the first date, which was something you admired about him. However, his gentle and caring demeanor, one of that many reasons you fell in love with him, was starting to become the bane of your existence. Whenever you tried to have him move his hands away from their respectful, stationary position on your fully clothed waist, he would tense up. This broke your heart because the last thing you wanted to do was make your amazing, but insecurity-ridden, boyfriend uncomfortable.

You knew it wasn’t due to him not finding you appealing in that way because multiple times when he hadn’t heard you come home, you could hear him moaning your name through the sounds of water falling on his bare chest in the shower. One time you got up the courage to creak the door open and ask him if he wanted you to join him, but you were quickly met with him coughing, trying to cover up his previous activities, and saying that he was just washing off the last of the soap. He never mentioned what happened, and you respected his wishes of not questioning him about it any further. 

You wanted to feel his touch all over your body and for him to completely devour you, but you loved this man so much, that you would be willing to wait as long as he needed. The two of you had decided to take things slow when you first started dating, you just didn’t realize slow for Spencer Reid would be this agonizingly slow. 

That is why, when, for the first time since you had started dating, you had friction on your crotch that wasn’t just your own hand, and both your phones rang, you actually wanted to scream. That night, you and Spencer were having one of your usual kissing sessions in bed- which you wouldn’t trade for the world- when he pulled you onto his lap, therefore causing him to move his hands off your waist and grab your thighs, the tops of his fingers grazing your butt cheeks. Your heart raced at the feeling, causing you to moan even more into the kiss. Spencer smirked at the reaction he elicited from you and gripped your hips with even more fervor. Not wanting to overwhelm him, you began to gently rock your hips against him. You could feel the already formed bulge in his pants begin to grow, which you took as a sign to move with more purpose. The pleasure you felt was immeasurable, and you thought you might cry at how good the man you loved with your whole heart was making you feel. Just as Spencer let out the moans he had been holding back, your heart sank. He quickly jumped out from under you, and you could see the realization of what just happened wash over his face as he answered his phone. You sighed and reached for your own, dreading the sound of Hotch’s voice saying you were needed.

The two of you got ready in silence, not sure what to say about what had just happened. Spencer’s silence worried you, but when he grabbed your hand and kissed your head as you finished locking the front door, you knew everything would be okay because you had your goofy, loving Spencer by your side.

Garcia delivered the case, relaying that the unsub was killing prostitutes in Las Vegas. When the team arrived, you and Spencer were sent to set up at the local police precinct to get started on the geographical profile. After two days and two more bodies, the team had figured out who the unsub was and where he would be striking that night. 

“Alright, to catch him, we will need to go undercover so he’ll bring himself to us. (Y/l/n), you match his type and will be our best shot, are you okay doing this?”, Hotch said. Spencer looked up, a mixture of anger and terror violently swirling in his eyes.

“Of course”, you replied, gaining an even more intense look from Spencer.

“JJ and I will help you get ready”, Emily said.

“Alright, let’s get to work”, Hotch said. As everyone got up, you began to walk towards JJ and Emily when you felt a tug on your wrist. You turned around in confusion, only to be met by the piercingly concerned eyes of your boyfriend.

“Can we talk?” Spencer whispered in a gentle tone that juxtaposed his facial expression.

“Yeah, sure”, you replied and gave Emily and JJ a glance before Spencer took me into the empty file room next door.

“Is everything o-”

“Please don’t do this”, he interrupted with pleading eyes.

“Spencer, its just work. It’s no different than any other time we have to go undercover”, you reassured him. His eyes traced your body before he met your gaze and bit his lip.

“I just- This guy is dangerous (y/n). I don’t want you to get hurt.” Knowing this wasn’t the full story, you raised your eyebrows and gave a knowing look. When he still wouldn’t confess to what this really was about you sighed before continuing.

“Spence, we deal with guys like this all the time, I can handle myself and you and the rest of the team will be right there, and if that’s all, I really have to go get ready”, you said, glancing up at the clock above the door. Just as you were about to leave, you heard indistinguishable mumbles coming out of Spencer’s mouth. “Huh?”, you questioned.

“I...I don’t want you out there for any guy, especially this guy, just-just as something they feel they have the right to touch”, your eyes softened as you gave him a small smile and grabbed his hand with both of yours. You opened your mouth, but before you could say anything to relieve his anxieties, he said, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again”. At this, you knew he was no longer talking about the case, and everything began to make sense. 

---

Before you and Spencer were dating, you had gone on a date with a guy you met at a coffee shop. You had said hello to each other a few mornings in a row, and on the fourth day he asked you out. At first, you were reluctant because you had a massive crush on Spencer, but you decided you couldn’t just pine for him forever, so you agreed. That night, Spencer had received a call from you in tears, causing his heart to clench at the thought of you so upset. He came and picked you up on some random street corner and you got in, flashing him a small tear-stained smile as thanks for getting you. When you finally got back to your apartment, he parked the car and broke the silence.

“(Y/n), you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, and I don’t want to pry into your personal life”, at this you took in a sharp breath, trying hold back your tears, “but, I really need to know what happened so I can help you, okay?” He had looked up at you and went to place his hand on your thigh to reassure you that you were safe with him, but at his touch, you tensed and your eyes grew wide with terror and he quickly flinched back, as if you had electrocuted him.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you”, he said with guilt. The sadness on his face made you cry even more.

“I...I went out with this guy tonight”, you started, as Spencer’s face fell at thought of you with someone that wasn’t him, “He seemed nice and I was having fun. We-”, you chocked out another sob, “We went back to his place because the movie theater we were going to go to was closed, so we were just going to watch one there.” You stopped for a moment to try and catch your breath. You could feel Spencer’s eyes on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze because you felt like such an idiot. You had poor judgment and went out with a jerk and had to call the guy you had the biggest crush on to come get you because you were a mess. “A couple minutes into the movie he kissed me, and it was nice so I kissed him back, but-but then he-he”, you closed your eyes, the painful image in your head causing you to break down again, “he started to touch me and I pushed him off because I wasn’t comfortable, but he just kept going… I didn’t know what to do and-Ugh! I can still feel his hands on me.” You finally looked up at Spencer who’s eyes were burning with anger.

“(Y/n)”, his voice was so soft, in direct contrast to his eyes, “I am so sorry that happened. You are such an amazing person, and you deserve someone who treats you as such.” You smiled at this and thanked him.

“Um, you don’t have to, but, could you stay with me tonight? I really don’t feel like being alone…”, you asked.

“Yeah!-uh-uh, yeah, yes of course”, he stammered, trying to conceal his excitement at getting to spend time with you because of the terrible circumstances that brought you to call him tonight. That night you asked him if he could stay in your bed with you, to which he happily obliged. In your sleep, you both had drifted towards each other. You woke up in each other’s arms with a grin plastered on your faces. From that night on it had become your routine to sleep while holding each other, and on the third night, you hesitantly placed a kiss on Spencer’s cheek, causing him to blush and place one on your cheek in return. The next morning you had woken up before him, so you let yourself admire the dark curls that brushed against his forehead and his cute nose with little crinkles from him scrunching it so much. When you moved your way to his beautiful plump, pink lips, you couldn’t help place a chaste kiss to his lips, causing his big hazel eyes to shoot open. After realizing what was happening, he smiled and melted into your kiss.

---

Unknown to you until now, Spencer made himself a promise that night you called him full of tears: He would never do anything to cause you to hurt like that again. It all made sense. He never wanted anyone to touch you like that guy did, including himself, for fear he would make you uncomfortable or do something you didn’t want. 

“Spence…That guy didn’t take no for an answer. But, I know you-”

“Yeah well neither does this unsub!”, he shouted, cutting you off. It pained you to see how much this hurt him, but you really had to go do your job if you wanted to stop him from killing again tonight. Before giving Spencer a kiss on the cheek, you made a mental note to show him all the things he could do to you without hurting you when this was all over. Well, maybe him hurting you a little bit wouldn’t be such a bad thing with what you had planned.

“Look, I have to go. I love you”, you said, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“I love you”, he sighed in defeat, with a grin on the half of his face that you placed your lips on.

When Emily and JJ were done getting you ready, you looked in the mirror in amazement. You were never super confident in showing off your body, but this outfit left very little to the imagination. You couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of Spencer’s face when he would see you in this.

You stepped out of the bathroom, everyone’s eyes falling on you. You shrugged and walked towards Spencer so he could put your mic on you. As you walked towards him his eyes were glued to you. For someone who you were dating and had spent the past 63 nights in the same bed as you, even he hadn’t seen this much of you. You were wearing a skin-tight black dress, that with one wrong move would expose the black lace panties you had on, which also didn’t cover very much. The dress was very low cut, leaving your breasts out on display as they bounced as you walked in your heels. You had never seen Spencer’s eyes this wide and you swore you could see a bit of drool as his mouth was left open in shock.

“Alright, wire me up doc”, you teased as you approached him with a smirk.

“Um, yeah, right”, he said as he broke out of his trace, and the two of you went back into the file room. Spencer’s hands hovered over your body as he hesitated to put the wire down your back. He took in a breath and fed it down the back of your dress. “Is this okay…”, he questioned, whispering in your ear. His breath on your neck made you shudder. You nodded in response and he stopped again for a moment before bringing the wire towards your right breast. “Uh, here, I’ll let you do this part…”, he sheepishly looked away.

“Could you do it, please? You have steadier hands than me and the last thing we need is him seeing the wire”. Spencer looked in your eyes before nodding and grabbing the wire. His hands brushed against your breast, causing your breath to hitch at the sensation. He quickly dropped the wire and looked at you with scared, apologetic eyes.

“I’m so sorry-” he started, but you grabbed his hand and cut him off. “Spencer”, you smiled at him, bringing his hand back to where it was, “it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. That felt nice, I just, I’ve never felt you do it before. It was just new okay, but... good, really good”, your angelic laugh released the tension in his face and he bit his bottom lip, holding back a smile. He finished attaching the wire, his movements causing you to shift from how turned on you were. He looked up at you, and you brought him in for a kiss. His hands gently laid on your waist and your hands ran through his hair. When you broke apart, breathless, you gave him another quick kiss. “Alright, let’s go catch this guy”, you winked at him, causing him to smile and shake his head at how you could be making jokes right before meeting a serial killer face to face.

“We’ll be right there the whole time, and I promise we won’t let anything happen to you”, he said sincerely.

“I know you will”, you smiled. He interlocked your hands as you left the file room. As you headed for the door to head to the black SUVs, you could hear Derek behind you saying “My man” at the sight of Spencer’s disheveled, more than normal, hair. You gave Spencer’s hand a quick squeeze as you both laughed and shook your heads at Derek’s comment. Spencer held your hand for dear life and didn’t let go the entire ride there, and when he finally had to let go, he brought your hand up to his mouth and placed a kiss on your knuckles. He wished you luck as you walked into the brisk night air.

You saw the unsub’s car approach you, and your heart rate sped up, but you took a breath and calmed down. You turned your head and gave him a lustful smile and you leaned on the open passenger window.

“How much?” he asked, getting out of his car. Shit, you thought, the team never planned on him getting out and forcefully taking the girls, you always thought they got in willingly and then he took control over them. Your heart rate sped back up again. “I said, how much?”, he growled while grabbing your arm. You tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. But, before you could even let out a scream, you heard the voice of the man you loved with all your heart.

“FBI! Let her go! You are under arrest for the murder of five women”, Spencer shouted at the unsub. The unsub tightened his grip on your arm, causing you to wince. He reached for his gun in his pocket, but before he could, Morgan shot him in the arm, causing him to drop the gun. As he stumbled backward, you freed your arm and ran to Spencer, who enveloped you in a hug. You closed your eyes and put your cheek to his neck as his arms warmed your cold, and still very exposed, body. Feeling you shaking under him, he handed you his FBI jacket, which you gladly took as he draped it over your shoulders before bringing you in for another hug. He put one hand in your hair and whispered in your ear, “I’m so sorry (y/n), I promised nothing would happen. I’m so sorry he hurt you”, he said, pulling away slightly to examine your bruising arm from where the unsub grabbed you. 

“Hey… Spence…”, you said wiping a tear off his cheek, “none of this is your fault, we didn’t know he would get out of the car. I’m totally fine, and you saved me okay? I’m fine and I’m safe because you were there okay?”, he nodded as you wiped another one of tears away before he brought you to his chest again. “Come on, let’s go home,” you said as you brought him in for a quick kiss. However, much to your surprise, as you started to pull away, he cupped your cheeks and brought you into a deep kiss, you reciprocated, causing him to smile. “Hey um, maybe we can go back to the hotel so you can help me take my wire off”, you said in between kisses, pushing up against him even more. He smiled and let out a breathy laugh.

“Yeah, I’d like that”. You walked back to the black SUV, Spencer stopping you and putting his arm out protectively as Morgan took the bandaged and handcuffed unsub to the back of the police car. You looked up at Spencer with pure love because you trusted him and knew he would never hurt you.

When you made it back to the hotel room, you closed the door and took Spencer by the hand, setting him down at the edge of the bed. You stood in between his legs so that he was face to face with your chest. You brought his hands up to your chest and he took the wire out. You turned around but grabbed his hand before he fed it out of the back of your dress, causing Spencer to tense with fear that he did something wrong, a face you had seen far too many times.

“It might be easier if you unzip me and then take the wire out”, you suggested coyly.

“Oh um, are you sure?”, he asked, hesitant to touch you again. You looked down at him and could see the bulge that had formed in his pants.

“Yes, there is nothing I am more sure of”, you said while rubbing your thumb over his cheek. You turned back around and sat in his lap. His hands hovered over your zipper and then he began to slowly unzip it. You could feel the bulge growing in his pants with each inch of your back that became more exposed. As you felt his hands trace down your back, you became more and more turned on and you could feel your black panties getting wetter by the second. Desperate for some relief, you shifted your hips, causing Spencer to let out a quiet moan and his bulge to grow even bigger. When he finally got the wire out, you stood back up and turned around so he was once again staring at your breasts. Because your dress was unzipped, the shoulders of the dress began to fall, exposing even more of your chest. You smirked at seeing Spencer stare at your breasts, unable to peel his eyes away.

“You can touch me”, his eyes grew wide, realizing what he had been staring at and he looked up into your eyes, making sure not to break contact.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare”, he said sheepishly.

“Spencer”, you let out a soft chuckle, “You are my boyfriend, it’s okay, I want you to stare. I’d be a bit concerned if you didn’t like what you saw… You do right? You do like what you see?”, you said with a smaller waver to your voice.

“Of course I do! I-I, (y/n) I think you are the most beautiful person in the world. I would stare at you all day if I could, I mean, I kinda do.”

“Then touch me”, you almost whined, desperate for some friction to your crotch.

“I… I just don’t want to hurt you...” “You won’t.”

“But what if I do. I couldn’t live with myself if I knew I ever hurt you or made you uncomfortable”, he said staring at the floor. You brought his chin up to meet your gaze.

“Spencer, I want you to touch me, okay? I want this. And I trust you. I know that if for some reason I ask you to stop, you will. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable either, so if you don’t want this that is also totally okay, and we can just kiss and cuddle like normal okay? I love doing that too.” Spencer looked at you with such love your heart fluttered.

“I really want this, but only if you do too”, he said grabbing your hands and running his thumbs over your knuckles.

“I really do”, you said as you leaned in to kiss him. When your lips met he stood up and spun you so that the backs of your knees were against the bed. He ran his hands up and down your back, hinting at what he wanted to do.

“Is this okay?”, he asked. You nodded. He began to pull your dress down as he left sloppy kisses down your neck. Your exposed skin was on fire and everywhere he touched sent shocks of pleasure through your body. He pushed you onto the bed and got on top of you. His kisses got lower as he began to kiss the outline of your very much see-through lace bra. You were squirming beneath him as he sucked on the soft skin of your breasts, surely leaving marks to be admired for days to come. Your hands laced through his hair and your hips jolted up towards him in hopes of any form of release. He smiled into your skin and moved his hands down to the hem of your dress. He played with it before taking his mouth off of your breast and he looked you in the eyes.

“Is this okay?”, he asked.

“Yes, please Spencer, yes please.” With that he pulled your dress off your body, leaving you writhing beneath him in your soaked lace panties and bra. You lifted your arms up to start unbuttoning his shirt. You pushed it off his shoulders and ran your arms down in lean arms and then up to his subtly toned chest. “Please, Spence, I need you…” Hearing you beg for him made his heart do somersaults. He brushed his hands over your hips and slowly pulled down your panties, exposing you to him. He looked at you with desire.

“Is this okay?”, he asked, motioning towards your dripping entrance.

“Yes, please”, and that was all he needed before smiling up at you and connecting his mouth to your slit. He ran his tongue up and down you, eliciting loud moans from your mouth. He sucked on your clit and then ran his tongue in circles. You had been imagining this for months, and now that it was finally happening, it didn’t take long for you to come, your whole body shaking, your thighs tightening around his head, and his ears filling with you moaning his name. When you finally came down, you looked up at Spencer who stared back, matching your lustful gaze.

“You are so beautiful”, he said, running his fingers along every curve of your body. You looked down to see he was about to burst out of his pants. “Was that okay?”, he asked. 

“That, Dr. Reid, was more than okay, that was perfect.” He chuckled at you calling him doctor and placed a kiss to your forehead. He didn’t know it was possible to love someone this much. He thought his heart might burst. “I want you”, you said longingly.

“You have me”, Spencer replied with a confused smile, not quite understanding what you were saying.

“No, I want you, in me, please. I need you so bad”, Spencer’s eyes shot wide open.

“Are you sure?”, he said, running his hand over your cheek.

“I have never been more sure.” His smile grew to match yours and his mouth was back on yours, kissing you like he had been lost in the desert and you were the oasis he finally found. 

You reached down to his waist, “Is this okay?”, you asked. He nodded and hummed into your mouth. You unbuckled his belt and threw it to the side. You then undid his pants and ran your hands over his bare hips and up to his back, lightly scratching your nails into his skin, he moaned in response, jolting his hips towards you. He broke apart from the kiss to remove his pants and boxers to reveal his very hard length. You stared in amazement. Sure, you had felt your fair share of Spencer’s erections through his pants while kissing and cuddling, but this was even better than you imagined.

“Are you sure you want this?”, he asked as he positioned himself above you, his member ghosting over your entrance.

“Yes.” That was all it took and he slowly started to insert himself into you. You sucked in a sharp breath from feeling him inside you. The stretch hurt a bit, but it felt so good. Spencer noticed the discomfort you felt and immediately stopped. You looked up at him, wondering why he stopped when he felt so good.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”, he asked, searching your face for an answer.

“No, I’m great. Please don’t stop. You feel so good”, you whimpered, caressing his cheek. He nodded sheepishly, trying to hold back a smirk, and continued. When he bottom out you both let out a moan, and he stayed there for a moment to let you adjust. 

“Okay, I’m good”, you smiled at him, “please move”, you begged as your hips thrust upward. He started kissing you again as he began to move at a slow pace, as not to hurt you. You moaned into his kiss and whispered into his mouth, “Faster, please. Ruin me.” Spencer, completely enchanted by you, hanging onto every sound that came out of your mouth, happily obliged and began to thrust harder and faster. “Mmmuhhh Spence… Fuck… MMM Spence!”, you moaned. He was so high off of you he began to zone out in how good you felt.

“You feel so good (y/n), you feel so good around me”, he panted between kisses. You could tell that you were so close, but there was something you wanted to do first.

“Spence, wait…”, you said, putting your hand on his chest. He froze. Horrified he hurt you. You took his chin in your hand and met his gaze, “Can I ride you?”, you asked softly.

“Yea-Yeah, yes, yes please”, he said relieved. He turned both of you so that you were on top. You hovered on his tip, tracing circles at your entrance. You slowly lowered yourself as he moaned your name until he was fully inside you. He stared at you and reached for the clasps of the bra you still had on. “Is this okay?” You smiled and nodded as he unhooked your bra, releasing your breasts. He ran his hands over them, causing you to tip your head back in pleasure. You tightened around him, causing him to thrust into you at the sensation. You took that as your cue to start. You began rocking your hips, grinding on him as he grabbed your hips and dug his fingers into your sides. You began to bounce up and down on him, picking up your pace as you moaned even louder. Spencer was in pure bliss, looking at you ride him, moaning his name, as your breasts bounced in sync with your hips. He ran his hands over your ass and gave a tight squeeze, causing you to squeal. 

“Spence”, you warned, “I’m close.”

“Me too”, he moaned. As you came down, he thrust up into you hard, causing both of you to reach your climax together. You both sat there for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of one another. Spencer sat up, still inside of you, and you leaned into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. “I need to clean you up”, he whispered as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“In a minute…”, you said, “You feel so good”, not wanted to lose the full feeling you had with him inside you. So that’s exactly what you did. You stayed, sat on Spencer’s lap, him still inside you, holding each other in your arms as you laid your head on his shoulder. He was so warm, and you loved the feeling of your bare chests together. After a few minutes of holding each other, he finally got you to get up so he could take care of you. He got a wet wash towel with warm water and came back to clean you off before doing the same to himself. He crawled under the covers with you and pulled you into his chest, his arms enveloping you in his warmth. He placed a kiss to the top of your head as you put your head in the crook of his neck.

“(Y/n)?”, you hummed in response, your eyes still closed, “I love you so much. Thank you for trusting me and letting me be with you”. You opened your eyes and looked up at him.

“Thank you for loving me and for always respecting me. I love you, more than you will ever know”, you said before placing a kiss to his cheek. He smiled in response and pulled you closer, never wanting to let go.

[dinosaurtsukki]

[ too scared to say ]

pairing: tsukishima kei x f!reader

word count: 1.6k words

contains: slight angst, tsukishima with insecure!s/o cause he’s usually the insecure one in fics, another wedding-themed fic

a/n: had this idea for a while and i’m glad i’ve finally written it. it’s usually tsukki’s who’s insecure and guarded in xreader fics so i wanted to try it out with the reader being insecure this time

i love you.

you're caught off-guard when you hear the words from tsukishima's mouth. you never thought you'd ever hear him actually say them. as much you wished for it to happen, especially after you spent three years of high school doodling his name in the margins of your notebook, it feels too good to be true.

tsukishima looks sincere about it though. you're both seated on the couch in your apartment and even though it's pouring outside and the electricity had died, you can still make out his face in the dim lighting. you can tell it took him a great deal of effort to say that: his eyes are focused on the cushion on his lap as he picks at a stray thread, the sound of his breathing is more audible now as he inhales deeply.

this is the time where you say it back but the words catch themselves in your throat. after all, weren't you the one who got yourself into trouble for being too naive all the time? after leaving high school and all hopes of tsukishima ever liking you back behind, you tried your hand at relationships. you thought every single one of them would be your last, only to find that you had deluded yourself yet again.

meeting tsukishima again, years after high school, felt like a weird universal coincidence that you didn't know if you should thank for yet. even more so when he admitted to his feelings for you back then.

"so, what do we do about it now?" you asked.

"i'd... like to give this a shot," tsukishima said, rubbing the back of his head. you were reluctant, but agreed anyway.

you've said 'i love you' before, more than a few times. and yet, you couldn't say it now.

"aren't you... jumping to conclusions a bit?" you asked, nervously letting out a laugh.

"what do you mean?" tsukishima frowns slightly.

"just, saying that you might not be sure about that yet so... slow down a bit before saying things like that," you shrugged.

"what? you think i don't know my own feelings?" tsukishima scoffs. there's a look of hurt on his face and you can't exactly blame him for it.

"i'm sorry, tsukki," you apologize, resting your hand in the middle of the couch between you except he doesn't reach for it.

"it's fine," he shakes his head, focusing now on the wall in front of him. "i know you're not really the person you once were and, i don't mind that at all cause neither am i. sometimes, it really feels like you have a wall up."

you find yourself flinching slightly at that last part. maybe this is the part when things go south, like they always do. except, you feel sad that it had to happen with tsukishima too.

but he doesn't act like how you expect him to. "if you need time, it's fine with me," is all he says. tsukishima doesn't sound exasperated, nor frustrated at all. but he does stand up and head for the door.

'you can stay,' you think, 'please stay.'

but all you can bring yourself to say is: "take an umbrella. it's pouring outside."

...

that was about a week ago and tsukishima has barely heard from you then. he didn't know what else to do aside from give you space, and also silently regret things. maybe he was too hasty in saying that he loved you.

but, that was what he truly felt, and it wasn't easy for him to say but he did it anyway. 'you're not always losing anything when you open yourself up to someone,' akiteru had told him. and now, tsukishima was riding a bus on the way to his older brother's wedding.

he had just hung his tux on the curtain rod above the window and settled into his seat though when he caught a familiar flash of blue. of course, tsukishima would recognize your favorite dress and sat up in his seat to see you walking down the center aisle. he watched as you looked around for a seat before landing on the last empty one in the bus, which happened to be right next to tsukishima's.

"hey."

"hey," tsukishima swallowed as you approached.

"is this seat taken?" you asked.

"no, go ahead," tsukishima shook his head, his eyes distracted by the familiar dry-cleaners bag that you held in your hands. "let me help you with that," he offered, taking the hanger from your hands and hanging it up beside his tux.

“saeko nee-san invited me to the wedding,” you explained as soon as you sat down beside tsukishima. “congratulations to your brother, by the way.”

“thanks. we all, kind of saw it coming,” tsukishima chuckled. now that you were here, he realized just how much he missed you. 

“i’m sorry for not calling or anything, by the way,” you apologized. “i can’t say that this is all new to me but, it’s just... well... i’ve been in other relationships before and sometimes, it feels like things repeat themselves too much.”

tsukishima nodded, remembering the night when you two met again after so many years. he was working the counter at the bar and noticed you sitting there, obviously dressed up for a date, obviously stood up in that said date too. you were very much different from the young girl who used to invite him and yamaguchi to watch the latest romance movie theaters, the one who sang songs at the top of your lungs in your bedroom, loud enough for those downstairs to here. but that didn’t mean he liked you any less. 

“hey,” he laid a hand on top of yours. “why don’t we just enjoy today? you still love going to weddings, right?”

you smiled gratefully and chuckled. “yeah, that hasn’t changed.”

...

you fully expected to run into tsukishima at his own brother’s wedding and had thought twice about going before talking sense into yourself. and now, you were glad to have gone. 

the wedding was absolutely charming and more than a few of your old high school friends came. you and tsukishima were seated with yamaguchi and yachi at the same table and chatted about old times and what the volleyball duo was up to. saeko looked stunning in her dress and akiteru cried more than a few times during the ceremony. tsukishima looked proud of his brother, and more than a little tired of his new brother-in-law.

“they look really good together,” you sighed, smiling at akiteru and saeko who were breakdancing in the middle of the dance floor, the latter doing much better than the former. 

“yeah,” tsukishima chuckled. “they barely met each other in high school but i could tell nii-chan was star-struck when they met at the shiratorizawa match.”

“and now look at them,” you giggled. “kind of the opposite of us, in a way.”

“yeah, because you were definitely head over heels for me,” tsukishima snickered. you smacked his arm with the back of your hand.

“and you were too dense to realize it,” you countered. 

“not exactly. just thought it was too good to be true,” tsukishima smiled wryly. 

“we should have been accidentally locked into a room together to force us to admit our feelings.” 

“you and your romance movie cliches.”

you chuckled at that. “just saying. would have made things way easier for everyone.” you sighed again and remembered the confession letter you had penned to tsukishima before deciding to stash it away in your desk. then, you turned to tsukishima who was watching his brother and sister-in-law dance. 

maybe you were going to enjoy yourself tonight.

“hey, tsukishima?”

“yeah?”

“wanna dance with me?”

...

with the dancing and frequent visits to the wine bar, you ended up enjoying the wedding immensely. but as much as you didn’t want to, it was finally time to go home. you and tsukishima didn’t even bother changing out of your formal clothes before catching the last bus back home. your hair had escaped from its pins and you were definite that there was mascara smudged under your eye. tsukishima’s tie hung loosely around his neck and he had already unbuttoned the upper part of his shirt.

all of the dancing tired him out way more than you, but it was a pleasant surprise for him to comply with your request. you also had the wine to thank for tsukishima deciding to break dance for about a minute when his older brother asked him to. 

as soon as he was seated, tsukishima was out like a light with his head leaned back against the seat and his mouth slightly hanging open. looking at him, you realized that he was someone you didn’t want to let go. dating him was scarier because of that and you didn’t want tsukishima to be one of those people you were eventually going to say goodbye to.

but how could he be that person if you don’t ask him to stay in the first place?

once again, you remembered the confession letter that you had wrote to him all those years ago. there was a tremble in your hand when you wrote down the last line of that letter, so much that it screwed up the writing and you decided not to send the letter anyway. you glanced at tsukishima’s misty reflection in the fogged up glass of the bus before using your finger to write down that line.

i love you

the words looked like they were suspended in the air and fragile enough to be blown away by the wind. with a swipe of your hand, you could easily erase the message.

and that’s when tsukishima wakes up. 

his sleepy eyes travel from you to the message written on the window and his eyes widen when he realizes what you’ve written down. with a smile, he leans over, and writes a word right under your message.

i love you too

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

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[motherjoel]

Leading Lady (Spencer Reid x Reader)

chapter one- movie pirate

wc: 1.2k

summary: you’re a struggling actor in New York at risk of being the next victim in a string of local murders

a/n: this is a story thats on my AO3 that I decided to post on tumblr as well! i hope you guys like it

chapter index: chapter 2

“Deep breaths, Y/N. Once you’re up there, it’ll be a piece of cake! You just, yaknow, have to get up there,” you say to yourself, in hopes of convincing yourself to calm down. Being on stage was your favorite place to be, but for some reason it took all of your strength to actually walk onto the stage, even though it was just a rehearsal. Your passion outweighed the stage fright though, and as you heard your cue you got into character and made your way onto the stage. 

-

“It is the future that they bring when tomorrow comes… Tomorrow comes!” you sang, tears threatening to roll down your face. It was still only rehearsal but for some reason the last words of Les Mis brought you to tears every time. You finally landed your dream role of Eponine, although it was just a local community theater, the cast was very talented and you were honored to stand with them.

“Great rehearsal everyone. I know it's been a long day so I wont keep you. Go home, rest your voices, stay hydrated and be ready for tech rehearsal next week!” your director said. The rest of the cast had rushed off the stage, running off to their night shifts and chicken flavored ramen. Most of the cast were young and struggling to make it in show biz, much like you, who had yet to move from your position on the stage, still soaking in the moment. You snapped out of it, though- you had an early shift the next day and needed your sleep. Jumping off the stage, you gathered your things from a chair in the audience and headed out of the theatre. 

Your walk home was fairly short. Living in New York had its perks, especially the walkability. Never mind the polluted air and real estate prices- you just felt like you belonged here in Manhattan. You normally felt safe walking home at night, with the streets usually occupied, but you couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching you. Picking up your pace, you made it to your apartment building and ran up the 5 stories.

“Yo, how was your rehearsal?” asked your next door neighbor and friend Brooke as you unlocked your door. She, like you, was a struggling artist- Brooke was always working on a novel, hoping to be the next big author. 

“It was fine. I'm starved, though. Wanna order a pizza?” you asked, hoping she'd come inside with you to hang out. You were still unsettled from earlier, couldn't shake the feeling of being watched and you didn't want to be alone.

“At 10:30 PM?” she questioned, to which you nodded. “Ugh I wish I could hang, I have to get to bed. I’m flying home tomorrow morning and I gotta leave the house at like 4 AM. Why don’t you ask Maaaaaatt to hang out…?” she suggested, drawing out the “a” in matt to tease you. Matt played Marius in your show and the two of you have a bit of a “showmance” going on. It wasn’t really a love connection but at least he was someone to pass the time. 

“Eh, maybe. It is actually kinda late and I gotta be at the store pretty early tomorrow. Have fun on your flight!” you said, stepping inside your apartment. Shutting and locking the door, you threw your keys and bag onto the couch and strode into the kitchen. Your apartment was very small- barely enough room for 2 people. You had moved in with your now ex-boyfriend, Logan, a few months ago. He has since moved out and for some reason, the small apartment always felt empty. 

Changing into your PJs and forgoing a shower, you climbed into bed and tried to fall asleep as soon as possible. You had to work at 8 and needed sleep. You drifted off with thoughts of France in 1815, not noticing the shadows on the fire escape outside your bedroom window.

-

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Ughhhhh,” you sighed, not a morning person. It was 7:15 but it felt like the middle of the night. Rolling out of bed, you put on a denim skirt with tights, a black turtleneck and a pair of mary jane doc martens. This was your usual style, a staple piece being a turtleneck, sometimes you experimented with a colorful sweater but it was nice to have a style that was easy to throw on every morning. You heated up a frozen breakfast burrito while you put on some makeup, planning on grabbing some coffee at work. As you walked to grab your purse from your bed, you noticed the window in your room was slightly ajar. Weird for the middle of October, but you had work in 20 minutes and didn’t have time to dwell. You shut and locked the window, hurrying out the front door.

-

It was a short walk to your workplace- a quaint little bookstore/coffee shop store that you had loved ever since you walked in a few short months ago. After becoming a regular, you had noticed a “help wanted” sign in the window and jumped at the perfect opportunity to work your dream job. It was pretty chill and you got free coffee every shift which was a definite bonus. Today, however, was the opposite of chill. You knew this to be true when two serious looking men walked in with purpose- not the meandering behavior of your usual customers. You were behind the counter, just having finished ringing someone up, when the two walked over to you.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” the muscular one asked. You were shocked, to say the least, and you guessed it was pretty evident on your face when the man introduced himself.

“I’m agent Morgan, this is Dr. Reid, we’re with the FBI,” he said, flashing you a badge. “Could we speak with you?” 

You were caught off guard, once again. “FBI? The worst thing I’ve ever done is go on 123movies to watch High School Musical!” you said, noticing a smirk on the muscular one's face- the skinnier one in the sweater looked puzzled by you. 

“No miss, we’re not here about that,” he chuckled. 

“We’re here because we believe you could be the next victim in a string of murders,” said the sweatered one, quite bluntly. The man you now knew as Agent Morgan nudged him and he put his head down, blushing. Your mouth was agape.

“Sorry for my partner here, he isn’t the best with bedside manners. But, it's true. It’s possible that you’re in a lot of danger. Would you come with us?” he asked. You checked your watch, seeing that your shift was due to end in 10 minutes anyway. 

“Sure, I guess. Lemme just grab my things from the back,” you told them. As you headed to the back you heard the two bickering, but you were too in shock from the news you just received to listen in. After gathering your purse and jacket, you were led out the door by the two men and into a large black SUV.

[thecandlesticksfromlesmis]

My sister's college's theater group decided to FILM their musical one person at a time and edit it together(!!) and I'm in engineering grad school, and am aware that art school is a v v different experience but this made me think: how are you guys doing this? Are you ok? How do you learn to direct if there can't be two people on screen together? Is it like the Tom Holland thing where he didnt know who was in scenes with him? Are the editing students happy about this? If you dont want to answer I totally get it but I'm asking because engineering not in person kills me so I just. Can't fathom what you're doing. I wish you the best 💙

HEY omg yeah it’s a mess. It’s been a mess since this all started and I think it will continue to be a mess for the rest of this year. 

Rest of post under the cut cause I’m just ranting.

So when everything first hit, all filmmaking was stopped completely, which for me as a screenwriter was fine because I am not required to be on set unless I wrote the script (or have been bamboozled into script supervising ugh) anyway. But I know it hurt literally every other discipline, especially cinematographers because they need to touch cameras in order to learn and the school provides all their tech. 

Towards the end of last year, the school started back up with productions, making it mandatory for all the films to be shot on our big sound stages (usually we have free rein of all of LA and a little outside it in shoot in) and to include a COVID safety supervisor. Our sound stages were upgraded with new air ventilation systems and the school also rented out other stages to accommodate the huge number of shorts that needed to be shot. 

In order to be on set you had to have proof of a negative COVID test and have isolated in your home for two weeks before shooting. On set was a big production of face shields and masks and sanitizer and staying six feet away from each other---except for the actors. The actors could be in scenes together, provided they did all the steps above and agreed to be close to someone in a scene.

No one is happy lmao. It’s pushed back thesis schedule SO MUCH, that lots of people in my class will still be having to shoot and finish thesis after we technically graduate this year. Technically, I’m still responsible for writing a script for a project that was cancelled and removed from the “you need to do this to graduate” list. It’s been rescheduled to shoot in August when I will be rigorously prepping for the huge event where I pitch all my project to industry execs. I don’t wanna do it, but my whole team still wants to so ya know 🤷🏼‍♂️

I have no clue how the fuck the production designers are functioning. I hope they’re still able to go to the school to access the building stations and literally all their materials. Editors have to go into the school to do their work because AVID costs so much money and no one is gonna buy it personally and that’s what they edit on! Directors are being dramatic as usual (lol I love some of them but goooood the shit they’ve put writers through y’all). 

Basically, it’s all around absolutely NOT what we signed up for to earn our masters. This school’s big selling point is hands on, collaborative work, and it’s really tough to do that now. Writers have less to deal with, but what I wouldn’t give to be sitting in workshop, giving notes to people in conversation form, rather than trying to have a natural dialogue over zoom. It sucks! And I miss my friends. 

There was this beautiful room on campus, that was a “no talking zone” in the library, that I used to work in every day. It was a room full of screenplays--like stacked shelves top to bottom of bound screenplays, some original behind glass doors, some signed by writers. It was really good place for me to focus on what I came here to do. I really really miss it. It made me feel a part of something! I have barely left my house for a year and now all the words I’ve written are trapping in our one bedroom apartment and it’s so stifling. The stories are blending together and GOD I can’t wait to get a break. 

I’m burnt out and tired of the one thing I know how to do. 

But I’m going to end this on a bright note! Mike and I are getting our second shot soon, we’re working on a film project right now, I’m finishing drafts of stories I’ve been working on for so long. If everything was the way it was before all this, the things I’m accomplishing would feel so small and not impressive. But now I’m realizing just how hard they really are to finish, and I should be less hard on myself in the future! 

Anyway, thanks for asking! Hope engineering grad school is going well. I’m sure it’s hard with all this going on too! Wishing you the best 💚 

[mahoushojoe]

(regarding that ask-meme you reblogged) I would be very interested in reading your opinions on Scar, because he deserves every drop of appreciation he can get

AAAA DJKAID OKAY TIME TO R A N T ABOUT MY MAN

(SPOILER WARNING FOR BOTH 2003 AND BROTHERHOOD)

Why I like them:

Okay so....where to begin. Most important to me, I think, is that Scar is not a very common character. So many pieces of media focusing on war and genocide focus on the bad effects on the agents of it, but rarely on the (largely brown) victims, and never in a way that vindicates them. The FMA adaptations vary in the ways they handle Scar, but all of them give you the general idea that Scar has a definite right to feel this wrathful. Scar's arc isn't really about forgiving his oppressors by any means- he still fucking hates them at the end of both series, and for good reason. But he learns to direct his trauma and experiences into something that is more constructive for himself and for his community (in Brotherhood). This is shown in like the brilliant visual motif of him getting the deconstruction tattoo during the most traumatic and violent part of his life, but then gaining the reconstruction tattoo over the course of Brotherhood. In 03, despite the fact that he dies, I still like how he went out and how the show didn't really villainize him. He just has a lot of agency, and I like that.

What else, what else. His design is just fucking cool. His outfit rocks, he has white hair and red eyes, he's brown, he's a warrior priest, he's distinctly ~ Muslamic ~, he's cool as FUCK. He canonically likes cute animals and just adopts this little foreign princess for the hell of it. He's just COOL. Also he says some of the most absolutely metal lines in the series.

In short, Scar is really fucking cool, visually and narratively, and I have yet to find a character of color treated with his nuance in media.

Why I don't:

I can't really find a lot of answers to this tbh... I maybe find it hard that he was kinda chummy with General Armstrong at the end of Brotherhood? idk, he's cool as fuck, I love him.

Favorite episode:

The one where its his final fight against Wrath/Fuhrer Bradley, in Brotherhood. Like.........what a culmination. What a FINALE. First of all, the sheer brilliance of Scar, a dude whose entire motivation at the beginning was just wrath and revenge, fighting the literal PERSONIFICATION OF WRATH, thereby being a VISUAL REPRESENTATION OF HIS CHOICE TO MOVE BEYOND WRATH AND TO BECOME TRUE JUSTICE, just. WOWS me every time. It's also like a really fucking epic fight? And just....the way the show VINDICATES scar's beliefs because scar, in doing alchemy, is going against the teachings of ishvala, and Bradley mocks it, right? WELL, we pretty much get the implication that while BRADLEY is the personification of AMESTRIS' wrath, SCAR is the wrath of ISHVALA. SCAR IS ISHVALA. And he only STARTS BEING THAT when he stops convincing himself that he acts for Ishvala- he acts for his people. And it's just a wonderful callback to this scene where Bradley had mocked the Ishvallan leader with words a la "where is your god now? where is his wrath?" and then LIKE. THERE HE IS DUDE HE JUST FUCKING K I L L E D YOU

Ugh, the brilliance.

Also of course it goes without saying that it was very cathartic to see Scar be the one to kill the person who directly ordered his people's genocide in the first place.

Favorite season/movie:

I'm gonna interpret this as whether I like him more in 2003 or Brotherhood, and to be honest: I can't tell you. I like both Scars a lot.

Favorite line:

"My sympathy will not be spent on soldiers. Neither should yours." banger

"Your only solace from my wrath shall be damnation!" BANGER

Favorite outfit:

He only really has one outfit lmao but I will say I love the Adidas tracksuit/yellow jacket/sunglasses fit

OTP:

TBH he hasn't really been the most romantic dude huh. I've never really shipped him with anyone. He had a really interesting dynamic with Lust in 2003 though, I wish the fandom explored that more.

BROTP:

MEI!!! HIS DAUGHTER MEI CHANG!!!!!!! AND HIS OTHER DAUGHTER XIAO MEI!!!!! HE LOVES HIS DAUGHTER!!!!! HE DRIVES HER TO BALLET PRACTICE!!!!! HE TOOK HER TO SEE FROZEN IN MOVIE THEATERS!!!!! HE IS!!! HER FATHER!!!!

ok fr though there's sth so beautiful and poignant abt that scene where he listens to how mei is trying to save her people from starvation and how emotionally exhausted she is from the search for the philosopher's stone and from losing xiao mei and then deciding to help her find her even though he has no obligation to like....gets me every time

or when she comes back with envy and he's like "!!!! you fool!!!!! go save your people!!!!" and mei starts crying so he's like "alright stop crying you can stay" like????? what a fucking DAD

they also kick ass together

Headcanon:

Hm. Post B-hood he doesn't really become the new leader of Ishval or anything but he does become a very prolific and influential theologian with many seminal works on the history and religion of Ishval. Also, he and Mei keep in touch. They send letters and occasionally visit. She shares all the gossip with him so he has dirt on every single person of importance in Xing and Amestris. He pretends he doesn't care about the drama, but he's intrigued.

A wish:

I wish he got more screentime? He's just cool.

An oh-god-please-don't-ever-happen:

well, the franchise has been over for like......11 years. thank god he wasn't in the live action.

5 words best to describe them:

cool, sexy, talented, showstopping, amazing

My nickname for them:

do people??? nickname their favorite characters????

Anyway, thank you so much for the ask!!!!!! I enjoyed this!!!

[suntrastar]

abstract: chapter 3

 chapter 2!! you can also read it on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 9520. i am deranged. someone euthanize me i beg you.

Author’s note: jesus fucking christ. this is so long for no reason. probably kind of poorly written. that is okay though. i really really appreciate the support you guys have given me for the last 2 chapters!! i was a bit iffy about joining tumblr but i’m glad to be here now :) please comment and reblog!! i appreciate it so much!!! ily all ok now enjoy this mess!!!

“You want to paint me?”

Rina looks at you, shocked, mouth agape, lone cherry tomato speared on her fork.

“Yeah,” you say, and smile with your straw still in between your teeth. “You in a field of flowers.”

“You want to paint me in a field of flowers?”

“Yes- that’s literally what I just said.”

The bustle of the restaurant is loud enough to drown out the rising volume of her voice. Thankfully. She’s being excessive, again- as if this is the first time she’s ever been the center of attention- but you’re fine with it today. You almost like it.

Today, her enthusiasm is almost contagious.

“I know,” Rina says “Duh. But, like, it’s just so crazy to me that you want to put me in your second solo show ever- I mean, why me?”

“Because,” you say, and almost leave it at that, just to mess with her. “Because you’re my best friend, and the whole thing is focused on people I know. And your hair would look so good with poppies, and-”

“I’m your best friend?”

“Obviously,” you say, even though to her, it might not be that obvious. “Who else?”

“That is so sweet,” she says, and leans back in her seat, dramatically clutching her hands over her heart. Rings sit on each of her fingers, gold and heavy stone. “You are too nice to me.”

She’s really milking it. But you’ll let it slide.

Rina gives you a self-satisfied smile, which you return without too much trouble. She’s so overwrought and showy with how she sits, limbs sprawled all over, like they’ve been blown into disarray by the wind. Her hair, still glossy red, is parted down the middle and made up in two French braids, tips just barely brushing her shoulders. The hair ties don’t match.

She has no best friend. She probably has, like, five other people just like you, who she calls on when she feels like it, whenever she wants company, when she feels like humoring someone. Or when she wants someone to listen to her talk.

It comes as part of the lifestyle- can you really blame her?

“I know,” you say, veering back on topic. “Bucky gave me the idea.”

You do it on purpose.

Her eyes go wide.

“Bucky?” She says, incredulously. Like she doesn’t believe you.

The feeling of being incompetent comes quick in a flash, and it takes too much to put it away.

You’re not incompetent- his number is in your phone, after all, isn’t it?

“The Winter Soldier, I mean,” you say, and the words feel all wrong in your mouth.

“No . Shut up. You are not on first-name basis with the fucking Winter Soldier.”

“Oops,” you say.

Her jaw drops.

You’re grinning too hard. She didn’t expect this from you- you didn’t expect this from you! You take a bite of your food, some garlicky chicken thing you can’t pronounce the name of, to delay your response. It gives you time to think of what to say next.

Rina waits, stunned into silence.

“We’re… talking, I think,” you say. “I asked him for his number.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“Yep.”

There’s a story there, that you won’t tell her.

You texted him a day after class, on Tuesday. Was that too soon? You didn’t care, your mind was too muddled with so many other things- icy blue eyes and different techniques for drawing wrinkles and this week’s shopping list and the best color that went with orange-red, and the laundry that you still hadn’t done.

You were too giddy to get smart with it- all you sent was a simple Hey.

All he sent back was a simple Hi.

Then, once you had read over his message too many times, you turned your phone off and pretended it never happened.

It’s too nerve-wracking. And pointless. You’re going to see him on Monday again, anyway! There’s plenty of time to text him- everything doesn’t have to be so immediate- you’ll get around to it before then, for sure.

You just have to stop thinking so much.

“I cannot believe you,” Rina gushes, and from her expression, you believe her. “You’re all grown up! I am so proud of you. That man is delicious, I cannot-”

“Do not describe him as delicious, oh my god.”

You burst out laughing as Rina raises one eyebrow, filled in dark. Her eye makeup always kills. “Am I wrong?”

“Well… no, but…”

***

Steve leaves, but Bucky stays back at the end of class to help you clean up. Acrylics again, and it’s the second-to-last class, so you had finally brought out the canvas.

Canvas means more fun, but more mess. More paint splatters on the tables, more brushes with clogged-up bristles.

Bucky doesn’t smile as he says bye to Steve, and it makes you feel a certain type of way , but you stick to business. Cleaning supplies are pulled out, paper towels are ripped from the dispenser. Bucky starts on the tables while you roll up your sleeves and start the sink, preparing to start on the brushes.

God- these brushes.

If these brushes were washed incorrectly, you would cry. They’re new, and high-quality, and the bristles are still soft and not yet frayed or discolored, and the handles are made of thick, clear plastic, and they come in different sizes and styles, and you can barely believe it, but they all even have rubber grips.

They’re really nice brushes.

“You didn’t text me back,” Bucky says.

You wish the sink was loud enough to swallow all sound, swallow you up within it.

Still, you look over your shoulder, giving him a pained smile while he scrubs at a spot of dried paint. He looks back at you, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Of course you didn’t text back- thinking less is way harder than it seems.

“I wanted to,” you say, “but I got nervous. Sorry.”

You turn back to the sink. It’s a little easier to breathe without having to look at him.

“You got nervous,” he repeats, voice still so unreadable.

Is he mad? He always looks mad, always sounds mad- you can’t ever tell if there’s anything behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, and shrug, like it’s no big deal at all, like you chicken out of things all the time, like texting is always such a cause for concern. “I didn’t know what to say. What was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.”

Ugh.

The sink water slowly circles the drain. You don’t look past it, only keeping your eyes on the sink and the remaining brushes- it helps calm your heart, a little. Bucky is probably on the last few tables. All of the paintings have been neatly propped up on the drying racks.

Bucky painted his entire canvas yellow.

You are so dumb.

“Um, okay” you say, shutting off the sink. The really nice brushes are all neatly piled up on the counter on top of a folded paper towel, washed and drying. “What if I was like, ‘hey, Bucky, after this class ends and I’m not your art instructor anymore, would you want to meet up sometime?’”

You turn back around and lean against the sink. It’s an effort that deserves applause- you look so collected, while your heart is beating way too fast, and Bucky, its forever opposite, just stands behind a table, spray bottle in hand.

Your hands are sweaty.

He nods slowly, and it’s a victory in and of itself- the action nearly has you weak at the knees.

“Meet up,” he repeats, voice low, like a halfhearted growl. Disdainful, kind of. “Like a date.”

You wipe your hands on your apron. It’s a totally normal, totally relaxed movement. But then you’re wishing that you wore something cuter- was this sweatshirt really the only thing you had? Do you not own, like, a blouse, or something? Didn’t you just do your laundry?

Fuck, you’re being annoying.

“We don’t have to call it that,” you say. “We can just… hang out. Eat something. Go on a walk.”

You say it casually, but honestly, you like nice dates. Dates at art museums, dates at fusion restaurants, dates at movie theaters showing indie films in foreign languages. Anything eccentric, haphazard. Spontaneous.

But you also like seeing him smile, and you like to talk, and you like to be listened to- and he is giving you that.

This is a different type of everything. It’s all upside down, inside out, twisted over in itself. You have to approach it all differently, maybe it’s because he’s too quiet or too famous or too dangerous or whatever the hell, but none of it matters.

What matters is that you want it.

You’ll realign your compass.

“Okay,” he says. “I like walks.”

“Great,” you say, and go on without hesitating, because long nights have you tired and hesitation is for the weak, “I like you.”

Bucky Barnes, real, unfitting name James, clutching dirty paper towels and a spray bottle, smiles at you.

It’s wrong, but you could just bite him.

A sudden, unprompted thought hurls through your mind- you want to paint him.

***

The last art class.

It was once long-awaited, but now, you’re actually sad to see everyone go.

You buy a tray of cookies. It’s the least you can do- everyone has been so nice to you, so respectful and cooperative. Everyone has made things fun. You don’t know if you were doing anything right, but it sure as hell has been enjoyable.

Crumbs might get in the paint, but’s a small price to pay.

“Knock yourself out,” you announce.

The tray is set out on the middle table. You forgot the package of napkins back at your studio, so you gesture to the paper towel dispenser.

Then you long for the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes, because unlike these people, they wouldn’t be looking so dead at the prospect of free cookies.

You shake your head and return to your perch, tucking your feet behind the legs of the stool.

Eventually the conversations trickle out, slowly turning the room warm and lovely and bright. You listen in, a little, savor it, and hop back up. There’s nothing to do- might as well make some idle chitchat, one last time.

Shonna uses a small brush to add purple highlights to the feathers of a pigeon. It’s gorgeous- and you don’t even like pigeons- but you like her painting style and the jewel tones she’s adding amidst the grey, and the orange beak, and the washed-out yellow background she’s painting over.

“Wow,” you say, and she adds another purple highlight with a flick of her hand. “I cannot stop looking at this pigeon.”

“Thank you, honey,” she says, without looking up.

She’s too focused for you to stay for too long- you have to leave the pigeon for others. Marcie waves you down and gives you the latest update about her son, abandoning her half-painted rose while she launches into a bit of a tirade- her son wants to pierce his nose, isn’t that ridiculous?

“Hey, I wanted to pierce my nose when I was his age, too,” you say, and spout something about self-expression that makes her frown.

Ahmed chimes in. You have no idea what the blob he’s painting is supposed to be, but you like it. “I’ve been trying to tell her the same thing! These kids are modern now- these are just the things they do!”

“These are just the things we do,” you echo.

Marcie heaves a heavy sigh.

***

You head over to a few more tables, and it goes by too fast and too slow, but then you’re suddenly there in the back, with your star student, and your…

With Bucky.

“I really like how this is turning out,” Steve says proudly, as you approach them.

Then, he adds, almost childishly, “Don’t look until I’m done.”

He has a half-eaten sugar cookie sitting by his paint water.

“I won’t look” you promise, and all at once, you’re almost emotional- he is such a nice guy. He’s like the human embodiment of a golden retriever. “Don’t worry.”

Steve nods, pleased and nervous at the same time. You pointedly look away from the painting as you slide into a seat, across from Bucky and his yellow canvas.

Yellow and black canvas. He’s hunched over with a fat-bristled paintbrush in hand, adding black stripes, blobby and unevenly spaced, but still unbelievably straight.  

It is all so cute.

“Very bumblebee-esque,” you say, and his forehead creases. “I like it.”

Steve smiles.

Bucky adds another line. He didn’t take a cookie. He should’ve- the chocolate-chip is so good.

“Thanks,” he says.

And Steve just smiles wider, and you almost kick him under the table, and Bucky gives you an unsmiling look that turns you to jelly.

Hat aside, he is looking exceptionally pretty today. All hair and eyes and bone structure- it makes you want to do something, like reaching out and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. Like running a hand over his jaw. Catching his stubble under your fingertips.

Parting his hair down the middle and French braiding it.

Taking a picture- it'll last longer.

“I'm going to miss seeing you guys around.”

Steve gives you a surprised look and shakes his head. He has one arm protectively curled around his canvas, even though you’re still not looking.

“Oh, I’m sure one of us will be seeing you around,” he says, and grins.

You glare at him.

Bucky laughs.

***

The goodbyes aren’t as bad as you thought they would be.

People leave with a simple goodbye and a brief thank you, shrugging on their coats and gingerly clinging to their still-damp artwork. Marcie makes you promise her that you won’t pierce your nose. One woman who would always come to the class with a huge coffee cup sets her painting aside to sweep you into a hug.

It’s very gratifying.

Steve and Bucky linger.

Shonna does, too, but for a completely different reason.

You want to give her Rina’s contact. She probably has some painting class available, if Shonna’s interested in that sort of thing, if she’s okay with being around so much personality.

And you also want to give her your contact- so she can keep on sending you pictures of those  birds.

“One sec,” you tell her, and reach for your purse, sitting on the counter.

Bucky is standing closeby, remarkably closeby, and you accidentally brush against him.

He goes rigid.

But you’re busy pulling out a pen and a scrap piece of paper, and then you’re using the counter as a hard surface to write against, shoulders angled away from him, and you’re talking all the while- you don’t have the spare second to be concerned.

“This is my email,” you say, adding a smiley face after the address. “Send me your art. And, like, talk to me. Send me your grocery lists, if you want- I don’t care. Here.”

Shonna takes it and gives you a smile. There’s a glimmer of something in it, a knowing.

“Thank you,” she says, and laughs a little, and you suddenly fiercely miss your mother. “I’ll keep the last bit in mind.”

She looks past you. Steve, standing a few feet away, holding the canvas he still hasn’t shown you, nods respectfully. And Bucky, standing near the counter, still near you, even though he’s looking at you like you’ve scalded him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says.

You almost ask, “to what?” But she’s already left- Shonna and her pigeons are gone.

Steve steps up fast to take her place.

You still have no time to think.

“So, this is the finished product,” Steve says with no preamble, and with a great flourish that makes you laugh in delight, he turns the canvas around.

Oh.

Wow.

You’re not dizzy.

But you will be, if you keep on looking at this- a tangle of vines on a wall, with blooming flowers in what should be the wrong colors, dappled in light from a window you can’t see, drawn from a strange perspective. The leaves are really big and the vines are really small, and then it’s flip-flopped, and he has a hot-pink underpainting that he didn’t fully cover, so there’s pink in the leaves, pink on the wall. Pink in the un-pink flowers.

“Fuck,” you say, and then go quiet.

Steve tenses.

Now you have two very strong men looking at you weird.

You should probably fix that.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to say,” you say, stumbling over your words, feeling cotton-mouthed. “There are no coherent thoughts going on in my head right now. I’m just- where did this even- how did you even come up with this?”

“I tried to do that thing you said,” Steve says, sounding uncertain. He shifts and the painting moves with him, sending pink flickering over your eyesight. “No empty space. Because it’s boring.”

What is this called, again? Artists supporting artists?

“It is boring,” you say in agreement, and your voice comes back to you, all at once. “And holy shit, you pulled it off so well. I’m obsessed with the pink underpainting- it’s everything. You literally invented pink. And can we talk about these vines? How long did it take you to draw them all tangled up like that? And the flowers- you even gave them little stems, ugh.  And all the colors! And this lighting- I’m sorry, I have too much to say.”

Like watching a flower bloom, Steve unfurls at your praise, blush deepening with each compliment. It’s so wonderfully endearing, and internally, you sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” he says, and bursts into the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. “Also, we have one more question.”

“We?” You ask, and Bucky clears his throat.

You turn to him.

Already, you have a whole slew of problems- you have to sketch out an emerging idea and place an order for new brushes, ones with rubber grips, and you have to cook dinner when you get home because lately you’ve been ordering too much takeout, and you have to organize your closet, and you have to give an adequate and peppy response to whatever Steve is about to say-

You’re bursting at the seams.

There isn’t much room for anything else. Any concern.

“You have something to say, Bucky?” You ask, and waggle your eyebrows.

He doesn’t crack a smile- just how you like it.

“I do,” he says, smugly, and then says your name in a way that ties your stomach up in knots, that has you thinking of flowers and chiffon.

“We were wondering if you’re free tomorrow,” Steve says, and then invites you out for drinks, for tomorrow evening.

So you’ve passed the initial threshold of friendship, and now you’re onto group drinking! That’s exciting- and you’ll get to see Bucky, and you’ll get to postpone that tedious process of planning out a date- a hang-out, and you’ll have an opportunity to show up in something besides jeans and sad sweatshirts.

There hasn’t been a chance to show it off to him, yet, but you can dress.

Steve mentions another friend named Sam, who might join, too, if that’s okay with you.

“I’m cool with it,” you say. “The more the merrier, right?”

He has to be a decent guy, if Steve associates with him, and you like new people.

But doesn’t Steve also associate with, like, Tony Stark?

That man is oh-so problematic. He rolls out with a new scandal every month. He’s had enough scandals that he could release a line of red-and-gold-themed calendars- with the dates of each scandal marked in. Each month could have its own photo, too, coinciding with the dates.

Tony Stark, making peace signs at a court hearing. Tony Stark, wasted on a yacht. Tony Stark, in the middle of an interview where he bashes people who have absolutely nothing to do with him.

“That sounds like fun,” you say, and Steve lets out a breath of relief, “but I have to ask, about Sam? Is he, like, a…”

An Avenger? A genetically-altered individual? A prominent public figure with a stupid amount of money?

“He’s a really nice guy,” Steve quickly says.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Bucky says, immediately after him.

***

As it turns out, Sam Wilson is not a pain in the ass.

He is really nice, but more importantly, he is funny.

Bucky texted you the address a few hours ago. You walk into the bar and at once, you’re assaulted by an excess of dark- dark floors, dark lighting, dark accents on the decor. None of it is dingy, just low-lit. It’s a nice place.

It might be a little too nice- nothing like the sticky-floored, rowdy sports-themed bars you usually hit when you’re in the mood to get hammered.

You catch the back of a head, wavy brown hair and thick shoulders, in a booth tucked into the corner. Steve, sitting opposite him, against the wall, catches your eye and waves you over.

Next to Bucky is a guy you’ve never seen before, Sam. Black skin, close-cropped hair, looking over his shoulder to flash a grin at you. Even in a simple shirt, you can tell that he is built.

He’s an Avenger, then. Maybe.

You’ve just barely slid in beside Steve, and you’re grinning and making some dumb comment about the disaster that is the New York subway system, when Sam fixes you with a gleeful look and leans forward.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, casting a side-eye at Bucky. “I’m not joking when I say this- I was starting to think that Barnes made you up. He’s always doing crazy shit like that. Anyways, you will not believe why I’m actually here.”

You humor him, because why the hell not? “Why are you actually here?”

Already, you can tell that he has that vaguely-ironic, purposely-stupid sense of humor, which you always find absolutely hilarious. And you want to know what he means by crazy shit.

Bucky looks up at you for a few charged seconds, telling you something you can’t decipher, and then ducks his hand back down to stare intensely at his drink. Something amber, with ice cubes.

“I’m here to make sure that you don’t feel bad. Because these two fossils,” Sam says, and Steve winces, “can’t get drunk. But I can! So if you wanna get trashed, I’m game.”

Under the dimmed lights, Sam’s teeth shine perfectly white. All of Steve’s friends seem to have perfectly white teeth.

“It’s because of the serum,” Steve says, and you just gawk.

They both can’t get drunk?  

Because of their fucking superhero vaccine?

“What the hell,” you say, and rest your elbows on the tabletop. Bucky’s gaze follows your arms, starting at the hems of the sleeves, trailing up to your shoulders. “That’s so… Steve, if you can’t get drunk, then why are you torturing yourself with that beer?”

“It’s for the feeling,” Steve says quietly, blushing pink, and Bucky is still quiet, and you have a feeling that this has something to do with nostalgia, or World War II, or something. The good old days.

Sam catches it too, so he buts in, quickly bringing the conversation back to something less layered, less wired.

He’s a man with nothing to hide. He tells you who he is with no hesitation, without trying to skip over or disguise anything- he’s open. He’s a war vet, too, and now an Avenger- he’s the Falcon. He has, he says, a pair of fancy-ass wings. And the coolest outfit.

“Wait,” you say, and you’re suddenly dying to know, “what does it feel like to fly?”

His eyes light up.

“You know when you’re trying to sleep, and then you randomly get that feeling that you’re falling, and your stomach does that thing?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that, but you can control it. It’s fucking amazing.”

He launches into a whole spiel, talking your ear off about the feeling of high-altitude wind on his skin and aerodynamics and some science-y things you don’t understand, and you get your own beer and enjoy the sweet feeling of getting buzzed on a weeknight, and as the edge you constantly have on yourself shifts, the seats shift, too.

You don’t know how, but you end up next to Bucky, in between him and the wall. Not touching, but close. Sam is across from you and Steve is next to him, and all of a sudden they’re talking about Chex Mix.

“If the Avengers were Chex Mix pieces,” Sam says, throwing the word Avenger around casually enough to make Steve’s hesitations seem horrendously uptight, “I would be the garlic chip. The best part of the whole damn bag. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, those chips are definitely the best part,” you say, adopting a mock-seriousness. “And Tony Stark would be one of those knobby-ass, crunchy little mini breadsticks.”

Sam mirrors your expression, nodding gravely, like what you’re both evaluating is a highly intellectual subject. “I completely agree. And for Rogers- man, you’re a pretzel.”

You narrow your eyes. “Square or circle?”

“Uh,” Sam says, turning to survey poor, unprepared Steve, looking equal parts bewildered and embarrassed. “Square.”

“Great choice. And Bucky?”

“Bucky…” Sam hesitates, and the briefest smile flashes over his face before he schools his expression back into objectivity, “Bucky is one of those original Chex squares. Sorry.”

“That’s cold,” you say, and Sam smiles again, and leans all the way back in his seat, bringing his hands behind his head.

“He’s not one of the yellow squares, though- those are actually good,” Sam starts, grin growing wider by the second, and you can’t tell if it would be rude to laugh. “He’s not one of those squares with extra seasoning, either. Bucky is just one of the plain brown squares. The wheat squares, or whatever the hell. Have you ever, like- have you ever wondered what the sole of a shoe tastes like? Or the eraser on top of a pencil? That’s what those taste like- that’s what he is. Just one of the plain Chex squares.”

Your jaw drops.

A roast like that from a halfway drunk man is absolutely scathing.

Bucky just levels a glare.

He’s used to this, you think. Is that his crazy shit? That he never reacts to anything?

You’re definitely a little tipsy- this is obviously no time to get wasted, but the edge has certainly been taken off, the corners of your world having gone hazy. In a lull, you watch a well-dressed man standing by the vestibule doors lean past your field of vision and receive what you think is a kiss on the cheek.

Without thinking, you lean close to Bucky and cup a hand over his ear.

Maybe he won’t react, maybe he will, but you’re not going to give him the time for either.

“I think that you’re the garlic chip,” you whisper loudly, and you’ll probably cringe yourself into oblivion over it when you're sober, but you think he shivers- and then he snorts.

“Thank you,” he says, and Sam putters out, giving you an amazed look.

***

“Heyyy,” you say later, turning to Bucky, when time has passed and you’re no longer on the subject of Chex Mix and he’s still a little too quiet. “What’s up?”

He’s quiet and troubled, drinking what might be whiskey like it’s water. Is it whiskey? You didn’t think that people actually drank whiskey- just kept it around in crystal decanters and silver flasks to look cool, like they’re main characters in a movie.

“The sky,” he says dryly, like you didn’t say that same exact shit when you were in middle school, hopelessly thinking that it was the slickest comeback.

“Very funny, James,” you say, and he huffs, and you feel a brief flash of panic, and then you’re almost apologizing, when he grins.

You know maybe three whole things about him, but you’ll press yourself up against him right here and now, under the low light of a fancy bar, with rain sliding down outside the window panes, with his friends right across the table. You don’t care.

His friends can tell.

“We’ll be right back,” Steve says suddenly, making a very showy display of getting up with Sam. Both of them send you obnoxious grins and suggestively raised eyebrows.

Bucky glares. You can’t stop smiling.

“You kids have fun,” Sam calls, and you laugh.

Just you and him, then. The mood shifts fast, turning from one thing to… another. Bucky’s eyes reflect the window outside, falling dark and darker, and you’re slipping, too.

“You look really nice,” Bucky says, and his eyes dip down in the slyest fucking move- you’re almost proud of him for it, for having such game.

A spark of heat flashes through you, as he takes you in slowly, like he’s trying to savor it.

You opted for a slightly tighter shirt, and a pair of jeans, but they’re your nice jeans. The ones without any weird streaks of paint on the thighs. And you wear a beaded necklace, and in your ears, a pair of fun, delicate hoop earrings, dangling with charms in the shape of crescent moons.

“Thanks,” you  lean back, into the wall, letting your voice drop to match the tone of his. “You do, too.”

He just stares at you, unamused. Still dark, and dangerous.

Purple chiffon, you think, and marigolds. The flower was meant for another friend, but she’ll have to manage, because now, you can only see Bucky with marigolds, with no room for anyone else.

“So,” you say, before the silence carries on and makes you do something stupid, “Done anything fun lately?”

He tenses. Again.

There’s all these things that you know you can’t ask him, things about his job and his hobbies and his metal fucking arm, which you still haven’t seen- which you’re fine with, but, like. It’s the fact that he has a metal arm in the first place- he is so detached from everything you know, and you aren’t sure if you know how to navigate it all. You don’t think he knows how to navigate it, either.

He’s hesitant, you think. But not unwilling.

You’re just going to roll with it.

”I watched a movie today,” he says, sounding so smooth that your clutch on your drink wavers. His eyes are raking you over, cold.

Red marigolds. Not the orange ones. Red marigolds with the little golden borders on the edges of each petal.

“Which movie?”

He shakes his head. “I forgot the name”

“Okay, well, what was it about?”

“Talking dogs.”

You laugh and he smiles, and then you feel light enough to float. “Talking dogs?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he takes a sip. His mouth is very pink. Layers, you think, layers and overlapping, to make the fabric look hazy. Washed-out. “They talk when their owners aren’t home.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” you say, and you’re giggly and he’s all smiley and maybe you’re being embarrassing, but whatever, because he’s looking at you like he’s never been smiley with anyone else before, and you really, really want to lean in.

You’ll wait.

***

Sam comes back with Steve a little bit later, but it isn't until you’re getting ready to leave when he brings it up.

“You’re good for him,” Sam says, while Bucky and Steve have gone to pay. Your drinks are on him- how chivalrous. “Honestly, you’re probably too good for him.”

You laugh as you shrug on your jacket. “Doubt it.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says, voice dropping to an urgent whisper. You realize at once that he’s about to say something heavy, something concerning. “He has been through some fucked-up shit. It’s not his fault, obviously, but it’s always there. He’s never going to get over it. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep. He just stays awake, for like, three whole days at a time. Sometimes he just disappears. He never tells anyone where he goes. Sometimes he does this thing where he-”

“I get it,” you say quickly, and he must be able to see your sudden dread, because his face softens.

“I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to know- that that’s what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Thanks,” you say, and zip up your coat, and then pat your pockets even though you know you have everything, just so you have an excuse to not say anything. Sam gives you a long look, before sighing and pulling out his phone.

Obviously, Sam is trying to tell you that Bucky is damaged.

You’re not in the business of fixing things, but you’ll take him as he is anyway, because...

“Sam?” you say, and he looks up from his phone.

“Sometimes,” you start, and swallow down whatever anxiety is starting to surface, “Sometimes he’s being all quiet and moody and angsty and whatever, I get that same feeling that you’re telling me. But then, like, he just does something. Like, he’ll make a joke, or say something, and then it’s like-”

You struggle with your words- it’s like everything you want to say is there, but you can’t reach it. Sam slides his phone into his pocket, and Bucky is coming back, with Steve in tow, moon and sun, peas in a pod. You wonder if Sam makes their duo a trio, if he’s the third invitee to their slumber party, or if he’s just on the fringes.

“It’s like- It’s like, okay. Like, I know who he is and it’s all okay.”

He nods, and smiles at you, and you sincerely hope that he isn’t just on the fringes.

***

The paintings of your parents are finished- and they are good. So good. Every detail is there, every color. Every line. The wrinkles and the flowers and the lace neckline of your mother’s dress. Looking at them makes you feel so proud- it’s been forever since you were able to properly convey your thoughts onto canvas.

They’re big, too. Larger than life. You’ll have to rent one of those orange U-Haul trailers to transport them.

On a new canvas is Rina, only halfway painted. She looks good too, even though right now she’s just a head and a torso and two floating feet, because getting the colors on her legs right is harder than you thought. It’s tricky to paint the shadows and contours without her legs just looking bruised- there’s so many flower stems overlapping with the skin, so you don’t have a lot of room to work with.

You’ll figure it out.

You might be a little in over your head, actually. Confident- a little too confident. You don’t even have this painting done, and you’re itching to start on another. A possible recipe for disaster, but every time you have a spare second, in the shower or on the subway or when you’re trying to fall asleep, you find yourself thinking about it.

Not in bits and pieces the way most of your thoughts are, but a fully formed concept; a real, true image brimming with fullness, already starting to spill over into everything you do.

You have it all figured out. You know what techniques you’ll use. What composition, what colors.

You text Bucky.

Nothing crazy. You know you could scare him off, or maybe not, not anymore- by the end of the night at the bar last week, you sat next to him and bumped up against him and whispered in his ear, and right before you left he flicked the charm on your earring, watched it sway, and then he smirked- and you almost died.

You text him Hey, and then set your phone on the farthest surface you can find, pointedly avoiding it. Rina’s calves need attention- you have paint to mix.

Ten minutes later, your phone rings.

You can’t help it, you’re weak-hearted- you drop everything and dash to your phone, dodging your carts of supplies and hopping over a stack of toppled canvases that you never bothered to pick up, and pick up on the third ring.

“Hi,” you say into the receiver, slightly out of breath.

“Hi,” he says, and he sounds slightly out of breath, too.

“Um,” you say, and laugh a little, with the heady rush of nerves flooding in, “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“I called because I’m a slow texter,” Bucky says.

You feel so fluttery. When was the last time you felt this fluttery?

“Oh. That’s okay. I was just wondering if you... wanted to meet up sometime soon? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Tomorrow is Saturday, a day off. For you, at least- do Avengers get days off?

“Okay,” he says, and you swear he sounds pleased. You want to cut straight to something else. Skip, jump, leap over all of these steps, so you can get to what you really want to tell him. “I think I can do that. Where are we meeting?”

“There’s this little cafe we can… we can head there first, I’ll text you the address, but I have this idea,” you say, and wait for his invitation to continue, with your heart beating dangerously fast, thrumming like it might just burst through your ribs.

“What’s your idea?”

Thank you, you almost say, but don’t.

The steps are skipped, formalities disregarded- you just tell him.

It’s the perfect time- there’s that currently rare, pretty daylight that grows with each passing day streaming in through your windows unfiltered, blocked by no blinds or curtains. You pace a little, at first, right in the sun, and then sit down on a stool, toeing the smooth wood floors beneath, cradling the phone.

You start it off simple, with the marigolds.

Red marigolds, you specify, because you feel like you have to. Then you delve deeper, into chiffon and lighting and this thing you want to try out with layering, where two elements that overlap go by a completely different color scheme. Like, you say, like the flowers are red and the clothes are black, but the places where they meet are electric pink or orange or blue or something else unusual and distracting.

Save for the sound of his breathing, Bucky is quiet. You can tell that he’s really listening, probably sitting down somewhere and focusing on you, not doing some other task with your voice as background noise. He doesn’t interrupt when you go off on a tangent about the importance of natural lighting or contradict yourself with opposing statements on color choice, or when your words start to deteriorate, when they start pouring out so fast that they slur together and become less than coherent.

Your mind is going even faster- you can see the image even when you blink.

Something at the back of your thoughts tells you to stop, to slow down. You need to chill out.  

But the idea is so vivid, so you can’t- you don’t, not until the idea is totally exhausted and you give a final sigh and go quiet, not until after giving what could count as an entire fucking speech.

When Bucky speaks again, he sounds tentative.

“I… like it,” he says, and maybe he’s holding his phone at a bad angle, because his voice is quiet.

“You do?” You say, instead of asking something else, with a sudden bad feeling in your gut.

“Yeah. But…”

You know what he says without him having to say it.

It feels like you’ve been punched.

The picture behind your eyelids burns brighter.

“That’s okay,” you say in response to his unsaid words, speaking too late, so that it's obvious that it’s not okay.

Your heart is sinking, as if it has any right to, as if he’s in the wrong. How did you go from high to low so fast?

You scared him. You put too much pressure on him too fast- it’s exactly what Sam said, that he’s all levels of wary and weird, and little things can set him off, because of everything that he’s been through-

Even if he was someone else, though, even if he was normal, he would still say no- anyone would say no to being given such a request out of nowhere.

Well, Rina didn’t, but she doesn’t count in this situation, does she?

“Sorry,” he says.

That hurts worse.

“Don’t apologize,” you say quickly. “It’s not like it’s not going to work now- I mean, it’ll be fine. Are you still down to meet, though?”

“Sure,” he says, too late.

***

Bucky Barnes does not like anything in his coffee.

He takes it black, black like his clothes, black like his soul, black like whatever other emo shit you can come up with.

It’s not that funny anymore.

Still, you keep up with it- you’re funny and talkative and charming and everything else, because you don’t know what else to do. The subject will be broached, it’s inevitable- you’ll broach it, even, but you still have to figure out how.

He’s subdued. And wearing his stupid hat, again, and you would give anything to knock it off so you could really see him, and he’s cautiously cradling his mug in a way that makes you ache everywhere.

The cafe is busy and decorated with a specific aesthetic, one that you would call manufactured bohemian. Potted plants and quirky photographs and drinks that all have fancy and ridiculous names. The baristas wear yellow aprons, and if you have a membership card, every tenth purchase gets you a free sugar cookie iced with a smiling sun.

Your cappuccino foam is dissolving. Sometimes, even though it’s mostly tasteless, you swipe it up and eat it with a spoon. Today, it seems like a bad idea- frivolous in the face of his silence and your unmotivated charisma and this stupid idea lingering between you two, like a friend that’s overstayed their welcome.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, and wonder why you feel so jumpy for saying it. “For bringing that thing up yesterday.”

To your own credit, you still sound confident.

He looks at you so darkly that you wonder if you should be afraid. Have there ever been others in your seat, afraid?

You’re not afraid.

“It’s fine,” he says, and continues staring at you like it’s not fine.

“I’m just- I was just thinking out loud,” you say. You feel like you have to explain yourself, prove something to him, so that you won’t wilt. “It was just an idea that I thought could be cool. I told you because, no , wait. I mean, I know that I- fuck. I’m sorry that it made you uncomfortable. That was really dumb of me.”

He tilts his head, eyes sliding over, and you shiver.

He looks bored.

Which is unnerving and terrifying as hell, because you have this carefully hand-crafted, precisely-cut image of who you are supposed to be, and it is not meant to be boring in the slightest, but he's bored, and you’re going to lose it.

“I said it’s fine,” he says, monotonously, giving the sudden impression that he’s about to leave. But he’s just sitting in his seat, unwrapping his hands from his mug and setting them on the table, while your hands are on the verge of shaking. “It didn't make me uncomfortable.”

If that was true, then you wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. You wouldn’t be stumbling over yourself to say something so simple.

It takes considerable effort to keep your gaze steady. “Okay. But I still- I just want to say a thing really quick.”

“Say it.”

He’s being mean.

But this thing has been eating at you for a while now, so you don’t care.

“Um, so, we’re really different people,” you start, and before you second-guess it, you adopt your speaker voice, the teaching voice, the smart one. He has to know this about you- you’re smart. “And you obviously have all of your own things going on in your life that I can’t even imagine, and if you ever want to, like, talk about it, I’m here, but I also don’t care.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You push on.

“Like, it’s not important to me. If you want it to be, then it’ll be, but if not, then it’s whatever. I'm not- when I see you, I just see you. Does that make sense? Like, I don’t really think of any of that other stuff? If I’m supposed to, though, I’m sorry. I… I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

You don’t get nervous often, but you let out a small, nervous laugh.

It’s like your heart and head and lungs are suspended, frozen in ice while he takes your words in. The door to the cafe chimes and a large group of people step in. Middle aged women, all wearing athletic clothes. Devil’s ivy grows on the wall farthest from you- how chic- with vines snaking forward in your direction, reaching for you in green and streaky white.

He smiles.

All you see is teeth and creased eyes and a low, uncreased brow- you want to kiss him.

“Tell me the idea again,” he says, and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms, and you watch his forearms shift and strain against his shirt, and then you clear your throat and look away and try to focus.

You inhale and gather everything, hoping that this time, you’ll be able to make it make sense.

***

One thing spirals into another. Your words were building and building, rising like a crescendo, overwhelming you to the point where you just said it outright, and-

He’s now in your apartment.

He is literally in your apartment.

You watch him survey the area- the clutter, the mismatched furniture, the crooked posters and photos and artwork hung up on the walls. The subpar paint on the walls that you didn’t choose, the cabinets made of old wood with newly replaced handles.

The entire place is creaking, becoming worse for the wear with each passing day. You could probably afford nicer, but it doesn’t matter, because you love it here- you’ve formed an emotional attachment that goes beyond sad paint and constant repairs. Your home is cozy.

But right now, with Bucky in here, it’s suddenly cramped.

“I want you to sit over here,” you say, and facing a great window, rounded on top with those gorgeous little decorative swirls, which is your favorite part of the whole place, is an armchair. It’s a steal you found at an antique store, with little tassels lining the back of the seat, upholstered with the tackiest floral print you’ve ever seen, but it’s perfect for what you’re trying to do.

The sun is shining strong and unfiltered- he’ll be lit up.

Bucky sits. He looks on edge, and beautiful.

You want to make this easy for him. But you might be too swept away in him to make any efforts- you’re still in shock that he agreed to this in the first place, so disoriented with him being here, in your place, that your trains of thought keep on derailing.

You’re closer than you wish you were, closer to losing it.

“Perfect. Give me one second.”

You go to your room, which isn’t really a room but a sectioned-off alcove with a bit of wall blocking it from view, no door- weird architecture, but whatever, to retrieve your supplies. Tape and the neatly folded swatches of fabric and your camera.

Photography isn’t your thing, but you need reference material.

When you return, he’s looking pensive, and dazzling. His arms fall tensely on the sides of the chair, but his hands dangle so gracefully, and the light catches his face and colors it golden- you are going to lose it when it comes to painting his eyes. They’re blue, but you see them as suns.

“You look great,” you say, and he blushes. You’re ready to pounce, right now.

The fabric is a little bit awkward. It has to be draped upon him- Bucky bristles at your actions in a way that tells you he’s never done anything even remotely like this before, but you persist, and he lets you.

“Get out of the chair really quick.”

“Okay.”

Bucky gets out of the chair. You hop up on it, to tape the corners of the fabric to the ceiling. It’s a flimsy attempt, but they hold and flutter just fine.

He takes you by the hand to bring you back down.

“Careful,” he says, as you make the daunting two-and-a-half-foot descent, and he squeezes your hand in his gloved one before you make him sit down again.

You are buzzing with electricity. Another point to him- that was smooth.

The loose ends of the fabric are tricky, You try at first to tape them to the back of the chair, moving back behind him to reach. Bucky’s head stays perfectly still, and the chiffon looks wrong. It looks weirdly stiff.

So you drape one on him like planned, sort of dripping down his shoulder in a bunched-up purple river, and let the other hang freely, swaying a little from the fragility of the tape.

You move back around to face him.

“This is perfect,” you say, and grin, because this is finally happening. “You look perfect.”

He’s staring all intensely again. You want to come close to him, tell him how lovely he looks, straight out of a dream. You’re so pretty, you almost say, but you have some semblance of rational thought left in you- and so you stay quiet.

The camera dangles from its strap around your neck. You take it in your hands and power it on. The settings are adjusted, and you fiddle with the shutter speed and focus and everything else before bringing it close to your eye, expecting this dream-

He’s all tense, again.

It’s the lens, you immediately think, even though that doesn’t really make sense. You look like- you look like him when he does his things. Lenses and targets and crosshairs. How is this thought so immediate?

You’re just trying to take a picture.

“Relax,” you say, and it does absolutely nothing.

“I am relaxed,” he bites out.

He’s really not. There’s something shifting in his face, something discontented, a brewing storm. His hands are starting to harshly curl into the armrests, digging at the upholstery, distorting the flowers.

The chiffon looms.

“Fix your hands. Like, move them- no, turn them back,”

You’re stooping over to fully capture him, almost ready to take a knee.

His hands flex and stay as they are, stressed and taut and not right, and the rest of him is still so-

You bring the camera down.

***

He’s in this ugly chair, surrounded by fabric, and you’re pretty and wearing a pale pink sweater, and you’re aiming a camera at him, for a picture, but he feels like a target.

White-hot adrenaline and cold and dark dread pull at both sides of him. He feels like a total mess.

Is this they all felt- how they all feel, when he is aiming at them? He tries to do things differently, now, but the tragedy still takes place, the trigger is still fired- the deed is still done. Karma, he thinks, retracing its path, coming back to bite him through you.

You’re frowning. He wants to apologize.

You take the camera down and let it dangle from the strap at your neck. He just had your hands in his- he wants them back and wants to get as far away from you as possible.

“This isn’t working,” you say, and straighten back up, placing your hands on your hips. You look powerful, and he might be trembling from clenching his jaw so hard. “You are not relaxed.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, and you sigh and fix him with a look that isn’t pity- he’d bolt if it were pity, but steely resolve.

You take the camera off your neck, and gently bend over to set it on the floor. Then you sit down beside it, wincing as your knee makes a noise, and giving him a bemused little smile that he wants to just-

Your head level with his knees as you sit, cross-legged. Hands splayed over your lower thighs, careless and carefree. Your posture slouches a bit, relaxing the way he is not, and it's relieving.

His hands grip the chair like a lifeline.

“Why isn’t this working?” You ask, more yourself than him. “You were so- nevermind. Or, Let’s… um, wait. Maybe- Can I?”

He’s always thought of you as so put-together, a born speaker, but now you’ve been stammering and stuttering all over his heart, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You reach out with your hand, hesitantly, wavering. The scar smiles pink.

He nods- his head nods, his body is moving outside of itself, and he feels sheltered and exposed, nearly covered in purple fabric and vulnerable and sitting above you, all of him bared for you to see. Hot and cold.

Your hand goes on his knee.

He’s so alarmed that he almost lashes out- he wants to think, but you’re giving him no time to-

Your other hand is reaching out, tugging at his own, and you bring yourself up to your knees and lean back on the balls of your feet, balancing. Your head is still below his chest and tilted so he can’t see your eyes, and you’re holding his hand like it’ll break.

There’s a dry-erase board fastened on the opposite wall, next to all of the other eclectic clutter. It’s filled in with a to-do list- the words COOK SOMETHING are scrawled at the top in angry red marker. He focuses on the words as you play with his fingers.

You gently trace a thumb over the ridges of his knuckles; he’s suddenly so ticklish that he flinches and chokes on a word that he doesn’t know how to say.

You nudge his hand over to the side, drape the fingers down, and your other hand is still burning his knee, setting him alight-

You’re molding him. Setting him to look how you want, manhandling him in the softest way possible. Should this feel violating? Rude? It feels good- purposeful. He’s letting you do this, and his heart is beating hard, but he can still hear your breathing and his breathing and the white noise of the traffic on the street below, stories away.

You take your hand off his knee, and nudge at his left hand, and he thinks now, how fucking stupid this is- if it’s his fucking hand, why does he wear this stupid fucking glove?

He goes to work it off and you understand, and if he wasn’t wanting so badly to be still for you, stay here as you take your picture, he would grab you by the necklace you’re wearing and drag you closer.

The glove is pulled off and dropped to the floor and the silver of his hand winks in the sunlight.

“Oh,” you say softly, and there’s a crack in your voice, and his voice would crack too, if you asked him to speak.

There’s this look on your face. He doesn’t know if you want to hold his hand or kiss it or put his fingers in your mouth, it looks like all three and he is all unfurled, too, because he is sitting back in this ugly armchair and you’re holding his hands again, and you’re backlit by the sun- like a vision sent straight from the sky.

You fix his hands.

This feels intimate- more intimate than kissing, or anything else. This feels like skipping steps.

After a moment, you pry your hands off of his, and lean back.

Wordlessly, you take the camera and stand up, and you fiddle it and back up, back to where you were at first, far away. Then you’re bringing it close to your eye, looking at him through a lens, and the shutter clicks once, twice.

You bring it back down.

“You got it?” He says, and his voice sounds rough- he sounds parched.

You look at its little screen and bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Can you come here for a second?”

You look up at him and he’s glad that he couldn’t see your eyes before- they’re dark. “Yeah.”

The camera is tossed to the side, again, and you walk like you’re floating. The steps have been skipped, but Bucky will have to go back to them anyway- he doesn’t like to leave any stones unturned-

And so he waits until you’re close enough, and then tugs you down by your sweater- he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he’s reaching and reaching-

You laugh or smile or do something else sweet, but he’s too caught up to tell. He pulls you down to him, and surrounded by you and sunlight and fluttering purple chiffon, he kisses you.