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helenaheissner · 5 months

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MAGICAL GIRL EXORCIST SQUAD (Issue #13: The Floodwater Comes For Us All)

“D’ya really wanna do this? Here? Now?” Winona asked, hands raised, palms flat, backing up further into the woods.

“Honestly? When I first heard you’d escaped the Floodwater, all I could think about was this moment. And the moments afterwards I’ll spend ripping you apart atom by atom. So yes, I think I want to do this here and now,” Astaroth, or rather, Astra, said. Her black hellfire blade shimmered with white moonlight; her purple eyes hungry for blood.

“Are you entirely sure about that? Because with that sword, this whole forest goes up in smoke, and that sounds to me like more attention than you want,” Winona said. There was no way she could take Astaroth in a one-v-one, not when she had that sword. So, she would need to either weasel her way around this or find some way to disarm her opponent. Thank God for my disarming charm, she thought with a smirk.

“What are you smirking about, girl?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Thought so,” Astra said. “Now, I believe you were about to explain as to why you’ve been harassing my Amanda.”

Winona’s smirk flowered into a cackle. “Fucking hellfire. What is it with deadbeat parents? They’re out for cigarettes for years, decades, even, but then they come back acting like they’ve been helicopters the whole time, like a few bits of lip service towards watching out for their kids makes up for all that negligence.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I? I mean shit, I’ve been stalking Amy for the past four years, but it takes you until now to show up? Shouldn’t you at least be carrying an oversized burlap sack with a dollar sign on it to cover all your child support?”

“Don’t start with me, kid,” Astra said, purple irises consuming the rest of her eyes.

“I’m six hundred thousand years old,” Winona rolled her eyes.

“And I’m six million. Everything’s relative,” Astra said, holding the edge of the sword to Winona’s throat.

Oh, crap, Winona thought. Okay, time to bust out the truth-bombs. “Your daughter is a Magical Girl.”

“I know,” Astra grunted. Probably she did know, had known for a while, but still hadn’t figured out how to deal with that. Good. Winona could work with that.

“Then you know you’ll have to fight her eventually, right?” Winona said.

“Not necessarily.”

“Oh, and why’s that? You think you’re gonna win her over to your side? Your nice Christian girl daughter who has an actual family, an actual mother, who loves her to death? You think she’s gonna fall into line because the mom who walked out on her as a baby shows up and starts barking orders? How stupid are you?”

“Not as stupid as the girl mouthing off to someone pressing a hellfire sword to her throat,” Astra said, smiling with teeth.

“My followers know I’m here,” Winona said.

“So do mine.”

“So then this is how it starts? The Demon Legion versus the Army of Monsters, round one for the throne of Hell? Right here and now? Because if I die, my second in command has orders to slaughter all the pigs and let out all six hundred and sixty-six of my friends.”

“You’re bluffing,” Astra said. “You wouldn’t show your hand that easily.”

“Maybe not the old me, but as you’ve pointed out, I was in jail for over half a million years- it made me a little bit CRAZY!”

Wings of heavenly light erupted from Winona’s back, and a golden halo shone over her head. The wings clamped shut like a vice and wrapped around the handle of the infernal claymore, prying it from Astra’s hands, while the contact from the wings singed Astra’s skin and left harsh red marks. Astra stepped back, and when it was over, the sword was pointed at her throat. “Now I have a hellfire sword. Ho ho ho,” Winona said.

“You know I have more of those, right, nephilim?” Astra said through grinding teeth.

“I’m counting on it. And don’t be racist, you dirty fucking succubus.”

“Don’t start with me-”

“Or would you prefer ‘literal sex monster’? ‘Cause that works too. Maybe not as punchy, but still,” Winona said.

“This isn’t over,” Astra said.

“Damn right it’s not,” Winona said. “Now go. I still have plans for you, and much like with your smoking hot daughter, they’re harder to realize if you’re dead. So go scamper back to your dragon’s den, lick your wounds, and GO FUCK YOURSELF LIKE THE SLUT YOU ARE!”

Astra’s forehead-vein nearly popped. But instead, she vanished in a hail of purple fire.

And with that, the Lady of the Legion was left alone with a sweet new hellfire sword. “Ho ho ho, bitch,” she said, twirling it about in her hands. Then, privately, she said, “I should really give Dad a call.”

***

Basketball practice freshman year, first on the court but last to play. It always started with Nicole and Travis, and if they were lucky it ended with them. The hazing wouldn’t stop no matter how good they were. If anything, that made it worse. Made Travis’ brother angrier and angrier. That and the fact that Nicole refused to do anything to stop him. Nick was a shield, not a sword- he couldn’t be used that way. And she could try as she might to shield the people around her, but it wouldn’t work. And she was already in a precarious position- if she screwed up, got into a fight, it might cost Mom her job. There wasn’t a right answer, which meant the right answer was no answer. Nothing could be done except to endure. And endure and endure and endure, even when Travis showed up to practice one day with a black eye on his face, and his brother Derek was grinning over it like he was laughing at a private joke.

And this time, he looked at Nicole and said, “It is a joke. The joke is on you, you soft-hearted coward.”

He stood in front of the interior wall of the high school gym, only for a limo to crash through it and run him over. The driver’s seat opened, and Amy stepped out wearing a slinky black sequin gown and carrying a rifle. “Get in, loser! We’re going demon hunting!”

Nicole happily obliged, suddenly fresh from the salon and dressed to the nines, as Amy pulled her in for a makeout session inside a flying limo, soaring through a pink and blue void surrounded by unicorns playing the trombone.

That was when Nicole woke up and got sad.

“Why are you crying?” Cass asked, sitting in front of a television playing Super Smash Bros, wearing a flannel bathrobe and a towel around her hair.

Nicole rubbed her eye and found she was in fact crying. Must’ve been the dream. Bad memories mixed with new feelings she wasn’t sure what to do with. She laid on a bed, beneath a yellow comforter in a room with golden wallpaper. The bed was pressed into a corner next to a window, out of which Nicole saw the beach, saw the sprawling expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, black and silver beneath the foggy night. A writing desk and chair sat at the foot of the bed, and a bookshelf packed with Marvel comics occupied the opposite corner. Just off to the side of that was a television and a Wii and a few bean bag chairs, as well as a makeup stand. The remaining wall consisted of a wardrobe full of clothes and a door that led out into the rest of the house.

“I’d rather not say,” Nicole said.

“Eh, fair enough,” Cass responded. She played as Samus, going up a platforming stage tearing through enemies.

“Is this Amy’s room?” Nicole asked.

“Yup. We’re at the Donahue house in Hull.”

“They live at the beach.”

“Nantasket Beach. Because they are filthy fucking rich.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Nicole said. “Where are the others?”

“Well, Debbi kind of had to come out of the closet. She did that right when we got here.”

“Oh boy. How’d that go?”

“It went incredibly well. Victoria and Patrick are about the chillest people to ever walk the earth. But Debbi started crying so Patrick and Victoria took her and Heather out for a drive. Said they’re going to buy booze for dinner tonight.”

“Oh wow. Sounds like an interesting night for Heather too.”

“Yeaahhh there’s meeting the parents and then there’s this. Anyway, the boys are here standing guard while Amy makes dinner.”

“Amy’s cooking?” Nicole said, her mouth practically watering.

“Yup.”

“I should go help,” Nicole said, pushing her legs off the bed.

“Enjoy,” Cass said with a flat affect.

Nicole stepped towards the door, but stopped and looked at Cass. “Hey. Is everything alright?”

Cass didn’t answer, simply button-mashed with greater severity.

“Cass, come on. Please,” Nicole said. “Talk to me.”

Cass paused her game, basked in the glow of the television in the darkened bedroom. She didn’t move her head, didn’t adjust her tone. “You don’t know me, Nicole.”

“No, but I’d like to,” Nicole said with a gentle smile.

“... I didn’t pry when you said you didn’t wanna tell me why you were crying. So why can’t you do the same for me?” Cass said, still not looking at her.

Nicole blinked. “O… Okay. Fair enough. How about some quid pro quo then.”

“How about instead you gimme some fuckin’ space, blondie?” Cass said, finally looking at her, glaring at her, practically snarling. And yet there were tears in her eyes.

Nicole balked. Best not to push on this one. Still, she wanted Cass to be okay- from what little Nicole had gleamed, Cass had been through so much already. And she normally wasn’t like this- she was reserved, a bit standoffish, but not openly hostile. Something had happened, something she would need to talk about if she wanted to be okay again. But now wasn’t the time- press too hard, and most people would break before they bent. “Alright,” Nicole said. “But I’m here if you need me. And if you ever wanna know why I was crying, you can just ask. You don’t have to tell me about yourself if you don’t want to.”

And with that, Nicole left and closed the door behind her, trying not to hear the sobbing on the other side.

She stood at the top of a staircase, one other bedroom and a bathroom occupying the remainder of the floor. There was one more floor above, presumably an attic, while below was another floor consisting of three bedrooms and another bathroom. In one bedroom was Damian, who was busy throwing darts. In another was Jason, reading a book. She descended the rest of the stairs, arriving on the first floor. To her left was a sprawling living room with a massive television and a shamefully large DVD collection. Timothy was watching Double Indemnity, and the fourteen year old paused and gaped as soon as Nicole walked by.

Nicole waved.

The boy’s jaw dropped. He retrieved a blanket next to him and hid himself under it.

“Don’t mind him, he’s only within the past year discovered girls,” a voice came from behind her.

Nicole turned to find Richard carrying two cans of soda. “Ah, I see.”

“Hey Timmy, get out from under there- you’re missing the part with the indemnity,” Richard said with a knowing grin.

Tim poked his head out.

“Here you go, you little weirdo,” Richard said, handing his little brother a soda. “Now say hi to our sisters’ teammate like a gentleman.”

“Hi,” Tim said, his voice cracking. He put a hand over his mouth.

Nicole giggled. “Hi, Tim. Good to see you.”

He hid back under the blanket.

“I see the affinity for blondes runs in the family,” Richard rolled his eyes. “I blame Dad.”

“Beg pardon?” Nicole said.

“Oh, nothing. Just go easy on our sister. She’s nuts, but we care about her, you understand?” Richard said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Nicole feigned.

“Sure, you don’t,” Richard said, cracking open the soda can. “Well, she’s in the kitchen if you wanna talk to her.”

Nicole nodded. “Enjoy your movie!”

“Will do!” Richard said, raising his drink, then clinking it on the side of Tim’s submerged head. “Look here, Timmy. See how Wilder’s constructing this scene- it’s brilliant.”

Nicole followed the hallway into the kitchen, where she found Amy putting onions, carrots, garlic, and chicken into a big pot. They sizzled, releasing a tantalizing aroma into the kitchen. She poured on a generous spray of curry powder while everything cooked together.

“Japanese curry?” Nicole asked.

Amy jumped slightly, then said, “Yeah. Standard yellow curry. Glad you’re awake. How are you doing?”

“Not bad. A little stiff, but I’ll manage. Do you want any help?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, you worked yourself unconscious again,” Amy said, stirring the ingredients with a wooden spoon and turning up the heat. “Twice in two days, in fact.”

“So?”

“So, I’m worried about you- you’re gonna hurt yourself. What if you pass out and miss a fight? Or, I dunno, a class or something? Or a cat stuck in a tree?”

“I’d be mortified,” Nicole said, rubbing the back of her head.

“Exactly, now sit down,” Amy said, pointing at a wooden chair situated at the kitchen table. “You can taste-test if you want, but I’m handling this. It’s the least I can do.”

“What does that mean?” Nicole asked, sitting down.

“Everyone else is dealing with heavy stuff right now,” Amy said. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I mean… You’re dealing with stuff too, Amy,” Nicole said.

“Yeah, but… Debbi is doing something huge right now. Heather is supporting her. You’re working yourself to the bone everyday. Cass is clearly going through something else on top of all this Prophecy crap. My problems aren’t much next to all that. And honestly, this relaxes me.”

“You do look very Zen doing that,” Nicole said, resting her chin on the kitchen table.

“Thanks,” Amy said. “Eight mouths to feed, Mom needed all the help she could get.”

“Makes sense. How are you feeling, though?”

“I… I think I’m ready to finish that conversation we were having yesterday,” Amy said.

Nicole gulped, and a sickly-sweet sensation overtook her. “A-are you sure?”

“If you are,” Amy said, pouring two cups of water into the pot. “This will need a few minutes. Step outside with me?”

It took her a moment, but finally, Nicole said, “Okay.”

Amy went into the mudroom off to the side of the kitchen and retrieved two white overcoats. She put one around herself and the other around Nicole, and Nicole felt the sickness start to diminish. It was all turning sweet.

They stepped onto the sand and walked barefoot on the foggy beach, stopping a few inches before where the water met the land. Low-hanging clouds drifted over Nicole’s skin, and it reminded her of flying. And of home. Not Manchester, but her father’s boat, the Sunshower. “You ever do any boating?” Nicole asked.

“No, why?” Amy said.

“It’s just something I love doing, ever since I was a kid,” Nicole said. “My dad would be away for a while at a time, but then he’d come back, and we’d have a grand old time together, but I could always tell he didn’t feel totally at home on land. Like his sea-legs had overtaken his land-legs. So, over the summer, I’d start going out on the boat with him. We’d go to the coast and launch the boat, stay in a hotel for a week, come home with a haul of fish and sell it. It was freeing- no ground underneath us, just a wide-open sea to navigate. It could toss us about, try to get us to go one way or the other, but at the end of the day, it was all there for us, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Sometimes we’d be out all day and we’d watch the sun set into the horizon, casting this red and gold glow over the water, like we were bathing in the light.”

Amy smiled. “That sounds nice.”

“It was. Flying reminds of it, especially when the sun sets or comes up. There’s this freedom to it that I can’t quite describe but… Sometimes it’s like I never wanna get on solid ground again.”

“So what brings you back to shore? And back to the ground?” Amy asked.

“The people I care about,” Nicole said simply.

Amy gave a shallow nod.

“So,” Nicole asked. “Aidan accused you of having feelings for me.”

“He did,” Amy said.

“Is it true?”

Amy paused for a moment, stared at the ground. A crab scuttled past them, returned to the sea where it belonged. “Yes. I do have feelings for you. And they’re… And they’re romantic ones. I like you, Nicole Nygaard. I’ve… I’ve never really felt this way about a girl before, at least not consciously. But you’re a girl, and I like you. And if that means that I like girls, then… Well then, I guess I like girls.”

Nicole’s head spun. She couldn’t believe it. This was insane. Her heart pounded inside her chest, and the reverberations shook her vision out of focus. A giddiness ran through her, a sense of validation and euphoria unlike any other she’d ever felt. She breathed in the salt-air, the fog tickling her skin. It was all almost too much, especially when a part of her, the rational, structural part of her mind, kept telling her to run away, that this was a trick, that she would only get hurt from this, that Amy hadn’t really changed.

But I have, Nicole thought.

Amy took a sharp breath. Then another, then another.

“Hey,” Nicole said. “You’re okay. This is okay.”

“I… I just… I’m so scared. That was so scary,” Amy said. She was shaking, holding her arms together and rubbing them.

“Coming out? Yeah, it’s incredibly scary,” Nicole said. “Why don’t we go back inside, get you warm. Your pot is probably boiling by now-”

“No!” Amy said. “I just… Please. I need to know: how do you feel about me? You’ve had a whole day to think about it, same as I have. Please. Tell me.”

The words got lodged where the back of Nicole’s mouth met the front of her throat. She wasn’t sure how she felt- she was being torn two ways, and neither one seemed like a safe road to travel. “Amy, you’re… You’re really pretty. And you’re nerdy and funny, and you’re a sweetheart under the right circumstances. But I don’t know if this is a good idea- we’re teammates, and we’re roommates, and we’re friends. I don’t know if I’m comfortable risking all that-”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Amy shook her head. “I’m asking how you feel about me. That’s all. Not anything else, not practical considerations. I know I… I hurt you, when you were in a sensitive place. And that was wrong of me. But I’ve changed and I… I…”

She needs to hear it, Nicole thought. But do I? It doesn’t sound so bad, being with her. I don’t think she’d ever hurt me again, at least not deliberately. And it would help her. It would help her a lot if I could be that for her. She needs a rock, and she wants it to be me.

It’s the right thing to do.

So why does it feel wrong?

Nicole reached out a hand. Amy took it. Her hand was warm and soft and steady. Nicole started, “I think, maybe, I-”

“Well well well well well. Well well well well well well well well wellllllll,” came a high, shrill voice behind them. “What the fuck do we have here? Amy, you lying little minx- you told me you don’t like girls.”

Nicole let go of Amy’s hand and snapped to attention. “Winona?”

“Hiiiiiiiiiiii,” said the girl without any semblance of boundaries. She walked up to them, waving with both hands.

“What the hell are you doing on my family’s property?” Amy spat.

“Hey, last I checked this is a public beach,” Winona rolled her eyes, still marching towards them. “Now, seriously- what the hell, Ames? You’ve been holding out on me.”

“No, no I haven’t,” Amy growled. “Now get out of here.”

“Not until I get an answer- what’s this girl got that I haven’t? Why’s she your closet key and not me? C’mon- that’s not fair? Is it a race thing?”

“Winona,” Nicole said. “I don’t know what you’re doing here-”

“I followed you here, that’s what I’m doing here,” Winona said, smiling widely and giving the thumbs-up. “It’s because I’m stalking you, dearie.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Nicole said, eyes narrowing. What the heck was wrong with this girl?!

“I’ve been following both of you around for a while now. Mostly Ames and Cassie. You’re a recent addition to my portfolio, Nikki, though I’ve gotta say you’re really interesting in your own right. Any chance you’ll reconsider going out with me?”

“No,” Amy said.

“Aw, Ames- speaking for others again? Why do you gotta make everything about you?”

“I’m calling the police,” Nicole said.

“With what phones? You left them inside, remember?” Winona smirked.

Terror rippled through Nicole.

Amy stepped forward, fists balled. “Get. The hell. Away from my family.”

“Mmmmm no!” Winona laughed.

She snapped her fingers, a blue burst of concussive energy exploded silently in Amy and Nicole’s faces, propelling them back into the ocean.

Nicole tumbled through the air, only to land in Amy’s arms. She’d fully transformed already, and a determined look was carved into her face by the night’s horrible circumstances. Nicole beamed at the older girl, who gave her a cocky grin.

“We’ll make a cheerleader of you yet, Nygaard,” Amy said. “Now hurry up and transform so we can take this bitch down!”

“Right!” Nicole said, jumping from Amy’s arms and engulfing herself in God’s white light. She landed on her broomstick and skimmed the surface of the ocean as she launched herself towards Winona.

Surrounding herself with Pink Light seemed to act like a sort of shield against attack- the only drawback to it was how quickly it exhausted her. She would need to be conservative with it, only summon her shield when an attack was actually upon her-

- like right now! Eep! Nicole thought as another blue-white missile launched at her. She swerved left and summoned the shield, and the missile winged her right side. The force of the impact shook Nicole through the shield, but she kept flying. She reached the shore and channeled white light into her fist and buried it in Winona’s gut.

Winona grunted.

And absolutely nothing else happened.

Nicole’s face warped with shock as she retrieved her fist and launched another attack. She struck Winona in the face, only for the other girl to deflect it and throw her own punch, forcing Nicole to back up. More and more, until Nicole realized they were in the water.

Actually, they were over the water. Winona was floating just as easily as Nicole was.

Nicole’s eyes bugged out, and her jaw dropped.

“Not a demon, sweetie,” Winona said. “Not even a cambion like your little whore back th-”

She stopped when the fog rolling in from the sea became laced with shadows. A thick blanket of darkness settled around them, forming a circular wall. Winona performed a series of double-takes as she searched for a way out, while the circular wall formed a dome.

Nicole punched Winona in the face, knocking her into the water. Winona flew out of the way of the water’s surface, white-light wings erupting from her back, a halo crowning her head, her eyes howling with heavenly light.

“Y-you-you’re an angel,” Nicole said, jaw plummeting into the ocean depths.

“Awww, you’re so sweet, no wonder she picked you and not me,” Winona said. “To be precise, though, I’m a Nephilim. Born to one of the Watchers before the Flood. And I’ve been waiting a very long time for my day in the sun.”

Nicole flew upwards, and the Nephilim followed with a flap of her wings. Propelled through the sky, giving chase, fog and darkness on all sides.

From out of the darkness, a broomstick emerged, shooting out and nearly jabbing Winona in the throat. She swatted it away, and said, “Hah! Nice try-”

That was when Amy fell from the sky and buried the bottom of her foot into the top of Winona’s skull. The Nephilim grunted and fell to the ocean below as the shadows cleared.

“Nice!” Nicole said, Amy shining in her eyes.

“Thanks!” Amy grinned. She stuck out her hands and painted the spot where Winona had landed below with another swath of shadows, trapping Winona beneath a sheet of darkness.

White light exploded all around, dispelling the shadows as an angry angelic figure shot through the sky towards them. Nicole and Amy flew in separate directions, and Nicole jerked her head around to find Winona chasing Amy.

Nicole turned and launched herself at the Nephilim. Even if she wasn’t a demon, she had to have some kind of weakness.

Nicole summoned her shield and rammed into Winona, pushing them both below the water’s surface.

That was when Winona screamed, exploding with heavenly light and pushing all the water around aside. A cavity was left in the sea, and Winona flew out of it. Nicole barely managed to do the same before the water came rushing back in. Her chest throbbed with exhaustion, but that seemed to have worked- Winona hated being underwater.

Now to exploit that.

“What do you even want?!” Nicole screamed. “Why are you doing any of this?! Why?”

“Because I need to,” Winona said, a pained smile gracing her lips. “And because I can’t do this without her!”

“Well you can’t have me!” Amy said. “Now get out of here!”

Winona cackled. “Who’s gonna make me? You?!”

“YOU’RE GODDAMNED RIGHT I AM!” Amy screamed, charging Winona, a trail of shadows running behind her. Winona flew into the sky, and Nicole and Amy chased after her, zipping and zooming about as the Nephilim turned and pivoted and accelerated and decelerated.

When they were far enough from the shore, Amy blanketed everything behind them in shadows.

“You think that’ll stop me!” Winona said. “Amy, Amy, Amy- I’m a the daughter of one of the Sons of God- you think shadows are something I’m concerned about?! Uncle Samael held me in his arms as a baby and showed me right then and there that all you need to deal with shadows IS A LITTLE MORE LIGHT!”

A column of radiance erupted from behind the shadow wall, blinding Winona. Nicole clamped her eyes shut, but she heard Debbi’s voice cry out, “I COULDN’T AGREE MORE, BITCH!”

Nicole opened her eyes to find Debbi and Heather double-punching Winona in the gut and the face respectively, sending her tumbling backwards before she extended her wings and cushioned the fall.

The four of them loomed over Winona.

“Did you guys just get back?” Amy asked. “Where are-”

“The boys were waiting for us outside when we got back,” Debbi said. “They heard the explosions on the beach and loaded up the pets and emergency supplies into a car. Mom and Dad are already getting them to safety.”

“Oh, thank God,” Amy said, hand over her heart. “Wait, where’s Cass?”

“... We thought she was with you?” Heather said, face dropping with concern.

Debbi and Amy both glared at Winona. “WHERE THE FUCK IS OUR SISTER!”

“I dunno,” Winona shrugged. “You can’t blame me for every bad thing that happens to y’all- that’s just reductive. And fatalistic. And-”

“Nicole, hit me,” Heather said.

Nicole happily obliged, tossing a softball of Pink Healing Light at Heather. Heather buried her fist in Winona’s face, and then again, again, again, again, until Winona exploded with energy and sent her flying back. And Heather simply leaped back into the fray, fighting mid-air as Winona blocked and deflected and threw her own punches.

“Nicole, we’re gonna need you to supercharge us,” Debbi said.

“We still don’t know what’ll happen when I do that to you and Amy,” Nicole said.

“Yeah, but we don’t have much in the way of options here- we’re fighting an angel for fuck’s sake!”

“Point,” Nicole said. “Float up to me.”

Into both her hands she channeled her Pink Healing Light, a boost of electrifying energy from deep within her soul, the part closest to God, the part that most intimately knew His love and His power. A rapturous, exhausting sensation pumped through her, and she put her glowing hands on the shoulders of both Donahue sisters.

And forward they flew. Nicole took to the front and summoned more pink light to form her shield, the place next to her heart thrumming. Debbi and Amy flanked her, and Debbi shot a pike of white light forward. Mid-flight it erupted into a purple energy flare. Heather ducked out of the way of the energy-javelin, and it exploded right upon contacting Winona’s chest and sent her flying back.

Amy did the same, and her shadows ignited into a black pyre, obsidian flames laced with golden edges, while the stench of brimstone filled the air.

Nicole recognized it as Hellfire. And by the look on her face, so did Amy. Her visage warped with horror as the jet of black flame tore through Winona’s wing and sent her tumbling below the water.

For a second, it was over. There was nothing but the four of them levitating over the ocean, the horrible realization of Amy’s full power threatening to drag them beneath the surface with their enemy.

And then the explosion happened, launching a tsunami at them. It was a wall of oceanic wrath, rising at least twenty feet high and barreling towards them, towards the shore behind them, towards the homes both empty and occupied.

“Heather!” Nicole said. “I’m gonna recharge you. Can you-”

“Hell yeah I can!” Heather screamed.

Nicole summoned one last burst of Pink Light and supercharged Heather. Heather launched forward and punched the tsunami with all her might, and the wave shattered and released a shockwave hurdling them all backwards.

They landed on the shore. Nicole was bruised all over, sore in places she didn’t remember having. She willed the Light through herself, forcing herself to heal even as it exhausted her more and more. She got up and healed Debbi first, then Heather, and then she got to Amy.

Amy stared at her hands. They were trembling as black flames spiked from them, and she breathed rapid, shallow breaths.

The horizon was clear, Winona having evidently flown away. The stench of brine and sulfur polluted the air. Amy kept burning, and burning, and burning. “This is… I’m… I’m… Oh God. Oh God it’s true.”

“Amy,” Debbi said, “You don’t know that. You don’t know what this is.”

“What the fuck else could it be?” she whispered. “It looks like Hellfire. It smells like Hellfire. It ate through an angel’s wing, when your purple energy didn’t do the same. It’s Hellfire. I’m a cambion. I’m… Oh, God, no- I’m a monster!”

On instinct, Nicole grabbed Amy’s hands, the Hellfire unable to break through the shields of Pink Light. “Amy. You’re not a monster. I promise you. No matter who your mother is, no matter what your heritage, you are completely and beautifully human as far everyone else is concerned. You’re here with your sister, and your friend, and with… With me. Someone who cares about you more than you can possibly imagine. It’s okay. You’re okay. And no matter what happens, God still loves you. He loves all His children, you included. If He didn’t, he wouldn’t have made you a Magical Girl. So, remember that you’re okay. We all still love you.”

The Hellfire slowly died away as Amy sobbed and collapsed in Nicole’s arms. Nicole held her for a while, sitting with her on the beach and propping her up.

Eventually, Nicole turned to Debbi and Heather. “Why don’t you guys go get the rest of the Donahues and tell them it’s safe to come back. After that, we should go look for Cass, make sure she’s okay.”

“That sounds good,” Heather said, nodding.

“I don’t,” Debbi stammered, “I can’t just leave my sister like this.”

“Babe,” Heather said, smiling gently, “Nicole’s got this.”

And with that, the purple and green magical girls took flight and left them there. Nicole stroked Amy’s hair while she sobbed, and she knew at that moment that she wanted no harm to ever come to Amy again. No matter what, she cared for this girl. That scared her, that outraged her, and that confused her, but at the same time, she couldn’t deny. She wasn’t ready to admit it, and yet the words fell from her lips: “I have feelings for you too, Amy.”

Amy looked up at her with wide, wet verdant eyes. “Even though I’m a freak?”

“You’re no more a freak than I am,” Nicole said gently. “I promise you.”

“What’s gonna happen now?” Amy asked. “Everything I knew feels like a lie, and Winona is on the warpath. We’re not safe.”

“We’re never safe,” Nicole said. “That’s why we have to keep fighting. But right now… Right now we need to catch our breath and regroup. Together.”

Amy nodded, and Nicole held her there as the fog parted and the full moon came into view overhead, shining its light over the two of them as they kept each other warm.

An ominous feeling crept into Nicole’s gut. Tonight was a warning. Things were on the move. Things were changing. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, and she wasn’t sure which of the night’s revelations scared her most. She swallowed it, and decided it could wait. For now, this was enough. It didn’t feel entirely right, but for right now, it was enough.

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obeythedemons · 3 years

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The Oxymorons of Hell [Obey Me!: Diavolo/MC]

A/N: I honestly had no idea where I was going with this, I simply wanted Diavolo fluff.

Obey Me! Masterlist

When Hell rained from above, was when humanity knew that the end was near. And yet, they ignored the signs of atomic bombs, of acid rain, of ash lacing every breath they took. Nothing good came from above. To be fair, nothing good came from below either.

It was when they found that they had been summoned to literal Hell, that they realized that perhaps Hell was not the best word to describe what had happened to the Human Realm. No, this Hell was nice. Most of the realm was lined with ancient trees, trees that told stories older than the oldest of kings. Their leaves somehow survived in the sunless realm, cleaning the air. They found that their lungs didn’t sting as much to inhale.

While true, the soil could have been better, it wasn’t giving away to landslides after a season of raging fires and then a season of torrential rains like there were back home. They held firm, allowing the residents of Devildom to safely build their homes. It was a place for MC to build their new home, build their new life.

They gazed out from the balcony of Lord Diavolo’s castle. The flickering lights were peaceful in the city, not telling of the murders, robberies, or poverty that would have been found in the Human Realm. Here, Lord Diavolo worked to ensure that the citizens were taken care of. Educating the masses, feeding the hungry, and ensuring those around could have enough left over for leisure.

MC still did have to look over their shoulder. Demons did view human souls as a delicacy, one that tempted them. They didn’t fault them for that, but they also didn’t want to have their soul devoured.

“Ah, there you are, MC!” MC turned away from the flickering lights to the grandeur behind them. Diavolo’s form was backlit by the lights from within his castle. His demon form towered over MC’s human one. “I was worried when I couldn’t find you.”

MC gave him a small smile. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Diavolo dismissed their apology with a wave of a hand. “Don’t be.” He took a couple of long steps towards MC and stood beside them on the balcony, looking over his kingdom. He glanced from the city to MC, a light glow reflecting off of their face. “Are you alright? Is the party not to your liking?”

“I’m fine, just needed a breather,” MC chose their words carefully, something Diavolo noted as a trait he quite liked. Though, he would admit he’d like MC to speak their mind more freely every now and again.

“There’s something else,” he pushed.

“Mmm, maybe,” MC hummed, still thinking. They turned to face the crowned prince fully. “I’m not trying to hind it from you, I just don’t know how to really put it into words.”

“Oh?” Diavolo shifted so he was also facing MC fully. “Care to try?” MC looked away from him, slightly embarrassed. “It’s fine if you mess up.”

MC looked up at him, growing encouraged by his kind words. “Even if I stutter?”

Diavolo chuckled lightly. “Yes, even if you stutter. A stutter does not diminish the words that are being spoken.”

MC nodded. Their fingers tapped onto the railing of the balcony while they thought some more. “It’s just…I…I think it’s odd, how much more, more comfortable I am here than in the Human Realm.” They paused for a moment. “The Human Realm is destroying itself.”

Diavolo frowned. He placed a hand over MC’s hand that was tracing the railing’s pattern. “And that saddens you?”

“Of course it does,” MC mumbled. “It’s where I was born. Just like how you want to improve Devildom, I want to improve the Human Realm. But I’m…I’m just me.”

Diavolo interlaced his fingers with MC’s. “And that’s perhaps the greatest thing you can be, MC.” MC looked up at him, their eyes narrowed in confusion. “Do you think I was able to bring about these changes by myself? No, I had Barbatos, Lucifer and his brothers, the professors at RAD, and so many others. Together we made instrumental changes. It helped that I had my background, but I could not have done it alone.” Diavolo raised his free hand and moved some hair out of MC’s face. “You are not alone to bring changes to the Human Realm.”

“But I don’t have money or power,” MC retorted.

“I do,” Lord Diavolo chuckled. “The brothers all do. Do not underestimate what some demonic influence could do on the Human Realm.” He paused and glanced back towards where the others were gathered in his castle. “I’m sure you could also rope in a couple of angels and a witty sorcerer as well.” He looked back at MC. The corners of his mouth turned up and his eyes softened. “You do realize you have all of us wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t go as far as to say that,” MC stammered.

Diavolo chuckled. “While I do believe it’s true, I cannot speak for the others. I can only speak for myself. And for me,” he paused. He took in MC’s appearance, the beautiful soul that hid behind their eyes. “As for myself, I would do anything for you.”

MC stiffened. They looked up at the next king of Hell, how he wore a kind smile. A smile that at times was an agonized frown as he pondered over what would be the best course of action to take for Devildom – even if said course of action was painful. MC smiled at him and squeezed his hand.

“And I’d do anything for you and your kingdom.”

Diavolo laughed lightly. He leaned forward and unashamedly placed a light kiss on MC’s forehead. “You’ll make a great ruler by my side, MC.” Joy danced around in his heart seeing the flustered, but happy expression on MC’s face. “A kind and fair and thoughtful ruler.”

#Obey Me!#Obey Me #Obey Me Diavolo #Obey Me! Diavolo #MC #Diavlo/MC #Diavolo x MC #Main Character #Fluff #Oneshot #One shot #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Fan Fiction #Fan Fic

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ask-megamind-blue-defender · 2 years

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Ollo Megamind!

I'm big fan of both you and baseball so I'm curious about something. What would happen if someone could pitch a fastball at the speed of light? As an alien genius, I'm betting you have an answer?

Ollo back!

Let me start off with a little shout-out. Believe it or not, I’m not the first scientific mind to be asked such a thing. (Sometimes I worry about humans.) Randall Munroe has an extremely entertaining book called What If: Serious Scientific Answers to Absurd Hypothetical Questions. Lots of fun and physics; great for a little light reading. Especially when you’ve had a hard day because the Doom Syndicate is being spectacularly annoying and the teleportation device you’ve been working on simply won’t function like the math says it should.

And you’ve just discovered that all the apples you’ve been throwing through it have been hurtling out of (seemingly) midair into your fishy sidekick’s sewing room with enough force to turn them into applesauce explosions.

So now he’s threatening to change the wifi password again. (Honestly, Minion! Be reasonable!)

Anyway, if you’ve ever wondered what would happen if you swam in a nuclear reactor pool (surprisingly little) or if you launched a mole of moles into space (it’s not good) then… well, firstly, I have some questions. But secondly, you might enjoy that book, (and it might save you from performing some unwise experiments yourself.) So purchase it from your favorite independent bookstore (support small businesses!) or check it out from your local library (support those, too!)

Moving on…

Whoever you're betting against, tell them to pay up, because your favorite Heroic Genius and Master of All Sciences does, indeed, have an answer!

A lightspeed fastball might sound pretty amazing, but it would absolutely ruin the day for more people than the batter. Oh, the batter would certainly hate it. But so would the catcher. And all the rest of the players. And the fans. And SO many others.

It would be just plain bad.

How bad is bad? Even if the ball isn’t quite traveling at the speed of light, (let’s say it’s going 99 percent of that speed, much like the Helical Engine NASA recently designed,) the results would be catastrophic. And the problem starts with a seemingly unassuming culprit: the air we breathe.

You see, air molecules are fast, vibrating at hundreds of miles per second, but they’re nowhere near lightspeed fast. And that’s an issue. Because the ball, which is now traveling at over 180,000 miles per second, or 600 million miles per hour, breaks the laws of aerodynamics. Like Sunday afternoon drivers on US Highway 2 when I’m called to duty, the poor air molecules are simply too slow to get out of the way in time. (I’m just kidding. About the drivers. Not about the molecules.) That means that the atoms of those molecules hit the ball so hard they become one with the atoms of the ball. Which is not nearly as romantic as it sounds. Basically, they create constant fusion in front of the hurdling object. And if you know anything about how A-bombs work, you know that uncontrolled atom fusion fits quite nicely into the Nope Not Good category.

The force of that fusion would slow the ball down very slightly, but not nearly enough. What it would do is cause bits of the ball to fly off in every direction, also at near-lightspeed, like tiny little fragments of destructive doom. These would also create fusion. Three or four reactions in all. Meaning that everyone’s life just got A LOT worse. And a lot shorter.

Because one thing is certain: sudden, uncontrolled fusion in a crowded baseball stadium would make a lot of people very, very unhappy.

It pretty much goes downhill from there.

A fraction of a second after the ball is thrown—a little less than 0.7 seconds, to be more accurate—the catcher will still see the pitcher holding the ball. But he’s not. It’s just that the light carrying the information “ball incoming” will arrive at almost the same time as the ball itself.

Except it’s NOT a ball anymore. Interactions with air molecules will have transformed it into a bullet-shaped mass of plasma hurtling through the air with extremely deadly speed. So don’t worry. The catcher doesn’t need to worry about being hit by a stray super-fastball. Nor does anyone else.

They just need to worry about the explosion.

Remember when I said the ball is plasma now? Yes, well, uncontrolled plasma rapidly expands. Which is a nice way of saying it pretty much goes boom. (You would not BELIEVE the years of calculations and extremely precise engineering necessary to safely create the plasma laser Death setting on my De-Gun.) Anyway, the plasma cloud bullet, made mainly of hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen, and, of course, carbon left over from the destroyed matter, is expanding so fast that it creates (guess what?!) more fusion!

Houston, we have a chain reaction!

Now, the pitcher doesn’t know about the horror they’ve unleashed on the world; they’ve already disintegrated. The batter and the catcher aren’t far behind. Gamma rays, x-rays, and white-hot plasma will reach them in milliseconds and they’ll vanish into dust at about the same time they’re hurled backward at incredible speeds.

Basically, the same thing will happen to the other players, the fans, and the ballpark itself. With a flash of light so blinding it outshines the sun, a skyward fireball, and a pretty impressive mushroom cloud, it will be Game Over for everyone involved.

That’s when things will get really messy.

Because we’ve still got the blast wave and the firestorm to deal with. All that displaced air will have to go somewhere, and it will be under a lot of pressure. I mean A LOT of pressure. It will roar across the landscape for about a mile in every direction at speeds nearly twice as fast as the most powerful hurricane winds ever recorded. (More specifically, the shock wave will travel at about 440 miles per hour, faster than the speed of sound.) Trees and buildings will be ripped into kindling as it goes. And the people caught in the path of all that super-fast debris? Well, like I said… It will get messy.

Even beyond that point, the sonic boom will shatter glass for an impressive distance, making this the most epic example of breaking windows with a baseball in human history. Homeowners will be livid. But not for long because soon afterward most of the city will be a flambé. So, in the end, the baseball stadium is a crater, an entire mile-wide radius around it is as flat as a pancake, and everybody else is on fire. A bad day all around.

In short, if you’re thinking about asking my predecessor, Metroman, to join your baseball team, I would VERY strongly advise against it.

—Megamind, Defender of Metrocity

#Megamind #megamind #humor #funny #joke #ball #lightspeed #light speed #physics #science #question #metroman #pitch #baseball #metrocity #ask megamind

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 3 years

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Meeting and Dating Marty McFly

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You and Marty grew up in the same, relatively small, town so it was pretty difficult not to; at the very least, have heard of each other by the time you reached high school.

- I mean, growing up, if you weren’t in the same class then chances were you were only a few doors down or riding home on the same bus; a fact which had been the case since elementary school. And with Marty's tendency to get himself into trouble, he wasn’t exactly the type of person who orbited outside of your schools gossip circle.

- Pretty much everyone in your school had their own little rumor that they’d heard about the McFly boy; you included, and whether they painted him in good or bad light depended on the person. You’d heard stories ranging from him building an atomic bomb with Dr. Emmett Brown to him being late to first period everyday since the fifth grade.

- You’d learned to take them with a grain of salt; though whether or not that had anything to do with your secret crush on the boy is anyone's guess.

- And though you felt a bit silly having a crush on a boy who you’d barely talked to and who most of your friends believed was the evil partner of some mad scientist, time would prove that you weren’t the only person harboring a crush in this little scenario of yours.

- Unbeknownst to you, Marty had been in love with you and planning on asking you out ever since freshman year. He’d debated on how to do it time and time again, agonizing over what to say or do as though it was the hardest thing a person could have to go through.

- He’s terrified of the prospect of rejection; which is the big reason he doesn’t ask you out sooner. He doesn’t know if he could handle that kind of rejection.

- Nevertheless, the time finally comes about halfway through your sophomore year of high school....

- For all his worrying, him asking you out had gone almost embarrassingly smoothly. He’d approached you at your locker, said your name and asked if you’d want to see a movie with him that Friday night.

- And you’d said yes, just like that; writing down your number for him and saying goodbye as you headed to your next class. If he hadn't been so happy he would have been scolding himself for waiting so long.

- He spent the rest of that day clutching that scrap of paper in his hand; hardly believing his luck.

- As I mentioned before: for your first date, the two of you go to the movies. You sit through some old Clint Eastwood film while he nervously manages to slip his hand into yours as its laying against your armrest; an action that has you biting back a smile.

- The two of you share your first kiss later that night. He’d walked you to your front door and you’d said goodnight, chastely pressing your lips to his before you went inside.

- As quick as it was, it was enough to have him smiling and pumping his fist as he dashed off your porch; just barely restraining himself from whooping and hollering in the middle of the street at 10 o’clock at night.

- And just like that, your future together begins.

- Marty is big on Pda. He doesn’t care who’s watching so you’ll be doing a lot of swerving away from kisses; ignoring his pouting and/or whines, and pulling his hands away from your waist.

- His arm wrapped around your shoulders while you wrap your own arm around his waist; or put your hand in his back pocket.

- Holding hands.

- He really likes putting his hands on your waist. It’s usually to pull you into a kiss but sometimes he’ll just do it for no real reason at all; besides wanting to touch you I guess.

- Soft, deep kisses.

- Fair warning: a lot of your kisses are going to be interrupted by something or someone; usually Doc. Marty lives a chaotic life and if you’re going to be with him, you’re going to be swept up in that chaos.

- Honestly, Marty is constantly trying to make out with you and it’s lowkey a problem. Like, I’m sorry babe, but I’m not gonna tongue you in public and you’re just gonna have to live with that.

- Marty loves cuddling; and I’m sure you do too, the only problem is that Marty doesn’t budge whenever you do cuddle, so you have to resign yourself to being in his arms for at least an hour every time you want to snuggle.

- The two of you usually cuddle with him as the big spoon; his arms wrapped tight around you and his face smushed into your hair and the pillow. Although, he’ll sometimes want to be the little spoon or something similar.

- He tends to just call you by your given name or a shorter version of it; if that’s possible, but he does enjoy whenever you give him pet names. The cuter the better honestly; …just don’t use them in public.

- Once the two of you are together, he feels like he doesn’t have to worry about looking stupid, so he’ll just say all the sweet things that he’s wanted to say to you. Like how you’re the most beautiful girl in the world and that destiny brought the two of you together.

- Wearing each other’s clothes. His patterned shirts are a staple of your wardrobe and he’s constantly stealing your sweaters and band tees; and your fuzzy pajama pants whenever he stays the night.

- Borrowing each other’s cassettes and lending each other your Walkman's between periods.

- Helping him get into school and avoid detention whenever he’s late; which is incredibly often.

- Walking to class and home from school together.

- Him skateboarding beside you while you walk. If you know how, the two of you will skateboard together, but if you don’t, you’ll usually just watch him fondly while he does and occasionally let him try to teach you.

- Going to convenience stores together. He likes playing the arcade games they’ve got there.

- Playing video games with him or watching him play. He likes showing off whenever you watch him.

- Watching mtv and dancing together. Marty was all too ready to break out that moonwalk, that’s all I’m saying.

- Movie dates.

- Taking trips up to the lake.

- Going stargazing.

- Him sneaking out or lying to his parents to see you. The two of you occasionally wind up getting into shenanigans in an attempt to get him back home/sneak him back into his room; or you’ll come up with elaborate lies to keep him out of trouble.

- Marty sort of doesn’t want to bring you around his place; especially in the original timeline, so the two of you usually hangout someplace outside or at your house; or occasionally at the lab when Doc isn't around.

- Having a fondness for his parents even if he’s somewhat embarrassed by them.

- Believing in him and defending him when nobody else does.

- Comforting him whenever he thinks that he’s bombed an audition and reassuring him whenever he loses faith in himself and his music.

- Going to his bands rehearsals, shows, and recordings.

- Inside jokes.

- Developing each other’s different mannerisms and quirks. Karma came back and bit you in the ass for teasing him about saying “heavy” so much.

- He likes when you show him your different hobbies and always supports them. He’d be happy to read your stories or get your artwork for gifts or go to your games/let you teach him how to play different sports.

- Being introduced to Doc and shown his inventions or helping the two of them out in the lab from time to time.

- Walking Einstein with him and taking him to the dog park.

- Possibly going into the future with Marty and having the trip of your life. He’s blown away by the fact that you can look so gorgeous during every time period.

- Sometimes, he just has to make you stand still so that he can get a good look at you: whether it be because he’s been away for a week in the future or because you’ve dressed to the tens for prom/a date or to blend into whatever time period you’re in.

- Occasionally being confused by the things he says; since he’s referencing a future or time period you haven't seen yet.

- Him telling you about the future and the past. You probably played the role of therapist after he came back from his initial trip into the past. Like he’ll be laying on your bed, his hand on his face as he tells you about how his mom kissed him.

You sitting in your chair with a clip board: and how did that make you feel?

BAD Y/N! IT MADE HIM FEEL BAD!

- Trying to stop him from making dumb decisions and being influenced by other people; particularly people who call him chicken.

- He has a habit of saying the wrong things and not catching himself; he was born with a pretty much nonexistent filter, so he’ll occasionally say something to you that sounds better in his head and have to explain or you’ll have to step in and speak for him when he’s talking to someone else.

- Marty definitely gets jealous over you pretty often, and because he’s rather dramatic, even his most subtle reactions make how he’s feeling incredibly obvious. Even when he doesn’t want you to know that he’s jealous, you’ll still be able to tell.

- He’s incredibly protective. You saw how he was about to square up with Biff; and how he literally punched him. Anytime anyone even hints at there being something wrong with you, he’s immediately on the defensive and fully prepared to fight them in your honor.

- Marty is sort of a hot head so fights either happen somewhat often or are just rather explosive whenever they do happen. He isn’t the best at filtering himself and keeping his cool so he’ll occasionally say things he shouldn’t and get himself into hot water with you.

- But, as much as he sucks at speaking, he does make very good, very genuine apologies that you can’t help but accept.

- He tells you that he loves you pretty often; though it’s usually after quickly kissing your cheek and dashing out the door because he’s late for something.

- Well, he sort of already knows that he’s going to marry you; thanks to his little rendezvous in the future, but he knew he was going to even before then.

#marty mcfly imagine #marty mcfly headcanon #marty mcfly headcanons #marty mcfly imagines #Back to the future headcanon #back to the future headcanons #back to the future imagine #back to the future imagines #80s movie imagines #80s movie imagine #80s movie headcanons #80s movie headcanon

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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

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hi y’all<3 here’s a new section of the gallavich as seen from alternate POVs fic, this time featuring lip!!!! (i wanted to wait til after the ✨lickey drama✨ in the new ep before posting, but then i decided against it bc i didn’t want to re-write this lol)

i started to have way too many feelings while writing this so it’s a little lengthy and contemplative, but rest assured it features some domestic fluff/ian and mickey being disgustingly in love- i hope u enjoy<3

Lip shuffled into the kitchen of the Gallagher house, opening the fridge door and reaching past the clanging beer bottles to grab a metal soda can on the way back of the shelf, hearing a faint fizz escape as he popped the tab. It was late, the moonlight streaming in across the kitchen through the worn curtains and pooling on the kitchen floor— after Tami had crashed in their bed at the apartment after a long day at work and Freddie was sleeping soundly in his crib, Lip had come by the Gallagher house, without really knowing why. He just needed to clear his head, to get some distance from Tami and all her relentless nagging about moving and apartment hunting and his colossally obvious fuck-up with the bikes— he just needed some space, some less stifling air to breathe outside of their half-packed apartment crammed with boxes lining the walls.

It was funny; no matter how much energy Lip had poured into he and Tami’s first apartment, into painting the walls and agonizing over their kitchen backsplash like it was his first-born son, whenever Lip thought about home, whenever he felt that pit of uneasiness growing in his stomach and he just needed a place where he could lie back on a couch and loosen the knots in his shoulders and breathe in familiar air that would fill him up, instead of the too-clean smell of Tami’s flowery potpourri that she’d placed on the expensive coffee table in their living room— Lip always found his feet leading him across the slabs of sidewalk and past the chain link fences towards the Gallagher house, no matter the time of night. He had only been in the house for a few minutes before he felt the tight-knit something in his chest begin to unfurl— he didn’t even want to start to think about what was lodged there. This had been a crazy fucking couple of months, and he wasn’t going to start getting sappy about selling the house now, not when they were so close. He’d dug a hole too deep this time, and he needed the money. He couldn’t fuck up again— not with Freddie to take care of. No matter what it cost him.

So that’s how Lip ended up sitting at the Gallagher kitchen table at 2 a.m. on a Thursday night, sipping at an overly-sugary pop that was no substitute for what he really wanted to be drinking right now—he could imagine how it would warm the insides of his stomach, how it would cushion whatever weird fucking ache was in his chest right now. But— no. Fuck no. He wasn’t going to do that now. Everything about selling the house, about moving on, was about getting his shit straight— about leaving the bad parts of this sagging roof and these stained floorboards behind him.

Lip slouched in the wooden kitchen chair, scrolling on his phone and finally letting out a breath he didn’t really know he had been holding in all day, when he heard a creaking of footsteps padding at the top of the stairs— too heavy to be Liam or Debbie, too careful and unfumbling to be Frank dragging himself through the house. Lip flickered a glance up from where he was sitting and met Ian’s eyes as he turned the corner of the stairs, his skin looking translucent and overly pale in the moonlight like the ginger motherfucker he was.

Ian nodded his head towards Lip in acknowledgement, like he wasn’t surprised in the slightest that his older brother with a whole ass family and apartment of his own was decidedly squatting in the kitchen of his childhood home, drinking a pathetic-looking can of Dr. Pepper. Ian slid open the fridge door, grabbing a beer and swiftly popping the cap off by knocking the bottle on the side of the counter—and then in an instant it became one of those quiet, familiar nights when it was just Lip and Ian in the kitchen, sometimes letting easy conversations flow between them, but other times, just like this— just sinking into each other’s presence in the silence. Ian’s shadow mingling with the moonlight on the kitchen floor immediately snapped the atmosphere from lonely and self-pitying and stale to something lighter, something familiar—like the worn, buttery leather of a baseball glove that fits just right.

Instantly Lip was brought back to so many nights before this, of he and Ian orbiting each other in the kitchen at night— when they were kids and would creep down the stairs and eat fistfuls of junk food that Fiona had forbidden, or steal warm sips of the open beers Frank had left on the counter. This was where they’d processed Monica’s return, late at night while they passed a cigarette between them and Ian hadn’t tried to hide the tears that were freely rolling down his freckled cheeks, back when they were both just confused kids who clung to each other— this was where they’d processed Frank’s alcoholic meltdowns, too many to count, and all the love and loss and confusion that had passed between these walls, all the collateral damage of living in this fucking neighborhood. And Lip felt a sudden pang in his gut, sharp and present, when he realized that it might be one of the last nights that he and Ian got to spend in the kitchen like this.

Lip immediately shoved the thought down with all his might, a hydraulic press squeezing out any sentimentality. He had to do this— for Freddie, for Tami. He had to man up and move on, even if it meant physically wounding the crumbling walls to ease the pain of the parallel jagged wounds somewhere deep in his chest, or screaming and shouting until veins popped in his neck, so loud that he knew he was radiating his pain outwards like a fucking atomic bomb.

But tonight, Lip had no more fight left to give. He just wanted to let these four walls hold him one last time, without even realizing that was what he had needed until this moment. Ian slid a chair out from the kitchen table and sat beside him, leaning back and dragging out a slow, sleepy breath.

Lip cleared his throat, softly. “Where’s Mick?”

“Passed out upstairs.” Ian scrubbed a hand over his face. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Lip raised his eyebrow, almost involuntarily, and Ian immediately jutted his chin up in a half-nod, an affirmation, as he leaned back even farther and took the first sip of his beer. No, he wasn’t manic and yes, he was fine. After all the years that had passed since Ian was still figuring this shit out, Lip sometimes forgot that checking in on him wasn’t really his job, not anymore.

Lip took another sip from his soda can, a movement to fill the easy silence. “How was your guys’ night?”

Ian shrugged non-committally, his shoulders still slumped back in the chair, his lips puckered around the mouth of the bottle as he stared off into the distance at the peeling kitchen wallpaper. “Eh. It was fine. I dragged Mickey out to try and make more gay friends. Ended up being a mistake.”

Lip held back a laugh, taking a sip from his own drink to mask his smirk. He had ample auditory evidence that Mickey was plenty as gay as Ian, but it was still hard to imagine Mickey leaning into all of this shit— Ian used to wear golden underwear and frequent gay clubs and go to social justice brunches, but none of that really seemed like it was Mickey’s scene.

“Oh yeah? Mickey not the easiest person to befriend?” Lip said it with his eyebrows raised, like the joke was obvious.

Ian looked up at him, like he’d been snapped out of a sleepy train of thought, staring earnestly like Lip’s jab had flown right over his head. “Actually, it was kind of my fault. I was the one who made us leave this dinner party thing we got invited to. They were all talking shit about the Southside, about how they hated their families, and I couldn’t really… connect with them, I guess.”

Lip pondered that, taking a breath and stretching his arms above his head. God, he was sore— he hadn’t even been fucking working, aside from hauling those bikes from place to place to avoid the cops, but all the pent up stress and tension was starting to linger in his bones.

“Yeah, it was the same for me. In college, or whatever. Joaquin was the only person I really talked to, because he got all the shit I was always going through.”

Ian nodded contemplatively—but he was staring off into space again, almost like he was half asleep. Lip took another sip of his soda. He could bring up the house shit again right now—it was all that they’d been talking about for the past few weeks—but for some reason it felt too raw, too intense to bring up right now, like it would cut through this peaceful moment, this island in the vast sea of uncertainty Lip knew he was bringing down on all of their heads. So in this moment, he opted for smoother waters.

“Why’d you guys go looking for new friends, anyways?”

Ian finally broke out of whatever drowsy, pensive trance he’d been in, his lips sloping into a smile. “Mickey kept giving me shit for always doing what you do, after breakfast today. I figured… I don’t know, I just got all pissy and tried to prove him wrong.”

Lip felt the corner of his mouth tick upward at that. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

Ian grinned, and held out his beer bottle, stretching his arm across the table. Lip tapped it with his soda can with a light “Cheers,” then took the final sip. He crushed the can to a disk on the table, pressing it down firmly with the heel of his palm and watching the sides compress. Ian’s eyes were cast downward at the table, watching his movements.

“How’s stuff with you and Tami going, all the packing and shit?”

Lip turned the flattened can on its side, contemplatively spinning it like a top on the table and fidgeting with it between his fingers.

“Honestly? I’m fucking exhausted.”

He could hear the breathiness as he said it, how deflated his own voice sounded. And Lip knew could make himself say more— he knew if anyone would get it, Ian would.

“It’s just… fuck, man.”

He looked up and Ian was staring directly at him now, his expression unguarded— listening. Listening like he always did in these moments. Lip let out a low chuckle, trying to shield his own vulnerability.

“How’d we get so fucking old? How is this… it, y’know? Finally leaving the fucking nest, or whatever.”

Ian smiled, placing his beer on the table. “I think you already left the nest when you had a baby and moved into an apartment with your girlfriend.”

Lip shrugged, fiddling with the crushed can again between his fingertips. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

“And you are the one making us do this, for the record.”

If Ian’s tone wasn’t as playful or as tentative as it was, Lip would have worried that he was upset— but judging by Ian’s still-comfortable slouch and his steady expression, Lip knew he was fine— he was weathering the storm, just like Lip was.

Ian leaned forward.

“Hey. Mickey was giving me shit—but it is true. You’re my best friend, even though you can be a fucking asshole sometimes.” Ian’s lips curved into a crooked smile. “Nothing’s gonna change that.”

Ian’s eyes flickered around the kitchen as he spoke, and Lip heard everything that was unsaid. Even though you’re kicking us out of the house. Even though you’re changing everything. Even though there isn’t a focal point to our lives anymore.

You’re my best friend.

And Lip felt that pang in his gut again, sharp like a dagger.

He’d said it before, and he’d had no problem saying it over and over again in Mickey’s absence, up until the months before the wedding— Ian did always go a little bit “loco” when Mickey was around.

Which, fuck him, I guess, for caring about his little brother with an undiagnosed mental illness who was off living in the Milkovich House of Horrors slash meth lab with Mickey fucking Milkovich, the bully with greasy hair who Lip wrote papers for in high school and who now was a literal, actual, godforsaken pimp. Lip had seen a teenage Ian bruised and drunk and curled into himself crying over Mickey too many times to ever think that this shit was a good idea— and years later, when Ian almost threw away everything, almost threw away stability and sanity and his fucking family to follow Mickey Milkovich across the Mexican border, Lip knew he had to say something, even though it was an unspoken rule that he and Ian didn’t really critique each other’s love lives since the Mandy-and-Karen fiascos of years past.

So he’d said it, that day in the kitchen, after Ian had returned on a Greyhound bus and they were still processing the dull pain of Monica’s loss— and Ian had taken the feedback with a closed-lip smile, like his head was somewhere else, as he picked at the corner of the beer bottle label with his thumb.

And then less than a year later Mickey was released anyways, and ended up standing in a tank top and boxers in the middle of the Gallagher living room, when the house was crawling with strangers and Freddie was barely two weeks old— and Lip had taken in a sharp breath, a bundle of hesitant nerves sprouting for whatever the fuck this situation was going to become; but not one that he could really give attention to, with all the other bullshit that was pulling at his focus, like the desperate screeching of his newborn kid and the mascara running down Tami’s face.

Later that night, when he’d had a spare moment to breathe and Tami was finally calmed down and sleeping in their cramped bedroom, he’d run into Ian in the moonlit hallway as he was stumbling his way out of the bathroom, drowsily rubbing his eyes with his hair sticking up. And Lip had stopped him with a whisper, placing a hand to tap Ian’s shoulder as Ian blinked the sleep from his eyes.

“Hey. So uh… I see Mickey’s out.”

He’d seen the defenses immediately raise in Ian’s eyes, like he knew what Lip was going to say next.

“Yeah.” Ian had said it soft, quietly, like he was afraid of someone waking.

You sure that’s a good idea? Lip could feel the words itching on the tip of his tongue, and he was aching to say them again, all these years later— and yes, maybe his head was so wrapped up in his own shit that he didn’t really have the authority to be doling out relationship advice to his little brother right now, but so much of this reminded him of things that had happened in the past, of Mickey Milkovich crashing on Ian’s bedroom floor until he inevitably couldn’t anymore, until the pressure cooker of his presence mingled with Ian’s inevitably exploded— or at least that was how Lip saw it. There were too many wounds, and they were bound to leave scars— Lip was honestly surprised as fuck that the Gallagher house was Mickey’s first stop out of prison, after everything that had gone down between the two of them.

But, for Ian’s sake, Lip tried to reign it in—despite the fact that they’d just been commiserating about “being in love with crazy people” as they crouched on the living room stairs the night before as Ian sipped on a beer, sputtering out a “fuck no” when Lip asked if he was going to marry Mickey (which was an equally as batshit question as if Lip was going to marry Tami). Despite all of this— now that Mickey was back, Lip could see that this was something Ian wanted, that this was something Ian was treading carefully into, one more time. He was definitely stronger now; even Lip could see that.

“He gonna be hanging around here a while?”

Ian had given a gentle, sleepy smile. “Yeah. Think so.”

And Lip had just reached out, and clapped Ian’s sleep-warmed body on the shoulder. “Sounds good, man.”

Ian had walked the remaining length of the hallway, opening the bedroom door— and in the shadows, Lip could see that Mickey was curled on the old, concave mattress of Ian’s single bed that he’d slept on since they were kids— and Ian had lifted the thin blanket and pressed up next to him, the mattress sinking beneath their collective weight, settling in and pressing a kiss to the top of a snoring Mickey’s head without a second thought. Huh.

That was the beginning of Lip starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, this time with Mickey would be different— and it was. As Mickey started to become a daily fixture in the Gallagher house, constantly pinned to Ian’s side, Lip had noticed how something solid had shifted—they weren’t reckless kids anymore, for starters. He hadn’t really seen Mick and Ian physically together since Ian was catapulting off the deep end, in the weeks after Ian had gotten dragged away by the P.I.s and Mickey had gotten locked up for some crazy fucking stunt trying to murder Sammy. Things were too intense then, too technicolor—for some reason, Lip thought Mickey being back meant that they’d return to being that way.

But now here was this guy, placing a gentle hand on Ian’s chest and saying “Woah, wait a minute” to protect Ian from the batshit P.O. that had just barged through the door—and Lip couldn’t help but realize that was something that he would have done to protect Ian, in a universe where Mickey was still behind bars.

After then, Lip just kept seeing it— the ways that Mickey showed up for Ian. Not even in the ways that he used to, like forcing Ian to take his meds back when everything was uncertain and Ian was slipping through their fingers like sand in a sieve; but in a more solid, adult way, in a way that made Ian buzz whenever he was around him, in a way that made Ian happier and lighter. And maybe it was just the sex—part of it had to be the fucking sex, considering how loud they always were— but Lip realized, after a couple of weeks of Mickey’s presence in the house before their whole eventual engagement fiasco, that Mickey was Ian’s friend, in addition to all the other things he was. After all the years of uncertainty, they’d finally grown the fuck up— Mickey was someone who brought out the best in Ian, and it was like Ian had been waiting for this moment, for Mickey by his side, before he could fully and totally bloom.

And it was weird how emotional that made Lip— after seeing Ian as a hollow shell in a jumpsuit pushing garbage cans around a college campus, or pretending to be someone he wasn’t who wore patterned button-up shirts and threw around fucking useless five-dollar words that Lip didn’t understand like “gender identity” and “intersectionality”— Ian had finally made it, beyond being the bruised, scrawny kid getting sexually abused by a creepy 30 year old man in the back room of a mini-mart, or getting high off his ass every night and starving himself to fit into a golden thong, or wearing a baggy janitor suit with dark circles under his eyes and pallid skin. Ian had done that shit on his own, and made himself into something in Mickey’s absence, sure— but so much of him being the full, happy person he was in this moment was because of Mickey, and Lip could see that now.

Ian was himself— he wasn’t a shadow anymore.

And that was why Lip had said he thought he should marry Mickey, in the end— because there was no doubt in his mind that Mickey Milkovich wasn’t going anywhere, not anytime soon.

Lip could still see it now, in the way that Ian was lounging comfortably in the living room, like he had his whole life— but now Mickey was resting just as comfortably beside him. It was a few weeks after that night in the kitchen, and Lip had just pitched the FOR SALE sign in the Gallagher front yard— now everyone was huddled in the living room, for what they now knew was one of their last lingering nights in this space. Liam was sitting next to Lip, pressed into his side, seeking the comfort that Lip knew he needed through all of these massive fucking changes— Franny was playing on the floor and Debbie was sitting beside her, and across the room Ian and Mickey were pressed side-by-side on the fraying loveseat, scrolling through the lease document for their new apartment on the battered laptop. They were murmuring things to each other that Lip couldn’t really make out— but Mickey was pressed against Ian, slouching into him slightly, and Ian’s eyes were light. In his flicker of a glance towards them, Lip noticed that Mickey was playing with Ian’s hand, swiping a finger over his wedding ring, as Ian scrolled through the paperwork and started to read all the contract information out loud— and Lip smiled to himself as he tried to tune out all the sappy bullshit that was going on in that corner of the room.

Ian was going to be just fine.

Hour later Lip strode out the door to the front porch, a cigarette he’d bummed off of Ian wrapped in his fist— he didn’t smoke anymore, especially not under the same roof as Tami, but there was something about the gravity of this night, of the flimsy red and white sign rooted in the front yard, that made Lip’s fingertips itch for a cigarette and made his brain buzz with the want of nicotine to dull the sharp edges of everything he was feeling—for smoke to float in front of his face while he sat on the front steps just one more time.

He perched on the front steps as the sun was just starting to set, the fish-scale shadows of the chain link fence encroaching further and further into the yard as he flicked at his lighter.

He heard a light cough from somewhere in front of him— and saw that Mickey was outside too, blowing smoke out of his mouth and leaning against the fence in the front yard facing the house. Lip nodded at him in acknowledgement, then took the first drag. Fuck, he’d needed this.

“You gonna miss this place?”

Mickey said it into the open air, like he isn’t really talking to Lip— his eyes were off in the distance, staring at the paint-chipped front façade of the house. Which was fucking bullshit—why would Mickey be staring absentmindedly, almost fucking wistfully, at the Gallagher house?

It’s not like he and Mickey didn’t talk— they definitely did, pragmatically flinging banter across the kitchen to each other at breakfast when coordinating rides for Liam or grocery list items when Debbie was off at work, existing in the same space every morning— and Mickey helped him haul literal tons of iron when he’d helped him steal the bikes, had haggled over his cut. But never like this—never with any weight, never in a way that was this casual, or this familial, about fucking feelings.

Part of that was probably because it was hard as fuck to worm your way into the Gallagher family—as wide open as their door always seemed to be, with people filtering in and out and crashing on hallway floors or the lumpy couch, this house only continued to function because of its nucleus— because of Lip and Ian and Carl and Debbie and Fiona and Liam and yes, even Frank. Everyone else was a passerby, an impermanent blip crossing through the way station; Jimmy-Steve, Sean, Carl’s slew of girls, Mandy and Karen.

Monica.

None of them were Gallaghers— none of them considered this place to be home, or got all the privileges that came with that. The Gallaghers, the real Gallaghers, had seen every one of these people come and go— and something slippery suddenly crept into Lip’s realization that despite all the odds, despite all of his doubts about him—Mickey had chosen to stay close to these four walls just as much as Lip had.

“Mickey’s family.” Ian had said it over a mouthful of bacon at breakfast a few weeks ago, and Lip had immediately shot him down; but maybe there was some truth to what Ian had said, some truth to the oddly unfailing consistency to Mickey’s ten years. Which meant that maybe…

Maybe it was time to make a fucking peace offering, or whatever.

Lip hummed in acknowledgement to Mickey’s question, pulling himself out of his train of thought.

“Hey. Mick.”

Mickey looked up at where Lip was leaning on the porch, his brows furrowing like he was bracing himself for a confrontation. “Yeah?”

“My head’s been too far up my ass the past couple of months to say it, but, uh. I’m glad you’re family, y’know?”

He’d been passively thinking it for months— but he’d never said it to Mickey, never this directly. He hoped Mickey got it, without brushing it off or shooting him down with some snarky fucking comment like he always did. Lip meant it— he was glad, he was grateful, he was ready to let Mickey Milkovich keep being a part of his fucked up familial life. And he hoped that Mickey saw that.

Mickey just rolled his eyes, taking another drag of his cigarette—but he didn’t say anything in reply, not for a moment. And then:

“You’re as sappy as your fucking brother, Phillip.”

#i’ve said it once and ill say it again nothing makes me more emo than ian and mickey sharing ian’s old bed #also sorry this was kinda ANGSTY what can i say #lip is Too Much #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #gallavich fanfiction #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #lip gallagher #ian and mickey #ian x mickey #ixm

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jchnmcdonough · 2 years

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Ok I’m finally posting this @wingsy-keeper-of-songs.

(Some of) My Hancock hc’s. I’ve broken them down further into categories beyond the read more :-) taggin this bc i feel the hancock tag is in need a cleanse.

APPEARENCE

- Knows how to sew and takes great care of his clothing, particularly his frock coat. No ripped / falling apart seams in goodneighbor no ma’am. and yes, he does have more than one outfit

- Big on good hygiene! There’s a reason goodneighbor has decent plumbing lol

- 5′9. no, im not arguing on this.

PHYSICAL / MENTAL

- doesn’t ever really sleep. Dozing, sure, but a deep sleep for him hasn’t happened since he turned into a ghoul. Cat naps are frequent but never more than 30 minutes. This threw lizzy for a loop the first time they ever slept together lol. Going off this, when he does doze, he uses his hat to cover his eyes. Makes people think he’s asleep despite being aware of his surroundings and gives his eyes a break from the lights

- Sensitive to bright lights, especially fluorescent which is why candles / oil lamps are used throughout the entire of the state house. He likes the look of neon lights which is why they’re heavily used throughout the exterior of GN

- avoids heavy drinking unless he’s alone or fahr is present because he tends to spiral

RELEATIONSHIPS: daisy

- Daisy became a close confidant of his before Fahrenheit came into the picture. Actually kept him outta trouble during his drifting days

RELATIONSHIPS: fahrenheit

- He taught Fahr how to play chess

- Met Fahr a bit after he became mayor. The watch caught her trying to steal food from one of the warehouses, so he decided to take her under his wing. I’m honestly considering writing a short run off about their relationship tbh bc it wouldn’t really make sense to put into my main story

- Fahr is the only person to see him cry (except lizzy but I’m not counting her rn). Fahr has seen a lot of actual John rather than the Hancock persona which is why she’s so…almost territorial over him. She also would continue to be his bodyguard/advisor even if he didn’t pay her (tho he doesn’t believe this much to her dismay)

RELATIONSHIPS: ETC

- Established a safe trade route between goodneighbor and the slog that he allows the railroad to use while escorting runaway synths. Ghouls will also use this route to avoid any unwanted attention

- If he’s not doing meetings or business in the state house then he’s outside visiting residents or bothering Daisy lol. This is how lizzy discovered how adored he is by everyone. People stopping what they’re doing just to greet him, children asking him for caps to buy sweets (referred to as mr. Hancock).

- Has connections with Mother Isolde. you wonder how he got ahold of that experimental drug? like the covenant im in the process of revamping the crater of atom. i actually adore the children of atom and think they’re a super cool (i like the complexity of cults leave me be pls). plus, they’re the only COA in the commonwealth that don’t attack on sight so

- Has a trade going on with Jack Cabot

MAYORAL...ESQUE

- Will absolutely use physical force during interrogations but usually has Fahr deal with those issues. If Hancock gets involved that’s how you know shit is about to go down.

- Usually leaves the killing to Fahr as she likes doing it and he doesn’t like the mess, BUT will do it to make a point/send a message. Preferred method is a quick stabbing, but has used a shotgun at close range for a select few menaces

- does bi-weekly community meetings with residents to make sure any concerns are taken care of swiftly

FOOD / DRINK / DRUG

- Knows how to cook but doesn’t do it a lot

- Loves sugar bombs because they remind him of his childhood.

- Absinthe, brandy, whiskey. That’s it.

- Berry mentats are his absolute favorite

- smoking became an unintentional; addiction. he actually had plans to quit prior to becoming a ghoul, but gave up post ghoulification because it adds to his ~look~ and due to his extended lifespan

RECREATION / HOBBIES

- Record player is always on. He lives for having background music. Hypes up his main character complex

- Billie holiday and frank sinatra are his favorites, but has a soft spot for the beach boys.

- plays chess and poker most often, but also enjoys pre war board games like blast radius or catch the commie

- Tends to pace / wander around goodneighbor at night when he can’t relax.

- reads whatever he can get his hands on, but especially loves material regarding prewar commonwealth.

#— ; * author notes.#ok thats it for now lmao #i had these on my phone but finally transferred to desktop so i could format #anywyas #fallout 4 #hancock #fo4

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h0unds-of-h3ll · 3 years

Text

Talking to the moon

The rumors and trauma lived inside his head in fact it ate him alive. Each and everyday lifeless and a black cloud hung over his head. Except when he received and a test message from an unknown number. He knew it was unknown for three reasons. 1) Everyone knew to not text him or disturb him unless he contacted them first. 2) He could recite his entire list of contacts over anything else in his life. And the third was that he didn’t know that this unknown message would change him forever.

Word count: 15,000 *im so sorryyyy*

This is another dreaded Bucky Barnes x reader fic.

Viewers beware you are in for a scare with the: fluff, Bucky is a wanna be alcoholic, blood, angst, cheesy tropes *wrong number,etc*, bad jokes, one liners, awkwardness, sexual innuendos, mentioned sexual harassment, suicidal thoughts, depression, murder, slight dark Bucky who’s just trying to get through life, Sam Wilson mentioned, astrology and planets, knifes, ptsd, nightmares and terrors, flashbacks, sad bitch Bucky missing Steven and using the reader as a better therapist then the certified one, she/her pronouns used for the reader, mostly from Buckys POV, she/you referring to the reader JOHN WALKER SLANDER NO HATE TO THE ACTOR, glass.

(This is dedicated to my friend, tiny adjustments to buckys story and I am dearly sorry if I didn’t write bucky true to his character!)

He choked awake on the air that never left his cold lungs, meanwhile, his skin was afire. A coat of sweat coated him, he slept shirtless since this occurred so often. Always waking in the depth of night to little to no light, only the low gleam of the moon shone through his window near his kitchen along with the soft luminosity of the television sat in front of the sofa. One that he refused to sleep on. He couldn't even sleep on the soft bed tucked in the back corner of the room down the hall in his apartment. He debated why he just wouldn't move into a studio apartment instead of the one he resides in.

He huffed staggeringly and his eyes falling to the ground, searching for something that was never there. Tranquility. His brain trying to calm itself in some form, it never worked it took hours for it to. Even then it never lasted. He suffers another day's trauma trying to sort the world back into order. Sam would often notice but knew to never ask him about it. He knew from the months working together asking and attempting to comfort Bucky often led to arguments. Bucky strongly knew this was nothing and that others were just blowing it out of proportion.

That also led to bias work and Bucky not doing his best, since Sam put him in a bad mood beforehand. Bucky went to therapy. He was more forced than offered, the government felt he was more of a ticking bomb than anything else. Bucky thought of it as more of a joke than anything.

There was no sense in for him to go to the sessions. He often found himself trying to find excuses to skip sessions. He thought that the past is the past and trying to fix it wasn't a possibility. Bucky dealt with it the way he could. He pushed it deep, deep, down in the roaring sea of his mind and dealt with it later. Only in his dreams did it resurface to haunt him. Always making him uptight and tired from the lack of sleep.

However, at this point, he was use to the torture of it all. His brain is his worst enemy. Through shaky breath fanned on his arm, he was crouched over his left leg up his metal arm resting over his knee his other arm holding his weight. He watched the glow of the tv, his chest heaved in exasperation.

Nothing piqued his interest in broadcasting. It was all the same mumbo jumbo of stereotypical things like romance, the reality that was depicting the species as inhumane, the comedy he didn't understand, only one channel did hold his interest.

Perhaps it worsened his mental state but he didn't care and it was the news. It was all the current disasters of the world and the avengers trying to stabilize the circumstances and the best part of it all how disturbing the world is. Even if his bringing was normal to where he is now, he'd most likely be a deeply tormented individual.

He nearly had heart failure when a banner at the bottom of the screen read "John Walker elected as the new Captain America." In blinding letters. Above the banner was John Walker himself standing in front of the podium a hand raised in a gesture to recognize the audience's howl.

Buckys head burst with memories of Hydra and the way it evoked him. The way of how Hydra forced him to be something he wasn't. John Walker was the perfect example of an alternate reality with a substitute Steve. Everything Steve was for John Walker was against.

Images flashed in his head. He put his hands on his head his natural one warm and clammy, in contrast to the bitter cold one. It just gave his flashbacks even more fuel. Living with a constant reminder of who he is. A monster.

He grabbed tightly onto his hair the strands were being plucked as this was being written. He felt small patches of balding from this happening so regularly. His legs parted and creased by the knees. His face strained into pain. His extensive wrinkles from age, noticeable, and worsened from him doing so.

His blanket thrown away to the side with disregard, he started to rock softly front and back. The wood floor burned his tailbone from him sitting on it for so long. Suddenly he felt a different pain. A killer one.

The beige cabinets thrown open papers and documents scattered everywhere. The dark grey of a ceiling of the shelter peered over him judgingly. His arm pushed down into the metal of the chair burned from the uncomfortable position. The bolts leaving deep indentions in his skin. The helmet pressed tightly to his skull leaving him render less against the horror of hearing the words. So many times he had to go through this routine, the monitors loud and buzzing. He bit down strenuously onto the guard in his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. The electricity drumming into his head, his brain setting fire to its system, he feels it in his muscles, in his blood, the veins that pop in his neck. The tubes behind his head generated and pumped large amounts which umped higher and higher in velocity each time an activation word was spoken loud and clearly. Spat carelessly not in his mother's tongue, he would never think of the language to be beautiful only to be a monstrosity of the world one of the greatest. His dull fingernails dug into the chair it did nothing other than to give him some sort of balance. He screamed but it was muffled to an extent of the guard doing its purpose. "Daybreak."

The announcer spoke into the fuzzy black microphone that's the only word he made out to hear. The daily news report drone on for what of which he came back into reality.

He opened his azure eyes and looked to the left the window that sat in the middle of a pale white wall and his kitchen showed the red bloom of the sun and the tall buildings of the city.

He felt resentful towards the time of day since his flashbacks usually only lasted a minute or so.

Lately, they've grown in duration and that stroke dread into him. He was horrified that someone would say or do an act that would put him in a state of mind. One that he wished to not be in.

Somedays he just yearned to be left for dead in the snowfall of the forest. Notably, so far from the arm that was taken from him that it would be hidden to the world for eons. And from the pessimism of the clouds above him.

He grew irritably hot and damp from the excessive sweat he did to himself, he felt everything was his fault, enlisting, going on the train, helping Steve.

He hated himself for a moment realizing what he thought, he felt selfish for thinking that Steve did this to punish him. He sighed and laid his head tilted to the plastered ceiling.

His neck outstretched. His legs and his arm, limp from the compression of him tensing them for so long. His muscles trying their hardest to relax. His figure seeming to be the equivalent of a sack of potatoes.

He didn't care about how he presented, perhaps it was his past with being a soldier the constant thriving to be the strongest and the son of Hercules. He pushed so far that his body couldn't endure the strength he put it through.

Super soldier serum and all, he was still just a man. He was still human deep into the last atom of his DNA. His eyes nonchalantly examined his ceiling a soft pale white like the rest of his apartment, it reminded him of the moon outside.

If he were to take out his ceiling it'd be right above him. He was enamored by how it seemed to have an ever-lasting glow. He let out a shaky huff then fell ever quiet. Until the day grew old.

Yori had scheduled a lunch meeting earlier that week, they had a routine. Yori attended and Bucky paid. This happened every Wednesday they would meet up and discuss whatever they wished. Yori was just an old decaying man who lived in Chinatown, he lived across from Bucky's building. Yori was kind to the ones he knew.

It was otherwise to people he didn't. After Yori's son died it was hard to, if he only knew who Bucky was entirely he'd die out of shock. Bucky swore to tell him but honestly, Yori was his only friend he had out of work, and even that he couldn't let himself go and confide in Sam.

So here he was in a plain-back leather jacket, some jeans and the same pair of boots he had since the war. He didn't understand the fashion trends of late. Last week he and Yori saw a woman in a bright suit, it looked like a second skin from how tight it was.

Yori was simple-minded as he was and had similar morals and interests. It was disheartening to say that Bucky had a sort of envy for Yori, Bucky wished to have lived a normal life of maybe dying in the war or growing old and gray like Yori.

Get married, have a couple of kids, live a normal life. He understood greatly why Steve went back but he never fully forgave him for it. He felt like Steve was selfish for doing so, but isn't everyone? Steve got a normal life while Bucky had to rot in the world alone and was terrorized by his brain.

He crossed his arms, the leather making a strange sound since he gripped himself so tightly. He sat up straight, his shoulders back, his face set with a profound scowl. It forever imprinted on his face the dark scruff of a new beard growing in.

He hated how it meant uncleanliness, but he didn't have the motivation to shave it off, there wasn't a reason to anyway. He hadn't been on a date in years, centuries even.

He poked and played with his sushi that Yori said was great to try at least once. Bucky felt bad and tried a bite, he had to give credit for a thing so small having to be so spicy. That was about the first and last bite Bucky had. Since then he just jabbed at it with one of the sticks.

The other laid across the small complimentary plate with the rest of the remains of the sushi he failed to eat, he lost his appetite a few weeks ago.

He's been nursing a strong drink called Shōchū. Every time Bucky ordered it Yori said that he put an accent on it and that it made him sound like a foreigner. Although Bucky didn't know how since he was fluent but that was an argument for another day.

The employees there grew to know that they should just leave the bottle there since he usually drinks half their supply on each visit.

He just simply didn't think eating was something he needed. Recently things just seemed to bore him to the point where things that he needed to do he couldn't.

All because his brain tells him this doesn't matter. He's just lived so long from numerous life-ending things and he'd be damned if he'd kick the bucket from starvation.

"That scowl of yours is going to scare the women away," Yori spoke, breaking Bucky out of his trance. Bucky only saw the select few people around them and the women that Yori was referring to were a few older women with smiles and when Bucky turned to look they suggestively waved their fingers.

When Bucky looked back Yori smiled and waved and went back to inhaling noodles. Bucky looked at the man across from him in the small sushi restaurant he grew to know too well, they always sat in the same place a small table near the front of the glass doors.

Some posters and decorations were scattered throughout the small building. The dim lanterns gleam radiantly against the cryptic night. It rained before and the droplets of rain still reside on the windows behind Yori.

Yori slurped pounds of noodles into his mouth at a time, the residue of it was left behind on Yori's pale-white mustache. Bucky was surprised that the stick didn't break from the weight of it. Bucky's eyebrows furrowed together in thought, his posture relaxing.

He laughed inside his shoulders coming up and the side of his lips curved in a smirk. The demeanor he held was appealing from afar, (specifically to the cougars adjacent from where they were.)The conversation always breaking Bucky's previous mood, Yori was very light-hearted when he wasn't in a mood. Especially when he had food and good company. He decided to further it:

"What do you know about the ladies here that I don't?" Yori swallowed a big round lump in his throat slowly going down to his stomach, he must've had a pile of noodles in it by now.

"Well first off all, don't test my ways of making them swoon over me," Yori stated it more of a threat than a declaration. He used his chopsticks and pointed them at Bucky and a warning manner.

His eyebrows perked up and the wrinkles on his forehead worsened similar to the ones that grew on Bucky. His eyes became wide at the thought of being disrespected like the way Bucky just did.

"Second of all, you don't understand how to look without your eyes." And with that Yori chowed down once again on his bucket of noodles. Bucky couldn't perceive Yori's advice, what does seeing without your eyes even could mean?

His smirk faltered into his normal resting face which Yori liked to remark and say was the equivalent to people putting the trash into his garbage can. There was no rhyme or reason for people to do so but they just did.

Just like the way Bucky was always in a sour mood it reminded him of himself always being angry at the world because of other people.

"Have you been seeing anyone lately, if not that might be the cause of your problems," Yori spoke as if he knew everything about Bucky and maybe he could Truth it since Hydra and after being the winter soldier and Steve passing.

Bucky hadn't really been ready to mingle. He just knew he had too much baggage for a partner to put on deal with him. Every now and then when he felt completely alone he downloaded some dating app he didn't actually want and deleted it on the same night.

He had flings here and there and since he met Yori he had been setting him up on dates whether Bucky liked it or not. None of them worked out since Bucky didn't try; he was too wrapped up in his own problems to be listening to hers.

Bucky's gloved metal hand wrapped behind his neck and scratched his stubble coming back down.

"You know Yori surprisingly enough I haven't," Bucky spoke grimly and clutched his teeth. He knew Yori was going to tell him off. He winced when he heard Yori's chopsticks fall into the cup of noodles. Yori sat back into his wooden chair, his arms crossed and a displeased look came across his face.

"And why is that?" Bucky began to open his mouth "Don't give me some excuse that you always give me or this will be our last meeting." Yori stated in a harsh manner with his face twisted in that fatherly manner. "I don't understand why it's a great value to you, to know about my love life,"

Bucky spoke of it as a statement but it came out more as a question. Yori quieted and thought for a moment thinking of the proper words to say. "The stars are aligned in your favor, in which that means you should try and put effort into those small details in what is grief, if not love persevering."

Bucky sat there thinking over the things Yori told him. Bucky stretched his arm out to sip on the Shōchū. He was about a quarter way through. They'd only been there for two hours.

Since Yori met Bucky he learned that people can't always be that bad. Unless of course, you're the type who knocks over his trash can and the men don't pick it up and so it rots to hell when he fills it.

Bucky sighed and reached for the half-full glass of Shōchū. Yori never favored seeing him drink. It was too similar to him drinking when his son passed.

So Yori being Yori he made a little catapult with his chopsticks and put a small piece of noodle into his device and flicked it at Bucky. Bucky glared at him and touched the spot where it hit. Right in the middle of his creased eyebrows. The residue of the noodle followed his fingers Yori went back to eating but before he did so he gave a word to Bucky

"You're not supposed to think about how to see without your eyes. It defeats the purpose entirely if you think about it as strongly as you do, I may have some years under my belt of practicing but you are going to go nowhere soon with the troubles that live in your scowl."

He paused searching into Bucky's storm-driven eyes, Yori saw nothing that lived behind them other than sorrow. It pained Yori to see his friend in such a state.

Yori rested his hands on the table interlaced in front of him, trying to find anything worth reviving if it wasn't already killed behind Bucky's aurora. But then all of a sudden a glimmer, a spark you could say flitted inside the fellow in front of him.

Yori leaned back in his chair and smiled softly, his eyes creasing. "Ah, there it is," Yori spoke softly. Bucky confused more than he had ever been in his life questioned everything.

He had no idea what Yori was doing or as to why he endured the unwanted staring contest they just had. Then his answers were spoken by the one who created the questions.

"The way you see without your eyes is simply to be at peace with yourself, look at the moon and the stars.

They have no troubles or worries and they are the most looked at things in the entire universe no matter where you are. They see everything, yet they still choose to have no regard for the ones that judge them. For you young sir, for them to have that happiness you take that amount doubled."

Bucky scoffed that he didn't intend to be disrespectful, but how in the world was he supposed to be calm when he knew Yori's speech was literal. Yori never made jokes or metaphors, he learned that the hard way.

He uncrossed his arms for the first time since they sat down, and rested his elbows on his knees, and leaned forward in the wooden chair. He squinted his eyes, questioning Yori's statement.

He knew Yori hated to be questioned and tested, they always led to night and day-long arguments that never fully were resolved. Maybe it was the half bottle of Shōchū he drank that made him confident. He spoke rough and dry from it taking over his throat and liver.

"So let me get this straight. the only way I can find peace and happiness is if I talk to the stars and the moon? Yori, you've got to be joking." Yori grew agitated but his composure remained ever the slightest of relaxation.

Yori reached towards the back of his pants to retrieve something while glaring at Bucky and the staring contest resumed. Bucky thought for a moment that Yori was going to shoot him in point-blank range in front of the small company that was set at different tables all over the place.

Instead, Yori pulled out a small crumbling paperback book with the cover filled with stars and galaxy-type depictions and inscribed above it was

"Talking to the moon, and other astronomic casualties"

Yori sat the book gently on the side of the table he got up and before he left he looked at Bucky for a long while before turning and walking out the door. Not another word was spoken between them until the next Wednesday.

Bucky walked home that night by himself. Usually, he would walk with Yori but what happened at the sushi place he felt disturbed by. He lost his temper and he never should've.

He's been put in worse situations than thinking that Yori made him out to be a fool for believing that the stars could talk. Who knows if they do. He should've been more open-minded, he's just been riled up from the flashbacks.

Shōchū seemed to make things worse but he'd forget about things for a while. He wanted to apologize to Yori;

he severely drowned the urge. With the rest of the bottle. Yes, the restaurant let him take the rest. He had to pay handsomely. He thought it was worth it until he had to walk up the stairs to get into his apartment. He swayed back and forth mostly to the left. The arm weighed more when he was like this.

He had not a thought in mind about the world other than seeing the bottom of the clear bottle made of glass.

He tried to walk up the stairs he really did but his chunky boots made it hard to judge the height of the stairs. He got about halfway up them and then he fell. He smashed his chin against the wood and his chin started to bleed. He didn't try to stop the fall.

His right hand was occupied with the bottle. His thick scarred fingers tied around the neck of it securely. He'd kill anything that would try to take it away from him. He pushed himself up off the stair and he winced in pain when his right hand was now in the pile of glass. It fell and broke when he did.

His back burned with being indented from laying on the stairs. His chin seeped down onto the pit of his neck where his jaw formed.

He pushed slowly up off the stairs entirely putting his damaged hand behind his back. How ironic that his normal flesh is the damaged one.

He lifted off with the metal one. He clutched his wrist and pinched it tightly with the metal one.

Trying to cut off blood flow so it won't get more infected than it already had. He walked to his apartment shamefully. His head hung down low, too insecure and awkward about what happened. His jaw stern and gritted he was embarrassed.

The alcohol dimmed it but it was still a major event. He'd hit the rock bottom of an endless pit.

He dug out his key in his pocket and went inside. When he entered he always felt worse than he had left. Yet he never had a problem leaving. It always felt like he was welcomed back into a deep aurora of depression.

He stepped on the back of his boots and left them by the door. He walked to the bathroom but he stopped and turned to look at the tv. There he was again in all his glory. John Walker.

Although this time in his clutches was Steve's shield. He grew saddened by the fact Sam gave it over. He felt betrayed. Sam was the only one he knew other than him how valuable that was and John Walker out of all people had it in his possession.

He'd have a long discussion with Sam in the near future about this. He was always infuriated by John but now he couldn't put it into words. Except for the word imposterous.

Bucky felt a sharp pain in his wrist and when he looked down. He soon found that he was nearly fracturing his wrist with his metal modeled fingers. He also took into mind how deep the glass shard was. Some tiny, some huge. He cursed under his breath a soft and crude

"Fuck."

He quickly loosened his grip and shook his head in regret when he looked down to his wood floor. He realized that blood trickled from him since he opened the door.

He hastily shuffled awkwardly to the bathroom trying his hardest to not make more of a mess than he already had. He walked with long strides and his white socks dirtied from blood.

The bathroom was small, with half tiled walls and a tiled floor, beige paint covered the rest of the wall. A shower shoved to the left of him, an off-white bulb accentuated the room.

He swore to change it but he never did. A mirror and sink in front of him, the mirror was a small white rectangular one, matching the shape of the sink. Sandwiched in between the shower and sink was the smallest white toilet imaginable.

He hated going into the bathroom for this reason alone. He saw how weak he was in the mirror.

A busted bleeding wound. That crept close to the imprint that marked the middle of his chin, dark drunk eyes, shaded pink lips, sharp cheekbones accompanied with a keen jawline, scars littered across his body. His face had a few abrasions, and cheeks hidden in the scruff that continued to grow.

His hair tousled and strewn every way it pleased. He never cared about it; he never tried to style it since he'd just put his hands in it. His shoulders were clad in leather and a beige henley that matched the walls. The calmness after getting pounded reminded him of when hydra made him fight the other soldiers. Then suddenly he was there.

It was a day that Bucky would think about for the rest of his life. Bucky had a lot of those days but this one, in particular, was one that made him feel excruciating pain. The fight he was trained to lose. The compound was a dimly lit walkway in between the cells. Two would fight momentarily continuously one was declared the winner and fight the champion. Bucky or the soldier.

The commanders of hydra love to evoke fear. Seeing the men riddled with fear. Some vomit, others beg. Some are like Bucky. Ruthless. They don't care who they are or what they want to be. All they strive to be or do is fight and the blood splatter after winning against the enemy, releases stress so sometimes it's a release unless you have a guilty conscience. For Bucky, it's the latter. He has nightmares, sure, but everyone does.

Bucky had perfect posture, his head tilted into the way hydra trained him to do or to be brainwashed until he was complicit. Bright ocean eyes were unknowingly dead. The thunder of the other candidates to fight by the cells on the sidelines until it was their time to fight.

Although before they went to fight they would have a fistfight with Bucky to higher their combat skills. Bucky was the best soldier they had to let them practice on. That being said Bucky wasn't being used to his full potential. Bucky hadn't fought anyone to his skill level, everyone was either at a lower or average level. They were put into groups of two in fighting whoever won would fight either Bucky or another soldier even crueler than Bucky. Bucky had some remorse and would hold back. He still deep down was a person but the other soldier killed many from going too far. And today was the day that Bucky had to fight that soldier. Bucky had three other men for the soldier to fight until it was him, all skinny and small, scrappy.

The soldier was big and unruly. He was undefeated, sure Bucky was scared but at the compound, it's kill or be killed.

No one knew the soldier's true name, just the series of numbers he was given. His confidence may be the death of him. Bucky believed-knew that he was more than the average man. He had courage, a heart of gold, and the endurance of a bull and here he was amping himself up and nervously fidgeting wondering what would happen if he won this fight. He wondered if everyone would think of him as superior or if he'd be more of a black sheep.

He heard a crack of a hydra man yelling to start. The man in front of him was next and the one that lost had gashes to the bone and blood oozing out of places where he didn't know could.

Bucky felt exposed when the man in front of him went to fight, there was still a very long list behind him to fight but he was next up. The soldier looked at him, his demeanor felt like the grim reaper and Bucky was fixing to pay his toll.

The soldier had muscles upon muscles and as broad as one can ever be. The word powerful couldn't even describe him in the lightest.

Bucky chewed on the inside his cheek he was nervous.

The soldier was known to put the others in the infirmary for days on end and those he hurt abnormally bad gotta not fight for a while and rot in their cell until. More often than none they'd put you back out in the field.

The stories of this soldier were the type you'd tell sitting at a campfire to scare kids, instead, it was grown, men. Even if Bucky was the bravest out there he wasn't like the soldier.

Bucky observed all of his techniques and styles over the weeks. Preparing himself for his scheduled fight. It was an algorithm for the soldier to react to specific hits and counter them with the same thing over and over. The hydra men taught all of the soldiers the same moves except the one Bucky was going to go against. They knew Bucky was their best soldier so they had to at least put him in a good fight. Bucky caught on to this pattern and that made him think that he could win.

The man in front of him laid in a fetal position with mud and red splatter across his pale form, the boisterous crowd making the shame feel unbearable.

Then all of a sudden Bucky felt a harsh shove on his back. One of the hydra men shoving him into the pit with the soldier. Bucky nearly fell face forward on the cement. A burst of loud booming laughter deafened him more than the crowd on the sidelines.

The soldier crouched low and Bucky knew what he was going to do. He took out the legs then beat his component to a pulp like a gorilla. Bucky did the same stance. He looked foolish, his hair stuck to his forehead, sweat-soaked his clothes which were already tightened to his skin from the excessive working out he did. Courtesy of Hydra wanting him to be in top shape. The other soldiers grew restless as they psyched one out. They went into circles staring at one other like vultures testing who was the quickest. Whoever blinks first wouldn't blink for weeks after.

A screech came from the soldier and he came after Bucky.

Now imagine a vicious lion combined with a cyclops coming at you. Bucky psyched him out and pivoted. That just angered him more since the battles never lasted more than a couple of minutes. This one was already the longest. The soldier turned slightly and looked over his shoulder and before he could do so Bucky had gotten close enough to kick the left of his knee in and he fell. It was as loud as the thunder when he did.

Although Bucky wasn't watching his feet and the soldier took his left foot and grabbed Bucky. He fell. The roar of the other soldiers boomed. His ears went out painfully, a ringing sound, and the rain flew harshly against his face.

He couldn't move, the wind knocked out of him that he couldn't breathe. He felt ashamed to have even thought that he could win. The black ceiling littered with golden beams.

The gold reminded him of the stars behind them, how someday he could be out of this dungeon to see them again. Abruptly all the ringing in his ears came back. He heard a low hum of breathing; he thought it was his own until he saw the beast above him. The soldier grabbed his arms and Bucky struggled even through his stupor. Bucky wiggled and tried to get out from his grasp but he was a god amongst men. Bucky then thought of how Steve felt when he'd get cornered in an alley and he'd come and save Steve from being killed. But Bucky didn't get saved. The barbarian struck Bucky over and over. The nurse would later tell him that she was surprised that he didn't have any brain damage. Bucky waved in and out of reality. Every time he tried to open his eyes it'd be welcomed with a fist. Bucky spat the blood out of his mouth onto the soldier. The soldier was just too strong. He was impossible to win against. The soldier rubbed the blood into his face and laughed. He leaned to Bucky's ear only so he could hear "puny."

Bucky screamed loud. Loud enough that the neighbors awoke from their sleep and he'd sure have a lot of complaints to address in the morning. In a split second, he found himself with his fist through the mirror, the glass falling every way onto the tile into the sink and toilet. Into the already damaged hand of his, the glass poked through his palm, and through the other side, the previous glass dug deeper into his flesh.

Severing the tendons. All he could think about was the pain of having to clean everything up. He didn't feel the pain he caused himself because that didn't matter. It made him feel the least bit human. Pain. Everything living thing felt alive and once he lost that. He'd feel like a complete and utter monstrosity.

He looked up from his hand and to the mirror. Shards still hung and it displayed a perfect depiction of what Bucky was. Damaged.

Bucky spent the rest of the night with a bandaged chin that kept bleeding like a waterfall. Hw picking out pieces of glass with the smallest tweezers known to man, that too ruby red water ran down the sides of his hand onto his bare beefy thighs and pooled in the middle of his palm.

He had calmed down after a couple of hours by sitting on the bumped-out window.

He often likes sitting there and watching the city. The cars zooming past the bright casinos.

The one thing he enjoyed the most was watching the constellations and making them out to be the things he liked. Often he'd see a star in the moon and he saw the shield.

He hated that one since it put him in the pain of remembering Steve and how he had no one.

He didn't need anyone. That's what he told himself but he was very wrong. His jacket was thrown over a wooden chair in the dining area. The sleeves of his henley rolled around his elbows showing the veins in his forearms.

He changed out his jeans for a random pair of dark shorts, he threw off his dirtied socks.

To say the least, he was at comfort for the first time this week. He started to read the book a little, the pages were torn and faded. Yori must've read this multiple times.

Bucky wondered why. The book was small and petite and was only a hundred or so pages. It was interesting, it was all about philosophy, it was written as if it was a big life poem.

He hated a lot of it but here and there were a few good points. He was about halfway through the book when a paragraph struck him.

Heart. Mind. Body. Soul. Great beings of life and they can only communicate by stars. Life and everything between can be carried through them. So if you speak to the sky of night. You will often hear a reply.

He thought of it as silly but then his brain began to wonder. What if he could talk to whoever he wished dead or alive. Just from talking to the stars. It seemed too easy and childish.

Although what did he have to lose the majority of the world hated him and the other half tolerated him.

He put the tweezers down and wrapped his hand with the bandage used to box. He had leftover wrappings since he used to do dirty street fighting when he got dumped from S.H.E.I.L.D's payroll.

He picked up the book that was under his thigh, holding the book open. He held it there since that was where the most light surfaced. He didn't exactly have the expenses to pay the electric bill so he always kept it off.

His eyebrows furrowed ever close as he came across a sentence he seemed to not understand.

The book looked like it shrunk in the size of his hand. His fingers twisted and ran over the cover and the letters on the page fell off onto his lap. The shorts rode up about mid-thigh and engraved their way into his skin.

He couldn't read anymore. He sighed when he read the same paragraph twice over.

All he could think about was being able to talk to Steve. He pushed it into the back of his mind, he carried the book carelessly in his hand, the feeling an odd one since he hadn't read anything for ages.

He walked over to his little place where he slept and laid down.

The news wasn't showing anything interesting. He became quite bored. He wondered if Yori was doing okay.

Maybe he should check up on him even if they weren't on the best of terms. He drifted in and out of consciousness, he played with the wrapping of his hand to try and keep him entertained.

He sat up against his wall observing everything around him how bland and monotone everything was.

He felt a buzz in the pocket of his shorts. He begrudgingly went to grab it. He didn't know who or why they were messaging him. Whoever it knew that it was just for emergencies.

He swears that he was going to murder Sam if he sent him one of the pictures with a caption that never related to the image. Sam said that supposedly there was a joke in the caption but that just made Bucky even more confused.

Bucky didn't know why he kept the phone. He never answers it and usually, he finds out everything he needs to know by watching the news.

When Bucky did finally open his phone to see the lock screen. He stared at it in bewilderment for a long while trying to make sense as to why someone messaged him.

He noticed that it was from an unknown number. That being said there was a one in a million chance for someone to know what his number was. He sighed he was going to have to change his number again. He was surprised what the message was.

"Hey! I had a wonderful time on our date today, I was wondering if we could go on another this week? If not I completely understand I'm new to this..um..blind dating thing. I really enjoyed meeting you instead of talking to a screen! Lol! Anyway, Ttyl!"

Bucky didn’t know how or what to feel. What date? Why was she (he assumed so since the person seemed vibrant and bubbly.) So happy to see him? He didn’t even know who this person was! A thought crossed Bucky’s mind.

Perhaps he could initiate the partner she went on a date with. He wasn’t exactly busy and had a girl on his arm. He realized that if he were to go on this hypothetical date that it would be very obvious that he wasn’t the man she was interested in.

He subconsciously stood up and paced his living room to his kitchen to and fro. The soft glow of his phone illuminated his face in the dark. It was wrapped tight in his metal fingers. The yellow stripes that were like a snake coiling around his arm grew more visible.

He threw his right hand into his hair, his henley slightly rising and showing a patch of skin between the waistband of his shorts and where the sweater laid. It allowed a drooling sight of a teasing view of his defined “V” of his hip bone that flowed below his shorts.

It's been a while since he felt any blood circulate under his shorts. He didn’t understand what this girl did to him but it got him going and that was certainly uncommon under his circumstances of life.

Don’t get him wrong back in his day he was a player. Now it's lessened to nothing. Not even dates, so this could be big for him. He stopped when he concluded. What the hell did ttyl and lol mean? It took an embarrassing text to Sam and Sam merely laughed at him and told Bucky to google it. That just made things worse.

What was google? He went through every single thing on his phone until he found the icon labeled google and he did google it. ‘Talk to you later and 'laugh out loud' Oh. Bucky was embarrassed how long it took him to figure that out.

He sloppily used both of his thumbs and stood in the middle of his living room texting out a reply.

'I'm totally down to go on another date with you, sweetheart."

He was proud of himself since he remembered Sam using the word totally in a sentence before. He was confident that the confidence and the suaveness from his past never left. And then the regret started to hit him with a bat.

Why’d he called her sweetheart? What if she didn’t like to be called that. God how could he be so stupid?! He started to give up after he didn’t seem to have a reply in his future.

He sat down, crisscrossed in front of his tv and his couch, and began to swim ever so quietly in his mind. His eyes burned with strain as he watched the bright screen in front of him. A festival celebrating the new captain he nearly lost his mind until he felt a buzz against his thigh and when he looked down he saw that the mysterious girl messaged him again.

He opened his phone to find three little dots appearing and disappearing continuously. He wondered what she was writing that required that attention to thinking of what she was writing to him. He wasn’t anyone special. He was a natural disaster but that was about the unique thing about him.

He grew impatient and shifted his weight every few seconds. He was very nervous about what she was going to say. He felt like a schoolboy asking out his crush and being afraid of rejection. Lord help him because he missed feeling something other than pain. Then another buzz ran up his arm and under his spine, it was the message she sent. It was short and simple of the lines of what remembered to be:

"..."

Bucky nearly threw his phone across his apartment. But then sucked a huge breath through his teeth when another buzz went through.

"It's just no one has ever called me 'sweetheart' before."

That made Bucky feel like he wanted to crawl into the deepest darkest ice chamber and live there for the rest of his life. This was it he destroyed his life by trying to flirt with someone hundreds of years younger than him. He exposed himself and he could never redo it. He should've known that this was a bad idea.

Technically he did but he just ignored it. How could he be so idiotic to spoil his chances of getting out of this cage of death. This was the epitome of a fish drowning. He was overreacting and hyperventilating solely because he doesn't know how to flirt like the modern age. He was doomed.

His fingers resisting the strength of his mind telling him not to type out sent her the message reading:

"Do you like being called sweetheart or do you prefer doll?"

He swore he died when he saw that he sent that. SWEETHEART AND NOW DOLL? He wanted to take a steaming hot bath and maybe splurge with bubbles and fall asleep and hey maybe he'd drown.

At this point, he didn't think it wasn't that bad of an idea. He put his palms on his forehead, his knees on his thighs staring at the pitch-black rectangle below him. Impatiently waiting for her response.

An on-set headache developing from all the stress he's had under the last thirty minutes. His heart jumped at the sight of the glow lighting up his screen. He quite literally jumped out of his sin to read it:

"You have no idea. It's way better than getting called mama and shawty by the fuck boys. Lol!"

Bucky was now in the crisis of not knowing what was a shawty and an *ahem* fuck boy. It was so worrying the amount of googling Bucky has done just talking to this girl. He noted to never call her..shawty or mama and to never be a fuck boy.

When he did figure out what those things were he wasn't exactly surprised. He was jealous and angry that she'd been called things that she didn't want. The feeling was common but never this strongly. It was an odd feeling it rose from his stomach to his throat and made it dry and hard to speak.

It made him clutch the sides of his phone so harshly that webs started to hatch from within the glass. His eyes cold and dead staring at the screen reading over her sentence once, then ten times over.

A little buzz came from his phone gasping for air from Bucky choking it out with his metal hand. (You wish that was you, huh?)

"I do love how polite and gentlemanly you are tho. It's hard to find guys like you."

Such short sentences made his heart gallop so fast in minutes. The logical side of his brain kept telling him that her compliments weren't for him but the attention for someone was much louder.

Maybe his old ways of flirting were beneficial, which caused him to be more at ease. His tensed shoulders relaxed along with his metal arm. Although his body felt he was burning alive. His free hand pulled his collar off his velcro skin, letting his structured collar bones come breathable. His breathing became shallow.

"It's hard not to be when you meet someone so radiant."

He didn't even know who this girl was but all he knew is that he didn't want to lose her and become utterly alone again. Not this time. His hair stuck to his face. He was going to have to take the coldest shower ever to get rid of her and even that he won't.

"LOL, Speak for yourself, I'm nothing compared to you."

He scoffed and typed furiously, how could she think such things about herself. He was deeply frustrated he didn't know why but he felt very drawn to her. He'd do anything in his power to just want her to promise him that she'd never leave him.

God, he sounded like a psycho and maybe he was. Maybe this was his last straw and when she'd break off he would too. He was so afraid of going back to the way things were to going back to being the winter soldier that he felt like he lost his mind trying to prevent it.

"Alright doll, how about this, we meet up this Friday for dinner and a movie at nine o'clock?"

He was scared that she would reject him. Fuck. She didn't even know what he looked like. What if she took one look at him and saw past his facade and into how broken he was and decided that no. All these feelings are what drew Bucky to stop searching and to think that he was a burden to everyone. Maybe that's why he felt the only place he could be himself was when he knew that he was 100% alone.

He huffed softly and threw his head back against the couch staring up at the ceiling once again. His Adam's apple bobbed as he listened to the soft murmur of the tv. All the world's troubles put onto Steve's back for years and he gets a little tongue-tied and that was it for him.

He needed help. He needed to get better. He laughed softly, his face breaking out into creases of his tanned skin, his lips parting and his teeth glowing against the white flush. He was insane and there was no going back. He laughed at himself for what seemed like an hour until he felt the familiar buzz against his heated skin.

"Hell yes man as long as we watch sharknado!"

Bucky's smile grew more and stretched his face into a radiance that made him look like he did when he was young.

Bucky didn't know what the hell sharknado was but he was glad to know she liked him enough to go on a date with him. Bucky Barnes had a date to go on Friday and he couldn't be happier. He didn't have any nightmares that night but he'd rather have a life-ending one than what he told Yori in the morning.

It was a couple of days after the fight with Yori. Bucky finished the book the day after he read it that's why he was here along with wanting to apologize for his actions at the restaurant. He was currently sat on the wise man's couch. His son's shrine right on the small table in front of him. He bit the inside of his cheek hard and let his eyes fall elsewhere. He was ashamed to have kept this secret for so long but he couldn't find a way to tell Yori.

"Yeah, hey I murdered your son but it was fine since I was brainwashed by wanna-be nazis?" He let out a small nervous laugh and ran a hand through his hair. Yori was going to find out somehow sooner or later. Bucky just hoped it was later. He didn't want what he had with Yori to end because of his past.

"What's worrying you?" Yori said softly as he walked briskly into the living room with a cup of green tea. He sat down on the couch on the right side of the Bucky. Nearest to the door. Bucky couldn't but think Yori was in some form afraid of him since he tested him that night at the restaurant. No one ever tried to test Yori.

Bucky was different. A way that Yori wanted to understand. But Yori saw the trouble of the glass downstairs when he went to put the trash away. The brand was still visible and Yori only knew one person who drank that. Bucky. Yori figured bad things came from it.

Partly the reason since he knew what came after from drunken mishappenings. Yori sat the green tea on the brown coffee table in front of them by Bucky and put his focus back onto Bucky.

"I asked a question," Yori said softly. It seemed that Bucky was in a trance his head downward and his eyes shifting searching for something maybe an answer to Yori's question but there were so many things going through Buckys mind that it'd take months for Bucky to explain to Yori everything.

Bucky looked up to Yori with a smile but in his eyes were nothing but disaster. Yori sat uncomfortably. He was disturbed not once in the few months of knowing Bucky did not smile.

Bucky ignored the question instead "I finished the book you gave me," Bucky spoke with a waver in his voice making him sound unsure. While he reached into his pocket to grab it Yori pursed his lips.

"I didn't want you to read it I wanted you to return it to the library," Bucky's smile faltered and his eyes dimmed even darker than the way they did before. "Oh" is all Bucky said before he put the book back into his jacket pocket. He messed with the wrapping on his hand that Yori took notice of. Bucky was acting odder than usual and Yori couldn't put his finger on it.

Yori took out a scratch piece of paper and handed it to Bucky. In scratchy handwriting, Bucky assumed it was another book 'life on mars.' Then Yori spoke up "Are you going to drink your tea if not I will," Yori jabbed a finger pointing to the white cup. Bucky cleared his throat "I'm not that thirsty,"

Bucky handed over the glass cup to Yori and he glared over to Bucky and he glared back. Yori smacked his lips together after he finished. "If you're here just to have a staring contest with me, then I'm afraid you'll be here for a very long time,"

Bucky readjusted his posture and breathed roughly. "I wanted to apologize for the way I acted at the restaurant. I know I shouldn't have lost my temper at something so minor."

Bucky stopped thinking of words to say he gave up. Yori got up and left the kitchen uninterested in Bucky's apology. His son's portrait started yearning to be alive again. He stared brutally into Bucky's existence. It asked to switch position with Bucky and Bucky swore that he was out of his body and then sucked back in when Yori started to swirl a spoon around the top of the lip of the cup.

"Sugar makes green tea flavorful," Yori sat down when he was finished he swirled it into the now full cup. Bucky guessed he made a few more for later. Yori came back up to the lip and dampened it with tea it made and a remarkably loud song.

Around and around it went putting Bucky into a trance his posture regained to straight and his shoulder back head high with eyes dead. "When my son, RJ, was one he used to sing this song 'a longing rusted freight car coming to an end where it went when the furnace descended.' it was quite a beautiful song when he sang it,"

Bucky heard bits and pieces before his brain went to a mush of the activation words being said in his head. "When he was nine had a tumor and we took him to the doctor but we found out it was benign."

Bucky couldn't hear. He couldn't see. The sky was filled to the brim with stars. The moon brightened and removed his appearance from the trace of a normal eye. He stepped carefully on the roof of the building. His suit blending him into the shadows. His hair stuck to his face closing him in and disguising him more than he already is. He saw RJ through the roof's window. This couldn't have gone more perfectly. He slipped behind one of the paintings and was quiet, his breathing irregular. He heard footsteps and assumed it was RJ and punched through the painting and grabbed tightly onto the neck of the man he mistakenly thought was RJ and tossed him back into the debris of the painting. A man came after him and he quickly threw the knife from the back of his belt and plunged it into the neck of his victim. Another man slammed into the stairway when he flew out of the painting the rest of the men flew down the stairs in pursuit of fleeing the winter soldier. As they shot at him he was faster and killed them first he jumped off the stairs and threw the other spare knife at the man in front of him. An old man grey in the green leather jacket he smashed against the wall even threw metal Bucky could feel the man's heartbeat quickening and then faltering to nothingness. "Hail Hydra'' The last words the man heard as he dropped from Buckys grip to a heap of a corpse in a matter of seconds. Bucky turned to his right and watched the RJ struggle to put the key to escape Bucky. Bucky wanted to laugh at how weak and puny his attempt was to get away; he was constantly looking behind him at Bucky. Closer and closer Bucky's strides were to capture his life. Bucky's shoulder swayed a demeanor threatened with authority and anyone who dared to test it would feel the stupidity of their choice. When RJ started to beg Bucky thought that was all he had in him. Bucky didn't care. He raised his hand and straightened it perfectly matching the hilt to the RJs head.

"I KILLED RJ!" Bucky yelled standing upright. Saliva flew onto Yori when he screamed. Bucky's metal arm was tightly tied around Yori's throat. Yori was in pure terror, his eyes wide, his hands in front of him wrapped around the metal as he leaned back to get away from Bucky as he confessed to him who killed his son.

His mouth was wide in shock gasping for air. Bucky's eyes widened in horror, his mind running thousands of thoughts per second he took his hand off Yori's throat and choked on air. Bucky stared down at his metallic pitch-black hand and then Bucky ran. He ran to his apartment. Hands in his hair pacing kitchen to the living room.

What the actual fuck did he just do? He felt tears brim his eyes and he couldn't believe what he just did. He ruined everything he worked for since Wakanda. His reputation was obliterated just like that in a matter of seconds. His breathing became ragged; he managed to take off his dark black leather jacket and tossed it to the couch.

The black t-shirt he had on raised slightly from his arms being on his head. His wrapped hand tore into his skin making him even more upset from the broken mirror in his bathroom that he still didn't clean up. The memory just kept running itself over in his head he couldn't stop thinking about it. Yori's reaction.

There's no way he'd be able to repair what he did to Yori and he'd had to live the rest of his life knowing how badly he fucked up. He wanted to so badly tear this goddamn arm off with everything he had. He remembered trying the old one off that Hydra gave him it never worked. He still had the deep gashes from his nails where they latched onto his shoulder.

The scars never really healed right, instead of being in the skin, they rose like mountains from it. Bucky clutched his head tightly, his form shaking with tremors. He just kept thinking of the word stupid.

"I, John Walker. Captain America has taken the super-soldier serum and in my disregard, I feel as if there are no consequences and it should be open to the public. And in retrospect of the world, I personally think that Steve Rogers was too soft on his components and since I have taken the serum I will no longer be tolerating the life of the terrorists. That being said I will in no regard will hold back. I will do everything in my power to rid this Earth of the monsters we know until their last god-ridden breath."

Bucky lifted his head from its place hanging down into his hands, his jaw gritted tight, his nose flared, and his eyes full of fury. John Walker. He was going to kill that man one way or another. Bucky was pissed so beyond natural anger that he stood up and walked straight in front of the tv.

This man was beyond no right in having that televised. What he said could destroy the world in an instant. Who or why did he get the serum from? And Bucky was the time bomb? Bucky closed his eyes, his hands turned into tight fists, and let the image of John Walker in an interview with a lady sat across from him at John's old school burn in his mind. The white noise of the crowd cheering John's opinion made Bucky's blood boil.

Bucky thought he had calmed himself until he opened his eyes he saw John look into the camera and point.

"The world would be a better place if there were more brave soldiers like me."

Bucky reared his metal fist back and pounded the tv until the screen was ridden of John Walker's face. Bucky came to the idea that when he got another tv maybe he shouldn't watch the news for a while. Glass fell on the table and pieces on the wood floor by his feet.

He fell to his knees. His knees cracked from all his weight on them with no support. His knees being crushed by the glass. His hands hiding his face from the world.

His cheeks and face grew warm from how he felt. His nose burned when tears started to fall ever so gently down his cheeks. Grey eyes becoming the most vibrant of blues. He choked softly, his throat closing as he sat there in the middle of his destroyed living room. His apartment is the greatest amphitheater in the world.

His shoulders rising and falling and stuttering when he gagged on air. He parted his hands from his face and sat upright. His hands fell into fists, his arms tensed and the veins in his neck pulsed when he let out a blood curdling scream. It was a long screech filled with his voice cracking his vocal cords giving upon him.

His tears despite his yelling still fell and stained his cheeks. He thought so many things at once and everything involved him being a monster. He was hurt and this was the worst self-harm. The arm was given to him and the brain that wasn't his own.

He decided that he needed to go on a walk to calm himself down. Maybe he'd go and return Yori's book. All he knew is that the world for Bucky Barnes was getting darker and worse by the day. Who knows how long until he loses who he is. But one thing was for sure. It wasn't going to be for long until he does.

He stayed home for the rest of that day. It was in the evening when he had gotten home from Yori's. He was still greatly upset by what happened. He couldn't think about it until he grew angry with a suicidal rage. He was alone. All over again the monster that kids are scared to go to sleep over.

He sat by the window again just in the same random shorts and no shirt out of fear of coating it in sweat. It was the least of his problems but it was still a burden. He wished he had something to listen to, his thoughts were so loud that he was surprised that mind readers didn't go deaf from it. He watched the people below him walk past the building complex.

Not batting an eye at the monster in the window above them. He wanted to laugh at how normal people were and how he was once like them but now turned into this creature. His shoulders broad and held his form up by the sides of his sculpted waist.

His legs crossed over another he leaned against the wall that joined the window in the corner. He sat across from the kitchen. His stomach growled at the thought of food, the last time he could remember eating something was at the restaurant and that was just a nibble. It wasn't like he could eat something. He never splurged on food, all the food he had was fruit sitting in a white complimentary bowl on the middle of the island.

He pushed his head against the wall swallowing thickly debating whether he should or not. He decided he didn't deserve it after what he's done. Disrupted from his thoughts he felt a buzz on his thigh in the pocket of his shorts.

He fished out the stupid little box and saw that it once again another text from Sam. He's been ignoring them since he's had Sam's contact; he deemed them not worthy of a response. They were all on the lines of are you okay? Bucky smiled at something so incredulous. He started typing out

Yeah. Just losing my mind but other than that I'm just fine. But went against it. When he read more of the missed messages one did pique his interest. Did you hear about the rumor of Steve being on the moon? Bucky's eyebrows furrowed and his face contorted. What? How could Steve be on the moon? Sam and he literally watched Steve grow old in front of them. How absurd to say that Steve was on the moon. But when Bucky thought more of it, it reminded him of what he read in the book.

Talk to the stars and they'll talk back. Bucky groaned in annoyance. Was this what he was resorting to in a desperate measure for interaction? Talking to inanimate things. He let out a deep breath his chest rose then fell shortly after. He closed his eyes imagining Steve back in Brooklyn and all the mischievous things they did.

He remembered the day Steve got rejected and then Bucky being deployed the next day. The day that started it all. The downfall of Bucky's life. Bucky didn't know what he would say to Steve but he thought he started out well enough.

"Do you remember when we were kids and we'd always have to act like we were soldiers because of you. God Steve even when we were kids you had your mind made up. Always wanting to be something when I couldn't even choose what cereal I wanted,"

Bucky stopped and thought over the words he said. It was true. Steve was always headstrong about everything he wanted. Bucky remembered that Steve was going to create this comic of this monkey who shot bananas out of a bazooka. And Steve did.

It never took off or anything it was just the thought of if anything Steve wanted he would never stop until he got it.

While Bucky always had his priorities elsewhere, the majority of the time he made Steve do his homework so he wouldn't fail. Two opposite people were the best of friends, who knew that one of them would turn out to be the villain.

"You know Steve I enlisted because I felt like I had to prove something, I had to prove that I was better at something than you. Just that one thing I ended up not even being better than you at."

Bucky's voice was dry and raspy when he spoke. The screaming fried his throat when he talked. It burned like a good bottle of Shōchū.

He'd kill for a bottle right now. He was starting to understand that this wouldn't work but he grew angrier at the thought of Steve trading him out for some girl. Bucky knew how much Peggy mattered to Steve but he still never got why he'd trade him out for her. He was jealous in a sense over the life Steve got.

"If I could I would change places with you in an instant, to be at peace. You got to live your life and I had to decay for years without my best friend. Maybe this was for the best so you couldn't see me become who I am now. Someone that we swore to never be ever since we were kids, the bad guy."

Bucky chewed on his lip after that. Til the end of the line his ass. Bucky ran his hand through his hair, the strands comforting his hand. He got up from the window and walked over to his little bed and went to sleep. The night's toll took everything out of him.

The only thing he currently wanted was this thing he had with this girl to be good. How wrong he was.

He decided that he was going to go and return the book Yori gave him. He still hated what happened and he knew trying to fix it would make it worse. The least he could do is get him the book he wanted. So Bucky put on his washed-out jeans, his shirt he wore yesterday, shrugged on his jackets and slipped his feet into his boots, and a black glove to hide his metallic arm, and went to the Library.

The library was a little old place with the roof caving in not far from the complex building. He wondered why Yori didn't just go and get it himself, Bucky didn't really care about having to go but he just wanted to know if Yori was okay and doing well.

Bucky went down the stairs and found a few remaining pieces of the glass bottle he broke last week. The memory of him falling and breaking it etched in his mind vividly. He felt a chill run up his spine at the feeling of someone seeing him like that.

He hurried down the last of the stairs and opened the glass door and went outside. The warm air wafted itself around him in a soft summer breeze. It was warm but not hot enough for him to go without a jacket and the chilly breeze lightened it up. It felt relaxing since he forgot how long it's been outside of his apartment.

He took long strides on his walk. But he couldn't shake the paranoia of being stalked. He was about halfway when he saw a shadow mock him. He walked faster not wanting to have to deal with this today.

The other person's shadow grew larger and bigger as Bucky walked further. When Bucky saw the library and a few he nearly bolted to the building. When he was inside he saw that it was just a lost dog. He was losing it. He sighed his mind relaxing and then jolting when he felt a hand touch his shoulder.

"Hey, are you okay mister?"

A warm voice made his heart pump faster than it already was he felt like he was going to have a heart attack. When he turned around he was met by easily the most beautiful girl. It was you. He thought in that instant that everything about you was perfect the way your eyes looked at him, the way your face was adorable, the way your hair fell behind your ears, the way your lips looked the most perfect shade along with your eyes. He promised himself when he got home that he'd paint his whole apartment that color.

He went cross-eyed from staring at the shape of your lips and how they shaped around the words he couldn't hear from being so entranced by you. He started to feel his heartbeat out of his chest. When he thought of how you'd look with pretty lips wrapped around him and dull bedroom eyes looking up at him through thick eyelashes. He needed to stop, he just met you and now he's so hard against his jeans that he was sure that he was bruised.

And your hands on his shoulders shaking him wasn't helping him. His trance was broken when he realized what was happening. "Huh?" That is all he managed to make out through his lust-clouded mind. You did this face that made him die, it was when your eyebrows furrowed and your lips went to one side pursed together. Your eyes were cut at him and he knew he was in trouble but he just couldn't help being enticed by you.

"I asked if you needed help," You stopped and wagged a finger in his way "You're all sweaty." He looked down at himself and you were right, his hair stuck down and his shirt showed pools. Shit. Way to embarrass yourself, Buck. You're sweaty, you're horny for some girl you just met. He was a trainwreck embodied. "I'm okay, it's just the heat," Bucky spoke with uncertainty. He had no idea what was happening why he was acting like this. He usually never felt like this around a girl, especially one he just met.

Your face was still cut, your lips went back into the fullness of how they are naturally. "Weird but okay." You spoke under your breath since it wasn't sweating weather outside. You were going to be the death of him and thankfully there were only a couple of other people in the library since it was the morning of a weekday.

"There's a cool spot where the ac is over there." She turned and pointed towards the left somewhere. He couldn't concentrate in the slightest even if he tried. And god your body from just the standard shirt and jeans you wore he felt his turn into skinny jeans.

"But anyway if you need me just yell, its y/n." And you left and when you walked away to assist someone else he got the perfect view of your ass. He scurried into the thick of the bookshelves and triple-checked if anyone was around him and adjusted himself.

It was so painful to not jump your bones right there. He rubbed his face with his hands and groaned. Get it together Buck. He realizes that he was going to have to go and talk to you again since he had to check the book in. He mentally stabs himself in the neck.

He calms himself down enough so that he could talk to you again. He feels like a prepubescent boy talking to his crush. Bucky guessed that he lost his cool with talking to girls over the years since he stopped. This was hell. You were at the front desk, the one in front of the door. You were reading some book that he didn't know.

He took a moment to admire the way your hair frames your face, the way your ass jutted out so you could lean over the desk on your forearms. Your free hand, the one not holding your page was used as a support beam for your face under your chin. God you were so beautiful, he hooked his finger under the collar of his shirt and started to flick it back and forth to generate air.

He was the human-dog drooling over a mate. He hated himself for not getting to know you and he already felt like this towards you. He was a monster but he wasn't impolite; he drew the line there. He was in the clouds that he didn't notice you staring at him with squinted eyes. "Can I help you, sir?" Your voice hung on sir in his mind.

He couldn't help but envision you beneath him moaning sir. "Uh, yeah, there's this book" He startled himself when his voice croaked out a response. He patted the pocket of his jacket and had a crisis when he thought he left it at home. But when he shoved his hands into his pocket he let out a smile of relief and grabbed it and slid it over to you on the other side of the desk.

"I need you to check that in and then" He stopped and searched for the piece of paper Yori gave him. He found it crumpled as lint in the bottom of his other pocket and the words faded. "Shit, uh, and check out this." He shoved his hands in his pocket and looked at his feet afraid of confrontation. You silently grabbed the book and checked it in and grabbed the note. You couldn't make out a single letter. Your eyebrows pinched together and when he looked up quickly and then darted his eyes away. He knew that you couldn't.

He wanted a sinkhole to open up and swallow him whole. You scratched the back of your neck trying to decipher the note "I can recommend something similar to the book you turned in, I'm sorry but I can't read this." You spoke with sincerity. And walked out behind the desk and poor Bucky followed you like a lovesick puppy.

You cursed Jordan, another employee for putting the desired book on the top shelf. The bookshelves were very tall and you weren't short but you weren't 7' foot either. You pinched your nose shutting your eyes and put a hand on your hip. "Do you see the book at the very top with the red back?" You muttered and Bucky looked up and saw the issue. "Do you want me to grab it for you?" Bucky looked at you with the softest eyes and you couldn't help but admire them.

You shook your head and lord you were about to melt. His body was brushed up against yours, you could've moved but you really didn't. You could feel the texture of his jacket against your soft skin and you cursed yourself for blushing. He took notice and let a small smile creep on his face when he handed you the book and your head was hung low when you walked back behind the desk.

Bucky guessed that he didn't completely lose his effect on girls. When you were checking out the book he noticed the book you were reading. It was The hobbit. He actually enjoyed the book when he read it when it first came out. He didn't take an interest in fantasy and so he shrugged it off until he actually read it.

When you stamped the books inside the page and slid it back. Bucky smirked "You know they all die in the end." The pure confusion on your face was amusing and with that, he left.

When he got home he started to feel the metal of his arm become rusted and thinking back it had been a while since the last time he cleaned it. He was wanting it to fall off so bad that he forgot he actually needed it.

He wondered where the girl went that texted him before. He didn't want to bother her by texting her first that to him was unnatural. It didn't bother him that much since he used to. And that the date was tomorrow so she would either show up or not and he'd suffer the consequences either way.

He went to the bathroom to grab the grease and a rag he uses every time in the cabinet under the sink.

He stopped shortly catching himself in the shattered mirror. The bandage on his chin began to fall off God forbid it started to at the library. He took it off slowly, the hair of his stubble getting caught in the crossfire. There was a bright pink little scar where the gash was. His skin healed relatively fast but it never cured the scars. He figured if his chin was healed that his hand should be.

He unwrapped his hand slowly for some reason he was scared of what it looked like. When he finally finished unwrapping his palm was littered with scars ranging in size. He touched the scars to see if they hurt with his metal hand and nothing.

Just a scar.

Bucky grabbed the grease and took off his jacket and boots and the first time he moved in he sat on the couch.

It was stiff as ever and it never got out of the store phase. He poured some grease on the white rag and it turned brown and he started to put it in the creases where he noticed it too slow. His mind ran back to you that never happened to him. God he was caught red-handed too, he'd have to take a very long and cold shower when he was done cleaning his arm. The rest of the evening all he could think about was what would happen tomorrow and how he'd destroy the girl of his dreams.

Bucky spent Friday constantly checking his phone for two reasons.

1) to see if his admirer would message him and

2) always checking the time.

He honestly couldn't wait; it's been forever and he was excited about something new. For change. The only source of entertainment he had was the book he checked out earlier. It wasn't the book he was supposed to get. The book in contrast was called American Psycho.

Bucky was about halfway and he fairly enjoyed it. Although it disturbed him since he found similarities in himself with Patrick Bateman. Bucky laughed at all the dark jokes and liked all the points where Patrick lost all sanity; it was the highlight of the book.

Bucky flipped one of the knives carelessly in the hand that wasn't occupied by the book. Bucky loved the power a single knife had. A single slip of the wrist could end something as fast as it began. Time flew by when simple hobbies turned into jobs. He cursed himself because it was seven o clock and he had only an hour to go to the restaurant which was the sushi place that he and Yori used to eat at.

He texted the directions to the girl, he grabbed his glove and jacket and shoved the knife in the back of his belt and fled down the stairs and out the door, and ran the rest of the way.

You sat at the small petite table, your phone clutched in your hand carefully watching the time. When it turned to 8:55 your gut twisted. Maybe he didn't like you as much as you liked him.

The waitress came by once again asking if everything was okay and if you'd like to eat and each time and you'd have to politely decline. You crossed and uncrossed your legs, they grew numb from you sitting in the wooden chair for the past hour. You didn't know what to wear so you opted for a sleek white dress and some heels.

You hoped you didn't overdress and make the wrong impression. You sipped on your water looking through the window to find any hint of your lover boy. You knew what to look for since you knew who it was. But maybe he didn't come and you were set up. How embarrassing this was. Yori told you that he was stubborn but he seemed pretty into you at the library. You know Yori through Leah, an employee at the restaurant who was a friend of yours.

She promised you that she would pay for your meal every time you ate there. How could you refuse? You sighed and began to get up and leave since you thought Bucky gave up on wanting to go on the date. You quickly sat down when you heard the bell of the door ring open and then there he was in all his glory.

Bucky Barnes, in the same leather jacket but you couldn't believe how good he looked underneath the dim light. His bandages were now gone and his face was sullen and structured from the shadows that made his face deepen. You smiled your ruby lips catching Bucky's attention and he hadn't seen something so pleasing to the eye in ages. Although he was confused since he didn't know that it was you who he was texting was there something going on that he didn't know about?

He pulled out the chair and sat across from you with his face stern. "Why didn't you tell me it was you that I was talking to?" He spoke slowly and his head tilted in question like a puppy's. "Yori told me about how you are with dating and he was afraid of you always being alone, and he gave me your number, I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

You fiddled with your fingers when you talked you were nervous about his reaction. You knew all about Bucky's reputation and embarrassing enough growing up you developed a crush on him, so you jumped for this opportunity.

You loved how strong and brave he was and even though he was brainwashed you thought of him as a good person. He chewed on the inside of his cheek thinking of what were the right words to say. "Just no more secrets from now on." With that, he waved down the waitress for a bottle of Shōchū.

After the half, the bottle was gone you couldn't help but be in wonder from how he managed to be able to drink all that meanwhile you were still sipping on your first shot. Every sip you took you gagged and your face turned into a kid who took their first sip of alcohol which made Bucky laugh.

Dinner was going along nicely there were many jokes and stories shared but Bucky couldn't help but be skeptical of how this could work. Bucky was severely messed up and couldn't care for another. He wanted to but he was just incapable, maybe he could just live this lie and things could be normal.

When they called for closure Bucky finished laughing at some remark you made, you and he were sat there talking for a couple of hours. It was just so easy to talk to him. Although you did notice a few times he would wince in pain and put his face in his hands. You thought it was odd but shrugged it off from his excessive drinking. Speaking of the devil he asked

"Do you want to go to my place. There have been complications with my tv so we can't watch a movie, but I can keep you company." You smiled a drunken buzz of Shōchū. Not nearly did you drink as much as Bucky but it was still written across your features. Your face flushed pink and your body made of jello hung off of Bucky's arm the whole walk to his house and Bucky every now and then had to pick you up.

Bucky didn't want to do anything rash to you but in the back of his mind, something kept itching it made it so painful that he couldn't ignore it. It kept making him shake his head and wince it was like a headache but much more painful. When he got into his apartment you took notice of what he meant by complications of a totaled tv. You shed off your heels and sat on the tv nervous to be in Bucky's house, your form off-putting to Bucky.

He sat down across the couch from you and he became hurt by you sitting so far away from him. "Are you scared of me or something?" He spoke grimly staring at the floor, his face holding no emotion to his words. "What? no!" You were shocked by his words. How could he assume that you were scared of him? Bucky looked your way and a strange look appeared in his eyes.

"Then why are you sitting so far away from me?" He gritted his teeth and his hands turned into fists, they were clamped tightly together on his thighs and this side of Bucky did scare you. He wasn't Bucky, he looked like him but his whole persona changed in the span of minutes. You wondered if it was something you said or did.

You became fearful when he fell off the couch onto his knees his head clutched in his hands. He started to scream not like the ones before this one was full of pain and torment. The moon's light made this scene unfold a lot more sinister. What was happening to him, why was he acting this way? Then all of a sudden he grew very quiet nothing could be heard other than your breathing.

You were confused and scared but you did care for Bucky and in his position, you assumed he was in serious need of help. You walked carefully taking notice to not step loudly to provoke him. You crouched down your dress falling over your feet, you reached your right hand out hesitant towards Bucky.

You stayed with your hand on his shoulder

"Bucky?"

You whispered softly, scared to disturb him. Everything was at ease at a calm one that felt too unrealistic.

That was true because a few seconds later Bucky grumbled out

"Who the hell is Bucky."

He slung around his body twisted and grabbed a knife from the back of his belt and stabbed you straight into the heart with it. Before you could even have time to run it was over.

The white of your dress now became a soaking deep red. The way your eyes forever open to the moon the way the moon took your life. And that day was when Bucky Barnes lost his sanity and forever came the winter soldier.

*A few months later*

She sat with her legs crossed, her hair tied up perfectly.

Her posture evenly to the ceiling while sitting. The only one that a soldier would perfect. She read over his portfolio over and over to get every last detail to stick in her mind so she wouldn't forget.

She breathed heavily finishing the last sentence. She took off her glasses and shut the case file on her lap, and put her right elbow up on the white seat, her glasses in the same hand.

She pursed her lips staring at the man in front of her and sat on the white couch in front of a forest mural. He was in all black a blank face, his hair a little longer and his stubble now thicker.

He played with the pink protruding scar on his right hand. Pushing and watching the blood rush to it. She wrote that in the notebook.

When he caught notice he stopped and tilted his head slightly. He narrowed his eyes and stared at her.

He was convicted of third-degree murder and numerous accounts of other convictions.

She thought over all the things that were stated in the portfolio but what struck her the most was that he drank excessively and faked being drunk just to feel

"more human."

She thought of a way to form a sentence to not upset him about what he's telling her to see if what he recollected matched what was in the documents but there was no easy way to do that.

She listened to him finish the last of what he was telling her:

"And that's how the story ended."

Fin.

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bluebellhairpin · 3 years

Text

( Notice: OKAY - The pic there says ‘The Hobbit/LOTR’ but for times sake, and my own sanity, there is none listed thus-far (same goes for the ‘other’ category’). Merci for understanding! )

So I’ve been meaning to do this for a while, and I already have a blog for it ( @nemosrepost ) but that doesn’t get too much attention. Thus, here we are!

(This was a nightmare to get done - it took weeks to get all the links and pics done up in my spare time - I hope you appreciate that.)

They’re all sorts here, from Medieval Marvel AU’S, to Modern Attack on Titan one shots. They’re all organised via fandom, and I’ve tried my best to link and tag everything properly, but that is a difficult feat, so beware - for some it may not have worked too well.

Like my *actual* masterlist, this will be updated regularly with new fic recs, and even new characters and fandoms as I read them. All fic’s currently listed (as of November 26, 2020) are found on my reblog account.

I’ve also tried to add in a ‘recommendation summary’ thing of each - so basically just my thoughts on the fic(s). But anyway, have fun browsing, and overall - enjoy!

(AND also - LMAOOOO - Have fun scrolling lololololol!) - Nemo

( Pre - Warning: I am not tagging anything as NSWF, 18+, or triggering content. However some fics listed do contain such material. Please refer to the warnings or Authors Notes on each Fic before reading. Stay safe guys! I love you! )

Bluebellhairpin’s Masterlist

Bucky Barnes

Knight in Rusty Armour - Medieval / A/B/O AU! Series - by @revengingbarnes Honestly I binged the first eight chapters (+ prologue) in close to one sitting. That was mostly because that was all that was published at the time. It is completed now. I love both these AU’s, and I love Bucky - win, win!

Flowers Bloom - Soulmate AU! Series - by revengingbarnes Another great series, and honestly I’m a slut for soulmate au’s, so this author might be coming after my heart - keep up that good work, if you know what I mean.

The Great Build Up - Modern / Firefighter Au! One Shot - by @thottybarnes This ones goes from cute, to hot and steamy, to angsty, and back to cute again. A one shot rollercoaster, and I thoroughly enjoyed every word of it.

Maybe This Time - Mob Au! One Shot - by @propertyofpoeandbucky Okay, so if there’s one thing I like more than an mobster au, it’s adding children into the mix. Something about big bad guys going all soft for this tiny human - and then making them - and that’s called perfection.

Whatever It Takes - Biker AU! One Shot - by @sgtjbuccky He like’s to be loud, so what. He rides a bike, so what. I what to ride him and his bike, so what.

(Un-Named) - One Shot - by @softlybarnes I’ve never liked Bucky’s metal arm more in my entire life. Using it for a baby going through teething? A+ idea.

Hero, Waiting - Medieval AU! One Shot - by captain-ariel-barnes Sadly, this fic is unavailable now, and that - obviously - makes me sad. But I’m adding it her anyway because of how much I adored it. The love triangle between Bucky, Reader, and Steve was amazing, and the feelings? Phenomenal.

Steve Rogers

If Walls Could Talk - One Shot - by propertyofpoeandbucky I’ll recreate my original comment on this fic - ‘Ouch’. And that’s all I have to say about that.

The End of the War - College AU! One Shot - by @redgillan There’s nothing quite like a enemies to lovers trope that’s well-written. But then throw in fight club, a jerk date, ice-cream and pizza - just read it. You’ll understand then.

The Edge of the Water - Mermaid AU! Series - @floatingpetals I have to admit now, I haven’t read all of this yet. But I also have to say, what I have read was fantastic. Mermaids - and Mermen - they just hit different, you know?

Pseudo Princess - Medieval AU! Series - by @shreddedparchment To date, it’s one of the best fics - nay - stories I’ve ever read. I’d dare to say it’s easily the length of a novel, so if you’re up for the long haul, I’d definitely recommend it. It’s worth the wait - trust me. Op obviously put a hella lot of work into it, and it shows.

Loki Laufeyson

Loki’s Happy Ending - Series (?) - by @gingerwritess Listen, I have been and forever will be a Loki girl. Nothing will change that. And every scrap of content Theo produces for Loki I will cradle in my palms and keep warm until they’re ready to go out into the world or whatever - point is, read this.

Just One Quick Glance - One Shot - by @imagines-trashcan After watching ‘Endgame’, and squealing at every moment Loki appeared on screen, only to not have him show up in the final battle - this was one of my comfort fics.

thunderstorms. - One Shot - by @tarynkauai Naturally, Loki’s child would inherit his unease of thunderstorms. And naturally, seeing Loki as a dad makes me happy.

Stitches - One Shot - by @lokibug Loki being nice. I like that. We stan.

Quentin Beck

The Curveball - One Shot - by @healingchurch Listen, this is on here for a reason. I didn’t really like Mysterio ‘cause of what he did to Peter, but hey, some people are good actors, and some write characters acting very well.

Stephen Strange

(Un-Named) - Imagine / One Shot - by @archieimagines A cocky bastard and a shy Reader, as far as I’m concerned that a one-way ticket straight to my heart. *wink wonk*.

(Un-Named) - One Shot - by @whirlybirbs Honestly, there are multiple fics of hers on this list, and that’s because she’s a damn fine writer, and her stories are just that addictive. This one is no different. I was preparing to read more and then it ended. But all good things, right?

Crash and Burn - One Shot - by @lilyswritings The angst, and the angst. I cry, you cry, everyone cries. Unfortunately there is only the one part, but much to my personal joy that means I can interpret the after-ending however I want!

Frank Castle

(Un-Named) - One Shot - by @alexsunmners This is just cute okay? I have no other words except this was plain and simply very, very, very nice to read, and that it makes me feel very soft right here on the inside.

Peter Parker

Super Smooth Genius - One Shot (?) - by whirlybirbs Back at it again with the cute, awkward, friendly, neighbourhood, Peter Parker.

Just Don’t - Soulmate AU! One Shot - by @papel-creativo What’d I tell you about soulmate au’s? I can’t resist them. And of course Pete being a caring bf with his hero s/o. So nice.

Ronan the Accuser

Make You Proud - One Shot - by @kayleighhalliday2203 This is justifiable because I was going through a Lee Pace faze and I found it and loved it immediately.

Ultron

(Un-Named) - One Shot / Series - by @snarky-badger This I can also justify having read, because (and if you know me then you know) the robot thing ... Doesn’t bother me as much as it should. And I binged all of it on ao3, so.

Poe Dameron

(Un-Named) - Masterlist - by propertyofpoeandbucky Okay, I know there’s a lot on this list, and it could take you a while to get through it all, but trust me - it’s worth it. Lani likes Poe, and it shows. He’s written so well.

Dashing - One Shot / Series ? - by whirlybirbs Birbs does it again. She’s got Punchy!Reader, and if there were a legal way to get all of this Poe thing down into a written book, I’d do it.

You Can See Me? - Modern / Ghost AU! One Shot - by @tintinwrites I just this this one’s really cool. And what Poe does for the reader at the end? So sweet! He would totally do that!

Across the Hall - Modern / Nurse AU! Series - by @starryeyedstories It’s cute, it’s fun, it’s got tension, and a little drama - plus a smidge of angst and Corgi!BB-8. If perfection were ever made into a Modern/Nurse au Poe fic - this would be it.

Deepest, Lightest Secrets - One Shot - by @writefightandflightclub It’s got the humour and overall feel you’d expect to come from something Star Wars related - honestly I had so much fun reading it, and I’ll happily do it again.

Levi Ackerman

Names for Him & You - One Shot - by @commanderserwin Again, op is one of my main sources for fic’s in this area - so there could be quite a few of them listed here. But this one? Cute as heck.

Levi’s Secret - Modern AU! One Shot - by @theamberwriter This one was damn funny in my opinion. Nothing can ever be hidden from Hange for long.

You Look So Beautiful In White - Modern AU! One Shot - by @alrightberries This fic, it carved out my heart, diced it, shoved it in a blender, then made it into an atomic bomb. I - I was not okay. That amount of angst shouldn’t be allowed. Read it.

Abeille - Modern / Mafia AU! Series - by @ackermans-freedom-inc Honestly, this isn’t finished yet but, honestly, I’m not ready for it to finish. The heartache. The betrayal. The child. I can’t even.

Lights - Modern AU! One Shot - by commanderserwin This was the first fic I ever read of op’s, and I couldn’t believe what I read so I went back and read it again. I can’t tell you how much I love it, or how I feel about it, so just go read for yourself and you’ll know.

To Build a Home - Modern AU! Series - by @vennilavee If you’re a fan of Levi, you must go read this. It’s so detailed, and just so perfect - whenever a new part comes out I have a quick reboot before going to read it.

Erwin Smith

One of Us - Modern AU! Miniseries - by commanderserwin I’m not going to lie, this one is here because I requested it, but also because I really liked it, and cried while reading it. So there.

Reiner Braun

Service to the Crown - Medieval AU! Miniseries - by @present-mel It should probably be illegal to write Reiner or Medieval au’s this well, and yet here op is writing both. Like, McScuse me, where do you acquire such talent and can I have some?

Toshinori Yagi

Flirting with All Might - One Shot - by @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten Toshi. The great. The hero. The awkward. He’s a blond boy doing what blond boys do even if he’s a little older he’s still part of the crew.

Stitches - Villain AU / Mini Series - by @itsallmightbitch Okay, so I said above that I wouldn’t put warnings on these - but this time I have to. Nothing I’ve read in my whole life emmits such an amount of pure horniness - and I love it.

Godless - Fantasy AU / One Shot - by @pleasantanathema Another ‘All Smite’ fic, yes, I know. But god. They’re so good. This one is another real horny one, so if you can’t tell there is a slight theme running here. And - sksksksks - this is actually from the same ‘general area’ as the Reiner fic listed above (Service to the Crown). There was a event. I read everything.

Keigo Takami

Preening - One Shot - by @shoutaaizawas Literally the softest and cutest damned thing I’ve read for Keigo. No, I’m not just ‘saying’ that, it’s genuine. The feelings I get - or lack thereof due to them turning to mush - it too much for words. Honest.

Seasonal Special - One Shot - by @keiqos I’ll say this now and I’ll say it first - any Hawks fics written by op are *chefs kiss*. They’re amazing. Secondly, rut!Hawks is my weakness - this fic is one of such weaknesses.

Shouto Aizawa

(Un-Named) - Series - by @theamberwriter This is *technically* the second part in the series, but it’s the only part I’ve read and goddamnit, I’m in love. Hubby Aizawa. The disappearing Baby-Zawa.

I Miss You Texts - SMAU - Kuroo Tetsurou, Bokuto Koutarou, Nishinoya Yuu - by @briswriting I miss them too. They ain’t dead. I just feel like I haven’t seen them in so long.

Little Things - Headcanons - Karasuno - by @haikyuudreaming Every single one makes me feel so nostalgic, and I feel so much longing. I love. I loose. I pine. I want. And yet I cannot have. I only dream.

Cheerleader - Headcanons - Karasuno - by @imagine-101 I want to be their cheerleader. Now I am able to be. Op, many thanks for the feeding.

Tsukishima Kei

Cherry Wine - Single Parent AU! Series - by @bakugou-jpg I’m gonna head out and say that Tsukki was my first favourite Haikyuu character - then I ‘character developed’ but that only went so far as to give me more favorites. But deadass - read this and you won't regret it.

Ukai Keishin

(Un-Named) - Ballroom/Latin Dancer AU! Headcanons - by @imagine-that-haikyuu I know nothing about dancing. Or ballroom dancing. But I do know I’d love to dance with Ukai. So how’s that for ‘middle ground’?

#fic rec #masterlist #marvel x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #quentin beck x reader #stephen strange x reader #frank castle x reader #peter parker x reader #ronan x reader #ultron x reader #poe dameron x reader #levi ackerman x reader #erwin smith x reader #reiner braun x reader #karasuno x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #ukai keishin x reader

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fadedseas · 3 years

Text

what died didn’t stay dead.

Miguel Galindo x fem!reader

Part 1 of __

Tags: Soulmate AU, Legal Drama, Canon Divergence

Summary: You walk into the courtroom, expecting to arraign Emily Galindo for the murder of a county clerk. You don’t expect to meet your soulmate in that courtroom. The husband of the woman you’re trying to indict. Miguel Galindo.

TW: cursing; mention of rape and violence

Word count: 543

(note: not my gif)

You didn’t believe in soulmates.

After everything you’ve seen in your years as an ADA, there was no possible way you could believe that a random name that would just appear on your forearm, branding you, at the first sight of your supposed soulmate, that would erase the images of all of your cases in your mind.

Perps beating their soulmates. Raping them. Forcing them into prostitution.

Maybe...even after all of your years as an ADA, you would never admit that the cruelty you’ve seen has yet to sink into your bones. You still feel breathless at the description of a victim’s testimony, of the photos of bruised skin and open wounds, and the vacant gaze of a victim that had lost all of their innocence. You weren’t sure if this was a good thing or not.

And yet...even after all of your years as an ADA, you would never admit that there was still some part of you, buried deep underneath the memories of the past, of the startling fear that sometimes seemed to choke you when you looked into the eyes of a perp, there was still a childhood version of you that wondered about your soulmate. What they would look like. How tall they were. How kind their eyes would be.

You had seen real ones. Your parents were real ones. You remembered tracing the curves of your father’s name as it curled lazily up your mother’s forearm. You remember a childhood of soft touches. Even softer gazes full of unspoken words, an entire lifetime of promises with their endless tomorrows together.

Watching real soulmates was like standing near an atomic bomb. The heat and force of one was so intense that it bleached everything in the blast zone, leaving only shadows of living people and objects behind. That’s how you felt in your childhood home after your parents’ funerals to pack their things. Shadowed. How could you possibly exist in that space that was so full of love? How could you be so arrogant as to assume it could exist for yourself?

You would never admit to the late nights when you felt especially alone, and you would close your eyes and just try to imagine how it would feel to have a soulmate, a real one. To have someone to make you feel that kind of heat, and warmth and light.

And in the morning, those fantasies would dissipate with the steam from your first cup of coffee. After all, you didn’t believe in soulmates.

So when you walked into the courtroom for arraignment, ready to face Emily Galindo and her presumably extremely well-paid defense attorney, you didn’t expect your eyes to lock with a pair of deep dark eyes. He sat languidly on the court bench, with one hand fiddling with his shades. The slight tilt of his head exuded the easy confidence of a man that was used to commanding the respect and deference of everyone in the room. That irked you. But you expected that. Powerful people expecting to be above reproach always did.

But you didn’t expect the warmth that swept through your body or the burning on your forearm as it spelled out the letters that you suddenly dreaded.

Miguel Galindo.

F**k.

part II

part III

A/N: Wow I’m honestly just thirsty for Danny Pino to be honest. This was just a short brainstorming exercise for me that I’m considering expanding into a full fic. It started out as a soulmate au and then grew into an OC character study.

R&R to let me know if you like it or if I should keep writing it.

But if I do keep writing it - trust me - it will be much more romantic/smutty!

Links

masterlist

ao3

#miguel galindo #mayans mc #soulmate au #miguel galindo x reader #miguel galindo fanfic #danny pino #im just thirsty for danny pino #wddst #unfinished

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velianmagicalgirl · 3 years

Text

A Letter to my Favorite Person

So I wrote this thing for Bono... I started working on it last night but I severely underestimated both how much I wanted to write and how long it would take me to write it so I had to finish it up today. So I guess in that I discovered that me and B have something in common. We're both writers and we both turn everything we write into novels because we are incapable of writing anything short. So here it is, I'm putting it under a cut because like I said, it's quite long (3500 words). It's also full of sappiness the likes of which you've never seen before. So just be prepared for that. You've been warned. But otherwise, enjoy :) (and Bono if you read this I'd not know whether to be super happy and amazed or to throw myself out the nearest window...)

Okay, so how do I even start something like this… Believe it or not, I’m not always the best at expressing my emotions or how I feel to other people. It’s not that I don’t know how I feel, I’m pretty good at that, but when it comes to talking about it, that’s where the words just kind of leave me. I guess I just kind of worry that if I truly express what I say, people won’t understand what I mean or something like that. And because of the fact that I tend to experience emotions very strongly, I worry that I might come off as too much to people.

But screw it, a lesson I’m in the middle of learning is that for people you care about, it’s important to communicate with them and tell them how you feel because, well, nobody’s a mind reader.

And well, I just have a lot to say and I want to say it. So here goes (prepare for ultimate sappiness the likes of which you have never seen before. You’ve been warned)

So, to my dearest Bono, the man who has changed my life, I just want to say… thank you? Wow, like you’ve never heard that before, right? But who says hearing “thank you” a lot is a bad thing? Obviously if a lot of people thank you for something, then you’ve done something right, and something right you’ve done indeed.

Obviously I’m sure that on some level you know just how much your music and you yourself have helped people, touched them, made their lives better, etc. I mean, you could see it every night when you got up on that stage in front of all those thousands of people. But those stadiums can only hold a few thousand people at a time and there are so many more people around the world that have been touched by you; your words, your songs, your activism and the fact that you actually go out there and attempt to make a positive impact on the world.

It reminds me of how in Paris in 2015 the entire audience sang the whole first verse of One without you having to do anything. The look on your face said it all about how happy you were, and how amazed you were. Or how, in Berlin in 2018 when you lost your voice during Beautiful Day, I’m sure you were terrified, but you didn’t need to be because the audience picked up the words and sang for you. You told them “thank you” afterwards, like you’re always so surprised at what people would do for you, or how much you inspire others, but you don’t need to be, because just that kind of guy.

I was originally going to write a poem or something, before I decided on writing this because I felt it was easier for me to get out everything I wanted to say like this, but one of the lines I thought of for the poem went a little something like this:

There is a man that has everything But he gives it away like nothing There is a man that has everything But he gives it away for nothing There is a man that has everything But he gives it to those who have nothing

I was just thinking about this the other night and it just kind of came to me that “wow, here is a man who has quite literally everything but is also incredibly humble and kind to everyone to the point where nobody that’s met him has ever had a bad thing to say about him,” and I just kind of thought to myself “wow.” I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but I just wanted to point that out. I guess my point is that, you look out in the world and sometimes it’s so easy to get overwhelmed by all the darkness and the terrible things that people sometimes do, that it’s also easy to forget that there are still good people out there that are doing their best to make the world a better place for no other reason than because they want to, and because they think it’s the right thing to do. People like that are pure souls; they are rare but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. And you sir, are one of those people. You may not want to be called that but it’s the truth. It kind of reminds me of the Lord of the Rings quote, “there’s still some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for,” and of course, the lyrics to Song for Someone/13 , “if there is a dark, then we shouldn’t doubt that there is a light, don’t let it go out.” Honestly, I think this may be one of the most important lyrics in any of your songs because it is just such a universally important message. Whenever you’re going through a hard time, it’s important to remember that there is a light, that you are not alone, that the darkness can be fought.

But anyway, going back to what I first said, you may have some idea of the amount of people’s lives you changed but do you really know just how many that is? And over the course of so many years? That must be an impossibly huge number.

But anyway, after this stupidly long preamble (preramble) I guess I should finally get to the whole entire point of this letter or whatever you’d call it. But hey, I guess that’s one thing we both have in common right? Everything we write turns out to be insanely long and rambly. And tagenty. What was I saying? Oh, right.

I just wanted to say that you mean a lot to me. I am one of those uncountable people that you’ve helped in some way. In a myriad of ways actually. In so many ways.

Over the past year, my mood has gone up and down like a rollercoaster for obvious reasons. Sometimes it was so hard to be positive about anything when you looked out into the world. Sometimes I would just give into despair. What were any of us doing? What was the point of anything anymore? But other days I would feel great. I would feel like I was a better person than I was before. And I would be so happy and grateful for all the friends I’ve made that I didn’t have before. And then I would go back down again. It was a real rollercoaster, and still is.

Basically, what I’m saying is, a friend once told me not too long ago that “U2 has a habit of coming into your life right when you most need them,” and looking back on that, I can say she was right. It all happened on December 25th, 2019, you know, Christmas. I was thinking of buying myself a record player but it turns out my parents were nice enough to buy one for me. Of course they got me some records to go along with it. There were a lot of them actually, but I don’t really remember them. I just remember the one that stood out to me more than the others: The Joshua Tree by U2. I actually got really excited when I saw it because I had actually heard it before, a long time ago but I never actually got around to listening to the whole thing, so I was happy that now I had the chance. I don’t think my mom realized what she had started when she did that, and neither did I at the time. I’m not going to recount the whole entire story here because that’ll take too long (that’s another story) but basically that was the moment that U2 and you too (wink wink) entered my life. And what happened a few months later? The entire world changed.

But you know what? It was okay because I had you there. Suddenly it was like I had a new friend there with me, and anytime I wanted a reprieve from the world outside, all I had to do was ask. You could make me smile, you could make me laugh, you could make me cry, but in a good way. I immersed myself in all the stories of things you had done for people, putting your kindness on display. How you could make someone’s entire day just by smiling at them. I would read those stories and I would get this feeling like my heart would burst and I would get this huge dopey smile on my face and then I would go scream into a pillow to get out some of the emotion. And then I would feel silly because here I was, a 21 year old girl, sitting alone in my room, and the guy I was basically tripping over was 59, about to turn 60! And now he’s 60, about to turn 61! And I am still only 22. But you know what, that doesn’t matter, because sometimes people are just that good, and you’re one of those people.

I remember reading one story in particular about some kids who were sitting outside your studio. You saw them, got out of the car and went up to them and signed the albums they had. You could’ve stopped at just that, you’d already made their days, you’d already given them enough happiness to power an entire country for a year, and certainly nobody would expect you to do more. But you did. You allowed them to come into your car and you drove them around for a bit while showing them a preview of How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb. And I just thought to myself, “who does that? Surely this can’t be real? Surely this person can’t be real,” but you are real. And you really did do that. And for no other reason than out of the kindness of your own heart. You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to do any of that. But you did. Because you’re just that kind of guy. Later on in the story, Larry mentions to the reporter who was in the car when this happened, that “he really has this insatiable urge to be all things to all people, even when we try and stop him,” and I think that’s the perfect way to describe it. Making other people happy is genuinely something you enjoy and you will go out of your way to do it for no other reason than because you know just how happy you will make those people.

And then I’m sure my parents saw what was happening and they laughed and teased me and said “oh there she goes” and yeah, they were right, there I went. And here I am still am. I don’t even know if this is making any sense anymore but sometimes, when you’re telling someone how you feel, it doesn’t always make sense. Because emotions, these weird tricky little things of the human experience, don’t always make sense. But what I mean to say does make sense, at least in the way that these kinds of things can.

These things that I feel aren’t just surface level little crushes. I think they are more than that. Because it isn’t just about how you look or the fact that you are a singer or whatever (although those things are nice I must admit, especially the first one ;) ) but something deeper. It’s because everything you do, everything you say, comes from your heart. Everything you do oozes that sweet beautiful passion of someone who really means what they say, and lives it. You’ve said it yourself before, when you’re singing, you’re not merely just singing the songs, you are living them, you are them and I think that’s beautiful. And in an era of fake people, I think that is a big part of what drew me to you. I think I could tell by watching you and listening to you that you weren’t like the others, you were real and you lived every second of it.

And I just think it’s great to have someone to look up to that is real and undeniably himself. I could learn from that. Really, I could learn a lot of things from you. Because you are so wise and intelligent, sometimes I am just wowed by the things you manage to say. You know a lot of things about the world that I couldn’t know simply because of experience. I guess you could say that I am innocence and you are experience. It’s very interesting when innocence and experience can interact with each other. The experience sees the forgotten youth and the innocence sees the wiseness and intelligence that comes with having lived the world. And both of them can learn from each other.

And for a man that is so unapologetically, so unabashedly, so undeniably himself, I could learn a thing or two from that too. I’ve always watched you be loud and proud, say what you want, be spontaneous, and go out on a whim. Whenever there was something you wanted to do, you would just do it, (whether you should’ve or not) and sure, that’s left you in a few bad situations, but you still did something. You were never left wondering “what if?” You have always been a man of action and I admire that about you. You’ve never been one to care about what others thought of you and that is something that I admire so so much. Me, not to be dramatic, but I feel like that was stamped out of me some time ago. I find myself always caring about what people think, even if those people aren’t even around. I feel like I can hear them in my head when I’m alone, just trying to do something I enjoy. And sometimes I start to wonder if it’s really other people or if it’s really just me. But I need to learn to be unapologetically me, just like you. Because after all, I’m the only person who can, right? So maybe if you stick around for a bit longer, I can do that. But only if you stick around.

Because of all that, you really are such an inspiration to me. You’re really someone who goes after what you want instead of just sitting there wondering what other people would think. And maybe I should do that too.

You’ve shown me the power of song, the way that music can move our souls and transcend us to that other place. Music is an amazing thing I think, and I’m sure you agree. It has the unique power to transcend barriers and bring people from many different places together. And I’ve been constantly wowed by your ability to write. So much of music is empty these days it seems, but you fill that hole with your irresistible passion once again.

Everything you write comes from the heart, and where else could it come from but there? I don’t think it’s possible to write the things you do without throwing your entire soul into it, which is what you do. And when you sing those same songs, the passion is on another level. It really is infectious, contagious, irresistible and incredible, it pours out and spreads over everyone like a wave until they’re all caught up in this feeling, this high that takes you to another place, if only for a few minutes. While you’re there you can find important answers to things that you wouldn’t have found otherwise. It’s a magical place.

And I think I understand just how that feels from your perspective now. When I’m alone and there’s no one around, I like to sing too. I’m not very good, in fact, I listened to myself once and wanted to throw my entire computer out the window, and I beat myself up over it for days. I told myself “how could you possibly think you were good? You don’t even know anything” and then I started thinking “what’s the point if I’m not even good?” but then, a few days later, I realized that it doesn’t really matter whether you’re good or not, what matters is if you enjoy it, if you have fun, if, in that moment, you feel like you’re releasing something held captive in your soul, if you’re telling the world (even if that world is just your bedroom) what you have to say. What matters is if, in that moment, you go to that other place. And, if you do, then that’s really all that matters.

So, because of you, because of your passion, your refusal to be anything other than unapologetically you, I think I will try. And maybe someday, we’ll meet and sing a duet together (HA!).

Another thing I love about you is your dedication to the things you love and care about. I have a feeling that anyone who knows you personally is very privileged because they get to know one of the kindest, sweetest, and most caring people there is. And of course who benefits from that the most? Of course your special woman, Ali. I used to think that such beautiful relationships like that weren’t possible in the real world, and that they only existed in fiction but it makes me happy to see that they are possible. Maybe not possible for everyone, but just the fact that they are possible at all makes me happy.

A friend told me that she met you once, in Boston in 2018. She called out your name and you looked at her, your eyes met and she forgot everything she had been meaning to say, but according to her, that was alright because your expression softened like you just knew what she wanted to say. And you know what? I believe it, because that’s just the kind of person you are. Kind, gentle, sweet, and softhearted, with eyes that can see right through us (and hopefully they’re not afraid of anything they’ve seen). I know I said at the beginning of this that it’s important to communicate because people aren’t mind readers but scratch that, maybe you are one, and I’m not writing all of this because I want you to know, but just because I wanted to be the one to tell you.

And finally, I just want to say, on a more personal note (as if this whole entire thing hasn’t been personal) I am so grateful that you came into my life. I feel like I was saved in a way. At the beginning of 2020, the world outside was good, but the world inside me wasn’t quite so. I don’t want to go into details because honestly, it’s just too embarrassing to think about and sometimes I wish I could just forget it all, but for a few years before that moment on Christmas morning, I had lost my way. I had strayed from the path and stumbled into somewhere strange where I shouldn’t have been, and I was stumbling about, constantly trying to make sense of where I was and I just kept falling. But then on that morning, and over the next few months, a light appeared. It called to me and showed me how to get out of the place I had fallen into. And when I had finally gotten out, there was a man standing there with gorgeous blue eyes and the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. He reached out his hand towards me and I grabbed it.

And so, over the next few months, even as the world outside turned dark and scary, the world inside me had turned into a light. Even as the world outside turned dark and scary with so many questions, so many unknowns, it was okay, because you were there. The first new thing that I had seen from you was in March 2020 when you put out that song you called “Let Your Love Be Known” and I think that’s what I’m doing right about now. I’m letting my love be known.

I know that in reality, you probably wouldn’t want to hear all this stuff practically elevating you to God status or something, but as you’ve said before, you already have a messianic complex, so why not puff it up a bit?

But for real, thank you. Thank you for existing, thank you being a light, thank you for being there, thank you for helping me.

Just thank you.

#personal #happy birthday bono #you're so amazing #you are indeed my favorite person #long post

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