I do find it ironic that tumblr users will give condescending writing/reading comprehension takes within a paragraph’s worth of a run-on sentence. Do you actually care about people’s reading comprehension and writing skills, or do you just enjoy feeling smarter than others? If you truly cared, wouldn’t you be attempting to provide information in a manner that doesn’t actively push people away?

i found the one, he changed my life (what now?) [i’d love it if we made it, pt. 3]

a/n: holy SHIT i am so happy about the way this turned out, this continues the story of college AU!tony dealing with his ex and the pressure he puts on himself to be honest with his friends. (title from “what now” by rihanna) TW: discussion of abusive relationships, mention of surgery, unhealthy/stalking behaviors, and i think that’s it but pls lmk if there’s anything else i should tag

summary: “He’s obsessed with you [...] I think he loves me, I feel certain that he loves me. But he feels some kind of way about you, and it’s creepy,” Bucky elaborated, leaving Anthony at a loss for words.

“It’s a nice day, seasonal allergies aside,” Anthony remarked.

“I would put flowers in your hair and be all cute and shit but I’m trying not to make you sneeze,” Stephen replied. “That would be unfortunate.”

Anthony laughed lightly and rested his head on Stephen’s shoulder. “You can still pet my head though, that would be nice.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re terrible at subtlety?” Stephen asked, beginning to play with Anthony’s hair.

“I think you did this morning,” Anthony replied. “Because you’re obnoxious.”

“Isn’t that why you love me?” Stephen teased, batting his eyelashes.

“It’s one of many reasons,” Anthony said, a soft smile on his face. “It is really nice out though.”

“Listen I know I’m always on time, but can we make an exception today?” Christine sat across from the couple, her auburn hair made extra bright by the sunlight as she pulled it out of her face. “Sorry I’m late.”

“The way that you’re literally not sorry at all makes that apology for me,” Stephen said. “Don’t worry about it though, we’ve just been hanging out. Where’s Hope?”

“Inside, for some reason,” Christine replied with a shrug.

“Probably because it’s allergy season,” Anthony commented, rolling his eyes as he sneezed again.

“He complains, despite begging me to sit outside with him,” Stephen added.

“That doesn’t sound like me, but go off I guess,” Anthony replied, picking up his phone. “Hey Rhodey, what’s up?”

“Are you running errands by chance?” Rhodey asked.

“Nope, I’m sitting outside with Steph and Christine,” Anthony said. “Why, do you need something?”

“I was just going to ask if I could send you a short list of things I wanted. Not a big deal but I’m out of cereal,” Rhodey replied.

“Text it to me anyway, I don’t think I’m going out but if I do I’ll get whatever you want,” Anthony said with a shrug.

“You’re the best Tones. By the way are you feeling better?” Rhodey asked.

“A little bit. It’s nice just sitting outside,” Anthony replied. “I dunno. I’m not thinking about it.”

“Fair enough. Enjoy the fresh air, don’t worry about the cereal though! See you later.”

“Bye Rhodey, everyone say bye!”

Christine and Stephen shouted their goodbyes as Anthony ended the call.

“You good?” Christine asked kindly.

“Yeah, sorta.” Anthony shrugged again. “I just didn’t sleep a lot last night, so that wasn’t fun. I’ve been stressed out about… things. Turns out it actually is weird to have one of your friends dating your ex.”

Christine hummed. “Tea. I thought there was something bothering you, like more than just the awkwardness. I can read you well enough by now. So what’s wrong?”

“Honestly I don’t want to tell you this exact minute because I feel like the only person who should hear this privately is Bucky. I’ll have to see how I feel after I talk with him, and if I’m okay then I’ll probably tell everyone in the group all at once. I just don’t want to repeat the same story over and over again, that’s going to wear me down,” Anthony replied. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh my god dude that’s fine! No stress,” Christine rushed to assure him. “You just seem sad and I want to help but I also don’t want you to make yourself feel worse, that’s not fair to you.”

Anthony breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks Christine.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Christine said.

Anthony sneezed again, not seeing the need to reply beyond that. There was just nothing else to say.

“Let’s go inside,” Stephen suggested. “It’s getting kinda gross out anyway.”

“Oh sorry, that’s because I’m out here. I’ll leave.” Anthony jokingly moved to stand up, laughing raucously when Stephen pulled him into a hug before he even stood.

“Nooo, you’re good! You stay,” Stephen replied. “The sun is out because you’re here.”

Anthony blushed and buried his head against Stephen’s collarbone. “Oh hush.”

Christine stood up. “I may as well go inside while you two idiots keep flirting, now my allergies are acting up.”

“You’re not allergic to pollen,” Stephen remarked, standing up and offering Anthony his hand.

“I’m not allergic to most things, but I’m allergic to your bullshit,” Christine quipped. “I feel like I tell you that at least once a week.”

Anthony laughed and stood up, smiling as he wrapped his arms around Stephen’s waist.

“In all seriousness, you’re cute together,” Christine continued.

“Oh we know,” Anthony said. “How was your day Christine?”

The trio headed inside as Christine thought about how to answer.

“Honestly I don’t think anything even happened today.” she finally said. “Hope and I had breakfast together and I quite literally ran into Carol in the library. It was nice to catch up with her though because I feel like I haven’t seen her in years.”

“Now that I think about it, I also feel like I haven’t seen Carol in a long time,” Stephen said.

“We didn’t talk for too long since we were in the library, but she seems good,” Christine replied. “I think she and Val are still unpacking so they’ve been focused on that, y’know?”

“Makes sense. Props to them for moving in the middle of the year, that’s too much for me. That’s why I’m making everyone wait until the summer,” Anthony said.

“You’re not making anyone wait, you’re just making sense,” Stephen corrected him. “Moving is stressful enough, I don’t want to deal with it during exam season and neither does anyone else.”

“Can I plan your housewarming party?” Christine asked, opening the apartment door.

“Who said anything about a housewarming party?” Anthony replied.

“Wong said I could throw one once you’re all moved in,” Christine explained. “We don’t have a contract in writing yet, but that’s because—”

“Because I never said you could throw us a party!” Wong shouted from the living room. He was sitting in his usual armchair by the window, half paying attention to whatever show Bucky and an all too familiar blond were watching. “Also Bucky is here again, and he brought a friend.”

“Boyfriend,” Bucky chimed in. “We’re going to dinner soon, I just left my jacket here the other day and then I decided I’d introduce Steve to you guys. So yeah, this is my boyfriend Steve. Steve, this is Christine, Stephen, and I think you know Tony. I heard there’s a history there or something.”

Bucky was trying his best to prematurely make the best of an awkward situation, but Steve was the only one who found any humor in what he said.

The offending blond laughed and nodded, his expression unreadable in a way that made Anthony freeze. He was looking with condescension at their entwined hands, like he didn’t approve of Stephen and Anthony finally being together. With an arrogant sniff, he got off his high horse long enough to respond. “I know him and Stephen, actually. You both look good.”

“Thanks,” Stephen replied, his teeth bared in a forced, blatantly hostile grin.

Anthony rubbed at his eyes, tearing up from the situation and his allergies. “Yeah good to see you too, if you’ll excuse me I need to take some allergy medication.” He couldn’t run and hide in the bathroom fast enough, and he knew everyone in the room could see him trembling.

Stephen let his genuine emotion break through his façade for a moment, frowning as he watched Anthony retreat. His steely look of disapproval returned a minute later as he sat down in the kitchen, eavesdropping on the group’s conversation.

“Mind if I get some water? I didn’t get to hydrate as much today,” Steve asked.

Stephen, pretending to be busy, glared at his phone like he was reading a poorly worded email. He paid little attention to the blond as he bumbled around the kitchen, following Wong’s directions on where to find cups and the Brita and other shit.

“So you’ve finally come back to the city, hm? Tony used to tell me about how you both grew up here and how New York never left you,” Steve asked Stephen. He was making an extremely poor attempt to sound friendly, but all he did was make the med student extremely uncomfortable.

Stephen gave a forced laugh. “Yeah, they couldn’t keep me away.”

“Seems like you couldn’t keep yourself away from Tony either, not with the amount of times he cheated on me with you,” Steve remarked.

“Listen, we both know that’s not true and I barely want to give you the time of day. You know damn well he never cheated on you and I don’t have to justify myself to you. After all, you were the cheater. If you think I’m just going to roll over in my own apartment and let you run your mouth like that, especially knowing how badly you treated my Anthony, then you’ve got another thing coming,” Stephen snapped. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Clearly anyone who thinks I’m aggressive and controlling hasn’t met you,” Steve said, closing the fridge and leaving Stephen fuming in the kitchen.

After 15 minutes of ignoring some small talk, Stephen had had enough. Anthony was still hiding somewhere and Stephen was just over Steve being in his apartment. He was trying not to be too angry, because Bucky didn’t know about how Steve and Anthony’s breakup or relationship went. Stephen couldn’t, and didn’t, blame him.

But Steve was a coward and a jerk, and Stephen wouldn’t touch him with an 11 foot pole. Stephen wouldn’t even get close to him to shove him headfirst out the door, actually.

“I’m gonna be in my room studying if you guys need anything, enjoy your dinner Bucky!” He said, waving at his friends in the living room and pointedly ignoring Steve.

“Thanks man! If you want to hang out later, maybe on a double date or something—”

“Oh I’d love that!” Steve chimed in, unprovoked and uninvited.

“Depends on what Ant’s doing, I know I’m pretty busy tonight but if he wants to go out then we’ll let you know,” Stephen said firmly. He heard the bathroom door open behind him and Anthony’s light footsteps in the hall.

“I think I’ll just run to the bathroom before we leave, if that’s alright?” Steve asked.

“Are you asking me?” Stephen replied, ignoring him and heading in the direction of his bedroom. “Don’t you dare patronize me.”

Anthony was standing nervously outside Stephen’s room, staring at the floor. He looked horrified and meek, pressing his back against the wall and hoping he’d disappear out of Steve’s gaze.

But of course he wasn’t that lucky. Sometimes it felt like he’d never truly get away from the way Steve used to look at him and was apparently still looking at him.

Anthony looked up as Stephen gently tapped his shoulder. “Hey… you alright?”

He forced himself to nod, tears still pooling in his eyes from either anxiety or allergies. Maybe both. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just—”

“Oh there you are Tony! Bucky and I are leaving, so I thought I’d say goodbye,” Steve said, lingering in the doorway to the bathroom. “Maybe we could go for a double date later? If you’re allowed to, that is. I always said Strange was a controlling downgrade, didn’t I?”

“Good thing I never listened when you said that, because I’m much happier now,” Anthony muttered.

“Aww, don’t be a bad sport! It’ll be just like the glory days.” Steve appeared to be ignoring his current relationship to flirt with Anthony, stepping out of the doorway and leaning closer (read: too close for comfort) to him.

“I don’t know about that,” Anthony said, his voice taut. “I wouldn’t want to be around you for much longer. Seeing you is already making me think about our… could you call it a relationship?”

“You’re so funny Tony, just as funny as I remember.” Steve sounded like a content house cat as he quite literally purred at Tony. “I miss that humor. I just miss you.”

“I can’t say the feeling is mutual.”

++++

“Not to state the obvious, but I hate that guy,” Stephen muttered, storming into the kitchen a few hours later.

“Is Ant okay?” Wong hadn’t moved from his seat in the living room, except for the fact that he was laying across the armchair sideways and there were three more mystery novels next to him.

“He’s sleeping. Even before all of that shit went down,” Stephen began, gesturing to the air in front of him, “We were outside for long enough that even if he won’t admit it, his allergies are bothering him.”

“How long were you outside for before I came to sit with you guys?” Christine asked.

“Maybe 90 minutes? Long enough to be considered too long,” Stephen replied. “It doesn’t matter. Did you guys eat yet?”

“No, we were waiting on you and Pepper. She said she’d be back by 7,” Christine said.

“What do you want? I’m open to suggestions,” Stephen asked. “I kinda want to make pasta but I know I’m not good enough at it so it wouldn’t make Anthony happy.”

“Don’t be stupid, Stephen. It absolutely would, and you know that,” Christine scolded him. “Do whatever you feel like! And I think pasta sounds nice.”

Stephen nodded. “Fair enough. I’m making ravioli and none of you can stop me. We deserve it.”

“Oh no Stephen don’t do that, don’t make something that you like to cook and that we all like to eat,” Wong teased. “Christine, he’s too powerful, we have to stop him.”

Stephen humorously rolled his eyes. “Anthony is the one who gave me a good recipe, so technically we all have him to thank for enabling me. Except not right now. Let him sleep.”

++++

“Oh by the way, I told Bucky that I’d get coffee with him later and we’re going to talk about whatever the hell happened this weekend,” Anthony said. “Do you want me to bring you back anything while I’m out?”

“Hmm… I don’t think so.” Stephen drew a heart on the back of Anthony’s hand with his thumb, something he noticed himself doing a lot.

Anthony always rewarded him for the gesture with the smallest, shyest smile that Stephen thought was the most adorable thing ever. “Text me if you change your mind, yeah?”

“Okay, I will.” Stephen smiled back at him, lovingly brushing Anthony’s hair out of his face. “Also if I send you a list will you help me decide on a movie for tonight?”

“Not sure you’re asking the right person, but sure,” Anthony replied.

“That’s subjective. I think I’m asking the right person,” Stephen said. “You’ve never steered me wrong before.”

“I hope I never do.” Anthony pressed a soft, sweet kiss to Stephen’s lips. “But knowing you, you’ll definitely change your mind about wanting a tea or something.”

“If I do, I’ll tell you,” Stephen replied, smiling into the kiss. “Promise. Have a good day, and good luck later.”

“I think I’m going to need it,” Anthony said with a little nervous laugh.

“Would a kiss help your luck?” Stephen couldn’t keep a neutral face. “I never imagined myself saying that. Or getting to kiss you.”

“Stop it, don’t make me blush this early in the day,” Anthony replied. “In all seriousness, I love you. And your kisses are magical, who’s to say they aren’t lucky?”

++++

Anthony couldn’t say whether or not he felt lucky later that day, because the only thing he felt was nervous. Bucky looked just as nervous and sheepish as Anthony did, and his internal monologue had already switched to guilt. They exchanged small talk and pleasantries while they waited for their coffee, their mutual discomfort becoming more and more tangible by the minute.

Most people joked that Anthony talked to hear the sound of his own voice, but today he was so nervous he couldn’t hear himself think. He didn’t know what to say or even where to start. Thankfully, Bucky blurted out a question before Anthony thought about how to start the conversation.

“How long were you two together?”

“Two and a half years, give or take. And I didn’t cheat on him with Stephen.”

“I didn’t think so. I wasn’t even going to ask about that.” Bucky smiled, trying to somehow calm Anthony down with his expression. “Who broke it off?”

“Me. Sometimes I feel like I did it a lot later than I should have, honestly.” Anthony shrugged. “I wasn’t ever happy in that relationship. I wanted to be, and I did everything I could to make it work even at my own expense, but eventually I had to end it. I’m happier now, but sometimes I still… I shouldn’t say any of this to you, not if you’re happy.”

“You know what bothers me, though?”

Anthony wasn’t expecting that. “What’s up?”

“I don’t think he’s over you. And that doesn’t bother me in a jealous sense, I’m not like that, but I feel almost used. Especially after this weekend,” Bucky said.

“What do you mean?” That worried Anthony for a lot of reasons, and he couldn’t decide which one was the most important.

“Tony, he's obsessed with you. The entire time we were driving Sunday night he wouldn’t stop talking about you, to the point where it was weird. I started to feel like he used me to see you,” Bucky replied. “One time I showed him a group picture, this was like six months ago, from that time we went out ice skating and ever since then he’s been pestering me about you. I don’t even think it has anything to do with me, if that makes sense.”

“I’m not following,” Anthony admitted. “Not entirely, anyway.”

“I think he loves me, I feel certain that he loves me. But he feels some kind of way about you, and it’s creepy,” Bucky said. “Now as I said it’s not jealousy, I just think it’s a bit disturbing that he’s so hung up on you.”

Anthony nodded slowly. “Yeah, I don’t like that. He didn’t want me to dump him but I had to, there’s no two ways about it. What happened Sunday?”

“We had a disagreement. I told him I felt used and he wasn’t happy about that, but he didn’t deny it either,” Bucky replied. “I was hoping he’d drop the whole thing but I don’t think he’s going to. I don’t think he’s going to ever get over you, honestly.”

“Damn. I’m sorry you had to deal with all of that.” Anthony nervously ran a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to pull at it. “Um… yeah I don’t really know what to think or what to say.”

“Neither do I,” Bucky admitted. “I really want to try things out with him and see how they continue, but I also don’t think he’s going to change. Now that he’s actually seen you, I feel like it’s only going to be more awkward.”

“Oh about that, I’m sorry I didn’t want to go out the other day,” Anthony said. “I was going to try and make myself power through it, but… just being around him for however long you guys were in the apartment was way too much. I got really anxious and just hid in Stephen’s room. And then, on an unrelated note, I ended up sleeping for 14 hours or something.”

“I’m sorry if I was forceful. I didn’t know how to subtly ask if he was making you uncomfortable in the moment, but I could see it,” Bucky replied. “I don’t blame you.”

Anthony shrugged. “Dude I’m at a loss, generally speaking. I don’t know what to say about everything you just told me, but honestly I’m feeling a little sick.”

“Are you going to see Stephen? I’m meeting Christine, so if you want I’ll walk with you,” Bucky offered.

Anthony nodded. “Sure.”

“I really am sorry, Tony. For everything this weekend, and if something I said upset you after your wisdom tooth surgery,” Bucky said.

“It’s not your fault. I’ve been stressing about how to tell everyone about that relationship for too long and the way I felt when I woke up just reminded me of something I still don’t really want to talk about,” Anthony replied. “There’s a lot I’m holding back, even from you, but I’m just not ready to go into all of that yet.”

“I won’t be upset if you tell me,” Bucky tried to comfort him.

“It’s less about that and more the fact that I don’t want to even think about it. I don’t want to think about him,” Anthony said. “I don’t want to hear his voice, or see him, or even hear about him, if I’m being honest. And I feel bad, because I know you love him, but—”

“But you’re my friend, and I care about you. Plus you’re way too polite to be direct when something or someone upsets you and I think that does more harm than good. You just end up keeping everything to yourself, and you don’t have to,” Bucky interrupted. “You don��t have to be a closed book all the time.”

Anthony smiled at that. “Stephen’s said that to me before. I don’t know why, but I like that phrasing. I’m not one to open up in general, even though I trust everyone in our friend group, but this feels like it’s too much to get into the open right now. Someday I’ll be ready, but not today. It doesn’t help that this weekend was honestly too soon.”

“That’s fair man,” Bucky replied. “I don’t have to tell you that Stephen loves the shit out of you, and you deserve that.”

“I could go on and on about Steph probably endlessly,” Anthony said, hiding his face as he blushed.

“Everyone knows that, even people who have never met either of you know that!” Bucky teased. “But honestly, are you okay?”

Anthony shrugged. “Yes and no. I just need time.”

“I understand. And I am really, really sorry about this weekend,” Bucky replied. “Forgive me?”

Anthony shook his head. “Do I need to? It’s not your fault.”

“I know it’s not, but still… I’m sorry. I hope that means something, at least.”

tags: @stark-strange-love2 @taruyison @chocopiggy @majesticnerdynerd @spooky-n-spunky @merlynthedisasterchild @kitkatfat15 @maya-custodios-dionach @katninjagirl97

D is for Dangerous

heyooo! i’m back with this fic — which is soooo random — but i’ve been thinking about writing it since the 6U trailer came out (you can watch it here if you still haven’t) so ofc it’s a Six!Ben fic

this is only the first part and i’m so excited for the following ones!

Summary: driven by the desire of revenge, the reader tries to take down the man who ruined her life only to find out that her plan is an utter fiasco; however she meets a man that is gonna change her life and give her the chance of a lifetime

Four!Ben x Fem!Reader

hope you enjoy and let me know what you think :)

Each and every muscle of your body was tense and your senses were on the alert, keeping your head on. But most importantly, you were trying to act rationally and not to be at the mercy of your own anger. It was the only way of getting away with what you were about to do.

Everything around you belonged to a world where you didn't fit in anymore — the fancy dress you were wearing, the expensive Champagne you were drinking... it didn't feel right. And it was all Kuklinki's fault.

Kevin Kuklinski. He was the reason why your life was now so messed up. You were attending one of his stupid parties but you weren't there to enjoy the food or the music. You were there to take him down.

He was the reason why your parents were gone.

The man who took their life was now chatting with two businessmen, sipping an expensive Champagne as he fake-laughed every now and then. You felt like an intruder to his party — you’d faked the invitation. There was no way he’d invite you voluntarily, even though you had made a name in the high society.

You were involved in business yourself, all thanks to your parents, but they’d made the mistake of trusting the wrong man. Now you were more than determined to take him down.

“It's a bad idea.” The sudden voice coming from behind you brought you back to reality. It was so firm and deep that you were 100% the mysterious guy was talking to you. Even before you could turn towards him, he moved next to you.

You turned your head to the right to give him a look — his blonde hair was shaved on the sides but with orderly blonde waves on the top. When he looked back at you, you've been taken aback by his green eyes. Beautiful and catchy, with a sparkle you couldn't read. A scar crossed his right brow and you found yourself wondering how he could've gotten it.

“Excuse me?” You'd lost sight of Kuklinski and you were silently cursing the stranger.

“It's a terrible idea.” He gave you just a quick look before looking back at the crowd, taking a sip of his drink. The black suit he was wearing fit hit perfectly and you had to look away at the sight of his Adam's apple rise and lower.

You couldn't deny he was good-looking and mysterious, but you were there for a very specific reason. The knife well-embedded in your garter was a constant reminder of your mission, the cold steel pressing against your thigh.

“You must have me confused for someone else.” You tried to be as firm as possible but but his presence made you nervous. That's probably because he seem to know everything about you.

You could feel his gaze on you and you had to clear your voice. “I really don't think so”, he said. “You've got a look that kills.”

A knot formed in your throat due to his words, so you took another sip of your drink just to ignore his word. You were pretty sure he could feel your nervousness, given that he moved right in front of you. You had to lift your chin to meet his beautiful eyes but then your gaze fell on his lips, so you swallowed in nervousness. “And that's exactly what you were going to do”, He added in a deep voice.

“I'm sorry?” But who the hell was he?

“You've heard me.” His voice was now low and hoarse and he was dangerously close to you. “Come with me.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you.” You shook off his gentle grip on your wrist and he looked at you with condescension. His jaw tended and he gave a quick look at the crowd around you, making sure you didn't draw anyone's attention. Then he took a deep breath and came even closer to you.

“I know what happened to your parents and I know it was Kuklinski. I know why you're here and sure as hell I know that you're gonna get yourself killed if you don't follow me and stick with your plan instead.”

You were speechless, completely blindsided. He seemed to know everything about you, but you had no idea who the hell he was. And it scared you. For the first time in weeks, you were terrified by the fact that this stranger knew every detail of your plan.

That was probably the reason why you didn't resist when he wrapped his hand on yours. The two of you moved through the crowd with lightness, going unnoticed as if you were invisible. Your gaze was fixed on his back for the whole walk, mesmerised by his confidence and calmness.

With the corner of your eye you noticed Kuklinski chatting with two women as he seemed to enjoy the Champagne he was drinking. The stranger must've noticed it too, given that he strengthened the grip on your hand. You had no desire of getting away from him — there was no way you could proceed with your plan now that it'd been compromised. You still wanted Kuklinski dead, though.

The stranger silently led you to a bedroom in the upper floor. You closely followed his movements as he checked every corner of the room, looking at him with suspicion. “We should be safe here”, he said.

“Who the hell are you?”

He leaned against the table pushed against one of the walls, his hands holding its edges but his green eyes fixed on you. “I'm Four.”

“Four?”, you asked in disbelief.

The stranger — Four? — lifted his brows by hearing your condescending tone. “Yeah.” You could clearly hear his voice now that you were alone in a silent room.

“Four like the number?”

“Exactly like the number. And you could be our Eight if you decided to join our cause.”

“What? What cause?” Four didn't seem to have much patience and he sighed at your questions.

He pursed his lips, letting his gaze slide on your body before looking his eyes on yours. “Kevin Kuklinski, one of the most influential billionaires by day, a mob boss by night. Also, the reason why your parents are dead.”

His words touched you deeply and you shuddered. You looked away from him and Four paused for a few seconds, noticing how uncomfortable you were. He moved away from the desk and walked towards you, coming dangerously close. “And that's exactly why you're here — you did a great job with the fake invitation, by the way.”

“Thanks”, you replied in an hesitant tone. You weren't sure you could trust him yet.

“But let me tell you what would've happened.” His tone lowered, his words were becoming nothing but a whisper. “Option number one — somehow you could've managed to approach him in the hall, stab him with the very sharp knife you're hiding under that black dress and then you would've died too, killed by the ten guards surrounding him.”

Damn. You only counted five. Four knew he had a point — you noticed it by the look in his eyes — but you forced yourself to look unbothered. “But Kuklinski's men wouldn't have stopped. You've got a sister — Emily, isn't it? And her kids.”

You felt like weight on your heart by hearing his words. You hadn't considered your nephews and the thought of Kuklinski's men hurting them was unbearable.

He raised his brows like if he was waiting for an answer and so you softly said “Yeah.”

Four pursed again his lips — his face was just a few inches away from yours, his green eyes looking directly at you. “Option number two — you'd tried to approach him in private but you'd have been killed even before having the chance to look at him.”

Four's words were filling you with shame for the inaccuracies of your plan — you'd been so blinded by your own anger that you didn't even realise it. You'd moved your gaze away from him, reflecting about his words.

His fingers gently grazed your jawline and slipped to your chin, gently tapping on it to make you look back at him. His touch sent shivers down your spine but you had even worse problems to solve.

“But imagine working on a plan with a group of people who believe in your cause. People who want to make sure that justice takes its course, that want Kuklinski dead just as much as you do.”

The situation was finally turning for the better — his words had caught your attention. “Tell me more.”

“We've been watching you for a while. You're one of us, even though you don't know it yet.”

“What if you're just a bunch of amateurs?”

“We're not dead yet. And we're trained — flaws don't exist in our plans. Unlike yours”, he added with a tight smile that made you roll your eyes.

“Is Kuklinski one of your targets?”

“The first of ‘em”, He immediately replied. You tried to take a step back — you needed to stay away from him to think clearly. Four buried his hands in the trouser pockets and waited for you to say something.

“Four”, You said as you turned your back to him. “What's your real name?”

“It's Four now.”

“Why code names then?”

You heard him sighing and that pushed you to turn against towards him. His brows were narrowed and you couldn't understand his sudden worry. “Y/N”, he whispered. It was the first time he called you by your name. It felt so different coming out from his lips.

You looked at him with your brows narrowed, giving him a nod as to silently tell him to go on. “To be free to do what we do, we have to make sacrifices.”

“And what did you sacrifice?”

“Our old life”, he said in a low tone. “We've officially been pronounced dead.”

We're you ready to do it? To leave your old life behind just to take the revenge you'd been dreaming of for months? You weren't quite sure you could do it.

Four senses your hesitation and he walked again towards you. Why the hell had he to be this close? “We're gonna give you some time to think about it.” You clearly needed it.

“How will I reach you?”

One of the corners of his lips lifted in a grin. “I'll contact you.”

You gave him a quick nod and his hand was again on your cheek, without touching it. The tension of the moment was palpable — but oh man. Even before you could say anything he grinned at you and took a step back.

You realised the reason of his grin when your gaze fell to his hand — the knife embed in your garter was now on his hand.

“How... how did you—” You have a quick look at your leg and then at him again. Four and his stupid grin.

You shook your head in disbelief and he nodded towards you, starting to back away. “I'm keeping this. Think about my offer.” You sighed as you watched him walking backwards towards the window.

What the hell was he doing? Did he want to jump off? Before you could even say anything he was gone, as well as your knife. You quickly moved to the window, looking out of it only to see him jump from one building to the other.

-

It had been a week since your unplanned meeting with Four and you still hadn’t made up your mind about his offer. You’d have gladly accepted it if it wasn’t for your family. Your sister Emily had already been through a lot — troubled births, the lost of your parents and the repercussions it had on her own family. You didn’t want to hurt her, but you couldn’t rest peacefully knowing that Kuklinski was still out there.

Discretion was important, essential for your survival. You had to be so discrete that had to look invisible to others. The coffee shop you were was just perfect — you had lost the count of the amount of people who walked in and out, or of the students who sat there all day long and studied without saying a word. You could’ve easily been mistaken for one of them, with your constant scrolling on your laptop and the notes on your textbook.

Oh, if they only knew. You weren’t studying at all. Or at least, your studying wasn’t school-related. You were doing researches over researches on a man, trying to summon up all the possibles informations about him. Kevin Kuklinski. The man. The cause of all your troubles. Internet was a fantastic place — you were astonished by the amount of informations it could provide, even though it couldn’t be considered 100% reliable.

Your researches were interrupted by the buzzing of your phone and the name of your sister appeared on the lockscreen. “Ems?”

“Auntie Y/N!” It wasn’t your sister who picked up the phone, but your nephew Aiden.

“Hey, love. What’s wrong?” You gave a quick look around you to make sure you were going unnoticed.

You could hear giggles and squeaks of excitement from the other side of the phone. “Mommy said you would help me with my homework.”

You rubbed your forehead with a sigh — you’d totally forgotten about it. “Yeah uhm... I’ll be there ASAP.”

“Mommy! Auntie said she’s coming!”, you heard Aiden screaming to your sister and it made you smile.

A thud and a few whispers later, you sister picked up her phone. “Hey, sorry ‘bout that. You don’t need to come all the way here.”

“It’s just...”, you cleared your voice, trying to find the right words. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to take care of.”

“Y/N.” Emily’s tone was low and you were pretty sure she sighed.

“Hm?”

“Are you still after that Kuklinski guy?”

“Emily.”

“No”, she immediately replied in a resolute tone. “You gotta tell me the truth.”

And it took you some time before you could whisper “Yes.”

Emily swore under her breath and you closed your eyes, trying to keep control. “I’m gonna say it just once — forget about him. You stay out of this mess. That’s what mom and dad would’ve wanted.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Don’t you even fucking start, Y/N.” She was really pissed now.

The chair in front of you moved, screeching against the floor. You were taken aback and your first instinct was to hide your notes and open a new tab on your laptop. You weren’t surprised to see Four sitting right in front of you.

You took a few breaths — her tone didn’t make easier in any way what was about to happen. “Ems?”

“What?” Even though her tone was still a bit harsh, you could tell she had softened.

You bit your lower lip, trying to avoid Four’s gaze fixed on you. “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to come by today. Give Aidan and Lexie a kiss from me.”

“I will.”

“And I love you.” You closed your eyes, trying to take deep breaths. You’d made up your mind and there was no turning back.

But Emily was getting suspicious. “You okay?”

“Now I can’t even tell my sister I love her?”, You joked, even though you were just trying to lighten the mood. It was the last time you were hearing her voice.

“Right, I’m sorry”, She whispered. “I love you too. And stay out of troubles. Please?”

“Yeah.” You were a terrible liar. You knew that. Emily knew that. Even Four knew that, given the look in his eyes. When you closed the call you were feeling extremely guilty, but it was done. There was no turning back now.

“So I guess you made a decision.” Four placed his forearms on the table, locking his green eyes right on yours. You bit your lip and slowly nodded at his words, giving him a quick look. That day he had replaced his black suit with a grey tee and faded jeans. His toned muscles were even more noticeable now.

“What happens now?” You were eager to move on — the less you thought of your family, the less you suffered. All you wanted to do was focus on your job.

Four lifted his brows in surprise. “Are you sure? There’s no turning back.”

Your gaze fell to your laptop, a tab opened in a close-up of Kuklinski. That’s all you needed as a confirm. When you looked back at Four, you were more than sure he could see the determination in your eyes. “I’m well aware of that.”

Four pursed his lips and slowly nodded. By the way his shoulders rise and lower you could tell he sighed deeply, maybe in sign of pride. Was he proud of you? Was he satisfied with your decision? “Well, then”, he murmured, giving a look at the people around him. “Come with me.”

You quickly closed your laptop, putting it and your textbook in your bag. Four slowly got up and you copied him, ignoring the few looks that followed you to the door. “Where are we going?”

Four replied to your question with a quick look from above his shoulder. The silent treatment did nothing but increase the adrenaline running in your veins and you tried to keep up as he turned the corner.

“Four!”, you whispered again. The look he gave you made you worry, even more when he grabbed you by your hand. You tried to resist him but he tightened his grip and you didn’t like at all the tone in which he said “Don’t freak out.”

What?

Not even five seconds later, you did freak out. The car right next to you blew up and the explosion was so loud that made your ears burn. Four’s hand was still firmly holding yours as you turned towards him. He was deadly serious as he tried to gently drag you to one of the backroads.

Maybe because of the explosion, maybe because of the shock of the moment, you barely had the strength to take two steps before passing out and falling like a brick, right into his arms.

let me know if you wanna be tagged in the next parts :)

Confessions (Part Two)

Pairing: Josh x reader

Word Count: 2.1K

CW: pressure to have sex

The last month had been interesting, to say the least. Josh and I started testing the waters of our newfound relationship. For the first three weeks, as far as anyone in our friend group was concerned, nothing had changed. I liked to think we had them fooled, even though Sam insisted she knew it all along. We thought it was better to test the waters first, get used to the new dynamic of our relationship before we went public and had to deal with a hundred questions from everyone we knew. Unfortunately, discretion wasn’t one of Josh’s strong suits, and we found ourselves dealing with near misses on a regular basis. After a while, we agreed that answering the questions would be less work than trying to keep up the ruse. As expected, everybody freaked out. His sisters ran to hug me, Chris clapped him on the back, and while I can’t prove anything, I’m pretty sure I saw some money exchange hands. The excitement died down after a couple days, and Josh and I were able to focus on each other.

Jess and I weren’t exactly close, but after Josh and I got together, she seemed to take more of an interest in me. She kept pestering me to hang out and have some girl time with her, despite the fact that we had never spent five minutes alone together before. After a while, I gave into the demand. We went out for lunch. I figured that was the easiest of all the suggestions she made. I could get through one meal with her, couldn’t I?

As I suspected, all she wanted was to talk about Josh. She wanted details about everything: what kind of dates we went on, if he had bought me any presents, how often we texted. I tried to answer her questions well enough to get her to stop asking without giving her any unnecessary details. I seemed to be able to sate her curiosity well enough. Well, at least until we reached the one particular subject I got the feeling was all Jess really cared about.

“Does he live up to all the hype?” She sipped on her coke and stared at me with those bright blue eyes.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean the ‘bone zone.’” She laughed and set down her glass. “He talks such a big game- I gotta know, can he actually play?”

“Let’s talk about something else,” I said.

“Come on,” she said. “We’re both girls.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I popped a mushroom into my mouth and took my time chewing.

“Girls talk about how their man is with their girlfriends,” she said. The condescension in her voice made my muscles clench. “How big is he? I’ve been wondering. I mean, he’s so tall- my guess is at least seven inches. Am I right?”

I pushed my food around with my fork. “I, uh… Well, I’m not sure-”

Jess reached across the table and slapped my forearm. “Oh my god, you haven’t fucked him yet?” Heat rose in my cheeks and I stared at my suddenly enthralling plate. “Why not? I can name fifteen girls who’d kill to get in his pants right now.”

I didn’t doubt that she could, but I didn’t want to hear the list. “We’ve only been dating a few weeks,” I said.

“Josh doesn’t usually wait a few weeks,” she said.

“I know.” I huffed.  

Jess leaned back in her chair. “Hey, don’t get pissy,” she said. “I’m just surprised. Josh isn’t the type to play the long game. You know he has plenty of alternates waiting on the sidelines.”

I dropped my fork on my plate with a clank, finding my appetite mysteriously gone. “Thanks,” I said. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She laughed, but I had a hard time finding the joke.  “You can’t make a guy like Josh wait too long.” She stirred her drink with her straw. “Playing hard to get is one thing, but you don’t want him to think you’re a prude.” As our waiter, an admittedly cute guy who was at least ten years older than either of us, walked by, Jess pulled her straw out of her glass and ran it across her tongue. “I’m just trying to help you out. If you wanna keep him, you have to give him something. Especially if he’s spending as much on your dates as you say he is.”  

I had to bite my tongue to stop myself for telling her where she could stick her friendly advice. “What I give him is none of your business.”

“Why so hostile?” Drops of amber liquid fell from the end of her straw and spattered on the table. “Look, sex isn’t a big deal with a guy like Josh. He’s not gonna think you’re too easy if you give it up.”

My left hand clenched into a tight fist. “I know that.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Then why hold out on him?” My eyes moved around the room, settling on anything and everything other than the woman sitting across me. She leaned halfway over the table, her prying eyes attempting to read my expression. “You have had sex, haven’t you?” I didn’t have to reply. My expression gave her the answer she wanted. “Oh my god! You’re a virgin?” Her whisper-yells were just loud enough to earn a glance from the table next to us. “Does Josh know?”

I gave her an answer for the sole purpose of shutting her up. “We haven’t really talked about it.”

Jess had even more questions about my (lack of) sexual activity than she did about my relationship with Josh, and I wanted to answer them even less. I got out of there the second we finished eating, but it was still the longest lunch I had ever sat through. As much as I wanted to dismiss what she said, I found myself incapable of doing so. My mind lingered on the conversation, on Jess’ warnings and advice. As blunt and intrusive as it was, I had to admit that Jess knew more about this kind of stuff than I did. Virginity wasn’t a huge deal to me; I didn’t even believe in the concept. I just hadn’t really had the opportunity to have sex with the right person. There was no doubt in my mind that Josh was the right person, so why was I so hesitant? Maybe I was overthinking this. If it wasn’t a big deal to me, and it would make Josh happy, why shouldn’t I do it? I mean, Josh had spent a lot on me. His family was rich as hell, I knew that. But I wasn’t prepared for the sheer amount of money he was willing to drop on me, like it was nothing. Whenever we went out, he insisted on paying for everything, and the places he took me to weren’t cheap either. The least I could do is give him something in return.

Jess’ words still rang in my ears days later. I watched TV, and I thought about sex. I did schoolwork, and I thought about sex. I met Josh at his place for a movie date, and I thought about sex. I couldn’t say what was on Josh’s mind for certain, but it had to mean something that he invited me over when the rest of his family was out. We curled up together on the basement suite couch and Josh put on some horror movie nobody had ever heard of. He liked thrillers. To more precise, he liked the idea of me being scared into his arms by thrillers. But I couldn’t focus on the movie enough to be scared by it, and it didn’t take Josh long to notice. He paused it half an hour in to ask me what was up. I didn’t have an answer, and I didn’t try to come up with one. Instead, I took what seemed to me was the only sensible course of action: I swung my leg over, straddled his lap, and pulled him into a heated kiss. Josh’s reaction was delayed only by the shock of the sudden movement. He caught up with me in a few seconds, and wrapped his arms around my waist. His tongue slipped into my mouth, gliding against my own. I ran my fingers through his hair before dropping my hands down to his chest.

I broke the kiss and slid back off his lap. I knelt on the floor in front of him, my hands moving down to tug at his belt. Josh laughed. “What’re you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” I asked. I didn’t look up from my task, but my shaking hands refused to cooperate. Why the hell was I so nervous?

“Hey, hey.” Josh’s hands covered my own and didn’t move until I met his eyes. “You’re sure you’re ready?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I winced at the harshness in my own voice, and Josh pulled his hands away from mine.The shame I had felt with Jess made an unwelcome reprise as I stood up and moved away from the couch, crossing my arms over my chest. Josh’s stare bore into my skull, and I heard him fitting his belt back into place.

“Are you gonna tell me what that was about?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “I’m sorry- I’m just being stupid.”

The couch groaned as Josh stood up. “You’re not being stupid.” He put his hand on my shoulder and turned me around. “Weird, yeah, but not stupid.” His fingers used brushing my hair back as an excuse to cup my cheek. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just…” I sighed. “We’ve been dating a month, and you’ve been so good and patient and everything.” I wasn’t aware I was chewing my bottom lip until I ripped off a piece of skin too deep. The metallic taste of blood coated the tip of my tongue. “It’s not fair, me making you wait so long.”

Josh laughed. “Fair?”

I frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“You make it sound like you owe it to me.” The smile fell off his face when I didn’t respond. “You do know you don’t owe me sex, right?”

“No- I mean, yeah. Of course not.” I shook my head, like that would get my thoughts in order. “But you take me out to all those nice places, and I want to give you something in return-”

“You don’t have to give me anything,” he said. “Y/N, I don’t take you to those places because I think I’ll get something out of it.”

“I know that.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “But I know most of your girlfriends don’t make you wait this long, and I thought-” I stopped myself before I finished the sentence, but Josh knew what I was going to say.

“You seriously thought I’d break up with you for not having sex with me?” His voice was quiet, but the hurt in it was deafening.

I shook my head. “No- it’s just, Jess said-”

“You’re not dating Jess,” he said. “You’re dating me, and I’ve never even implied that I’ll leave you if you don’t put out.”

“I don’t think you’ll leave me, I just...” My eyes began to water against my will.

“Just what?” Josh snapped.

“I just want to make you happy,” I said.

“And sex is the only way to do that?” “I don’t know!” I wrapped my arms over my stomach. “I just know you like it, and it’s not like I’ve been holding off for any real reason- I just wanted it to be with the right person and…”

Josh stepped backwards. “You’re a virgin?” He laughed without humour. “Were you planning on telling me that before you started sucking my dick?”

I studied the floor. “It’s not important,” I said.

“Of course it’s important,” Josh replied.

I looked back up at him, my jaw clenching. “I don’t care about virginity.”

The irritation in Josh’s expression matched my own. “So you don’t want to wait until marriage- that doesn’t mean your first time doesn’t matter,” he said. “Whether your virginity is important to you or not, your first time should be something you want to do, not something you do because you think it’ll make me happy.”

I licked my lips and sighed. “I thought it was what you wanted.”

Josh slid his hand down my arm and took my hand. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said. “I don’t want our first time together to be something you’ll regret.” He pulled me into his arms, and I wrapped my arms around his waist.

“You really don’t mind waiting?” I asked.

“Hey, I’ve got a fleshlight and a bottle of lube in my bedroom- I’m golden.”

Your post about Gin "messing with people's heads" makes me think, doesn't this also apply to Ulquiorra? He also psychologically tortured Inoue, don't you think it's hypocritical to say Gin's actions don't nullify the bad things he did, but say that UH is good/not toxic? I'm not trying to hate on you, I don't ship anything in Bleach, I just wanted to know why Gin is considered a bad inexcusable guy but Ulquiorra's relationship with Inoue is glorified?

This will get… really long. I’m genuinely sorry it’s this long.

I never said Ulqiorra did nothing wrong (though it’s fair to say I didn’t happen to specifically point it out), or that UH is a ship with many positive feelings associated to it. That would be… an interesting take. I hope you don’t think I think that. But I also need you to understand that I don’t base my taste in ships on what I desire/consider healthy in real life. They exist in the context of the canon — not interchangeable with reality considering the existence of superpowers, ghosts, semi-human creatures and time warping — and that’s where it ends for me. Applying the dynamics in my ships to any situation other than the precise one of Bleach’s canon would make them fundamentally different.

I’ve wanted to mention this about Ulquiorra for a while now and I’ll take the occasion to do so. It’s a mistake to put him in the same framework as a human or shinigami. (The latter two also have their differences but based on observation shinigami seem to behave in a much more human-like manner compared to hollows/arrancars.) He’s practically incapable of understanding what empathy is or find any good reason not to hurt other people, which is why it’s surprising when he manages to grasp even a shred of the concept right before dying. Hollows are born from experiencing such severe pain that it distorts their whole ‘essence’, so something has gone terribly wrong with them emotionally by definition, whether they evolve to arrancar form or not. Ulquiorra’s aspect of death, his ‘theme’, is emptiness — characterized by complete neutrality towards everything. Since a person with a healthy mindset tends to focus on danger and negative events, neutrality often comes across as immoral for being equally conceding towards moral right and moral wrong. The point is, Ulquiorra’s motivations for provoking Inoue had nothing to do with him taking joy in causing pain to her. In fact, it’s hinted he’s not even fully aware he’s doing it, like the scene where he tells Inoue he’d laugh at her friends’ foolishness in her place. He’s unaffected by most things AND has difficulty placing himself in others’ perspective, which results in him assuming everyone around him would be unaffected. The only thing that factored into him doing just about anything was curiosity, the need to fill the void, however you want to put it. If a human or shinigami behaved the same way he did around Inoue, it would come across in a vastly different way and I’m not sure it would even interest me as a ship. Ulquiorra is not only a hollow, but a hollow with a particular impediment in understanding how others feel, and this is an integral part of him as a character, of his interactions, of UH, of anything regarding him. I know it’s funny as a fandom meme to act as if he were human, but he’s NOT and this needs to be kept in mind.

This applies to any arrancar or espada, really. It’s tempting to judge them on the same basis as enemies who are closer to humanity, mainly because of their appearance and intellect. But this is the trick itself the narrative plays, a progression that has been present in Bleach since the start: it created a human/monster (shinigami/hollow here) dichotomy, then spent the longest arc deconstructing it by blurring the lines between the two. It doesn’t matter how smart and eloquent the espada manage to get, the only productive way of interpreting them is as people who are missing a very core part of their personality, so someone severely psychologically ill. (I say this as someone who has their own problems, before it gets misinterpreted as condescension.) Should this absolve them from punishment? Bleach says a very clear no. They almost all get killed by shinigami, in Ulquiorra’s case Ichigo specifically — Ichigo, who, by his own admission, empathized with everyone he fought and even gets angry at Yammy for speaking ill of Ulquiorra after his death. (I don’t want to start arguing about how he was in hollow state when he defeated him. He would have killed Ulquiorra either way if he continued to stand in the way of protecting his friends.)

In summary, the espada aren’t human. Ulquiorra isn’t human. It’s unrealistic to expect him to behave like a human. You’re free to pick who you want to have compassion for among Bleach’s positive and negative characters and if you decide Ulquiorra is irredeemable in your opinion, that’s fine — many characters would agree. But at the very least it can be objectively said that Bleach spends a lot of time presenting ‘evil’ characters’ perspectives as nuanced and explicable instead of writing them off. It gives the audience a choice in the matter. A core message of the entire story is that we’re subjective and maybe we’ll never manage to see the world the same way as someone else, but that’s fine and it doesn’t make us all that different; hollows can become *almost* shinigami, shinigami can become *almost* hollows, and they both have ways to relate to one another while retaining the insurmountable differences and even fighting and killing each other.

Now, onto Gin. First off, you seem to be under the impression that I don’t like him as a character. That couldn’t be further from the truth; I only said it in the tags because I figured saying it in the post would have sounded like making excuses, which is not what the post was about. I don’t know if I would call him a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ person. All I know is that I really enjoyed him as a character and I could see how he evoked sympathy — in the tragic way antagonists do when they get some sort of redemption. I noticed it’s a common tool in fiction to make an impact on the audience, I suppose because we’re happier when we see ‘bad people getting fixed’ rather than someone already good doing more good things. It’s a Prodigal Son type of thing; can be argued about but it definitely makes an impact.

Gin is a quintessential ‘mysterious type’; he has a long-running plan that he executes throughout almost his entire life without ever consulting with anyone (an important detail). He had a hypothesis on what would be the most effective way to kill Aizen and constructed a convoluted plan based on it — a plan where the ends would have justified the means in many, many situations, and that required causing problems to a lot of people. He had, however, no certainty that what he was doing would lead to the desired results (which it then didn’t…). A lot of his provocation was a means to create a certain image of himself and there’s a big question of where to draw the line there, whether all of that was absolutely necessary. Leaving to Hueco Mundo and technical demonstrations of loyalty were, sure, but mocking Rukia on her way to being executed? He considered keeping everything a secret a prerequisite for things to work out — presumably because if he talked to anyone, Aizen could have noticed — but was it, really? Many of his actions were based on his personal judgement on what would and wouldn’t have ruined the façade, subjective and hunch-based since he didn’t know the outcome for sure.

Gin isn’t inexcusable, but I noticed a lack of emphasis on the damage his actions caused among fans, both because of the chronological order of the story and his affiliation with the protagonists’ side. Because the last thing he did was a good thing, that’s what he’s remembered by, without taking into account the sum total of his interactions with others. He posited himself as vicious until the last moment and did so consciously. Ulquiorra had a very, very gradual progression in the way he talked to Inoue, which doesn’t make it less rude and traumatic, but there’s a difference between him showing up and telling her she ‘has no rights’ and later taking an active interest in her views on the Heart. It would be equally reductive to interpret him by his last moment and nothing else, but all he did before led to that moment progressively, while Gin’s was a very abrupt twist.

My post was a comment on psychology on the most basic, technical level, not a moral judgement. The two are separate in the way we process trauma and that’s exactly what I find interesting. Having strong negative emotions associated to a memory (what I think Kira, Hinamori, Hitsugaya or Rangiku could have had with Gin’s betrayal) creates a very subconscious reaction that can hardly be fixed by suddenly finding out it was necessary for a positive cause, which is why healing from trauma requires years of therapy. Because *in that moment* you didn’t have that knowledge, the pain remains in your memory and it’s not a matter of logical reasoning. Now, I’m not saying Ulquiorra’s interactions with Inoue were numerous or productive enough to properly process the trauma he caused her — the canon info is ambivalent on how comfortable Inoue was around him towards the end of her captivity because there’s both scenes like the famous slapping one *and* her seeming more light-hearted towards Ulquiorra in Unmasked, plus no one has any idea of which came before which. All things considered, I think repeated discussion and an attempt at mutual understanding does a better job at elaborating something traumatic than one single piece of information on why what traumatized you was justified. And note that the *only reason* the understanding between Ulquiorra and Inoue could have been mutual is because Inoue was exceptionally patient, empathetic and willing to face discomfort, way beyond the base level or what should be expected from anyone. Even if it was a *small amount* of *not very productive* discussion, it’s better than one act in my opinion (which most of the people who had some sort of issue with Gin didn’t even directly witness). Which of them is *morally worse* depends on how you draw the lines and define morality and that’s not something I feel qualified to decide.

So, in the end;Ulquiorra:-working towards enemy goals overtly-motivated by curiosity, which can be considered self-oriented-gradual improvement-not fully conscious of the emotional impact of his actions-Inoue considers him an ambivalent presence but “Isn’t afraid”, in her words-half-succeeded, as in: failed the goal of killing Ichigo but sated his curiosity

Gin:-working towards enemy goals on the surface and soul society goals covertly-motivated by attachment to Rangiku and/or revenge, less self-oriented but still focused on close acquaintances -long-running façade of being a terrible person followed by a sudden twist towards the good side-completely aware of everything he’s doing, plan laid out hundreds of years in advance-Gotei 13 don’t interact with Gin throughout HM arc, consider the traitors a lost cause-failed to kill Aizen

Instead of this encyclopedia I could have just written “Gin isn’t irredeemable, I just said he did bad things before”, but I thought too much about it. And I might go through spelling mistakes once I wake up.

Just a bunch of excerpts I’ve shared with people over the course of the last few years or so. They’re split up by ship where applicable, timeframe where not. I might make more of these as they show up in archive searches or being written. If something stands out and you want more of it, lemme know; they’re all unfinished drabbles-in-progress.

Warning for some ... ah ... implied necropophagy in brief for one of them, which [for those unfamiliar] is cannibalism of dead people.

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SAURKRAUTS

"What is that." It was less a question, more an observation. He stopped behind her, the scuffle of his boots and clacking of the gun belts falling quiet in the inky black. The only sound came from far off, a constant dripping trickle of water that penetrated the thick silence, so tangible it felt like someone could cut a slice off it. Even then, she knew he could at least see her enough to read her movements, and she was aware of him within her space. "What is it?" he whispered back, tentative to break the stillness. Something else was breaking through, she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Something that sent a shudder up her spine and set her metaphoric hackles raising. This wasn't the usual tunnel anxiety either. This was something real, something dangerous. She took a step back and broadened her profile in threat, grateful to feel his hand at her back to make sure she was steady. Instinct pulled her to look at the thing, whatever it was. But the problem was that there was nothing to see enough to actually look at. What is that... The thought plagued her head before the panic started setting in. She was underground, in a tunnel, the thought set her to hyperventilate. She barely heard Reiner's voice asking low and with concern if she was alright, the sound of her breathing and her heartbeat in her ears, the feeling of the tunnels closing down, the darkness pushing in, the shuffle along one wall... "There!” It erupted from her like a cannon, echoing around the concrete tube as startling as Reiner's flashlight beam cutting into the black abyss. Crouched on a jutted piece of masonry was a figure. It looked vaguely human in shape, swathed in black tatters, completely still even as the light hit it. "What the fuck ... is that..." That sure seemed the question of the day... She waited, staring at it. The longer she did, the more uneasy it made her feel. The hackles stayed up, her head lowered like they were. Whatever it was emanated a malevolence that penetrated the suit and her skin and her muscles and anchored deep in her bones. Volk prized herself for her ability to observe and conserve but this thing didn't want that, evident when a pair of wide yellowed eyes opened on the bottom of where the head was supposed to be. A wave of feeling hit her, foreboding and furious, and she went to pull the Tikhar from her side. It was only then she noticed the barrel of Reiner's rifle already aimed at it from over one shoulder.

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MAKSIM

"Well, it is just lying around doing nothing but rotting and feeding the occasional hungry mutant." he started, his voice devoid of any extreme expression but there was an odd quirk of a smile on his face that made her stomach drop. "I would still rather hunt for rats. Or Nosalises. Or something I still deem perfectly edible." she told him, turning away to look for her own quarry. "Oh, you won't find rats in this tunnel. They rarely frequent it here." There was a musical twinge to his voice now and she was almost afraid of what it meant. "Besides. They don't tell you that human meat is sweet to the taste, especially when it's been fermenting for a short while. Give me a moment to have it cut and cleaned, you'll think you're eating pork from one of those lucky livestocky stations. It helps it go down smoother, in the end..." She shied from him then. "Fine. I'll eat mutant meat then, but you won't catch me eating my own, regardless of them being dead." "They certainly won't be missing it, it's not like I'm asking you to help me hunt a living breathing human being." "How is this any different." "It doesn't squirm so much. Or scream, or beg, or fight. You maintain a good healthy level of energy..." "God, I fucking hate you." "You know, everyone says that." he said, back to his flat tones and chilling smirks, a flash of dim light off the blade of a well-worn trench-knife in his hand, the sickening shlup of it passing through decaying skin and muscle making her gag and taste bile in the back of her throat. "You should all really think up better ways to express your distaste, hate is too broad a term to use. Try 'disgust', or 'repulsed', those are good words to use. Or get used to it. We're very likely going to be here for a while."

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

BOOKWYRMS

She heard him shuffle to a stop on the stairs, taking a precautionary glance at the yawning doorways around the the top landing before looking behind her. He was looking at the catalogs along the wall with a look that she could take as some form of longing. It was hard to tell through the lenses on the gasmask, but there was the sparkle there. One of curiosity, and she figured he knew what the catalogs meant to Brahmin. She knew he had been here before, and that it had left him terrified of the place. She didn't ask him about it, she didn't need to. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. She wasn't here to force it. After all, it had taken her about two months to convince him to follow her, and another had passed before he approached her to try. She walked up next to him, looking from the catalogs to him. "Do you want to try?" she asked him, her voice low so as not to attract attention so close to the front doors. The look he gave her was reverent, though he lowered his eyes to the side. "I don't think I'm allowed to." he answered, sheepish and almost a whisper. "Because you're not officially Brahmin." she replied, watching him avoid her gaze as she pinpointed the reason. "You know, I don't adhere to a lot of Brahmin ways. Despite being one in their system." She added, with a nod toward the drawers on the wall, "Go see what they have for you. If you're meant to be here, they'll know more than me." The excitement was palpable, she could feel it waft off him in giddy waves as he made a beeline toward them, running a hand reverently over each surviving drawerfront until he found the one that apparently spoke to him. His fingers were on the knob, but he paused, offering a side glance to the Stalker as she walked into his field of view. She nodded her head at him and he pulled, sliding it open in the long casing of aged cards that had once served as a filing system. He reached forward, eyes scanning over the contents as he went, until he found the one that spoke to him the most. He pulled it out slowly, turned it around so he could see the writing on it, and she chanced a glance at it. Brave New World, Huxley. "What does it mean?" he asked after a moment, unable to see how her brows knit and her lips thinned. "...It has a lot of meanings. It is how you want to interpret it." she said at last, stopping his arm as he made to slot it back in. "Nein. Keep it. Keep it in mind, all will be made clearer as you look into yourself, now or later." She heard him cough a laugh, slotting it into a pocket. "For someone who doesn't believe in the spiritualism of the Library, you certainly see this as something to be worshiped." "The Library is a building. But there are things hidden in it. Strange things, stranger than you, me, the Librarians. Be aware that it is not the Library to praise, but that which it contains. That is what it is to be a smart Brahmin. That thinking keeps you alive."

"Aha! I see you have documented Librarians among these pages!" she crowed triumphantly. Artyom looked momentarily confused before glancing over her shoulder at the page she was staring at and looking side-eyed toward her with a playful condescension. "You are not a Librarian." A snort was awarded him with a, "Says you." The worn journal was snapped closed and handed back to him. "No. Really. I think you're the first one outside my father to say that in recent years." "I can't be the only one who still sees you for human." he stated, accepting his journal back from her. "Oh yes. Outside Papa, it's always a Librarian ... or a tree ..." He thought back to a point he'd seen a tree, trying to make the correlation before nodding slowly. "Alright, the tree I understand. But a Librarian? How do you get confused for that. It seems a bit strange, outside the whole 'working in the Library' thing..." She leaned her shoulder against him, her voice low. "Listen. You stare down one guy in a bar around here..."

"The Codec doesn't exist." Artyom started, as though the words had slapped him in the face for being a stupid child. "It ... it doesn't?" The question was quiet and tentative, almost like he was afraid he'd stepped on a nerve with it. Volk sighed a little and relaxed some, realizing maybe something so blunt wasn't a good way to go about it. "No. It doesn't. The Council actively believes in it, so to them, it wasn't a meaningless crusade. They sent one of their own believers with you, so you didn't have a chance to know the truth. But I can tell you with certainty that the Codec doesn't really exist, at least physically, within the walls of the Library." she told him. The tone change did wonders for his own anxiety and she saw him visibly relax with a slump of his shoulders. "If it doesn't exist, though ... How would you know?" "If anyone in this station would have found it and brought it back, it would have been me." "That sounds arrogant..." "I've crawled that Library top to bottom for many years and asked the Librarians to find it. The smart ones, at least." She looked him as sincerely as she could in the eyes. "If they haven't found it, I haven't found it. I'm sorry to say that it doesn't exist."

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

EXODUS

"What. Is. That." Anna did not seem surprised in the least. Of course she wouldn't be, Volk mused to herself. She was already used to this and had been for years. Probably due to the morning she'd had, or maybe it was because the Spartan sniper was puffing nonchalantly away on a cigarette of her own, Volk pulled out a pre-rolled stick and lit it. "It's a bruise and a split lip. What do you think it looks like." There was a glint her eyes at that, a bit mischievous perhaps. She knew exactly what her shorter sister was referring to and chose to divert attention. All it got her was a scoff and a look of fatigue that seemed to span decades. "You know damned well what I mean, you walking tree. What is that!" She pointed toward the struggling mutant held firmly by the neck in the German's other hand, futilely trying to get away from the tightened belt like a collar either to bite its captor's hand and arm or simply to get away. "Oh! That. Ja..." Volk started, staring at it for a moment. The position it was stuck in could not have been comfortable for it. Served the little bastard right. "...The locals call them 'humanimals'." "...Okay, I'll bite. What is it doing here." Anna sighed, defeated and unamused. "Learning some fucking manners."

Feeling too tired to do my day, so just lying around in a bathrobe (bathrobes were on sale at Ikea, so I decided to become a bathrobe guy!  I should’ve become bathrobe guy ages ago-- it’s like wearing a blanket!), catching up on comics.

Wrapped up Peter Cannon: Thunderbolt, which I’d been writing about here and here (though you’re way better off reading  Adventures in Poor Taste’s writing about it-- they're more passionate about the project and more delighted to unpack it-- I’m just some old, crotchety weirdo that stopped liking things sometime shortly after the third issue of Civil War).  I just didn’t think it was about very much at all, in the end, though it kind of insists otherwise throughout.  It believes in itself, the scamp-- the swagger’s admirable, at least...

It mostly resolves itself as just being a comic about a desire that comics move forward from Watchmen.  Which at the outset is weird to me because while I’ve hardly read a lot of his stuff, I’d read at least some of those Keiron Gillen comics-- that guy’s influenced by Watchmen?  Oh okay.  I hadn’t... I hadn’t noticed, but.  And to be fair, I felt very influenced by Wes Anderson’s Grand Budapest Hotel when I was doing a poo the other day, so who am I to... I’m just a guy that takes twee pastel shits-- I can’t pass any kind of judgment here, so... 

But also, move forward to what?  There, the best the comic can try to answer it is with (arguably its best issue) the Eddie Campbell issue, which is celebrating the quotidian smallness of normal life.  But there aren’t any characters in the comic.  How do you do a comic with no characters in it that argues for how comics should look to normal life for inspiration more (or make that argument in a comic about defying Watchmen or whatever, which has about a zillion more normal people characters in it than this does???  It contains that critique within itself!)?  I mean, maybe that absence is part of the point, creates an arc, etc., but the “having its cake and eating it too” of it all seems like it undermines its own argument...  Or it talks about "Envying” a sort of pastiche of those things in the Eddie Campbell issue, but I just think it comes across as a fashionable pose-- because it’s got no real thematic concerns outside of comics.  Morrison made a bunch of comics about how we all need new ideas too-- then he wrote Batman comics.  He liked to do little poses next to Watchmen, too... 

As a personal exorcism of Watchmen’s influence, the comic’s, you know, fine.  The “How they beat the baddie” bit is clever.  The drawings of the baddie eating the pipe are pretty fun-- it’s a pretty fun comic to look at generally.  I didn’t really get every choice the letterer made, but it looked like they were having fun, so good for them.  But it’s... It’s just very, very odd outside of that context.  As the Adventures in Poor Taste folks point out, Moore walked from Watchmen ages ago.  And then the rest of the world-- unauthorized Watchmen sequels; pirate Watchmen TV shows; an audience that is in a state of permanent embitterment, hostility or unearned condescension towards Alan Moore; comic creators and publishers having “Go fuck yourself, Alan Moore” as their default stances... 

Like, this comic posits a world where Watchmen is a villain.  But that’s not our world.  Our world is the exact opposite:  we’re the villains. Keiron Gillen did this for Dynamite-- anyone think Dynamite’s on their side?  Answer: yeah, read the papers-- fucking Comicsgate does.  The comic’s just very oblivious to its context.  But that context is that nothing matters to anyone.  So this comic's whole orientation just seems... very odd.

The big cheer moment that the internet seems to love is the hero of this comic standing over the avatar of Watchmen and saying “you did it 30 years ago.”  Like, haha, suck it, old thing, your time has passed.  Which I suppose is a meaningful thing to say if we were still in the era of “Comics should be pop” that Gillen came of age at on shitty online messageboards.  If your antecedents are pop music where 30 years is perhaps a lot, instead of books.  But the people who went on and on about pop in comics, their work is mostly nothing.  You want to be the guy reading Grant Morrison comics in 2019?  I still like Doom Patrol or whatever (No thanks on your little TV show) but I find the idea of having read as much of his stuff as I have kind of embarrassing now.  That’s how pop works.  But if you live in the world of actual books by actual writers... 30 years for a book...?  That’s not... anything.  The conversation hasn’t even really started at 30 years.

But of course, now there is no conversation.  It’s weird seeing an internet that cheered Watchmen getting stolen away from its writer, as unauthorized Watchmen TV shows are getting trailers put out, now cheer a comic that tells Watchmen that it’s old and can’t show us the way forward and...?   The layers of indecency to that are just... I mean, Lucy just pulled away the football; she didn’t spike it on Charlie Brown’s fucking face!  But I don’t flatter myself to think we live in any more profane times than any other times.  I mean, the newspapers aren’t great to read lately, but.  The last time a comic came out that was oblivious to exploitation and heavily annotated by its creator, it was Paying For It, though...

But thinking about my own personal malaise-- which is probably mostly, you know, just being middle aged and all... It’s just constantly of interest (alarm?) to me how little stuff seems to matter.  How little anything sticks anymore-- the thing about that “30 year line” that this comic refuses to grapple with, is that Watchmen came from an era where shit stuck; and now we’re not in that era anymore; people online praising this comic but even if it’s as good as they say, it’ll be forgotten in a year, if it makes it that long because the way our culture works now. Best case scenario: people are going to be angry about Watchmen’s influence for a longer time than they’re going to remember Peter Cannon standing up to it because something in our culture feels like it’s fucking broken. (Worst case scenario:  I get full-blown AIDS).  Or you look how angry people got watching Game of Thrones just tell an ordinary story to them instead of something that justified the 1000 hours they spent mentally worried about the politics of Planet Skeksie or whatever the fuck they were going on about... They got so mad!!! Because they just got an ordinary story and what are those worth?  Nothing!  

And some of that you chalk up to “Oh all the movies are franchises now” or you know: capitalism.  But I just... I wonder if it’s maybe that when you have a larger story that a culture’s telling itself, these smaller stories can stick more maybe.  Or to put in comics terms, Watchmen came out at a time when comics were telling a coherent story about what comics were, and where they’d come from, and where they might be headed.  And in the world generally, and in comics especially, maybe those larger stories don’t make any sense anymore.  Does the story the UK tells itself make sense after Brexit?  Does the story the US tells itself make sense after ‘16?  Especially as Watchmen itself has become a symbol of that now more than ever in comics-- Watchmen tells us a story now about comics that people don’t want to hear:  the bad guys fucking won.  And this is their world.  And people can point the finger at comicsgate or whoever else as being aberrations, but it all just seems very ... consistent.   People don’t want to hear that story-- they want to hear how you can read a bunch of old work-for-hire comics off some fucking app now-- that’s 90% of the “comics discourse” now, so... fuck it... 

If we’re in a culture where the bigger stories stop functioning, what... what then?  You know?  I don’t fucking know.  I’ve kind of started rambling there, haven’t I?  Aawwwwwfuck, sorry...

Well, anyways, now I’m going to read a Dash Shaw Clue comic.  Hahahaha!  

TLDR:  Abhay is a bathrobe guy now -- they’re like wearing a blanket!

help me help you

kurodai week day 4: bad habits!

This is an extremely foolish story written for the lovely @zombiesolace! Kuroo and Daichi are addicted to holding hands and it’s going to give Suga a coronary. Also it’s a gratuitous captain squad college AU. That’s pretty much it.

Teeth clenched around his plastic straw, Suga takes a violent sip of his iced tea as he watches the scene before him with a critical eye. Ice clatters around his cup as he creates a vacuum with his straw, but he barely registers the noise.

“This. What is this,” he demands under his breath so that only Oikawa, who’s sitting next to him, can hear. He points to Daichi standing in line at the register to pay. Kuroo is next to him, and they’re squabbling about something – how much each person’s share is probably – and they keep trying to shove bills into each other’s hands, but wind up clasping hands in a stalemate. “Holding hands again? This is like the nineteenth time. When are they going to quit making excuses and admit they just like doing it?”

“They already have?” Oikawa says around a bite of croissant.

“What.”

Oikawa raises an eyebrow, somehow radiating a mild condescension even when he cheerfully replies, “Oh, you didn’t know? They started dating a few months ago, at the beginning of junior year.”

Suga shakes his head. “No. No, I would know if one of my best friends started dating his high school rival. They’re not dating.” Yet. Three years isn’t long enough to change some things, apparently.

“Well, you know it’s been a few months since you last saw Dai-chan in person, Refreshing-kun. Things change. People change!”

“Stop your taunts. Kuroo’s been a bad influence on you,” Suga says, unimpressed. He balls up Oikawa’s napkin and flicks it right into his eyes. “No, this is Daichi being a big idiot who’s bad at feelings,” he continues as Oikawa splutters. “He should just toughen up and ask Kuroo out already.” Suga doesn’t understand how literally nothing has changed since high school; why won’t Daichi just let him help?

“I’m telling you, there’s no need because they’re already dating!”

“They’re not,” interrupts Ushijima, who sets his and Bokuto’s plates down on the table to join them. “They’re just friends,” he tells Suga calmly as he unwraps his sandwich.

“What would you know about it?” Oikawa sneers. “You couldn’t even romance a rock if you wanted to.”

Ushijima pauses to think about this for a moment, before nodding. “You’re probably right. But I know because Sawamura told me so when we were studying together last week.”

“Aha. Two against one,” Suga says triumphantly. It’s not like he would’ve changed his mind on the subject anyway, but there’s no way Ushiwaka would ever lie about something like this, so he’s got even more irrefutable evidence.

Oikawa throws his hands in the air. “Look, I don’t even know why I’m invested in this, but you’re wrong. Dai-chan must be lying. I don’t see how the fuck two people could act the way they do and not be dating.”

“Sometimes really close friends are like that though,” Bokuto pipes up. His cup is already empty somehow; Suga didn’t even see him take a single sip. “Kuroo’s already got weird boundaries from watching out for Kenma for so long.”

“Yeah, but there’s a difference! Iwa-chan puts my laundry in the wash sometimes-”

“Poor Iwaizumi,” Ushiwaka says quietly, like he’s re-evaluating everything he knows about the other ace.

“-but he never folds it for me. He just puts it in a basket and then upends it all on my head!”

“And I’m sure you deserve it, but folding someone else’s laundry is just the kind of thing Daichi would do because it annoys him to see it lying around undone. Kuroo’s pretty responsible about things like that too.”

“Okay, well, they buy each other food and drinks all the time,” Oikawa says, stabbing his hand at the two who have finally made it to the front of the line. “Just out of nowhere!”

“They’re buying me food right at this very second,” Suga counters. “And I’m definitely not part of whatever’s going on between them.”

“You’re a guest; of course someone has to treat you.” Oikawa dismisses him with a careless wave of his hand, and Suga has to remind himself it would be inappropriate to chop him across the neck.

“They’re paying for me and Waka-ushi too,” Bokuto says and now his entire plate is cleared; how on earth does he eat so fast?

“Wait- why aren’t they treating me? What the hell?” Oikawa jolts to his feet, outraged.

“According to your logic, it’s because you aren’t dating Kuroo and Sawamura the way we three are,” Ushijima says dryly, gesturing at everyone else at the table. “Sorry.”

Suga is scared for a moment he’ll have to break up a cat fight, but to his surprise Oikawa barks out a laugh and sits back down.

“Touché. But I’m sticking to my guns. They’re dating and I’ll prove it to you before the day is up.” The same frightening light that fills his eyes before he serves is present now, and Suga shivers before scooting his chair a few centimeters away.

“No, nope. No way. I know Daichi better than anyone else in existence besides Asahi, which means I’m fully qualified to say that he’s a dumbass when it comes to dating. They’re not together. As annoying as that is.”

“Oof, that’s pretty mean, Suga!” Bokuto says, and Suga shrugs.

“It’s okay. We’re best friends. Iwaizumi says stuff like this about Oikawa all the time.”

“Iwa-chan has also drop-kicked me into a foam pit, so maybe he’s not the best role-model?”

Suga stares blankly at him, confused as to what Oikawa’s trying to say. “I don’t understand- that seems like completely reasonable behavior.”

“Oi.”

“Anyway, what I’m getting at is this. Neither of them are competent enough to have admitted that they have feelings for each other; I would bet eight hundred dollars on that. Which means Daichi is just torturing himself by holding hands for no reason!”

“But that’s so dumb,” Oikawa cries, tugging at his own hair.

“You know,” Bokuto says thoughtfully, “if Suga is right...it makes me wonder if they’re even aware that they’re doing it? ”

“How could they not know?” Oikawa asks in disbelief. “You’d have to be an idiot not to know, and they’re not- okay, Dai-chan isn’t an idiot. Tettsun is an idiot by association, sometimes.”

“I think they’re kinda just used to it now. You know, since it just happens constantly. Like, they’ll be making dinner and start goofing off and playing keep away with the soy sauce, and end up grabbing hands again? Or when Daichi washes the dishes and Kuroo has to help him take the rubber gloves off…” Bokuto uses Oikawa’s hands to demonstrate, doing some romantic period piece bullshit as he mimes tugging a glove off.

“Linking arms and leaning on each other when they walk home drunk from the bar,” Ushiwaka offers. “It does all seem like a lot. But Sawamura swears they’re not dating.”

“I told you so,” Suga groans. Daichi is a disaster. Suga has no idea how he’s managed to successfully make it through two years without Suga or Asahi around to get his personal life in order. “If he had let me help him, this would have been sorted out ages ago.”

“Mm, I’m not so sure about that,” Oikawa says, eyebrows drawn together as if he doubts Suga’s capabilities. “Now, I’m not saying that you’re not a great friend, but I don’t know if your powers could do anything about this situation. If you’re even really right about them not being together.”

Suga doesn’t know how to even begin to respond to this offense. Who the hell does Oikawa think he’s talking to?

“Are you questioning my wingman skills, Oikawa-kun? I’ll have you know that not only could I single-handedly change the state of their relationship with just a few words, the only reason I haven’t done so yet is because I respect Daichi’s free will and desire to flounder around like a hopeless loon-”

This is the moment that Kuroo and Daichi manage to extricate themselves from the endless line at the register. Daichi spots Suga looking in his direction and raises his hand in a wave.

“What’s up?” he asks, smile slipping away when he notices that Suga’s making his ‘hiding something from you’ face. Dammit. Damn Suga’s wonderfully expressive face and damn Daichi’s level 100 perception. “What did you people do to Suga,” he demands of the group and then he narrows his eyes and swivels his attention back to Suga instead like he’s scented blood in the air. “No, wait a second. What did you do to these good people, you demon?”

Suga gasps and slams his empty cup on the table. The others jump in their seats. “How dare you, Sawamura Daichi? Call me, your pillar of support, one of your very best friends in the whole world, your vice-captain-”

“Disowned. I’m disowning you because I know you just did something horrible even if I can’t prove it.”

“Aw, don’t be so harsh toward Suga, Daichi,” Kuroo says, stepping in when no one else wants to get in the way of the two of them staring each other down, unblinking. “He came all this way to see you!”

He puts his food on the table and makes his way forward to take one of the seats beside Suga, but Daichi’s hand shoots forward and grabs hold of his wrist before he can advance any further. Suga’s eyes almost bug out of his face. The others sit transfixed by the scene unfolding before them.

“No, don’t sit next to him. He’s up to something,” Daichi says, tugging Kuroo back.

“I’m up to something? You! You’re- ugh, look at you!” Suga practically yells, pointing at him. “You oblivious fool!”

“Why are you yelling at me?!” He’s still grabbing onto Kuroo’s wrist as if it’s a totally normal thing to platonically hold your crush’s hand eighty-four times a day, and Suga wants to scream. Kuroo, for his part, just allows Daichi to latch onto him, looking between the two of them like he’s spectating a ping-pong match. Another fool.

“Because you deserve it.” Suga stands abruptly, almost knocking his chair backwards, and stomps toward them. He doesn’t even know what he’s planning to do, but he knows something must be done. Not because his pride as a best friend has been hurt, of course not, but because he can’t stand to see Daichi torment himself (and everyone who knows him) any longer. Maybe he’ll just smush their dumb faces together and hope it works out. From the corner of his eye, he sees Bokuto and Oikawa staring at him in open trepidation and excitement, respectively.

Kuroo’s cat instincts must tell him he’s in some kind of danger, because he startles and tries to slip away, but this results in him tripping over an uneven board in the floor and toppling backwards. He falls out of Daichi’s grasp and lands on his behind with a small “oof!” Suga stops short, and settles for glowering at him, waiting to see what happens next.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Daichi hands his tray to Ushijima, then reaches down and pulls Kuroo back to his feet. Suga feels like his soul is transcending from his body when he sees their hands clasped together again. But nothing happens beyond Daichi helping to dust Kuroo off and sending a reproachful look in Suga’s direction.

“If you want to fight Kuroo, do it after lunch. You both get cranky on an empty stomach,” he says, and Suga almost socks him in the jaw.

“Okay, why don’t you take a seat, Suga?” Bokuto says, suddenly standing at his side. He plants one broad hand on Suga’s back and ‘helps’ him back to his seat, out of punching range. Daichi sits warily down beside him, and Suga tries to get his exasperation back under control, but it must still be showing on his face because Daichi won’t stop staring.

“What? What is that face, stop that,” he says, waving his chopsticks toward Suga’s head.

“I’m not making a face!”

“You are making like five faces; don’t tell me you’re not trying to do something terrible to my life-”

“I would never-”

“You liar, I’m calling Asahi to come take you home before you can start your trickery.”

“Asahi isn’t going to drive three hours just to come pick me up because you’re a paranoid weirdo! He has things to do!”

“He’s probably just eating cookies and reading a book! Getting some fresh air would be good for him!”

“Don’t be horrible, Daichi; he had a big test today! It’s the reason he couldn’t come visit this weekend!”

“Okay, I’m not getting between that. Those two are terrifying,” Suga hears Kuroo saying quietly to Bokuto as he scuttles around to the other side of the table.

“Karasuno,” the rest murmur in unison as some kind of agreement.

“Why do you keep looking over at Kuroo?” Daichi hisses so only Suga can hear as the others return to eating and pretending to ignore them.

“Oh, I don’t know, why do you keep holding hands with him?” Suga whispers fiercely back, and Daichi pales.

“Do I?” He stares at his hand in horror, like he wasn’t aware of his own limb’s machinations.

“Okay, that’s enough. You’re sending me to an early grave.” Turning to his other hosts, he smiles sweetly and tells them, “Excuse us for a minute. We have some important Karasuno business to discuss.” And he drags Daichi outside.

Oikawa watches them go with a shake of his head, and then turns his attention to Kuroo, who is now the focus of the group.

“What? What did I do?” Kuroo asks, glancing at each of them. He taps his straw against the rim of his cup, bouncing caramel syrup and whipped cream off the edge. “I didn’t eat the last of your milk bread, no matter what Bo says. The oatmeal was me, though. And the rice crackers.”

This admission causes Oikawa to pause with his hands in midair, about to accompany his words with some appropriately dramatic gestures. “Okay. Let’s table that discussion for now – but don’t think for a second I’m forgetting about it – and talk about your issues instead.”

“What issues? I have no issues. I’m a cool cat, right?” Kuroo directs this question toward Ushiwaka, who gives him the Ushiwaka equivalent of a flat stare. Which means he just looks him regular-like.

“What you are is a strange human.”

“Ouch,” Kuroo says. “That actually feels kind of hurtful, somehow, coming from you.”

“Ushiwaka-chan’s sick burns aside, we really need to talk about your...how do I put this. Your addiction? How does that sound?” Oikawa asks the table. He receives two approving nods back.

“Addiction? What are you guys talking about?” Kuroo laughs around his straw, clearly not taking their concerns seriously. Oikawa sighs and dangles his hand in front of Bokuto, who dutifully laces his fingers with Oikawa’s, and bats his lashes for good measure.

“I’m talking about this, Tettsun,” Oikawa says, gesturing at their grasp with his free hand. “This nonsense, right here. ‘Oh, Daichi, you got a letter in the mail today! Let me gently caress your wrist while handing it to you, because that’s totally normal.’ Who do you think you’re fooling?”

Kuroo stops chewing his straw, letting it dangle stupidly at the edge of his mouth. “Okay, wait-”

Bokuto clears his throat before pitching his voice into an almost accurate imitation of Kuroo. “‘Oh, Daichi, those groceries look so heavy, why don’t you let me help you? Whoops, haha, looks like we’re holding hands again, what are the odds?’”

“‘Oh, Daichi, you forgot to put on hand cream again,’” Ushiwaka starts, trying and failing to use a Kuroo voice, which adds an extra layer to the mockery, Oikawa thinks. “‘Let me help you with that, extensively, right in the middle of the doorway of the apartment so that our roommates can’t leave home for the next ten minutes because we’re talking up the whole hallway.’ Sorry,” he says when the rest of them turn to stare at him. “I guess that was annoying me more than I thought.”

“What do you have to say for yourself? Explain!” Oikawa points accusingly right at Kuroo’s face, but he doesn’t expect the other boy to bury his face in his hands.

“Oh my god, I don’t know, I can’t stop doing it! I know it’s stupid but he has such nice hands, and such a cute face. Everything about Daichi is cute; it’s like black magic or something. Am I possessed? Fuck, I might be, but I physically cannot stop myself. You have to help me,” Kuroo demands, grabbing Oikawa by the shoulders. “I don’t know what to do.” He begins shaking Oikawa like a magic 8 ball. Ouch.

“First of all, start by not killing your bros!” Bokuto slowly pries Kuroo’s fingers off Oikawa’s neck and forces him to hold hands with himself, almost jamming Kuroo’s knuckles while doing so. Oikawa can feel his brains returning to their pre-mushed state, though he’s got a slight headache now. “Huh, this might work for your other problem too,” he says, moving Kuroo’s joined hands to the tabletop so Ushiwaka and Oikawa can see. “If you’re holding hands with yourself, you’ll leave Daichi alone.”

“...there’s something unpleasant about this solution,” Kuroo says with a pout.

“Is it the fact that it makes you look sad, or is it because you don’t actually want to leave Sawamura alone?”

Oikawa is pretty sure Ushiwaka didn’t intend any of that sentence as an insult, but Kuroo deflates further anyway, before saying, “Both?”

It’s starting to look like Sugawara might have been right about the state of Daichi and Kuroo’s relationship, and while the thought of admitting defeat to the other setter grates on Oikawa, he also has the decency to put his friends’ needs first, so it’s in this moment, right here, looking at Kuroo pathetically clasping his own hand, that he decides he’s going to help his darling, idiot friends get together. It’s been long enough. Besides, if they’re dating by the end of the day, then Oikawa can technically prove himself right to Suga. Not that that’s why he’s doing this.

“Then we’ll have to take a different route. It’s time, hopeless-at-love-Kuroo-san, for you to graduate to the ranks of people who no longer wallow alone on Valentine’s Day. It’s time for you to finally win Dai-chan’s heart!”

“Don’t worry, needs-to-just-spit-it-out-already-Kuroo-san, we’ve got you,” Bokuto says, full of even more confidence than Oikawa is. “With us on your side, you’ll be dating in no time. Right, Ushiwaka?”

“I don’t know what help I can give uselessly-pining-Kuroo-san, but I support your valiant endeavor.”

“Can you all stop channeling Akaashi for five seconds and tell me what the plan actually is?”

Oikawa’s smile is full of grace and pity. “Here’s where we’ll start. When Suga finally lets your beloved return to us, let him know you’d like to speak to him alone for a few minutes as we’re headed back home. Then the rest of us will make ourselves scarce.”

Bokuto leans forward on his elbows, excitement pouring forth from him in a wave. He’s in the process of devouring some pickles Ushiwaka left behind on his plate. “Oh, trying to get some one-on-one time for the big moment, huh? Awesome start.”

But Kuroo remains unconvinced. “Oikawa, we’ve been alone together a million times before. That’s a million times I never managed to confess. How’s this time going to be any different?”

“Tettsun, the difference is us, of course. Now listen to me-”

Before Oikawa can delve into the next genius step of his six-step plan, Daichi comes stalking back in with that straight-backed, avenging angel kind of walk he does sometimes.

“Ah, Dai-chan,” Oikawa starts, trying to figure out how to banish him until they’re ready. He glances quickly around to see if Suga is following behind, because he’s probably the only person who can keep Daichi at bay for an extended period of time, but he’s lagging behind, looking both nervous and giddy about something. “Could you do me a favor? I need-”

“Sorry, Oikawa, can it wait just a minute?” Daichi flashes him a quick smile, the kind that acts like instant relief for a case of the jitters, before his expression grows serious again. And kind of dark, if you ask Oikawa.

With all eyes on him, Daichi stops in front of Kuroo, sharply takes a deep breath, and reaches out a hand. Kuroo takes hold of it like a Pavlovian reaction, gaze never leaving Daichi because he’s that far gone on him - and Oikawa feels like this moment alone is enough for him to justify his mistaken understanding of their relationship status - and says, “Hey.”

Hey. No wonder he’s never managed to confess.

Daichi doesn’t much mind though, because he makes that horrible, sappy face that only Kuroo can bring out in him, and responds, “Hey,” as well.

Oikawa doesn’t know if he loves or hates this.

“How can I be of service?” Kuroo asks, leaning on his palm, with his other hand still resting on Daichi’s, because they’re both weird as fuck.

“It’s a tall order, and I’m not sure if you have the time to deal with all of it right now.”

“Oh, Daichi, I can always make time for you,” Kuroo says, as if he’s smooth, even though he literally has whipped cream in his hair.

“Yeah, you’re reliable that way. Except for that time you left me stranded at the train station.”

“My bike was broken! You can’t ride tandem on a bike with no handlebars!”

“You had that old skateboard, didn’t you?”

“Even I’m not clever enough to figure out how to give someone a ride home on a skateboard.”

“You could have rolled me home.” Daichi’s straight face doesn’t slip for a second.

“Ahem.” Suga clears his throat noisily from where he’s hovering a yard or two away from the table. The eye contact he makes with Daichi is significantly judgmental.

“Right,” Daichi mumbles, before turning back to Kuroo to say, “Kuroo, I think you should consider dating me.”

It’s said so casually that no one besides Suga even registers what he says for the first second, until Kuroo stumbles on his words, asking, “W-wait, what was that?”

Daichi’s face is slowly turning pink, but he remains resolute, and says with chilling calm, “Yeah, I know there are a lot of factors to take into account, so I thought I could list out some, um, benefits? To you? Number one-”

Suga makes a displeased noise. Oikawa accidentally breathes in some of his own saliva.

“-I’m pretty handy around the house. I’m good at fixing things and I can follow recipes well. I mean, you probably already knew these things – we live together – but there are other perks too! Like, uh. I can help you neaten up your room?”

“This isn’t a job interview, Daichi,” Suga grumbles so quietly that Oikawa thinks he’s imagining it at first. Normally, he’d be ready with a gibe too, but he’s too engrossed in the proceedings to say anything.

“My room is kind of messy,” Kuroo says in a daze. It’s almost certain that he doesn’t even realize he just spoke. Ushiwaka’s eyes keep flickering back and forth between Kuroo and Daichi, unsure as to who he should be concentrating on. There’s still a pickle in Bokuto’s hands that hasn’t moved any closer to his mouth since Daichi returned.

“Not as bad as Bokuto’s, but yeah, you did lose an entire stick of dango in your bed once,” Daichi reminds him. “Okay, number two. I- I give good hugs. At least, my siblings say I do. So, you know, if you’re in need of some comforting, I’m your guy!” When Kuroo just nods blankly at him, still too mesmerized to understand that he needs to be an active participant in this conversation as well, Daichi coughs and moves quickly on. “Um, number three. I already laugh at most of your jokes, which is probably like 30% more than the average person, so you know. You should probably lock this down because your stats aren’t going to get much better.”

A small ball of paper bounces off Kuroo’s hair, startling him into doing something other than staring mutely at Daichi’s face. It came from Suga’s direction.

“Ahem,” Suga tries again, this time making meaningful eye contact with Kuroo, who shakes himself out of his stupor, finally grasping what’s happening right now. And Oikawa has only just realized that he and Daichi are still holding hands.

Daichi is starting to count off his fingers on his free hand as he tries to scrounge up more benefits. “Four, uh. My secret talent is making the vending machine give out an extra can, so if you like soft drinks-”

“I love...soft drinks,” Kuroo practically shouts now that his senses have returned. His fingers clench convulsively around Daichi’s. “You’re- they’re delicious and fizzy, so uh, let’s do this. Please date m- I mean, yes, I’d be happy to go out with you. You have very convincing reasons. A lot of strong points. Good job.”

“Thank you,” Daichi says automatically, before he really parses that Kuroo has given him an answer. “Oh, wait, seriously? Are we dating now?”

“Yes,” Kuroo replies quickly. “We very much are. It’s official. Congratulations.”

“Not the smoothest of confessions, but there you go. Mission accomplished,” Suga says to himself.

“Are you- do you work for an interview panel?” Ushiwaka asks Kuroo, obviously wondering why all his friends are the way that they are.

“No! This is just how I get when I haven’t finished processing yet!” Kuroo snaps at him, tugging Daichi forward. “A lot just happened in the last minute! The least I can do is be polite about it!”

Ushiwaka nods, as if that made any sense whatsoever, and says, “Oh, then congratulations from me as well. You’ll be very happy together. I say this because I assume your relationship will remain exactly the way it was before.”

“There might be more hugging?” Bokuto says. His pickle has ascended a few inches closer to his lips.

“More everything, probably, but that’s something you two can work out for yourselves.” Suga cheerfully approaches Kuroo’s chair and shoves at his shoulders until he stands, and then herds them away toward the door. “Good work, we’re very happy for you both; why don’t you go on ahead and we can meet you make at the apartment later. Take your first walk in the park together as boyfriends. Maybe even hold hands or something. Goodbye.” He keeps patting at their backs until they’re out of the cafe. And then he spins around and points triumphantly at Oikawa. “You dared to question my skills? How naive, Oikawa-kun.”

“What the- how did you do that? What did you say to him?”

“I told you, didn’t I? I know Daichi better than anyone. Never doubt me again.”

“Witchcraft,” Oikawa spits. “You’re a witch; it’s the only explanation.”

“Maybe so,” Suga says with a laugh, and how Oikawa ever mistook him for a kind, energetic young man is a complete mystery. “Anyway, we couldn’t cure them of their problem, but at least now there’s a good reason for it. So where are we going next? Now that Daichi has chosen love over friendship and abandoned me-”

“That’s your own fault!”

“-you guys are in charge of entertaining me for the rest of the day!”

After that chipper declaration, Oikawa is sorely tempted to abandon him too, but Bokuto waves his hands brightly around and shouts, “Oh! Let’s do karaoke! I know a place.” Even Ushiwaka nods along.

“That sounds fun! I’ll be sure to defeat Oikawa-kun there as well.” Suga beams at him, then goes to help Ushijima clean off the table, already chattering away about the songs they’re going to sing.

Oikawa grits his teeth. No damn way is he going to lose to Suga again, in karaoke, or anything. Refreshing-kun is going down.

@bornhybrid - Part 1 of 3 because this practically wrote itself and it was way too long for one post...

"I left you two alone for five minutes! You cannot be this bad all the time! Are you really that incapable of being civil with each other for a short time?!"

He and Aryan had only been stopping in at the compound on their way to lunch. Toren had wanted to grab a few things from his grandfather's place that he had left behind last time, so he'd left his father talking to Klaus while he quickly went up to his old room to get them. He should have known better. He'd heard the crashing, and had hurried back down to find his father and grandfather trying to rip each other apart. Toren wouldn't say it was unheard of for Klaus and Aryan to go for each other, but this had escalated much quicker than usual. He was now glaring between them as he magically forced them to sit at opposite ends of the room, glowering at each other.

"What happened?"

"The vermin that you call a father suggested some very unsavoury things about myself and your aunt. I was merely correcting him," Klaus sneered.

Toren's magical ability was tested as Aryan tried to leap across the room at Klaus for being called vermin, but his power held strong, and he scowled at his father, looking for his explanation.

"Sir High and Mighty over there deserved what he got," Aryan spat, choosing not to tell his son what Klaus had said to get such a rise out of him. He didn't need to know just how little his grandfather thought of his father. "Let me go Toren!"

Toren massaged his temples with a sigh, silently wishing he'd been born into a family that actually liked each other. He had to deal with more than enough of this with his pack, he really didn't want to be playing peacekeeper with his family too right now.

"Does mum know you two are so petty?"

"...Yes," both men answered grudgingly.

"So do you think perhaps it would be a nice surprise for her if you two could actually get along?"

"We're not children Little Wolf, you won't get us to play nice just because it would make mummy smile," Klaus huffed.

"Oh you're not children? Could have fooled me!"

"You know, we wouldn't be in this mess if you had cleaned the dirt of your face," Aryan grumbled.

"How is it my beard's fault that you goaded grandad into a fight?"

"I would have been in a better mood to take his bullocks," Aryan said simply, inspecting the bite marks on his arm with a grimace. "Feral mutt."

"Don't make me add more, boy," Klaus growled threateningly as Toren crossed the room to drain a cut on his hand into a glass for the Original. Aryan had left him with a few nasty burns and gashes. "Thank you, Little Wolf."

"I'm bigger than all of you," Toren grumbled at the nickname his mother and grandfather had so lovingly redesignated to him, moving to his father to deal with his dislocated shoulder. "Physically and moralistically apparently. Ready?"

Aryan groaned in pain as his son, perhaps rougher than necessary, popped his shoulder back into place before heading over to the dining table and sitting down.

"Right. I'm going to let you both go now. You are not going to attack each other. You are both going to apologise and shake hands. You are then going to sit down next to each other, and I, as the only adult in the room, am going to mediate your conversation as you talk about what's upsetting you so that next time you see each other, this doesn't happen. Got it?"

"We don't need marriage counselling Toren," Aryan muttered.

"What? You scared of something?" Klaus challenged, immediately lighting Aryan's eyes up with gold.

"Enough," Toren growled, lifting his magic from them both. "Come on. Shake hands."

"Do you always let your son push you around?" Klaus asked Aryan as they shook hands. From the way both their knuckles were turning white, and the distinct sounds of cracking, Toren was fairly certain they were each trying to crush the other's hand. No, definitely not children.

"Would you like to test him?" Aryan grumbled pointedly. Toren had definitely filled out since his teenage years. He was quite the hulking figure these days, and with Aryan and Hope both doing their best to make sure their kids knew how to use the full extent of their powers, Toren wasn't one to screw with. Not when he was annoyed at least.

"That's not an apology, Grandpa."

"You're right, Little Wolf. Norman, I'm sorry... that I didn't kill you when I had the chance."

Banging his head on the table was far less painful than trying to deal with Aryan and Klaus' ridiculous feud right now. To Aryan's credit, he managed not to get physically violent at the old nickname, so that was something at least, though Toren wondered if he'd have been so controlled if Aryan actually understood the reference... Best not to let him know.

"Grandpa please..."

"Fine. I'm sorry I bit you, and tried to rip off your arm, and... everything else I did," Klaus said, his tone suggesting apologising was causing him more pain than the injuries Aryan had delivered upon him.

"I'm sorry I burned you... and stabbed you," Aryan muttered through gritted teeth.

"That was so much harder than it should have been," Toren sighed. "Sit."

When they let go of each other's hands, Toren could see the way they were bent out of shape.

"Really? Do you feel better now that your hand's broken?" he asked waspishly.

"I feel better now that his hand's broken," Aryan clarified, shifting the bones back into place like he did it every day.

"This is ridiculous! What's wrong with you two?! You've been family for a century! How have you not put your arguments aside yet?!" Because they were both as stubborn, possessive and paranoid as each other, no doubt. "You can't keep doing this."

"It's not like we haven't tried before Toren. It just doesn't work."

"You haven't tried! All you've both ever done is agreed to put your arguments on hold for mum. That's not actually trying to get along, that's just ignoring the problem. I am not going to let you ignore it any more. The doctor is in."

"Oh, no. No, Toren, if I wanted to talk to a psych, a real one, I'd have done it already. We're not doing-"

"I do not feel that your father respects me as the father of his wife," Klaus declared, leaning back in his seat with a smug smirk on his face as he watched Aryan flounder for an excuse not to start sharing with the class.

"Are you kidding me?!" Aryan snapped. "All I ever used to do was show you respect! I got nothing back! So yeah, I don't show you much any more, because I've never seen it from you!"

"Why would I show you respect? The Prince of Hell swoops in, steals my daughter, sods off and breaks her heart, then appears again years later to knock her up. Would you show that kid respect?"

"I. Didn't. Have. A. Choice," Aryan asserted through gritted teeth. "And I didn't steal your daughter. I became her friend. Then I became her boyfriend. And by the way, if it weren't for me, you wouldn't have known she was having trouble at school, she wouldn't have had anyone she could relate to through all her magic troubles, and you know, I seem to recall me being the one to convince her to show her face again after her car accident. I do regret the pregnancy though, because if it hadn't happened, we wouldn't be here!"

"Well I feel loved," Toren muttered sarcastically.

"All I have ever done is tried to make Hope happy. I don't understand why you refuse to see that. I have given her everything!"

"I don't understand why you refuse to see that no matter what you do, you won't be good enough for her," Klaus replied simply. "You've got kids. Haven't you felt that for them?"

"Wow. I finally see what Elijah means," Toren mused as he watched the two of them bicker. "It's uncanny. You're practically twins."

"Shut up Toren!" Aryan huffed.

"He's not wrong. I've said it for a long time."

"You too!" Aryan snapped, pushing himself to his feet. "I'm not doing this."

"Why don't you like being like grandad? He's strong, and powerful, and all the things you seem to value."

“It’s not that simple Toren. It’s just not,” Aryan snapped. “You want to know what else your grandfather is? He's a dictator, he's paranoid, he's short tempered, and he's a bloody coward!"

"And now the gloves come off," Klaus growled, rising to his feet and advancing on Aryan again. "I'll allow you a few last words to say goodbye to your son."

"Take one more step and I will boil you from the inside," Aryan said, deathly calm. "Listen, you ego-inflated nut job, your first reaction to any problem that ever presents itself is to run away from it. Your bark is a thousand times worse than your bite, because you never just bloody well go for it. You hide behind 'mastermind plans' or whatever to hide the fact you're still a scared little boy still afraid of being hit by daddy."

Klaus snarled, eyes turning yellow and growing dark veins beneath as he bared his fangs, but Toren was in between them again before he could touch Aryan.

"Oh my, did I hit a nerve?" Aryan asked, innocent tone dripping in condescension as Toren struggled with Klaus. "Thank you for proving my point."

"Dad! How is that helping?!"

"Oh, no, you're right, it's definitely not." There was a distinct air of satisfaction in Aryan's voice.

"Right, you know what? I'm done with you both."

In the blink of an eye, Toren had flashed behind Klaus to break his neck. Aryan jumped in shock, watching with some amount of amusement as Klaus dropped to the ground.

"Toren, it's good to see you're taking my-"

"Sorry Dad."

Aryan yelled as pain split across his head, dropping him to his knees before he pitched forward, the pain blacking him out.

"I'm sick of you too."​

Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. - 4x08 - Laws of Inferno Dynamics (QuakeRider)

Mace: Press is everywhere on this. We can’t afford to be seen working with Daisy or Reyes. I mean, he’s a vigilante killer.

Coulson: It’s a little more complicated than that, but yes. He’s also nearly unstoppable and he’s on our side.

Mace: And what happens when he’s not?

Coulson: Then we deal with him. But right now the reality is this: Eli Morrow just wiped out an entire S.H.I.E.L.D. Tac team with a few shards of carbon that he created out of thin air.

May: And that’s just what we’ve seen. What else is he capable of?

Coulson: We need the big guns on this one and Yo-Yo, Daisy and Reyes are the biggest guns we have.

*****************************************************************

Robbie: Yo, I’m not wearing a mask, man.

Mack: It’s not a mask. It’s a balaclava.

Robbie: I thought that was a dessert.

Mack: What? No, man--Look, never mind. Director just wants you to keep a low profile, there’s a lot of media out here.

Robbie: I don’t answer to him. 

Mack: No, you don’t. The guy you answer to is a lot more unforgiving.

Robbie: Yeah, well, you know a little something about that now, down’t you?

Mack: Well, hopefully when all this is over he won’t be anyone’s boss anymore.

Robbie: Amen to that, brother.

Coulson: All good?

Mack: Yeah. Robbie’s on his way to Daisy and Yo-Yo’s already with her.

**********************************************************************

Yo-Yo: Here comes burning man.

Daisy: Any life on your side?

Robbie: No. You sure Eli’s in there?

Coulson (on earpiece): Well, lets find out. Assault team you have a go.

Daisy: Copy. Breaching now.

Robbie: Looks all clear to me, which means it isn’t.

Yo-Yo: I hear something. Water running.

Daisy: Can you do a little recon up ahead?

Yo-Yo: Well, that depends. If recon means look around, sure.

Daisy: Yo-Yo!

Robbie: You like playing with fire, Eli? Lets play.

************************************************************************

Daisy: Anything on Robbie?

Coulson: No. His camera’s all glitchy. the feed keeps cutting in and out.

Daisy: Going through the fire probably didn’t help. Oh, hang on, we got something.

Robbie: Is this thing on? Anyone seeing this?

Thug 1: We do.

Robbie: What the...?

************************************************************************

Gemma: No, no, no, don’t go in there.

Fitz: Robbie? His comms must be fried.

*************************************************************************

Eli: Don’t touch that.

Coulson: Eli.

Eli: You don’t belong here, Robbie. Go home, please.

Robbie: I will. Once you’re dead.

Daisy: What the hell just happened?

Coulson: Robbie’s down.

Daisy: I’m going in.

Coulson: Daisy, wait. You realize we’re trying to hide you from the press, right?

Daisy: A, I don’t care. B, that wasn’t me.

***********************************************************************

Eli: Guess I’m not the only one with a secret. Between the radioactive plutonium and the quantum energy fields bombarding you and the carbon spike...a normal person would have been dead 10 times over but...I guess you’re not normal, are you?

Robbie: Come closer. I’ll show you what I am.

Eli: I heard stories in prison--whispers of a demon, Ghost Rider. My own nephew? How?

Robbie: It was ‘cause of you. The night of the drive-by, they were trying to kill you, for things you’ve done.

Eli: No, it was the Bauers, Joe and Lucy. They started this! They lied.

Robbie: You think I give a rat’s ass about any of that? Bunch of scientists fighting over some stupid book? All the killing, the bodies, the lives destroyed.

Eli: I never meant for any of this to happen, Robbie. I never wanted to hurt you.

Robbie: We trusted you, Tio -- Gabe and me. We loved you like a father...and you tore it all apart.

Eli: I know.

Robbie: Why? Why’d you do it? Become a killer?

Eli: Well, I guess it runs in the family.

Robbie: You had a PhD. You had us. You had a good job.

Eli: A good job? Those gueros at Momentum thought they were better, like they were smarter. The condescension in their eyes...They got what they deserved. 

Robbie: You had to get vengeance.

Eli: Not vengeance--respect! You have no idea how hard I worked every day of my life. To claw my way, just to get in that damn door. Sure, I made mistakes, like any kid. And I paid for them. But it didn’t matter. From high school to grad school, no one believed in me! They thought I was cheating. they thought I wasn’t capable! Shut me out. Well, guess what -- guess what I’m capable of now. I can create a city out of nothing or I can cover it in volcanic rock. Robbie...I am becoming a god.

Robbie: You better be. Because the devil is coming for you.

Eli: Remember, I gave you a chance to leave. Whatever happens next...is on you.

*******************************************************************

Eli: See this? This is water.

Robbie: Wow. I’m so impressed.

Eli: Yeah, I forgot, you weren’t very good at science. See, water’s not a base element, it’s a compound. Not just any compound. It’s the next step in the evolution of my power. Creating life. 

Coulson: You know, you might want to get a girlfriend first. Sorry to be the one to break it to you, Eli, but you’re not a god. Turns out, you’re still just a petty thief.

Thug #1: We found him outside.

Thug #2: No gun on him, just this.

Eli: Agent Coulson. You should be dead.

Coulson: I get that a lot. Never gets old, though. Means I’m still here.

Eli: How? I watched you get vaporized. 

Coulson: Just the fact that you’re asking ‘how’ shows how little you know about what happened. Or what’s about to.

Eli: I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a threat. Either way, not a good idea.

Coulson: Robbie, can you hear me? How could you do that to your own nephew?

Eli: You know he’s more than that. What he’s capable of...

Robbie: I’m still standing, Coulson, but it’s like when we were in the other place. Something’s pulling at me.

Coulson: He’s dying in there. We need to get him out.

Eli: What does he mean, ‘other place’?

Coulson: You ever heard of the Law of Conversation of Mass?

Eli: Of course I have. I have a damn PhD in engineering.

Coulson: Oh, right, sorry. then you know matter can’t be created or destroyed.

Eli: Except I’ve proven it’s not true. I’m rewriting the laws of nature.

Coulson: Yeah, but you’re drunk on power, or drinking your own kool-aid or drunk on powerade, I don’t know.The point is you’re not creating energy, Eli, you’re stealing it.

Eli: Stealing it? From where?

Coulson: Remember when you thought I was dead? i was actually right in front of you trapped between dimensions. Ask Robbie, he was there. 

Robbie: It’s true.

Coulson: Right now Robbie’s feeling the pull from that other place because he’s trapped in a box with a bunch of quantum energy that doesn’t belong here and it sure as hell doesn’t belong to you. Thus, thief.

Eli: You’re lying.

Coulson: No, it gets worse. Every time you steal quantum energy it causes a seismic rift. The more you take the bigger the quake. Which causes a problem ‘cause, you know, plutonium!

Robbie: Listen to him, Tio. You don’t want to drag them down with you.

Eli: You know how hard I had to work to get here? To achieve what I’ve achieved! And you’re calling me a thief? A fraud?

Coulson: Eli, wake up. Don’t you see what’s happening? Don’t let your ego blind you to the truth.

Eli: What you call truth, Agent Coulson, I call theory.

Coulson: That bomb goes off, everyone dies! You included.

Eli: You’re wrong! Darkhold has shown me the way. I can create life even after death. Can a petty thief do that, huh?

Coulson: That bomb isn’t a fail-safe is it? It’s your end game.

Eli: It’s not my end. It’s yours.

Coulson: Uh, guys? We gotta go.

****************************************************************

Coulson: Robbie, I need you to fight! Get out of that box.

Robbie: We had a deal. Lets finish it.

Coulson: All teams, go hot.

Coulson: Robbie!

*******************************************************************

Daisy: We need to get this to Gabe. It belongs to him now.

Coulson: I wouldn’t count out the previous owner just yet.

Daisy: Do you think Robbie will make it back?

Coulson: The last Ghost Rider did.

Daisy: Wait a minute--wait--what?

Coulson: Long story. Regardless, I don’t think we’ve seen the last of Mr. Reyes.

Chapter 11

A Cleverly-Titled Chapter About Fish

“And now that I know something’s afoot and someone needs help, how can I not assist?”

“Don’t go out when it might rain, Basil.” Basil clung to Aurora’s back as he pulled his hood up over him, ignoring the numb chill already seeping into his fingertips and toes. “You’ve got to stay inside, Basil. Do they think I’m still a child? I’m old enough to shave!” He ran a gloved hand over his smooth chin and frowned. “Eventually. Twenty is an adult by any standard! I know exactly what I’m doing out here. Don’t I, Aurora?” Aurora didn’t make any reply as she ambled out into the woods, leaving behind the clearing housing the cottage, chicken coop, stable and garden. The air around it shimmered from the magical aura of heat his fairy godmothers maintained around it, and some part of him longed to return to it already. The sun hid behind fat gray clouds, making the dense forest just a bit chillier. The weather around the Blue Forest was warmer than it had been in his father’s mountain kingdom, but it was temperamental. Spring warmth occasionally lapsed back into the dreary, dank showers of late winter. On that day cooler winds blew through the valley, shaking the evergreen branches and forcing Basil to pull his scarf around his face. “I love them, really! But if they had their way, I’d be sitting around all day in a hothouse like a pampered rose. What sort of adventurer can only go out when the weather’s fair? It isn’t as if I’ll immediately freeze to death just from getting a little cold water on me.” He rested his chin on the back of the bear’s broad head. “And now that I know something’s afoot and someone needs help, how can I not assist?” This time there was a deep groan from the bear’s throat, though Basil knew she was probably reacting to the beehive he steered past with insistent nudges. “Now, now. While I’m sure they’d appreciate a gift of honeycomb, Grandmother Violet said there’s a trick to that involving boiling water. And you’d eat it all. But let’s pretend you were agreeing with me. There’s got to be something we can do about that Green Witch situation, don’t you think?” Aurora snuffled. “Something…” Basil sighed. His godmothers had agreed to look into the ‘Green Witch’ problem, but neither one had heard of such an entity. There was only so much they could do, and he knew it. They were pooling their magic and energy into keeping him warm and safe. That was the worst part. He was the reason they couldn’t go about granting wishes. They were still bound to him. “If it wasn’t for this stupid curse…hey! Hey, Aurora!” He tugged at the reins that hung loosely from Aurora’s mouth, but the riding bear didn’t listen as she diverged sharply from the overgrown forest path. “We’re going to the G. Chulainn cottage. You know the way! Don’t be stubborn!” The bear ignored him, padding along towards the sound of running water. Basil sighed, hopping off to walk alongside her and slowing her gait with a tug. “Okay, okay! We’ll go to the river first. As if you don’t eat enough at home.” He patted her hide. “Still making up for the winter, old girl?” He remembered days and nights spent indoors, doing monotonous stretches to keep himself in shape and hovering near the fire, and shuddered. “Don’t blame you.” Aurora plodded towards the banks of the seemingly unnamed river that cut through the Blue Forest like a vein, no doubt with fish on her mind. As the two neared the clearing in the trees Basil caught sight of a hulking figure stooping on the banks and a familiar voice spouting the occasional unfamiliar word in a context that suggested a curse. “Oh, Ezra!” Basil felt strangely apprehensive about seeing the giant again, though Ezra had been nothing but kind to him the previous night. But there was always the sense that the condescension someone that big and strong had to feel towards diminutive Basil had to be there somewhere behind Ezra’s fidgeting and aside glances. Still, Prince Charming was never a snob. Ezra startled and turned around, once again giving Basil a bit of an odd stare before speaking. “Your Highness!” He stood up, overalls rather soaked with mud and a large pot in his hand. “I take it you made it home safe? I was a little worried when you took off at such a late-well, early hour. And with the wolves and all…” Was he being treated like a fragile little thing again? And after he’d been the one to save this giant from those same wolves! Basil tossed his braid. “Ha! Wolves are no match for me. Or Aurora,” he amended. “Since I was mostly asleep on the ride back and all. What are you doing out here by the river?” “I’m fishing.” Basil paused, glancing down at that pot. It was damp but empty, and a little muddy. Ezra seemed to catch onto Basil’s confusion, blushing and frowning. “It’s a river, it has fish. I’m catching fish!” “With a pot?” “I-I don’t know how it’s done, alright?” Ezra set the pot on the ground and sat down next to it, right into the mud of the riverbank. “I’ve seen pictures of something with a string on a stick, and nets. I have no net but assumed anything that can be used to catch something would do…” Basil had to bite hard onto his lip to keep from laughing. A prince never laughed at the ignorance of others, especially outsiders. Instead he marched over to the river, Aurora at his side, and patted Ezra on the arm. “Fear not, my friend! I’ll teach you how.” Ezra lowered his head with a relieved sigh, face still a dark red. He raised a brow. “Do royals fish often?” “My family in the palace certainly wouldn’t fish! Except for leisure, I suppose. But here in the woods if one wants trout, one must catch it.” Basil couldn’t contain a big grin on his face this time. “You’ve really never seen anyone fish?” “There aren’t any rivers or lakes in the Sky Islands. The water circulates through the Clouds and wells up, but there aren’t any little things swimming around in it. Thank the Sun and Moon both.” Ezra shuddered in disgust. “Fresh fish is too much trouble to import even for the masked Merchants, so all we get is salted and dried fish. And it’s very expensive. But!” He gestured towards the river. “Here you get it for free! I suppose if you can find one…” “Ah, yes! The woods are abundant in the spring and summer.” Basil crouched by the riverbank and peered into the clear running water as Aurora waded right in. “Personally I don’t know how the rest of my family stands it, sitting around letting someone else serve them food drenched in sauces and salt.” “It’s a luxury.” Ezra was now resting with his elbows on his knees, watching Basil with a more relaxed look. “A mark of importance. It means you’re noteworthy enough to have food prepared especially for you to the standards of an expert chef. Or a baker, like me. I mean, I assume that’s the case?” Basil regarded him for a moment and then gave an exaggerated shrug, making it as clear as possible how little need he had for ‘luxuries.’ “Whenever I visit I always leave those feasts with a stomachache and a desire for simple fresh bread. Although it is nice seeing everyone. There’s a sort of community to it all that…” Wait, what was Basil going on about? He prided himself in how well he enjoyed his rustic forest life. He was absolutely fine, and wasn’t going to show signs otherwise in front of others. “Well,” he added, a bit louder than he intended, “it’s just not for me.” Ezra blinked and frowned again. “Come to think of it, why do you live out here instead of in your family’s palace? Isn’t it safer there? I mean, you are royalty, and…” Perhaps Ezra realized he’d said something wrong by the glare Basil shot him on instinct. Safer? What need did Basil have of safety? Prince Charming didn’t hide behind walls and adorn herself in jewels, did she? The chilly wind bit at Ezra’s fingers and the numb feeling crept to his wrists. He hugged his chest for a second until it passed. Prince Charming was also humble, and Basil had to remind himself again as he bit his thumbnail and took a deep breath. His smile came back, though perhaps his tone was a little too cocky. “Ha! And ha again at ‘safer.’ Just because I’m a human doesn’t mean I need to be hidden away!” “I didn’t mean it that way, Highness!” “And just because I can’t snap a tree branch in two doesn’t mean…” Basil caught himself, clearing his throat. “My apologies. That was unbecoming of me. I live here for my health. The fresh air is good for me.” That was a gross simplification of his situation, but it wasn’t untrue. A palace in the mountains was no place for someone in his condition. “I never said you were weak,” Ezra mumbled. “I…sorry, I’m doing rather poorly at conversation today. Can we get to the fishing?” “Right, of course.” Basil, trying hard not to dwell on how he’d managed to run his own mouth, whistled to Aurora and signaled her with a swooping hand motion. Aurora didn’t need to be told twice. She waited until just the right moment before she slapped a fish right out of the river onto the bank. It flopped around helplessly. When Ezra saw it he jumped to his feet and stumbled back, staring as if he worried it might explode. “Oh, Ezra! Lend me your pot!” Basil didn’t want for permission, grabbing the cooking pot and finding it remarkably heavy for something Ezra held one-handed. With a great deal of effort he refused to let show, Basil managed to fill the pot partially with water and toss the fish in. He caught his breath. “There! That’ll do for a bit. We’ll catch a few that way.” Ezra was still looking down at the fish with mild disgust and horror, pulling away from it. “It wiggled!” “Yes! They do that when you take them out of water.” Basil’s arms were still sore from moving that heavy pot, and he wondered at anyone who was strong enough to do that effortlessly but timid about a little fish. “Is it…common to fish with bears?” “Not at all, but there’s no better way if you ask me! Aurora’s such a good girl, as long as she’s able to eat every other fish she catches.” Basil looked proudly over to the white bear, who had a larger fish hanging out of her mouth. Ezra’s gold eyes were wide. “…Fascinating.” The water splashing against Basil’s trousers was starting to chill and sting as if he were being pricked with needles of ice, and he started to notice how numb his toes were under his boots. But he’d promised to help, and even if this seemed like a far less ambitious difficulty than the one presented by the Flower Folk princess, it was better than retreating back home and hiding under blankets. He told himself it was probably nothing, even as he pulled his cloak closer around him. “Are you cold? Do you need to come back and have a hot drink?” Ezra looked down at Basil with that unnerving concern again. “I’m fine! I-I mean, I’ll be quite alright. I appreciate your humble offer of kindness.” Basil knew the last bit sounded rehearsed and forced, and scolded him for having to fake gratefulness towards genuine, innocent compassion. Prince Charming wouldn’t have to do that, he was sure, curse or no curse. He decided to change the subject. “Come to think of it, what does a baker need with fish?” “It’s for a recipe. One of the fancier ones in my family’s cookbook. I believe the best way to learn something is to jump into it headfirst, and if I’m to come up with something more impressive for next week’s Marketplace trip I have to start soon.” Ezra rubbed his hands together, speaking faster now that he was in familiar territory. “You see, I found some cubed pumpkin preserved in a wax jar last time I went. For a good price, too! I’m astonished since they aren’t in season here, but I suppose they must be somewhere.” “…Pumpkin, sir? And fish?” “To quote the book, ‘a dish for elegant, refined and courageous palates: Herring and Pumpkin Pot Pie.’” Ezra spoke with reverence as if describing a treasured vase. Basil, meanwhile, had to carefully look away towards Aurora to disguise any terror that might be showing in his eyes. If it was a dish for courageous palates, he would have to try it. Besides, Prince Charming would certainly support a friend’s attempts to improve his craft. But pumpkin! And herring…! He could recall tasting strange combinations during his palace visits that seemed like they ought not to work but did, in the hands of the talented palace chef. He’d had meatballs cooked in honey and pork with dried fruit, and loved both. But pumpkin! And herring…! A solution made itself clear, like a star in a dark fog. “Oh, er, Ezra? Herring is an ocean fish.” Ezra stared, some of the color draining from his face. “It’s an ocean fish? There’s a difference?” He ran a hand through his hair, eyes wide and bewildered. “I did not do as much research on the Center of the Universe as I thought. Oh, I can’t believe this!” He slumped and covered both hands with his face. “It’s all so complicated…” He had really wanted to make that fish pie, hadn’t he? Basil felt he’d never really understand fancy cuisine no matter how refined and courageous a palate he ought to have, but he was starting to regret derailing Ezra’s ambition so quickly. He hesitantly set a hand on the giant’s back, smiling. “There now, it’ll be alright! I’m sure we can make something with trout. Or you can make pumpkin tarts. Something simple!” And appetizing like strawberry pie, Basil added mentally. Ezra sat there in the mud for a moment before making eye contact with Basil again. “It isn’t that,” the giant said in a weak voice. “I mean, that is frustrating. I’ve just had a rough morning and thought I could clear my head with fishing so I could spend the afternoon practicing a recipe, but nothing is working out.” “Rough morning?” “I panicked when the princess told me something rather troubling, and I was rather abrupt and rude with her.” Ezra picked up a stick and stirred the water idly. “She seems like a wonderful person and I do want to help her. But it’s just…as I said, everything is very complicated here. The Center of the Universe is where the Sun and the Moon hid the discord of the world according to our religion, and I’m starting to think that’s the case. There are weird markets and creatures everywhere, the world’s entirely too small and too vast at the same time.” He looked upwards towards the cloudy sky. “You don’t even see the Sun every day.” Before Basil could answer, Ezra turned to him and smiled. It was a rather weak smile, but the first Basil had seen from the giant since they’d met. He looked striking when he did that, Basil had to admit. “Thank you for helping me, Prince. I didn’t mean to thank you with a litany of my own dull problems. But I just feel safe around you. You help people you don’t even know, and that isn’t very common where I come from. Is that part of your ‘Prince Charming’ persona?” “Well, I…” Whatever Basil had been about to say in modest but sincere pride fell out of his head as soon as he started to respond. He hadn’t done anything except teach Ezra about fishing. That wasn’t very princely, not compared with saving a kingdom. Shouldn’t he have been working on that? Certainly he felt warmer when Ezra smiled, but it was still a little spark. Basil needed a blaze. But a giant capable of breaking Basil in two if he felt the urge felt safe around him, when there was nothing more dangerous about than the weather. That had to mean something, didn’t it? “Wait, Ezra. What did the princess say?” As Basil went over Ezra’s words, a thought stuck to his mind like a burr. “Wait, why did she go to you for-agh!” Distracted by his own confusion, Basil took a step back into the slick mud and slipped, falling into the shallow banks of the river. The water was not deep and the current was weak, mud breaking his fall. But all Basil could concentrate on was the biting, painful chill of the cold river water engulfing his body. He forced himself to sit up and gasp for air, but could do little else besides shiver uncontrollably, unsure how he was even able to move his arms if he couldn’t feel them. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming too fast for speech. His cloak hung soaked around him, the fur dripping with mud and leaves. Ezra’s shouts sounded distant and incoherent, and Basil barely realized what was happening when a pair of arms lifted him up. Was he being carried by Aurora or Ezra? He could hear the bear’s alert rumbles and grunts, feeling a nuzzle of wet fur and warmth against his face. He found himself wrapped in Ezra’s tattered coat, though he couldn’t remember Ezra doing that. Then he found himself rushing through the woods, Ezra carrying him like precious cargo and following Aurora back down the familiar path. Basil retreated into the coat and shivered, unable to think of more than the terrible chill creeping down his arms and legs. (Author’s note: I’m told that herring and pumpkin pot pie is actually very good.)

u wanted prompts: steve takes it upon himself to stand outside planned parenthood clinics and fight people who attack and harass pp

Listen, I see and observe your ‘Steve’ upthere, but I raise you Forty Percent of the Marvel Universe because I am bitterabout the current direction of the whole comics thing at the moment.  *Max Rockatansky voice* I guarantee you, ahundred and sixty days out, there’s nothing but salt.  Anyway, if you’ve read my Claire Temple AO3fic that may or may not get more stuff added to it when I feel inspired, thisis technically that universe, but prior knowledge IS NOT REQUIRED, okay goodlet’s do it.  Also I believe that moviecanon only applies to me when I feel like it so everyone is in New York and theAvengers live in the Tower, no one is dead and everything is F I N E.  I dunno, this is only like the first half ofa much longer thing that covers this whole day and, if I had my way, would be afull-blown elaborate media fic with tweets and Trish’s show andeverything.  But here, it’s real long, soI left it alone.  It’s on AO3.

Steve got the call pre-dawn, just as he was leaving the Tower for hisrun.  

“Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY said politely from the ceiling, “you arereceiving a call from an unknown number with a New York City area code.”

“If it’s a reporter, let it ring out,” Steve said, knotting his runningshoes.

“Reporters do not have your personal cell number, Captain,” FRIDAY said,and there was a trace of genteel condescension in the artificial voice thistime that made Steve grin down at the floor.

“Where in the City?”

“Hell’s Kitchen.”

Steve frowned, straightening up. “That might be Daredevil in trouble. You better put it through to my phone. Thanks, FRIDAY.”

“Of course, Captain,” FRIDAY said. Steve’s top-of-the-line, not-on-the-open-market-yet, Jesus-Cap-does-your-shit-phone-even-text-here-let-me-replace-itStarkPhone rang, a jaunty tune that sounded distinctly like the NationalAnthem, and even more distinctly like the foreboding of Bucky getting his asskicked.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve answered, hitting the green button and raising thephone to his ear.

“Um…hi, Captain Rogers,” the voice on the other end saidhesitantly.  “This is Claire Temple, Idon’t know if you remember me, but–”

“Of course I remember you, Miss Temple,” Steve said, grinning.  “You pulled a piece of rebar out of my chest,hard to forget a first meeting like that.” She laughed, the same slightly worn chuckle he remembered from her.  “And it’s just Steve, please, ma’am.  I think once you’ve been up close andpersonal with someone’s lung tissue you can probably skip the ‘Captain.’”

“Fair enough, Steve.  Then, Claireis fine,” she returned, a smile adding an audible lilt to her voice.  “I got your number off Jessica, who I thinkgot it off Matt, I hope it’s okay that I called.”

Steve nodded, automatic and pointless.  “Sure, Claire. D’you mind if I ask what fire’s burning down Hell’s Kitchen at,uh–”  He twisted his watch and squintedthrough the dim dawn light streaming through the wide window occupying a wallof the penthouse entry way.  “What, five-forty-eightin the morning on a weekend?  I thought Iwas the only person who got up this early, ‘cept for Sam.”

“Oh, no, nothing urgent, I just.” Claire stopped and sighed, and Steve pictured her pinching the bridge ofher nose, brow furrowed and eyes closed as she ducked her head—he could tallythe number of hours he’d spent in the Night Nurse’s company on his fingers andstill have plenty left, but he knew the face she pulled when she was frustratedby the way her life was panning out. “Listen, I have a weird fucking request from an old friend of mine whocalled me at five in the A-M, and I don’t have the greatest decision-makingtrack record at that hour, so I called you.”

“We specialize in weird fucking requests here at Avengers Tower, ma’am,”Steve said dryly.  “Unless you ask my PRteam, then we specialize in truth, justice, and the American Way, whatever thefuck that means these days.”

Claire barked a laugh and let out another huff of breath.  “Well, you remember how you got arrestedalong with like twelve other people at that BLM protest a couple weeks back?”

“Sam got arrested too,” Steve said defensively.  It had been a long talk with Nicole when she fished the pair of them out of theholding cell, mostly directed at Steve—Sam, she had said with supreme disinterest,was some other poor sucker’s problem. Nicole, the last surviving member of the PR team assigned to theAvengers right out of the gate, was now the captain of Steve’s personalpublicity squadron, or so she liked to call herself, and she had Opinions aboutthe sort of trouble he usually got into.

“Yeah, but nobody I know has the Falcon’s phone number,” Claire pointedout.  “But so the point is—Jesus Christ,I can’t believe this is what my life is like now.  Anyway. My old friend, she and I knew each other in college.  We haven’t talked much, but it turns out thatshe’s helping to manage and run a women’s health clinic about an hour or sonorth of the City.”

Steve had a sneaking suspicion that this was about to become the nextthing Nicole was going to yell at him for. “Yeah?”

He heard Claire take a deep breath and hold it, followed by a couple ofhollow thudding sounds that he guessed were her head against the wall beforeshe blurted, “She’s been picketed for three days by the local pro-lifejackoffs, and yesterday they were scaring off the girls who came to gettreated.  She needs a couple peoplewilling to play escort.  I already askedLuke but he doesn’t have today free, and Matt wasn’t answering his phone soprobably he’s not back yet, so if you know anyone who can take the day…?”

Head tipped back against the wall, Steve grinned up at the ceiling.  “I can think of one or two.”

“Steve,” Claire said, clearly warning him, “if your publicist comesafter me next–”

“Don’t worry about it, Claire,” Steve said easily.  “Nicole knows what I’m like, and besides, FoxNews started trying to take cheap shots at Bucky again.  Gotta give them something else to talkabout.”

“Jesus Christ,” Claire said again, sounding close to awestruck horror.

“Listen, you text the address of your friend’s place to this number andI’ll see what I can do.”

“This is the worst solution I could have come up with.”

“Cheer up,” Steve said, almost bouncing on his toes.  “This is a win-win situation, your friendgets help and I get to do something more interesting than playing Hide ‘n Seekwith a bunch of fuckin’ spies.”

“Who the hell lets you peopleout in public?”

“I’ll talk to you later, Claire, I’m going to go ask around,” Stevesaid, and hung up on Claire’s inarticulate sound of distress.

Two hours later, a nondescript van spilled out a number of people ontothe asphalt between a line of sign-bearing protesters and the brick façade of alow-slung building bearing a sign that read LacksFamily Planning Institute.  Steve wasthe one to walk up and knock on the still-locked front door of the building,dressed in a pearly grey shirt with #IStandWithPPin purple across his chest.  The womanwho appeared was heavyset, quite pretty, with smooth dark skin and a round facethat was crinkled into a distracted frown.

“Sorry,” she called through the glass, absentminded.  “We’re clo—what the fuck?” she blurted, hereyes snapping up to Steve’s face and the frown melting away into shock.

“Hi,” Steve said, grinning.  “Clairecalled us, said you needed some escorts?”

“Who the hell–?”

“You’re Shauna, right, ma’am?”

“You’re…”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s me.  Could youunlock the door, please?”

Shauna’s hand dropped to the lock and she blindly fumbled the door open,lips parted in confusion.  “Listen,” shesaid as she dragged the door open, “is Claire fucking with me?  I mean…”

“No, ma’am, I got the impression she was running out of options and shehad my number,” Steve said, offering his hand. “Steve Rogers, but you can call me Steve, it’s a pleasure.”

“Shauna Harrison,” she said, numbly shaking his hand, and there was along beat as she stared at Steve and he smiled at her.  Steve, when she had released his fingers,folded his hands behind him in a tidy parade rest, waiting patiently for her tomuster up a sentence.  “If you don’t mindme asking,” she finally asked, “how the fuckdoes Claire Temple have Captain America’s phone number and—is that the Black Widow?”

Steve glanced over his shoulder to where Natasha was smiling at aprotester whose sign read Adoption, NotAbortion.  Natasha’s smile was verythin-lipped and very toothy, like a lioness lazily baring her teeth to a pinnedantelope, and the protester’s sign was trembling a little more than the lightbreeze could justify.  

“Yeah, Nat has some opinions,” Steve said.  “Claire did me a favor one time, she knowssome good folks.  Some other people mightshow up later–”

“There are six of you,” Shauna interrupted flatly.

“Yeah, we picked up Kitty and Piotr on the way.”  Steve raised a hand, and Kitty paused in herserious conversation with her teammate to wave excitedly at him, her hairpulled back into a neat ponytail.  Allsix of them had opted for civvies—Pepper had helpfully pointed out that it wasprobably better to do this as private citizens—but nothing could make Piotr’ssix-three self look less intimidating. Bucky hadn’t even pretended to try for a disguise, dressed in a menacingexpression and a tank top that said Women’sRights are Human Rights in pink block letters, his arm whirring softly asthe plates shifted.  Sam, standing besidehim and watching the protesters slowly evaluate the new arrivals, had droppedhis smile for an expression of outright disdain.  

Steve pressed his lips together to hide a smug grin.  “I’ll keep everyone out of trouble, ma’am.”

Shauna blinked at him in shock, and laughed, sounding baffled.  “Okay.”

“And I think Miss Walker wanted to swing by around noon for an interview,should I direct her to you?”

“Miss—Trish Walker?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Shauna leaned back against the door, one hand pressed to her chest.  “I mean. Sure thing.”

“Great,” Steve said, smiling.  “Ifyou need any help with anything at all, you just grab one of us, all right, ma’am?”

“You know how to escort girls?”

“Yes, ma’am, Natasha has some experience.”

“Of course she does,” Shauna said, and glanced at her watch.  “Well, it’s eight-oh-three, so the first onesshould start showing up soon.  I’ll justgo…?”  She jerked a thumb over hershoulder, trailing off.

Steve nodded, and rested a hand on her shoulder as he gave her his mostreassuring don’t-worry-really-I-know-what-I’m-doingsmile, silently appreciating that Bucky was too far away to offer commentary onit.  “We can take care of ourselves, ma’am,and if you come out and don’t recognize someone working with us, don’t worryabout it.  We’re expecting at very leastHawkeye within the next two hours, and probably some others later today.”

“Naturally,” Shauna said, dazed, turning on her heel to walk back into thebuilding as Steve turned back to the others.

“Are we good?” Sam asked, spreading his hands as if to say sometime today, Rogers.

Bucky, ever willing to call Steve out, just went ahead and drawled, “Wheneveryou’re ready, Stevie.”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Steve confirmed. “Nat, did you say you had Sue Storm’s number?”

“Well,” Natasha said consideringly, “I said I could get ahold of her,that’s… not the same thing, but yes.  Sheand Ben might come give us a hand.”

“Oh, we know Johnny,” Kitty volunteered brightly, gesturing to Piotrbeside her.  “Reed and Sue are out of thestate right now, but Johnny can probably bring Spidey with him, if you can getus in touch with the Baxter Building, Miss Romanoff.”

Steve grinned and nodded.  “Great,go ahead and call them.  I think Jessicais planning to show up with Trish at noon and—is that a car?”  He shifted and looked past the crowd on thegrass and sidewalk.  “I think they’reworried about hitting protesters,” he added, dry, and Bucky made a derisivenoise in the back of his throat.

“Oh, well, I can help with that,” Kitty said, all but bouncing on hertoes.  “I’ll be back!”  And she dove straight through the front rankof the sign-bearing protesters, slipping effortlessly through them as theyyelped in alarm.

“I like her,” Natasha said approvingly.

“Katya does not believe in tact,” Piotr remarked, dry, and Natashagrinned again, just as toothy as before.

“I really like her.”

Bucky drifted up beside Steve, his footsteps unnervingly silent on theasphalt, and said, “So you’re supposed to be keeping us out of trouble today,huh?”

“Well, listen, just don’t actually make physical contact with anyprotesters or cause them any actual injuries,” Steve said.  “We’re here to help the people trying to goto the clinic, not pick a fight.”

“Quick, someone check him for a fever,” Sam called, and there was aburst of laughter that rippled warmly through the air as Natasha pulled out hercell phone.  Kitty appeared on the road,a wide-eyed woman in her thirties holding her hand as Kitty drew them bothstraight through a sign and a set of hedges. Kitty’s lips moved, and the woman laughed in surprise as Kitty beckonedPiotr over, and Natasha bared her teeth at the protesters again, raising herphone to her cheek.  Sam had been politelyflagged down by the young man who worked at the reception desk inside theclinic, and they were having a quiet conversation about the logistics of makingsure the road remained clear.  Bucky wasstill beside Steve, hands tucked into his pockets as a pair of protestersflicked nervous glances at the red star on his bicep.

“It’s going to be a good day,” Steve said, smiling.

“Seventy years and you’re still crazy.”

“A good day.”