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ffion451 · 1 year

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Chapter Four: A Friendship Begins | The Centre Cannot Hold: KTH (m)

Chapter characters/pairings: Taehyung x reader | AU/Genre: non idol au, angst, smut (see warnings below) see series m.post for fic summary etc.

Rating/Chapter warnings: ⚠️🔞 M - Adults only! 🔞⚠️ Foul language, references to alcohol an being drunk, a little allusion to smut - still nothing too spicy in this chapter, but the whole story has mature themes and so is not suitable for minors.

Word count: 5.5K

<<< Chapter Three | Chapter Five >>>

Your nose twitches as you wake from sleep to a sensation of something tickling your face. Scrunching your nose, your eyes flutter open and you’re faced with the back of a head sporting thick, dark hair. For a moment you freeze in confusion, holding your breath, as your waking mind floods with a deluge of realisation. Within milliseconds you know where you are and how you got there as memories of the night before come back to you. Now understanding that this enviably glossy hair belongs to Kim Taehyung, you release the breath you’ve been holding as quietly as you can.

You’re mortified that after so long avoiding Taehyung here you are, in his fucking bed of all places. How did you allow yourself to get into this situation? Carefully, you listen for any change in his heavy, sleepy breathing as you roll on to your back with careful movements. As you shift, you spot your clothes, neatly folded on top of his dresser and you formulate a plan.

You ease out of bed, grateful that he is evidently a heavy sleeper. You make your cautious, light-footed way into his en-suite to get dressed, taking the time to send an SOS text to Ellie, assuring her you’ll be home soon and will definitely be ready in time for brunch. Alarmed, she texts you back instantly, letting you know she’ll be picking you up in the next 3 minutes: she declares that no friend of hers is doing the walk of shame in last night’s clothes. As you tidy yourself up in the mirror, trying and failing to tame your hair, you notice that he must have taken your makeup off for you and you blush at the intimacy of that, as well as the awful embarrassment of it.

You carefully fold the clothes that he’s loaned you and write a quick note on a scrap of paper you find and place it on top of them: Thanks for taking care of drunk me, I’m so sorry that you had to! I didn’t want to wake you, but I am very grateful - thanks again! You consider placing a kiss at the end, but decide on a smiley face instead.

You linger in the doorway as you leave, smiling at the sight of the sleeping man who has been so kind to you: he’s dead to the world, wrapped around a pillow like a tree sloth, all gangly limbs, his lips in full pout as he slumbers. It’s a new side to him: you’re used to devastatingly handsome Taehyung, but this cute, soft version is a surprise, and an adorable one at that. How are you going to cope with being friends with someone it’s literally impossible for you not to crush on? Your mind spins, Just keep things casual, you think, You can keep things with him like they are with Jihan; you don’t have to suddenly become best friends, after all…

Clueless to how differently Taehyung sees your budding friendship, you turn and leave, pulling the door closed silently behind you. You are picking your way down the stairs, heels in hand, to the front door when you’re interrupted by a gentle cough behind you. You pause, feeling frustrated and hopeless, you’ve reached the foot of the stairs. How could you get caught now when escape is within touching distance? You turn to see a man, shirtless, eating a bowl of cereal in his pyjama bottoms smirking at you; you curse yourself for making noise, he’s clearly emerged from the kitchen to find out who is up and about. You thought you’d been quiet and begin to panic that Taehyung will wake soon, before you have a chance to flee.

“Sneaking out?” he queries in a quiet, confidential, but teasing voice, “What would Namjoon say?”

You’re puzzled, “Who’s Namjoon?” is all you can think to say.

He looks amazed, “Fuck!” he exclaims, though thankfully still in a hushed tone, running his hand over his stubble, “Taehyung never brings girls back…”

You quickly interrupt, “No, no, no that’s not it, we’re just friends, I was drunk, nothing happened -”

He smiles gently at you as you turn a mortified shade of beetroot red, “Hey, I’m not judging,” he smiles, noticing your deep blush and how you shuffle from barefoot to barefoot, “I’m Sam, I’m sorry for teasing you.”

“Nice to meet you,” you stutter awkwardly; you both note in the silence that follows that you don’t give your name.

“Look,” Sam says gently, “it’s none of my business I know, but honestly, for him to bring you home, whatever happened, he must really like you, in whatever way that is... So should you really be sneaking off?” he smiles apologetically: it’s obvious that he knows he’s interfering but you find it hard to be offended when he’s clearly looking out for his housemate.

“I’m not sneaking, well I am… I just don’t want to wake him and I have to go, I have a brunch thing…” you explain desperately.

The window beside the front door alerts Sam to a car pulling up outside, and he nods at it directing your attention to Ellie waving from the driver’s seat, “Well, you better go then. It was nice to meet you,” his eyes crinkle when he smiles and he tousles his ginger hair.

You smile back, “Good to meet you too, Sam, bye!” You open the door, making your desperate dash for freedom.

As you push the door closed behind you, as quietly as you can, he calls out, “I’m sure I’ll see you soon!”

⍟ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⍟

You’re in the toilets of the brunch place a couple of hours later, reading the many messages from Taehyung, the last of which reads: Please text me back? Did I do something wrong? Should I have taken you to your home instead? What do you remember? I didn’t do anything creepy! You dressed yourself and everything! I’m so sorry if I have upset you. Please text me!

You feel awful guilt as you reply: If anyone has done something wrong, it’s me! Thank you for taking care of me, I’m so embarrassed that you needed to - I’m not upset and I’m very grateful. I’m at brunch now so can’t really text right now, I’m sorry :( I’ll text you later though. Sorry I was in such a hurry to leave, I didn’t want to wake you. Thanks for everything last night - you pause, biting your lip and then decide to add one final thought, I’m glad we’re friends now.

You’re about to leave the restroom when your phone lights up again: I’m more relieved than you can know! Can I come over to yours later and hang out?

You think about ignoring it, but guilt tugs at your heart strings and so you reply: It’s a busy day with Ellie’s family and they’re a houseful, but she’s going home with them tonight. You can come over for dinner if you like?

He replies impossibly fast: Yes, please. Ratatouille? 😜

You reply: I have to go! But yes, as a thank you, ratatouille! I’ll text you a time and the address later.

The last you see is a series of purple hearts light up your screen before you put your phone back in your pocket and return to your brunch feeling giddy. You pinch yourself, trying to force yourself to remember that this is just friendship and nothing more.

⍟ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⍟

“Well?” asks Sam, raising an eyebrow at Taehyung from his place sitting at the end of Taehyung’s bed. Taehyung rests his back against his headboard, his arms around the pillow that smells like you from last night, his phone in his hand.

“I’m going over there for dinner tonight,” he smirks.

“So a date then?”

“No,” says Taehyung, his face inscrutable, “We’re just friends.”

Sam looks at him sidelong, “Can I give some advice?”

Taehyung nods, and Sam continues, “She was so skittish this morning, I don’t know what you want from this, but whatever it is, take it slow man or she’ll run a mile.”

Taehyung smiles and groans, “Trust me, I know.”

⍟ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⍟

That night, you return from the kitchen with two beers after the dinner you made to find Taehyung stretched out fully on your couch. You raise your eyebrows and he gestures to the small sliver of space between him and the back of the sofa.

‘I’m not squishing myself in there,” you laugh as you stand beside him to place the beers down. He sits up and, in a swift motion, his arms are around your waist and you are pulled on to the sofa and thrown unceremoniously into the space he wants you in, while he lays back beside you. He eases his arm under your neck and around your shoulder. You have no choice then but to lay your head on his warm chest and your arm over his stomach, where he swiftly intertwines the fingers of his free hand with yours and places a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Sorry,” he says, with no hint of actual remorse, “I’m really a very cuddly person, so you’re just going to have to submit to it,” he laughs deeply and you hate that you feel that rumble of it deep in your body, and nowhere more so than between your legs, which begins to throb. Fuck this stupidly hot man, you think.

“You’ll get used to me,” he reassures, “Besides,” he says, releasing your hand and grabbing his beer, “This is nice, yeah?”

You look up at him, and he’s looking at you expectantly and hopefully, “I suppose,” you smirk and his cold, beer frothed lips kiss the top of your head.

“Good,” he smiles before he takes a long gulp, “So I can stay here tonight, yes?” and asks as he passes you the remote to pick a movie.

“Sure,” you say, rolling your eyes at how demanding and straightforward he is, “What do you want to watch?”

“I’m easy,” he laughs, as you sigh and cycle options.

He traces patterns on your shoulder with his thumb absentmindedly and relaxes back into the couch, happy to have his own way and grateful that you are finally giving in to him.

⍟ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⍟

Hours later, you ease yourself off Taehyung and through a series of gymnastic movements your yoga instructor would surely be impressed with, you manage to wrangle out from your wedged-in spot, over a sleeping Taehyung and back into the freedom of the living room.

Once again he sleeps with the same pout as this morning and you can’t help but smile to yourself as you think about how best to keep him warm. Returning from your room moments later, you cover Taehyung with your favourite large, fluffy blanket, ensuring he’s tucked in, but also that you don’t wake him. When you return from the kitchen after you’ve cleared away the empty beer bottles, you check in on him again before you return to your bedroom to embrace the warmth of your bed, snuggling into your duvet. You fall asleep within minutes.

You’re a heavy sleeper but you’re always alert to danger and so when your unwisely unlocked door opens a few hours later, your eyes fly open and you shoot up in your bed, eyes fixed on the looming shape in the doorway - your heart racing. Taehyung yells in surprise at your sudden movement, which shocks you into a scream.

You rub your heart and try to calm down as he sits beside you, trailing the blanket that you had put over him behind him like a small child.

“Are you ok?” he asks gently, rubbing your back in sympathy.

“You startled me,” you eek out, “Sorry for screaming.”

“Don’t be, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologises, adding, “I didn’t expect you to sit bolt upright like something from The Exorcist is all! Are you sure you’re ok?”

“I’m fine,” you force a laugh which sounds horribly fake, “Why are you prowling around my house at night?” you say, trying to sound lighthearted to conceal the fact you’re still freaked out.

“You left me on the couch,” he says simply, with more than a hint of betrayal.

“Yes,” you smile, “because that’s where you’re sleeping?” you say in half-statement, half-question.

Taehyung reads your confusion and worries that he’s crossing a line; he doesn’t know what to say as he rubs the back of his neck, but you fill the silence.

“If it’s not comfortable,” you say apologetically, “you can take my bed and I’ll sleep down there,” you start to get out of bed but he reaches out to stop you.

“Can’t I stay here with you?” he asks, his face completely innocent, his eyes wide and puppy-like.

He looks at you expectantly and you realise that you ought to speak but you have no idea what to say: if you say no, you make it weird… but saying yes feels strange too… You don’t feel you have much of a choice. You decide it’s better to be uncomfortable than for him to think you’re any more odd than he does already. After all, you shared a bed last night… What’s the harm?

“Sure,” you say and he grins victoriously. He bounds from the bed, shuts your door, strips to his tee and boxers and climbs in bedside you as you lie stiffly on your back.

“Turn,” he demands softly, “I’m the big spoon.”

You do as you’re told and he’s swiftly pressed to your back, his arms around you and his legs entangled with yours. It feels like every inch of him, except his crotch (and you thank goodness for small mercies), is pressed into you.

“This is nice, yeah?” He exhales.

You make a noncommittal noise of assent, if not agreement. Frozen in place, it feels oppressive. Slowly though, to the tune of his deep, slow breaths, you begin to relax: quickly you feel sheltered, warm and safe as yet again you give in to Kim Taehyung. Swiftly, you’re both sound asleep.

The next morning, when you wake, you’re pinned in place by him, finding him wrapped around you like a koala as if to ensure no more sneaky escapes. He rolls quickly from you as you wake, concealing his morning wood. He insists that you join him for breakfast at the nearby bakery you spoke about so you can make plans for the next time you’ll see each other. You rapidly realise you have little say in how close your friendship will be with Taehyung and so you stop trying to control it: you like him, he’s funny, gentle and sweet. What’s the harm? you question again.

Thus begins your friendship.

⍟ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⍟

Mira sits impatiently on Aera’s sofa. It’s been a month since the gallery visit and she hasn’t seen Taehyung in all that time. She’s begun to feel fretful about Taehyung leaving with you that night. One of her more stupid friends suggested maybe you two were dating and that’s why neither of you have been around - Mira was incandescent with fury that day and merciless to the friend who’d suggested it, making snide comments about her appearance as they continued their clothes shopping. At the end of the trip, her friend only ordered a glass of water for lunch, eyeing everybody else’s food ravenously. Mina had enjoyed the rumbling of the poor girl’s stomach, celebrating her revenge with smug triumph: that would be the last time she dared mention that Taehyung would be interested in anyone but Mina again.

Running the idea through her head now, she dismisses the suggestion of you and Taehyung as outlandishly ridiculous. Why would he want you when she’s made it clear he could have her? Yes, you might be a ‘nice’ girl, but she knows men like Taehyung, or at least thinks she does, and so she concludes he’d never want you over her. Who would?

Nonetheless, when she ran into you in a coffee shop recently, she couldn’t help but probe, needing certainty. She was reassured by you that Taehyung and you just happened to leave at the same time that night. You tell her that, whilst you’re now friends, nothing exists between you other than that. You didn’t tell her that he’s spent more nights since then in your bed than his; it’s none of her business.

Also, you haven’t lied, you are only friends. You acknowledge to yourself and your friends that it’s a bit weird, but then so is he, so are you, in fact. It’s all very innocent so you’ve decided to accept it, having come to realise that just accepting things works best with Taehyung.

Mira is becoming bored of waiting when the man in question enters Aera’s party, looking gorgeous as ever. His head is tilted back, his curls in his eyes; his lips are parted slightly as he tilts his head back, scanning the room. He could not look any sexier if he tried and Mira feels heat pool between her legs. She is desperate to fuck him and make him hers.

She watches as his eyes meet a group of his friends and he smiles with a wave, indicating he’ll see them later. Finally, his searching eyes reach Mira’s and she gives her best, most seductive smile and he smiles in return before, incomprehensibly to her, his eyes continue on, rather than resting on her. What the actual fuck? she thinks as she follows his gaze with increasing irritation until, finally, it comes to rest on someone… She is sickened by the way his face suddenly breaks out into a wide, boxy grin and he takes long strides across the room as if in a hurry to get somewhere.

⍟ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⍟

You lay down a tray of glasses that Minho piled on you in the kitchen so that he could perfect his famous, but lethal, punch, in secret. Bending down to stow the tray beneath the table, you look up just in time to lock eyes with Taehyung who is making his way rapidly towards you: he pulls you into a stifling hug as soon as you’ve straightened your back.

You groan as the air is squeezed out of you, and strangle out his name as he pulls away from you with a guilty smile. “Having a good night?” he asks, slightly flushed.

“Yeah, it’s a good one tonight, I think,” and he agrees, there’s a good vibe to the room.

Minho arrives with the punch, greets Taehyung, kisses your cheek and pours some glasses, handing them out before seeking Aera with his and the final one.

“Beware,” you say, as Taehyung takes a gulp, “this stuff is lethal!”

“You’ll take me home with you though, yeah?” He says in a low voice as he sips it and grimaces, “You won’t abandon me to sleep drunkenly in a corner?”

You smile at him, noticing Mira’s intense gaze burning into you: you move around Taehyung so you’re in opposite positions. Subtly, you indicate her focus on him, “I think someone has their eye on you…” you tease.

“Mira?” he rolls his eyes at you, “what’s that got to do with you abandoning me?” he sulks.

You wiggle your eyebrows suggestively, “Oh, come on Taehyung!” you laugh, imitating his eye roll, “how long has Mira been flirting with you? Maybe you’ll find yourself sleeping elsewhere tonight?” your tone is light and teasing but as you say the words you’re aware of a tightening in your stomach and a heavy weight in your chest that you do your utmost to ignore. This has been your most recent resolution: you’re aware that your crush on Taehyung has gone nowhere in the last month, if anything, it’s worse than ever. You’ve decided the best way to cope is to encourage his flirtations with other women, in that hope that he doesn’t realise how much you’re beginning to lose yourself in him.

Taehyung doesn’t say anything for a moment, he just glares at you until your smile disappears and you start to look uneasy, “Do you have plans tonight then?” he asks more aggressively than he ought to, and tries to cover it with a smile.

“Me?” you scoff with a genuine laugh, “Fuck off! Do I ever? Of course not!” Your confusion is genuine; you never hook up with anyone, ever.

He stares into your eyes, “So, you just don’t want me to stay with you tonight?”

You squirm uncomfortably, “That’s not what I said Taehyung, stop twisting my words.”

“I don’t want Mira,” he says firmly. Then he smirks as ‘I’m not sorry’ by Dean comes on and he pulls a very reluctant you to the dance floor; he mouths along with the lyrics against your ear, his body pressed into your back as he guides the dance, “No, I’m not sorry. I’m just getting started…”

He dances a touch too closely to you for both your comfort and the tempo of the song: your whole body feels on fire. You force yourself to dance along with him, doing everything in your power to avoid looking over at Mira as you feel her eyes attempting to burn the flesh from your bones.

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Much later, you’re getting ready to leave the party, having spent most of the night with your own, recently neglected friends whilst Taehyung was forced by his to give them his time for a change. Now you’ve lost sight of Taehyung and wonder if he has found someone else to spend the night with after all: any relief you feel is momentary and is soon eclipsed by sour jealousy. Fuck, you think, I have got to stop feeling this way about him.

You finish hugging a very drunk Jihoon and sigh to yourself. If you leave and he isn’t hooking up with someone, you’ll piss him off. But if you text him, you may well look desperate and clingy… In the end, your desire not to upset him wins out as you fish your phone out of your back pocket: you’ll just send him a breezy text saying you’re heading out and you’ll see him another time.

You: Hey dude, I’m done :) Can’t see you anywhere, hope you’re having a good night - have fun! I’ll text you tomorrow :)

After changing the wording at least three times, you commit to sending the text and get ready to head out. You grab your coat from Minho and Aera’s bedroom, and as you’re shrugging it on, you hear hissed voices from around the corner and recognise Taehyung’s.

“Fuck Mira, can’t I even piss in peace without you creeping up one me? I’m not fucking interested, ok?” he spits as you hear the sounds of his fingers tapping furiously on a screen.

“So you’re running back to your dick warmer then?” Mira taunts.

Your phone lights up, and you’re thankful it’s silent, because it’s obviously going to be him.

Taehyung: Don’t you dare fucking leave without me. I’ll be there in a minute. Please, wait for me babe!

“Don’t ever talk about her like that,” Taehyung growls, “She’s my friend and I don’t want to hear it. I know you’re desperate for my dick, Mira, you don’t have to be so obvious about it,” you feel sorry for Mira, you think he’s going a little far and you’re uncomfortable about this harsh side to him that you haven’t seen before. You would never have imagined that Taehyung could be like this. He’s probably just drunk and tired, you think, making excuses.

“What? Like her, you mean?” She snorts derisively but you can hear the tears in her voice; she’s drunk and he’s pushing her too hard, he’s being too truthful and he’s embarrassing her while she’s vulnerable.

“You could never be like her, but by all means,” he says cruelly, pausing to stress his final words, “strive to be.”

She releases a strangled sob then, “She’s not so perfect,” she says pitifully.

Taehyung laughs coldly, “Grow up Mira, jealousy is an ugly look on you.” You wish he’d be kinder as she starts to sniff through the tears. You can only think of how much of a fool Mira is making of herself; in this moment you pity her even if she hates you, though you know she’d hate it if she knew.

“She doesn’t want you though, does she?” Mira fights back, “Little Miss Perfect doesn’t open her legs easily!” she mocks, the singsong taunt of the jibe a little lost through the thickness of her tears.

Taehyung’s voice turns dangerous, as he issues a warning, “She’s my friend, Mira, stop being so pathetic.”

“If she’s just a friend, why not just fuck me then?” she stutters out, “I’m not a prude like her, you can take me however you want…” she pleads, drunken and desperate.

You can’t listen to anymore; as you quietly creep away, the last thing you hear is Taehyung telling her how she disgusts him and needs to get some dignity. It makes your skin crawl with discomfort.

Moments later you’re at the door saying final goodbyes to people who seem intent on not letting you escape, when arms close around your waist from behind.

He’s there with you, smiling and whispering in your ear, “Trying to run away again? I thought we were past all that…”

A slight chill runs through you, but as ever, you give in to him. You take his extended hand as he leads you back to your house and your bed.

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It’s weeks later when Taehyung finds himself in the thick black of a chilly night on a darkened street. A shape appears from the other end of the street and Taehyung narrows his eyes, trying to make out who it is. Before he's able to, Jihan beside him calls out, “Jihoon!” and jogs forward to greet your friend.

Jihoon pulls Jihan into a hug and calls out a greeting to Taehyung as they meet outside Minho and Aera’s house. It’s the small hours of the morning after a long night out: they’ve all been summoned here by text after everywhere closed but nobody seemed to want the night to end just yet.

Jihoon and Jihan have known each other for a while and are comfortable with each other. Jihoon and Taehyung, less so. It’s not that Taehyung thinks Jihoon dislikes him, rather he feels like Jihoon, much like Minho, is keeping a close eye on him. Obviously, they’re not fully sold on your new friendship with Taehyung.

Nonetheless, his growing closeness with you is clearly enough for him to be invited to small gatherings like tonight but not enough to be considered one of the group yet. He swallows it for now, thinking of how Jimin eyed you at the club but never really got near you. Taehyung comforts himself with the thought that Jimin is heading home alone tonight whilst Taehyung knows he’ll be in your bed again.

It’s been a few minutes of ringing the doorbell to no avail when Jihoon steps back into the road and in a deep roar yells ‘SONG MINHO!’ Both Jihan and Taehyung are startled by the sheer volume and bass pitch. Minho’s face and yours appear over the edge of the roof terrace, Minho shouts something that can’t be understood and leaves.

“WHAT?” yells Jihoon again.

“ON HIS WAY!” comes a clear shout from you that Taehyung was not expecting, and he finds himself impressed.

“COLD?” demands Jihoon, seeing your bare arms waving.

“MID PLEASE?” you reply, making a please sign and bowing.

“MID YES!” yells Jihoon, throwing a double thumbs up, just as the door opens. As he enters he takes a scarf from Minho’s coat stand and wraps it about his neck. Then he pulls Minho into a rough hug before ascending the cast iron spiral staircase in double steps.

“What does mid mean?” Jihan asks Minho curiously. Taehyung’s grateful, he wants to ask but he feels too petty to do so. He doesn’t like the secret language you seem to have with your friends and hates being excluded from it.

Minho laughs as he finishes hugging both of them in greeting, “It means middle layer. Jihoon always has three on: tee, cardigan and jacket. She wears his cardigans more than he does at this point. I think he puts them on just for her now!” he calls over his shoulder as he too heads up the stairs, gesturing for them to follow.

When they emerge onto the roof terrace you wave at them as Jihoon dresses you in his cardigan as you cuddle up to him around the fire pit. As they grab beers from the cooler, you gesture them over and Jihan sits beside you, leaving Taehyung to take a seat between him and Ellie.

Taehyung is a little frustrated: you’d spent the night dancing mainly with the girls and he’d seen very little of you. Truth be told, he is exhausted tonight and had wanted to go home much earlier but couldn’t in his determination to make sure Jimin stayed away from you. He realises he could leave now, but he’s determined to at least spend a little time with you tonight, taking advantage of the growing attraction between Ellie and Jihan to persuade his friend to come along.

Taehyung chats to Ellie meaninglessly for a while, his eyes constantly flickering over to you. As tired as you are, you glow in the firelight, dancing sparks reflecting in your eyes: it makes it hard to focus his attention on Ellie when all he wants to do is cuddle up to your addictive warmth. Eventually, she nudges him, eyeing him carefully, “Can I give you some advice, Taehyung?”

He smiles, but it’s guarded, “Sure,” he says cautiously.

“We’re all very protective of her,” she says quietly so you don’t hear, “for reasons that I’m sure she’ll share with you eventually and I know you’re really keen on being her friend -” she pauses, offering a smile that’s a bit strained.

Taehyung fixes his jaw and tries not to look pissed off, but he doesn’t like where the conversation is going.

“Look,” she says honestly, “It’s all a bit intense and rapid for me and probably for the others too. If I’m honest, we’re a bit cautious about it. If you want to change that, you need to see the rest of us, her actual best friends, as people she loves, not people in your way.”

Taehyung can’t help but flare his nostrils slightly, “That’s not what I think -” he begins, but Ellie interrupts.

“It doesn’t matter really, I just wanted to let you know that. To help out,” she shrugs dismissively, which infuriates him. She continues, wilfully oblivious to his increasing irritation, “The fact is, if you want to be a close part of her life then these people here are part of that, and we aren’t going anywhere.”

She smiles warmly, but with a firm expression in her eyes, before she turns away to speak to Aera beside her.

Taehyung nods stiffly and looks over at you; if you were quite tired when they arrived, you’re exhausted now. Jihoon is arranging the futon in such a way that you can lay down on his lap in front of the fire. Taehyung ponders Ellie’s words; you obviously love Jihoon, and all your friends, so he has to concede that Ellie is right about their unshifting importance in your life. Yet the way she referred to them all as your ‘actual’ best friends pisses him off. Sure, they’ve known you longer, but isn’t it him you spend most of your time with now?

Jihan looks over at Taehyung to suggest they change places, as you bed down. Taehyung is hugely grateful as, when you settle your head on Jihoon’s thigh, you also stretch your bare legs over Taehyung’s lap. He strokes them absentmindedly under the blanket Jihoon throws over you, trying to ignore the twisting, unpleasant feeling in his stomach at the sight of Jihoon stroking your hair while you drift off. Pushing the feelings aside, he tries his hardest to follow Ellie’s advice and join in the conversations of your other friends.

It’s a mild night, and a little later a decision is made that everyone will just sleep out under the stars. The futons are laid out on the deck, the fire stoked up, and blankets and duvets brought out. Taehyung is surprised when Jihoon takes the first spot, followed by Minho, Aera beside him, then Ellie next to her. Taehyung notes how Jihan, who seems to be getting closer to Ellie, spoons around her. You don’t even consider Jihan’s back, instead you take your place beside him, your back to his. You sleepily stretch your arms out to Taehyung, who is quick to lay beside you, pulling your body into his, hooking your legs together and pulling the duvet around you, keeping your body pressed close to his.

Taehyung knows you’re wasted and already half asleep, so when you sleepily mumble “You so warm, Taetae,” he chuckles. “You laughing at me?” you grumble into his chest.

“Never, gorgeous,” he grins.

“Love you, dickhead,” you mumble.

Taehyung just grins and kisses the top of your head, “I love you too, baby.”

Taehyung knows he needs to try harder with your friends, and he will, yet right now, as you cling to him he can’t help but think they can go fuck themselves with their belief that it’s too intense - you’re certainly not complaining, are you?

<<< Chapter Three | Chapter Five >>>

#taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung scenarios #taehyung fanfic #taehyung imagine #bts fanfic #bangtanwhq #btswritersclub #no minors please #taehyung smut

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realisaonum · 3 years

Text

book meme

thank you, jen @det395 !! i feel like this meme got away from me a bit, but no shame! i love talking about books and writing so onward ~under the cut~

1- how many books are too many books in a series?

mhmmmmm i guess it depends on the objective of the series, right? is the plan to have x number of books in the series and if so, when we finally get to the end will it be satisfying considering all the books we’ve read leading up to it? OR is the objective of the premise / characters just to exist doing whatever? both can be done well. i would say a lot rides on how much i trust the author.

2- what do you think about cliffhangers?

so this is meant for cliffhangers in a series like between books? i don’t really care if there’s a cliffhanger as long as i have the next book sitting right next to me. otherwise uh, only if the wait between books is tolerable, because at that point you need to know that the author can clear this mess up, right? there’s this other thing, like you know how if the entire series was already written, then they might release the books a month apart or a quarter apart - that could be alright too. but years in between? not especially a fan. is anyone a fan?

3- hardback or paperback?

jen, you and me are complete opposites here. paperbacks stress me out. i will go out of my way to buy a used hardcover if given the choice. of course, there are some publications i don’t mind in paperback —thinking poetry and super indie books that don’t have a hardcover release OR books where the spines are thin enough they won’t break and i won’t be holding them long enough for them to wear. hardcovers are sturdy and i don’t have to worry i’ll accidentally bend the cover in some damaging way. I am invested in keeping my books nice to the point that i create covers for my books out of kraft paper or brown grocery bags while i am reading them. this is something i started when i was in college and didn’t want these books i was hoping to probably resell get thrashed coming in and out of my bag for all these classes. My home library is probs more half and half paperback/hardcover but if given a choice usually it’s hardcover.

4- least favourite book?

i think it’s good to at least attempt to meet a book on its level. there are lots of books i didn’t like, but i wasn’t meeting them on their level and i know that so we’re ignoring those. i do however have a shelf on my goodreads dedicated to books that i have beef with so i’ll just go off on two of them.....

tana french’s the likeness for being plagiaristic shit. it is essentially poorly concealed alternate universe OC insert fic of the secret history. you’ve got french’s dublin murder squad folks and then this group they are investigating who bear a STRIKING resemblance to the greek students in tsh 🤔. this would be one thing. it is pretty well acknowledged that nothing is original and there are enough changes to The Likeness that MAYBE i could let it slide if not for this other thing: french’s book, the likeness, has lines that are just basically reworded quotes from the secret history and french positions these lines so they are said by the counterpart (essentially same!) character that gave them original life in tsh. i cannot stress this enough: you can HEAR how similar the sentences are and their core intent is always the same. it’s thinly veiled theft! it astounds me that French hasn’t been sued frankly. it is one thing to want to capture some of the genius that tartt’s debut novel holds, but it is completely lazy and disgusting theft to go about it in the way French did with this book. and YES the secret history was published before french’s book. if i could stomach how fucking goddamn boring the likeness was to read it a second time and cite every one of these offenses i would, but that’s yet a third strike against it—it’s too boring to be worth it.

T. Kingfisher’s second book of the Clocktuar War duology : The Wonder Engine. this is a book that i feel violated the contract between writer and reader. the first book feels almost like a YA book. the stakes while described as very high are treated, as actions unfold, as very low. nothing truly irreparable happens until the climax of the second book and the fallout of that action is so off-tone of everything that came before i felt deeply betrayed. no, like, completely betrayed as in it ruined the rest of my afternoon, i am still viscerally angry eight months later, and i will never trust this author again. sure, maybe none of those actions that led to the climax were out-of-character, but there was nothing NOTHING in the proceeding action that even came close to that level of consequence. it’s a pity because right up till that point i was having a really good time. the entire vibe of the rising action to the climax of book one all the way through the rising action of book two was just a quippy fun version of roadtrip/quest - it felt like a comfort read. the abrupt tone shift had all the subtlety of dropping a graphically, brutal murder into Blue’s Clues. you don’t do that - this is a basic tenet of a writer / reader relationship. i’m not touching this bitch’s shit again.

5- Love Triangle, yes or no?

not so much. i like jen before me will scream ‘just be poly.’ love triangles that lead into poly relationships? yes, awesome will be glad i read. but i am at a stage in my life where your standard will-they-won’t-they-love-triangle is just fucking pointlessly frustrating to me. an example: i read a Nic Stone’s book Odd One Out a couple years ago and something about the synopsis or the hype made me think that it would resolve the love triangle that way, so when that did not happen i was incredibly frustrated and immediately wanted to resell the book. it’s the potential of the thing. stone’s book could have been the perfect vehicle for opening up the concept of polyamory to a ya audience but instead just really squandered that potential with weak floundering — in my opinion!

6- the most recent book you just couldn’t finish

uhhhhh i’ve got two and i’m not sure i’ve entirely given up quite yet buuuuuuuut

fucking dune. i got really pissed off with this book. So just…setting aside the whole vaguing at a pedophilically inclined queer coded villain - it’s done so poorly, that it's almost funny? like it doesn’t (as of half way through) actually have any consequence on…anything at all and is tacked on like an afterthought to the end of his scenes. honestly it all could just be cut out entirely with no recourse to the larger story. So my actual beef with this book is the pacing is ATROCIOUS. like yo, not only do you expect me to give a shit about these Atreides cunts, when we just met them and we spend the same amount of time with them IF NOT MORE with the antagonist? but you also expect me to believe Paul was able to just convince the leader of the Arrakis people —the leader of an entire planet!!— with a single fucking sentence??? yeah, not so much. it was not set up for me to believe that Paul could do that! maybe if Kynes hadn’t died immediately after—or at least not died at that moment? baring the fact I thought he was by far the most interesting character, IF he had been convinced by Paul in that scene, it would have been great to see some actual work done around that - with a transfer or a liaise of power between Kynes and Paul and the Fremen. By not having any substantive scene that does it - it begs the question of what the fuck was the point of the character in the first place? unplumbed potential!!! over all there seem to be some key scenes missing to get the reader to where the narrative expects us to be? but the choices made of the characters we spend time with and the moments we see with them, the benefit to the larger story…is not always there. hey herbert, these words you have written aren’t doing what you want them to?? i feel like i should finish it but i reaaaaallly don’t want to :) the only thing i can say is it looks like from the trailer, villeneueve is giving space to these moments so that the viewer can foster a genuine connection with the characters? radical concept.

our lady of perpetual hunger - i started this one optimistically bc i like chef memoirs, but i am at the point where she has just given birth to her son and honestly DON’T CARE. i still haven’t officially given up on it yet since i actually fucking bought it like a dope. i certainly would not have if i knew how much NOT about working the line this was gonna be

7- book you are currently reading

Aside from the failures mentioned above, I am working on the second book in B. Catling’s Vorrh trilogy, The Erstwhile. Also very close to finally finishing Iain Sinclair’s The Last London - there’s a review of his work from the LA Times that goes “One of Sinclair’s greatest skills has always been his ability to take diverse if not chaotic source material and refashion it in a way that sometimes seems downright alchemical” which captures some of the wonder I experience when reading his work. His style and how he creates atmosphere and setting is just unique and astounding.

8- last book you recommended to someone

The Secret History by Donna Tartt. Before that I told my brother to read Eat a Peach, as we both love Anthony Bourdain and David Chang talks about him a bit here, plus it’s just a fucking great book. any book that gives insight into Chang’s methodology and paradigm is worth a shot.

9- oldest book you read

I think it might have to be Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night (which apparently according to wiki premiered on the stage a whole four months before Hamlet so that’s what we’re going with) and if plays don’t count, I don’t care. I think they count and that’s what we’re going with.

10- the most recent book you read ?

Given the previous question, the most recently published book, right? It’s gotta be the one I just finished: The First Collection of Criticism by a Living Female Rock Critic - Revised and Expanded edt., which like just came out this summer. I watched Jessica Hopper’s promo zoom, curtesy of my local indie bookstore, and went ahead and bought it. This was a great decision! It was just what I needed to read these last couple of weeks. i love there’s lots of short pieces that made the read quick and the fact that it’s non-fiction so there was no pressure of a plot or the emotional weight of character investment when I had a lot of big stressors dragging me down irl -it was such a relief. Hopper’s criticism is fun to read and there’s some real art in her appreciation of music here.

11- favourite author?

These are the top in a kind of order but not really: Donna Tartt, Jeff VanderMeer, Megan Whalen Turner, Flannery O’Conner, Chuck Palahniuk, Anthony Bourdain

Other faves very much worth mentioning: Emily O’Neill, Richard Siken, Brandon Sanderson, Warren Ellis, Nathan Englander, Stephen King, Eddie Huang, Carl Hiaassen, Anne Carson, and Iain Sinclair.

12- buying books or borrowing books?

Depends on if my library has it, of course! I nearly always see if my library has a copy first if i have never read it or the author before. If i’ve read the book before or trust the author, I’ll buy it. Like I’ll straight out buy new stuff from Jeff VanderMeer even though with him it’s either this-hits-exactly-and-is-my-new-fave or i-really-disliked-this-but-admire-the-boundaries-you’re-pushing-my-dude - so it’s always a gamble but a worthy one.

12- a book you dislike that everyone else seems to love

a little life (just bc it's torture porn elevated to art doesn’t negate the fact that it’s torture porn. Yanagihara’s project here is repugnant and the fact that this book is lauded as moving lgbt fiction makes my skin crawl)

sharp objects (good writing, compelling story, BUT typographical scarification doesn't work like that - i am not going to get into it but i know from first hand experience how Flynn described it is not accurate)

nesbø’s the snowman (what kinda dumbass detective would think THAT when a woman finds her missing father’s corpse? absolute idiocy - so obviously reverse engineered with that end in mind)

the raven cycle (fuck ronan lynch to start and then fuck him to end as well - there’s some other stuff but mostly he’s a total CUNT and if i don’t say that once a day i have probably died)

14 - bookmarks or dogears?

Bookmarks and sticky notes. Then I can place it pointing directly to the paragraph I last stopped on.

15- The book you can always reread?

This is my question because I reread all the time. ALL THE TIME. Books I reread often: The Secret History, Medium Raw (especially chapter 17 The Fury), Crooked Kingdom, The Violent Bear It Away, and The Goldfinch. Every year like clockwork (since it came out apparently) I will reread Stephen King’s The Outsider.

Other books I feel the urge to reread: VanderMeer’s Acceptance, Englander’s Dinner at the Center of the Earth, Frazier’s Nightwoods, Fresh Off the Boat, the Mr. Mercedes trilogy, the Peter Grant Series (which is queued up for another go here soon I think), any of the stories from A Good Man is Hard to Find, Sanderson’s Wax and Wayne Mistborn books, simon vs the homosapiens’ agenda, and there are two of Alan Morinis’ books on Mussar that I am technically always revisiting—when i need a reminder, i’ll jump around and read specific sections to get centered again.

16- can you read while listening to music?

Yes, but only ambient or near ambient (only usually one track on repeat) or a soundtrack I am extremely familiar with. No new music. I do usually need some audio stimulation or my mind will wander terribly.

17- one POV or multi POV?

Multi pov can certainly be done well (looking at the soc duaology and VanderMeer’s Acceptance) but working a multi-pov means there are more plates spinning, it’s more of a challenge, and some authors pull it off better than others.

18- do you read book in one sitting or in multiple days?

I don’t really do this anymore. that might have something to do with me picking up thicker books? but also i have a full time job now and let’s be real the book has to be hella good if i don’t want to put it down. the last book i attempted to shotgun was the final installment of my favorite series and it still took me two days so....i can get through a lot of books but none of them are ever in one sitting anymore.

19- who to tag:

@sybilius @mouth-rainboy @iwonderifthatisart @phereinnike @magnificentmoose @wambsgangs @moriarteaparty and anyone else if you feel so inclined!

Bonus Question: What’s on your to-read shelf?

As for me, I am excited about one i just picked up, Danforth’s Plain Bad Heroines, which i might start tomorrow and I will be taking Paul Madonna’s Come to Light on my trip to see my brother this coming weekend.

#this took a while but was fun #thanks again jen #very excited to read other folks responses #also like a general content warning? i mention/refer to things in the books but nothing's unpacked here #still to be cautious reference to mature themes #the narrator feeling posthumous

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alleycat-arcade · 2 years

Text

*Since Temperance still hasn't returned, you continue on with the VR game.*

(Part 2 of my Obey Me/Persona AU! I definitely recommend reading the first part, which is right here! Everything is also explained there, so no worries. All good? Then let's get back into it!)

Chapter 1: In the Shade of Forget-Me-Nots and Ferris Wheels (Obey Me Phantom Thief! Mc AU, Mc is Gender Neutral)

Content Warnings: Persona as a series contains a lot of Mature themes! These themes pertain to the darkness in one’s inner cognition and how said cognitions can be warped by the world around them or how their minds warp their worlds instead. Inner demons and that sorta stuff, yeah? This has a few references contained within the story that may have out of context spoilers for multiple games, but these will likely be as minor as possible! (A copy of warning from last time.)

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

(This is for when ??? speaks. This is for when [redacted] speaks.)

"Come, Trickster. What are you waiting for?" The tall stranger's golden eyes seemed to glow at you as they spoke. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as a butterfly flew past your ear and rested on the hand they had raised to beckon you. Each beat of it's paper thin wings seemed to send out a rippling effect, one that vaguely reminded you of the tremors you feel when the MetaNav-esque app had brought you here. "Worry not. The shadows cannot sense you from here, nor can anything else at the moment. If you need proof, take a look at your surroundings, Trickster." When you eyes gazed around, it was as if time was frozen. The rides had stopped in place and the blinding lights were no longer flashing to some far off song. "Now, my master requests your presence. If you would follow me, please." As you took a cautious step forward, they moved to open a door behind them for you. No, a door wasn't the best way to describe it. It looked like a gateway, but one of those very fancy ones that well off people would use to decorate their fantastical gardens. "No need to be so hesitant. You are always welcome in the Velvet Room."

Crossing the threshold of the gate, the colorful lights that surrounded you seemed to fade out, instead turning into a dim moonlight. The attractions melded together, their eye-catching pigments morphing into soft shades of pastel blue that hung off of dark green vines. Before you was a simple mahogany desk, with a tall backed chair behind it that faced away from you. It reminded you somewhat of Lucifer's desk from his office that you had seen once or twice when he had called Mammon in there, but it was missing the heaps of paperwork that covered every inch but the center. The soft creak of the gate closing behind you drew your attention for a moment, seeing the stranger from before closing it. They noticed your gaze and smiled gently, patting your shoulder as they passed by to stand beside the desk. "Master, I've brought them." At those words, the chair began to turn to face you.

Seated before you was an older gentleman, with his most defining feature being the rather long nose. His smile was somewhat uncanny, and his eyes seemed to scan your every move. "It is good to see you again. Quite a good amount of time has passed since you've been here, hasn't it?" He looked familiar yes, but you couldn't put your finger on why. It was as if his name was on the tip of your tongue. "I am glad to see that you are well. Here, take a seat. My assistant will make us some tea." The squeak of chair legs drew your eyes away from the familiar old man, seeing the previous stranger setting a cushioned blue chair in front of the desk before hurrying over to a spot deeper in the garden. You sat down carefully in front of the desk, nervously fidgeting your hands in your lap as you waited for him to speak again. "Well, I believe reintroductions are in order. I am Igor, and this is my Velvet Room. A close friend of yours has spent quite a bit of time in here before you, but it seems that fate has chosen you as my next guest." The name Igor filled in the gaps of your memory, remembering the strange man you had met once before in a room of bars and chains. "This room looks completely different from before, though. Are you sure this is the same place?" Igor chuckled at your words. "That Velvet Room was a creation for the one you knew as "Joker". This one, however, is made specially for you. A room located between consciousness and subconsciousness. But, there will be much time to discuss the logistics of this place in the future. We have a much more pressing matter to attend to at the moment."

The clinking of ceramics temporarily interrupts your one-sided conversation. "Ah, sorry to interrupt. Here is your tea." Igor's assistant spoke after setting two identical cups in front of you, full of steaming tea. They shuffled to stand in an alert position next to the desk afterwards. "Now, let us get to business. You are aware of the thing that brought you to the realm before this one, yes?" "That app? The one that looked sort of like the MetaNav?" "Yes. In opening that application, you have signed the contract that all guests of this room have signed before you. Through this, I grant you the powers of the Wild Card as well as full access to the utilities of the Velvet Room." You went silent, trying to process how you had unknowingly signed a contract that gave you some sort of ability. "I see you are confused. To further eleborate, the power of the Wild Card is one you have seen wielded before. Recall the abilities of your former leader." "Do you mean how he could wield multiple Personas?" "Yes, that is included in that list of abilities. Along with others, of course." A frown crossed your face, folding your hands in your lap while looking down. "Does something trouble you?" The tall stranger cut through the temporary silence, casting a concerned gaze at you. "It's just... Why is there a Metaverse here of all places? I mean I get that it's built of distorted desires, but..." Igor pauses for a moment, raising a hand to rest underneath his chin thoughtfully. "I understand your confusion. Though that place is similar to what you know as the Metaverse, it is much more different than it seems. Why don't you drink your tea while I explain?"

You eye the cup apprehensively, taking it by the handle and lifting it from the saucer. As it neared your lips, the scent of peppermint filled your senses. "As you know, the Metaverse houses Palaces, which in turn house and protect the distorted desires of an individual and their shadow. Yet, as you might guess, demons are quite full of many different desires, all of which are distorted to an extent. This means that there is not exactly as way that one could fully cure one of the shadows of there heart fully, at least not in a way that would not span over many centuries. But, individual desires of the specific demon do litter that world, one that by stealing the treasure of a specific area would allow an entrance of an individual into their heart. An easier way to refer to these would be as a sort of Paradise, rather than a Palace." "But, how would that be helpful to me exactly? They won't have a full change of heart like they would in the real world, so what is the point of opening up a space in their heart?" "A good question, my dear Trickster. Since you are not yet aware of this, I will inform you. Demons can form what is known as pacts with Humans. In a sense, it is similar to the way you call upon your Persona for help. To make it simple, should you steal one of the treasures of their heart, you will have the chance to form a pact with them and essentially guarantee your own safety in the real world."

The sights and sounds of the Carnival filled your senses once more as you stepped out of the Velvet Room, hands stuffed into your pockets. Staring at the striped tents and colorful booths, you contemplated going in just yet. Though you lacked any sort of physical weapon, you could feel the presence of your Persona in the back of your mind. Your eyes scanned across the front of the area, looking for a point to enter from. It wouldn't be very like you as a Phantom Thief to simply enter from the front after all. Then, you spotted it. A stack of crates a little ways away from the colorful arch that displayed a name in a language you couldn't read. It lead into a makeshift alleyway, a perfect place to hide in while you took a good look around. Silently, you thanked yourself for still keeping up your strength over the years as you vaulted over the steep stack.

When the soles of your feet connected with the cobblestone, a familiar set of ripples churned through your body. As you raised your hand to brush away some strands of hair that had fallen in front of your eyes, your fingertips connected with a much smoother surface than you had expected. It felt like porcelain, with spiralized etchings set into it. Now that you were looking actually, you didn't remember putting on a pair of gloves at any point that day, let alone fingerless ones. You would have guessed that it had been your Phantom thief attire, but that outfit had full gloves in a bright and distinct color. Not to mention your usual mask covered the whole of your face, while this one simply covered over one eye fully while an opaque veil hung over the over. Taking a look around, you spotted a cracked mirror set haphazardly behind one of the stalls.

The first thing your eyes were drawn to were the corkscrew horns sticking out of your hair.

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

End of Chapter 1. Continue?

Are you enjoying yourself there? Ah, sorry. I did not mean to frighten you. Here, I brought you that snack and drink you wanted. Make sure to keep hydrated and take breaks if you're going to keep playing, alright?

(iufjnksggsogs Igor's speech was hard to write for me because I was lazy and didn't want to watch through like 4 playthroughs of different versions of his opening dialogue. I promise Shadow Mams will make a very strong appearance next time lol. This chapter was originally a lot longer but I had to shorten it so I wouldn't get brainrot it'd be better on the reader. Like always, I'll come back and edit it if I need to later, I'd kill for a good nap right about now lol. If there were any delays in me posting this it was because I was incredibly stoned an hour ago and just staring at low quality jpegs of seals.)

#obey me imagines #obey me x mc #obey me x you #obey me x reader #obey me mammon #obey me mc #obey me fic #i will post the shadow mammon concept art for the low low price of your mortal soul #or a herseys cookies and cream bar. i am hungry #stolen paradise

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years

Text

Correspondence, Chapter 06

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary: An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together – until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don’t really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Slight offscreen peril, a bunch of POV changes, and we’re going to start introducing the team one by one so a whole lot of Rossi this chapter. Everyone will get their turn, and a few people (Garcia and Morgan for sure) get more than one. This chapter got very very long, once again. Set in season 6-7, self beta’d.

Word Count: 10716

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

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Chapter 06

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March 2011

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Although the BAU sends teams out frequently to different corners of the continental US -- whenever they’ve been requested or invited in, or when they are interviewing captured criminals for research studies and papers -- for the most part they can do all of their work right there at home. In Quantico, Virginia.

Hotch’s team is one of four domestic Behavioral Analysis teams in the Unit, who work alongside three Behavioral Research and Instruction teams, as well as liaisons from the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crimes (NCAVC) and two international BAU teams. Hotch doesn’t directly oversee the international sectors, or the liaisons, but he is Unit Chief as well as the leader of his team and he seems to constantly be buried in a sea of paperwork. Especially when he is back in his office at Quantico, and can’t use the excuse of being called out on a case to defer some of the workload.

But one thing about being home that Hotch appreciates more than anything is the routine it creates; with his work, with his home, with Jack, and now -- with Spencer. Being three time zones apart is difficult, but it’s all they’ve ever known, and it becomes second nature for Hotch to always be aware what the time is in California. What time of day it is for the other man, what his routine might be and the little stolen minutes that are best to send texts, sneak in phone calls, and they become quite skilled at it. Spencer knows Hotch’s schedule better than he does himself, some days, and he always returns the favor in kind. Quite literally living in each other’s pockets, via a cell phone, and Hotch finds that thought amusing to no end.

It also means that the younger man is… always on his mind. Just a glance at a clock and he already knows what time it is across the country, and he often finds himself thinking about what Spencer is doing. What class he is teaching. If he’s grabbing coffee or actual lunch like he should. They’ve hit this point in their relationship where the constant communication is all but seamless and interwoven into their everyday lives. It becomes a common occurrence to always think about Spencer, to always check his phone as often as he might check his watch, and Hotch starts to realize that this long distance relationship has taken some deep roots within him. That he just very might be falling head over heels for a man he’s never met, and although it takes him a moment to grasp that concept fully -- he finds that he doesn’t really mind it, either. Because this is the happiest he’s been in a long, long time.

And after the past few years, he’s learned that that is not something he can afford to be cautious with.

So he lets it all progress unchecked, as nerve-wracking as that can be, instead of keeping it in the consistency they’ve grown so used to. The relationship akin to many of the experiments and projects Spencer regales him with; a constant that needs variables in order for it to change and ignite. It should have been jarring, this free fall that Hotch had begun to allow, but somehow it never was.

And just like that, they continued to grow closer, a little less wary than before.

After that week in December, their phone conversations become as frequent as their text messaging. Every night, sometimes over lunch and on the weekends, Jack has even jumped in once or twice during the daytime hours when their time together overlaps. Hotch was surprised at the younger boy’s enthusiasm to talk to whoever he has been messaging off and on for the better part of a year, and even more at how the two get on even over the phone. But Spencer points out one night that Jack probably is more used to speaking and connecting with people over long distance because of his father’s constant travel through the year. As often as Hotch calls and messages Spencer, he also talks to Jack every night that he’s not home, so it would be a very minute shift for him to be introduced to Spencer and find it as normal an occurrence as if Hotch was on one of his trips. This creates various juxtaposing emotions for Hotch, glad that Spencer and Jack can meet each other without it being stilted or awkward with the distance, and morose that he’s created this precedent in his son that could last his whole life. Thankfully, it only takes a few nights of Spencer’s stream-of-conscious lectures indicating statistics and case studies and small anecdotes speckled throughout, all connecting like constellations in the sky, to soothe his apprehensions.

Spencer always seems to have that effect on Hotch, when they talk.

They have come to find that just the sound of the other’s voice is enough to ease even the most stressful of days, and for Spencer as well. Through physical application they discover just how well, as the months pass them by. Through the Christmas holidays, a hard time for the Hotchners because it was always Haley’s favorite time of year, resulting in many a late night phone call that goes far beyond when even Spencer should have fallen asleep. On past New Years, and Spencer’s mom’s birthday in late January -- another hard time -- where the younger man confided in Hotch that his mother is permanently institutionalized with paranoid schizophrenia. Something he never shares with anyone, if he can help it, but a large part of his life he knows he wants Hotch to be aware of now. After all this time. They help each other through each and every instance, are there through the thick and thin of it, solidifying a trust that appeared as naturally as everything else about them.

And with it… the feelings grow. So much stronger than before.

And although their phone calls stay more tame than not, they do revisit the hushed tones and quiet gasps that they had lapsed into that night in Wyoming -- and they were getting very good at it.

But with the new development of spoken conversations as well as through text is so much more than just the sexual progression, that’s not how this all started. There’s a companionship there that transcends all the multimedia facets they explore.

Spencer becomes one of the most important people in Hotch’s life. And Hotch is Spencer’s… whole world, outside of Caltech. They mean so much to each other, have blended together through time and distance and millions of words and messages. It’s really a wonder that more people don’t know about their relationship. Private as they are, each in their own right, they hold a place in each other’s days and nights and thoughts at all times.

Once winter gives way to spring, and March bleeds into the calendar, Spencer mentions one night that it’s been exactly one year since Hotch had emailed him on that first case. An anniversary of sorts.

How had it been a whole year, already, and still felt so brand new?

And yet, neither man can even remember what their life was like before they’d met. How could they possibly have gotten through the day, and not have it speckled with those little moments of conversation? Filling the spaces where they hadn’t even realized they’d been lonely. Had no idea what they were missing, until they had it in their hands.

It’s a day in mid-March that finds the BAU oddly quiet. Everyone is home, for the most part: no urgent cases, no pending interviews, just mountains of paperwork and yearly evals paired with recertifications to keep them occupied. Rossi even takes the week off to go attend a convention in L.A. where one of his books is being featured, again. Hotch doesn’t bother to try and fight him on it, there’s really no need with everything seeming in a lull for the time being.

But, since one person got the week off, naturally everyone else starts to take it easier as well. Procrastinating by taking frequent snack and coffee breaks, sitting at each other’s desks in the bull pen and generally goofing around -- not getting much work done at all. Hotch can see his team, or most of them, from his office where he has been finishing up some reports that really should have been completed by the group horsing around all morning.

But it’s such a comforting sight, smiles and laughs in the place where they confront violence and depravity at all hours of the day. His team deserves a break, he decides, so Hotch finishes his report as if he can’t see the team out of the corner of his eye, and checks his phone again while waiting for a reply from Spencer. The professor has also been dealing with procrastination among his own students, the majority resorting to messing around in the labs instead of actually getting their work done like they should. The situational parallel alone enough to make Hotch bite back a smile that would be too much in plain view; not wanting to reveal that he is taking his work at his leisure, as well, that day.

“Garcia!” Prentiss calls as she walks past Hotch’s office door, always left open for easy access by his agents, and so he can hear the goings on of the BAU floor. “There’s some kind of alarm going off in your office? I’ve never heard it before.”

“What does it sound like? Is it the Doctor Who theme, or kind of ‘Mission Impossible’-y,” she asks as she relinquishes Morgan’s chair (which she had commandeered over an hour ago) and makes her way through the maze of desks. “Oh! Or is it the 007 music? I’ve been waiting for a message from our BAU friends abroad--”

“No, no this kind of sounds like an air raid siren.”

Garcia’s face drops, and never has Hotch seen that look on her face before. She spins on her leopard print heels and is hurrying back across the bull pen as fast as those four inch stilettos will allow.

“Pen?”

“Baby girl, what is it?”

“No one panic! Not until I get there!” she calls back, with an edge of franticness in her voice that creates the exact opposite reaction she is calling for. Morgan looks up to Hotch, who is already out his door and following after the tech analyst, and they share a look of affirmative action. Whatever it is that has her worked up, it can’t be good.

It’s always on the quiet days. He should have known.

“Morgan, get the jet prepped if it’s available. Prentiss--” Hotch spins and points at her still on the high rise as he makes his way towards the elevators. “Be on standby for communication. JJ’s not due back until next week.” He had finally gotten her negotiated back from the State Department (and the Pentagon, too, he had cashed in quite a few big favors for that one), and Garcia has done a good job covering for her the past year and a half. But it would be so nice to have Agent Jearau back and running the place once more like the well oiled machine it is.

Especially when he needs her, like right now.

“Talk to me, Garcia,” Hotch demands, slipping into the elevator beside her before the doors can close. “What does that alert mean?”

She looks only mildly nervous, but the panic bleeds through now that they’re closed off from the rest of the team. “It’s a friends and family alert I customized, for if a 911 call or emergency is issued around someone important to us.” She looks at him through her red rimmed glasses and Hotch can plainly see in her expression that it has been a while since this particular alert has gone off. “I have it linked to everyone’s homes, homes of family, old team members, schools for the kids, places of work. And the parameters are narrowed down pretty specifically, after I was getting alerts every other day in Chicago around Morgan’s mom’s house. That neighborhood is going downhill fast.” The elevator dings and they make their way to Garcia’s office, Hotch already pulling his phone out and texting Jessica to see if she’s alright and if Jack got to school okay.

“So could this be another false alarm?” he asks, keeping his voice steady and calm to counter her franticness. His deep tone seems to remind her to breathe evenly until they find out what caused the alert. Which is, indeed, going off like an old fashioned air raid siren, circa the London Blitz.

Garcia spins into her swivel chair, custom-ordered and much more comfortable looking than even his in his home office. With a few seconds of rapid-paced typing the alarm goes quiet and she is pulling up the details of the alert.

“Where is it?”

“California,” she says, still waiting for zeroed in coordinates and police reports.

“Rossi?” Hotch asks, remembering the man is in L.A. at a conference, and the chance a bomb has gone off there is slim to none, but the chance of criminal activity in the vicinity is statistically high.

“Not quite, a little further Northeast --” she trails off, and Hotch feels his stomach drop just as Garcia’s eyes go wide at the report appearing on the screen. “Pasadena. CalTech.”

His phone is in his hand and calling Spencer’s number before she finishes speaking.

The tone rings once, twice, “C’mon, Spencer, pick up,” he mutters, his tone no longer even or calm.

“The number you have called is out of service. Please contact your local provider for maintenance requests or inquiry--”

“All phone lines are down around the campus,” Garcia tells him over the automated voice in his ear. “They were knocked out by an explosion at one of the science labs.” A few more seconds of typing, creating a tension filled backdrop that can’t be good for his heart. “In the… Physics and Engineering Complex, building 254--”

“That’s Spencer’s building. Garcia patch me through, I don’t care to who or where. I’m calling Dave.”

“Roger, Roger,” Garcia complies as Hotch turns and paces the room, a dial tone once again ringing in his ear. Los Angeles is only a 20 or 30 minutes drive from Pasadena, depending what side of the city one was on. No matter which way he looked at it, Rossi was the person most likely to get there first.

He has to call twice to get the man to pick up.

“Please tell me we don’t have a case.” Rossi sounds as self-suffering as ever, and Hotch barrels right over his premature complaints.

“No. I need you to get to CalTech as soon as possible,” Hotch tells him, straightforward as he can be. “As in right now.”

If there’s one thing he’s learned from phone conversations with Spencer, it’s how to tell that someone is making a gesture or facial expression from just the slightest nuances of sound. That’s how he can hear Rossi smirk on the opposite end of the call, and years of friendship cast a pretty clear picture of it.

“Something to do with Dr. Reid, I’m guessing?” he deduces, and sounds so smug about it Hotch has to resist rolling his eyes. “Y’know, until that case in Wyoming I’d thought you had stumbled upon some hidden virtual dating line within the FBI consultant network, but I have to say I’m still stuck between the ‘friend of a friend’ scenario or--”

“Dave.” Hotch snaps, short and concise. “There’s been an explosion at the CalTech physics lab, and all communication has been knocked down. I need you to get over there and find Dr. Ried and --”

He stalls, realizing he hadn’t gotten that far yet. Hotch just needed to know Spencer hadn’t been in that explosion, that he wasn’t being rushed to a hospital, he needed to know what was going on and Rossi was his only chance at finding it out. Nosey, means well, but always in his business friend that he is.

“And?”

“Just, make sure he’s okay?” Hotch says, and his voice changes a little on the last syllable. Opens up a window to something more vulnerable, because damn it all he’s worried and Hotch schools that cadence in his voice as quickly as it reveals itself. “I’m sure there’s a swarm of police presence there but all cell service is offline and I can’t get a hold of him.”

Rossi doesn’t answer, just waits patiently as if there’s more to say.

Because of course there’s more to say. Hotch just hadn’t planned on saying it in such a plain context.

“Yes, it’s Dr. Reid I’m… seeing. Dating. I just need to know he’s alright.” The carefully controlled tone of his voice threatens to break apart, but Rossi nor Garcia would know that listening to him. Aaron Hotchner has had a lot of practice dealing with grace under pressure, and even his loved ones in danger under pressure -- last time had been devastating. This time, not just yet, but going through it twice is not something he is looking to experience.

“Okay, alright,” Rossi tells him, as if he’d somehow been hysterical about it and Hotch frowns at his phone. “I’m walking to my car now.” Those questions Rossi wants to ask hang unanswered between them, and Hotch doesn’t know if he has the patience for them at that moment. “Anything I should know before I meet him?”

Rossi is not slick, like he thinks he is. Hotch has known him far too long to not know what he’s doing, baiting the question without asking it. Hotch pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs long and drawn out before answering.

“He’s young.”

“I gathered,” Rossi deadpans. “And--?”

“He’s very young.”

“As in scandalous young? You’re turning into me.”

Hotch snorts. “He has 5 Ph.D.’s and runs three departments. I think our side-by-side comparison weighs in my favor.”

“So… how young is young?”

“Dave, don’t make this a thing,” Hotch all but begs the older man, now sounding as self-suffering as Rossi had when he’d answered the phone.

“Oh -- that bad?”

He’s not going to drop it. Hotch can hear cars and the sounds of a parking garage echoing through the background, and the last thing he wants is for Rossi to stall -- holding his assistance hostage while Hotch stands there and worries about if Spencer is okay or hurt or dead because Rossi can also be an asshole at the worst of times.

“... He’s 30.”

“ 30? As in three-zero, 30?”

Hotch frowns further. “ You’re judging me?” They both remember the 20-something barely in grad school from Greg Peterson’s wedding four years ago, Hotch doesn’t even have to bring it up or remember her name to make Rossi scoff in answer.

“Yes, but that’s me. This is you.” Rossi pauses, and if he’s stopped outside his car without getting inside of it Hotch will reach through the phone and strangle him like an old-school looney tunes cartoon.

“ Don’t bring it up to him, Dave. I swear -- just, make sure he’s alive. Please.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll check on your scandalously young boyfriend and call when I can,” Rossi tells him. Almost too easy, despite the struggle it took to get there that’s making a headache build behind Hotch’s eyes.

“Thank you.”

“-- But we’re talking about this later.”

“No, we aren’t.”

“Oh, yes we are.”

“I’m hanging up.” Which is exactly what he does, Rossi’s low, smug laughter echoing down the line before he can disconnect the call. Hotch turns back to Garcia, who gives him a grimace of a smile and a shrug. “That went about how I expected.”

“I actually thought it would be worse,” she tells him with a laugh, and Hotch can’t help but agree. “No communication yet, but there hasn’t been an ambulance sent out from the site, as of two minutes ago. So that’s good news, right?”

“Yes,” Hotch answers, even though his mind whirls at all the reasons it could be bad news and still fit that scenario.

He’ll just have to wait until Rossi makes it to Pasadena, finds Spencer, and can re-enter the land of cell service once more.

However long that might take.

Spencer sighs through his nose as he helps the paramedic hold one of his doctoral students still, applying burn treatments to their scalded arm as the young man babbles a stream of nonsense that might have been some kind of explanation. At least it was a form of apology, but Spencer isn’t the one he needs to apologize to.

“I’m so sorry, Dr. Reid,” the 22-year-old sobs, wincing at the paramedic’s medical application once more. “We didn’t think it would combust, we didn’t account for--”

“The parameters of extra weight and testing it outside experimental procedures, I know Jesse,” Spencer sighs, wiping at his own face and smudging more soot there as he does. His clothes are covered in it, and damp as well from the building sprinklers. He does everything in his power to not think about his books in his office, or his half written papers and experiments he’s been conducting personally -- or any of his students’ work. Years of experiments and dissertations and data, gone up in flames if the fire spreads beyond the lab.

He had sealed in the fire as best he could, they have safety protocols in place for this very thing after all, but not everyone had their data backed up. And then with the cell tower knocked out with the explosion, and the landlines a mess from the electromagnetic currents running rampant through the campus, there’s no saying what protocols were still online to keep the whole building from going up in smoke.

“I’m still so sorry, I didn’t mean for it to happen,” the poor kid feels terrible, that much is obvious, and the pain stimuli doesn’t help his emotional state. Hence why Spencer is consoling him before he has to go convince his other doctoral students that life is still worth living if they have to start from scratch on their dissertations.

“He doesn’t seem to be exhibiting any smoke inhalation symptoms that aren’t severe. But I’m still going to take him to get checked at the E.R,” the paramedic relays as she finishes up with his burn wounds.

“We have to wait until we’re clear to leave the scene, it’s a science lab there’s too many unknown chemicals and variants,” Spencer tells her with no room for argument. His student, Jesse Simmons, was still having a very severe freak out -- and Spencer was doing his best to console him so he has more information on the explosion, but it’s been a while since he had to use any kind of bedside manner training outside a classroom. “Jesse, I need you to try and breathe evenly, and tell me if anything doesn’t seem right.”

“Pretty sure I’m hallucinating,” Jesse tells him, dazed and manic and in shock all at once.

“Yeah, that would do it,” the paramedic murmurs under her breath, sharing a look with Dr. Reid.

“What are you seeing?” Spencer asks.

“David Rossi.”

“The true crime author?” The paramedic asks in confusion. Spencer can’t help but be in agreement at it’s randomness.

“Yes, you should take him in. I’ll see if the hazmat teams have decontaminated the lab yet and take a look around for what he might have inhaled--”

“Is one you Dr. Reid?”

They all look up and there, in broad daylight, is a famously familiar face watching them expectantly in a black and grey suit.

The paramedic is the first to speak.

“Holy shit, it’s David Rossi.”

Spencer blinks, running mental cognizant tests to make sure he’s not out of sorts. But mass hallucinations wouldn’t apply as a side effect, here, so he clears his throat and tucks hair behind his ear -- no doubt smudging more soot on his face but he needs to look at least a little bit put together like the department head he is.

“Um -- yes, hi, I’m Dr. Reid,” he tells the older man, fully turning towards him only to be met by mild surprise. Mild only in that Mr. Rossi appears to be a very subdued man. But his eyebrows raise, looking him over openly, and Spencer has to fight the urge not to scowl. He hates being judged for his age more and more with each passing day -- Hotch has brought that out in him, and the ever looming day that they get the chance to meet. “How can I help you Mr. Rossi? I don’t usually shake hands, but I’m also covered in--” he gestures to the soot and ash covering his suit. Or what’s left of it. There’s singe marks on his pants and his jacket is removed, never to return. The item a lost cause after he’d used it to shield Jesse’s face as he dragged him from the lab.

Mr. Rossi holds up a hand, indicating it’s no trouble -- not too fond of formal gestures and greeting, either, it seems -- and puts his hands in his pockets instead.

“Aaron sent me,” is his answer, paired with a patient stare that observes every minute twitch of Spencer’s face and body language. He knows this easily, can see the profiler in him turned all the way up to 11, and suddenly -- Spencer can’t control his face or appearance in the slightest. Not after --

Aaron? As in--

“Hotch?”

The kid looks stricken, surprised with tinges of worry bleeding through.

“Hotch sent--” his eyebrows knit together in confusion, looking in the direction of the fire crews still trying to put out the building behind them. The lab explosion is still a fresh occurrence, smoke streaming into the sky and no one even allowed to leave the scene, yet. Garcia must have gotten the alert the moment it happened.

“Penelope has you on a friends and family list,” Rossi explains. “She is alerted as soon as there’s any trouble with anyone -- and the cell towers are down. Aaron called me as soon as he couldn’t get ahold of you. Probably pacing a hole in the floor of his office as we speak.”

There’s a fondness in the way one side of Dr. Reid’s lips tilt into a small, surprised smile, gaze far away as if trying to see 3,000 miles across the country. A complicated mix of touched that Hotch was worried about him, and sorry for worrying him in the first place -- although the moment he recognizes Rossi profiling him where he stands, he schools his expression into one hell of a poker face. Even Dave is impressed, the kid has some gumptcha about him after all.

“He moves fast,” Dr. Reid murmurs, again fond and maybe a little embarrassed, heightened when Dave snorts and raises an eyebrow at him.

“You would know better than me.”

Okay, so he might be trying to rile the man up, but Aaron is obviously head over heels for this kid and Rossi is nothing if not thorough in his scrutiny of his prospects.

The kid gapes at him, eyes narrowed again and about to say something when the paramedic interrupts them with, “Dr. Reid, I just got the okay to take him to the hospital. Are you riding along?” He turns and addresses her, as Rossi continues to profile him beneath the soot and damp. A slight thing, tall as Aaron is and dressed like a movie extra in a prohibition flick. Taking the academia style to a new extent, probably to counter his age if he’s had his doctorates as long as it looks like he has. What had Aaron said? Five Ph.D.’s and runs three departments, and he’s 30? That’s not just a genius, that’s unprecedented. Dave is surprised no one from the bureau snatched him up while he was still young and impressionable.

“Jesse, just call or text if you need anything, I’ll talk with the dean and try to get things at least marginally smoothed over,” he assures the younger student, and they see off the ambulance as it pulls out of the over-crowded parking lot, sirens blaring. “I apologize, this isn’t a common occurrence around here.” He’s giving Dave his own appraising looks, now, and he can’t help but be amused as well as curious in his speculation. “You know Hotch -- Aaron, from the BAU, then?” he phrases it like a question, but they both know the answer and Rossi lets the formality slide. The kid is used to speaking with people not on his level of perception, just intellect.

“We’ve worked together off and on a long time,” Dave tells him, face as open yet stoic as Dr. Reid’s. “I’ve known him since he was your age, fresh and green from the prosecutor’s office. He was running out of the Seattle field office, back then. Bright and eager thing that he was.”

That draws another smile to Dr. Reid’s face. The same soft, sentimental one that definitely looks smitten if Dave’s ever seen it. “I’d love to hear some of those stories,” he admits, and Rossi nods slowly in agreement.

“I’m sure you would.” It comes off a little condescending, even he will admit, and that tugs a frown back onto the young doctor’s face. “I’m a good storyteller. Made a living off of it.”

“I’ve read all your books, I’m aware,” Dr. Reid says, and there’s a tone in his voice that says Rossi need not be impressed that he’s done so. The kid must read a lot, if it causes such a small blip on his radar. “And from the eleventh chapter of your third book, as well as the seventh chapter and acknowledgements of your second one if I can be so bold to assume, you seem to have some underground ties with the Italian mafia as well. Unofficially.”

Okay, the kid is sharp.

“Unofficially,” Dave parrots, a tease of a smile on his face. Impressed. “Did you work that out on your own? Or would some of my… old friends know of you if I mentioned your name?”

“Not unless they have ties in Vegas,” he says cryptically, hands in his pockets and continuing to peak Rossi’s curiosity by the minute.

“Vegas? Got into trouble there one weekend?”

“I’m from Vegas, born and raised,” the kid reveals. “And I’ve been banned from every casino floor for my card counting abilities and algorithms in poker and slot machine statistics.”

Vegas, huh. “Well, that explains the poker face,” Dave tells him, making a circular motion to his own which still mirrors Dr. Reid’s in not giving anything away.

Aaron picked a winner, it seems.

“So, is this is your version of… what do they call it… a ‘shovel talk’?”

Dave decides to play the part. “You could say that.”

He pauses, then, the two having progressed through the equivalent of a verbal chess match and Rossi already has a highly different opinion of him than he had walking in. First impressions are a bitch, and apparently he is going to continue to be surprised. Dr. Reid licks his lips in a unique nervous tick and chooses his next words very carefully, if the prolonged quiet was anything to go by. “I’m glad Hotch has a friend like you, that treats him like family.”

“He is family.” Dave would do anything for Hotch, and he is vehemently reminded of that in this moment. “I love that man as if he were my own son, so you understand why I’m protective of him. After everything he’s been through, he doesn’t deserve another second of trouble, and he has been through enough for a lifetime. More than you could ever know.”

Dr. Reid crosses his arms then, his first tell, but it’s a purposeful one. His way of leveling with Dave about something they probably shouldn’t be speaking about in public like this, but Dave wanted to get the kid on his toes. Make him uncomfortable. He’s smart as a tack but does he have the heart to go with it? The kind that Aaron deserves?

“... I do know. We’ve… discussed it, a couple of times.”

“Really?” The kids nods. “All of it? Foyet? Haley? Jack?” He still nods. “So you do know about Jack. You’re aware that Aaron isn’t just a one man show, he’s a package deal.”

“Of course I know about Jack,” Dr. Reid says with a more intense frown. “We talk about him all the time. I’ve even talked with him on the weekends here and there; he’s a sweet, smart kid. Hotch loves him more than anything, how could I not know about him?”

“You’ve spoken with Jack?” Rossi is genuinely surprised by this. Aaron wouldn’t have introduced them if this was still an experimental thing. He’s only asking all the uncomfortable questions because they need to be asked, Dave worries about Aaron all the time and how lonely he’s been -- but the past months or even longer he’s been better. Happier. All because of this kid. Every sign and notion here is pointing towards this being a very serious thing -- and they haven’t even met.

The kid seems to read his mind, because he looks at least a little sheepish when he nods. “We’ve been talking for a year, now,” as if that was somehow an explanation. And in a way, it is. A year is a very long time. Hotch trusts him enough to introduce him to his son, even over the phone, and that’s no small step. Rossi needs to at least appreciate that much.

“So -- genius, accomplished, good with kids. Seems like Aaron has struck gold, finding you.”

Dr. Reid is watching him again through squinted eyes, guard all the way up and frown ever so slight -- but more intense for it. Interesting. “I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or not.”

“I was, but not in a bad way,” Dave explains, and that deepens the frown on the kid’s face. Although it loses a lot of the seriousness when he does. “I’ll keep grilling you in the car.”

“--the car?”

“Yes. You’ve been cleared to leave the scene, and I’m assuming you would like to chance clothes,” he indicates to Reid’s ruined suit, the kid looking down at himself and trying to dust off some of the soot that has soaked into the fabric. “Also, we should probably call Aaron before he has an aneurysm. Hmm?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.” It’s clear he knows Dave’s game, but is going to play along with it anyway. He really looks uncomfortable in those dirty clothes. Dave has an inkling the kid might be a bit of a germaphobe, which will be interesting in a house with a six-year-old boy, but that’s counting the chickens before they hatch and Dave has quite a bit more profiling to do before he’s made a decision about this Dr. Spencer Reid.

Although, his gut is telling him that Aaron might have indeed struck gold, somehow.

It’s in Mr. Rossi’s rental car that Spencer finally enters a area with cell service, his phone buzzing in his hands from missed calls and voicemails and messages alike. Apparently, word had spread fast about the explosion in his building -- it was nice to know that so many people were worried about him.

But he ignores them all, and dials Aaron’s single missed call back. It barely rings more than once before the man picks up.

“Spencer?”

“You are such a show off,” Spencer scolds gently, with no heat but more than a little amusement. “You had David Rossi come and check up on me?”

“--Dave is actually an old friend of mine and we work together, he owes me more favors than I can count. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Spencer assures him, quiet and enamored all over again. “One of my students miscalculated a calibration in their experimental combustion engine and it set the lab on fire. Everyone is out safe and the student suffered minor burns, although I’m pretty sure he’s getting suspended for this.”

“But you are okay?”

“When I saw him he looked a little like a chimney sweep, but he seems no worse for wear,” Rossi says next to him, out of the blue and loud inside the car cab. Spencer winces as Hotch sighs heavily through the phone.

“I don’t have you on speaker, I swear,” Spencer says quietly.

“No, Dave just has ears like a fox.” The other man groans. “No conversation is private, especially with him sitting right next to you. Hi Dave.”

“Hi Aaron, anyone else with you.”

“I am! Hi Dr. Reid,” Garcia chirps cheerfully in the background, bringing another smile to Spencer’s face. “I’m glad you’re alright, sugar bean. You had us worried sick.”

“I know, I’m so sorry Ms. Garcia--”

“Sweetie, you better just start calling me Penelope because -- if Rossi didn’t tell you -- you’re on the BAU family radar now. I’ve always got my eyes on you.”

Spencer laughs as her voice gets a little farther away, Hotch back to pacing the room and probably shooting her a look that doesn’t quite meet reprimand but is on the spectrum of scolding. He recognizes the tone from evenings when Jack is being over zealous in wanting his turn with Spencer on the phone.

“Where are you now?”

“Mr. Rossi is just driving me home so I can change clothes, but I need to go right back afterwards and assess the damage,” Spencer relays to him. “Talk some of my students off the ledge if they have to start their research dissertations over.”

“Okay. Just, be careful.” There’s such a heavy sense of worry and the frown so evident on his face that Spencer can’t help but want to smooth it out in any way he can.

“Of course. I’ll message you when we have cell service again, or when I get back home if we don’t.” It’s a needless assurance, but he hopes it helps ease Hotch’s still very obvious apprehension.

“Alright, I’ll call you later tonight.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

There’s a heavier pause, then. An unspoken word or several that hang very prominently in the air, and Spencer almost thinks he hears Hotch’s mouth part around them -- about to speak before he stops himself. Spencer knows his brow furrows in confusion, his own mouth open about to ask if he’s alright when--

“-- Bye, Spencer.”

“... Goodbye.” He adds, still confused, a little stunned and feeling like he’s missing something, which is not a place Spencer finds himself in often. Very suddenly lost in contemplation after Hotch hangs up, still looking at his phone.

Beside him, Rossi doesn’t look confused at all. In fact, he looks like something was just confirmed to him, and he makes a sound in his throat of affirmation.

“-- I think I hear church bells ringing.”

It takes Spencer more than a moment to understand what he’s indicating, and he has to tamper back any embarrassment or admonishment because… it’s not like he hasn’t thought about it.

“I’d settle for just hearing his voice across the room,” he admits quietly, still cradling his phone in his hands and glancing out the window to keep any open-ness in his expression from the seasoned profiler.

“Hmm… time will tell.”

Spencer stays deep in thought the rest of the drive, and Rossi blessedly leaves him be as they make their way through the streets of Pasadena.

They arrive at Spencer’s apartment complex not ten minutes later. A small series of two story white stone buildings with terracotta roofing, making it appear more like an Italian villa than temporary housing. Spencer explained, after Mr. Rossi inquired, that this was the faculty transitional housing, and he spent a lot of his doctorate years here since he had been too young to sign a lease on his own apartment or house. When he came of age, he just bought out his condo on the end to keep, as it had become more his home than Vegas had ever been. Then, when he returned after his doctorates at MIT he became somewhat of the permanent resident for everyone to turn to about anything on the campus.

“How did you afford a condo at 18?” Mr. Rossi inquires, and Spencer rolls his lips to keep any kind of smirk or smile off his face.

“Like I said, I was kicked out of every casino in Vegas. I also don’t have any student loan debt,” he adds flippantly, unbuckling his seat belt once Rossi has parked outside. Turning to the older man, he decides to cut to the chase -- because he does really want to change his clothes. “I assume you’re about to invite yourself in for coffee--”

“Oh? I thought you’d never ask.”

“So you can profile my living room while I change clothes? Sure, why not.” How dangerous could that be?

It’s more than apparent that Mr. Rossi knows Hotch well, holds him in high regard, and if Hotch has him on speed dial at a moment’s notice he must be someone that’s important in Hotch’s life… and he is also the first person that Spencer has met to fit that entitlement. As loathe as he is to admit it, Spencer finds craves the approval of the older man that he and Hotch are as good for each other as he hopes they are.

Maybe letting him poke around his apartment would help in that endeavor. After all, Spencer really doesn’t have anything to hide.

Dr. Reid’s apartment very much looks like the inside of a professor’s office, but extended to multiple rooms. There’s custom built bookshelves lining the walls of the living space, turning it into a library that is overflowing with books, and yet there are still more stacked in every room. In the kitchen against the backwash, in his actual office organized on low-rise shelves that hold collector’s editions even Dave raises an eyebrow at, and he doesn’t dare venture into the kid’s bedroom but he bets there’s even more books there as well. Art work from no known artists Rossi has ever heard of are framed on the walls, abstract things that are interesting and interpretive and probably belong to students (though not necessarily the doctor’s own), and there’s an absurd amount of coffee in his kitchen but at least the kid has taste.

His interests are varied, extensive, sophisticated, and yet -- in the corners he’ll find vintage Doctor Who figurines, Halloween decorations, a well-worn chess set sun-bleached under the window seat, and Go set up in the library that looks like he’s playing himself. But the most lived in room is his office, and Dave has a very good inkling why. Besides the kid’s work literally being his life, as is shown by the doctorate degrees lining the walls there, his laptop is open and the keys near faded from typing, and Dave knows it’s from countless late nights talking with Aaron. Because Aaron’s work laptop that he takes home with him looks the exact same.

“Did you learn anything?” Dr. Reid asks, appearing in the doorway in corduroys and a sweater vest over a new button down and tie ensemble. The layering helps fill him out, make him look less willowy than he is, and he seems to have tried to tame his hair but it’s still a curled, disheveled mess from the sprinkler systems at the lab. The kind of disheveled people pay hundreds of dollars to get through product alone.

“That you really, really like books.”

It’s such an absurd thing to say, and it takes the kid a beat but he laughs and there’s a set of dimples there on his face framing his wide smile and -- oh, Aaron is in trouble when he meets this kid.

“Um, yes, astute observation.”

“Have you actually read all of them?” Dave asks, peering into a glass china cabinet that’s been converted to hold very delicate first editions of Shakespeare and Proust and a few things that aren’t in English.

“Those I have, but the rest I haven’t,” Dr. Reid tells him, coming up on the other side of the desk and keeping a few feet between them. Allowing Rossi to continue to pick apart his life, indicating either some kind of power play or… this kid really has nothing to hide that he thinks Dave won’t find. Or that Aaron doesn’t already know about. “When I was visiting Prague for a conference once I was invited to the French ambassador's house for dinner. He has a library even larger than mine, and I asked him the same thing. He told me, ‘No, of course not, and I also haven’t sampled all the bottles in my wine cellar.’ ”

Dave ticks his head to the side in thought, and can’t help but agree. “Smart man. A real library isn’t for showing off a collection, it’s for giving yourself options.”

“All books are just waiting for the right time to be read, and I’ll get to them all eventually,” Dr. Reid shrugs, glancing around his office at titles that probably have been calling to him recently. “I read very fast, and once I’ve read them I either give them to people I think would enjoy them or I donate them.”

“Why not keep them? Won’t you want to read them again?”

“No need, I have an eidetic memory. I can recall everything I’ve read verbatim,” he says with a shrug, like it’s a common occurrence and Dave can’t help but stare at the kid. Who exactly was this guy?

“Why on Earth are you working at a university and not for a multi-million dollar think tank? Or for us? The bureau had to have contacted you at some point.”

“Oh, they did,” Dr. Reid says with a half smile, glancing to the chess board under the window. Avoiding eye contact that lasts longer than a few moments. “Jason Gideon tried for months when I was at MIT, but I backed out at the last minute. Don’t think he’s ever forgiven me for it.”

“That sounds like Jason,” Dave mutters, recalling his old partner and what he would have thought of a boy genius that soaks up everything he reads like a sponge. Doctorates already under his belt and just waiting to be molded into the perfect successor. He would have been chomping at the bit. Dave had been much the same about Aaron, when he first met him.

There’s much to consider about this Dr. Spencer Reid, but there’s also a handful of things to be wary of.

The kid is impressive, that’s for sure -- but he’s buried into this villa like a tick, under a pile of books and very much is used to a bachelor’s life. Everything is impeccably neat, the amount of soap and hand sanitizer he’s found does indeed confirm his theories of him being a bit of a germaphobe, and although there is a lot of stuff around his apartment everything also has its place. Cluttered, but lived in and cared for. If he and Aaron were really going to try and be a thing, would he be surprised by Aaron’s more minimal approach to décor? To his tendency to hold on to nostalgia items? Or the messiness of a young boy’s toys and children's amenities taking up all space and corners left unattended?

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Dave asks, before he really thinks about it, and the beat of silence as Dr. Reid takes his question seriously is more comforting than he realized it would be.

“No. But, I don’t think either of us really do,” Dr. Reid admits, leaning against his desk, thoughtful and honest. “What we have has... very much grown all on it’s own.” And Dave believes him, he’s seen it happen first hand. How it’s affected Aaron so slowly and over such a span of time he almost didn’t notice it.

Almost.

“And the long distance thing works?” Dave pries further, skepticism barely kept out of his voice but there enough he knows the kid can hear it. “You really have feelings for a man you’ve never even met? Who you don’t even know?”

That gets the younger man’s attention, and not in the way Rossi thought it would. His gaze snaps up, shocked, and… offended.

“Of course I know him,” he states, quiet and matter-of-fact. Light brown eyes as alight as they are defiant. “I know him better than I know anyone. I just don’t know what he looks like, and that doesn’t matter. Not to me.”

Again, Rossi almost believes him. He sounds like he means it, in a near naïve sort of way, but Dave has been around the block a time or two and experience tells him differently.

“Looks always matter.”

The kid shrugs in response, not at all fazed by his stubbornness. “I have a pretty accurate spoken description, if that eases your mind.” And oh, does Dave want to unpack that one, but this isn’t the time to delve into it when he’s giving the kid the intellectual third-degree.

“Does he have one of you?” he asks, accusing without specifications. Everyone always keeps a bit of themselves at bay, when speaking to another person, but if they were sharing physical descriptions then it sounds like those barriers are falling away bit by bit and there’s no knowing what Aaron has actually shared of himself to this kid.

His question creates a moment of unexpected pause.

“Yes? I mean, I cut my hair recently but I’m sure I mentioned it,” he murmurs, suddenly a little concerned, and Dave almost finds himself laughing.

All the skeletons he could have in his closet, and the first time this kid’s face has cracked is at the thought he forgot to mention he cut his hair.

Okay, Dave is sort of laughing. In utter disbelief, because the genuine-ness of this kid is near overpowering. He’s factual, he’s private, but he’s not sinister or plotting anything and he’s definitely got the quiet, book worm thing going for him. Maybe Aaron did strike gold, after all.

“Relax, kid, if a haircut is what you're most troubled about keeping from him I don’t think I have much to worry about.” The array of emotions that crosses the younger man’s face is almost comical. The frown at Dave calling him kid, the embarrassment that he’s worried he kept anything at all from his better half, to relief -- relief that Dave has given him a stamp of approval. It hits him then that the kid views him almost literally as the father-figure he had claimed himself to be to the other agent, and this was his version of meeting the parents.

Well, then, better make it worth the stereotype.

“Just… be careful with him,” Rossi levels with him, and Dr. Reid gives him his utmost attention. Direct eye-contact and all. “Don’t break his heart, because I don’t know if he will have much left over if you do. After the past couple years, I never thought he’d be the same, but he’s come back into himself and I’m grateful to you for that.” The softness in his face is palpable, and Dave knows the other man feels the weight of what he’s telling him. “But if you hurt him, I’ll make what happens after look like an accident. Capisci? ”

Dr. Reid nods seriously, and answers him back in kind, “Capisco.” The verb connotation actually catches Dave off guard, enough that his own expression finally softens into half a smile.

“Molto buona.”

“So… I talked with your boy toy.”

“God,” Hotch groans, head tipping back and already regretting answering his phone in the middle of the afternoon. “Do not call him that.”

“I just dropped him off back at the lab, it’s still a mad house but he went in looking to set a lot of people straight so I think he’ll be just fine.”

That’s a relief to hear, and Hotch feels his shoulders and spine begin to relax where they’d been tense and creating knots in his muscles for hours on end, ever since he’d been in Garcia’s office.

“Thank you, Dave,” he says, and means it more than he can really relay accurately. Rossi makes a sound of admonishment, passing it off as if he hadn’t made Hotch metaphorically bend over backwards to get him to go there. He can’t even imagine what the man had asked Spencer during their time alone together, but if anyone would get a good character assessment out of the interaction then it would be David Rossi.

The beat of silence is as heavy as it is long, and before Hotch can come up with something that doesn’t sound leading, Dave sighs and barrels over him.

“Go ahead, ask what you want to ask.”

“...What did you think?” Hotch’s words are low and careful, not entirely sure he wants Dave’s opinion but… he’s actually met Spencer, now. The only person Hotch knows who has. “What’s he like?”

“You know him better than I do, Hotch, and it’s obvious that you are head over heels for that kid. But if you really want to know what I think -- you are going to have your hands full, and you are going to fall hard and fast if you haven’t already.”

“Yeah, a little late for that,” Hotch tells him, hints of a smile in his voice and on his face, and the response surprises even himself. There’s a lot of revelations that have hit him one after the other today, and they all seem to be pointing towards the same direction.

Rossi can’t seem to help but smirk at him down the line, an upbeat sound in reaction to Aaron’s own subdued happiness -- because his friend really is, finally happy -- and of course it’s in an impossible situation. Now Hotch has to scoff a laugh. That sounds just like him.

“He’s quite a looker, too,” Rossi teases, baiting, and Hotch can’t help but scoff for a whole different reason, then.

“And how would you know?”

“I can appreciate a handsome fella without being attracted to them.”

“Sure, Dave,” Aaron deadpans, not even wanting to humor the man.

“Little too ‘pretty’ for my aesthetic, though--”

“O-kay, thanks again Dave. Happy to have your stamp of approval.” But he can’t help but wonder what ‘pretty’ is supposed to mean. “Have fun at your conference, I’m sure you’re going to be late to the cigar room.”

“Worth every missed minute to meet your mystery man.”

Hotch hangs up with a roll of his eyes, not sure how or why he picked up David Rossi as one of his close friends and not really finding much reason to keep him other than he has a whole lot of heart. But that’s always been reason enough. He turns with a half smile still on his face, and freezes when he sees Garcia in his doorway of his office, a secretive smile all her own on her neon bright pink lips. He doesn’t even reprimand her for sneaking up on him, just levels a look at her and mutters, “What?”

“For what it’s worth, he is very pretty,” she out right smirks, coy and loving Hotch’s reaction as he narrows his eyes at her, brow furrowed and searching. “What? I ran his background check months ago, I know exactly what he looks like. And Rossi is right, you’re going to be so smitten, sir.”

Oh no, now the whole team is going to know.

“I think I’m going to take your word for it over his,” Hotch admits, and relinquishes the smallest traces of a smile. Just for the tech analyst, and no one else. “Thanks, Garcia. For today, and for… keeping an eye on him.”

“Always, sir,” she tells him, biting back a too wide grin all her own. “It’s good to see you happy again, I’ve missed those dimples.”

“Garcia.”

“Right, on my way,” she giggles, and leaves in a colorful flurry of clicking heels and retro skirts.

Cell service doesn’t return that day to the CalTech campus, and although Hotch is acutely aware that Spencer is probably busy cleaning up the mess and wading through mountains of reactionary protocol and hazmat jurisdiction (he’s been there himself before, on cases with bioweaponry and science tech labs) he can’t help but feel like he’s holding his breath until later that evening. When Spencer finally messages him once he has the cell range to do so, letting him know he’s on his way home. Meaning Hotch had been left to his thoughts all afternoon and evening, awaiting the younger man’s presence once more.

And Hotch has had… much to think about.

They never really talked about Hotch’s near death experience months ago, when Spencer had quite literally saved his life with just a phone call. Day in and day out Hotch is faced with dangerous situations, knows all the proper procedures and training to navigate them safely and effortlessly. But when it comes to the unexpected accidents? The ones that occur outside his sphere of influence and control, he doesn’t always quite handle them the way he should. Either shutting down entirely in order to regain that control, or drowning in the emotional turmoil it can cause.

It isn’t until he hears Spencer’s voice on the phone later that night, just past dusk for the other man in California, that he’s able to put all of this in order. Unpack it in a way that he can articulate and convey, because Spencer knows just from the way he greets him that something is wrong. Weighing heavily on his mind, and has been for hours on end.

“Is it selfish of me to say I don’t like the idea of you in harm’s way?” Hotch starts with a jesting, rhetorical thing that doesn’t quite hit any kind of punchline.

“Well, luckily for you, I’m not in the profession of dangerous scenarios,” Spencer tells him, pointed and yet with an aim for comfort. Hotch supposes he had that one coming.

“Like me.”

“Like you. I always worry about you, although I know you’re more than capable.”

Hotch sighs, because he knows that Spencer puts up with this very situation constantly. Just as Haley had, when they’d been married, until she hadn’t been able to stand it any longer. “I just… don’t know what I would have done if you’d been hurt. Fly out there? Show up at the hospital, maybe -- that wouldn’t have been the greatest first impression, I’m sure.”

“I’d be mortified if we met and I was in a hospital bed.”

“You know I wouldn’t care.”

“I know.” It’s Spencer’s turn to sigh. He’s exhausted from the events of the day, Rossi’s visit and interrogation, but having the older man still so attentive and caring on the other line has him warm with too many emotions and chemicals to name. Even though he can, composition and all: a warm bath of monoamines, dopamine, neopinephrine and serotonins flooding through him. All seeped in phenethylamine, which is well known for creating the chemical reactionary symptoms of… well...

“Hotch, I’m okay,” Spencer insists, soft and gentle, tenderness there he doesn’t give to just anyone. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

There’s a long silence following that. It’s heavy and prominent, and Hotch keeps opening his mouth, the words wanting to come out but… he doesn’t know if he should let them. A year’s worth of time and words piling up behind it until he isn’t sure he can really hold it back much longer.

“Hotch?” Spencer asks, worried again. “What is it?”

Another long pause, a sigh that’s… weighed down with even more emotion than before, and Spencer feels his own breath catch as he waits.

“I love you.”

It’s said so profoundly, softly, it resonates through the phone and Spencer finds he can’t even breathe.

A series of heartbeats progresses, and despite every attempt he can’t find his voice again.

“You don’t have to say it back, I just wanted you to know.”

Spencer’s brain kickstarts into a mild panic, and words suddenly spill forth like a broken damn.

“No! No, it’s not that -- you have no idea how long I -- I just…”

He’d had a plan, daydreams on daydreams, compounding and building and this wasn’t the moment he thought it would happen if it happened at all and Spencer finds himself near speechless with how it has appeared before him. Completely unprepared.

“I always thought… hoped, that when I told you I would… be saying it in person.”

Not through a phone. He wants one milestone that isn’t through the damn phone, his lifeline and his bane and what connects him to the man he can’t even imagine living without anymore.

Hotch makes a sound that’s more winded than vocal.

The thought of seeing Spencer in person sends a flurry of fluttering sensations through his chest and stomach, and Hotch can’t help the warm, soft smile on his face. Because between the lines, Spencer had already said it back, and that alone is enough to floor him. Spencer loves him, too, and he wants to say it to his face. He wants to meet. He’s thought about it, he was planning on it.

He wants --

“Then wait,” Hotch tells him, reassuring and adoring and unbelievably smitten -- just like Garcia had said. “Save it for then. I don’t mind the waiting.”

“But I --”

“I know.” Hotch all but sighs out the words, heavy and wonderful and full of promise. “I do know, Spencer, and the knowing is enough. You can tell me when we… when we meet.”

Some day. One day.

“Soon?”

“Soon. I promise.”

Spencer is… not crying, he doesn’t cry. Hasn’t cried in years and years, the only time close had been those months ago when this wonderful man almost slipped through his fingers and out of his grasp, but his vision goes blurry and it has nothing to do with his glasses steaming up. He takes them off and rubs at them, clearing his throat so he doesn’t choke out his response. “Okay.”

The strain in those two syllables makes Hotch’s heart ache, and Spencer’s feels so tightly wound in his chest the heart-strings are more than binding. They hurt they ache so badly.

“How can I miss you this much without ever having met you?”

“I miss you too,” Hotch smiles, sadly.

“Maybe that’s not the right word. We’re as close as we’ve ever been, how can we miss a proximity we’ve never experienced?”

“It feels like the right term, I don’t have another way to describe it. That’s your area of expertise, I believe.”

Spencer huffs a humorless laugh, curled up on his couch and realizes he wants to hear Hotch say it again. Wants those low tones in his ear reminding him why they are doing this. Knowing he has no right to ask that of Hotch when he won’t even return the favor.

Then Hotch breathes out happily, slowly, and says it anyway. “I love you.”

Spencer smiles and exhales in relief, a mix of a laugh and a strangled sob. “You always know.”

“I can hear you fretting through the phone--”

“Oh yeah? Any ideas to get me to stop?” he jokes, half kidding, because he feels like he’s shaking out of his skin and he can’t pinpoint the source.

“...One,” Hotch says with an amused lilt.

“Hm?”

A slow pause. “--What are you wearing?”

Spencer burst into laughter, high and hysterical, and relief floods through him. He bites his lip as he hears Hotch chuckle quietly in turn, and then answers the older man in the same teasing lilt -- bordering on coy. “Still in my work clothes. Actually… I was just about to get undressed.”

“Hmm, lucky me.”

“I was going to change, Hotch,” he laughs in reprimand.

“Oh, there’s no need for that…”

And they dissolve into quiet laughter once more, perfectly timed and blended and the most wonderful sound in the world.

–

(tbc…)

–

Tagged List: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake @anxious-enby

#another super long one #I'm putting this on a timer so I hope to God it actually posts when it should #and that it isn't out of order #everyone form a prayer circle that this super duper long snippet isn't all out of order #thank you so much for reading I hope you all enjoy it #if you want in on the tags list I can always add to it just hit me up #Correspondence #HotchReid #heid #katyswriting

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maggiecheungs · 3 years

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atots as a disability narrative

finally posting my mini essay about atots and disability one (1) hour before episode 4 airs. putting this under the cut because it’s long. cw for discussions of casual ableism, suicidal ideation, death, disability, mental health.

(note: throughout i refer to tian’s disability, which we obviously don’t know the details of; i mainly mean it as a catch-all term for the health difficulties he faces, unlike most abled people, which continue on even after his transplant)

after episode 1 i remarked on how i read tian’s story as a disability narrative, but i wanted to wait to get a bit more info before i expanded on that. after episode 3, i think i can take a bash at outlining the main things that struck me--but there’s so much more i could say about this topic, so feel free to ask for clarification. also i obviously haven’t watched episode 4 yet, so that might change things! and of course, tian is filthy rich so his experiences with the practicalities of disability are somewhat mitigated/different from most experiences of disability... but in an ableist society, there are obviously some basic similarities in the way disability is perceived and experienced. so far, here are some of the main themes that i’ve noticed in atots:

the space between wellness and unwellness

in our society, wellness is constructed as part of a binary. one is either well (perfectly fucntional, capable of working) or unwell (ill enough to be incapable of functioning in a ‘normal’ manner). the default state is, of course, wellness; people get ill sometimes, of course, but they return to that default. however, people with disabilities and long-term health conditions can’t do that--and in the society in which we live, there aren’t accomodations for this sort of existence.

tian has spent the past few years living in the space between wellness and unwellness. it’s the space of hospital waiting rooms and people treating you like you’re fragile. it’s the space of always waiting for something to happen; waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the people around you to get tired of you. in tian’s case, waiting for death.

tian has spent the past years stuck in this liminal space: ostensibly well enough to live a fairly normal life, but not enough to do so properly. he--and everyone else around him--is just waiting, and it prevents him from forming any close emotional connections or long-term plans. even if he could forget about it for a while, others remind him through their behaviour and treatment of him. before his surgery, he isn’t allowed just exist on a day-to-day basis. his very existence is overshadowed by the threat of its end.

being stifled by others

in episode one, we get a glimpse of the near-complete erosion of personal boundaries tian has undergone over the past few years. after his operation, his mother panics when he leaves the house; she and his father stifle his freedom. at the same time, their fixation on ‘keeping him safe and healthy’ prevents them from seeing what he actually needs on an emotional level, which can be just as dangerous.

tian doesn’t just have to deal with his own feelings; he has to deal with his mother’s anxieties about him. he has to act well to assuage her fears. (tbh, neither of them handled the situation in the best possible way but... there isn’t really ‘a best way’ for this sort of situation? it’s more just limiting collateral damage.) similarly, his father blames him (or appears to blame him) for the suffering his mother is going through.

it turns into a thing where he feels as if he owes them wellness (or the appearance of it). he doesn’t feel like he can be vulnerable around them. he puts on a similarly blasé act with his friends, because he doesn’t want them to treat him the same way his parents do--like he’s made of glass. which leads to....

pushing himself beyond his limits

tian feels like he has something to prove. he wants to prove that he’s not a burden... which becomes the characterising theme of his stay in the village.

in going to stay at the village, tian’s managed to mostly escape the spectre of ‘unwellness’ that has haunted him for so long, as well as all the people who stifle him. now that he’s free, he wants to learn to stand on his own two feet; to prove it to himself and to everyone who doubted he could (his parents, phupha, etc.).

however, while this is great for him on one level, it’s not great on another. because in tian’s mind, his disability is equated with being a burden. (this is not unsurprising, given that we live in a hugely ableist society and given his own experiences with his parents.) now that he’s out of the stifling environment of his past, tian feels like asking for help or taking care of himself would be a concession of weakness/burdensome to those around him.

that means, when other people unthinkingly hold him to ableist standards which his body literally cannot accomodate, tian will push himself to the limit rather than admit that he ‘falls short’. this is something that could have grave--potentially fatal--consequences.

HOWEVER! this seems to be changing! he seems to be growing past his feeling that ‘disability = burden’. in episode 3, he voluntarily told kalae about his having to take medication, and actively equated taking care of oneself with maturity/strength (”kalae, i also take pills. grown-up men have no problem taking pills. do you want to be a child or a grown-up?”)

i’ll be interested to see how this progresses. hopefully when/if he discloses his condition to phupha, it will go some way towards helping him move past all the self-directed ableism he’s internalised. also it should stop phupha from inadvertently pushing him to exceed his limits. (i predict that one area of tension between them will be phupha’s worry about tian--if their relationship is to succeed, phupha needs to be aware and accomodating of tian’s needs without stifling him/treating him like he’s made of glass as his parents did)

survivor’s guilt

a lot of this might be unconscious, but... tian has, in his mind, done nothing with his life--unlike torfun. while tian was alive and being a burden on everyone around him, gambling his few remaining years away, torfun was being one of the best, kindest, most generous people in the world. inevitably, living in her house and interacting with her people, he compares himself to her at every turn. she could help the villagers where he cannot. she should be here, not him. her heart is wasted on him.

but this is changing! in the most recent episode (3) we can see him building bonds with the villagers on his own merits. in the first few episodes i was worried that tian’s journey would be represented as but a shadow of torfun’s, but he’s forging his own indivdiual journey. similarly, his relationship with phupha seems to be individual to him, rather than a copy of the relationhship with torfun (but i guess we’ll find out more in the next few episodes).

suicidal ideation

as mentioned above, tian has spent his entire life waiting for death. now, that looming spectre has disappeared, but it’s still a part of his identity. for years, he’s shaped his sense of self around that fact: he is going to die, so it does not matter what he does or does not do (this post sums it up really well!) he’s reckless because why the fuck shouldn’t he be? even if he’s not necessarily actively suicidal, for a while he seems to be passively suicidal.

this is also starting to show signs of change--as he overcomes his survivor’s guilt, builds genuine connections with the people around him, and feels like he’s contributing to something bigger than himself.

which leads me to the overriding theme of the series: tian’s going to have to learn to love himself, disabilities and all. he’s starting to build himself back up in the village, but he can’t treat it only as an escape. at some point, he’s going to need to face all the things i’ve mentioned in this essay and work through them. hopefully phupha will be there to help him, but this isn’t a ‘love cures all ills’ situation. loving phupha won’t ‘fix’ him; tian needs to love himself.

but... honestly, i have faith. i was really cautious after watching the first episode, because i’ve seen so many shows handle disability badly. but atots has exceeded my expectations in every other way so far, and i am truly excited to see where it goes next <3

#atots #1000 starts #a tale of thousand stars #tian #disability #ellis watches atots #atots disability rep

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rainbowsky · 3 years

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Hi! (if you ever have time) can you share your thoughts about xz's personality?

How much time do you have, Anon? I could go on for days about GG’s personality. Of course I don’t know him so all I really have are impressions, but I think his personality is powerful enough that it oozes out of his pores and is really hard to miss.

The man has all the qualities. What can I say?

He is enormously kind, generous and respectful, with a tremendous amount of compassion and empathy. It’s written all over his face when he’s talking with people, you can see how he feels what others are going through.

He has a lot of humility, almost to the point of being self-deprecating at times. He doesn’t take himself too seriously - he is capable of laughing at himself and letting others laugh at him, and taking that in stride. I really admire that about him. I’m sure he’s human like the rest of us and fully capable of being insecure, but he seems to have a good sense of humor about himself.

He is incredibly flirtatious and fully aware of his own charms and magnetism.

I think one of the things I like most about him is that he is such a multidimensional, complex person. He has so many sides to himself, and each is fully realized and genuine, but many of them might seem contradictory at first glance.

For example, he’s disarmingly bashful with that electrocuting shy smile of his, yet he’s also very strong and confident and even dominant at times. He’s witty and a bit silly and nerdy, with a sometimes lewd sense of humor, but also very serious, professional and even formal at times. He displays so much patience and forbearance (dealing with gremlin DD requires that, I think), yet sometimes can be very jealous and temperamental.

This complexity is the sort of authenticity and depth of character that cannot be faked.

He’s also fully capable of being strategic, cautious and premeditated in his interactions. He has an obvious sense of self-preservation and a (very enviable for an autistic person like me) highly developed sensitivity to social norms, customs, and social expectations. His social instincts are second to none, as far as I can tell. He really amazes me sometimes with his social sorcery.

He has a great deal of maturity and emotional intelligence. That interview that he did with Wan Fang really showed just how sharp he is. He wrote all his own questions for that interview. They were so thoughtful and insightful that the author was visibly moved by his genuine interest in and understanding of the themes she explored in her work.

His integrity is a central part of what makes him so special. I get the impression he has a really strong sense of justice and of his own values, and he lives by them. He works within the limitations he is forced to, yet still manages to make some incredibly bold, touching statements about where he stands and how he feels.

He is so caring and he dotes on DD in ways that I am eternally grateful for. DD needs and deserves that kind of love.

He is so resilient and strong, even tough in sometimes unexpected ways, but he’s also gentle and kind. I get the sense that he’s the sort of guy who would be there for the people he loves, and who would be honest and forthright with them without judging or humiliating them.

One of my favorite life mottos is “Be the one on whom nothing is lost” and I see so much of this in Xiao Zhan. He doesn’t seem to miss or waste any opportunity to expand his frame of reference or to be a better person.

Anyway, you get the idea - I LOVE GG SO FUCKING MUCH.

#xiao zhan #sean xiao #chongqing beauty #bjyx #yizhan #Wang Yibo ai Zhan ge and so do we

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asteroiideae · 3 years

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okay, so I don’t make these kinds of posts often because tbh I’m a little lazy and very tired like 24/7 lmao but I’ve been seeing a lot of Pride reading lists hit my dash (and they’re excellent, and I save them all!) buuuut reading books is still a roadblock I’m struggling to mentally overcome -- and audiobooks are great, but they take 84 years (sometimes literally???) to get through. so! I thought I’d share a (very tiny) list of the queer manga I’ve read this year that you might enjoy for Pride, with some descriptions/trigger warnings/thoughts to go with them. so here we go in no particular order other than where they sit on my bookshelf:

What Did You Eat Yesterday? by Fumi Yoshinaga

okay so I know I go on about this manga at literally every presented opportunity, but I honestly just can’t help myself??? as a thirty-something queer adult, I really love the quiet maturity of this relationship between Shiro and Kenji; especially when it’s highlighted by references to shenanigans of their youth, and the ways in which they are still growing as both individuals and a couple. I’ve only read the first six volumes but I’m OBSESSED.

Status: Ongoing (17 volumes; 15 translated) Summary: Shiro and Kenji are an established adult couple with separate careers and interests, whose relationship is depicted over the meals cooked for them by Shiro. This doesn’t have an overarching plot, which might be off-putting for some readers; each chapter can be compared to a fanfic one-shot, usually containing it’s own tiny storyline or theme. It’s literally just domestic moments and meals shared between these men. Warnings: While I didn’t personally have a problem with this, younger readers might find some of the dated terms offensive. If you’ve spent any time with older queer folks (older as in 45-50+) this won’t be anything you aren’t used to, but if your experience of queer folx skews younger or online, you might get taken by surprise. There’s also some internalized homophobia; and by some I mean quite a bit. Shiro’s personal arc (at least in the first six volumes) heavily revolves around how much he closets himself and tries desperately to pass as “normal” in Japanese business culture.

Boys Run The Riot by Keito Gaku

holy shit holy shit holy SHIT. this story is so good??? so VERY good??? I was a little cautious, and a little bit uninterested in a story about teens (only because I’m in my thirties and crave more adult representation,) but I was VERY WRONG to be. Boys Run The Riot is beautifully drawn, beautifully written, and probably my favorite work on this list. the mangaka is also trans so the inherent understanding and nuance of our protagonist’s experience is really lovely. Also featuring a fantastic brotp between a trans boy and his new himbo bestie; no seriously if you want a story about a trans boy getting to have good broships with other boys his own age I CANNOT stress this enough. Volume two is releasing next month; I have it preordered. I’m laying on my floor wishing for time to hurry the fuck up. I need more of this smol angry trans boy and his big soft himbo bff. PLS. Status: Ongoing (4 volumes published; 2 translated) Summary: Ryo Watari is a second year high school student who is trans and struggling to feel comfortable with his very rigidly structured life at school, at home, and among his friends (to whom he is not out.) By chance he meets Jin Sato, a cis boy who also feels outcast (often judged for his appearance without any deeper thought.) When Ryo comes out to Jin in a state of frustration, Jin accepts who Ryo is and makes an offer -- why not start a fashion line that subverts all the expectations that have been put on them both; why not express themselves even when they’ve been told they shouldn’t. Warnings: Ryo is struggling with gender dysphoria, and it is written by someone who has probably experienced it, so it might be a little real for any trans folks who deal with that. Also, while neither the narrative nor Jin misgender Ryo (at least, not once he expresses to Jin that he is a man), Ryo is not out to anyone else and so he frequently is misgendered at school and we see how badly that impacts him and the way he views himself and processes his emotions. Ryo spends a lot of time being angry and trying to swallow it down, and that can be very raw to witness at times. There is also a depiction of unsafe binding (though the mangaka has an immediate note about binding safety, and goes further in-depth at the back of the manga.)

Our Dining Table by Mita Ori

okay, so I was a bit on the fence about whether or not I wanted to include this as a rec, but I decided that it might actually been what someone wants or needs, so here it is! while I really enjoyed this concept, and I’m always a sucker for found family stories (let me tell you I’m queer without telling you I’m queer, much?) it feels like this story is a bit rushed at times, and the romantic relationship between our protagonists is very blink and you’ll miss it. I don’t even want to call it subtle so much as it is just not remotely the focus of the story so it’s a little startling when it happens. but! if you’re looking for a story about adults processing grief and trauma together, and learning how to care for another person (and as a result, learning how to care for themselves,) this is a nice read that isn’t too heavy! Status: Complete (one volume) Summary: Yutaka is a salaryman whose past experiences prevent him from reaching out to others, even through something so simple as sharing a meal. Despite this is REALLY loves to cook, and wishes he had a reason to do it more often. Then he meets Minoru, and his muuuuuch younger brother Tane (it’s like a 17 year age gap between the brothers?) and finds himself teaching them how to cook, and overcoming his fear of eating in front of others. Warnings: Good news, there’s no overt homophobia in this story! Bad news, the other trauma makes up for it! We have a lot of trauma surrounding parental death, childhood bullying, and adoption; in addition to an actual fear of eating in front of others.

Our Dreams at Dusk / Shimanami Tasogare by Yuhki Kamatani

this is the first manga series I collected, and I’m still very pleased about that. the art is ABSOLUTELY stunning? the use of visual imagery and surreal analogies to explain queerness is fucking on POINT. I cried so hard during a couple of these volumes I developed a migraine. I only have one piece of critique on the whole thing (addressed in the warnings,) and I intend to do another re-read when I’m ready for the catharsis of sobbing into my pillow again. Like Boys Run The Riot, Our Dreams at Dusk is drawn and written by a member of the queer community (a non-binary mangaka, this time,) and as a result it hits pretty fucking close to home in a lot of ways. while I really love this series it’s super not for the faint of heart, you WILL come out of this reading experience with some things to unpack. Status: Completed (4 volumes; 4 translated) Summary: We mostly follow Tasuku Kaname, as he is outted at school by a classmate as being homosexual, and his initial despair and subsequent journey of acceptance. In this process, Tasuku finds himself at a drop-in center, which seems to primarily function as a safe space for queer people; we meet several lesbians, an elderly gay man, a trans character, and a young character who isn’t ready for any kind of label because they are still ??? about themselves and their identity. Each of these “secondary” characters is given room to breathe and to work through difficulties of their own while Tasuku watches and learns that even though life is hard sometimes, there’s beauty to be found in one’s own strength. Warnings: hoooo boy; well there’s all kinds of homophobia and transphobia; a character is outted against their will (multiple times), there’s some really insidious transphobia covered by “concern”, there’s internalized homophobia everywhere, and a very complicated asexual character whose presentation left me (as an ace) with super mixed feelings and a lot of frustration (though I wouldn’t call it bad necessarily; just wanted to put that out there for my fellow asexual folks.) If you have read (or go on to read!) any of these, please let me know! I’d love to chat about the stories, and hear your thoughts on them -- because we’re a broad/diverse community and our own experiences shape us differently and give us different insights. <3 ANYWAY, for those of you who read this monstrous self-indulgent post, thank you! Feel free to add any queer manga you’ve been reading below - I’m always on the hunt for more recs!

#happy pride #manga recs #gay representation #queer representation #trans characters #asexual characters #gay characters #everything in-between tbh

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roselen-mylady · 4 years

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Kickin it old school

Bucky Barnes x Deadpool!Reader

What happenes when Bucky falls in love with Y/n, otherwise known as Deadpool, the famous Merc with a Mouth? Can he break down her walls and enter the chaos that is her heart?

WARNING: Mature language and suggestive themes

It started with a giggle. A little inappropriate giggle, underlined with drunken crudeness. It was a giggle that was accompanied by a dark, lustful smile and an even darker gaze. It was the kinda giggle that came from a girl who had never quite done it but had done enough hand and mouth stuff to no longer be completely innocent. A timid but craving giggle. A nasty giggle.

Valkyrie had come to the compound for a meeting, nothing more. But with Y/n’s insistence she stayed around for their daily training. They held it outside today, allowing Sam to practice some group maneuvers with his wings and his passed down shield. Valkyrie went easy at first, not yet knowing the extent of Y/n’s power or how much she could take.

But soon Y/n’s dirty and foul comments became more irritating than amusing and without much thought she forced Y/n back, making her fly across the yard. It wouldn’t have been such a damaging fall, no Y/n had survived much worse. Yet the decorative fence surrounding the building was an unforgiving cushion and Y/n’s head was soon impaled upon one metal spike. If her mind wasn’t so foggy she might’ve made a joke about being like an overthrown king, whose head was then displayed throughout the kingdom on a pike.

Thankfully Sam wasted no time in making the joke, much to Valkyrie’s horror. She had killed many beings in her time, a lot without any cause or honor but this was different. The object of training wasn’t to kill your opponent but rather to better them. However there Y/n was, unmoving and what appeared to be dead upon the lawn.

“Gods.” Valkyrie’s muffled voice came to Y/n like a blur. Y/n twitched, doing her best to lift herself off the spike. It was metal and quite firmly attached to the rest of the fence so she knew she had to find a way to work herself up to the top.

Then the giggle came. The sultry giggle Wade used to love.

“Deadpool, are you alright?” Valkyrie questioned, but was met with no response as Y/n gazed around her, some cheesy 90s song that had been long lost in her subconscious now filling the air around her. Valkyrie stepped into view like an angel coming to rescue her and Y/n couldn’t help but reach out to her as the woman broke the spike and brought Y/n up into her arms.

Valkyrie was relieved to hear Y/n couldn’t die though the rather annoyed way Sam said it was alarming. Y/n’s white lenses widened as she reached out for Valkyrie’s face, letting her gloved hand caress her skin.

Sam emerged somewhere from behind but Y/n paid no mind, finding Valkyrie’s confused expression almost…sexy? She couldn’t think straight but for what she was going to do, she didn’t need to.

Y/n accepted the music in her head and the image before her, bringing both hands up with two fingers pointing into Vs. Y/n wasted no time in making very indecent gestures, only furthering Valkyrie’s confusion. Y/n couldn’t even hear Sam’s mock disgust as her hand drifted to her mouth motioning a lick between her two fingers though her mask covered her mouth.

Valkyrie looked back to Y/n with an amused but uninterested smile before another set of arms took hold of Y/n. The cool metal under her back was different from the metal in her head and she found herself leaning into it for comfort. A scent so familiar filtered through her mask and she inhaled deeply, enjoying it more than the smoke from her guns.

Looking up she was met with Bucky, his kind blue eyes and even warmer expression sending chills through her high state. Very much like Valkyrie, he fell victim to Y/n’s sexual gestures, her palm forming a circle in front of her mouth as she bobbed it closer and closer to her face. He didn’t respond, at least not that she could tell in the disoriented state she was in, instead setting her down upon her feet.

Taking that as a go ahead, she began to sink to her knees but before her fingers could begin to dig into his waistband, his metal fingers wrapped around the spike, yanking it harshly out of her skull.

The music stopped instantly and everything went cold around her as she collapsed into the grass. She groaned, gripping her head as an agonizing headache tore through her brain. “Oh fuck!"

"She’s back to normal. If you can even call her that.” Sam teased as Valkyrie stepped forward to check on Y/n. Bucky stood in front of them, closest to Y/n and she now took notice of the pink dusting his face and the uneasy shift of his hips.

“How did you survive that?” Valkyrie questioned, curiously as Sam tugged the shield out of a poor nearby tree.

Y/n shrugged lazily, rolling over onto her side to climb back to her feet, blood still pooling in the lawn beside her. “Can’t die. Headshots only make me loopy.” Y/n explained, circling her finger next to her head dramatically as she struggled to piece together any coherent thoughts.

“Yes, so I gathered.” Valkyrie laughed, referring to Y/n’s lewd suggestions. Y/n only shrugged shamelessly.

“Well, if you’re ever up for it, you know where I’m at. I’ll even let you stab me again if that’s what you’re into.” Y/n winked, missing Bucky’s slight frown as he started back toward the compound.

She didn’t know he’d only come out upon hearing a sickening squish of her skull sinking down the spike. She didn’t know he’d rushed to the lawn and nearly had a heart attack when he saw her. Didn’t know that even though she was practically immortal he still feared for her life. Didn’t know he’d give his for hers in an instant.

Valkyrie smiled at the offer but didn’t give a response instead leaving Y/n guessing. She liked it when they played hard to get anyways.

“Dead, c'mere.” Sam called over causing Y/n to turn away from Valkyrie’s retreating figure. She made her way over to him, still dizzy from her brain repairing itself but managed to make it over to the tree where he’d instructed.

“Try catching the shield, I don’t think I’m throwing it hard enough."

Bucky froze at the request, already sensing what a terrible idea it was. Yet before he could even begin to object Y/n complied, bracing herself in preparation.

"Wait."

His words hung limply on his tongue, exactly what he feared would happen, happening the second he spoke. Sam yelled out an apology as Y/n yanked her hand out from under the shield where it had been pinned to the tree.

She didn’t cry or scream in pain, instead giving a frustrated shout as she jerked herself back, ripping her finger off in the process.

"Aw, pussyshit."

•••

"Ha! Sam, look! Baby finger!” Y/n wiggled her tiny middle finger, thrusting it into Sam’s face. He recoiled in disgust, forcing away her hand.

“Ew, no! I don’t wanna see that thing.” He cried, pushing her off his desk. Y/n shrieked as she tumbled to the ground, landing flat on her ass.

“Shit.” She groaned a little, choosing to sprawl out instead, too lazy to get back up. “Come on! You’re the dumbass that chopped it off. Masturbating is going to suck ass! What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” She pushed her hand forward once more, smirking as he spared it a cautious glance. Immediately Sam looked away again, shaking his head in distaste.

Her hand fell against her stomach, her other hand coming to massage the little finger as it grew in. But before she could continue to terrorize Sam the automatic door slid open, heavy boots clambering into the room.

“Y/n, what are you doing on the floor?” His deep voice sent familiar chills through her spine and she quickly sat up, trying with all her might to ignore the feeling. Bucky looked down at her, his brows furrowed in confusion as he nudged her leg softly.

“Cause this jackass, pushed me off the desk.” Y/n replied as she kicked Sam’s chair, crushing his leg against the side of his desk. He grunted painfully, shooting her a deadly glare before Bucky intervened.

“How about we call this even before things get out of hand?” He sighed, rubbing his forehead like an agitated parent.

“I don’t even want to hear the word ‘hand’.” Sam groaned. Y/n gasped, angrily rising to her feet and throwing her hands up wildly.

“You cut it off, you stupid shit suckle!” She screeched, fuming at this point.

“I told you, I’m still getting used to the shield!"

"Eat a cock!” Y/n shot back.

Bucky sighed, grabbing hold of Y/n’s hand to inspect it carefully. All the vulgar words she had planned to use on Sam were quickly lost to her flustered thoughts and her scarred face fell into an awestruck expression.

Thankfully he didn’t see the pink that dusted her cheeks, only frowning slightly at her new appendage. It was small in his larger hands, but so was the rest of her hand and she quickly retracted it before she could start to enjoy the feeling. Bucky’s fingers followed hers for a split second, chasing the warmth that she provided but he caught himself, letting his hands drop to his side with a deeper frown.

“How long will it take for it to grow back?” He asked. She shrugged, looking down at the dried patches of blood still lingering around the new finger.

“Eh, like 10 minutes. I’ll be fine. One time this huge motherfucker, Juggernaut, ripped me clean in half like a damn phone book. Well, it wasn’t clean. It was messy-it was so fucking terrible.” Y/n laughed, unaware of the alarmed look Bucky and Sam shared.

“What happened to your legs?” Sam questioned reluctantly, knowing the answer wasn’t something he really wanted to know. He was just so damn curious.

“No idea.” Y/n hummed quietly, looking off into the distance as if searching for her literal other half. The men watched her with vivid concern, trying in vain to force away their own theories about the whereabouts of Y/n’s legs.

“We have another mission. Suit up and meet at the jet in an hour.” Bucky told them, his voice stony in a way that only happened when he was upset. He then turned, storming out of the room leaving Sam and Y/n with equally confused faces.

“The fucks wrong with Terminator?” Y/n questioned, jerking a thumb back at the door. Sam shrugged, lifting himself up from his desk, trying not to give Y/n the satisfaction of watching him limp. She noticed though. She always did.

•••

“Getting real tired of these HYDRA motherfuckers!” Y/n yelled, firing at one of the agents as she ran down the infinite looking hall. Bucky ran alongside her, his metal arm braced out in front of them to deflect bullets.

Well most of them.

“Fuck!” Y/n screamed, slamming her hand down over her left breast with an appalled expression. Bucky froze as did the HYDRA agent that shot her, equally shocked.

“You shot me in the fucking boob!” She screamed, disbelief and vengeance lacing her words. “Oh shit, that fucking does it. I’m shooting you right in the dick, cum bucket.” She promised, her smile venomous as she directed the gun at the man’s groin and fired without hesitation.

The man cried out in agony as he fell to his knees, making Bucky visibly flinch beside her as she shot again. “Y/n.” He warned, looking around at the hall which was slowly flooding with more agents. “We have to move on."

"Not yet. Not until this guy’s kids come out of his bitch like pudding!” Y/n stepped forward, firing again even though the man had already become unconscious. Only the click from her empty clip seemed to calm her rage and she growled in frustration.

“Stupid!” Y/n shouted at herself, slamming the now unless gun into her thigh holster. The man on the ground with an ever growing puddle of red growing around his lower half was a gruesome sight but it made her smile. “Worth it.” She whispered with a smirk.

“Sam’s waiting for us outside!” Bucky reminded, turning around them and kicking one of the agents into the group behind him. The harshness in which he had been forced into them made them fall, buying Bucky and Y/n sometime while they recovered but not much. “The elevator is our best bet outta here."

No sooner had he said it, Bucky immediately stopped, glaring at the sight before them. A dozen men came around the corner, blocking their path with an older man in a suit at the front.

"Whoa there, buddy, you’re within 100 feet of a school. Don’t make me call your parole officer.” Y/n mocked, putting her hands on her hips as she stared down the man at the center.

His brows furrowed in confusion and he looked around at the other men, hoping one of them might fill him in. The agents behind the pair had gotten back to their feet, coming to block the other direction of the hall, cutting off all means of escape.

“You have nowhere to run, give us the drive and I promise your death will be quick.” The man demanded. Y/n glanced over at Bucky, her taunting expression obvious to him even under her mask. He couldn’t help but let a small smile slip as she turned back to the man.

“I’m gonna have to stop you right there, pal. Sorry to steal your whole Dr. Evil moment but there’s been a change of plans.” Y/n started, menacingly stepping toward the man. There was still a fair distance between them but it was close enough to make the man cower.

“If you leave right now, I might-

let you keep your hands. If not, well, let’s just say you’re gonna have a tough time tickling your pickle tonight.” She smirked at the older man. Some of the men were baffled by the woman before them, unsure if they should be fighting her or not. Seriousness was never one of Y/n’s strong suits. Unlike people such as Captain America and Colossus, Y/n ran on violence and smartass remarks. This was in every aspect of her life even in her grieving process and while this wasn’t the healthiest of methods she didn’t really care.

“Kill them.” The man ordered, sinking back into the group, as they stepped threateningly closer. Y/n nearly smiled under her mask. She loved it when they played it hard to get.

“Time to kick it old school.” Y/n announced, reaching behind her and tugging free her dual swords. She spun them expertly in her hands, bringing one above her head while the other stretched out in front of her. “Bring it on, cock thistle."

Bucky stood in awe as he watched her. The thumping in his chest was a forgotten feeling. It was something that died when he fell off the train and only just recently had it been revived. Ironically it was the one woman who couldn’t die who had brought his ability to love back to life.

And for that she owned his heart.

A single bullet rang out but Y/n was much faster than the bullet, swinging down the katana and slicing it clean in half. A moment of confused silence rang out through the hall, tension rising faster than the bullet that just tore through the air.

Like the shot at the beginning of a race, the simple sound made everyone erupt into conflict. Multiple men swormed Bucky, crashing him into the wall but struggling to pin him there. Bucky was stronger than all of them but they just kept coming, a mess of men grabbing hold of his limbs and immobilizing him.

Y/n charged forward, dropping to her knees and leaning back as she moved to slide under the man closest to her. He cried out as she cut off his hand, a soft thud on the ground telling her that her sword had gone clean through. She rose again, turning and bringing one of her feet up to plant herself before, digging her katana into the man’s back. The man fell limp on the ground, his dismembered hand still gripping the gun he had pointed at her.

"Need a hand?!” Y/n shouted, glancing over at Bucky’s predicament. He looked back at her, his face twisted into a provoked expression. That was the only answer she needed and she quickly rolled under the rain of gunfire directed at her, landing a few feet from Bucky. She stretched out her sword, sliding the edge through the small space next to the tigger, lifting the gun and hurling it in Bucky’s direction.

He caught it effortlessly, overlapping his metal fingers atop the dead man’s butchered hand and pressing the barrel to one agent’s skull. He made quick work at taking out three of the men, evening the playing field enough to overpower the men. He shouted as he forced himself forward, his pure brute force powerful enough to throw back a few of the men.

Taking advantage of their stupor, he hammered his fist into the face of the agent next to him, causing blood to spill from his nose as he stumbled back. Bringing his elbow back into the next man, he knocked him unconscious before breaking free. Bucky pivoted on his heel to attack the agent hurling themselves at him once more. His hands came to fist the straps of the man’s uniform, thrusting him up into the ceiling and shattering the fluorescent light above them. The agent fell into a pile on the floor, the glass from the light scattering over his unconscious form.

Y/n launched to her feet, slamming her knee into the chest of another man forcing him into the wall before driving her sword into his chest. Once retracting the blade, he sunk to the ground smearing blood down the wall as he collapsed. Quickly returning to her feet, she sprinted a few feet, pounding her foot into the wall as she vaulted over the next man, slicing his throat as she went.

“You stupid bitch!” A voice shouted over the chaos, catching Y/n’s attention. She tilted her head as she looked at him, the white lenses in her mask widening.

“Excuse me, shit brains? Since I’m an Avenger now that’s terrorism right?” She questioned, turning to Bucky. Noticing he was occupied she rounded back to the man, narrowing her eyes at him. “As Scoutmaster Kevin once told me many years ago.” Y/n took large strides as she made her way to him, murderous intent rolling off of her in waves as she wiped the blood from her sword onto her leather clad forearm.

“I’m about to fuck your shit up."

The man howled in pain as she pelted her sword into his knee, the sharpened blade piercing through his kneecap and burying itself into the floor behind him. Y/n ran forward, kicking the blade further in causing the joint to snap with a sickening crunch.

Grabbing hold of the man’s head, she flew forward, flipping over him as she balanced her weight on his already unsteady form. She landed behind him, pulling his head back with a harsh tug. Knocking out his other knee, she forced him down, bringing her other katana to his throat while her foot rose to settle between his shoulder blades. In one swift movement, she pushed him down, digging her blade into his neck with a satisfying slice.

Bucky met her eye as the man dropped, the gurgling from his throat echoing through the hall. Bucky’s gaze was surprised but not disgusted. Instead he marveled at the sight of her, astonished by Y/n’s display of atrocious violence yet fierce beauty. Never had he seen anything like it before Y/n entered his life and while he should’ve been horrified by half of the things she did he couldn’t. Because ever since she joined their team she had only done those things to destroy the same organization that had destroyed him. And he couldn’t get enough.

Y/n looked away, flustered under his gaze. She couldn’t handle the way he sent chills down her spine and butterflies to her stomach. It was cliche but it was happening and she refused to face it. "I see the elevator.” She told him, catching sight of the leader trying to run out of the corner of her eye. Her head whipped around, her hand reaching forward to grab the blade still plunged in the dead man’s knee before chucking it at the escapee.

The sword sunk into his skull pinning him to the wall as Bucky took out the remaining men beside him. “We have to hurry, our cover’s been blown and Sam can’t wait around for too long.” Y/n nodded in acknowledgement, sheathing her sword as he came to stand next to her.

Y/n glanced around at the bodies scattered around the hall. It was quite a scene, blood splattered along the walls and floor, bullet holes littering the plaster and the light fixture above them flickering wildly as it struggled to keep the hall lit.

“Oh, I am so touching myself tonight.” Y/n groaned at the sight making a soft pink flush across Bucky’s cheeks. The mere thought of it sent blood rushing to his face and he shifted awkwardly as it rushed to other places as well. But before he could mumble an embarrassed response, shouts from more agents echoed down the hall cutting short any sort of awkward conversation he could have mustered. He quickly shuffled through the corpses, dragging Y/n along with him as she quickly plucked her other sword from the man’s skull.

They ran around the corner coming up on the elevator fast. The agents giving chase were catching up and Bucky urged Y/n in front of him, instinctively trying to protect her. Once reaching the elevator, he ripped open the doors, too distracted by the growing danger the agents presented to notice the fact that the elevator wasn’t even there as he stepped forward.

But Y/n noticed and she quickly grabbed him, spinning them to where he was out of the way. However in the process she forced herself over the edge, falling back clumsily.

For a split second Bucky reached forward, trying desperately to catch her but she was already falling. She slipped through his fingers dropping the eleven floors to the bottom of the elevator shaft, landing with a sickening thud.

Bucky choked on his breath, staring down at her still and twisted form as his heart clenched in his chest. Flashbacks of his own fall began to overwhelm his already cluttered mind and he almost wanted to scream.

It was 2 agonizing seconds before she moved, a loud shout echoing through the shaft.

“Motherfucker! I think I just shat my spleen!” Y/n moaned, rolling onto her side. Bucky let out a relieved chuckle and looked behind him, mumbling his own curse before jumping down after her. His metal arm grasped onto the cables, slowing his fall but the screeching of metal on metal seemed to amplify in the confined space.

Once reaching the bottom he jumped off, crouching down beside her as her blood began to pool around her head. “Shit! I don’t know what hurt more, falling eleven stories or listening to your arm! It’s like two tractors trying to- Fuck!” She cried as his arms slid under her body, pulling her up against his chest.

“I found the elevator.” Y/n laughed dryly as she pointed above them, the said elevator hanging a few floors above the floor they had been on. “How convenient.” She mumbled, glaring up at the air as if focusing her annoyance toward a certain writer who enjoyed torturing her readers.

Bucky was oblivious to her turmoil, instead shaking his head at his stupidity and cursing himself for letting his feelings for her distract him. It was his fault she fell. Is this how guilty Steve had felt?

“We’ll have to have Sam meet us on the ground instead.” Bucky grunted, kicking open the doors to the ground level. He ran out into the room, his grip on Y/n remaining firm as he headed to the exit.

“Nothing like falling 100 or so feet to get you going, am I right?” Y/n snickered at her own joke, trying to ignore the erratic beating of her heart as his cologne invaded her senses.

They made it out, the sky blooming in a beautiful shade of orange as the sun began to set. Y/n admired it for a moment, smiling when the quinjet came into view. Allowing her to slip out of his arms, Bucky planted his hands on her waist to insure she was steady before bashfully shying away as Sam landed.

“Come on!” He shouted, opening the back ramp for them. Bucky followed Y/n as she ran up to the jet and climbed up the ramp, keeping an eye behind them as the HYDRA agents ran outside. The ramp closed just in time and Y/n let out a relieved laugh as she fell onto the bench inside, whopping amusingly.

“Well, that was a shit show. Got this little fucker though.” She grunted, pulling the drive out of one of her pockets before handing it over to Sam. He accepted it, eyeing her with a rare look of concern.

“What the hell happened to you?"

"Decided to take a swan dive off the eleventh floor. Not my highest record but still fucked me in the ass.” She laughed, tugging off her mask. Her hair was matted and bloody, sticking up in one spot from her mask but any effort at soothing it was pointless. The scarred tissue around her lips and nose contorted in discomfort and sweat had coated her brow from their fight.

She was healing already but it didn’t ease her any as her bones reset and her organs reformed. It was an excruciating process but she didn’t complain, instead pulling out her gun and observing it as Bucky sat down next to her.

“Who’s balls I gotta fondle to get some tacos? I’m starving.” She nagged, dropping her mask and gun on the floor before stretching out across the bench on her stomach. Her head rested on Bucky’s leg making his blood run cold as her chin brushed the inside of his thigh.

“You offering?” Sam replied, raising a suggestive brow as Y/n’s new position.

“You wish.” Y/n winked at him, making Sam shake his head disapprovingly.

“Eh, you’re not my type.” He insisted, sharing a playful glare with her. They had a confusing relationship but most of her relationships were. Sam didn’t hesitate to tease her or join in on her pranks, much to Bucky’s chagrin. Y/n rather enjoyed Sam’s company and she knew he felt the same though they seemed to hate each other.

“I’m nobody’s type, Warren Worthington. I’m kinda the, 'if I squint really hard I can pretend you’re the non-blue version of Mystique- Lawrence not Romijn- so I’ll fuck you’ kinda gal.” She rambled, not caring to explain who the hell she was talking about. But she didn’t have to. Bucky was already frowning.

Y/n wasn’t lacking confidence, no that was the one thing she had an abundance of. She knew exactly what people thought of her horribly scarred body and she chose not to give a shit. But what upset Bucky the most was the fact that she believed herself to be unwanted. Did she truly believe that she was undesirable or was she just joking?

“Want some?” Y/n questioned beside him, holding up a small white package labelled 'Y/n’s cocaine’. He shook his head, his brows furrowing as he wondered why on Earth she thought that moment was a good time to offer him cocaine. Or how any time was the right time.

She shrugged, ripping open the bag and pouring some of the white powder into her gloved hand and inhaling it harshly. He winced at the sight but her drug problem wasn’t the cause of his downcast expression. Rather the fact that the beautiful woman who had introduced herself as Deadpool seemed to be oblivious to his feelings.

Bucky couldn’t get the sick feeling to subside the whole way back to the newly rebuilt compound.

•••

“Here I go, here I go, here I go again. Girls, what’s my weakness? Men!” Y/n sang along, ignoring the strange looks from the man in the elevator as she danced along with the song blaring on her portable radio. “Ok then, chillin’, chillin’, mindin’ my business."

The elevator opened on the floor where most living quarters and showers were kept, hers included and she stepped out with a bit of a jig as she kept pace with the beat. "Yo, Salt, I looked around, and I couldn’t believe this. I swear, I stared, my niece, my witness.” The soft patter of her feet down the hall was soothing as she lifted her arms above her head, swaying slightly with the music as she twirled, barely missing the agent who was coming out of his own room.

“The brother had it goin’ on with somethin’ kinda, uh. Wicked, wicked had to kick it

I’m not shy so I asked for the digits.” Y/n rolled her shoulder rhythmically as she side-stepped past him, keeping her moves swift and joyful as she danced along to the song. The showers weren’t too far now but her loud music was slowly catching the attention of people who had already called it a night, summoning them out into the hall.

“A ho? No, that don’t make me. See what I want slip slide to it swifty. Felt it in my hips so I dipped back to my bag of tricks.” Y/n’s heart skipped a beat as Bucky stepped out into the hall. He was dressed in a much more comfortable looking attire of sweatpants and a t-shirt and while it was plain it still sent a familiar tingle to her core.

Opting to push aside her unwelcomed feelings toward the man, she continued on deciding to have a little fun with it as she went.

“Then I flipped for a tip, make me wanna do tricks for him.” She spoke along to the song, making eye contact with Bucky as she did. His eyes seemed to glue to her hips, watching them with a guilty expression, the gentleman in him fighting his obvious stares. He tried with all his might to drag his gaze elsewhere, only managing to lift them to her half-masked face with a flustered expression.

“Lick him like a lollipop should be licked.” Y/n winked, flicking her tongue sensually. The line sent a deep flush to his cheeks as she came to stand before him, her fingers racking his t-shirt.

“Came to my senses and I chilled for a bit. Don’t know how you do the voodoo that you do. So well it’s a spell, hell, makes me wanna shoop shoop shoop.” Y/n smirked, spinning on the ball of her foot and walking off toward the showers, a bit of a pep in her step as she left Bucky absolutely flabbergasted.

The music faded along with the scent of her perfume and Bucky lingered on the senses, his heart racing wildly. He was so distracted in fact that when Sam crept up beside him, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he followed after Y/n, he didn’t even try to object. For now he would bask in what was left of her presence and the frantic pace of his heart.

But he couldn’t enjoy the feeling for long.

•••

“Sam!"

Bucky knew he would regret not stopping his birdbrained friend. Said perpetrator now ran full speed down the hall toward the kitchen, arms cradling Y/n’s suit urgently. Sam sprinted behind Bucky, hoping his super soldier best friend might be able to spare him his life as the raging Merc with a Mouth made her way to him.

Poor Bucky didn’t even have time to process what Sam’s arms held before, Y/n came storming in clad in only her mask, water dripping from her untucked hair and other areas. "Sam, you dick kicking fucktard! Give me my fucking suit, now!” Bucky tried in vain to shield his eyes but it was too late. He had seen enough to fuel his fantasies for the rest of his life and any hope at burying his painfully unreciprocated feelings were now dead.

“No! You practically live in this thing, it’s disgusting!” Sam yelled back, climbing onto the counter to stuff the suit behind the fridge. “You’re banned from it until you wash it!"

"How the fuck am I supposed to do that?! You crammed it in further than a priest goes into a 6 year old boy!” Y/n screamed back, marching threateningly over to the counter where Sam stood.

Bucky didn’t know what he admired more, her lack of shame as she paraded around in the nude or her lack of remorse as she grabbed Sam’s ankle, brutally yanking him and causing him to crash onto the hard surface.

“Motherfucker! I did not come down here and ruin that poor teenage boy’s virgin eyes for you to be a punk ass bitch!” She screamed, pointing in the direction she had just come from. Sam groaned, sparing a glance in the direction.

“What’s Spiderbrat doing here?” He huffed, gripping his ribs tightly as he tried to rise from the ground.

“I don’t know.” Bucky mumbled, putting his hand against his temple as he attempted to remove the soaked Y/n from his sights.

“Spiderman?! That was Spiderman?! I have an obligation to the fans!” Y/n cheered excitedly before spinning around and running off down the hall. “Wait Spidey!” She cried, her feet slapping the tile in wet smacks.

“I swear to God if she takes his virginity. Y/n!” Sam yelled after her, flying up from the ground and speeding after her. Y/n screamed as she slipped, a loud crash echoing down the hall as Sam cried out in pain.

Bucky practically shook as he struggled to erase her from his mind. He couldn’t do this to himself. It was in her nature to be inappropriate and flirtatious. He couldn’t allow himself to read into it. He couldn’t handle the rejection.

•••

Bucky needed some air. He had sat in his room for an hour trying to recover his composure. His heart still raced and his face hurt from how much he had been blushing but nothing seemed to stop it.

Venturing up to the roof wasn’t like him. Usually he would go on a run or try his luck at the training room but today he wanted to just sit alone and think. However once reaching the roof he found that wouldn’t be the case.

Y/n hummed quietly along to her radio, swinging her feet cheerfully over the edge of the building as she sewed back together the bullet holes in her recovered suit. It was a routine of hers, one she only started to develop when Blind Al refused to do it anymore.

Bucky stepped forward quietly, not recognizing the tune but loving the way it sounded from her. She wore a simple pair of shorts and tank top, exposing much of her scarred skin but not as much as he had seen earlier. He was grateful she unknowingly took pity on him but covering up, coming to stand a few feet behind her.

Tying off the sting, she reached over to the box of band-aids, pulling out a Hello Kitty themed one before slapping it on over the stitch. Y/n cheered out triumphantly, holding up her suit to inspect it before draping it over the ledge beside her. A half eaten burrito was set on her other side and she absently reached for it, taking a bite out of it as she bobbed her head to the music.

“You wanna bite?” She questioned, mouth still full with the food. Bucky mentally cursed himself for being caught but gave into her offer, coming to stand beside her. She handed him her burrito and he hesitantly took it, biting into it carefully.

“You owe me 5 bucks. That show you got downstairs wasn’t free.” Y/n smirked, lighting the tense atmosphere a little. Looking up at her, he had no choice when a smile crept onto his face. Everything about her seemed to fill him with a giddy excitement, like riding a roller coaster. Y/n was a roller coaster of a person.

“Only 5 bucks. Little cheap if you ask me.” He replied smoothly, earning a giggle from her. She shrugged shamelessly, swinging her legs over to his side of the ledge.

“Gave you the ol’ bestie discount. Pay 10 dollars more and I’ll even throw in a night of your wildest dreams.” Y/n winked, hating how much she adored the pink that dusted his cheeks.

He shook his head with a light chuckle. “No, I wouldn’t want it to happen like that.” He replied, flinching at his own words. Her brow furrowed but judging by his mortified expression she decided to leave it alone.

Grabbing his hand she gestured for him to sit next to her and he did, climbing up cautiously as she turned back around. It was strangely soothing on the edge, the risk of falling sending a small thrill through them. Y/n had a way of giving him tiny bursts of joy, something he’d never experienced before. Not for a very long time.

He couldn’t begin to describe the way she could make his heart race with a simple glance. In training when she takes him down he finds the fact that she could end him with ease peculiarly enticing. He’d experienced a variety of experimental drugs but never the recreational type. Though he imagined the high he’d receive would be very similar to how Y/n made him feel.

She gave him a buzz that he slowly began to crave. Life before her just seemed so dull and he never wanted to go back to that. He’d become a bit of an addict for her presence and he felt safe in doing so. Losing her to the ravages of battle as he had so many before was impossible and Bucky felt that his feelings toward her could help him move on.

The breeze flushed against their bodies, turning Y/n’s attention to the stars flickering above. The way she gazed up beside him, reminded Bucky of dates he had in the 40s. They were simple and sweet, always ending with a soft peck to his cheek or lips.

Imagining Y/n on one of these dates was like seeing a pig fly but he didn’t care. His old life was gone and no one helped him move on from it better than Y/n even if she was unaware. In the past women were polite and lovable and Y/n was anything but.

She was foul mouthed and wildly inappropriate, constantly saying things he would’ve never dreamed of hearing from the women he used to date. Her dark humor was wrong and he still struggled to understand it at times. She killed without hesitation or remorse and in the most gruesome ways one could imagine, not giving the action a second thought. All of this was new to him and while at first he disliked everything she stood for, he couldn’t help but fall in love with her as time passed.

She was everything that was so new to him, yet still carrying the underlying characteristics he loved so much. She was brave and reckless, willing to give her life for others. Her morals were still there yet buried deep within her, never to be exposed unless she encountered something truly corrupt.

Her decisions were rash and not thought through, her lack of mortality seeming to make most situations trivial to her. But he suspected she was like that even before her mutation. Despite her carelessness in battle, she cared so much more than she’d let anyone know. People she considered friends, need never fear any danger for she would eliminate any threat that dared show its face.

But what he loved the most was her strength. While her physical abilities were amazing and dared outmatch his own, he loved her emotional strength more. She had experienced so much pain, like he had but she still managed to smile. Still managed to make him smile. And he loved her for it.

“Thank you for saving my life today.” He spoke earnestly. Y/n shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, gazing out over the city.

“No worries. Couldn’t have ya becoming a pancake, now could we?” She laughed, trying to mask the true worry that started to set in. What if he had fallen instead of her? What would she have done?

'Probably would have gone after him.’ Y/n sighed silently, knowing it was true.

“No, I guess not.” Bucky offered a smile, hoping she didn’t notice the guilt in his eyes. Another uncomfortable silence settled over them but Y/n didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re beautiful.” Bucky mumbled quietly, almost timid under her stunned stare. He didn’t regret saying it, only wishing he had said it more often.

The way the night sky accented her face was glorious even though she was scarred. Her scars had never really been an issue to him. The first time he had seen them she was reluctant but understood their need to see the person behind the mask to gain their full trust. He hadn’t been anticipating such intense scars but he wasn’t repulsed by them. In fact he thought she was breathtaking and he wondered just how different she had looked without them.

When she explained how the scarring had come to be, telling them that her disfigurement was actually because of her cancerous cells mutating, he felt sorry for her. He knew what it was like to be tortured until he became something else and he hated the idea of her experiencing it as well. Yet even through all that she insisted she was 'a sexy motherfucker’ and he couldn’t help but agree.

Her hair swayed with the breeze, falling gracefully around her face and outlining her shocked expression as she tried to figure out if he had really complimented her or if she had just misheard him over the music. The glimmer of sincerity in his eyes caused her heart to leap, making it harder to reply.

Her eyes were her most beautiful feature. The one thing that hadn’t changed since her mutation and he found that he was able to read her better through her eyes. Whether or not her eyes displayed the same enjoyment her smile showed, told him everything he needed to know since she covered almost everything about her with some smartass remark. Her eyes gave her away. Her eyes were everything.

“Thank you.” Y/n whispered, unable to piece together any sort of snarky reply. She couldn’t even break her stare as she gazed into his compassionate eyes. A tug at her heart pulled her toward him and as much as she tried to fight it she couldn’t shake it.

Bucky felt it too as he cautiously leaned forward, his metal hand coming to caress her cheek as his eyes absently dropped to her lips. Her breath flushed over his own sending chills along his skin. Their lips ghosted over one another, barely brushing in the tenderest of touches.

Yet a sudden change of song sent Y/n tearing herself from his grasp, a crestfallen expression taking place of her once longing gaze. The upbeat tune rattled her to the core, dredging up the memories she so desperately tried to subdue.

We're talking away.

I don't know what, I'm to say.

I'll say it anyway.

Today's another day to find you

“What? What’s wrong?” Bucky gasped, pulling away with a concerned frown as he reached out to hold her arms. She shied away from his touch, making him instantly retract his hands, fear of hurting her flashing across his face.

“No, uh, I’m okay. I’m sorry I’m just-I…” she trailed off trying to find the words to blame it on herself. She knew Bucky still feared the Soldier that lurked in the darkest parts of his mind, waiting for the right moment to break free and destroy everything and everyone he cared for. She knew she was one of those people. And she knew she had just terrified him by moving away but she couldn’t help it.

“I’m not ready for this."

Shying away.

I'll be coming for your love, okay?

Take on me. Take me on.

I'll be gone. In a day or two

"I’m not ready for something meaningful. I’m not ready for you."

Bucky’s face fell at her confession, shifting away from her. She wanted to reach out or say something, anything to make him stay but the ever growing guilt in her heart rendered her speechless.

She couldn’t do this. Not to Bucky. Not to herself. And not to Wade.

But she couldn’t stay silent.

"I had a boyfriend.” She spoke, her voice shaky and fragile. Bucky froze, unable to lift his gaze to her. “His name was Wade. I was with him before I got cancer and he was there when I got diagnosed. He was there when I refused treatments and he was still there when I became this.” She gestured to herself, deciding to spare Bucky the story of her avoiding Wade for all that time because she feared how he’d react when he saw what she had become.

Much like Bucky, Wade didn’t care and after she saved him from Francis, they somehow made a life together. Tears welled in her eyes as she thought of him, his loving gaze and dirty mouth bringing a bittersweet smile to her face.

“His crazy matched my crazy, big time. A real ride or die type. Oh, that man’s mouth could make me sound like a nun. And we were going to start a life together.” She hastily wiped the beginning of her tears as Bucky listened quietly beside her. “But I was reckless and arrogant and I got him killed before we could."

The hurt Bucky felt from her rejection was slowly starting to fade as she explained, his intense emotions starting to morph into sympathy.

"I loved him more than anything in this life and no matter what I did, I couldn’t get back to him. Immortality is a bitch like that but I thought, maybe just maybe if I somehow managed to destroy myself completely, I would be with him again. But nothing worked.” Her voice broke as her emotions overcame her.

It took everything Bucky had to not pull her into his arms right there and hold her until she couldn’t stand it anymore. But he couldn’t. Her heart still belonged to the man who made her into who she was and he had to respect that, however painful it was.

So needless to say.

I'm odds and ends.

But I'll be stumbling away.

Slowly learning that life is okay.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky mumbled, unsure of what else to say. He’d experienced loss before but never something that made him want to end his life. For 70 years he lacked the freedom to do so and now that he did, he wanted to live for himself. Wanted to experience everything that had been taken from him.

But now it was Y/n that lacked freedom. She was brave enough to venture into the unknown for Wade only to be dragged back by her immortality. The two were very different, as they always had been. And while Bucky thought it made them better together, Y/n could only see it as a reason to stay apart.

Wade was her other half, her soulmate. Bucky could never replace him. And she could never ask him to.

“It’s not your fault.” Her reply was sincere but dulled, as if the automatic response wasn’t what she wanted to say yet happened to be the only thing she could manage. She wanted to say so much more. She wanted to tell Bucky that while Wade was her first and most beloved partner, it didn’t mean he was her only.

Ignoring the way Bucky made her feel was growing more difficult and try as she might she couldn’t deny it any longer. She loved Bucky.

From the very beginning she had been hooked by the super soldier and every tragic thing that had happened to him. She loved his rare but breathtaking smile, the one that made her dizzy and weak at the knees. She loved the moments when he’d let his frustration out through hushed swears and absolutely adored the times he’d remind her that his vocab was that of an army man from the 1940s. He could spout off a string of profanities that would make a sailor cower and even though he always apologized after, the action only made her feel more at home among the team.

She loved what a gentleman he was, even to her, who was as unladylike as they came. He’d never hesitate to go out of his way to do little chivalrous acts that made her heart race and it only made her crave the 40s man more and more.

But what she loved most of all was how much he understood her. He knew what it was like to be forced to the breaking point until he became something he wasn’t. He knew what it was like to not trust your own mind and for that Y/n loved him.

But she still loved Wade more.

Say after me.

It's no better to be safe than sorry

Take on me. Take me on.

I'll be gone. In a day or two.

“Bucky, I-"

A familiar feeling stopped Y/n dead in her tracks. A sense that told her something was wrong and one she had only felt the night she lost Wade. It was like the world around her slowed down and all she could hear was the frantic beating of her heart as she looked out into the open night air.

A jet engine roared through the sky, coming faster than Bucky could react in his moment of weakness. Fortunately Y/n was much faster, grabbing hold of the super soldier and dragging him off the ledge. They ran across the rooftop, ducking back behind the small concrete entrance that housed the elevator back down to the building.

A harsh explosion followed not too soon after they had seeked cover and Bucky moved forward, bracing her against the wall as he did his best to keep her steady as the building rattled on impact. Heat enveloped them and Y/n tried her best to ignore the heat rising to her own face, being pressed so close to Bucky’s chest.

The jet flew past the building and into view, rounding back for another attack. Y/n watched it with wide eyes as it flew straight at them, readying another missile.

"Look out!” She screamed, tugging furiously at Bucky’s t-shirt as she dragged them to the other side of the concrete housing. They moved fast, making sure to stay ducked down to avoid becoming more of a target than they already were.

Thankfully for them, the jet didn’t strike the roof, allowing them to slip into the elevator and begin the descent to the rest of the compound. The aftermath of both explosions shook throughout the building and the lights inside the car had turned red, telling all those in the building that they were on high alert.

“It is those HYDRA fucks? What do they want?” Y/n questioned. Bucky didn’t reply at first, silently calculating their next move. It was a cold reaction but something he couldn’t quite shake from his Winter Soldier days.

“They’re here for the drive.” He answered finally as the doors opened up to reveal the lab floor. Sam ran to them frantically, leaving the two scientists to back up files and technology in case the attack went too far.

“Good! You’re here. I’m going out to try and stall the jet, you guys get a quinjet and meet me outside.” Sam instructed, heading into the elevator only to have Bucky grab his arm.

“Sam, they want the drive. They won’t stop until they have it.” Bucky explained carefully, his eyes returning to the seriousness they always had during missions.

Sam shook his head, “What do you expect us to do? Hand it over?” He questioned. Bucky shook his head, all the plans he was able to put together ending in failure. There had to be something.

“What if they think the drive is destroyed?"

Bucky and Sam turned to Y/n, mutual looks of confusion taking hold of their features as she glanced back at the lab. The scientists had finished up and we’re now rushing past them to the elevator but Y/n’s eye caught something else. The drive was placed in a small container, Stark tech of some kind to make sure no external sources could get to it.

"How would we do that? They’re not gonna take our word for it.” Sam protested. Y/n was already making her way to the drive, her own plan forming as she went. Bucky moved to follow her but she quickly turned around, as if sensing what he was doing.

“Sam take Bucky with you. Distract the HYDRA assholes for as long as you can while I transfer the drive’s info to the safe house. Follow my lead.” Y/n demanded, rushing over to the desk which held the drive.

“No way, I’m staying with-” Bucky was about to object but another explosion quaked the building, sending him back into the elevator. Sam grabbed hold of his arm before Bucky could react and the elevator closed, leaving Y/n alone.

Bucky yelled out, forcing himself toward the buttons but Sam’s grip was tight and Bucky found he didn’t have the energy to fight him. Y/n’s plan would work, they always did. But he feared what she might do to herself in the process.

“Why would you do that!?” Bucky shouted, trying to make up for his lack of fight through his words. Sam didn’t answer knowing Bucky was being irrational. Y/n insisted again and again she could do 'shit they’ve never seen’ as she fondly put it, but it hurt Bucky everytime he couldn’t save her.

He’d watched her 'die’ countless times and each time he couldn’t do anything. It trudged up memories he’d rather forget. Memories of protecting Steve and still losing him to the one thing he couldn’t fight-…time. Memories of the helplessness he felt during his time at HYDRA. Memories of losing his old self, a part of him he’d never be able to save or recover.

Bucky stormed through the hangar, heading toward the first quinjet he saw. It took every ounce of self control he could muster to not rip the door off the machinery but he managed to climb in, leaving the jet unscathed.

Sam flew ahead with a couple of agents in their own quinjet while Bucky followed behind, ultimately taking his own route straight toward the attacking jet. He knew their technology well and knew the weakest points to hit but even if he took out this jet, another one would take its place eventually. There had to be a way to insure they wouldn’t come back. Maybe if he went back and took out the new boss? No, someone would rise up and take his place.

His eyes narrowed as he began his attack on the jet, using the large guns installed within the aircraft. The HYDRA jet instantly maneuvered away from the shots but Bucky anticipated it and moved with them, raining as much fire as he could on them.

But before he could advance on them any further, another quinjet launched out of the hangar, flying past at breakneck speeds. Bucky’s heart dropped when he heard Y/n over the radio.

“Listen here you HYDRA nutsacks. If you want the drive, you’re gonna have to come get it. And I don’t play fair.” She taunted over the frequency, urging the enemy jet to follow her as she raced away from the building and Bucky.

As she had expected the jet followed, sparing no expense as they hastily rushed through Bucky and Sam’s attacks. Nothing mattered but the drive and Bucky wished he had thought their mission through a bit more. He didn’t even know what was on the drive let alone how far HYDRA would go to get it back.

But he soon found out how far they’d go to ensure their enemies didn’t have it.

“Y/n, look out!” Bucky cried, unable to stop himself. He knew what Y/n was planning. She was meant to go down in the plane. But he wanted to stop it, hell at this point he would rather give the drive up. Y/n’s powers were amazing, yes but he couldn’t help but feel that one day her luck would run out, that one day she just wouldn’t come back the same. She’d be horribly changed like he had been. A monster.

He couldn’t bare to see her become that.

Y/n skillfully flipped the jet, steering a harsh right as the HYDRA jet stayed close on her tail. “Get the others out of here. I can handle this!” She called, keeping her words careful as to not alert the enemy of her plan.

Sam listened, turning away to lead the other quinjet back to the headquarters but Bucky couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. He knew what it was like to die and come back and he couldn’t understand why Y/n was so willing. At first it was noble, giving her life for his but then she did it again and again.

Bucky was terrified for her. Terrified she wouldn’t be Y/n anymore. And terrified of the reason she kept destroying herself.

“Bucky go back! This isn’t your fight!” Y/n yelled at him, switching to a frequency only they could hear.

“The hell it isn’t! The only reason you’ve been fighting HYDRA is because of me. I’m the fucking asshole that keeps leading you straight into harm’s way when I’m supposed to protect you!” He fought, following behind the chase.

Y/n groaned, frustrated by his insistence on keeping her safe. She didn’t need to be safe, if anything he should be protecting everyone else from her. “I never asked you to protect me! Why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone?!” Angry tears began to well in her eyes but she rapidly blinked them away, keeping her focus on the jet behind her as she began her trek up into the sky.

Maybe if she flew high enough the HYDRA jet would stall long enough for her to get an advantage?

“You know why!” Bucky spoke, his tone matching her own agitation. He really hoped he didn’t have to say it. Saying it at all was nerve-wracking but saying it in the middle of a fight? How could he spring that on her?

Y/n’s heart dropped as her grip tightened on the yoke. His words shot through her like a thousand bullets but she found herself unable to recover from it. It was all too familiar. Too depressing.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Y/n replied, praying to whoever had control of her miserable life that Bucky was mistaken. Maybe decades of being touch starved and deprived of love had made him think he cared about her.

Unfortunately that wasn’t the case.

“I love you, Y/n! Fuck you always make things so difficult and you never take anything seriously but I love you more than I’ve ever loved someone. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you but you keep dying before I can show you that."

His confession was rough and forceful but still so heartfelt. Y/n wanted to cry at how much it reminded her of Wade’s but she didn’t allow her tears to consume her. Only pushed herself and the quinjet through the atmosphere, watching in the display as the HYDRA jet began to fall.

"Please, say something.” Bucky pleaded, his voice fragile and broken. He knew rejection was imminent. Their talk on the roof told him that she wouldn’t accept his feelings. But he needed to get it out, needed to tell her before she died.

“I’m sorry, Bucky.” She replied quietly before switching off her radio. Silence fell over the jet as she allowed the engine to shut off. Bucky flew past her, further into space, having not anticipated her sudden drop.

She was alone again, free falling toward the earth once more like she had mere hours before. Although this fall would be much more fatal. More destructive.

As she angled her jet straight toward the enemy jet, switching back on her engine and accelerating at deadly speeds, she found herself without a single comment.

Not one word slipped past her lips as flames consumed her before she could even feel the impact.

•••

The apartment was familiar. It was an apartment she had left to Weasel when she made a more permanent stay at the compound. She still visited from time to time but it didn’t look like this anymore. No, this place still had the messy bed with scribbled words on the chalkboard above it. It still had the colorful table and the warming sunlight shining through, a light Weasel usually blocked with curtains. Still had the memory wall full of pictures of her and Wade, a wall that was now bare.

This was her and Wade’s home.

“Red?” His voice rang out like heavenly bells and Y/n’s head whipped toward the sound. There he was, seated in the leather chair near the window. He looked just like he had the night she lost him. His hair was short and barely styled, having only grown a small amount in the time she had known him. There was a small amount of stubble along his lower face but his next words quickly dominated her observations.

“What are you doing here?” She didn’t answer, wanting to study his face as long as she could. She wanted to refresh her mind with the image of his loving eyes and adorning smile. Wanted to forever remember the slit in his eyebrow from a long forgotten fight and the way his hands gripped the arms of the chair as he stood.

“I died…again. I know you said it wasn’t my time but I just hoped, maybe this time it was?” Y/n spoke carefully, stepping forward, finding that the clothes she had worn seconds before had been replaced with one of Wade’s large t-shirts.

Instead of moving to hold her and tell her she was right, that her time had finally come, he let his gaze fall. Her heart clenched in her chest and angry tears filled her eyes but she refused to allow them to fall, refused to let her chance at seeing Wade be cut short by her uncontrollable tears.

“Who’s in charge of all this shit? Who fucked us over so bad that we can never be together?” Y/n snapped, turning her teary gaze toward the ground. She couldn’t bare to stare at the blurred wall separating her from Wade. Couldn’t stand to show up here time and time again only to be refused the one person she wanted most.

“I don’t know, baby. Trust me if I did, you wouldn’t be there and I wouldn’t be here.” His voice was almost like a forgotten memory and Y/n hated her mind for allowing it to slip so far from her thoughts. He always spoke to her with such a tenderness, a tenderness he never used with anyone else.

“I wanna stay with you.” Y/n pleaded, struggling to lift her eyes from the floor. Wade had begun to frown at her wish. She didn’t know why.

It was a sad frown like he wanted so desperately to agree but couldn’t. Wade knew his love still had a purpose in life and he couldn’t be selfish by asking her to stay. In the end nothing could make her stay, even if she begged for it on her knees. Because she still had a life waiting for her. A life without him.

“Things are complicated now.” Wade tried to explain, moving closer to her. This wasn’t what Y/n wanted to hear and she stood in place, not moving an inch as hurt overcame her.

“What do you mean?” Y/n questioned, trying not to sound as vulnerable as she knew she was. She wanted it to be over. To finally get the life with Wade she never had. But she could feel something tugging her back. It grew stronger with each passing second and she knew soon it’d reclaim her. But the feeling didn’t make her angry. She wasn’t upset.

The feeling was overwhelming but in a good way. Like when someone says 'I love you’ for the first time.

“Bucky.” Wade confessed suddenly, dragging Y/n’s attention away from the tug.

“What-…?"

"He loves you. You know that. Our times up baby.” His voice was miserable but stern. They never spoke so seriously before, even in the previous times she’d reached him in the afterlife. Every word was true even if it was his worst nightmare. And Y/n knew how much it pained him to say it.

“No it can’t. I-” She tried to argue but found that there were no words to dismiss it. The tug was getting more powerful and familiarity washed over her. The tug was Bucky. He was her tether to the world and as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t let him go.

But she couldn’t let Wade go either.

“He loves you and as much as I want to do horrible, horrible things to him, I can’t. He can love you, hold you- fuck, he could give you a baby. All the things I can’t anymore.” Wade’s voice cracked and Y/n’s own tears began to fall, shaking her head at the mere thought of letting anyone other than him love her like that.

“I need you to let me go before this gets too hard.” Wade begged.

It broke Y/n to see him so lost, so shattered. This hurt him just as much as it hurt her but he was strong enough to push on. To tell her what she knew she needed to do, even if it was the last thing she wanted.

He’d always been stronger than her.

“Will we ever be together again?"

In response, she received no words. Just a smile. A smile that told her everything would be okay. That no matter what happened it would be them against the world, even if she found love from another man. That smile told her more than any verbal answer could and put to rest the longing in her heart.

"Kiss me like you miss me, Red."

A bittersweet laughter echoed between them as she looked at him. All the love she’d felt for him was still lingering in her chest and she knew it’d never truly be gone. But another love was still there, one that was growing stronger like the tug she now felt.

"Well, come here."

Wade paced forward, moving through the barrier effortlessly and tugged her close to him like he had many times before. Her arms wrapped around the back of his neck as he pulled her up by her thighs, planting his lips on hers without missing a beat.

Kisses with Wade were always passionate and hot but this one was different. His hold on her was tight like he knew it would be the last and his lips lightly caressed hers, pouring every ounce of adoration he had for her into the kiss. Y/n clung to him like her life depended it, feeling the tug become so powerful she feared she’d be ripped from his arms. When they pulled away there were no words spoken, just a gaze.

Then she was pulled back.

•••

When she woke up, she couldn’t feel anything, not even the air that flushed into her exposed lungs. Her chest was slowly piecing itself together and judging by her pounding headache, she figured her skull was doing the same.

She no longer felt pain the same way others did and while she knew the process of her body morphing back to normal would be excruciating, that pain was dulled to her. All she could focus on was the voice calling out to her.

It was only then that she looked around at where she was. The ground was cold under her skin, or at least what skin she had feeling in so far. The smoke from the crash was bellowing into the night sky above her but she couldn’t smell it. She was only just beginning to feel the nips of heat from the fire biting at her arms and legs, though she wasn’t sure if they were even attached to her anymore.

The voice cut through the chaos like a beacon and Y/n couldn’t help but feel relaxed by it. It was soothing and a reassurance of safety came with it.

Soon the owner of the voice forced his way through the debris, finding her battered body torn apart among the aftermath of the destruction. His eyes flashed with horror but he wasted no time in moving forward, yanking a heavy piece of metal out of her chest to free her. Y/n watched, not even knowing she had been impaled.

Bucky had seen many horrible scenes before, most of them having been by his own hand but this was terrible. He was unsure if it was the fact that she’d done this to herself or if it was that she was forced to stay alive throughout the entire thing, but either way it unnerved him and he felt the need to get her out of there immediately.

He grabbed hold of her torso, pulling her up into his arms and taking notice of the fact that one of her legs and ¾ of her left arm was missing along with most of her chest. But despite this she just smiled at him, leaning further into him.

"Hey, Seb. Oh, wait, fourth wall! Fuck me!” A delusional giggle escaped her and Bucky brushed off her comment, trying to focus on getting her out. He wasn’t sure where her limbs had gone or if he should try to retrieve them but Y/n slowly losing consciousness in his arms urged him to get out of there and he did just that.

“Hey, you’re gonna be okay. We’ll get you back to the med bay and you’ll be good as new.” He smiled at her and she nodded, knowing he was right. Didn’t make the process of self healing any less uncomfortable.

But she couldn’t think of that right now. Wade’s words were still fresh in her mind.

'He loves you. You know that.’

“Bucky.” She croaked, her own anxiety for what she was about to say overpowering everything else. The disaster around her didn’t matter and neither did the cracks in her chest as her ribs reformed. All that mattered was getting her words out before she lost consciousness. Before she lost her nerve.

“It’s okay, Y/n. I’ll get you out of here.” Bucky assured, dismissing her call. Y/n frowned, reaching to grab hold of his face only to realize her arm had not yet grown back. She cursed silently, looking up at him. That crash was really a bitch.

“Would you get your head out of your ass and listen to me?” She insisted, hating how vulnerable she was making herself. She hated being so emotionally weak in front of anyone other than Wade but she tried to listen to his wish. Tried to let him go.

“Look, I care about you, alright?” She confessed, noting the way Bucky’s arms tightened on her and how he stilled instantly. “Ever since they fridged Wade, I never thought I’d care about anyone like I did him. But then you came along with your perfect smile and perfect eyes and ugh-God, why is this so hard?!” A groan escaped her as she let her gaze fall from him. It had always been easy with Wade, they fell into place like puzzle pieces but with Bucky it was harder. More real.

His fingers curled around her waist, feeling the skin reshaping under his metal fingertips. Y/n was just loopy from the crash, he couldn’t take her confession seriously right?

“Y/n, I-"

"I know, I’m sorry. What I did on the roof was wrong, I was just scared-I’m-I’m still scared.” She admitted, her hold on him tightening desperately. Bucky frowned, guilt flooding him for putting her in such a conflicting and uncomfortable situation.

He should’ve never said anything, should’ve never put her in the position where she had to force herself to move on from a lost love. It was wrong and terribly unfair.

“Forget it, let’s get you somewhere safe, okay?” He replied, watching as her eyes grew heavy, losing her fight to stay awake. The looked like she wanted to argue but before she could she fell unconscious, allowing him to finally focus on escaping the wreck though his mind was cluttered with guilt and self hatred.

It wasn’t fair. But then again life never was.

•••

When Y/n woke up again her body was almost completely healed. Other agents were cautiously refilling the building after ensuring that no other HYDRA attacks were imminent. They had no reason to return after all, the drive was destroyed and as far as they knew, the information had gone down with Y/n.

Bucky told himself he’d finally look at what the drive held since HYDRA had put up such a fight for it but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Y/n’s bedside.

She’d been hooked up to several machines that would help her heal, something she’d surely throw a fit about when she awoke. She’d told them plenty of times that she didn’t need the whole 'hospital bullshit’ but it was just procedure. Plus Bucky suspected the medical personnel liked to piss her off as much as she did them.

He would’ve found her curses amusing when she finally did regain consciousness but his nerves were too great. They’d left off in a serious and rather suspenseful moment and he almost wanted to disappear all together.

Talking with Y/n was what he’d wanted to do all this time and best case scenario, he’d finally win her over. But he knew the worst case was more likely. He’d always managed to fuck things up and this was no different.

He was wrong to force his feelings upon her and while he felt guilt and knew he’d be rejected, he wouldn’t have taken it back. It felt freeing to tell her. He was actually relieved she knew how much he cared for her.

“What in the fuck nuggets is this bullshit?” Y/n snapped suddenly, yanking the IV from her arm and tossing it away from her with an annoyed glare. “I already told you guys-.” She stopped mid sentence, upon seeing Bucky sitting there.

He looked tired and she wanted to make a joke to ease the nervous stare he directed at her but she couldn’t bring herself too. In the last 24 hours she’d been an emotional train wreck and while her heart screamed to tell Bucky whatever he wanted to hear, she knew things were more complicated than that.

And deep down he knew that too.

“Look, about what I said after the crash.” She began, running a hand through her hair. Bucky watched as she did so, hanging onto her every word. He’d remembered what she said or at least what it sounded like she was going to say. But had she meant it or was it out of pity?

“I want you, okay?” She confessed, expelling all doubt from his mind. She wasn’t one to beat around the bush and quite frankly she was tired of struggling for words. So she spoke from the heart, even if it wasn’t very romantic. “I’ve liked you for a while but-…Wade’s death still hurts.” She continued.

Bucky sat on the edge of his seat, his heart pounding in his chest as she spoke. It’d been so long since he’d had a chance at love and he already felt as though he’d messed it up. But then again they’d always been a little messy.

“But I wanna try this. I know I said I wasn’t ready for anything serious but I wanna try us no matter how fucked up we are together.” Y/n told him, reaching for his metal hand and clasping it in both of hers. “I wanna fuck the world with you. I wanna fuck it so hard.” She smiled, earning a laugh from him.

Her confession was overwhelming and clumsy but he took it like it was. Y/n was an overwhelming person and he was ready for that. He was so ready for whatever mayhem she had to offer.

“Fuck the world, huh?” He questioned, amused as her eyes lit up with joy.

“Yeah. You and me, Buck.” She promised, holding his hand tightly. His heart swelled at her words, shifting to sit on the bed with her as she leaned closer to him.

“Deadpool and Winter Soldier. I kinda like it.” He said, smiling at her as she smirked. Dirty words began to develop on her tongue and before Bucky could even realize what he’d walked himself into, she was leaning toward his ear, her breath brushing his skin and leaving chills in its wake.

“I bet you’ll like it even more when I say it in bed won’t you, Winter Soldier.” She spoke in his ear, her voice smooth and sultry. His face had flooded red but he refused to let himself get all flustered and speechless.

There was once a time where he was a lady’s man and while he knew he was probably a little out of date, he was a fast study. And having known Y/n all this time had taught him a few things.

“Only if you scream it."

Y/n paused, looking back at him with a mix of shock and pride. She was at a loss for words and Bucky quickly accepted his victory, launching forward and putting his lips on hers.

Despite her lustful comments her kiss was tender and passionate, a kind of kiss he’d longed from her for some time. A kiss that although hesitant was strong and heartfelt.

They had some work to do and while their relationship would be chaotic, it was their chaos and he couldn’t ask for anything more.

"I gotta know something.” Y/n admitted suddenly, pulling away from the kiss. Bucky was a little confused but nodded anyway, wondering what on Earth would be so important.

“Who taught the Russo brothers about time travel, Endgame was so fucked."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #winter solider imagine #winter soldier #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan #marvel #endgame #deadpool #wade wilson #x reader #sam wilson #falcon #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes rants #bucky barnes x deadpool!reader

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jcisthebestfightme · 4 years

Text

BJYX Song #12: Heart Beats

BJYX Song Series List

Disclaimer: Nothing here is real. Nothing are words. I can’t actually write.

Another song from gg, but this time it’s going to be bittersweet. All the more bitter songs we’ve seen before were from dd so it’s time to change things up. The song I want to talk about is a song that gg sang during Our Song, “心動” by Shino Lin, which I’ve seen it being translated into “Tempting Heart” or “Heart Beats”. I personally like “Heart Beats” the best because the literal translation is “heart moves” but is a metaphorical phrase in Chinese meaning heart starting to yearnn/have feelings. I think “beats” best describe this motion metaphor while also can present the increase in heartbeat people feel when they’re in love.

When asked about “Heart Beats”, gg said he has always liked this song but he didn’t really understand the true meaning of this song until now. Now? Why now? This got me interested in the lyrics. Na Ying, his mentor also said that this song needs some wisdom to understand.

Really excited about this song actually because I liked gg’s version of this song before I knew about bjyx. I was just really touched by gg’s way of singing this song. So from a semi-unbiased view, we can say that gg put a lot of emotion into this song.

youtube

The overall message of this song is the singer really loving the other person. It seems like there may be some separation with the other person but it’s unclear. The singer is also trying to convey with the song how much they love the other person, regardless of whether they can be together or not. So I think the focus of this song isn’t the actual “plot” of what happen, but the love the singer is giving.

Another background information on this song, the person who wrote the lyrics is the same person that wrote “Brother and Sister”. He’s a gay artist that often write songs about unrequited love between homosexual relationships. I think “Brother and Sister” may be more fitting to that theme and this song may not necessary be specifically about unrequited love or homosexual love but it’s just an interesting tidbit about the lyrics writer.

Okay, let’s put on our bjyx glasses and depart. I personally think this song reflects gg’s feelings towards dd after their separation after filming of The Untamed. That was a time period where he wasn’t certain of his own feelings, whether it was character bleed from Wangxian, and whether they can even have a future together due to their career and environment. However, this song convey the feeling of love no matter what, and the very certain feeling of love in this song suits gg’s personality. It’s like “I love you regardless of what is happening around us.” It doesn’t mean they will be together forever, but the love that’s there is pure and strong.

有多久沒見你 (Haven’t seen you in so long)

以為你在哪裡 (Thought you were somewhere else)

原來就住在我心底 (Then I realize you were living in the bottom of my heart)

陪伴著我的呼吸 (Accompanying my breath)

The “haven’t seen you in so long” can refer to the literal separation, like after filming TU, or it can represent gg not thinking or facing this relationship directly. But then, even though he’s trying to not see dd or think about dd, he realize dd is always there in his heart, and he can never let him go. That may be his realization after his trip to Japan. Some people say it may be even after that, that gg decide to just be friends after Japan and they had a period of trying really hard to just be friends before getting together in 2019. Either way, this song tells us that there’s a moment of realization “f*** I can never let this person go.”

有多遠的距離 (How far was the distant)

以為聞不到你氣息 (That I thought I couldn’t smell your scent)

誰知道你背影這麼長 (Who knew your shadow was so long)

回頭就看到你 (That I could see you when I turn around)

I was perplexed by the second part for awhile. Usually shadows, especially metaphorically, are behind a person, which means the person is walking in front of you in order for you to see it. This gave me a sense of gg chasing after dd. However, it says “I could see you when I turn around” which means that the person is behind you. So why is the shadow in front? Scientifically, it must mean that the sun is also behind the person. From previous analysis, I’ve talked about gg comparing dd to a “star” and even the “sun” (yes, I know the sun is also a star, but in literature, it’s much brighter, hotter, and more intense than just a star). So here, gg is saying that dd is like the sun (or with the sun) standing behind him and projecting his shadow onto gg. In the song word, if someone is standing behind another person, it usually means they’re chasing after them. This means that it’s dd chasing after gg, which we can all attest to. But why is the shadow long? It’s because dd has now kept a distance. During their time of separation, gg has kept a distance from dd, and dd has also kept it to respect him. So here, dd is physically veery far away from him. However, his shadow is very long, because he’s shining very brightly, signifying that his love is very strong. So even though dd is very far away, gg can feel/see him immediately when he turns around.

過去讓它過去 (Let the past be in the past)

來不及 (It’s too late/Not enough time)

從頭喜歡你 (Love you from the beginning/all over again)

Here, it can be taken two ways. The first interpretation is that we should let go of the past and it’s too late to love you all over again, which means let’s just let this entire relationship go. The second interpretation is let’s let go of all the bad things in the past, there’s not enough time anyways so I want to love you from the beginning. Yes, Chinese is a lot more ambiguous in meaning than English, especially since grammar is basically nonexistent. I think the lyrics is purposefully ambiguous so it’s up to your own interpretation. I personally think it’s the second interpretation, just from the way the song was sang by gg and Na-jie. There is a “space” between “Too late/Not enough time” and “Love you all over again”, isolating “Love you all over again.” Since this line was emphasized on its own, it’s telling us that this is the main idea of this stance. So gg is saying that regardless of what happened in filming or during their separation, he’s now determined to love dd from the beginning. The word “beginning” is also telling us that gg wants to create his own story with dd, a story that’s independent of that of LWJ and WWX.

白雲　纏繞著藍天 (White clouds tangling around the blue sky)

This line further supports my theory that the stance above is the second interpretation. The 藍天 “blue sky” and 白雲 “white clouds” are the same words as the now very famous motif “LTBY” that has shown up 5+ times in WB post/clothing/videos between gg and dd. We still don’t know the exact meaning of their “blue sky white cloud” but I have a feeling it’s a very warm, positive feeling, almost like how they think of “summer.” Since this line is a metaphor right after “Love you from the beginning,” we can infer that it’s a positive feeling using to describe the “love” so it must be the second interpretation.

I also find it interesting that it’s not just a static “blue sky white cloud.” Here, thee “white cloud” is tangling around, actively moving around, the blue sky. This first reminds me of the white cloud pattern on LWJ’s clothing. The WWX-centric theme song also talks about how WWX thinks of the pattern to remember LWJ. However, I think that gg will want to try to separate his relationship with dd from Wangxian so it’s probably not directly related to LWJ. I think that the white clouds tangling signals that it’s grabbing onto the blue sky and never letting go. Whether it’s gg trying to grab on to dd or vice versa, I don’t know. It may even be that they’re both clouds, tangling around each other and the blue sky just represent the giant world they live in.

如果不能夠永遠走在一起 (If we can’t be together forever)

也至少給我們懷念的勇氣 (At least give us the courage to reminisce)

擁抱的權利 (The right to embrace)

好讓你明白 (To let you know)

我心動　的痕跡 (The trace of my heart beats)

I’ve said before that this song is bittersweet so it mentions separating. But I also think that it’s trying to convey love that is there right now and forever, regardless of what may happen in the future. We can see from this part that gg desire to be together with dd, wanting to have memories with him and “have the right to embrace him” (I take this second part as having the physical right to touch someone in a lover’s way). He wants to do these things to let dd know that he also loves him back. These are “trace” or “evidence” of his love. This song is another perfect rebuttal for people that say that gg doesn’t love dd back as much. Gg is just more cautious publicly and probably less openly expressive because of his maturity but we can see here that he desire to show all of his love to dd if he can. (I personally think that he’s already extremely “naked” about his feelings from his songs actually.)

Also when gg sang “If we can’t be together forever,” I sense in his tone of anger mixed with sadness and defeat. To me that represent that yes, he understand not every love will last forever but he will be very heartbroken if he has to let this one go. Afterwards, when he sang about “courage to reminisce”, the tone is very strong and undefeated, almost like he really wants to have this courage to do so. The part about “right to embrace” is full of yearning and longing.

總是想再見你 (I keep wanting to see you again)

還試著打探你　消息 (Still trying to get news/updates about you)

原來你就住在我的身體 (Then I realize you were in my body)

守護我的回憶 (Guarding my memories)

The last part of the song is separation, and the person the singer loves no longer being there and became the memory. You can tell how sad and defeated gg sound when singing this part. Even though it may be hypothetical, the thought of separation is still painful to him.

Edit: When I heard this last part again, for some reason, it reminded me of ggdd’s reconciliation after not talking in late 2018. I feel like this part can be use to describe gg’s perspective. The feeling of realization that I can never let you go, that I will still keep trying to hear about you and want to see you.

This is a very interesting song to analyze because the way the song was sang is very important. Feelings and tone from how someone sing a song is hard to analyze objectively so I encourage everyone to go listen to it yourself and draw your own conclusions. But I think this is definitely a song where the emotions matter more than the words being said.

#yizhan #bjyx #heart beats

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xfadingstarx · 4 years

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A Bleach Retrospective: In defense of Bleach

These are opinions, please respect that.

_______________________________

My Journey with Bleach (please skip if you want to go straight to the analysis):

On September the 8th, 2006 YTV’s weekend evening anime programming block (Bionix) aired the first episode of Bleach. I, unfortunately, did not catch this episode, instead, I caught the second episode on September 15th the following week. I was ten and from then on, Bleach fascinated me. It had an interesting concept, tight pacing, catchy music, a good story, and unique character designs. I also really enjoyed how Bleach lacked the same kind of emotional labour that Naruto demanded (as child who survived off of constantly seeking validation from others because of absentee parents, Naruto is way too much work).

My fascination with Bleach got me started in the fandom communities of yesteryear, for I was a child with zero internet supervision. My introduction to fanfiction was because I loved Hitsugaya Toshiro.

Bleach was my entry into poetry (poem at the start of every volume).

But alas, all good things were not meant to last and by the summer of 2009, I was officially done with Bleach. It had felt stilted for some time before then. Over the years, I would gradually revisit bits and pieces of Bleach, but I would not read it in its entirety until months after its finish, about a decade after I had first saw Bleach on my TV. Between the time I stopped reading and the series ended, I became friends with people who didn’t think highly of Bleach and I also started seeing criticism I had made about Bleach in 2011 being repeated by fans on the internet, I started to think that maybe Bleach was bad, but I knew what bad writing looked like —I started reading fanfiction through Bleach fanfiction AMVs on YouTube — and somehow Bleach didn’t sit right with me in the “bad writing category”.

I sit back now, a decade and ahalf later from when I first started and ask, “was Bleach really that bad, and if so, why do I keep coming back to it?”

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What Made Bleach So Good?

Unique story and aesthetics: When Bleach first started in 2001, it was one of the first manga series to talk about souls and death in a poetic way and with such coherence. Bleach clearly knew what it wanted to say about life and death. It also had a very unique aesthetic, very similar to that of “The World Ends With You” or “Persona 5″ — an urban Japanese take on R&B kind of vibe. Also, Bleach had the most “realistic” and minimalist art style amongst the Big 3.

Cool Music: Bleach had cool music, from very solid rock’n’roll and R&B style songs in its OPs and EDs to very funky OST music with lots of pizzazz. Many singers feature by Bleach ended up successful (to varying degrees) outside of anime, eg: Orange Range, UVERworld, YUI, sid, etc.

Versatile tone: Bleach was edgy, there’s no doubt about that. It was willing to show a lot of blood and bodily violence, especially in the manga (eg half of people blowing up and bits of bone still attached). Despite this though, it was not pretentious about its edginess — it didn’t revel in it. To contrast the edginess, there is a lot of humour in Bleach with character interactions. It was able to be laid back enough with its strong characters that it would rely on the characters’ relationships for comedic relief. The post-credit skits and the fillers really helped to add to this overall feel as well.

Maturity of the Story: Bleach was very willing to handle topics that made people think. For example, the Ulquiorra - Orihime subarc was treated with a sense of carefulness about it, as if to reflect Ulquiorra’s own cautious curiosity about the heart. A less emotionally mature story would’ve gone for the cheap rape/torture porn, but instead we are treated to determined strong Orihime, who has found strength through the heart after the death of her brother, clashing with the nihilistic hollow who wants to know if there is happiness outside of emptiness. It’s a very loaded question and one that requires both perspective and life experience to fully understand both parties. As well, Bleach always knew what it wanted to say about life and death as the final conflict of Bleach is between Ichigo, who has accepted his transient life and Yhwach, who is scared of death. And ultimately, underneath all that action, Bleach produced takes on its themes that were hard to relate to unless the reader themselves had a certain level of emotional maturity (eg: 12 year old me got nothing out of the Ulqui-Ori arc, but 20 year old me spent a good 10 mins crying after)

Strong characters: Contrary to popular belief, Bleach does have quite solid characterization. In fact, Bleach is the journey of Ichigo as a character, from grappling with his weakness and pain to finally accepting all the parts of himself and his history in order to defeat Yhwach and protect those he cares about. Even the secondary characters of Bleach receive a sizable amount of backstory and/or development. Bleach also managed to have more proactive female characters. Even the damsel in distress Orihime stands up to Ulquiorra and slaps him. As a result of these strong characters, Bleach was able to rely on them and their relationships to drive aspects of the story (eg Ichigo crying in the Fullbringer arc).

Willingness to Deal with Emotion: Given that Ichigo is an internally motivated character, it was obvious Bleach would deal with emotion at some point in time. Making Ichigo just a normal high school boy also relives the previous edginess. Bleach also clearly too the time to make its readers feel in its early years. We are treated to beautiful panelling and very real displays of strong negative emotions. Bleach is also very good at giving its characters room to breathe and be sad. Eg: moping Orihime, moping Ichigo, etc. As well, Kubo went to extraordinary lengths to break Ichigo down during the Fullbringers Arc.

Interesting Character Designs: Every character in Bleach feels vibrant and unique with their personality showing through in their designs. For example: Shunshi’s sloppily tied up hair, visible stubble, and overcoat-hidden-haori show that he is both easy going and not looking for a fight; meanwhile Byakuya’s neatly pulled back hair and neck covered by scarf show that he is both someone who likes structure and is conservative.

Poetry and Symbolism: Kubo manages to weave poetry into Bleach in the beginning of each volume. The poem was said by the character on the volume. It gave the reader insight to this character and it gave Kubo a chance to flex his poetic chops. Further proof of this is the fact that many people don’t realize that the name “Bleach” refers to the bleaching of soul that is key to the story. Kubo loves to use rain to set sad scenes. It rains when Ichigo fights Grand Fisher, Zangetsu tells Ichigo that he hates the rain, etc. Kubo also specifies that he wishes for the reader to read certain volumes on stormy, rainy nights.

Panelling: Many people like to criticize Kubo for the lack of effort with the Bleach manga, but Kubo has stated that he uses negative space (i.e., foregoing backgrounds) to focus more on his character’s expressions. This not only further proves that Bleach cares a lot about its characters, but it’s done well enough that the average reader likely doesn’t notice the lack of background on the first read through. As well, Bleach has very cinematic panelling. Kubo uses the format of manga well, utilizing the human mind’s ability to fill blanks in with clever panelling to create tone and build tension and the feeling of movement through a scene.

In fact, in finding pages for this analysis, I found myself noticing that Bleach panels very similarly to slice-of-life shoujo but with a boy MC manga like "Horimiya": focus on expression through intimate angles and use of panels and breaks to create mood and the feeling of cinema; whereas something like DBZ panels like a shounen action manga with many hard lines and action shots, instead of a focus on subtle details and emotions.

Some Examples:

Notice now in Chapter 197: The approaching danger, Kubo uses a gradual zoom to build tension and the black background to add intensity and signal to the reader that Hitsugaya is relaying important information.

Here in Chapter 234: Not Negotiation, the immediate close up to Ulquiorra’s eye from the full body shots creates a sense of intimidation and unease with its sudden intimacy. As well, the immediate zoom in from Ulquiorra’s side full body shot to his facial profile creates tension and the change from the dark background to the white face with Orihime releases this tension (very fitting with considering the line for this panel is “but not you”). (This scene also ties into Ulquiorra’s central dogma of “that which is not reflected in my eyes does not exist’.)

Again in the same chapter, this gradual zoom in on the two creates tension that is then release in the next panel and summarily cements Ulquiorra as a terrifying BAMF.

In Chapter 262: Unblendable, Kubo uses the negative space to create a feeling of isolation, similar to how Orihime is supposed to be feeling.

In the same chapter, notice how Kubo creates a sense of intimacy (not in the romance sense) with the relationship of Ulquiorra and Orihime. He creates tension gradually with the zooming into Orihime’s eye and releases it with the zoom out to Ulquiorra. Through this scene, Kubo has shown us that Ulquiorra and Orihime have a tense relationship and with the implication of eye contact through the shots and panel breaks creating both the intimacy and showing Orihime’s defiance.

(Interestingly, I’ve noticed that Ulquiorra and Orihime have a lot of these intimate zoom shot-reverse-shot eye panels)

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What are the Bad Parts of Bleach?

Okay, so by now, you’re probably thinking that I’m ignoring the massive amounts of critique that Bleach gets and don’t get me wrong, while Bleach does have a very special place in my heart, I’m also not maudlin enough to pretend that Bleach was all good.

Pacing:

Pacing in the First Half of Bleach (Karakura Town - Arrancar)

When Bleach first started out the pacing was excellent. Kubo showed great mastery of pace to control the tone and highlight the emotions throughout the first two arcs. Mid-way through the Arrancar arc, the fatigue sets in and it was hard to keep up with, especially since Kubo would interrupt one exciting fight set up to go set up more plot elsewhere (eg Fake Karakura town right as Ichigo and Ulquiorra were about to battle). Whilst looking back and reading it all at once does help with the pacing, it was frustrating if you were reading/watching on a weekly basis.

Pacing in the Anime:

I don’t ascribe to a simplistic belief of “fillers bad” simply because I think that sometimes fillers can be a good thing, for example, since every chapter is ~15-20pp, some character interactions have to be cut for the sake for space, so filler is a great opportunity to add those moments back into your story. For example, a lot of early Bleach fillers are just the people of Karakura town just hanging out. That being said, Bleach does have an unfortunate amount of fillers, with some of them even interrupting tense fights (eg the Beast Sword Arc interrupts Ichigo’s battle with Ulquiorra). However, the padding that the fillers provided did wonders for the transition between Soul Society to Arrancar Arc in the anime. Ultimately, the Bleach anime adaption was a long-running anime made for syndication and that’s okay.

******* Brief Aside: many people like(d?) to point out that Bleach has a very cyclical plot structure. I used to think this way too; however, this is not the case. There are many other long running stories that repeat similar goals. The problem lies not in the idea, but the execution. The main complaint about the Orihime rescue was not that it was uninteresting, but instead that it felt a rehash of the plot of the previous arc. This is largely because the story was not given enough time to breath between similar character arcs. For example, in One Piece, Luffy and Co have to save Nami and by extension, her home village so she can join them; however, the next time a Straw Hat needs to be saved is 227 chapters (2 whole story arcs) later. In between saving Rukia and Orihime, there is only a really an arrancar encounter, a bit of training, cheering up Ichigo, and a Grimmjow encounter before Orihime goes with Ulquiorra, thus making the goal of this arc “save Orihime” in only ~59 chapters vs 227. These two similar arc goals so close to each other does indeed create the sense of repetition.

Pacing from Fullbringer to End:

This is where Bleach really lost a lot of people. If you weren’t gone after the Ulquiorra fight, you probably were by this arc.This arc went at breakneck speed, and ngl, during my first full read through I almost gave up here too. I mention earlier that Ichigo had been broken down in this arc, but it was hard to feel his despair and the weight on his shoulders because there wasn’t enough for the reader to take a beat and breathe. The Thousand Year Blood War, similarly suffered from sloppy pacing, with many readers feeling like story lines of Squad 0 and the Soul King were anti-climactic. As well, this arc started with a massacre and feature the deaths of many fan-favourite characters, and unfortunately due to the pacing, their deaths were not given a sense of gravity.

Missed Opportunities and Forgotten Story lines: Many people felt that Kubo forgot about a lot of his characters after the Aizen arc. Many thought the Fullbringer Arc was going to be a Chad/Orihime Arc. Whatever happened to Uryuu lolol? We all just collectively forgot about him for a large portion of the last half of Bleach. At one point in time, there was a rumour going around that Kubo had written out the story for Bleach and lost it. Idk if there is any credibility to it. However, in a 2017 interview, Kubo did say that he did end the series exactly the way he wanted to.

(If anyone wants to see me write an entire ass text post about Orihime and her treatment in Bleach, please let me know because I will do it)

Too mature:Even though above, I praised Bleach's mature handle on its themes, an unfortunate side effect of this is forgetting that the characters are only 15 at the beginning and for the first half of Bleach. This unfortunately, leads to some readers feeling disconnected from Bleach.

Epilogue: THE DESTROYER OF SHIPS!!! A lot of people hated this ending. Many people felt like the romance was shoe-horned in, others didn’t like the pairings, and there were some people who actually liked it. Personally, I didn’t like it too much, but it was a cute conclusion nonetheless. Since it didn't add anything to the story except for a "where are they now" look and because of that, I low-key felt like it was unnecessary, but w/e.

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Perspective

Making a long-running weekly serialized story is hard and doing it for 15 years is gruelling (obligatory “fuck capitalism” here). Like many artists of long-running manga, Kubo destroyed his health for the sake of publishing Bleach weekly. Kubo on his health after Bleach (photo from AshitanoGin on Twitter):

Given this insight, I think it’s only fair to be respectful and grateful for Kubo’s contribution to the anime-sphere. Also, through his work, Kubo seems to be a very understanding person and artist. I’m sure he knows better than anyone where Bleach went wrong, but there’s nothing that can be done now. Despite him having a twitter, he is not Joanne and doesn’t feel the need to constantly hemorrhage out word of god info about Bleach (and thank god for that).

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Final Thoughts

It’s hard to forget my happy memories when I think about Bleach. It had my first adolescent crush and first OTP. As a result, I think the best way to enjoy Bleach is to take what you want out of it. People always think that something has to be 100% without flaw for it to be good, but that is not true at all. It is totally okay to just like the parts that you like without engaging with anything else. It’s special to you for a reason, you know?

There’s no use in fretting over what Bleach could’ve been, besides, very rarely is the reality better than the fantasy in your head.

I do think though that a lot of Kubo’s issues could’ve been fixed if he planned the story better but not all of us can be “I've been planning One Piece since elementary school” Oda Eiichiro.

Other voices on this issue: here

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Wow. I can’t believe you made it this far down. Congratulations! Thanks for reading my 2:30am non-sober take on Bleach (it only took me 7 hours to write). Here's a cookie <3

#bleach #pro bleach #analysis #writing #characters #ramblings #pro orihime #orihime #ichigo #ulquiorra cifer #hot take #quarantine thoughts #late night #weebshit #criticism #critique #anime review #manga #i'm still bleach

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