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asexual-spongebob · 3 months

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The Waves That Lap The Shore - Chapter 25 - Cockle Fever

Notes:

Poor Kwazii. Love putting that guy through the wood chipper. Also fun fact: this is based off an actual H2O episode! This one specifically https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=zTWYnIr_3Fs&pp=ygUKRmlzaCBmZXZlcg%3D%3D also sorry abt how short this one is. next chapter will be longer . (Also it’s a full moon chapter btw. I’m trying to space them out better. Cuz the full moon every four chapters thing was I bit fast paced for me 😭)

Chapter Text

Chapter 25 - Cockle Fever

“Hey so me and Peso found this stuff.” Shellington announced, placing an old looking compass on the table.’

“Shiver me whiskers! It can’t be!” Kwazii gasped.

“This is the compass that belonged to Edda the fish tailed!!!!” Kwazii said as he pulls out a book of pirate myths.

“Who?” Paani questioned .

“Edda the fish tailed! She was a pirate cat who was said to have a fish like tail when in water.” Kwazii began, then flipping to a page in the book.

“Legend has it that she was a gray tuxedo cat who sailed the seas of South America, she was considered strange and unusual, she was said to steal goods off the decks of unsuspecting, ordinary sailors.” He continued.

“From swords to raw fish, she was said to steal anything. She was said to have a strange lime green fish tail as she disappeared back into the water. She was also said to have long bangs that covered her eyes, which were, when seen described as roomy and orange.” Kwazii explained

“She was said to have a compass that was washed away when her ship sank.” Kwazii finished.

“Damn- we might have the compass of a pirate.” Shellington remarked “wait… when did the compass get washed away?” Shellington asked “around 1905” Kwazii answered, pointing to some additional information in the book.

Shellington looked closer at the compass, “when did she get it?” Shellington asked “around 1899” Kwazii answered “that’s when this compass was made!” Shellington beamed, pointing to the date on the back as it was under a magnifying glass.

“Wow! We found a relic!” Peso smiled “what should we do with it?” Paani asked “hm… keep it. I have a feeling there’s more to this story then meets the eye.” Kwazii answered under his breath.

“Anyway, I’ve got places to be. I’ll see ya later.” Kwazii meowed, sprinting out of the room “damn-“ Shellington remarked, then realized Tunip was standing beside him

“Oh- sorry Tunip. Just forget I said that-“ Shellington said embarrassed. Paani stood there awkwardly “so uh- wanna hear me play a song?” Paani asked, pulling out a guitar. “Yeah sure, let me go get something real quick.” Shellington mumbled, rushing over to his closet and pulling out a drum set.

Peso then whipped out his xylophone, Shellington started banging on his drums, Peso started bonking its xylophone and Paani started playing powerchords aggressively on his guitar.

Paani started singing 1990s Billie Joe Armstrong style, Shellington and Peso had trouble figuring what the hell they were singing.

•••

Kwazii was swimming in the coral reef.

He noticed some coral and took a closer look.

He touched it. “Ouch!” Kwazii yelped, feeling a stinging sensation in his paw “Ugg. I’ll be fine.” Kwazii grunted, trying to convince himself he’d be fine .

They were wrong. Dead wrong .

Kwazii returned to the Octopod “Hey Tweak. Do ya have any fish biscuits?” They asked, glancing at the rabbit “Nah, sorry Kwaz. I’ve only got carrots..” Tweak sighed “oh- that’s fine matey. I’ll go get some meself then.” Kwazii mewed with a nod, propping themself up and scooting up the Octo-Chute.

“Do ya need some help there Kwaz?” Tweak asked “Nah matey. I’ll be fine.” Kwazii echoed as they crawled up the Octo-Chute.

Once Kwazii got back upstairs it was all dry.

It burst into the kitchen FBI style and broke into the fridge. It stole some of Peso’s cockles.

Kwazii ripped the meat out aggressively, like a rabid animal. “Damn Kwazii-“ Shellington remarked, he’d been watching the feline from behind, Kwazii then stared at him with a creepy stare.

OH SHIT ! Shellington knew what happened.

Shellington ran to the sick bay, “Peso! Peso!”

He called out frantically, then bursting into the penguin’s medical office.

“Peso! We have a problem!” Shellington panted, catching his breath “Flappity flippers! What kind of problem?” Peso exclaimed.

“Kwazii was stung by poisonous coral Peso! If a mermaid gets stung by it, it makes them extremely hungry and over time, discolors their tail and makes them very sick!” Shellington explained.

“THEY NEED THE ANTIDOTE! IM GONNA GO GET IT!” Peso gasped with a scream, scrambling to the storage in the sick bay to find one, after some frantic scrambling, he found one.

“Kwazii is gone! We better find him!” Paani said sternly, standing behind the Launch Bay pool, Peso and Shellington nodded in agreement.

The three merpeople sped swam around the coast, looking for Kwazii.

“Look! There he is!” Shellington said as pointed to the cat in the distance.

Kwazii had went up to a fishing boat he was lurking with his head out of the water. “Hey, Kwazii. Get out of there! We don’t want you to get spotted!!” Shellington yelled, but to this horror, Kwazii was getting very sick already.

His shortfin mako shark tail was discolored and he formed discolored scales on paws this is what Shellington had feared.

“Give him the Antidote Peso.” Shellington whispered urgently, Peso responded with a nod, fishing the antidote out of his medical bag .

Peso swam up beside Kwazii, showing the cat the antidote.

Kwazii tried to make it seem like they were okay, but Peso knew they clearly weren’t.

“Take this Kwazii. It’ll make you feel better.” Peso said softly, handing the antidote to the cat.

Kwazii drank it like he hadn’t drank anything in ages. He then started to return to normal, his paws no longer scaly and his tail no longer discolored.

“Huh?” Kwazii breathed, glancing at Peso confused. “You had been stung by some poisonous coral, but we gave you the antidote.” Peso clarified “oh um- thanks?” Kwazii mrrped “now let’s get out of here before we get spotted.” Peso whispered, Kwazii nodded in agreement

#kitty giggles #octonauts #the waves that lap the shore au #octonauts au

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silverjansims · 2 years

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Sims 3: Silver Bells Family

Silver Travels

Hi, my name is Jessica Bell and since I did most of the travelling recently, Jan gave me the opportunity to share the recent family news. Nice to meet all of Gussie and Jan's friends

I came into this family the day after the birth of their eldest son, Jessie as a doll to play with. Over time, Jessie played with me a lot as a toddler and once he put me down on the floor on his first day of school, I came alive to him and we would chat and pillow fight when Jessie finished his homework after school. When Jessie became a teenager, I aged with him and shortly after his first prom, Gussie gave him a potent that would make me real. Once Jessie earned an A in high school, he was allowed to give me the potent to drink which turned me into a real human sim.

People say that I'm friendly but a bit on the rebellious side and dislike being outside although I tolerate it when necessary. I'm a bit of a loner and am uncomfortable around strangers but Jessie's family have been so welcoming and friendly that they have drawn me out of my shell. My hair is a funky green shade and I love the color, purple. Jan is a great cook and I hope that she soon learns how to make my favorite dish: vegetarian lobster thermador. I'm also becoming quite handy at home by unclogging toilets, fixing broken showers, appliances and computers. This has helped me decide that my lifetime goal will be to become a Tinkerer by maxing both the handiness and logic skills.

Since your last visit with the family, I have made two trips to France. The first trip was for a school history assignment where my teacher wanted me to travel to Champs Les Sims to interview a local. While on my first trip, I helped an elderly lady by the name of Manon Goddard by finding her a very nice bottle of nectar in a secret room in the basement of the local nectary. On each of my trips I would also prepare a meal to put in the fridge for my fellow explorers to eat when they got hungry.

The local nectar merchant, Andre Lefebvre gave me some nectar making lessons by giving me some limes to put into one of the nectar makers he had. I had to get into my bathing suit to squish the fruit with my feet and then turned on the machine to make the juice. Andre then asked to make some very nice nectar on my own which I was able to do so a few days later back at home on the machine that Jessie had brought home from his trip to France. During my second trip to France to deliver the very nice quality Cherimola Blan and Lime nectar I made to Andre at the Nectary. While in France on this trip, I also helped local resident, Lea Dutiel get access to the secret area in her basement and delivered a nice bottle of nectar to another local.

In between my two trips to France, Gussie took a trip to Egypt to try and earn a lot of tips by playing his guitar there. Gussie was able to earn a few tips but generally the locals are too busy with daily activities to stop and listen to the music. Since Gussie has already explored almost every tomb there by doing various adventures, he was given less strenuous tasks like taking photos for the local tourist pamphlet of a pushable statue and delivering some fresh pomegranates he happened to have in his inventory. Gussie also found a plum tree to harvest as the grocery store here in Appaloosa Plains wants him to grow some excellent quality ones for their produce section.

Now to get to the really exciting news of the Bell household where Jessie and his brother Andrew along with myself just attended our high school prom. You're probably all thinking that Jessie and I are now a couple but no as Jessie and I are just good friends. Actually Andrew confessed his attraction to me at the prom and now we are in a romantic relationship. Jessie is happy about this since he became involved with one of his classmates, Abbie Ouellette who moved with her family to Appaloosa Plains shortly after he began high school.

That's all the family news for now. Please join us next time when Jessie and I graduate from high school. Jessie plans to attend university as he has been awarded several credits to major in Fine Arts. While Jessie wants to become a CEO of a Major Corporation someday, he is also very artistic and loves to paint and draw on the drafting table and wants to be able to decorate his future CEO office with his own high quality paintings. Jessie will pick up tell you all about his studies soon.

Take care and have a great weekend. Hope you enjoy the photos I've included throughout my report.

Jessica Bell

PS. The last photo above is of Samir Amin who became a zombie during the full moon on Gussie's last day in Egypt.

#sims 3 simblr #sims 3 gameplay #sims 3 world adventures #appaloosa plains #reblog

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conifernophyta · 2 years

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drop the recipe op.

ok check it out:

in the pot you make the soup in, saute a palmful of garlic, handful of small tomatos or one big one, two or 3 stalks of green onion, lemongrass if you have it i didnt today bc i was using fridge scraps, one shallot and one onion, and(most important part) howwever much ginger you think you can handle i like adding a lot bc i love ginger.

saute it with a little oil over medium high until it smells very nice and until you feel like its done. no real time limit it can go as long as it needs to within reason as long as you keep it from burning

once you feel like its getting nice and spiced up in there you add one of those chicken stock bases or like 3 cups of water and a bouillon cube or two probably and stir making sure to get all the ingredients off the bottom

now is the fun part. i literally dont have measurements for these even vague ones bc i just wing it taste and repeat so you will just have to feel it out. add in a few good splashes of soy sauce and a healthy amount of fish sauce(dont go overboard but dont be shy either) a good rule of thumb is to add a little and taste a little so that you can find the perfect flavor index for you. squirt in a whole lime now and this is also when you add the cilantro since its a little fragile for the sauteeing earlier. use a lot. at this point you should let it stew for a bit but like do whatever you can eat it right then if youre hungry but it does get better with time

right before you eat you should take another lime quarter or half if youre like me and love stupidly limey food and squirt it over top of your bowl of soup bc the first lime we added will have probably cooked in by now and you want that fresh lime zing. erm i forgot to add this but once you add in the chicken stock at that point you can also add in your protein(i chose tofu) or like more veggies or whatever you wanna toss in there is good. its a very adaptable soup which is why its good for doing away with kitchen scraps that are about to go bad. uhhh i dont think i forgot anything ok if you have further questions[directed to anyone reading this] please send me ask i love talking about cooking

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aarohij · 5 months

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Savor Every Bite: Effortless Fried Rice Pack Online Delivery for Busy Days

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Cilantro Lime Rice

You can cook this Mexican dish at home with little to no effort and just 7 ingredients. This is favorable to be served as a side dish with Asian or Mexican-inspired recipes or stuffed in burritos, tacos, or other wraps. The ingredients include rice, black beans, lime zest, scallions, garlic, chopped cilantro, olive oil, sea salt, and other fresh vegetables as per your choice. The process is initiated by cooking the rice. When the rice is cooked, but still hot, toss it with garlic, scallions, and lime zest. Let it cool slightly, and then add olive oil, sea salt, lime juice, and cilantro and that’s it. Your delicious cilantro lime rice is ready to be served.

Veggie Burger Recipe

The ingredients of this recipe include flaxseeds, mushrooms, short-grain brown rice, panko, and walnuts. For the recipe use rice that’s hot off the stove. The rice has to be sticky to bind these patties together. As a result, your rice must be freshly cooked, as leftover rice dries out in the fridge. Brush up the rice with any sauce or paste you like. The patties can be made up to a day in advance and stored on baking sheets in the fridge until ready to grill. Place the patties between the vegetables you like in the burger. And enjoy the treat.

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#fresh vegetable online #order vegetables online #buy fresh vegetable #online chopped vegetables #fresh chopped vegetable #fresh green vegetable #buy chopped vegetables online #order fresh fruits and vegetables online #chopped vegetables delivery #chopped vegetable store online in bangalore

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msbarrows · 10 months

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July 15 to July 27- managed to flake out of doing my Thing A Day posts, and for considerably longer than I thought it’s been at that (feels like a week, it’s been more like two). Haven’t done much in that time other than laundry, and partially cleaning the upstairs bathroom. Need to get out of the doldrums and start doing more stuff. Also resume doing these posts because mostly they’ve been at least partially successful in reminding me to do more.

What I can remember of the last week or so below the cut.

July 19 - dug meat sauce out of the freezer and we had that and pasta. I’m surprised I can even remember back this far.

July 20 - starting prep for a colonoscopy next Monday, so made an easily digestible supper of pan-fried haddock and homemade hash browns. The last “real” meal I’ll have until early next week. Thankfully brother is going on a trip starting tomorrow so I only have to worry about cooking for myself over the weekend. He spent the afternoon making a big pot of sausage & steak chili to take along with him

July 21 - made a vat of stock, partially to use up some freezer burnt chicken (a half chicken and four thighs), but mostly to provide myself with well-cooked chicken and stock for this weekend. Brother forgot to pack his chili, crock pot full of it was sitting out on the counter when I went downstairs to turn off the heat under the stock pot, whoops. Chili is now in fridge.

For supper I made a cheese and chicken sandwich with mayo on white bread, and picked all the very-well-cooked chunks of carrot out of the stock pot to also eat

July 22 - ran two loads of laundry. Deboned the remainder of the chicken and froze most of it. Also divided up and froze the chili and most of the stock (which I’d strained yesterday and then chilled overnight so I could skim off and discard any fat). Cut up a beef roast into stewing beef and froze it in 1 lb amounts for future use.

For supper I cooked some white rice in stock with a little dried tarragon, and added some of the shredded chicken to it.

July 23 - the fun of clear liquids only day! I will not go into the gross details of what prep involves (google peglyte it if you’re curious). When I was finally able to ingest stuff in late evening, my supper was some lime jello made using grape-apple juice, and later a soup mug full of chicken stock.

July 24 - colonoscopy day. Brother drove me there and back. I am now four polyps down, and am being referred to their big polyps specialist to remove a fifth (the big ones apparently need different instrumentation to remove), which will mean re-doing prep at some point in the near future. I am SO not looking forward to that - the colonoscopy itself is no biggie but the prep sucks so very, very much.

Pretty tired since I had to get up at stupid o’clock to do final prep. I will be avoiding blue gatorade for some time to come, since that’s what I was mostly drinking during prep (aside from the Peglyte itself) and now find its flavour revolting as a result.

Had to gently reintroduce my digestive system to food after getting home, so supper was vanilla yogurt, applesauce, a banana, and a slice of white bread and cream cheese, spread out cautiously over the evening.

July 25 - cleaned upstairs bathroom. Brother off at a golfing stag party for someone, so I stayed easy on my digestive system and made tuna rice with green peas for supper. So nice to have a vegetable again after days without any.

July 26 - finally got around to using up the chayote I bought before leaving Toronto (they last forever and a day when refrigerated) and made chayote & chicken wraps using some of the cooked chicken from making stock.

July 27 - supper was chili and rice; some of that steak & sausage chili my brother had made. It was delicious.

#Thing A Day #July 2023 #July 15 #July 16 #July 17 #July 18 #July 19 #July 20 #July 21 #July 22 #July 23 #July 24 #July 25 #July 26 #July 27 #CW: Colonoscopy

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tsuki-sennin · 11 months

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Attention! CipherDefender.exe has intercepted an unknown transmission, "Shinobi46.txt" from A.R. World untouched by the Desire Grand Prix. Extracting this file can cause damage to your GlareOS/GazerOS system. DGP Management will immediately and painfully replace you in the event of network compromise or Master Suel's game of PUBG lagging. Proceed anyway?

->Yeah sure, why not? Heck no at all!

Running Shinobi46.txt...

Nin-Pow! Episode 46 of Shinobi! Sniff... oh Kanjo... How I miss you so... may Geiz Revive from Decade Season 2 carry thee to thy rest.

I thank you all for accompanying me these past 45 episodes. We laughed, we cried, we made new friends and foes. I got to date a smoking hot kunoichi and now we get paid to laze around and do nothing... life is good.

Spoilers, I guess...

-Oh don't remind me! Sniff... these damn recaps...

-You're the most evilest son of a bitch I've ever done seen in a Ninja show, Amakusa. I mean, Jesus Christ! ...literally.

-Ganbare, Rentaro-san!

-They got Bomb Chick, Kusarigama Dude, Kunai Lady... and my babygirl... Sai Guy...

-Whoa wait a sec OTHER WORLD NINJA RIDERS????

-Who the hell is this doofus?

-Keiwhat now?!

-TYCOON???

-I thought he was the Geats guy!

-Oh thank god, Izanagi. I feel better.

-Icchi..... I miss you...

-Oh that's nice, Dork-on and his cute sister got added to the intro.

-Oh man... showing me episode 3 knowing I'm crying... I hate this show sometimes, I swear.

-Oh that's a cool belt. I wonder what kinda toys you sold in your world?

-Jamado?

-OH FUCK THE GENIN

-Do you need a reason, Keita? Or whatever your name is?

-Oh, down he goes!

-Bro doesn't know about the Ninja Act lmao

-Rentaro-kun...

-Gamano-sama!

-...this dude talks to lawn ornaments. Weirdo. Not like us, we talk to wall scrolls!

-Oh that Gamano. Always so well informed.

-Y'know I wish that neechan was the Ninja Rider from your world. She seems to have a backbone!

-That kagemusha is my friend, Geronimo.

-Oh wow, he can just... instantly tell from that Daikon guy's belt, huh?

-Amakusa's a gold digger.

-Things have gotten real bad for us all, Keitai.

-Boooooo! Booooohoooooohooooooo!

-"Hah... Dumbass."

-Rentawooooo :((((

-He hungwy :((

-I still can't believe we've gone this long with Iroha still knowing nothing about Shinobi's identity. Not like in [REDACTED] Sentai [REDACTED]. Sun Wukong and pals are the most open and functional of friends!

-Shinobi-samaaaaaaaa~!

-Ah, a noodle boy? You do seem like you drop your spaghetti a lot.

-No ninja wedding? Okay, sure.

-...Something tells me K-Touch's sister gets fridged somehow in her world. Poor lass. I don't even get told your name.

-Oooh, fuck 'em up Iroha!

-Oh right, Amakusa's magic glass lotus thing.

-So, Ketamine hides his secret too. I wonder how hard Trigon has it with those Jamiroquai guys?

-Diet Ryuki, huh? I bet you're wishing for something cringe like "world peace" or whatever.

-NINPO! ...Nin-No!

-Gotta hand it to Canine, he seems to know his way around a fight.

-Rickshaw express to Konjou Company!

-Oh, there's neechan.

-Amakusa would have a private Christian wedding. Great attention to detail there, Kaori-sensei.

-Stop the wedding!

-There's Keijo's belty thingy.

-Oh shit!

-FUMA HOLY FUCK

-Movie Riders showing up in-series never happens unless it's Decade or Decade 2!

-Who... who's this green guy though? The Great Prophet Master Woz, who served under the wonderful Geiz Revive, never had a watch for this lime dude. ...he looks cool, I'll give him that. Also... strangely familiar...

-Bro doesn't even know about Rider Fights lmao

-And Kayfabe hits the floor!

-C'mon Kagenari, you've got a daughter!

-And youuuu.... Green Guy! You have somebody you care about, right?

-OH FUCK THERE HE IS

-Shun Sugata! The man! The Ninja!

-You're looking great, Ryo!

-Ooooooooohoohohohohoho, goes hard!

-He's helping us!

-"C-Cyborgs?" Indeed he is, Kiddie Kong!

-Excellent technique, Neesan!

-GET FUCKED

-Freeee!

-"...this isn't Madoka's track meet."

-"...Kento????? Bro????"

-...why do I know that name?

-"Oh man, Niichan...I hope you stop sucking soon."

-ZX's ninja gadgets are always so sick <3

-Ooooooh!

-It's nice seeing Kagenari do good :)

-Oh, this green guy's a book guy, huh?

-:OO

-ISAMICHI

-AMAKUSA YOU FUCKER

-Another Hattari!

-...is there retooling from Yaminin in that suit?

"-Icchi, come on man! I don't wanna fight you again! Remember how much we were fighting in the 20 mark?"

-Oh, there's Senhor Geronimo.

-Oh wow... Taiko's got a cool form. ...that buckly thingy he's got on his belt looks fun to play with too. Kinda like the Shuriken Starter!

-Get in there, Shinobi!

-Well, he's down! Oh, not yet!

-Whoa... you're cool.

-Get in there, Rentaro!

-OH HELLO

-Shinobi Buckle!

-Keiwa-kun! ...no, Kamen Rider Tycoon! Show that jerk who's boss!

-IZANAGI TIME

-Twinsies~!

-...WAIT A FUCKING SECOND THAT'S LORD WOZ'S SHINOBI ARMOR

-...have I been shit-talking his successor?

-Ohhhhhh, that's so sweet, they're singing it together :3

-At last... the holy ninjutsu!

-Rider Double Slash?

-The other Ninjas...

-Ninja Riders, Squad Up!

-Kamen Rider ZX! Kamen Rider Fuuma! Kamen Rider Kenzan! ...apparently! Kamen Rider Tycoon! Kamen Rider... Shinobi!

-Go forth, Ninjas!

-Holy Ninjutsu! Five Footed Assault!

-Isamichiiiiii

-ICCHIIIIIIIIII

-Noooooo, nooo Icchiiii...

-Noooo...

-Amakusa, you fucker!

-Thank you... Ryo-senpai...

-Little Bro Keiwa, vanishing whenever there's trouble.

-Thank you, Keiwa :)

-See you around, Keiwa-kun.

-OH?

-OH SHIT THIS GUY'S GOT HIS OWN THEME SONG

-Damn, I bet the guy in Geats World must freak out whenever he hears it.

-Pffft... Geats... bet he's some kinda Beowulf type.

-...bet his actor's a real fox though.

-Wait for us, Icchi.

-Shirou, you monster

-SON :O

-Oh man, I can't wait to talk about this on social media with all my Rider Bros.

-I heard that up and comer Fuku Suzuki is a big fan!

[This concludes the decoded transmission. The World of Shinobi has been added to DGP Record as potential stage for next DGP Series upon World of Geats reaching Grand End.]

#kamen rider #geats #kr geats #geats spoilers #kamen rider geats #kr shinobi #kamen rider shinobi #shinobi spoilers #the world's next round: trick shot of desire for the grand victory #the blade of one's heart: dancing beyond the sky #(hi it's tsuki i have an explanation for all this)#(i accidentally got like EVERY cool thing from this special spoiled for me so...)#(i'm coping by envisioning a reality in which i got nothing spoiled for me~! hot time!)#(by the way I absolutely LOVE the sheer 'commit to the bit' behind the Shinobi stuff)#(It's like if Goncharov had ninjas)

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pontoppidanbowles7 · 2 years

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Not From Crocodile Or Ostrich Leather But These Hermes Birkin Baggage Have Been Made Utilizing Bananas, Cabbage And Cucumbers It features the most recent and the best from the world of extravagance and opulence. Rolls Royce has collaborated with Hermes for a one-off Phantom for a Japanese entrepreneur. “I buy leather-based so it’s troublesome to feel legitimate in an argument in opposition to the use of sure leathers. Remember that even selfmade, path combine remains to be very much a treat, and never a snack you should have regularly ... Rounded up a few of the best and worst path mixes out there, and located the main offenders to be loaded with sweet, chocolate, marshmallows, hydrogenated oils, sweetened dried fruits, and different junk meals. If you continue to need to eat store-bought path mix, keep in mind that it's more of a deal with than a wholesome snack, which means you have to stick with strict portion sizes based on Consumer Reports. Instead of sweetened drinks (real or artificially-sweetened) for your mid-afternoon hydration, try to plan ahead and make your own spa water by soaking thin slices of lemons or limes in water in the fridge. You can even make it sweet through the use of thin orange or pineapple slices. You could make it more decadent with slightly stevia extract or monk fruit powder ... Only a small space of ostrich leather has these bumps that’s why it’s much more expensive than, for example, calfskin. It’s one of the brand’s hottest unique skins, alongside alligator, and is probably the most durable of all exotics. Furthermore, we are typically able to suggest you unique and premium HorseShoe stamp luggage. These custom made particular order bags function unique combinations of colours and leathers that do not otherwise exist in retail. Ask in regards to the Sellier Kelly at Hermes boutique, and also you're positive to pay attention to that it is extraordinarily troublesome to come throughout. The prices of today’s Birkin vary have shot up considerably because the 90s. Even a pre-owned Birkin nonetheless instructions an impressive resale worth price, sometimes even higher, as the provision to demand ratio is unmatched. In most instances, you can see the second-hand market will charge a premium for a basic mannequin, simply because it’s simpler to purchase and not need to go through the hassle of the boutique waitlist. Collecting Luxury ensures that all of our products are authentic. “When you see the cruelty involved in these farms it really is stunning, that’s why we're asking Hermès to cease promoting the skin of these ostriches,” she mentioned. I simply purchased an ostrich Birkin this previous fall in Mousse . wikipedia hermes ostrich Sizes vary from 25-, 30-, 35-, to 40-centimetres, with travelling baggage of 50- and 55-centimetres. It also comes in a variety of colors similar to black, brown, golden tan, navy blue, olive green, orange, pink, powder blue, red, and white. The costliest Birkin was sold at an public sale with a price tag of $380,000. Not surprising that it was none aside from the Himalayan Birkin bag, and it was sold for such a hefty worth due to the albino-white crocodile pores and skin materials it was crafted from. And all unique skin handbags and equipment are handcrafted in strict compliance with CITES. As lengthy as the process is acceptable then you'll be able to argue that it’s acceptable,” she stated. The protest comes after Peta US published an exposé of the economic slaughter of ostriches. Undercover video recordings show young ostriches being yanked the other way up in a stunner before their throats are cut, as others watch and wait. Ive simply purchased my first Ostrich Birkin in December, see my avatar picture. I am totally in love with Hermes Ostrich and thinking to buy one other one already. ostrich birkin She then defined to Dumas that it had been tough to discover a leather-based weekend bag she appreciated. Dumas then drew sketches on an airplane sick bag and after many drafts, revealed the final design in 1984. Please bear in mind we are selling the item, not its packaging. Occasionally, the Hermes box/packaging could come slightly flawed from the boutique or the field might get broken throughout transit to clients. Although we are going to try our greatest to pack it with protective wrappings, there are nonetheless unmanageable circumstances where the box/packaging may get barely flawed/damaged. With options like hen sriracha, cranberry bison, and meats like venison, turkey, or salmon, you are positive to search out something you'll like. Try preserving sealed jerky in your health club bag or take some hiking, and look for selection packs so you always have something that matches your food cravings. The musician – born Nayvadius DeMun Wilburn – also sported a black letterman jacket and matching dark jeans with fashionable rips on the knees. His love for know-how, devices and coding pushed him to pursue a profession in this subject. Seeing his associates working for thirsty inspired him to write stuff. Being disappointed with Barcelona's efficiency in Europe is the only constant in his life. Crafting one bag takes round 20 hours and solely extremely skilled employees may fit on Birkins. The Birkin bag of Hermes is the primary it bag bearing the name of a celebrity. In 1983, Hermes CEO Jean-Louis Dumas was seated subsequent to Jane Birkin on a flight from Paris to London. Birkin positioned her straw travelling bag in the overhead compartment, however the contents fell to the deck. The Philippine Star reported in March 2013, that a high-end, 30-cm Shiny Rouge H Porosus Crocodile Birkin with 18-carat gold fittings and encrusted with diamonds was bought for US$203,a hundred and fifty at an public sale in Dallas, Texas, US. In 1984, Hermès chief govt Jean-Louis Dumas was seated next to Jane Birkin on a flight from Paris to London. Birkin had just positioned her straw travelling bag within the overhead compartment for her seat, but the contents fell to the deck, leaving her to scramble to switch them. Birkin explained to Dumas that it had been tough to find a leather-based weekend bag she liked. Photos courtesy of official websites of hermes, therealreal, fashionfile, sothebys, Vogue, and so on. The Togo Birkin was the only piece that didn’t increase in worth for 2020.

#ostrich birkin #birkin ostrich bag #hermes ostrich bag #hermes ostrich birkin #hermes kelly ostrich #hermes birkin ostrich bag #pink ostrich birkin bag #ostrich kelly bag #mini kelly ostrich #birkin 25 ostrich #kelly ostrich #replica hermes ostrich bag

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oddershede74dickson · 2 years

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hermes ostrich bag 19

Hermes Ostrich Bag Best Birkin Handbags Dubai Try dipping tomatoes in Greek yogurt with a small sprinkle of sea salt or a couple of chopped mint leaves. Or get pleasure from fresh cucumbers enlivened with a squeeze of lemon juice, or dipped in hummus. Sweet carrots cut into crinkle chips could make a enjoyable snack, and you'll add variety by choosing heirloom varieties which are available white, purple, and yellow colours. Eating peas out of the pod can also make a fantastic substitute to fat- and salt-heavy snacks. If you find snack bars handy in a pinch, look for those who advertise a high protein content, and regulate the caloric load. International cargo of things may be topic to customs processing and additional costs. There is extra demand for Hermes Birkin bag than supply, that’s why they're so-hard to find. Each Birkin is hand-made with impeccable craftsmanship and precision. Buyer restriction by Hermes in Paris isn't new; one individual can only purchase two baggage a 12 months. You can have one Birkin or Kelly and the second bag is a free selection. Comedian and rapper Zack Fox makes a reference to Birkin baggage in his track "Marinate". She then explained to Dumas that it had been tough to find a leather weekend bag she favored. Dumas then drew sketches on an airplane sick bag and after many drafts, revealed the ultimate design in 1984. Please keep in mind we are selling the item, not its packaging. Occasionally, the Hermes box/packaging could come barely flawed from the boutique or the box could get broken during transit to customers. Although we'll strive our greatest to pack it with protecting wrappings, there are nonetheless unmanageable circumstances where the box/packaging may get barely flawed/damaged. Sizes vary from 25-, 30-, 35-, to 40-centimetres, with travelling bags of 50- and 55-centimetres. It also is available in a wide selection of colours similar to black, brown, golden tan, navy blue, olive green, orange, pink, powder blue, red, and white. The costliest Birkin was offered at an public sale with a price ticket of $380,000. Not shocking that it was none apart from the Himalayan Birkin bag, and it was offered for such a hefty price because of the albino-white crocodile pores and skin material it was crafted from. And all exotic skin purses and accessories are handcrafted in strict compliance with CITES. Remember that even selfmade, trail combine continues to be very much a deal with, and not a snack you should have frequently ... Rounded up a number of the greatest and worst path mixes out there, and found the main offenders to be loaded with sweet, chocolate, marshmallows, hydrogenated oils, sweetened dried fruits, and different junk meals. If you still want to eat store-bought trail combine, keep in thoughts that it is more of a treat than a wholesome snack, which means you have to stick to strict portion sizes based on Consumer Reports. Instead of sweetened drinks (real or artificially-sweetened) in your mid-afternoon hydration, attempt to plan forward and make your individual spa water by soaking thin slices of lemons or limes in water in the fridge. You can even make it sweet by using skinny orange or pineapple slices. You can make it extra decadent with slightly stevia extract or monk fruit powder ... Only a small area of ostrich leather-based has these bumps that’s why it’s a lot more expensive than, for example, calfskin. It’s one of the brand’s hottest exotic skins, alongside alligator, and is essentially the most durable of all exotics. Furthermore, we're generally able to propose you exclusive and premium HorseShoe stamp bags. These customized made special order luggage feature distinctive combos of colours and leathers that do not in any other case exist in retail. Ask in regards to the Sellier Kelly at Hermes boutique, and also you're positive to hear that it is extraordinarily difficult to return across. Pure Hydrate is a deep hydration créme for finished and unfinished leather-based baggage. It restores pure softness by replenishing the natural oils to the leather. This offers an intense hydration treatment for your unique leathers, to make use of when needed. For completed & unfinished leathers, there’sSensitive Cleanse, a cleansing product specifically designer for this type of leather. As long as the method is acceptable then you'll be able to argue that it’s acceptable,” she said. The protest comes after Peta US revealed an exposé of the commercial slaughter of ostriches. Undercover video recordings present young ostriches being yanked the different method up in a stunner earlier than their throats are cut, as others watch and wait. Ive just bought my first Ostrich Birkin in December, see my avatar image. I am totally in love with Hermes Ostrich and considering to purchase another one already. Most just lately in 2019, it offered for over half a million dollars. Professional sports activities betting marketing consultant David Oancea, also called Vegas Dave, made the record-breaking purchase. This Kelly, within the Sellier style, is of Bleu Baltique shiny Porosus crocodile with palladium hardware and features tonal stitching, a front toggle closure, a clochette with lock and two keys and a single rolled handle. London – Milan Fashion Week is full in swing, as luxury fashion home Prada dips its toe in the see now, purchase now’ business model by making two of its autumn/winter 2016 leather-based purses on the market following its catwalk present on Thursday. As increasingly luxury fashion houses turn their focus to expanding their leather items sector in order to boost their model presence amongst new generations, the ongoing quest for more exotic animal skins continues. In 2020, prices started at US$11,000 for regular leather-based and have reached up to US$380,000 (HK$2.94 million) when a bag made of exotic skin and diamond was offered at auction by Christie's in Hong Kong for a report value in May 2017. Crafting one bag takes around 20 hours and only highly skilled staff may work on Birkins. The Birkin bag of Hermes is the primary it bag bearing the name of a celebrity. In 1983, Hermes CEO Jean-Louis Dumas was seated subsequent to Jane Birkin on a flight from Paris to London. wikipedia hermes ostrich Birkin placed her straw travelling bag in the overhead compartment, however the contents fell to the deck. The Philippine Star reported in March 2013, that a high-end, 30-cm Shiny Rouge H Porosus Crocodile Birkin with 18-carat gold fittings and encrusted with diamonds was offered for US$203,a hundred and fifty at an auction in Dallas, Texas, US. In 1984, Hermès chief government Jean-Louis Dumas was seated next to Jane Birkin on a flight from Paris to London. Birkin had simply positioned her straw travelling bag within the overhead compartment for her seat, but the contents fell to the deck, leaving her to scramble to exchange them. Birkin explained to Dumas that it had been troublesome to discover a leather weekend bag she liked. skel.io hermes ostrich birkin Photos courtesy of official websites of hermes, therealreal, fashionfile, sothebys, Vogue, etc. The Togo Birkin was the one piece that didn’t enhance in value for 2020. The bag's value is a matter of its deliberately excessive value, which has led to its being described as a Veblen good. If the bag you’re after occurs to be out of manufacturing, you’ll find no scarcity of Pinterest boards with Birkin resellers. Admittedly, most people would gasp on the over-the-top price ticket, however when you venture into the Birkin world, you’ll understand why this bag hasn’t lost its place within the last 4 a long time as some of the fascinating luxury baggage out there. Each piece is sewn by hand utilizing Hermes’ saddle stitching, a signature before it’s buffed and polished to perfection.

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baldwinpappas2 · 2 years

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hermes ostrich bag 29

Hermès Birkin Ostrich Bag Remember that even do-it-yourself, path mix remains to be very much a treat, and not a snack you must have on a daily basis ... Rounded up some of the greatest and worst path mixes out there, and found the principle offenders to be loaded with candy, chocolate, marshmallows, hydrogenated oils, sweetened dried fruits, and other junk meals. If you continue to need to eat store-bought trail combine, keep in mind that it's more of a treat than a wholesome snack, which implies you need to stick with strict portion sizes based on Consumer Reports. Instead of sweetened drinks (real or artificially-sweetened) in your mid-afternoon hydration, attempt to plan forward and make your individual spa water by soaking skinny slices of lemons or limes in water in the fridge. You may even make it candy by utilizing thin orange or pineapple slices. You can make it extra decadent with a little stevia extract or monk fruit powder ... The Philippine Star reported in March 2013, that a high-end, 30-cm Shiny Rouge H Porosus Crocodile Birkin with 18-carat gold fittings and encrusted with diamonds was sold for US$203,150 at an public sale in Dallas, Texas, US. In 1984, Hermès chief govt Jean-Louis Dumas was seated subsequent to Jane Birkin on a flight from Paris to London. Birkin had just placed her straw travelling bag in the overhead compartment for her seat, however the contents fell to the deck, leaving her to scramble to exchange them. Birkin explained to Dumas that it had been troublesome to discover a leather weekend bag she liked. Photos courtesy of official websites of hermes, therealreal, fashionfile, sothebys, Vogue, and so on. The Togo Birkin was the one piece that didn’t enhance in value for 2020. It features the most recent and one of the best from the world of extravagance and opulence. Rolls Royce has collaborated with Hermes for a one-off Phantom for a Japanese entrepreneur. “I purchase leather so it’s troublesome to feel valid in an argument towards the utilization of sure leathers. Only a small area of ostrich leather has these bumps that’s why it’s a lot more expensive than, for instance, calfskin. It’s one of many brand’s most popular exotic skins, alongside alligator, and is the most durable of all exotics. Furthermore, we are generally capable of propose you exclusive and premium HorseShoe stamp bags. These custom made particular order luggage feature distinctive mixtures of colours and leathers that don't otherwise exist in retail. Ask concerning the Sellier Kelly at Hermes boutique, and you're certain to pay attention to that it's extremely troublesome to come back across. The costs of today’s Birkin range have shot up significantly because the 90s. Even a pre-owned Birkin nonetheless instructions a powerful resale worth value, typically even higher, as the supply to demand ratio is unmatched. ostrich birkin In most instances, you will find the second-hand market will cost a premium for a primary model, simply because it’s easier to purchase and not should go through the trouble of the boutique waitlist. In quite a lot of sizes from 10”-14” this day can be utilized for day by day outings or taken to the workplace to hold a small work laptop computer. With each a deal with and shoulder strap there are multiple methods to carry the Hermès Lizard Birkin Dupe bag. Staring from $119 and obtainable in an array of colours, the Lizard Skin Birkin different dupe is something you want to get your palms on to realize the same nice fashion as the traditional Birkin. So I know a lot about types and leather-based care and wish to share my findings with you. Similarly to Hermès, you must contemplate the color when opting for a Dior ostrich bag – mild, intense shades intensify the pebbled surface the most effective. Sizes vary from 25-, 30-, 35-, to 40-centimetres, with travelling luggage of 50- and 55-centimetres. It also is obtainable in a variety of colours similar to black, brown, golden tan, navy blue, olive green, orange, pink, powder blue, red, and white. The costliest Birkin was bought at an public sale with a price ticket of $380,000. Not stunning that it was none apart from the Himalayan Birkin bag, and it was offered for such a hefty price because of the albino-white crocodile skin material it was crafted from. And all unique skin handbags and equipment are handcrafted in strict compliance with CITES. And the bumps on real ostrich leather have a singular irregular pattern. One plant director pointed to the skin on an ostrich's again, saying, "This is where the cash is made." The recognizable bumps on ostrich leather are actually the follicles where feathers was. The experience Hermès applies to each aspect of its design extends to the rigour of its dyeing course of. With choices like chicken sriracha, cranberry bison, and meats like venison, turkey, or salmon, you are positive to find one thing you may like. Try keeping sealed jerky in your health club bag or take some hiking, and search for selection packs so you always have one thing that fits your meals cravings. The musician – born Nayvadius DeMun Wilburn – also sported a black letterman jacket and matching darkish jeans with modern rips on the knees. His love for expertise, gadgets and coding pushed him to pursue a profession in this subject. Seeing his pals working for thirsty impressed him to write stuff. wikipedia hermes ostrich Being disappointed with Barcelona's efficiency in Europe is the only constant in his life. Pure Hydrate is a deep hydration créme for completed and unfinished leather-based baggage. It restores natural softness by replenishing the pure oils to the leather. This provides an intense hydration remedy on your exotic leathers, to make use of when needed. For finished & unfinished leathers, there’sSensitive Cleanse, a cleaning product specifically designer for this sort of leather-based. Perfectly complementing the dazzling shade of the bag is the palladium hardware discovered on the clasp, lock, and studs of the bag. The chic and opulent look is really complete by the intricate detail found all through the bag including the hand stitching on the sides of the fabric and where the handles are attached to the bag. The handles themselves are lined in a particular spray to guard them from rain and the pure oils in your hand, providing peace of mind that they may preserve their gorgeous look. On common, hermes birkin ostrich baggage on 1stDibs promote for $34,500, while they’re usually $14,500 on the low end and $124,750 for the very best priced variations of these things.

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gayravi · 2 years

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buddie + “you probably shouldn’t have done that”

(this is on ao3 too bc i'm unsufferable <3 thank you cole beloved!!)

"You probably shouldn't have done that."

Buck looks down at the shattered glass at his feet, feeling a panicked flush begin to crawl up his neck. "Yeah, you think?"

Eddie grins at him from across the table, because he's fucking insufferable sometimes. "I can't tell if I should be offended or not, to be honest." He says it with the smile still on his face, but Buck knows him; knows him better than he's ever known anyone in his life, better than he knows himself sometimes. Eddie's smiling, sure, but there's something beneath it, too—something decidedly more insecure. More hesitant about what Buck’s answer might be.

Because Eddie just asked Buck to fucking marry him.

Which like—yeah, Buck’s had this dream. Buck’s definitely had this dream, the one where Eddie realizes that he’s head over heels in love with Buck, and that he wants to spend the rest of his life with him, but it’s never been more than a dream. It’s never been more than—than Buck nodding off on the station couch with Eddie’s feet in his lap and thinking, right before he drifted off, that he’d be happy doing this for the rest of his life.

It wasn’t supposed to be real. If it’s real, if Eddie’s standing across the dining room table from him, one had wrapped around the stem of the wine glasses they’re cleaning, the other flexing on top of the table like he wants to reach out but isn’t sure he can.

And Buck—Buck is standing in a pile of broken glass, and he feels like his heart is beating out of his chest, because Eddie just looked up from his polishing cloth and said I think we should get married.

Buck thinks, absently, that breaking the glass was a pretty valid reaction.

“Eddie—” he starts, and then stops, because he doesn’t actually know what to say to that. Doesn’t know how to say you just asked me the question I’ve been waiting for you to ask for years without revealing all his big, stupid, inane feelings for his best friend, right here in the dining room, on a random Tuesday while Christopher is away at camp.

Buck thought that if he ever—and it was such a big if, really—confessed his feelings to Eddie, it would be bigger than this. It would be after a daring rescue, or while one of them was in the hospital at death’s door, or over a candle-lit dinner where Buck wouldn’t choke on a piece of bread and have to get an emergency tracheotomy. He had ideas, big, romantic ideas, and none of them involved Eddie fucking proposing over his and Shannon’s old gifted wine glasses.

“Buck,” Eddie says, and his voice is soft, gentle, like he’s trying not to spook a scared animal. “That was—look, don’t move, okay?” And then he’s gone, probably to get a broom, or maybe to get in his truck and drive all the way back to Texas.

Buck doesn’t move. He’s only wearing a pair of socks—they’re decorated with fried eggs, a present from Christopher for Buck’s last birthday—so it’s not like he can actually go anywhere without cutting up his feet on the shattered glass. So, even though Buck wants to move—he wants to lock himself in the bathroom, really, and maybe try and squeeze out the tiny window in there—he doesn’t, because he’s already probably irreparably ruined his relationship with his best friend. He doesn’t need to track blood through his house, too.

Eddie reappears, then, holding the lime green broom and dustpan in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He passes the bottle to Buck without ceremony, and Buck takes it with only slightly shaking hands.

They’re silent as Eddie cleans up the mess, the only words passing between them a gentle move over a little, good, when Eddie has to get to the little shards right by Buck’s feet. Eddie goes back into the kitchen once he’s finished sweeping, and Buck hears the sound of the garbage can opening and closing, and then the fridge. He slumps into one of the pulled out chairs and puts his head in his hands, and it’s so—it’s so stupid. Buck misses being under the firetruck with his crushed leg. At least then he wasn’t worrying about Eddie proposing to him as a joke.

After another few minutes, Eddie comes back, sliding into the seat across from him. Buck peeks at him through his fingers; Eddie’s got a water bottle of his own, a reusable one that says This is Vodka, actually, a gift from Maddie, and a plate of the fancy crackers he never lets anyone eat.

They’re silent for a while longer—Buck wallowing, Eddie probably trying to figure out how to tell Buck it was a joke—when Eddie finally speaks. “That wasn’t part of the plan, you know.”

“Me breaking one of your wedding gifts?” Buck asks, halfway to miserable. “Or proposing in general?”

“Proposing before I ever asked you out on a date, actually,” Eddie corrects, taking a long sip from his water bottle.

And Buck—Buck rips his fingers from his hair so quickly it kind of hurts, blinking at Eddie with wide eyes. “What?”

“I mean, that’s what you do, right?” Eddie says, leaning back in his chair so his head is resting on the back of it. “You—you date. You ask the guy you’re in love with to go on a date with you at a fancy restaurant, and you hold hands over the table, and then you try and cop a feel when you kiss goodnight, and maybe if you’re lucky you get invited inside for some mind-blowing sex, and then—”

“Wait, wait,” Buck says, waving a hand to stop Eddie’s Hallmark-movie-inspired ideas of romance. “What?”

“What?” Eddie asks, tilting his chin down to look at Buck. “What do you mean what?”

“What do you—Eddie, what the fuck?”

“You’re losing me, man.”

“I’m losing you?” Buck says, and his voice is a little high, a little breathy, because he’s—holy shit, what the fuck is happening, actually? “You just said—you’re in love with me?”

Eddie blinks at Buck. Buck blinks back at him. Finally, Eddie says, “Yes?”

“That sounds like a question.”

“It’s not,” Eddie shakes his head, “I just didn’t realize it was a point of contention.”

“You never said anything,” Buck says, because he’s pretty certain he’d remember something like that—he’s pretty sure, actually, that he’d never forget something like that. Not when it’s something he’s wanted to hear from Eddie for years, now. Not when it’s something he’s craved for—for what feels like his whole goddamn life. “You never—you never told me that.”

Eddie scratches the back of his neck, a pretty blush turning the tips of his ears pink. “I didn’t…I don’t know how to say it, really,” he says, and it sounds like a confession. A promise, maybe. An oath. “With Shannon, it was easy. It was easy, because it was expected, you know? And like—I loved Shannon. You know I did. God knows I’ve reconciled that enough in therapy—that it’s okay for me to be gay and to have loved her. I loved Shannon, so much, and it was easy, with her.”

He takes a deep breath and pushes the untouched crackers away so he can reach across the table. Eddie doesn’t make a move to grab Buck’s hand, but he lays his flat, palm facing up, like it’s a choice for Buck to make. Like Buck’s allowed to be the one to take the next step.

He does. Of course he does. Buck lets go of the water bottle and twists his fingers around Eddie’s, ignoring the way he thinks in the back of his mind that he’s never felt something so right as this, as holding Eddie’s hand.

“But with you—it’s fucking difficult, Buck,” Eddie says, and he barks out a laugh when Buck’s nose wrinkles in offence. “Not for whatever reason you’re thinking. It’s not—you’re not difficult to love. It’s the easiest thing in the entire goddamn world to love you. I don’t know how everyone doesn’t; you’re just—here, and alive, and existing, and that’s enough, I think. To love you. To be in love with you.”

“Eddie,” Buck says, breathes really, as he swallows the lump in his throat. “Eds—”

“But it’s difficult, to say it. Because I can feel it—God, I feel it every day—but to say it? To look you in the eye and tell you that, without a doubt in the entire world, I want to spend the rest of my life with you? That I want to go to bed holding you, and wake up wrapped up in you? That I want to kiss you, and put a ring on your finger, and grow old with you? That I have never—ever—felt this way about anyone? That no one in the entire fucking world holds a candle to you? I don’t know how to say that, Buck.”

Buck chokes back on a sob, and for once, it’s not sad. It’s fucking—God, he feels like he’ flying. “You’re doing a pretty good job right now, Eds.”

And Eddie smiles, with his stupid little vampire teeth and dimples, and he squeezes Buck’s fingers, tugs them closer to him so Buck has to lean over the table a little. “You make me brave, Buck,” Eddie says, quiet. “You make me want to be brave.”

“I’m in love with you too,” Buck says, wiping at his eyes with the back of his free hand. “If the crying wasn’t clear.”

Eddie tugs his hand, and Buck gets the message clearly; he stands from his chair and walks to the other side of the table without disconnecting their fingers. As soon as he’s standing in front of Eddie, Eddie pulls until Buck’s sitting in his lap. It’s awkward, and uncomfortable, because they’re both over six feet and the chair wasn’t built to accommodate the weight of two fit firefighters, but Buck wouldn’t prefer to be anywhere else.

“It could be bad crying,” Eddie says, but he’s still smiling, still looking like the happiest man in the world, and Buck realizes, distantly, that he’s the reason for this smile.

“It’s not,” Buck says, fitting his free hand to the curve of Eddie’s jaw. “It’s such good crying, baby. It’s fucking—Jesus Christ.”

“Just Eddie, is fine,” Eddie murmurs, eyes flicking down to Buck’s lips.

“How about Mr. Buckley-Diaz?” Buck whispers, pressing his thumb into the corner of Eddie’s mouth. It opens, then, like an impulse, and Buck feels hot right down to his bones.

“Is that a yes, then?” he asks, pressing their linked hands to his chest. Buck can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath his fingers, and this—it’s so much better than his dreams. “To my question?”

“It’s a fuck yes.”

Eddie surges forward before the last syllable has even left Buck’s mouth, swallowing the words on his tongue. Buck’s fingers slide from his jaw into the short hairs at the back of Eddie’s head, and Eddie’s fit to Buck’s waist, and they’re in Eddie’s dining room, making out in a chair like teenagers, and they’re engaged, and—

Yeah. The real thing has nothing on Buck’s dreams.

send me a ship and a sentence, I’ll write the next five whatever number i vibe with

#buddie #buddie fic #911 fic #911fic #911 fox #cole 💌#reply #i apologize for the length of this btw #chelsea writes

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whirlybirbs · 3 years

Text

( chapter 6′s gif by @buckysbarnes from this lovely set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 6/?

summary: gunshot wounds, panic attacks, and evil next door neighbors.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 5.3k, a filler before the real sexual tension.

a/n: be warned, this chapter has a diy medical procedure where bucky removes the slug from rabbit’s shoulder. it’s nothing too graphic, but keep that in mind! also, i wanted to say thank you to everyone who has rec’d, reblogged, commented, kudos, liked, looked at this fic. the response to every chapter has been so overwhelmingly kind and i’m so thankful that i have the oppurtunity to share this fic with you all. that being said, i broke this chapter up. next week has some spice. ;-)

( PREVIOUSLY | AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT )

Bucky wakes up with a headache that feels like someone’s tapped an icepick between his eyes. A fire-bright burn radiates under his ribs.

It’s a slow creep back to reality — he just lays there and stares at the peeling wallpaper that meets the corner of the ceiling for a while, knowing deep in the back of his muddled, confused thoughts that he most likely has a nasty concussion, maybe a few broken ribs.

How? Hm. Fighting. Music? The club.

Rabbit.

He sits up fast and Bucky’s blue eyes struggle to adjust in the low-light of the scarcely furnished apartment. The searing pang of his headache is enough to make his stomach churn, but he’s had worse. So much worse. This is manageable. So, he swallows down the nausea and looks around the room like a wounded animal — and almost immediately, relief greets him at the sight of you in the armchair across from the couch.

Your hair is a mess, falling from it’s previous style that you’d proudly worn to The Glass Cannon. Your lipstick is smeared, there’s glitter on your cheeks, and your make-up has transitioned from starlet beauty to broken-hearted bombshell. Bucky notices, with a bit of dismay, that you’re even missing an earring. There’s a nasty bruise forming along the peak of your cheekbone and a gash there from when Alexei had cracked you across the face with the pistol — and even despite all this, Bucky can feel his heart clench at the sight of you. A good clench. The sort that makes his heart kick into a stutter step.

You look… well, you look like someone who’d had the shit choked out of them and then was shot.

Shot.

Your jacket, punched clean through with the single bullet hole, is hanging over the back of the chair and there’s gauze taped to your shoulder. You’re leaning your good cheek in your hand, attention turned totally to Bucky, where you’ve fallen asleep. From here, you’re a picture of exhaustion.

Anxiety flashes in his heart and he swings his legs over the edge of the couch.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Take it easy.”

It’s the woman from before, Kiwi, and she’s got an ice pack in her hands. It’s wrapped in a ratty, green dish towel, and she hands it off to Bucky with a pitiful little look. Rounding the couch, Bucky finally gets a better look at her.

She’s older than you, maybe by a handful of years, but sharp and beautiful nonetheless. Her hair is dark as night and the tips are drenched in a lime colored dye. Her eyes are dark, too, ringed by kohl and glitter, and Bucky wonders if he’s ever seen her before.

“You heal quick,” she says quietly as she plops down into the chair across the room. On a makeshift desk, there’s a laptop, “Care to explain how you know our dear friend Rabbit here?”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Again, his eyes fall on your sleeping form.

He maneuvers the ice pack in his hands, then gently presses it to his ribs. He melts a bit, ignoring the evident tears in the silk shirt. He feels bad — he’d busted some of the seams in the midst of the brutal scuffle and it seems like this artifact of Jaimie’s was most likely beyond salvation.

His dog tags jingle against his chest.

“Therapy,” Bucky croaks, “We, uh, we met in therapy.”

A new voice comes into the picture now, one that’s muffled by a mouthful of food.

“That’s cute.”

It’s the other one, Climber. He’s traded in his all-black, all-polyurethane outfit for an expensive looking t-shirt. Without the strobes, without the tunnel vision, Bucky can now see the intricate buzz cut that sits beneath the mountain of blue curls on his head. There are patterns buzzed into his tight-shave. He’s got a smile, too, the glimmers a little too artificially. Bucky spies crystals inset on his incisors between bites of what looks like a bowl of cereal with no milk. Spoon and all.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met,” Climber says as he plops down next to Bucky on the couch, “What’d you say your name was?”

A hand is jutted his way. Bucky blinks. He shakes it with his vibranium hand.

“I’m Bucky.”

“Well, I’m gay and you’re gorgeous,” he says candidly, giving it a good shake, “So, if that’s of any interest—”

“Can you please shut up, Climber?” comes an irritated rasp from you in your armchair. Bucky turns to watch as you raise your head and rub your eyes, “Christ, I just fell asleep.”

“And your little supersoldier just woke up,” Kiwi chirps from her preoccupation with the laptop and contents on it, “So why don’t you stop being a little baby and let him look at that gunshot wound.”

Bucky’s face falls flat. He drops the ice pack to the coffee table with a thwunk.

You sit up, gingerly trying to maneuver yourself so as to not bother both your ribs and your shoulder. It takes a moment, but finally you’re sitting up with only a dull ache of pain throbbing beneath your skin. Now, the real sting comes from the bitter look Bucky has pinned you with.

“You haven’t cleaned it yet?”

“The shits in the kitchen,” Kiwi waves at Bucky, as if to say told you so, “She fuckin’ refused to let me take care of it.”

“You’re going to get an infection if it stays in you any longer,” he snaps, standing to his feet, “Get up.”

“Kiwi isn’t exactly the most gentle person I know,” you manage to supply as an excuse as you move through the room, “And I know that thing isn’t coming out without a fight.”

He can feel the grey hairs coming in already.

You stand slowly, and Bucky looms behind you as you weave into the small apartment’s kitchen.

It’s barely lived in, but a few years ago it most definitely had life. Now, it’s mostly abandoned save for a few necessities. Kiwi had told you, a long time ago, about this spot — it was her parent’s place before the Snap. After the Blip, they ended up moving back to Massachusetts. Now abandoned by anyone seeking to really live in the one bedroom, it sits collecting dust until Kiwi inevitably needs it.

Like now.

“Up on the counter.”

You wince at his tone, but still thankful to be away from Kiwi and Climber’s prying eyes.

For the entire time Bucky had been out, you’d been subjected to a myriad of questions — all were fair, really, since Bucky did just bust out the Avenger-level super-moves on some Russian mafiosos for your sake, vibranium arm and all. The arm was really the biggest stuck point in the conversation as you tried your best to explain the nature of your relationship with the unconscious supersoldier on the couch. It was met with plenty of looks, both curious and skeptical.

You’re slow to hop up on the dusty marble countertop. From there, you watch Bucky poke through the kit that Kiwi had pulled from under the sink.

Then, with the calculated process of a man who has pulled one too many bullets from himself, Bucky slams the kit shut and wanders into the bathroom.

He returns with a pair of large tweezers. He’s silent as the dead as he rummages for a pan, fills it with water, and sets the gas burner on. He stares, watching the pot boil, as his foot taps against the floor.

You swallow down any comments.

There’s a clean towel beside you, and Bucky casually reached into the boiling water with his vibranium hand to retrieve the tweezers — whether or not he purposely ignored the pain is lost on you. You’re too busy anxiously spiraling into silence.

(He’s trying to ground himself, to feel something other than panic. It’s a mild spike, but it’s still panic. Because you’re hurt. Because you still have a fucking casing lodged in your shoulder and he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Ever. Because he saw it happen and then it was black, and now that anxiousness is creeping in.)

Rubbing alcohol, tweezers, gauze, tape, and… Jack Daniel’s.

It’s from the top of the fridge. It’s got a layer of dust on it — and it’s unopened.

Bucky unceremoniously pops the cap and hands the open bottle to you.

You take it and pause.

Bucky’s gaze is cold.

“You’re gonna want to take a few swigs, Doll.”

You almost snarl. You take a long drink then, ignoring the burn of the whiskey down your throat. It’s only when you’ve had enough to nearly gag that you hand the bottle back and then hiss:

“Don’t call me Doll.”

He takes the bottle and unceremoniously slams it down on the counter.

His movements are rough as he washes his hands — and if Bucky was a better person, maybe he’d take a second and parse through why he was feeling so damn irritable. But, no, no, he could figure out that he was angry at himself and you and Alexei Gardzov and Innessa Sidrova and fucking… everyone because he can’t have any normal relationships in his life without there being bloodshed or pain or suffering. That was enough, and he didn’t want to dig deeper into the nipping fear of losing you, not now, not when he had a job to do—

You suck in a sharp breath when his fingers brush your collarbone. He gently moves the delicate strap of your bodysuit, ignoring the soft skin beneath, and pulls the gauze away from your shoulder.

Your jacket had taken most of the impact it seems. Bucky frowns deeply at the pink fibers clinging to the entry wound. It’s a nasty puckered bit of flesh, smeared with blood, right in the soft muscle of your left shoulder. The hole is a little smaller than a quarter — Bucky recognizes it as shot from a 9mm almost immediately. He’s taken a few of these in his days. He’s glad it wasn’t close range. The burns from the muzzle flash make for nasty scars. He’d know. He has one on his back, right above his hip.

Bucky’s jaw is tight. He’s gritting his back teeth. His headache throbs angrily behind his eyes.

Bucky leans, eyeing the wound carefully. His limited reaction is enough to spark a little light of bravery in your gut, and you move to look at the hole — only to find a vibranium hand rooting your jaw in place. It’s gentle enough as it recorrects the line of your gaze straight ahead. His thumb rests on the curve of your chin as his index climbs your jaw, and the vibranium is warm and cold all at once. It’s an odd sensation. Not bad, but not flesh.

You like it.

(You find your mind quickly flashing with the thought of what that hand would feel like in other places. You ignore it.)

Your eyes are stuck on Bucky.

He’s clearly upset — the pinch between his brows and the evident scowl on his lips is enough of an indication. The bridge of his nose is busted and there’s a bruise crawling under his left eye. The shirt you’d given him is a wreck, and as he bends to snatch up a rubbing alcohol soaked pad, the feeling of shame creeps up on you. The anxiousness that’s settled in the pit of your stomach doesn’t help.

Arguably, it exacerbates the symptom.

The whiskey is slow to make an impact.

But, when Bucky finally swipes the gauze across the wound, your ankles have begun to tingle and it isn’t blinding white pain you feel — not yet. It’s sharp and it feels like he’s touching your shoulder blade when he presses his fingers into the holes to clean the immediate area. That has you grimacing tightly.

His obsidian-hued hand holds your face still through it.

So, you opt to stare.

His arm reminds you of some pottery you’d seen back at the Museum of Modern Art once, on a school trip. In a dimly lit room, spotlights lit up a row of vases that had been gilded back together with gold-dusted sap. You’d sat there for nearly an hour, staring at those things. You can’t remember the name now, not while Bucky does one more pass across the wound. It started with a ‘k’. It was beautiful. You loved that exhibit. Why can’t you — fuck — remember the name? Kinsi… kinsigumi? Gumi. Kintsi —

You grit your teeth and grip the counter tightly. He pauses. You exhale.

You inhale.

Kintsugi.

The seams of his arm remind you of Kintsugi.

It’s beautiful.

Bucky’s eyes flit to yours. He sees your stare.

Maybe it’s the pain, or the half-cocked daze, but the look in your eyes is enough to spur an immediate reaction. Bucky scowls. He yanks his hand back, retreating to the supplies on the counter. He’s pulled, hard and fast, and now he seems miles away.

Quietly, and with a bit more chill than he intended, he speaks. “If it was making you nervous, you should have said something.”

It.

Your head snaps to him.

“What?” you ask, nearly incredulously.

He’s silent. He has the tweezers in his hand now.

Your eyes narrow critically — and instead of shame and anxiety, it’s hurt that flies off your tongue. It’s drenched in enough pain that Bucky hears it in the waver of your voice.

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

It’s nearly a whisper.

He swallows.

He ignores it. He has to. He doesn’t want to know the answer. Either way that conversation goes is enough to drag him into territory he can’t handle right now. Not when he needs to do this without his hands shaking.

“This is going to hurt.”

Your mouth is open — be it shock or anger, he’s not sure. Bucky, however, makes a point of ignoring your expression and your reaction by handing over the whiskey once more. You snatch it from his hands quickly. There’s a look on your face that makes his chest ache. With one last pass over him with your eyes, you take a long swig.

You feel like crying.

You won’t, though. Not now. Not while he does this.

You deserve this.

And holy fucking hell does it hurt. It’s like someone’s taken a hot poker and punctured your skin, then rotated it around and around and around. You can feel every time the tweezers touch the bullet because the metallic little click echoes in your chest. It’s enough to make your head spin, and you grit your teeth and close your eyes and try to breathe — but even after a handful of minutes, when Bucky finally retrieves the slug, there’s no relief. Just a desperate throb.

Your hands are shaking when you reach for the whiskey once more.

You do cry, finally, when Bucky packs the hole.

He rolls the gauze up tightly into a cylinder and, as gently as he can, pushes it in.

It’s a horrible choke of pain that you smother into your palm and pant through. It reminds you to breathe, and while you stare up at the water damage on the kitchen ceiling, Bucky tapes a square piece of gauze over the bruised wound and wraps your shoulder tightly. He takes his time, but there’s a curtness to his actions.

Finally, when he begins to clean up the mess of bloodied gauze, you speak.

“If you’re mad at me, then just say it.”

He snaps almost immediately, like a kicked dog. “And say what, Rabbit? That I almost lost you?”

Your mouth slips shut.

Bucky pauses what he’s doing. He drops the gauze onto the towel and he bares both hands against the counter top. He leans and exhales and drops his own head back — then, you can see his own waves of anxiety knocking him against the shore of composure. His eyes move back and forth, he inhales, and then after a long while he speaks.

It’s calmer. Not so horribly mean.

“You should have told me about Alexei.”

You go to speak — but he stops you.

“I mean really, really told me,” he explains, “Had I known he wanted your fucking head mounted on a spike, I would have kept you far away from that place.”

“We had to—”

“No,” he says sternly, standing up full height, “No, we didn’t. We never have to do anything that’s going to put you in danger. Never. I won’t do it again. You should have fuckin’ told me.”

You’re quiet.

“A few more inches to the right,” he says, gesturing to your throat with his finger. His eyes are expressive and he’s speaking like he’s lived this experience, “You’d be dead. Cold and dead and I’d be here, carrying the fucking guilt around with me because I wouldn’t have been able to do anything.”

His voice splinters at the end — but he’s moved to throw away the gauze and dump the tweezers in the sink. He can’t look at you as he says it, and you know that. Because, just like before, people like you and him have a hard time looking the truth in the eyes.

You slide off the counter.

Your heart is sad. It’s heavy and mournful and weighed down with guilt.

“Bucky.”

It’s soft. He’s scrubbing your blood from his hands.

He doesn’t turn around. He can’t. He can feel the prick of an anxious breakdown beginning to climb into his eyes. Instead, he scrubs and scrubs and scrubs and your blood is stuck in the plating of his hand and it’s not going to come out—

Think of what could have happened if it had been a few inches to the right. The arched spray. Blood everywhere. She can’t speak through the gargle, she’s going cold, she’s gone. And, like always, you’re alone again, Bucky.

Then, your hands are on his.

The touch is enough to stop him. It’s enough for him to move aside at the large, inset kitchen sink. You exhale slowly as you run the water a little warmer and gingerly run his hands under the tap. Your hands are smaller than his, a bit more delicate, and he’s stunned into a sharp silence at the feeling of your fingertips gently washing away the crimson blood.

You grab another dish towel from a drawer beside the stove.

Then, in the dim light of the kitchen, you take both his hands and dry them.

It’s the vibranium hand that you pay special attention to, though. And Bucky feels like a fucking idiot — just standing there, just watching as you run the rag between the gilded plating and use gentle pressure to get into the harder to reach spots. You turn it over, and you dry his knuckles.

You take your time.

You don’t look up when you speak. You’re focused. Almost reverent.

He doesn’t deserve this.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you say sternly.

His mouth is dry. “Rabbit…”

Bucky shifts on his feet and takes a deep inhale. He feels lightheaded.

The whiskey, and the closeness of the two of you, makes your skin warm. His whole nervous system feels like it’s on fire.

“I didn’t mean to stare, I don’t ever mean to,” you apologize as your hands still over his arm. He watches your irises trace the plating above his wrist. The rag is forgotten, its purpose null. Your words are heavy, and Bucky can hear a little shake in them as you swallow, “I just… think it’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful.

Even now, blood-soaked and sweat-stained. With makeup running down your cheeks and your composure in shambles. Even now, on the run and apparently wanted, you’re incredibly beautiful. Bucky hates how easy it is to admit and how hard it is to keep off his tongue. It nearly gets the better of him. He watches your eyelashes flutter. When you look up at him, the world is suddenly drowned in honey.

“I’m sorry.”

You mean it.

Your bottom lip wobbles.

Bucky, immediately, regrets being so goddamn cold.

You were just trying to help — you were just trying to do the right thing.

“Stop it. Come here.”

The hug is the first time you can remember touching him like this. You think you’ll always remember it, too. It’s sturdy and warm and gentle and honest and you bury your face into the shoulder as his arms come up around your neck. He’s careful of your own injured shoulder, and his fingers find the base of your neck. Around his waist, your fingers dig into the back of his shirt. Both of you ground yourselves in the other’s arms, and for the first time in a handful of hours, you both find peace.

Quiet, sturdy, lovely peace.

And the two of you stay like that for a while in the quiet little kitchen.

It’s not until Climber’s voice rises from the living room that you’re pulled away from Bucky — and even then, your face linger inches from one another for a moment too long. Neither of you say a word, only swallow down confessions that could have been, and move on.

“Oh, girlie, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

Bucky frowns. With your brows knotted tightly together, you weave through the kitchen and back into the living room.

Kiwi has sat up and both her and Climber have their eyes on the bulky flat screen on the dust-covered entertainment center. It’s cable news, and as Climber leans to turn the television up, a picture of you flashes across the screen.

It’s a photo from your arrest six months ago.

“Local authorities are asking that anyone with information on the whereabouts of this young woman call the FBI’s anonymous tip line—”

“Is there a reward?” Climber whispers almost excitedly, eyes on the screen.

“—Authorities are offering $100,000 dollars to the person who provides enough information to lead up to this dangerous fugitive’s capture.”

“Dangerous fugitive?” hisses Bucky.

“A hundred thousand dollars?” cries Kiwi, “Who the fuck did you piss off?”

You inhale deeply as you wave your hands. “The bigger question is who the fuck knew I was going to The Glass Cannon last night. Because they’re looking for me — not you.”

You point at Bucky and the gears are turning in your head.

The pacing is almost immediate, and Bucky crosses his arms tightly as you begin to walk back and forth behind the full length couch that Climber is currently spread out on.

It’s cut short, though, by Kiwi’s laptop chiming successfully.

“Well,” she stands quickly, “I have a feeling that someone knows you’re onto them. And the facial recognition software just got a match. A three point one, too.”

Your eyes brighten.

You’d given Kiwi the photo of the young Innessa, with all her decorated furs and blonde curls. She’s laughing and she’s young and she’s in love and it’s hard for you to imagine a woman like her to be dangerous. While you’d made sure Bucky was propped up comfortably on the couch and then finally calmed down from the adrenaline high enough to get comfortable yourself, Kiwi had dug out the hard-drive she kept on her at all times and began pulling data from the Alexandria Library files.

It had been a handful of hours, so it was clear that Innessa had hid herself well in the vast, expansive database SHIELD kept for all those years while it was in operation.

Bucky is quick to gather behind Kiwi, eyes scanning the screen.

Sure enough, when you come to look at the photos pulled up on Kiwi’s screen, there’s a hit. There’s an identification card photo of an older woman, maybe in her forties, pulled up alongside the photo Bucky had given you. Her hair is no longer blonde, but deep auburn color. She’s marked as having worked with Rumlow — a supervisor of some sort. Makes sense. You didn’t need to see a picture of Crossbones to remember Brock. Even when you’d interned, he’d been infamous.

And that was when he was one of the good guys.

There’s a handful of other photos of her — candids, professional photos, and even one where she is shaking Tony Stark’s hand.

And in all of them, you see your next door neighbor Bonnie McLayne.

“Fuck.”

Bucky blinks. Kiwi turns to look at you over her shoulder.

Again, you speak. Your eyes are wide. You can’t look away from the screen.

“Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Rabbit…?”

“Fuck.”

Bucky’s face narrows considerably, confusion melting to make room for realization.

His voice is quiet.

“Do you know her?”

“Oh my god,” you say loudly, shaking your head and blinking, “Oh my fucking god, that’s my neighbor.”

Bucky can feel his whole face go clammy.

“The neighbor who—”

“—Who I showed your fucking picture to,” you nearly shriek, “Like it was some cute little matchmaking game!”

Immediately both hands are over your face as you throw your head back. Now, the pacing has begun, and like you’re being carried on autopilot, you begin to move back and forth and back and forth and—

“You don’t think she’d hurt Poke, do you?”

“Rabbit.”

“Oh god, oh god—”

Oh.

Oh, you’re having a panic attack.

Oh, that was quick. Brutally fast. Nearly immediate.

After all, she knows where your family lives. She gets Holiday cards from mom to give to you. She’s been your closest friend for nearly six years. But she’s not Bonnie, she’s Innessa fucking Sidrova. She’s seen you with Bucky. She knows — she knows a lot and you don’t know anything and you’re miles from home, from Poke, from Mom, from Ana… Oh, god, the baby. The baby.

“The baby.”

Bucky’s voice is level. “Rabbit, you gotta calm down.”

“I have to call my mom.”

“No,” Kiwi snaps immediately, “They’re going to be watching for your cell phone pings. No calls, no texting, none of it. And god forbid this woman is one step ahead of the FBI—”

“Oh, god.”

You gasp like a fish out of water, paralyzing fear sending you to lean against the back of the couch.

You claw at your chest and try to remember what Dr. Hart said about these sorts of moments. Square breathing. In and hold and out and hold. Again and again.

“Sit down,” Bucky says as he returns to your side, nearly sweeping you up long enough to plop you down into the armchair from before, “And do me a favor and breathe.”

The whiskey isn’t helping right now.

“I’m trying.”

Another gasped breath.

Climber and Kiwi watch.

Bucky shakes his head sternly, kneeling on one knee and snagging your hands. “Don’t try. Just do it. You can do it. Just follow my lead — you’re the sidekick, after all. Remember? C’mon. There’s the smile. Breathe.”

So you do.

In, hold. Out, hold. You draw a square with one hand on your jeans and hold onto Bucky’s with the other.

Again, in and hold. Out and hold.

And again.

And then, you just listen to Bucky’s breathing.

You’re not sure how long it takes — half an hour, ten minutes, who knows — but finally you’re able to calm the spiraling thoughts in your head. Finally, the loudness quiets down, you catch your breath, and the world isn’t falling apart. The bite of anxiety still remains in the hollow of your chest and Bucky can see that when you finally open your eyes and squeeze his hand.

There’s that look again between the two of you. The one from before, in the kitchen.

“Good?” he asks quietly, blue eyes swimming with some sort of emotion you can’t really pin down. Not now. Maybe, if you’d been a bit more collected, you would have seen it as infatuation. But, no. It’s just… nice.

You swallow and nod.

“Damn, girl,” says Climber from his spot on the couch, “Now I’m starting to get the whole therapy thing.”

“Thanks, dickhead.”

“That’s recent, isn’t it?” he asks, genuine worry crossing his face as he stands to gently pass a hand over your back, “I don’t remember it ever being this bad.”

Your face is sad. “I was just partying through it back then. Distraction was always the best method and then… When I had no more distractions and it was just me? Alone? And, psh, the accident with Jaimie? It got worse. So much worse.”

Climber’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry, bunny.”

You try to put on a brave face.

Bucky stands from in front of you and begins his own pacing. This one isn’t so much born out of anxious nature — but more of a tactical logic born out of keeping you safe.

This wasn’t exactly the turn he was expecting.

“You didn’t recognize her?” he asks after a moment, voice high and tight.

“I’m sorry,” you wave a hand, exasperated, “She doesn’t exactly look the same as she did in the 70s.”

Kiwi frowns at the screen. “Definitely botox.”

Bucky squints. He looks to you for an explanation.

You vaguely gesture to your face.

His brow lifts, he closes his eyes, and he sighs.

Kiwi is next to pipe up. “It explains why the feds are looking for you, especially if she saw you with the one man she knows is looking to hunt her down — so, I think it’s best the both of you lay low for a couple of days.”

“Not to mention,” Climber wags a finger, “Bucky the Babe over here did just piss off one the smaller Russian crime families in New York. So, there’s always that ontop of the evil Nazi-HYDRA-woman-next-door.”

You groan.

“Poke has enough food for a week,” Bucky says nearly reading your mind, “He’ll be fine.”

“So, what? We just wait here? Until something happens?”

“Sidrova is going to try and bait us out,” Bucky mutters, “She knows she can’t just disappear. She’s been settled for too long and we know too much. Engaging us in an altercation is how she’ll do it. Plus, I have a feeling she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to shoot me in the knees after a few decades. So, we wait.”

“Few decades?” Kiwi whispers.

“How old are you?” Climber asks.

“Hundred and six.”

Both of them just blink at an unphased Bucky.

You sigh, finally standing on wobbly legs. “This feels like a bad idea. I’m just stating that for the record.”

“Better than her hunting the both of you down,” Kiwi supplies, “You can stay here. There’s cable, there’s booze, and there’s plenty of instant ramen to last you until winter.”

“Stale cereal, too.”

“Wait— where are you two going?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, “You’re leaving?”

“Keeping our hands clean,” Kiwi says, closing her laptop, “And letting you be the sidekick, bunny.”

The sadness in your heart grows a little heavier at those words, but there’s a little bit of pride in Kiwi’s tone. As she stands, she moves to wrap her arms around you in a gentle hug. Quietly, she murmurs into your hair.

“Your dad would be proud of you, y’know.”

Bucky watches.

Climber is next, and that hug is bigger, more brotherly, more like sunshine and less like autumn.

“Don’t be a stranger, Rabbit.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out as the two of them gather their belongings, “For dragging you both into this. But, thank you. You didn’t have to help me—”

“Yeah, we did,” Kiwi chirps as she knocks Bucky on the arm three times, “Keep her safe, aakarshak purush.”

The Hindi rolls off her tongue with ease.

Bucky laughs. “Bahut lamba.”

Kiwi pauses mid-step. She narrows her eyes. There’s a smile on her lips. “Your pronunciation isn’t bad.”

He shrugs plainly. “I get lunch almost everyday at the Indian place below my apartment, so. The owner has been teaching me some stuff on the side.”

An approving nod.

Kiwi hucks you the keys across the room.

She points at Bucky.

“I like him. Try not to fuck that up, eh?”

And then, the two of them are gone.

And it’s just you and Bucky in the empty apartment.

#vacant mirrors #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barns x you #bucky/reader #winter soldier x reader #mcu imagine #tfatws imagine #A LITTLE LATER THAN PROMISED BUT SHE IS HERE

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hockeyisit · 3 years

Note

maybe a morning to night blurb of a typical day-off for auston and amelia??💫💕

A.N Hii loved this request thanks so much! Hope you enjoy it!!

Word Count: 3,235

Masterlist

I rolled over reaching out to cuddle closer to Auston only to find the bed empty. Letting out a small groan I pushed myself into a sitting position as I looked around for my missing boyfriend. Auston had the day off as well as tomorrow and it was the first time in almost two weeks. I was really looking forward to spending the whole day with him. I turned towards my bedside dresser reaching out for my phone to check the time.

9:34

I groan loudly annoyed that Auston was out of bed before ten. I slowly pulled myself out of bed and made my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth and pee. Once I was done I pulled on the first sweatshirt I saw, which happened to be Auston’s Guchi Bear sweatshirt, and left myself in my underwear. I slowly made my way out of our bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen where I could hear quiet music playing and the sound of something cooking.

Auston was standing at the stove shirtless cooking what looked like an omelet and some turkey bacon. I breathed in happily as I smelled the food. Auston and I had gone out last night because we knew we would have the day to recover. It had ended up being a late night which was why I was so surprised Auston had made it out of bed before ten.

“Smells good babe,” I mumbled into his shoulder as I slid my arms around his waist from behind. He jumped slightly before relaxing into my hold.

“You're awake,” he smiled as he turned around to wrap me into a hug. I let out a deep relaxed breath as I breathed him in.

“I was missing you,” I mumbled leaning forward slightly to peck his lips.

“Sorry I woke up and couldn't fall back asleep. I figured I would do something useful and make breakfast,” he said as he turned back to the food.

“Well I am always okay with you making me breakfast,” I grinned at him as I made my way over to the fridge and opened it up only to find very limited options.

“Hey Aus,” I called out to him.

“Hmm?” he asked, not looking away from the bacon.

“We need to go grocery shopping. We only have beer and salsa in the fridge,” I said as I looked through the very empty shelves. I grabbed the Britta out of the fridge and turned to set it on the counter before grabbing out two cups.

“I know,” he whined as he reached out for the glass of water and took a sip.

“Next time you have a day off I better find you in bed when I wake up. I don't like when you hit it and then leave in the morning,” I whined as I wrapped my arms around his neck. A small smile came across his face as he wrapped his left arm around my waist and held me tight against him.

“Alright babe. I’m sorry,” he apologized, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I hugged him back for another moment before going over to the chairs at the island and sitting down. Auston reached over into the cabinet and pulled out two plates setting them on the counter.

“You know for the longest time when I lived on my own I didn't own dishes. I just used paper,” Auston said as he started to put food onto the Corelle plates. I looked up at him with shock clear as day on my face.

“No way,” I laughed loudly. He grinned at me before nodding his head.

“I got chirped pretty bad for it but I was a slob and didn't want to do dishes,” Auston admitted sliding a plate in front of me.

“Well, I’m really glad I met you after that phase,” I teased as I poked him gently. He laughed as he pulled out the stool next to me and handed a fork over.

“Thank you,” I smiled as I took the fork from him.

“I was thinking maybe we could get lunch somewhere and then go grocery shopping?” Auston offered. I took a bite of my food moaning in delight as I nodded my head. I never ate breakfast unless it was made for me and I always enjoyed it when Auston made bacon and omelets.

“Sounds good what were you thinking?” I asked after I finished chewing.

“Sushi?” he suggested. I grinned before nodding my head. It had been so long since I had sushi.

“Okay,” the two of us finished eating quickly. Auston finishing first he stood up bringing his plate over to the sink. Once I was finished he grabbed mine and brought it over. He then turned around to face me and leaned against the counter.

“I don't want to do the dishes,” he finally said breaking the comfortable silence. I stood up from my chair and made my way over to him. Once I was within reaching distance he reached out and pulled me in close, his hands falling to my waist.

“You look so good when you wear my sweatshirts,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to my forehead before pulling me closer so that my face was resting on his shoulder. I grinned up at him as I reached forward to press a kiss to his lips. His hands slid down my waist so that they were resting on my ass.

“And you look so good when you don’t wear clothes,” I teased as I ran my hand across his chest. His eyes followed the movement of my hand before he pulled me into another deep kiss. We stood there making out for another few moments before I felt something nudge my leg. We pulled away to look down at Felix who was whining at our feet.

“Aww it looks like someone wants attention,” I cooed as I bent down to pet his head. Felix leaned into the touch before turning to beg Auston for attention.

“He probably needs to go out,” Auston mumbled as he reached down to pet him. I stood up again and gave Auston another quick kiss before turning to the dishes.

“How about you take him out. I do the dishes and then we meet up in the shower when we’re done,” I suggested as I turned the warm water on. He sent smirk my way before reaching out to me. I raised my eyebrow questionably.

“Does that sound good?” I asked. He nodded.

“I need a shirt any chance I can have my sweatshirt?” he asked through a grin. I threw my head back as I laughed. I reached down and started to pull it off but Auston stopped me before I fully could.

“Wait babe I thought you had something on under that. I’m not going to make you wash the dishes naked. I’ll go grab something,” he said as he made his way to the bedroom. He came back out wearing a Leaf’s sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants.

I quickly started in on the dishes as I waited for Auston to get back from his walk. Just as I was finishing the last dish Auston walked in with Felix. I put the dish in the dryer rack and made my way back to Auston’s bedroom climbing under the covers. I put my phone back on the bedside table and closed my eyes as I comfortably sprawled out on the bed.

“You showering?” Auston asked, making his way towards the bathroom and taking off his sweats and sweatshirt.

“I want to sleep a little longer,” I mumbled as I shoved my face into the pillow. He made his way over to the bed and hovered over me. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my cheek before deciding better of it and climbing into bed next to me.

“I’ll nap with you,” he said resting his head on my chest. I let out a light laugh as I ran my hand through his hair gently.

-----

“Thank you for taking me for sushi,” I told Auston as he paid the tab. He grinned at me brightly before shrugging.

“No problem babe,” he said standing up and grabbing my coat and holding it out for me. I quickly pilled it on and then the two of us made our way out of the restaurant to my car. I hopped into the driver’s seat and put on my seatbelt.

“Which grocery store did you want to go to?” I asked him as I put the car into reverse. We had a few different ones that we went to like, Walmart if we needed basic things, a local Mexican shop when Auston was feeling homesick.

“Walmart,” he responded as he pulled his phone out. I nodded my head as I started my way to the closest Walmart.

“Willy just sent me a funny meme look,” he said showing me his phone at the stoplight. It was a video of a guy going down a kid slide but the slide was really powerful and he got yeeted off instead. I laughed loudly as I turned my attention back to the road. Willy was kind of the meme king and was always sending things to Auston and me. We actually had a groupchat with the three of us that we used to send Tik Toks back and forth. It was mostly just Willy and I that sent Tik Toks but Auston always watched them so I didn’t mind that much.

“He sent me the best Tik Tok ever the other day. Remind me to show it to you later,” I said as I pulled into a parking space. He looked up from his phone at me and nodded his head. We both unbuckled and made our way out of the car.

“Do you have the list?” Auston asked as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I wrapped my arm around him.

“Yeah, it’s in my purse,” I pulled away from him to grab it out of my purse as he went to grab a cart. I sent him a grateful smile. I was convinced that I was the worst cart picker in the world. Every time I went to the grocery store alone I picked a cart with a messed up wheel or it was squeaky.

“Where to first?” he asked as he pushed his up to his sweatshirt sleeves.

“Produce we need, lettuce, onion, jalapeno, serrano peppers, uh, cilantro, tomatoes, green onion, and-”

“How did our list get so long?” Auston asked as he reached out to pick up some of the things on the list.

“I haven’t gone shopping since we last did,” I mumbled feeling a little embarrassed. The last time we had gone to the grocery store was almost three weeks ago. He looked at me with a slightly judgy face before breaking out into loud laughter.

“Babe that was three weeks ago what the hell have you been eating?” he asked, picking out a few tomatoes. I reached over and grabbed some limes and lemons.

“Well, it’s not like we're out of food completely. I’ve been making those rice packets I bought and I go to Steph’s for dinner a lot,” I said shrugging my shoulders. I didn’t really like to be alone so whenever Auston was away I tried to hang out with a friend and because of that I tended to go out to eat more often than not.

“Real healthy babe,” Auston said and then snatched the list out of my hand. I gasped as I raised my hand to my heart.

“Auston, are you judging me?” I asked, moving my hand to my hip. He glanced up from the list with his eyebrow raised.

“No babe,” he replied sweetly as he started pushing the cart in the direction of the next thing we needed on the list.

“I don’t like to grocery shop alone,” I admitted loud enough for him to hear but only because we were standing so close. We stopped to look for the item we needed on the shelf. He wrapped his arm around my waist and tucked his hand into my back pocket pulling me closer to him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled sadly. I shook my head as I pushed away from him to grab the sauce I was looking for off the shelf.

“Don’t be.”

----

“If you can carry the bags I can probably carry the beer and the water up,” Auston said, stacking them on top of each other. I reached out and grabbed all of the bags and then shut the trunk as I led the way to our apartment. Unlocking the door I push it open, immediately we were being greeted by an excited Felix.

“Hi puppy, I missed you,” I grinned down at him as I pushed my way into the apartment setting the bags on the counter. I started putting things away, as I closed the fridge Auston came up from behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

“You look so good babe,” he mumbled against my neck as he placed a gentle kiss there. I blushed bright red as I turned around in his hold. No matter what he always made me feel like a blushing teenager. He started trailing kisses over my neck and just as he got to my ear I pushed him away.

“Aus, stop. We have to take Felix for a walk,” I told him sternly as I dodged his arms on my way to the front door.

“Felix,” I called out loudly. He immediately came running towards us with a bark. I laughed lightly as I reached down to pick up the leash. Once I had him leashed up I turned to face Auston.

“Are you coming with?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. He huffed as he made his way over to the door.

“Yeah I’m coming,” he slipped into his shoes before putting his coat on. We both stepped out of the apartment and made our way down the hall to the elevator. Auston pulled me into him as we waited for the elevator. When the doors opened it revealed Freddie Anderson. I let out a soft smile as we joined him in the elevator.

“Hey Fredzila,” Auston grinned as he followed me into the elevator. Freddie let out a soft laugh as he sent us a shy smile. Felix jumped up on Freddie causing me to let out a small gasp as I reached out to pull him down.

“Felix no,” I told him sternly. He quickly listened and leaned back on his paws.

“Where you guys headed?” he asked.

“Just taking him out for a walk. Where are you going?” I said before Auston had a chance. Freddie grinned as he turned to look away.

“Just going out,” he laughed.

“Wow sounds secretive,” I mumbled as I glanced over to Auston hoping he would know something. The door opened before any of us had a chance to say anything else.

“Hey so uh this summer I’m going home for the like two months. I was wondering if you’d wanna come and stay at my house with me? You could meet my friends and like all my family?” Auston asked after a few moments of silence. I sucked in a sharp breath looking up at him. He was rubbing his neck an obvious sign that he was nervous for my answer. I nodded my head as we stopped walking. Felix in the middle of taking a bathroom break.

“I’d love to Aus,” I grinned as I reached out for his hand closest to me. He pulled me into a side hug as a huge grin spread across his face.

“I was also wondering if I could meet your family this summer,” he said gently. I pulled away from him slightly as I tensed up. Talking about my family had always made me uncomfortable considering his family was so loving and open while mine hadn’t always been that way after my mom died.

“Yeah, we could plan that,” I finally answered taking a deep breath in. He sent me another soft smile before turning us around to make our way back to the apartment.

Once we got back to the apartment Auston made a snack for himself before following me into the living room. He sat down on the couch next to me wrapping his left arm around me. I leaned against him slightly as I scrolled through my Instagram.

“Want to play switch?” I asked looking away from my phone towards Auston. He looked away from his food as he nodded excitedly. I hopped up from the couch and grabbed the remotes from the switch that was already connected to the tv.

“What game?” he asked as he switched the channel.

“Mario Party please,” he nodded his head as he pulled it open. Auston chose Luigi as his character and I chose Goomba. He then selected the team party and started the game.

----

“Hey I’m going to make dinner,” I mumbled as I pulled out of Auston’s hold. After we had finished our Mario Party game we had turned on Grey’s Anatomy, my favorite show. Auston and I had dozed off but now that I was awake I was ready to make dinner.

“Okay,” Auston grumbled as he spread himself out on the couch. I made my way into the kitchen and pulled the fridge open. I stared in as I tried to decide what to do for dinner. We had so many different options, tacos, soup, steak, hamburgers. Closing the fridge I turned to our cabinets. After another moment of deciding, I pulled some rice out and brought it over to the stove. Rice and tacos it is.

“Smells good,” Auston said making his way into the kitchen thirty minutes later. I turned to face him as I grinned.

“Thanks,” I smiled.

“I was thinking we could eat out on the balcony?” Auston asked as he made his way over to me and wrapping me up in a hug. I leaned back into him. He smelled so good.

“Okay,” I whispered as I stirred the meat around. I pulled the rice off the stove and moved it to the counter.

“Food’s ready,” I said softly. We both made our plates and made our way outside. I gasped softly as I took in the candles set up on the table.

“This is beautiful Aus,” I grinned as I sat down across from him. He sent me a soft smile before digging into his tacos.

“I think you make these better than my mom,” Auston said causing me to let out a soft laugh.

“Thanks, babe it’s my secret recipe,” I winked at him. When we finished eating Auston led me to our bedroom.

“Want to watch a movie?” he asked laying down on the bed next to me. He grabbed the remote and turned the tv on.

“Marvel,” I responded as I rested my head on his chest. I was so tired.

“Alright,” he responded as he clicked through the different options before settling on Captain America: The Winter Soldier. I cuddled up closer to him causing him to wrap his arm around me and I fell asleep cuddled up to him with a smile on my face.

#toronto maple leafs imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #toronto maple leafs fanfic #toronto maple leafs fic #nhl imagine #nhl writing #nhl x reader #auston matthews x reader #auston matthews fanfic #auston matthews imagine #auston matthews fic #auston matthews

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

Text

I Want To Be A Real Fake

@kaiserkorresponds said: Black and White + "I want to be a real fake" + formal clothing <3

Prompted fic that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since I received it! Hope you like it, Kaiser!

Jon would not consider himself fashionable. He has a distinct sense of style, yes, but that style lately has been Tired-Academic-Works-in-a-Cold-Office,-Steals-Sweaters-When-Necessary-core. Not exactly suitable for the business casual dress code The Magnus Institute “requires” (no one seemed to pay attention to the Archive staff’s choices of attire), but certainly not suitable for the small rectangle of cardstock Elias Bouchard hands him, on a quiet spring morning in the Archive.

“What’s…what’s this?” Jon asked, staring at the neat, printed text as if it was Greek. (If it were Greek, at least, he could decipher parts of it. He was an English Lit student, after all, and he had really enjoyed etymology.) The card was a stiff black and white, with the black owl logo, the symbol of the Magnus Institute, printed in the top middle. Glancing down at it, he saw a date, and the words: “black-tie.” Shit.

“My apologies, I forgot how tired your position tends to leave you.” Elias’s voice was prim and polite, but Jon still winced inwardly. “As a head of a department, you are now strongly encouraged to attend the fundraiser I host in April each year. Our donors are fascinated by our departments, and especially the Archives. Gertrude’s disappearance has raised questions as to her successor, and I trust you can assuage the concerns of our donors at your accomplishments in the position.” Jon chose to believe that Elias’s keen eye didn’t sweep the mountains of paperwork that surrounded his desk as he surveyed the small, poorly lit office. “I’m certain you’ll be able to find appropriate attire for the occasion.”

He turned on a heel, halfway to the door before seemingly considering something. “Ah, and Jon, one more thing. Gertrude always requested she bring an assistant. Would you like to do the same? I am happy to accommodate one more for the catering count.”

Jon snapped his mouth shut, utterly dumbfounded by the responsibility just thrust upon him, and nodded mutely, before clearing his throat. “Ah-um, yes, I would appreciate that. Does it matter which one?”

“Someone who can make a pleasant impression, please.” Elias raised an eyebrow, nodded almost imperceptibly, like he had made a decision, and rapped his knuckles on the doorframe on the way out. “I trust your judgement.”

Jon counted to thirty, to be certain Elias wasn’t coming back, and slouched into his office chair, scanning the save-the-date again, without the immense pressure of Elias’s eyes on him.

“The Magnus Institute Fundraiser Gala,” it read below the embossed owl, within a thin black border. “23 April, 7-10 pm. Black tie. Catered.” Jon traced the owl with the pad of his finger, flipping the card over to see, in Elias’s thin cursive: Make a good impression, Jon.

God, this is going to suck.

“Sasha, come on.” Jon wasn’t one to beg, but desperate times and all that. He had cornered her in the breakroom, while Martin was on a research trip and Tim was getting takeaway from the chippie down the street. “It’s only three weeks away, and you’re the one I trust the most. Please.”

“Jon,” Sasha sighed, smoothing her skirt patiently. “I would if I could, I swear to you. But my sister’s wedding has been planned for months, I’ve already requested time off, and I can’t undo all that for a work party.”

“Fundraiser,” Jon corrected instinctively, even as he signed in resignation. “Fine. I just really didn’t want to go alone.”

Sasha scoffed, shaking her head to herself as she opened the fridge and pulled out her bagged lunch. “You have two other assistants you know. What about Tim? Or Martin?”

Jon wrinkled his nose at the thought of bringing nervous, rambling, doe-eyed Martin to the gala. “God no. Martin would be too much; I need someone who can handle themselves and hold a decent conversation. I need someone who can attend a black-tie gala and look more at-home than me.” A withering look from Sasha.

“So why not Tim, then? He can do all those things.”

“Do all what things?” Jon jumped and spun around to see Tim, carrying a grease-spotted bag in one hand and a paper soda cup in the other. He surveyed Tim in a moment: the button-up shirt, red and printed with tiny black balloons, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, dark black hair artfully mussed. High cheekbones dotted with freckles, and what Jon swore could be the faintest bit of eyeliner.

“Tim, would you like to go to a fashionable, catered work party with me?”

“Boss,” Tim lowered himself to a knee and held out his soda solemnly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Tim, that’s backwards. The kneeler isn’t the one who accepts,” Sasha chuckles helpfully.

“You’re just jealous of our love, Sash!”

Good Lord.

Jon was really hoping the food would be good. He was in Tim’s flat, in the toilet, checking himself in the mirror one final time. His hair was carefully braided, courtesy of Tim’s deft hands and coiled into a thick bun at the base of his skull, gold and emerald hairpin snugly in place. His suit was nice: a respectable white shirt, dotted with tiny lime-colored flowers he had to strain his eyes to see, under a dark green suit jacket and matching trousers. The suit itself was cut in a rather androgynous style, pulling tight at Jon’s waist in a way he rather liked, and contrasted beautifully, he thought, with the smooth brown of his skin. He flicked an invisible piece of lint from his thigh and, satisfied, stepped into the hall to tell Tim he was ready to go.

“Tim, I’m all-woah,” the exhale was accidental. Tim’s suit was certainly not subtle. He was wearing a deep blue turtleneck, hair perfectly coiffed. Over the turtleneck, the suit jacket was white, a spray of water-color flowers in all shades of blue and purple shifting with every movement. The navy blue heeled suede boots on his feet accentuated his already-tall frame “Tim, you look good,” Jon breathed.

“Ouch. No need to sound all surprised. I know I clean up well; I dirty pretty damn good too.” Tim chuckled and adjusted his sleeves. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. ‘I don’t want anything too crazy.’”

Jon grinned shyly, rocking on his heels of his own, less intimidating dress shoes. “I like it, I think. It feels nice.” The excitement over how good he felt in the clothes had, all too briefly, suppressed the impending doom he was feeling about the evening’s events. “Are you ready for tonight?” he asked for what must have been the fiftieth time, spinning the solid black ring he wore around his finger.

“Yes, Jon. Talk about the reorganization process as a structural renovation, converting files to audio formatting for future accessibility, don’t talk about artefact storage even a little, don’t get caught up with anyone too pretty, I get it.” His voice was flat, bored by the repetition. “This is going to be fine.”

“What-what if it isn’t, though, Tim? What if they ask about Gertrude or how their money is being used, o-or how the restructuring is going? I can’t bloody well tell them I’m using a tape recorder that’s probably older than I am.”

“Jon,” Tim’s well-manicured hand was on his shoulder, nails the same blue of his turtleneck. “Take a deep breath. For Gertrude: be honest. It was a tragedy, and you hope she’s found, but until then you’re doing your best to act on her wishes as her replacement. And for the rest, be vague. Restructuring is going ‘as well as can be expected’ or ‘is running quite smoothly with the help of your three wonderful assistants.’” He winked. “And tell them you’re using a multimedia system, that’ll confuse those old boomers enough to move topics. And it is technically true. Laptops and a tape recorder are multiple medias. Anything else we can riff, you know? I can talk with the best of them.” He eyed Jon meaningfully. “This will be fine. It’s one night. And we’ll get chips after. Promise.”

Jon nodded and closed his eyes, breathing steadying. He was grateful Tim had been available. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“So, how did you know what black tie meant?” Jon asked, eyeing Tim across the seat of the cab. They’re on their way now and Jon’s hands are steepled tightly, pressing his fingertips against each other until it hurts to do so. “I had to Google it last week when I went shopping, in case we had to wear literal black ties.” He needed to talk about anything, anything but this stupid fundraiser they drove steadily towards.

Tim grew silent for a moment, considering his words. “My brother was an extra in a movie once and started dating a stylist for one of the leads. He fibbed his way into getting us tickets for premieres, so I’ve made my way through a few high-fashion events.” He shrugged, fiddling with a thin silver bracelet along his wrist, were Jon knew the letter D was carved in delicate cursive. “I like it, too, you know? Dressing up for events. It makes me feel debonaire, like a spy.”

Jon shook his head in disagreement. “Makes me feel fake,” he mumbled, eyeing the lorry floor beneath them. “Like everyone knows I don’t belong. I hate having their eyes on me and knowing they’re better than me.”

Tim prodded Jon with his elbow gently, raising his eyebrows in a comforting manner. “That’s it though, isn’t it? We aren’t fake. We worked our way here. Hell, you’re the boss of an entire department, Jon. We’ve gotten to where we are in the Institute because we deserve to be here. And anyways, everyone at that party next week is gonna be fake. They’re pretending to care about our jobs, and we pretend to care about their money, and they pretend they’re even the ones who write the checks and not some snooty financial advisor in Wales.”

Jon shrugged, trying to keep himself from biting back that he wasn’t enough, didn’t earn this spot, that Sasha deserved it more than he did and was doing nothing to prove to Elias he was up to the monumental task of being the Head Archivist. He didn’t, though, and instead took a steadying breath, nodding to Tim’s comforting words.

“And anyways,” Tim continued, shrugging. “Even if we have to be fake for a night, it’ll be fun. We get to be a part of ‘the queen’s high society,’” he added in a high-pitched, overly fake RP accent, eliciting a chuckle from Jon. “And Rosie said the catering Elias orders is divine. Apparently we should keep an eye out for tiny samosas?”

As if on cue, the cab shuddered to a stop. Jon thanked the driver, paid, and followed Tim out.

The Institute looked different under the pretense of wealth and success. It was still the same building of course, but the floor was clear of the rain mats and the smooth marble floor paved the way to the library, the main sitting room of which had been cleared as a rather respectable grand hall to host a party. Tables lined the cordoned off books, hot plates and silver trays steaming slightly. Bottles of wine lined a bar, behind which a vested individual with slicked-back hair was pouring small glasses and taking orders. A quiet orchestra completed the scene, cello and piano in a delicate duet. Before tonight, Jon couldn’t have imagined this many people in the Institute alone, least of all the library. Not that it’s packed. There’s maybe thirty or so well-dressed individuals milling about, the din of conversation white noise in comparison to the floating of the music.

Tim’s hand is on his back, pressing kindly into his spine. Oh yes, he remembers dimly, and nods, allowing Tim to guide him into the library and hand him a glass of wine. They stand out a little, two beacons of color around what is a pretty drab spectrum of black and grey, save for a few spectacular dresses in the crowd. Jon finds he doesn’t mind it, except that it may lead to unwanted conversation. It’s not his looks he fears being judged on, but that he be found wanting when it came to his capabilities. He was always selectively self-conscious like that, some things utterly meaningless, others inexplicably important.

Jon isn’t a huge fan of wine, but he finds himself clinging to the glass as a lifeline as he and Tim meander through the crowds, largely ignored. The music is intoxicatingly simple; he finds himself caught up in the deep reverberations of the cello as they walk, feeling it deep in his chest. There were, in fact, samosas, as well as small cannoli, and he and Tim piled plates as high as they could without garnering stares.

There weren’t many people Jon recognized; he didn’t even see Elias as he scanned the crowd for faces. Wine in one hand, a plate in the other, he thought maybe the night wouldn’t be too bad.

Jon shivered, the sensation of being stared at prickling the back of his neck. He spun around, trying to appear casual, and spotted Elias at last. He was standing with a large man, broad and wearing a deep blue suit, scruffy beard a mix of tawny and white. Elias crooked his finger, smiling primly. As Jon made his way over to the pair-who he could’ve sworn he hadn’t seen previously, he was intercepted by a short bald man in a plum velour suit, leaning heavily on a cane.

“Ah, Archivist,” he smiled warmly, extending a hand to shake before seeing Jon’s hands were full, and nodding his head instead. “Congratulations on your promotion. Elias has told me he expects great things from you.”

Jon smiled politely, glancing over to see Elias and the other man gone again. Regretfully, he turned his attention back to the man. “It’s a shame about Gertrude, yes, but I’m hoping I can do her proud,” he said in a practiced tone. He glanced over his shoulder. Where was Tim? He was just with him.

“Of course, of course. I was hoping I could have a word?”

“W-with me?”

“Yes, you see, I was rather concerned when I heard Gertrude’s position had been left open. When Elias said you yourself where at the junction to take over, I wanted to meet you for myself. I worry about the Archivists in your institute, so many of you do such monumental work for so little recognition. Do you worry your work to be meaningless? Your name insignificant when it is all said and done?”

(It is this conversation he remembers, months later, when he demands to record Prentiss’ attack. He refuses to be another mystery, a name on a placard to be wondered about.)

“I-ah, yes? No?” What was the right answer here? Jon stammered out a half-assed reply about doing his best, midway through when he felt a hand firmly on his shoulder, where his neck and collarbone met. Glancing to his peripheral, he saw a golden ring, an eye, and was frustratingly grateful to hear the cool tones of Elias Bouchard over his shoulder.

“Now Simon,�� he said, voice even, “you aren’t trying to scare my dear Archivist, are you?” He gave the shoulder a squeeze but remained put. “Jon, I believe you’ve heard of Simon Fairchild, a significant donor to our establishment.”

Jon nodded wordlessly, not really listening to the two bureaucrats delve off into some topic or other, craning his neck to look for Tim. The music had picked up, he registered dimly, a orchestral melody led by a violin, sharp and whimsical.

“Jon?” Another squeeze to his neck, and Jon tried not to wince. “Wouldn’t you agree,” Elias asked, voice patient at surface level. “That the best way to move forward is to restructure the Archive?”

Jon nodded, trying to recall the answer he had rehearsed. “Yes, ah��my team and I have worked quite hard at recording the statements a-and organizing them in a way that will last long-term.”

“Ah, what a delight,” Simon—Mr. Fairchild—said warmly. Jon was reminded of the voices adults would use when they spoke to him as a child, when his inane facts about space or etymology had moved from endearing to obnoxious.

The conversation lasted for what felt like days, Jon feeling rather like Mr. Fairchild’s cane: a statement piece, contributing nothing to the conversation but unable to find a smooth exit. Leading questions from Elias led to thankfully rehearsed answers before Simon found his own exit and walked away smoothly, eyes wide and taking the room in.

“I-I really should find Tim,” Jon muttered, glancing around the room anxiously.

“Nonsense. He’ll be back,” Elias said, releasing Jon’s shoulder and taking his elbow in turn, “I would like to introduce you to a few dear friends of mine. I believe Tim is keeping one occupied at present.” Jon sighed inwardly (and maybe outwardly as well) and allowed himself to be led around the room. His wine glass was empty, as was his plate and he found it snatched away by a member of catering. He had nothing to cling to, to keep his hands busy, and was struggling not to pull out his delicately-placed hair pin just so he could fiddle with something.

Jon was taken on a tour of old rich people of England. Names flew past him, conversation buzzed around him, and still Jon felt like nothing more than a well-dressed trophy to be ogled at. Did Gertrude do this every year, he wondered dimly. No wonder she disappeared. He fiddled with the ring on his finger, nodding and smiling at the appropriate times, speaking when needed, and feeling the swirl of the orchestra build up in pressure behind his eyes. The music was beautiful but hard to listen to. Something about it was ugly, hiding a dark secret behind the innocent melodies.

Eventually, the evening was so much of a blur that he couldn’t even begin to fathom how much time had passed. It may have been weeks, may have been merely twenty minutes. Jon glanced down for his watch before realizing he had taken it off at Tim’s flat and never strapped it back on. Pity. It only added to the dreamscape reality he seemed to be participating in.

At last, Elias led him towards the large burly man that was suddenly in view (hadn’t he always been? Jon wasn’t quite sure. The wine must have affected him more than he thought with the nerves) and Jon saw Tim, similarly trapped in conversation as he had been. He smiled apologetically as Jon and Elias approached and the larger man smiled warmly at the newcomers.

“Ah, Archivist. I hope you don’t mind I stole your companion away briefly. I was curious about the nitty-gritty of your Archive. Timothy here was very informative.” Tim winced at the use of his full name and a part of Jon smirked, relating to the sentiment of being called Jonathan or worse, John.

“I’m glad he can answer your questions.” Elias spoke before Jon could open his mouth. “I’m quite proud of the Archive staff. Jon chose well and I am sure the four of them are going to do great things together. Jon, you remember the Lukas family?”

Jon nodded, confused for a second before the man in front of him extended his hand. “Peter Lukas, at your service.” The hand was cold, and a feeling of dismay washed over Jon as he shook it. He couldn’t help the feeling that the shake of that hand was a seal of his fate.

The orchestral music had picked up, a swirl of strings and piano, ascending in pitch until it grated at Jon’s ears. No one else seemed to react to it, however, as the manic notes pulling at something inside Jon’s brain, something he couldn’t explain. It was almost like a migraine, but sharper and deep in his spine and in his ears. Elias let go of Jon’s arm at some point during the conversation with Peter Lukas, a discussion about boats, maybe? Travel? This was the conversation Elias was so keen on Jon being a part of?

As Jon felt that grip relax, the glint of the ring on Elias’ finger seeming to wink at him, Jon took a staggered step backwards. “Mr. Lukas, ah-Peter, it’s been a pleasure. Elias, ex-excuse me.”

Jon turned and dashed out of the library, feet carrying him on instinct through the winding halls and down the stairs of the institute, deep into the Archives. He stopped when he felt his feet echo against the cold, solid lino of the archival storage and bent over, hand on the wall, gasping in shallow, rapid bursts. It was too much, it was too much, he thought he could do this but it was too much and he wasn’t enough for them-

“Woah-boss.” Tim was there. When did Tim get here? Was he speaking out loud? Shit. “Jon, yeah-hey, Jon. I’m here. You’re okay. Take some deep breaths, okay? You’re going to black out if you’re not careful.”

Jon felt his suit jacket being shrugged off of him and the newly allowed freedom of his shoulder helped. He took a deep, sputtering breath, the sweet oxygen flooding his system and sharpening his thoughts.

“The-the music and the talking,” he said under his breath, Tim craning to listen without infringing on his personal space. “Too-too much.”

“The music? Jon, hey, hey, just focus on calming down, okay? That was a dick move of Elias to separate us immediately. I was talking to that Lukas guy for way too long. Not even sure what we talked about. I think he’s just one of those guys.” Jon smirked to himself as he focused on the floor beneath his feet, breathing slowly until his heart rate had resumed a normal rhythm.

“Says you,” he mumbled, eyes closing as he pressed his warm cheek to the cold wall.

“You bastard!” Jon felt a light swat on his shoulder. “I listen to people! I have meaningful conversation; just ask Martin and Sasha and Alexa from Library and Calvin from Artefact Storage. I am practically a professional listener.”

Jon smirked, satisfied with his jab and turned around, now pressing his back to the wall. “God, Tim, I do not want to go back in there.” It was hard to admit out loud, even if the evidence was written all over his face.

“Okay. So, we won’t.”

“What?” the answer was so mind-bogglingly simple, Jon reeled.

“We don’t want to be here. We’ve talked, we’ve eaten. Let’s just leave. I can tell Elias I had an emergency and you had to escort me home, like a true gentleman.”

“Lie to Elias? I feel like that cant end well.” The offer was tempting, Jon hadf to admit.

“I mean, Sasha has keys to my flat. I could ask her to start a fire, if you think that’s sufficient?”

Jon barked out a laugh at that. “Ah, no, lets save a fire for something big. Yes. Let’s-let’s go, Tim. And-er, I suppose I should thank you. For coming tonight. I know its not an ideal way to spend an evening.”

“Are you kidding?” Tim did a twirl, Jon’s own jacket slung over his shoulder. “I look hot. You think I’d pass up an opportunity to dress up like this? You’re dreaming.” He smirked and took Jon’s arm, leading him back up the stairwell. It felt different than Elias’s touch. That had been a cold tug, directional and leashed. This felt…snug, more like a link in a chain than anything else. Comforting, reassuring.

(Luckily, they weren’t laughed out of the Nando’s they popped into late at night. Lemon and herb and spices covered their hands, but they were careful to keep their jackets clean. Jon, when looking back on the evening; remembers this moment, talking and laughing and letting the fresh night air was over them. Elias, Lukas, and Fairchild be damned. He’d deal with that tomorrow.)

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fanfic #fanfic to a tea #jonathan sims #tim stoker #prompt fic #black-tie #elias bouchard #still a dick #peter lukas #simon fairchild #sasha james #me? write everyone BUT martin>#amazing

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