@heavymetalchemist's tags on this post about chengqing reminded me of my tags on this post about the yunmeng bros and listen. it's not that jiang cheng wants to be in debt to people or have them in debt to him, it's that he's afraid of being left and he's reminding them that he doesn't want to leave them. that if they'll let him, he wants to help them. and on the flip side, if they won't let him, then he'll respect that! ultimately that's what happened with the comb AND the fake duel AND guanyin temple! he will tell you in whatever way he knows how that he wants to be connected to you, and he'll use the language of debt if that's what's available to him, but that's not what's actually motivating him. if it were debt he cared about, he'd be just as interested in helping wen ning as he is wen qing, but he's not going around giving wen ning any get-out-of-jail-free hair accessories, is he?

ultimately he has people he cares about and people he doesn't, but if he cares about you, he won't give up on you without trying. he'll say "our debt ties us together" and mean "i want to be tied to you." he'll say "you promised" and mean "don't leave me." that's why, when you tell him that you're even now, that you owe each other nothing, what he hears is "so i don't need you." he hears "there's nothing here for me anymore." he hears "you're not worth it."

Deleted Scenes: Gateway Drug

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.

.

.

"Back Off Bitch" -- [1990]

Monroe babbles on as I unbuckle him from his carseat as fast as I can to avoid getting too wet from the rain pouring down, his big brown eyes ogling at me as a giddy smile spread across his face when I pick him up.

"Let's go see daddy, and uncle Axl, and Uncle Izzy, and uncle Stevie." I say sweetly and he waves his little arms as I grab his diaper bag and open my umbrella, shutting the car door.

When we get inside the studio, there's an entourage of Axl's in the hallway, and they eye me as I come in. 

"They're discussing something." One of the guys tells me and I ignore him completely, opening the door, and Axl, Izzy, Duff, and Slash look up at me from where they're sitting. 

"Hey, hey, little man!" Duff lights up like a christmas tree upon seeing us, Monroe reaching for him as he stands up and steps to us. "Hi." He smiles at me, kissing my cheek.

"Hi." I reply as he takes Monroe, kissing at his cheek and bouncing him in his arms, as Izzy and Slash say, "hey, Viv." 

"Hey." I tell them, putting Monroe's diaper bag down. "What's going on?" I ask them, sitting on the arm of the chair Izzy's in.

"Nothing." Axl says dismissively. 

"Where's Stevie?" I ask next. 

"Where do you think?" Izzy replies, disappointed, and I raise a brow, realizing it's the conversation. 

"Is this a 'we're telling Steven to go fuck himself' meeting?" I accuse, disregarding the fact I just cursed in front of Monroe. 

"Baby. Language." Izzy reminds me flatly. 

"Viv, we can talk about this later." Duff light heartedly suggests.

"No, we can't. I wanna hear it from the man, whose wife's life Steven saved three different times--need I remind you--that he's being kicked out of the band he helped form." I cross my arms, glaring at Axl. 

"You're not a part of Guns N' Roses. This isn't your business." Axl chuckles as if it's funny. 

"The decisions you make directly affect me, actually, so yes, Axl, it is my business." I tell him and he sighs, rubbing his lips together, looking at the guys, before shaking his head a little. 

"C'mon." He nods to the sound proof recording booth and I gladly follow him inside, slamming the door. 

"Are you cutting him or not? No bullshit. No sneaking. Give it to me straight. Yes or no?" I ask.

"It's being talked about, yeah." He admits with a nod. 

"And nobody was gonna tell me?" I shrug. "You were just gonna fire him and let me find out with the world? No warning, no nothing?" 

"He's not fired, yet, Vivian, alright? I said we were just talking about it--"

"--'Yet', not fired 'yet'." I point out. 

"Viv, c'mon, it's not--"

"--Just give me some time to talk to him, alright? I'm sure he'd be willing to get some help, Axl, just let me try to help him."

"Vivian, you've been trying to help him for two years." He tells me, raising his brows. 

"Oh and it's taken you two years to decide you don't want him in the band?" 

"It's taken him two years to get to a point where he comes in to lay drums down on a track and it takes him twenty-five fucking tries to do it, and it still sounds like chickenshit." He snaps, clenching and unclenching his jaw. "We can play it back for you if you need proof."  

"He saved Tansy's life three times, Axl--"

"--And it's not your responsibility to try to save his."

"It is, Axl, he saved Nikki, too." I argue. "And you guys have said it yourself, what the hell is the point of writing songs like 'Nightrain' and 'Mr. Brownstone' if you're not living it? Those songs glorify what he's doing and suddenly it's too much for you guys?"

"Ya know what? Take Nikki and Tansy out of the debt you feel you owe to Steven, and the bullshit that comes with it, and just admit that you're codependent and just need a project to work on and nurture back to sobriety." 

"I'm what?!" I bark at him, getting defensive.

"You're a fucking nun, Viv, you dedicate your life to fixing people that don't want to be fucking fixed and when you realize there's no hope, you panic and jump from the frying pan to the fucking fire! You panic and it starts a snowball of shit!" 

"I do not panic!" I yell at him.

"You spent years trying to get Nikki on the right track and it took him and Vanity publicly humiliating you in order for you to see there was no hope, so you panicked and jumped into bed with Duff! You've been trying to help Steven out of his hole the past couple years and now that we're talking about him possibly getting cut from the band, you're panicking and coming in here and raising hell, and will most definitely do something impulsive and thoughtless and reckless to somehow serve some retribution in your own sick, she-satan, way that makes sense in your sick, she-satan, mind, but ultimately fucks everyone else involved sideways, like it always tends to do! So I'm telling you now, Vivian, before you make shit worse than what it already is, shut the fuck up and back the fuck off!" 

I feel my cheek bleeding from biting into it so hard, not wanting to get into a physical fight with Monroe around. 

"If you fire him, and he starts spiraling over it, I will make your life a living hell. You think I'm evil now? You think I'm satan now? Try me, Rose, and see what happens. Your bitchboy entourage and hangerson won't be able to keep me from beating the shit out of you so badly it'll make the numbers done on you as a kid, feel like a walk through the park, do you understand me?" I promise him and he looks like he wants to kill me as I go to leave. "And keep my husband's name out of your mouth because even during his worst day on smack, he was a bigger man than you'll ever be until you get your shit together." I warn, slamming the door behind me again when I leave him to himself. 

Blood

Summary: Bloody Mary; a ghost who appears in a mirror when called by name three times.

Words: 2235 Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Shuri Additional Tags: Infinity War and Endgame didn't happen, Stark Tower is still a thing, recovering Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky, a bit angsty, mostly canon compliant, Bruce Banner and F.R.I.D.A.Y. are mentioned but aren’t in the story, I love Shuri SO MUCH, female pronoun Reader Warnings: death/dying, blood, description of body decomposition, nightmares

Note: This is my submission to @waiting4inspiration's Myths, Folklore and Legends writing challenge! Hope you love it, Jess!

Tag list (open): @darlingtholland @browngirlmagic

Blood

Bucky Barnes doesn't believe in ghosts. In this day and age, it's more likely that a ghost is just a loved one brought back to life. Reanimated to fight on the wrong side, kind of thing. Or maybe the ghost is a clone. A hologram. A science experiment gone wrong. If you are lucky, the ghost could simply be a hallucinatory symptom of brain disease. But, no matter what, there is always a scientific explanation.

Bucky Barnes doesn't believe in ghosts because the existence of them implies the existence of an afterlife, some sort of potential of God. Of meaning and purpose. If he thinks about that too much, he unravels. So, he chooses to not think about it.

Bucky Barnes just does not believe in ghosts, so when he sees you standing behind him in the bathroom mirror, he runs straight to Steve.

"Something's wrong with me," he blurts out.

Sam and Steve look up from conference room B's table. Case files are open and spread across the room, spilling down onto vacant chairs and placed in chronological order on the carpeted floor.

"Gonna have to be more specific, Buck," Steve replies, eyebrows furrowed.

Sam considers making a joke, but there's a darkness splashed across Bucky's face that warns him away.

"I'm… They… I don't think they got everything. In my head," Bucky tries to explain.

"What happened?" Steve asks, pushing away from the table and assessing Bucky's body language. He's cagey, almost afraid.

"I saw… someone… She's dead. She's dead but I saw her,"

"Happens a lot around here, man," Sam offers.

"It's not like that. I was in the bathroom. She was in the mirror,"

"Like, in the mirror?" Steve asks.

Bucky shakes his head, annoyed but aware that he's not really helping them help him. "No… I was shaving and…" He tried to think. What exactly happened? When did he notice you standing behind him? There was blood…

 …

 The small cut would heal before he left the bathroom, with only the few drops of red blood in the porcelain sink left as evidence that he'd been distracted enough to cut himself shaving at all. You'd been in his head again. The nightmares had started on the day that would be your birthday.

Somewhere in the middle of being The Solider, the people around him made the mistake of not seeing him as sentient. They spoke around him, conversed and told secrets to each other, thinking he couldn’t understand. That's how he learnt about your arrival at the facility. Your name. Birthday. Power.

Bucky had nightmares about a lot of things, but you were often there. Sometimes you were centre stage with your sad eyes and painful defiance. Sometimes you lurked in the shadows, having being taught by The Solider how to do it so well. Nightmares and restless sleep were synonymous with being an Avenger, a hero. It was a high price, but Bucky considered himself to be in enormous debt.

The blood in the sink reminded him that he was still there, alive, human. He watched it slowly seep downwards, sighing out loud to himself. "Fuck," he muttered, shaking his head and trying to move the haze from his head. "Y/N," he said, then stopped. Your name had slipped through his lips straight from his unconscious. It didn't sound quite right. "Y/N," he tried again, adding another sigh like it was the last syllable of your name.

Bucky looked up, studied his reflection. He wondered what you'd think of him now.

"Happy birthday, Y/N," he whispered, his attention returning to the razor and shaving cream.

The bathroom light flickered, freezing Bucky entirely. Without moving, he glanced out the open bathroom door. The hallway outside was still. He couldn't recall if the light had flickered out there too.

He felt it then. He wasn't alone.

His eyes moved fast, up to the mirror. You were there.

Sad eyes. A strange fragility despite being possibly the most dangerous thing in Stark Tower. Alive.

He bolted. The razor clanked into the basin and the bathroom door slammed shut behind him.

Steve… Find Steve, Bucky thought.

"There's something wrong with me."

 …

 "We talked about this. It's normal to se-"

"It wasn't like that," Bucky interrupted Sam.

"We can look at the CCTV. I'll ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. to-" But Steve was cut off too.

"She's dead, Steve. There's no way… She's dead, alright?"

"I would have said the same about you," Steve softly tried to reason.

Bucky could vividly remember what it felt like to lose you. He chewed his lip and crossed his arms across his chest. "I watched her die. She… she died in my arms and nobody came for us for three days. Alright? She was dead in my arms for three days."

Sam and Steve glanced at each other.

"Okay… Okay, Buck. I'll talk to Shuri. See what we can do," Steve agreed.

"If I'm- I'm seeing shit, I should be-"

"Come on, man," Sam stopped him, moving to hold his hands on Bucky's shoulders. Bucky felt the weight of each of them differently. "If you're seeing shit, you're like every other vet out there. Something's wrong, we'll cross that bridge. Ain't no use walking around all gloom and doom… We need a break anyway, right, Steve? Let's go get some pizza."

 …

 In Bucky's nightmare, the three days turn into a week. Then longer. He sits as still as a statue in the corner of a boarded-up room of an old snowed-in cottage. It's a Hydra safe house, and it contains the bare essentials to keep someone alive. Not you though. You're too hurt. It's bad. There's so much blood. He can see your insides and shoving everything back in and holding his jacket hard to the wounds isn’t helping.

You cough up blood as you watch The Solider panic. It's rare to see any emotion, so you feel grateful in your final moments. When you die, The Solider shuts down, like a computer malfunctioning. Hydra would have to do one hell of an 'alt ctrl delete' when they finally come for him.

It's cold, which is good. But you're an open corpse, which is bad. The blood hardens and turns dark. He can smell your organs as they begin to decompose. The whites of your eyes turn a sick colour, but The Solider never tries to close your eyelids. If he does that, he's alone. The inside of your mouth goes darker and darker, and the weight of your body on his continues to change.

In reality, that's about when Hydra arrived. Any longer and you would have started to fall apart very literally. In his sleep though, that's exactly what happens.

Your body begins to bloat, small blisters appearing along the surface of your skin. Parts of you liquify, find their way out, soak into The Soldier's clothes. It happens slowly at first, then within dreamstate minutes your muscles and organs and skin tissue turn to goo. Sometimes The Solider just sits in the human muck, counting the teeth left behind. Sometimes he's frantic, scooping you back up and trying to hold you together; it makes it worse.

And, although he hasn’t seen a single fly in the safehouse, there are hundreds of maggots infesting the deepest cavities of your body.

When Hydra came to claim their property, The Solider fought back. He clawed and kicked to get you back close to him. He screamed your name in every language he knew. That's where the memory stops. Often too, the nightmare.

"Y/N,” Bucky whines in his sleep, almost sounding like he's drowning in sticky, syrupy blood. “Y/N!” It is louder the second time. “Y/N!" Bucky yells, shooting up in bed and almost tearing a pillow in two.

He tries to breathe in, but the air is icy cold. Bucky only then notices the door. The balcony door is open. And you are standing there, hair moving in the breeze. Suddenly the room is bright, and warm palms are dragging his head to face away from the balcony.

"Buck?! Buck, are you okay? You’re screamin’ again,”

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky replies, pushing Steve's attempts at emotional first aid away. "Just a dream… nightmare… whatever."

He looks back for you, but you are gone.

Steve stands and watches Bucky crawl out of bed and move across the room.

"You hate the cold," Steve laments, concerned.

"Did you-" Bucky goes to ask, but stops himself too late.

"You saw her again, didn't you?"

 …

 Wakanda is beautiful. It's the closest thing to peaceful Bucky's ever known. Before making his way to Shuri, he visits old friends. The goats don't seem to remember him, but the children promise the White Wolf that they do. They show Bucky how well they've been caring for the goats, and they show him all the things they're learning in school. They ask if they can be Avengers too. He smiles sadly, and tells them, "Not yet."

"Ah! Bucky Barnes! My favourite broken White boy!" Shuri greets while pulling Bucky into a hug, then immediately focusses on his left arm. "So, your boyfriend says you need a check-up?" she asks as she opens a panel and frowns.

"It's not my arm, Shuri. That's workin' perfect,"

"Of course it is!" she laughs, yet doesn't stop tinkering. "But there can always be more. Be better."

When Bucky fails to reply, Shuri studies his face, then nods. Softly, kindly, she says, "Come, my friend. We'll have tea."

Shuri is easily one of Bucky's favourite people. She listens, which is already more than she has a responsibility to do. Bucky knows she's just a kid, but he also knows better than to stop a kid with that much genius and tenacity.

...

When all physiological and psychological avenues have been explored, Shuri shrugs at Bucky. "Maybe she's real,"

"She can't be," Bucky replies quickly.

Shuri makes a face. "You, of all people, really gonna stand there and say it's impossible for the dead to come back?"

"She was… very dead,"

"The dead are never truly gone, White Wolf. Not really."

 …

 Bucky hasn't seen you in a couple weeks. Sam says to him, "Two's only a coincidence, man. Three times, then we'll worry, yeah?" But Bucky remains worried nonetheless.

The mission they've been preparing for, the one that has taken over conference room B, is on Bucky's mind. He finds Steve sketching away, curled into an armchair and looking a lot smaller than he actually is. For a second, Bucky almost catches himself missing the 1940s.

"I shouldn't go," Bucky declares, dropping to the floor in front of Steve, back resting on the armchair and head falling back.

Steve looks down at his friend. "Nobody's going to make you do anything you don't want to do… But you are okay, Buck…"

Bucky looks up at him, exposed and vulnerable. Slowly, he shakes his head. "If I see her again while I'm meant to be focussed… I don't wanna screw anythin' up,"

"Okay. Sit this one out," Steve replies, brushing loose strands of hair out of Bucky's eyes. "But you gotta promise to be here when we get back."

 …

 The floors occupied by the Avengers are quiet. Bucky’s almost alone, save for F.R.I.D.A.Y. and Banner who is basically living in his lab. Bucky doesn't ask why he's not on the mission, and Banner returns the favour.

The irony isn't lost on Bucky; he haunts the spaces he shares with Steve, silent and invisible like a ghost. Part of him is waiting for you, he knows. The other part is genuinely terrified in a way he hasn't felt in decades.

He kills a few hours in the pages of a book, then finds himself lingering outside the door of the bathroom.

It's a little past two am when he gives in, stands in front of the mirror and closes his eyes.

"Y/N?"

He listens.

There are sounds but none of them you.

"Y/N… I… If you're there… alive… I'm sorry…"

His voice is shaky and he feels stupid, but he's started and now he can't stop.

"I'm so, so sorry… I… tried. I tried but I couldn't… And we were… If you're here, if you're here, please… just… Are you still…? Are they still out there?"

Bucky can't collect his thoughts. Each shatters into ten more, then those explode into even more, until there are hundreds of unanswered question in a web of confusion and emotion.

"Y/N…" Bucky's voice cracks.

It hurts you to hear.

You listen to his uneven breathing, listen as he tries to calm himself, hold back tears.

Bucky stands up straight, stretches out his neck muscles. He opens his eyes.

Those stormy blue-grey eyes.

"Hi," you say as softly as you can.

There is a split second where Bucky almost turns, an automatic movement, but he stops himself from spinning and stays firmly planted where he is. He's afraid that if he moves, you'll disappear again, like you had before.

"…Hi," he replies.

"You know my name… My real name. I didn't know that you knew it…"

Bucky nodded, slowly. The Soldier had never called you by your name while you were alive, just like you had never said 'Bucky.'

His blood gets pushed faster and faster around his body when his heart rate increases. The top of his cheeks flush pink.

"I know your name," Bucky says.

RQG 153

And we're 30 seconds in and I just got hit by the realization Azu isn't going to see the sky for a week. I know its not under water in enemy territory but that also means she doesn't have a mission to distract her. I love Cel! Zolf tries to do a leadership and prep them for what to expect (since they don't need the element of surprise this time) so Cel changes form because rats are more easily entertained. Alex has to come in with the restrictions but still a nice way to remind Zolf this is not the nice neat chain of command he remembers. Yeah reverting is better than "ha ha you're now a rat all week". OctoCel! Nice! Zolf is declaring Family Game Night. Speaking of leadership, Hamid remembers this isn't season 1 and thanks Zolf instead of asking the reasonable but not productive questions of where this was last time. Alex points out the space issue again. Still not sure if he did this on purpose as a way to poke at the party and see how they react or if he just didn't design the space big enough last time and refuses to retcon an extra cell into the basement. TBF if there had been 2 cells last time, Hamid & Azu sharing wouldn't have made sense and if they couldn't hug the fandom might have never forgiven Zolf & Wilde. Oh Cel can change 4 times a day Zone of Truth or Dare Not sure if he is joking or not but Zolf getting out of conversation by melting into a wall is an image Thanks Lyd! Hamid "is fine and he can snuggle up with Azu". Thanks Bryn! Barnes makes Carter switch  so he can get some sleep Hamid is such a good person. He isn't trying to charm or justify, it isn't about abstract team cohesion. He just gives a sincere apology for not following the rules because even if he doesn't understand, he does trust that Zolf wouldn't hold him to them without reason. Zolf is great too, and tells Hamid it isn't needed Zolf has grown so GD much! He just cited his leaving and prompted Hamid to ask any questions. Oh I want everything on those 18 months but maybe Hamid shouldn't press when its so hard for him, especially when he can't leave the room if things get rough? I am so conflicted. Thats my little leader, immediately switches the focus to working together again. Ow "honestly we were never that good at working together anyway" so no rosy glasses on Zolf. Helen's gasp is, as ever, a mood Zolf still has that negative charisma. I can't explain how much I like that his mental health kick didn't turn him into a different person. Him tripping over his tongue on things like this is part of why he isn't a Zolf in name only, like I feared when I found out we were getting him back after his breakdown. Aw Azu & Cel offer them the illusion of privacy as Hamid  pretends he isn't hurt. I love Cel's hammock and their shipping. Pausing before it can be jossed, don't think he can duck this time. Called it. Okay but he did admit he cares about Wilde just not romantically and canon doesn't have to see eye to eye with fic. Carter tried to date Wilde? Or at least pursued him? God bless Hamid is cutting straight to the rank issue. Look I know I have a proper thing about rank and that respecting Hamid's growth means not treating him like season 1, but people need to know who is calling the shots in time sensitive, dangerous situations. The proper response to the suggestion they fight it out is not to point out logistical barriers Zolf points out that if Hamid actually fought they would all die which is a heck of a double edged statement. It respects his power while pointing out the collateral damage. Then he points out he would win in a no magic fight which is true but if Hamid doesn't already have a complex about his self worth & magic I'd be amazed. Azu tries to declare they aren't doing this while Hamid comes in with the lore. Because Bryn loves the listeners and wants us to be happy. Ooh if the claws aren't magic magic what about the rest? not that I want him to get pissed enough to breathe fire or whatever it was that got him scaley but at least he can't isn't relying on his wits if they encounter one of these fields in the field. Is Carter being Carter or is he stealing Wilde's bit of uniting the party in hating him? The irony that explaining why Zolf should lead is the single best proof of Hamid's leadership skills is not lost on me. A real leader puts the good of the party above any desire for rank or power. Not sure if this counts as yelling should probably mark as starting around 10 minutes in for CWs Ok I don't know why I am so pleased and surprised at these two having a direct conversation with past incidents as examples using clear language like "I was frustrated". I mean lord knows RQ told toxic masculinity to take a hike from the beginning so maybe its less surprised than grateful? They don't agree but are clearly more concerned with understanding than with getting in a pissing match. "...And I guess I'm not that old because I haven't lived through the 18 months" Look at him learning to stand up for himself while still being fair to the other side. How can you not love him? Bless, Hamid is worse than me, if I talk quick enough the right words will come out before I run out of courage right? I love the peanut gallery. Oh dear that's a tone on Zolf I'm just going to take a moment before the "but" comes in. Zolf is being fair, I don't necessarily agree but he is being fair and sounds willing to listen. Hamid spells it out in small words that the flippant tone is a coping mechanism. Zolf wants to move on to the rest of the party now that they've said what needed to be said to each other. Yeah sorry Carter, Hamid isn't going to let Zolf get lost in his own head any more than Zolf is going to let Hamid run into danger because if he thought about it he would freeze. And Carter & Barnes are sharing all the tricks. Guess Hamid isn't the only one who does better if he can merc a guy after a hard week They are having a direct conversation about Zolf leaving! Backstory! So it was a debt more than a calling Brynterval, useful I needed a laugh break too and this way I don't miss anything. They are keeping up the relationship metaphor for all its worth. It really does work though. Azu quit alluding and tell us your story. Aw he's retelling Dover! I ever tell you guys that's when I quit waiting for him and or RQ to show their bad side? The damn romance novels were like a promise they weren't going to betray the story over "what's expected". I was so braced for that stupid "pick a fight with the toughest guy in the yard to buy respect" trope. Instead they just said nope: no prison fights, no guard abuse, his biggest danger is developing an addiction to cheap books. Thank you Cel! Hamid mentioning Mr Ceiling reminds Zolf that still have Shoin's brorb. Oh the diary Zolf has more Campbells Cel is awesome and asks if Hamid want to talk about Aziza Liliana finally got mentioned, realizing Hamid was the last to know about that part of the story hurt So they might be a hivemind Carter has a nice little cache in the cell of daggers & a wide variety of booze. Carter suggests they should get so drunk their minds aren't worth hiving. Oh Cel & the Elvish mead Carter is drinking the Orcish whiskey to make a point Yeah, yeah, how the heck Hamid came through not only his life preseries but this adventure with a healthy relationship with alcohol is beyond me. Not a patch on his experience and I'm teetotal. That's arguably why it's important to have though (plus if they went anywhere with an alcoholism plot I probably won't be able to listen) Barnes has the rum and is Jeff Goldblum posing. I love one(1) low charisma man. Zolf is trying to draw Azu & Cel into conversation. Azu backstory time! A vision of Aphrodite in her dream led her to follow a wandering paladin. Little leader tucks Carter in Azu asks for Cel backstory Cel is around 97, and they were raised in America. Their Dad was a merchant sailor. The trade cut off and defenses failed destroying the town. Its time to give Hamid crap about capitalism. Zolf tells Barnes to leave off. Zolf joined the Navy because he "killed his brother"!?! Wanna try that again with details? Oh Zolf honey it was an accident. Hamid hugs Zolf while he talks. Zolf says all that then knocks stone out of ceiling in a demonstration of his powers. Hamid remembers Zolf wasn't in Cairo and starts describing the prank gone wrong and I'm just gonna take another sec because if Zolf doesn't take this the right way its gonna hurt. Did Hamid just quote Grizzop at Zolf?   Cel just declared they are staying with the party Just barely through the first quarantine episode. We might hit the same ratio as the dungeon after all. Gosh I love that theme tune

ALL I EVER WANTED (part 8)

PAIRINGS: Sweet Pea and OC (Emma Carter Wilson); Toni and Cheryl, Kevin and Fangs, Betty and Jughead

WORD COUNT: 2318

TAG LIST: @reblogserpent

WARNINGS: mention of abuse and neglect, language, adult themes

A/N: TA-DA!!! Chapter 8.  The light of day brings some good news for the kiddos we met in the last chapter.  Emma gets a call that she certainly didn’t want...read to see who from and what he/she wants, This is now on AO3 (kaylahselman15) and Wattpad (kaylah14) PLEASE REBLOG AND LEAVE COMMENTS!

PART 1    PART 2    PART 3    PART 4     PART 5     PART 6     PART 7

_________________________________________________________

                Fingers toyed gently with my hair, stirring me from my sleep.  I swatted them away and tried to ignore it, but they were persistent.  I peek one eye open only to see my husband and his outstretched arm carefully coaxing me awake without disturbing Axel or Sienna who lay still between us. After my eyes and my attitude adjusted to the light streaming softly into our room and the annoying prodding against my scalp, Sweet Pea motioned for me to get up with him.

                 “What time is it?” I mumbled, voice thick from the blissful sleep that I was just robbed of.  I made my way straight for the coffee pot.

                 “Six a.m.” He chuckled at the whine I gave him in response. Sweet Pea loved the mornings.  The quiet, the stillness, the anticipation of the day ahead.  I, on the other hand, took about two hours to fully wake up.  “Jug called. Apparently, Lauren’s sister is Cassie Mantle.”

                 “Shut up!” I halted, my hand hovering over the Folgers can.  “I never knew that.  Oh, Sweets, that’s great. The kids really will be in good hands.  Cassie’s as good as gold!”

                 “Yeah, I was relieved.  They’re on their way here now.  Didn’t even hesitate when Jones got in touch with them.  They dropped everything and hit the road.”

                 I squeezed his shoulder as I walked by to grab last night’s soup bowls to throw in the dishwasher.  “Where are they living now?”

                 “Bout two hours north of Greendale- a small town called Pleasant Ridge.  They’re gonna stay with Reg’s parents until Dr. Ellis releases Blazer.”  He rubbed his palms together, fidgeting.  My eyebrow shot up suspiciously.  I waited for him to spit whatever it was that had him stalling out.  “Also…they found Lauren.  Emma, she was so messed up, she didn’t even know she had kids.  Hell, she barely knew her own name.  Jug said that Cassie plans to get her in rehab as soon as she can manage it.”

                “Good!  Maybe with Cassie and Reggie helping out, she can take the time she needs to get clean, and do right by her kids while she still can.”  Sweet Pea nodded.

                 “I’m gonna take them over to the Mantle’s in a bit.  I want to talk to Reggie.  Rob won’t be locked up forever, and I want him to know exactly what he’s got to protect them from.”  His eyes squeezed shut, no doubt as images from last night’s rescue mission came flooding back.  “Fangs is coming here to keep you and Carter company.”

                “Babe,” I groaned.  “We don’t need a Serpent Sitter.  I can take care of us just fine.  That is not necessary.”

                 He fixed me with a hard stare that silenced my objections immediately.  “This is not up for discussion.  I want someone here with you and that’s final.”

                 “Yes sir,” I kissed his cheeks and snaked my arms around his broad shoulders.  “Come on, bodyguard, let’s go get Ax and Sienna up and moving before Carter starts screaming.”

                 He followed me, packing up their things while I got them up.  Sienna’s freckled nose scrunched up as she stretched.  The light of day made the violet bruises look so much worse than I remembered from last night.  My eyes lingered on her face before catching Sweet Pea doing the same with an angry scowl heavy on his brow.

                 Waking Axel up was a challenge.  His sister told me he was not a morning person.  We had that in common.  Eventually, he joined us for breakfast.  They ate quietly until Sienna spoke up, “Where do we live now?”

                 Sweet Pea answered before I could, “Your Aunt Cassie is coming to get you guys, so you all can stay with her.”

                 Axel’s chubby hand reached up to rub his eyes.  “Mommy said Aunt Cassie doesn’t like us.”  Sienna’s shoulders slumped forward and Pea reached over to tug at the ends of her hair.

                “That’s not true.  She got up very early so she can get here to be with you. She’s almost to Riverdale now.”

                “Mommy’s not coming back, is she?” My heart shattered at the desperation in his little voice.  Sweets scooped him into his lap and held him close.  “Not yet, buddy, I’m sorry.”

                 Carter woke up shortly after breakfast, fighting mad.  I tended to him while Sweet Pea loaded the truck up and got it warming up.  Axel was content in front of Puppy Dog Pals, but Sienna was very excited to see the baby awake.  Soon enough his fussiness was ebbed away by the excitement of a new, smiling face to give him attention.

                 “He’s really wiggly,” she giggled watching me struggle to get him dressed.  Carter let out a squeal of his own, thrilled to have another finger to grip in his fist. Sienna stretched up on her tippy toes to smile at him.  He matched her grin with a drooly mirror image of hers.

                 “I think he likes you,” I chuckle, noticing a soft blush creep onto her cheeks and the very tip of her nose. I put Carter in his bouncer in the living room.  Sienna kneeled right beside him, fussing over every belly laugh and gurgle he threw at her.

                “Alright, kiddos, the truck’s warmed up and ready to go,” Sweet Pea announced clapping his hands together. Axel jumped right up, clutching the same blanket he clung to all night.  Sienna, however, lingered, fiddling with the small toys on his bouncer. I straightened Ax’s jacket while Sweet Pea went straight for Sienna, covering her tiny back with his hand.

                 “Hey, you.  You know you can come to see him anytime.  We can come to see you too, how does that sound?” I melted at the tenderness in his voice.

                 “Mr. Wilson?” She squeaked nervously.

                 “Hmm?”

                 “What if Aunt Cassie’s husband is like Daddy?” Sweet Pea turned her around to face him.

                 “He will not be, we will make sure of that. We’ve got you, okay?”  She nodded and stood to her feet stealing one last smile from my baby and running to give me a hug.  Pea kissed Carter on the head and made his way to the door.  He kissed me briefly just as Fangs came rumbling up the driveway.

                 I watched the trio as they walked to the truck. Fangs ruffled their hair as they passed by before bonding up the steps to the front door.  Carter wiggled happily at the sight of him.  Fangs didn’t hesitate to free him of the constraints of his bouncer.  “Hey, little man.  Did you miss Uncle Fangsy? Mommy and Daddy aren’t nearly as fun, huh?”

                 “Watch it.”  I smacked him on the shoulder and sat down beside him.  “What’s new?”

                 “Oh, you know: saving children, beating up complete assholes, guarding the Wilson clan with my life- the usual.”

                 I snorted in response.  “I told him that we would be okay.”

                 “Yeah, well, talking to a brick wall is damn hard. Trust me, I know.  At least we get to hang out.”

                 I smiled, crinkling my nose at him and the nearly passed out baby in his arms.  “ True that, Fogarty.  I know you’re hungry.”

                 “True that, Wilson.”  We chuckled so hard at his reply, we almost didn’t hear my phone ring. I got to it just in time, putting it on speaker so I could plumage my cabinets for the dishes I needed.

                “Hello?”

                 “Emma,” a chillingly familiar voice answered.  Fang’s eyes snapped up to my pale face.  “Why if it isn’t my favorite pain in the ass.  It’s been too long.”

                Swallowing the lump in my throat, I shot back, “Not nearly long enough, Peabody.”  Fangs sat Carter in his chair and rushed to my side, hovering over the phone quietly.  He pressed record on his own phone to capture the conversation.

                 “Not feeling very friendly, are we?  I bet if I got a hold of that sexy hubby of yours, you’d change your tone.”

                 “You leave him the hell out of this, you miserable bitch!  What do you want?” I growled.  Fangs instinctively threw his arm around my shoulders to calm me down.

                 “Well, I happen to be feeling…generous. You can either hand Larry over to me or pay the $5k he owes me.  The choice is yours, madam.  You’ve got 72 hours.”  We sat there stunned for a beat.  “Oh and Emma? Congratulations on the baby.”  With that, the line went dead and I chunked the phone across the room.

                 “What the fuck? What the fuck, Fangs?! She knows about Carter.  She’s gonna hurt him to get to Larry.  OH my god!” He grabbed my shoulders and jerked me roughly around to him.

                 “HEY! We’re going to figure this out.  Pack some of yours and Pea’s and Carter’s things. I’ll call a meeting, and we’ll head to the Wyrm.  It’s going to be okay, I promise.  Do you want me to call Sweet Pea?”

                 “No,” I muttered.  “He needs to make sure that the kids are going to a good place.  It can wait until he’s finished.”

                 Fangs shot me a look of doubt, “He’s not going to like that.”

                 I groaned and started stuffing our things into a duffle.  “I know, I know.”

                 By the time we made it to the Wyrm, Jug was pacing. Rusty swooned at the sight of Carter, and I kicked myself for not bringing him to meet her sooner.  “He’s beautiful, kid.”

                “Thanks, Rus. We kinda like him!” I smiled passing him to her.

                 Sweet Pea came in a few minutes later, clearly perplexed about why this meeting was called and why his child was in a bar.

                 Before he could ask any questions, I eagerly interceded, “How’d it go?”

                “Really well.  They hit it off pretty quickly.  Reggie was just as worked up about the whole thing as us, so I feel a lot better. We’re going to keep checking in on them though.”  He sighed.

                Jughead called for our attention and I tensed up immediately.  “Penny has contacted Emma this morning.  There is a bounty on Larry’s head.  If we don’t bring him to her, we’ll have to pay his debt.  My initial reaction was to say ‘fuck off’, but she mentioned that she knows about Carter.  She’s threatening one of our own if we don’t deliver, and I will not stand for that.”

                 Sweet Pea turned to face me, fire seething from his eyes, his tight-lipped mouth, and his rigid shoulders.  My sheepish grin did nothing to placate his rage.  “Emma,” he hissed.  “Outside, right now!”  I was certainly in trouble.  

                 Fangs shot me a look that screamed ‘I told you so’ as I snuck behind him through the doors of the Wyrm. Clutching Carter to me as a 15-pound shield of cuteness, I shrunk under the intensity of his glare. “You wanna tell me why you didn’t call me first? Isn’t this something I would need to know about?” He smoothed the gravel in his tone slightly when Carter squeaked in protest.  “How am I supposed to protect my own family if I don’t know what’s going on with them, Emma, how?”

                 “Oh, is that my cue? Am I supposed to talk now, or do you want to yell at me some more?” I sputtered.

                 He groaned, shifting his weight from one foot to another and pinching the bridge of his nose.  “If I didn’t love you so much, I swear… You drive me insane.”

                 “The bitch called me about ten minutes after you left.  Fangs was there, so we were safe.  You were right and I was wrong, doesn’t that make you feel better?”

                 He simply flattened his lips into a flat line in response.

                 “No? Ok then… anyway, if I had called you, you would’ve come straight home, so no I do not regret not calling you.”

                 “Of course I would’ve come home, Emma.  I would’ve dropped everything and been back with you as soon as I could.  To hell with…” he trailed off, avoiding my stare.

                 “To hell with what?” I quipped.  “With Blazer? With Axel? What about Sienna? You would’ve said to hell with them and their safety to come chasing an empty threat? Is that what you’re saying? Cause I would not be okay with that.”

                Huffing, he answered after a few minutes, “I guess I see your point.”  His posture visibly relaxed.  I was bouncing Carter around animatedly, resisting the urge to shout “HA”. “I’m sorry for getting upset, baby. I just don’t like you being threatened. The sooner we turn Larry in the better.”

                 “Well, we don’t know what they’re going to vote to do yet, cause you made us leave.”

                 “I don’t give a rat’s ass.  He’s my problem.  This is my choice.  It’s clear to me that he’s in it with Peabody.  They just want the cash, I know it.”

                 I blanched, trying to find the best angle to approach this conversation.  “But what if that’s not the case?  Would it be worth handing him over if he was innocent?”

                “Innocent?” he scoffed.  “He could do good deeds for the rest of his life and still not be considered innocent.  Do you know what he put me through?”

                 I leaned into him instinctively, balancing Carter with one arm and forcing Sweet Pea’s arm to circle me with my other.  “I do, and I wish I could take it all away. I just don’t want this decision to torture you if you make the wrong choice.  I really really really think you should talk to him first.  Then we can figure it out.”

                 He stiffened against me and took shallow breaths. I hated to see him this vulnerable. “I guess.”

                 “Do you still love me?” I muttered, smoothing out Carter’s hair.

                 His chest shook slightly as he chuckled. “Always, Emma.”

                “That’s what I was hoping you’d say. I love you too, Pea.” I smiled pulling him back inside, feeling lighter.

Priorities (5)

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You have a long talk with your husband.

Warnings: if you don’t like reading about Deep Conversations™, this chapter probably isn’t for you. Language, implied nausea.

Word Count: 2.8k

Notes: It’s finally here - the chapter that everyone has been waiting for :D

An alternative summary for this chapter would’ve been ‘Bucky gets his head out of his ass’. Written for @buckyofthemyscira​’s 5k Disney Writing Challenge. 

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist | Tags are open, add yourself here

Bucky is nervous.

Scratch that, he’s beyond nervous.

Even his nerves are nervous, goddammit.

(Shuri would say that he’s highkey terrified.)

Bucky legitimately thinks that he’s about to shit his pants, and isn’t that just a pleasant thought?

The last time his palms were this sweaty, he’d been pacing the floor of his mouldy dorm room, anxiously waiting to propose to you. The last time his heart was pounding this hard, he’d been seconds away from giving his first presentation to the SI board of directors. The last time his throat had been this dry, he’d been standing under a canopy of flowers, preparing himself to recite his vows to you.

Bucky can hardly hear anything beyond the roar of his pulse in his ears, and that bagel he’d had for breakfast is slowly working its way up his throat.

So yeah. He’s nervous as fuck.

You haven’t said anything since you stumbled across him, so Bucky clears his throat and lets the words pour out of his mouth.

“Look, honey, I’m sorry. I’ve — well, heh. I’ve been a pretty fucking shit husband lately, and I’m so, so sorry,” he says sincerely, “I can’t say that enough. If you’d like to...I mean...do you wanna talk?”

You blink owlishly. “Now?” you ask.

“Uh...yeah?” he says slowly. “Or...is now not a good time?”

You narrow your eyes in suspicion. “Well, I don’t know, is it a good time for you, James? You’re always going on about a certain project you’re working on, and how you’re so busy with it.”

Bucky grimaces. Yeah, he probably deserved that. He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I, um — I asked Shuri and Sam to man the fort for a bit. We’ve got time.”

You purse your lips. “How did you know where to find me?”

Bucky blushes, ducking his head shyly. “Um, Steve showed me one of your blogposts—”

“He what?” you squawk. “He reads my—my blog?”

“Well, he kinda stumbled across it when—actually nevermind,” Bucky says, breaking off with an awkward cough. “I uh...yeah, so he showed me, and I read some of them, and you mentioned in one that you were staying in your friend W’s house and….well. You’ve only got one friend whose name starts with a ‘W’, so...yeah.”

You huff dryly. Bucky stuffs his hands into his pockets and stares down at his shoes whilst he anxiously waits for your response.

“Alright,” you sigh, “Yeah, okay. Come inside.”

—

Though you knew that you’d need to talk to Bucky eventually, you’d been hoping to have at least another day to gather your thoughts. Sure, you have a rough idea of what you want to say, but you were hoping to spend the rest of the afternoon gathering your thoughts and hashing out a rough script.

Then again, Pepper did say that if Bucky wanted to sit down and talk to you, you’d be stupid not to seize the opportunity that you’d been presented with.

(Okay, perhaps those weren’t her exact words, but she’d said something to the same extent.)

Wanda’s house is empty, as she and Vis have gone out for the afternoon. You’d spent most of the morning with her and Natasha, lounging on the couch and binging your favourite TV show on Netflix. The three of you had gone your separate ways in the afternoon, after you’d told the girls about your unexpected message from Pepper.

As you bring your husband to the guest bedroom, you can’t help but feel a little bit nervous. Your skin is tingling with anticipation and your heart is thumping against your ribs. On the one hand, you’re glad that Bucky has — seemingly — come to his senses and reached out to you. On the other hand, you’ve got no idea how the next hour or so will pan out.

Will you two still be a married couple by the end of the afternoon?

Only time will tell.

You shoulder open the bedroom door and gracefully plop yourself at the foot of the bed, crossing your legs at the knee.

“Take a seat,” you tell Bucky, gesturing towards the armchair in the corner of the room.

You watch as he shrugs off his black suit jacket, carefully draping it over the armrest before he takes a seat. Now that you’re able to look at him properly, you realise just how much last night seems to have taken its toll on Bucky.

There are dark purple bags under his eyes, and the coating of stubble on his jaw indicates that he hadn’t bothered to shave this morning, which is completely unlike him. Besides that, he hasn’t taken the effort to style his hair like he usually does, and his white button-down and black slacks look crumpled, and a little worse-for-wear.”

“You look like shit,” you tell him.

Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise, before he bursts out into hysterical laughter, burying his face in his hands as his shoulders quake uncontrollably.

You’re taken aback, but choose to bite your tongue and wait out his laughing fit.

“Oh, jeez,” Bucky sighs, as he sits back and scrubs his eyes wearily. “Would you believe that you’re the third person to say to me, today?”

You shrug, biting your lip to keep your expression neutral. “It’s the truth,” you say airily.

“Yeah, well. I guess,” he sighs, before clearing his throat and sitting up straighter. “So, uh...any idea how you wanna do this? Is it okay if I say something first?”

You nod and motion for him to go ahead.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, as he clasps his hands in his lap; a sure sign of his nerves. “Okay, well, um, first and foremost — I want you to know that I love you. And that I never, ever stopped loving you, and I’m sorry if I ever made you think that way.”

He pauses, and rakes his fingers through his hair. “I guess I haven’t been doing a good enough job at being your husband, so I promise you, I’m gonna try harder, do better.”

You school your features into a neutral expression, not wanting to give away any of your thoughts. Whilst it’s nice to know that Bucky has recognised — at least some — of his faults, you don’t want to hear promises from him. You want to know how he’s actually going to fulfil the promises that he’s making.

“I think that we haven’t been communicating with each other a lot, recently,” you say slowly. “There’re things on my mind that I haven’t shared with you, and...I don’t think we’re on the same page anymore.”

“I agree.”

“So...maybe the best thing to do is to clear the air, lay out all our cards and just...take it from there, yeah?”

Bucky nods in agreement. “Great plan. So, um — yeah, like I said before, I’ve read your blogposts, and I think that I know what’s been troubling you—”

“And right there’s the problem,” you interrupt, holding up a hand to silence him. Bucky’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click.

“See, you think you know what’s bothering me, but you don’t know, not really. You can’t make assumptions like that, Buck, you gotta talk to me. And — okay, yeah, I know I’ve got my issues too, but the point is, you can’t assume that you everything — that’s kinda the crux of the issue, really.”

Bucky sits back and considers you for a moment. “Okay, I — you’re right. Yeah. Yeah, okay, I see what you’re saying,” he mumbles, as he rubs his jaw thoughtfully. “Please — talk. Enlighten me, honey.”

You sigh, idly picking at the patterned bed sheet before continuing. “Y’know, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I think that my problems can be summarised into a few points.”

“Firstly, and most importantly — I miss you,” you say simply. “I miss spending time with you. You’re never home anymore, and I...I need to see you, to have quality time with you. I wanna go on walks and visit museums and do all the stuff that we used to do. I feel like I’m not getting any of your attention anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, fingers twitching like he’s itching to reach out and hold your hand.

You smile at him briefly before barreling on. “Don’t get me wrong — I get it, you’re stressing over this project, and I know that you’re doing all this because you want us to be in a financially secure position, but honey? I don’t care.”

That seems to shock him. Bucky’s eyes widen minutely, and his mouth twists in confusion.

“I’m serious,” you tell him. “Honey, we could be living in a crusty apartment in the shadiest part of town and I wouldn’t fucking care, as long as I had you — yeah, okay, that’s cheesy as hell, but it’s the truth.”

You pause, biting your bottom lip shyly. “When I met you, we were both broke-ass college kids. D’you remember how we had to look under the car seats to get enough money to pay for gas that one time?”

Bucky huffs out a wry laugh. “Yeah, I remember,” he murmurs.

“We were both in a shit-ton of student debt, we barely had enough money to pay the rent, we were living off instant noodles — it wasn’t the easiest of times. But, the thing is, I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you through thick and thin, Bucky I swear. I just — I don’t wanna make you choose between your work and your wife, but...we need to find a way for you to have both.”

“Okay, honey, I—”

“Hold up, hold up,” you say, “I got one more thing and then you can talk.”

“Shoot.”

You steel yourself internally before continuing. “Kids.”

Bucky’s brows pull together in confusion. “What about ‘em?”

You swallow nervously. “Well, I want to have them with you, someday, but I want to raise them with you.”

“Is this about what you wrote in that blogpost?”

You nod, relief flooding through your system when you realise that he knows what you’re talking about. “Yeah. Like, I don’t want us to be that couple, where mom’s doing all the child-raising, and dad’s just...there, as this abstract father figure in their lives. I want our kids to have a dad, to hang out with their dad, to know their dad, you get me?”

—

Bucky nods slowly as he turns your words over in his head.

What you’ve described is something he can empathise with. Growing up, sure, he’d maintained a good relationship with his father, but it had always been clear to him that his mom was in charge of looking after Bucky and his sisters. His dad hadn’t been a bad dad, per se, but he hadn’t been there for any of the big, personal moments in Buck’s life, like his first girlfriend and stuff like that.

Bucky wants to do better.

“I hear you, sweetheart, and you’re right — I have been putting my work before you, more than I should be.”

He sighs, slumping further into the chair. Bucky takes the opportunity to look at you, properly look at you, the way he hasn’t done in who-knows how long.

God, how are you so always pretty? You’re dressed in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt with a grey hoodie on top, yet you still manage to look as beautiful as the day he first met you.

Bucky clears his throat. “I guess...I dunno.  I feel so responsible for my work, and my team and — but I ‘spose I just gotta learn to say no and push some things off my plate, huh?”

Your lips quirk into a half-smile. “There’s this thing, it’s called ‘delegating jobs’ — it’s really useful. You should try it out some time,” you say, winking mischievously.

Bucky throws his head back and laughs. “I will, sweetie, I will,” he says agreeably. “But yeah, I guess I gotta stop worrying so much about the future and just...live more in the now.”

You hum thoughtfully. “I think it’d be a good idea for you and me both to get into the habit of separating work and personal life. I mean, it’s a bit harder for me, ‘cause I actually work from home, and all, but...basically, when you’re working you’re working, and when you’re at home, you switch off.”

Bucky’s brows furrow together as he processes your words. “So like...are you saying that I should have two ‘modes’?” he asks, air-quotes and all. “Work-Bucky and home-Bucky?”

“Yep,” you say, easily rolling with the engineering analogy he’s thrown at you. “So, when you’re at work, you engage work-Bucky, you’re getting shit done, you’re productive and efficient and whatever. But, when you’re at home, you switch off from all that. You unplug, you chill out, you spend time with your family...you take a break.”

“I like that idea, I really do,” Bucky says slowly, “Actually, Sam’s been saying that I should have a better work-life balance—”

“You should really listen to what Sam says.”

He snorts. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that,” he says, mock-threateningly. “But seriously, I think I need to be better at sticking to regular office hours and...yeah. When I’m with you, I’m not working, and when I’m at work, I’m...well, working.”

You nod fervently. “Yes! I mean, we can obviously talk about our work when we’re talking about our days, just — there’s a difference between talking about work and actually doing work, y’know? And obviously, there’ll be times when you or I need to pull some overtime to meet a deadline or something, and that’s cool too, just—”

“Avoid it wherever possible?”

You smile brightly. “Exactly.”

—

You feel as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. This talk has been everything you’d hoped for and more.

Why on earth didn’t you do this sooner?

You watch as Bucky gets up from his chair and comes over to sit beside you on the bed. He knocks his shoulder against yours gently. “Are we okay?” he asks hesitantly.

You lean into his side and rest your head on his shoulder, humming quietly. “We’re gonna be okay.”

Bucky tentatively takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. You give him an affectionate, reassuring squeeze.

“I’m gonna have a good talk with my team,” he promises, “We’re gonna evaluate the situation, maybe consider taking on more people — we’re gonna sort this shit out. I’m gonna try my damn hardest to be a better husband, honey, ‘cause you deserve one.”

You turn to look at him, into those steely-grey eyes that have become your safe place in the years that you’ve known him.

“I love you,” you breathe, the corners of your lips twitching into a smile.

An exultant grin spreads over his lips. “I love you too,” he murmurs, as he bends down to press his lips to yours.

It’s a languid and luxurious kiss, both of you content to just feel your lips brushing together in the lightest of touches; neither of you are in a hurry to take things further.

You’ve missed this intimacy and closeness, being able to breathe in the familiar scent of Bucky’s cologne and underneath that, his sweat and musk. He pulls you closer, one hand wrapped around your waist, the fingers of his other hand curling around your neck. The position is a little awkward, and at one point, you accidentally elbow him in the ribs, but your heart is soaring and nothing could make this moment more incredible.

When you break away, you rest your forehead against the crook of his neck and sigh contentedly, happy that the worries that have been plaguing you for the last few weeks have finally been resolved.

“D’you need to go back to work?” you ask.

You feel, rather than see him shaking his head. “I took the rest of the day off,” Bucky tells you. “C’mon. Let’s finally go on that date that I’ve been promising you, eh?”

Picture of Love | 08

Pairing: Photographer!Hoseok x OC x Producer!Yoongi

Genre/Warnings: Hoseok AU/Yoongi AU/Includes strong language, anxiety, panic attack

Words: 3,192

Summary: Charlotte Galloway is the leader of the up and coming girl band, “She-Bang”, with a side hustle as a photographer for anyone who will hire her.  She meets a fellow professional photographer named Jung Hoseok who helps “She-Bang” realize their dreams and Charlotte to make a love connection along the way.

As we're driving I get excited at the sight of the pier. It's no shopping mall, but the pier is one of my favorite places to hang out with the girls. J-Hope parks in Pier 39's parking garage, opens my door for me and loops our arms as we walk to our next destination. I'm glad he knows we're not exactly at the hand holding stage yet, but this is sweet all the same.

We lazily walk and make small talk until we reach the Pier Market. Surprisingly we were able to get patio seating, overlooking the ocean and all the pretty boats at the dock. Is something bad about to happen? Things are going too well today.

We each give our orders to the waiter and J-Hope reaches in his back pocket to retrieve the flash drive with our pictures on it, he hands it to me across the table. "Here you go."

"Oh, thank you!" I take the drive ad put it in my purse.

"No problem. Oh! That reminds me. Do you guys have a YouTube channel?" I just nod. Why would J-Hope care if we have a YouTube channel? "Well you guys should consider renting that place. That jam session earlier sounded way better in there than in the clubs I've seen you guys play at. That'd be great for the channel right?" That's not a bad idea.

"Yeah, no, it sounded great and that would be awesome, but there's no way we could afford that place plus we're looking for a place that's not the hotel. It's too expensive to even be practical anymore, you know?"

"Yeah, I understand. Why not just live in the loft? You all could share rent." J-Hope offers a solution.

"There would be no room for the boys." I toss my salmon salad with my fork and the idea around in my head.

"The boys would live with you guys?" J-Hope's concerned voice causes me to look up. His face matched his tone of voice. "Well yeah. There aren't many options when we travel long distances. We need to stay together. That's why a hotel was the perfect fit." J-Hope nods in apprehensive understanding. "Besides, it's not so much a priority right now."

"Well do you have a rehearsal space right now?"

"No."

"Sounds like a priority to me." He says matter-of-factly. I just smile sheepishly and reach up to scratch my neck, looking for reasons to prove him wrong while knowing full well that he was right. "Regardless, we can't afford it, so..." I trail off.

"What if...I could...maybe...tryandgetJanicetogiveyouguysadiscount?" He rushed out.

I looked at him with bulging eyes. What is it with this man and his non-stop generosity?

"Excuse me? No. Absolutely not, you literally just pulled out all the stops and gave us a full on celebrity photoshoot. I can't possibly allow you to do something like this." I already feel like I owe this guy so much, I don't need to actually owe him money that I don't have too. Unless he wants me to repay him with something else. Something I would be very okay with giving him. But I still don't want to be in his debt.

"It wouldn't even be much of a hassle. That favor she owes me was pretty major, I'm sure I could persuade her." He says resting his hand on top of mine on the table and offering a welcoming smile.

"Like what you're doing right now?" My eyes drag suggestively from his eyes to our hands and back again.

J-Hope understands the meaning behind my question and laughs as if I'd just told him a joke. "Of course not, Janice is my friend and nothing more. Plus I prefer women my age...or close to it anyway." We both laugh at our small age difference. I sigh and look out the window.

"It's just...you've done so much already and I-"

"If you're worried about paying me back, don't. You wouldn't owe me anything." He assures me with a firm gaze. I just give him a clueless, squinted stare in return.

"That's what I don't understand. Why are you doing all this for me?" I spew out in curiosity. His brows furrow as if he's contemplating this question for the first time as well.

He shrugs his shoulders. "Well I like you, that's no secret." He looks down at a random spot on the table at that last bit, his eyes never focusing on one spot. I huff out a laugh at his mini realization. "And...I-I don't know. I guess I just feel like you deserve it...I don't know." He gives up on his thought, sighing. Yet, I'm still confused.

"But...you don't even know me."

J-Hope looks up from the table and into my eyes with a sure expression on his face. "But I really wanna get to know you." J-Hope's hand goes from resting over mine to holding my hand. That was so fucking cute I could barf. I attempt to ignore the spike in my heart beat and push down the thoughts in the my head that tell me to run and not to put myself through this again. 

I just took a deep breath, squeezed his hand and said "Me too." and try to force a smile which probably made me look constipated. "I-I'm gonna go to the bathroom real quick." I grab my purse and basically take off running to find a bathroom I've never been to before J-Hope can finish his reply.

I find myself breathing heavily as I question a waiter about the location of the restroom. Once I entered the bathroom I went into the first stall and sat on the toilet, but not without checking it first, I'm not crazy. My heavy breathing has turned to hyperventilating and all I can see are tears in my eyes.

Not now. Why now?  

I try to get my breathing back to normal and not think about the words that were just said to me. Without my permission, memories of him, good and bad, swirl around in my mind. I remembered how he would say cute shit like that and it gave me the same feeling of longing and adoration that I just experienced at the table with J-Hope. 

The dark crevices of my mind continue to spit insults and 'I told you so's my way and I literally battle with myself on whether I should escape and/or how. I could leave through the front of the restaurant, it would be easy. The back too actually, you can't really see much from, the patio. This is good.

No! We can't just run, he'll think he fucked up.

He did! If we're gonna have a panic attack whenever he says some deep shit, I want nothing to do with this.

It won't. We can just deal with it, I guess.

I don't wanna deal with it, I wanna be normal!

"That's never gonna happen." I let out a loud sob. I seriously hope no one is in here.

Hey, at least we can breathe now.

I cry and cry, carefully catching the tears and trying to preserve my make-up, until I'm almost back in the state I started in; panting and dry heaving with toilet paper everywhere. I run my hands through my hair and carefully wipe the tears from my eyes. I finally exit the stall to find there was thankfully no one in the bathroom that entire time. Praise God.

I lean over the sink to assess the damage and stare at myself in the mirror. It's no surprise I look like shit, but I try my best to touch up the bit of make-up left on my face. I manage to salvage the look by the grace of God and check my phone before leaving the bathroom. J-Hope sent me five text messages. 

"Shit." I didn't open them, I just headed back out to the patio. He was still at the table, staring at his phone intensely, probably waiting for my response. He looks up at me in shock like he thought I had left. I feel horrible.

I just sit down at the table not knowing what else to do or say. J-Hope looks at me like I'll break if he touches me. "Are you alright?" He asks, genuinely concerned. "Hm? Oh yeah. Yeah, sorry I just, uh, really had to go apparently, ha." I say still sniffling and only occasionally making eye contact. A moment of silence passes before J-Hope asks, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yup, fine." I answer immediately pushing around my now cold food.

"...You were in there for like, over an hour." He added as if he knew I was out of sorts and lost track of time. I looked up at him in surprise. Are you fucking serious?

"Oh...well it-sorry, I was just taking my time, I guess." I say playing with my nails now, anything not to look at his face and feel the embarrassment take over me.

"It's okay." More awkward silence.

"Do you wanna leave?"

"Please." I instantly beg him. "If it's not too much trouble, I know I ruined dinner-"

"You didn't ruin anything Charlotte, I'd be happy to take you home now. I actually already got the check so I'm ready when you are." He said with a small, sympathetic smile. Oh God. He was ready to leave because he thought I had left. I let out a heavy sigh.

"I am so sorry Jay." I say finally looking into his beautiful dark brown eyes. "I didn't mean to stay gone so long and I promise I wasn't trying to ditch you-"

"Charlotte, it's totally fine. You don't have to explain anything to me, I'm just glad you're okay."  J-Hope rested his hand on mine again and gave it a squeeze. Looking at it my heart rate sped up again and I was terrified to have a repeat of what just transpired in the bathroom.

Why the fuck am I freaking out? We've literally kissed before, Why is hand holding making me lose my shit?

"You are okay right?" He asks yet again as I stare at our connected hands. "Yeah...Let's get outta here." I separate our hands, shrug my jacket on, grab my purse and make my way for the door, the only indicator that I needed of J-Hope following along was the sound of his foot steps behind us. The walk back to the car was silent and less exciting than the walk to the restaurant to say the least. 

We didn't link arms or even touch and I could feel J-Hope's worried eyes on my face the entire time. He opens the car door for me as usual and we take off towards the hotel. Of course, the drive was quiet and awkward as ever, which is totally different than how we usually are together; carefree and playful. I beat myself up even more as we pull up to the hotel.

"I'm really sorry again Jay, I just...I..."

"Charlotte, you have nothing to apologize for." I don't try to stop him as he reaches for my face. He rests his hand on my cheek and I lean into it subconsciously. My heart rate increases tremendously and I fear of the worst before I realize I'm not going into panic mode again. That there are also butterflies in my stomach and my heart rate was just a side effect of the giddy nervousness I felt when J-Hope touched me. Jesus Christ, I sound like an airheaded romance novel.

"You can tell me whenever you feel up to it...or not at all, if you don't want." He shrugs while stroking my cheek. I glance over his features before I let my eyes fall shut with a quick sigh.

"How are you real?" I whisper in disbelief. He just chuckles to himself. "I could ask you the same thing." He answers smoothly and I let out a genuine laugh. "Thank you...for not leaving...and for being so understanding about...this."

"Of course. You know I wasn't kidding when I said I wanted to get to know you." Our eyes meet and I nod slowly. "Same. Hey, why don't we try again? I mean I basically wrecked this one so how about a do-over?"

"Stop it, you didn't wreck anything and I would love to." We share another long gaze before J-Hope starts to lean in. I stay where I am and watch everything unfold, not sure how this would play out based on todays events. But, I decided to let it happen and thank God I did. I actually missed the feel of his lips on mine and craved his touch since we were last in this position. Something about J-Hope's kiss just ignites a fire inside of me, stirs up feelings and sensations I haven't felt in years.

I find myself wrapping my arms around his neck to pull myself closer to him, hoping to eliminate any space between us and it seems J-Hope is trying to do the same with one hand still cupping my face and the other resting firmly on the small of my back. I don't know what comes over me in that moment, but I decide this position isn't working for me and climb my way into his lap, never pulling away from those mesmerizing lips.

"Is this okay?" I breathlessly mumble into his lips, already knowing the answer. J-Hope frantically nods his head and hums into my mouth, I laugh before my tongue finds it's way into his mouth. He moans as I tug at the hair on the back of his head and grind myself into him. He grips my waist tightly and moves to grope my ass.

Now I feel in my element. Receiving pleasure from strangers was how I dealt with all my episodes, from manic to depressing and its how I got over him. That's probably because I'm a nymphomaniac, but at least it didn't involve all of these confusing feelings and it was certainly much easier, it's what I did best besides music. But with J-Hope, I didn't just want pleasure from him, I wanted to make him sweat, make him pant, make him beg. I wanted to make him see stars, laugh, hell I wanted to make him happy. What the hell am I saying?

Suddenly, I separate our lips. Breathless, we share an intense yet playful glance. I laugh to myself, rest my forehead against his and place my hands on his chest. J-Hope's hands continue to rake up and down my back. "I'm sorry, I just...got carried away I guess." He laughs and grasps my chin in between his index finger and thumb and coaxes me to look into his eyes once again.

"You definitely don't have to apologize for that. That was perfectly okay with me." He pulls my chin towards him and his kisses me sweetly. I pull back with a dopey smile. I gotta get out of here before I do something stupid.

"Call me?" I look down and play with the zipper on his jacket, suddenly feeling shy. "Of course." he answers immediately. "Thank you for today...I'll just get out on this side." I fight the urge to kiss him again and attempt to exit the car from J-Hope's lap on the crowded San Francisco street in front of the hotel, not forgetting the donuts, and close the door. But I'm not embarrassed because that's just not who I am, I've been in more compromising positions than this. J-Hope turns to me from inside the car. "You don't want me to walk you to the door?"

"I think I got it Jay." I laugh, it's like a twenty foot walk. "I'll see you soon."

"Bye Charlotte." He stays parked until after I enter the elevator. I enter the hotel room to find Vicky and Carrie watching TV and Leyah in the bedroom, per usual on days like this. I greeted the girls on the couch and went straight for my bed.

"Finally, I thought you had been kidnapped. What happened? Did you fuck?" Leyah bombards me with her usual concerns.

"Almost." I throw over my shoulder as I put down the donut box and search for a change of clothes. "WHAT?!" Could be heard from the living room, I roll my eyes as I hear them scatter into the bedroom.

"Wait, seriously?" Leyah asks. I just nod, not looking excited about it at all and the girls could tell. "What stopped you?"

I shrug my shoulders and shake my head, at a loss. "I panicked, I guess." The girls look at me like I have two heads. "Excuse me?" Carrie squints her eyes at me and cocks her head to the side, utter confused. I sigh and chuckle bitterly knowing that sounds nothing like me and that I have to tell them about the date.

"Look, I had...a panic attack today." I say looking down at the pajama shirt in my hands, needlessly studying it for imperfections abruptly. The girls make sure I'm okay and I told them what happened at the restaurant and finally I get to the part of the story that actually enticed them in the first place.

"I guess I panicked because...I don't know. This is stupid." I'm still staring at and caressing the night shirt, too deep in thought to actually engage the others.

"What is it Char?" Vicky rubs my back in comforting circles.

"I...I like him-like really like him and it just scares me still...I had a fucking panic attack because he held my fucking hand." I said that last part sadly to myself.

"First of all, we all know that's not the actual reason you had a panic attack. Second, you freaked out because that's mainly something you do with your significant other. You never held hands with any of the guys you had flings with or slept with after 'he who shall not be named'. It's a form of intimacy you're not used to. It must have built up inside you and like you said, you're just scared." Leyah so eloquently explained.

"Try petrified, last week I totally thought I could do this, but I guess the universe just doesn't want me to be happy. I mean we're going out again soon, I don't want the same thing to happen when he says some cute shit that reminds me of him." I moaned.

"It's just a setback Char, You're in control of your happiness no one else. Just continue to take things slow and dont forget to pace yourself." Vicky tried to reassure me.

"While we were making out I was thinking about how I wanted him to be happy." I say staring at nothing in particular and feeling sorry for myself, but I can still hear the silence from the girls and see Leyah's eyebrows jump up her forehead and her eyes widen considerably from the corner of my eye. Carrie breathes in a hiss of air that didn't sound positive.

Leyah opens her mouth to speak, closes it and then says. "Yeah, you're screwed babe."

Character Study: Jay (2.1)

[Breaking the second part into two parts of its own, cuz I kinda wanna rework what I wrote for the last two. Additonally, small tweak to the Plan: I’m thinking I’ll probably drop one of the nine prompts I had for each character, to make it an even 4/4 split over the two parts (plus as I’ve been mulling it over it’s basically happened that way naturally anyway lol). CW for swearing, as ever.]

4. Rivals Jay’s position within the Association meant that he was indispensable enough to be able to freelance, at least to an extent. Of course there were jobs he’d never be able to accept – mostly those involving direct competitors – but it was a good enough side hustle, especially because the jobs rarely required more than his equivalent of a mean look. Easy money.

Of course, he was far from the only freelancer in town.

Which resulted in situations like these.

He’d slipped silently into the living room of the guy he was supposed to shake down – some argument, or maybe a debt, Jay was long past asking too many questions – and found a figure poised by the side of the front window. He was well enough concealed that Jay might not have noticed him if it wasn’t for the serendipitous passing of a car, headlights sweeping across the room and throwing the silhouette into sharp relief.

Jay stopped, arranged his face into an easy smirk. “Becker.”

The figure spun around and cursed, colourfully and at length. “Fucking hell,” he finished in a mutter. “How the hell do you always manage to get inside without using a fucking door?”

Jay shrugged as he slinked forward a step. “Trade secret.”

“Right.” Becker had mirrored his forward movement, sliding back a step to maintain the distance between them. He stopped in the slanting light from the street outside; it illuminated him well enough that Jay could see that while his body language remained relaxed, his pale eyes were alert. “So you wanna toss for it?”

Jay’s smirk widened.

He lost the coin toss, which wasn’t great for his reputation, but at least meant that his night was freed up. Plus he got to exit, loudly, through the front door, which was novel in and of itself.

Becker knew as well as he did that it wasn’t the end of it – Becker’s employer would run out of either money or caution sooner rather than later – but neither of them were invested in the tasks beyond the payout. And both of them knew Jay wasn’t one to leave a job unfinished.

But for tonight he’d just revel in the unexpected free time. He ducked into an alley a couple of blocks away, walking around halfway down before he leaned against the wall and fished out his cigarettes. This was territory disputed enough for it to be practically neutral; he wasn’t going to be disturbed by some random dealers.

He was on his third cigarette when he heard footsteps approach. Jay slitted his eyes open just far enough to confirm his suspicion before he tipped his head back against the wall.

Becker drew up a good ten feet away, propping his hip against the skeleton of a long burned-out car. “Got a spare?”

Jay tossed the cigarettes towards him without opening his eyes. “Lemme guess. Appropriately lauded, you truly do live up to your reputation, thank you so much for protecting me, I’m gonna pass your name around to all my friends?”

Becker chuckled around his cigarette. “Usual song and dance.” He made a slight clucking sound, and Jay glanced over to catch the packet as he threw it back. “How pissed d’you reckon they’d be if they found out their safety was predicated on a coin toss?”

“Probably not as pissed as the ones whose delivery of a message is predicated on the same,” Jay said, grinning at him.

Becker ashed his cigarette off to the side, his gaze turning shrewd. “How the hell do you explain to them that you couldn’t do what they asked?”

“What do you mean?”

“Johns.” Becker’s voice was dry. “You gotta know the kinda reputation you have. With a rep like that, I’d imagine all your prospective employers expect you to get the job done.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, letting his smile sharpen into more of a smirk. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“Oh, shut up.” Becker rolled his eyes. “You’re a fucking ghost, Johns. No signs of entry or exit, nothing broken, not so much as a hair out of place unless you want it that way. How do you do all that and then sell a failure to someone who’s paying you?”

“Ah, you gotta factor in failures,” Jay said, glancing down as he tapped the end of his cigarette. “It’s the only way to stop them from asking you to do the impossible. Plus,” – he looked back up to smirk at Becker again – “I gotta leave some work for the rest of you guys.”

Becker’s mouth quirked as he took a drag. “Naw, c’mon. I can get work on my own merits.”

“Only because I’m modulating my reputation,” Jay said gravely.

Becker snorted. “Maybe we should test your theory then. I could totally take you.”

“You fucking wish,” Jay retorted. “Apparently your recollection of our initial encounter has been altered by time. Do we need to refresh your memory?” He flicked his cigarette away and straightened; he didn’t miss the corresponding tension that lanced through Becker’s frame.

“Yeah, no,” he said, eyeing Jay carefully. “Two weeks in the hospital is not something I wanna repeat.”

“See? Not just a pretty face.” Jay flashed his teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I’d better get going. Got some stupid fucking rendezvous I gotta chaperone.”

Becker raised his eyebrows. “Off of Murphy’s? Two am?”

Jay huffed some air out his nose in a half-laugh as he started to turn away. “Guess I’ll see you there.”

“Better me than Wyatt.”

Jay glanced over his shoulder as he walked, his smile more genuine than he normally allowed. “Better you than anybody, really.”

“Don’t forget you still owe me a drink,” Becker called after him.

Jay laughed, loud and deliberate and a little too sincere. “Don’t forget you still owe me your life.”

Becker’s answering laugh trailed him out of the alley.

5. Skills Grant very nearly startled when Johns sauntered through the door less than an hour after he'd left. He just managed to conceal the reaction, spoke without looking up. "That was fast."

Johns's reply was haughty. "I told you it was a simple job."

Grant didn't bother hiding his response to that; he leaned back in his chair, twirling his pen between his fingers, and gave Johns an incredulous stare.

Johns met his gaze as he sauntered another couple of steps into the room, and Grant had to fight not to wince. The man carried himself with an arrogance that bordered on sickening, made worse by the fact it was entirely justified.

"The other... contractors I approached didn't seem to think it was so simple," Grant said, when Johns showed no signs of elaborating.

The corner of his mouth quirked up, the beginning of that signature smirk. "Should've approached me first."

"You're fucking expensive, Johns. I'm not gonna pay your rates if I can avoid it." Grant tried not acknowledge the fact he was lying; if half the stuff he'd heard about Jay Johns was true, he'd notice any deception. The only thing Grant really had going for him was that there was no reason for Johns to think he was anything but another client.

And that seemed to be working in his favour; Johns raised one shoulder, let it drop. "You get what you pay for."

"I can assume then that you have the item?"

Johns's eyes rolled upwards momentarily, before he stalked far enough forward to place a small box at the end of the table. Grant couldn't help himself tensing, and judging from the shape of Johns's smile, he didn't miss it.

"As promised," he drawled, entirely at ease. He twisted one hand almost idly, and a phone shimmered into being between his fingers. "Payment?"

"Will be wired when I confirm the authenticity," Grant said, pulling off a passably indifferent air.

The phone was replaced by a knife with incredible swiftness. Grant shifted just enough that he could stand without being impeded by the table.

"What." Johns's gaze was as flat as his voice.

"This is not some drug dealer spat," Grant said as evenly as he could. "An item like this requires verification. Surely you know that."

Somehow Johns managed to give the impression he was abruptly closer than he had been, even though Grant was certain he hadn't seen him move. He tried not to acknowledge the sudden thrum of his pulse in his ears.

"You'd better not try to screw me," Johns said, his voice dangerously pleasant.

"Please." Grant realised his pen had stilled; he resumed twirling it as he continued. "We're both professionals. You'll get your payment."

"Good." Johns stared at him for a long moment, and then turned and started for the door. He hesitated in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. "Cuz I know where you live."

Grant had relaxed enough that he was able to snort dismissively. "I don't live here, Johns."

"Oh, I know." That damned smirk was back, wide enough to show a flash of teeth. "You live over on Monaro Drive. Lovely little bungalow. Your roses are doing real well this year."

Well that was fucking unnerving. Grant didn't have the presence of mind to hide his shock; there was no way -- no way -- Johns could possibly know that.

The fucker's smirk was broad enough to nearly be called a grin. "Hope I don't see you again, Grant." He winked, and then he was gone.

An embarrassingly long few minutes passed before Grant recovered enough to pull out his phone. The woman answered on the second ring.

"So?"

"Forty-three minutes," Grant said, leaning over to pull the box towards him. He cracked it open to peer at the contents, unnecessarily. "And Deidre? He fucking knows where I live."

There was a pause. Grant was vaguely gratified that that seemed to have thrown her as well.

"It's okay," she said finally. "It's not gonna be a problem for much longer."

"You'd better fucking hope so." Grant glanced towards the front door, and then down at the box again. "Regardless, let me know when they've got him in custody."

"You wanna make contact?"

"Fuck no." Three different security systems, seven guards, lead-lined vault. It'll take a savant to do this in less than ninety minutes. Unless he can walk through walls. "But I think I'm gonna stay in a hotel until then."

Why Are Web Designers Such Flakes? A Reality Check. Circling the drain of unresponsive or missing in action web designers is a common dilemma. The Question is this: As a self-respecting author with a plan and a purpose, how do you choose a designer you can afford and rely on?As a small publisher, or self-published author, you are faced with the high-cost of publishing a book. Your ever-growing budget includes editors, book cover and interior design, maybe a book coach or advisor, printing costs, fulfillment needs, marketing ... my goodness, where does it end? When does the author start making money? Well, this is a question for another article all together. The point here is, how much should you allocate to the added expense of hiring a web designer? Can you hire someone who can do it all and is affordable to boot?Ah, herein lies the problem. The one-man show dilemma-freelance artists. A newly graduated artist (or even an established one-person show) can be a very enticing option for someone with a small budget, especially when they are often a third of the price you would pay with a full-service design house. They are typically hungry, excited, talented, reasonably priced, and they can do it all. Yeah!!! So what goes wrong? Burnout. A freelance artist often over promises and eventually under delivers. They over commit because of the opportunity to build their portfolio; they chock it up to needed experience, and maybe even their desire to help another artist. But at the end of the day this is the perfect recipe for disaster. Why? Because it's truly hard to do it all yourself and when you finally reach that wall, you shut down and walk away, close the door, stop returning calls-you move on.This does not mean that because someone is reasonably priced that they are a bad choice for your needs. The question we seek to answer is: How do you protect yourself?As you search for a reliable, talented designer consider the fallout. As you become overwhelmed with the production of your book, you tend to need a leaning post. That is, someone you can consider a partner, someone who cares as much as you do and will be there till the bitter end, or God willing the glorious payout. But let's talk reality folks. Few people care about your project as much as you do. At the end of the day, people will do what is best for "me." If you lay something precious in someone else's hands you have to know that they will cherish that precious thing and treat it with the same care that you would. In the business world, this means you pay them to care-you appreciate them, you praise them, you create an environment that is rewarding, you pay them hard-earned cash.What you are looking for is a long-lasting relationship, someone who delivers, who knows their stuff and someone who isn't going to close up shop and leave you holding the bag. A Sad Tale of Trust and Where it Went Wrong: The Spark: You have just written a book! You are ready to meet your public. You are told you need a web site. You look around, you ask a few people for references, you weight the costs, you're not quite sure how it will benefit you, you're just about out of money, or worse your sinking further into debt. And then you meet Bob at a community function. Bob is great! He is dynamic, he loves your book, he has great ideas, he is excited, talented, and he can help you build a site for a fraction of the cost-this you can afford. The Honeymoon: You get started on the project and Bob really seems to listen, he's working quickly, he answers your calls, he has something for you to see right away, and it's pretty good, you like it, OK maybe it's not great, but hey it was practically free and it's something, its better than nothing. The Fallout: You have a big signing at the local bookstore, you're excited, but your site needs to be updated and there's that issue of those few spelling errors you haven't gotten around to fixing. You know you need to talk to Bob. But Bob is out of town until next week. You call some friends to see if they know of anyone who can help, yes, but do you have access to the web files? Hmm, no Bob has that. Bob doesn't seem to be returning your calls, or emails-Bob is MIA. The Reality: So what if you do find someone who is so excited and hungry that they are willing to do it for very little, or even better, for free. What happens when your designer needs a leaning post and you are pushing for more-you've started with this person, you need them to finish the job, your marketing success depends on it...they stop returning calls, they are less and less responsive...you go crazy with frustration, the process of getting a simple update to your site is maddening, you throw your hands up in exasperation, the love affair is over and you are left to pick up the pieces.You face the facts, you know you must find another web master, you search for people in your area, you are horrified by the high-prices, your benchmark, what you had come to rely on was so much less expensive. How can this be? OK fine, you find someone you think you can trust and they tell you your previous web designer didn't know what they were doing. Salt. Wound. Pain. They tell you have to start over and it's going to cost you. Yikes. The Idiot: Was your last designer really an idiot? Maybe, but probably not. First of all, it's important to know that designing and programming are two very different art forms and it makes sense to leave each task to the expert. I once saw a very talented illustrator design the interior layout of a book one page at a time, as opposed to flowing all of the text into one document (which certainly makes things easier when it comes time to make future changes). Was this guy an idiot? No, he just didn't know what he was doing, but he sure was confident that he could get the job done. And boy did he. Now the second edition needs changes....With web programmers, another thing to consider is that there are numerous ways to build a web site. Building a site is much like organizing your files, because in fact it is; web coders are a unique brand of person and each has his or her own naming conventions and ways of organizing files, which could be near impossible for someone else to decipher. Plus, there are numerous ways to code, programs to use, platforms, etc. Just like you might be baffled by my filing system, I would likely be baffled by yours. So for a programmer to look inside your site, it can take a lot of maddening hours and cursing-clearly the last person didn't know what he or she was doing. No, they just did it differently. But, why would I want to tackle that frustrating beast? Hmm, this is gonna be pricey. Synergy, Longevity and Web Designers; The Answer: Finding the right Web designer is sometimes like trying to find a needle in a haystack. So what's a savvy author to do? First, get referrals. Qualified referrals will save you a lot of time, especially if they are from fellow authors. For this reason, consider joining your local authors' guild and attending authors' conferences where you can connect with other people in your industry.Be sure to choose a designer who is familiar with your industry. A successful Web site goes way beyond the nuts and bolts of programming and coding. Your designer should have a firm understanding of what you are trying to accomplish and a definitive plan to reach that end. For instance, your navigation should lead your visitor in the direction of a sale-think of it like a funnel. You should implement an effective call-to-action that will guide your readers through the funnel and convert them into sales.A successful home page will appeal to varying personalities in different ways. Use both imagery and text to say the same thing. This will reach the analytical and the visual; no matter how you say it, both will lead to the same place-a sale. A marketing-savvy firm will understand the importance of this element and provide valuable insight.Ask for testimonials. Does he or she complete projects on deadline? A typical site should take from two to five weeks to design and build. Also, ask to see samples-including live sites. Test them for ease of use and loading time, as well as the general feeling you get from the sites you view. Chances are, if you dislike everything someone has done, you will be unhappy with what they produce for you as well.Does he or she listen to your needs? A good way to tell if a company designs for the client or for themselves is to view their samples. If all of their samples are similar, this could be a red flag-unless, of course, that is exactly the style you want in your design. A good designer should be able to listen to your needs and translate them into a workable site that exceeds your expectations. Ultimately, your site should reflect your personality-not theirs. Make sure your design team is easy to communicate with. Do they speak your language? Remember: this should be your vision, not theirs. Ego can often get in the way of your goals. When it comes down to it, they work for you. They should be able to set their artistry ego aside and follow your line of thinking, providing you with valuable insight and ideas that you hadn't considered. Ask Questions-Expect Answers Ensure that your designer and the person coding your site are two different people. They are very different jobs and require different skills, just as your architect and your contractor are two different people. That's not to say that you should hire two different firms-quite the opposite: a well-trained team works smoothly together and should be able to handle anything you throw their way.A good firm will provide you with at least three "comps" or design samples. This is the part of the project where you will have the most involvement. That's not to say that you should be able to stare over their shoulders as they create for you-but you should be given ample opportunity to verbalize your needs. You should approve the design before it goes to the programmer. Also, find out what their policy is on additional changes once you have approved the final design; you do not want to get stuck with hidden costs halfway through the project.Always get a contract. Know exactly what to expect. A contract protects you as much as the design house. Read your contract thoroughly. Be sure that you own the rights to your site, the design, all the images, and your copy. When it's all said and done, your designer should provide you with a disc that contains all your design files and your Web files; keep this disc and all your passwords in a safe place-in fact, make backups. Should something happen to your design house, or they go out of business, you should be able to seamlessly transfer everything to a new firm. And remember: this is a relationship, if you are not happy with your team, or you are not getting the results you expected, then don't be afraid to find someone else.Don't rush it. Costly mistakes are made when people rush. Once your site is up and running, you can decide to change it, but it will likely mean starting all over and costing you twice what it should. Often, this can be the straw that breaks the marketing camel's back. It is easy to get discouraged when you have invested so much of your heart and soul into a project only to find out you are back at square one. From the perspective of a coder, it is less costly to start over than to give your site a facelift-changing colors, navigation, and the overall look and feel of your site isn't as easy as it may seem. Avoid costly mistakes in the beginning, even if it means stalling your project just a little longer. How Much Should a Web Site Cost? While industry standards are typically followed, prices vary widely. The Graphic Artist's Guild Handbook: Pricing and Ethical Guidelines is a sufficient reference guide for industry pricing standards when it comes to illustration and design; this will give you a firm place to start.It's possible to pay anywhere from $200 to $44,000 on a Web site; all of this depends on the size of your site and your programming needs (and who you hire). What you want to concentrate on is the relationship you have with your designer. Meet with this person, and see if you like him or her; after all, you will likely be working very closely with this person. You should be developing a relationship that will help make you and your book shine.Keep in mind, just because your site looks great doesn't mean it's effective. Discuss these elements and see what kind of ideas your potential designer may have that can bring your project to a higher level. Use someone who understands books and the publishing industry. While one firm may be able to design and build an incredible site for real estate agents, they may not know the first thing about selling books.All of these things are crucial elements that you must consider before signing that contract. Always ask for a contract; no matter how much you trust this person, business is business-be professional. It's okay and even necessary to build relationships and even friendships in this business, but never forget your end goal: You are an author with your own business, and only you will look out for you in the end. Make a List-Check it Twice Before you start shopping for a design house, jot down a list of your expectations; that way if it comes down to one or two firms / designers, you will make an educated decision based on all your needs.Lastly, follow your gut feeling; listen to your instincts. If something doesn't mesh, move on.Finding a design team can be an emotionally overwhelming process. The following checklist will help you find the right team for your needs. And remember: just because the price is right doesn't mean the fit is, and vice versa; an expensive team may be just that-expensive. You want to choose the best designer for you and your book. Believe me, you'll be glad you did.1. Do they listen? 2. Are they responsive? 3. Do they explain things in a way you can understand? 4. Do you like the other sites they have designed? 5. Are all of their design samples the same? Do they have the feel you are looking for? 6. Are their sites easy to navigate? 7. Do they have experience in your industry? 8. Do their sample sites load quickly? 9. Will they give you recent testimonials and references? Do they have happy clients? 10. What is their timeline? 11. Do they provide more than one design sample for you to choose from? 12. Are the designer and the programmer different people? Does the design firm have a specialized team? 13. Do they offer hosting services? 14. Do they offer E-commerce solutions? 15. Do they understand Internet marketing? 16. Do they have a company Web site? 17. Do they provide a contract that outlines your rights? 18. Do you get to keep the rights to every element of your site, including design and images? 19. How much do they charge for Web site maintenance? 20. Do they employ a solid back-up system? If so, do they keep back-ups offsite for added security? 21. Upon completion, will they provide you with all your files and passwords? by Jeniffer Thompson read more at http://bit.ly/2P4d2dj #Author #Book #boxvibecom #Creating #Designer #Find #Online #Sell #Site #Web #whyhireawebdesigner