#you do not have to Microexpressions anymore you can just say it
Text
ok seriously. no matter how many times i rewatch the finale, I can't tell if Jensen is trying to say "YES, Jack is God, Heaven is Good(tm), and now everyone is happy and safe forever so srsly give it a rest. happy ending.", or if he's saying all of that with his fingers crossed and purposefully acting like he's being held at gunpoint
literally does anyone have an opinion or idea on this bc i am BAFFLED at what the message of this show was.
#spnwin spoilers#supernatural#spnwin#spn meta#jensen you are directing the show#you do not have to Microexpressions anymore you can just say it#but legit tho im kinda questioning how much of this is just collective fandom brain rot#but also like wasnt the multiverse canonically destroyed in s15???#??????#Jensen what the FUCK did that all mean
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
No Nightingales
or: the one time they are actually on the same page
Welcome back to Alex's unhinged meta corner—we once again find ourselves in the final fifteen because I am far from done with them.
I already dove deep into the potential meaning of that phrase, you can find the meta post here, but regardless of what it stands for, the important part of today's post is their mutual recognition of it.
During their entire argument, they are on two different levels of understanding, and while Crowley is somewhat aware of that, Aziraphale very much isn't. But then, right at the end, Crowley invokes the nightingales, and suddenly they find themselves on the same plane of communication.
Let's start from the beginning. Well, not the beginning beginning, but rather the beginning of the end of their conversation.
Aziraphale is visibly upset, there's a strong undercurrent of genuine anger within the hurt, and he reverts back to an almost petulant expression when he tells Crowley "there's nothing more to say".
The movement he is doing with his mouth—maybe biting his cheeks from the looks of it—is the same one as at the end of their very first argument of the season. In the back of the bookshop with Jimbriel being the centre of their discussion, he eventually tells Crowley "but if you won't, you won't". When he sits down and throws his little temper tantrum, it's the same expression of 'I am kicking you out, go leave'.
In episode 1, Crowley does indeed leave, although we all know he comes back later that evening, but not this time. He knows Aziraphale, he knows exactly why he is doing what he is doing, why he is saying what he is saying, and while it broke his heart, it also means he is out of patience and energy.
For six thousand years, he has been trying to get Aziraphale to understand—and he simply refused to do the work necessary for that, preferring to stay in his cognitive dissonance framework of the world.
They are as done as they can be in that moment, and yet Crowley stays and tries one more thing: No nightingales.
"Listen, do you hear that?" is not a question Aziraphale expected, which is quite obvious in his annoyed reaction.
(side note: If someone I love were to talk to me the way Aziraphale responds to Crowley here I'd slap them and walk out. The absolute disrespect in his tone is appalling and Crowley deserves a reward for putting up with it.)
"I don't hear anything," and he isn't getting it just yet, still angry and petulant, still upset.
But then that changes. "That's the point. No nightingales," and Crowley is looking at him like it means something, begging him to listen, to understand—and Aziraphale DOES.
Look at the change in his expression, all that angry annoyance is gone and replaced by a sad dawning of understanding. If you compare this expression with his earlier one, the shift is as obvious as a blinking neon sign on a dark road.
Whatever the exact meaning of 'no nightingales' is, it is unambiguous and a fundamental part of how they communicate about their relationship with each other. Aziraphale has his oh moment, he is forced to confront the entire argument they just had and what it lead them to, what it destroyed.
That is what Crowley tells him, what hits Aziraphale hard enough to completely push him off-balance, to make him sad and visibly hurt instead of angry and upset. Michael 'microexpressions' Sheen strikes again.
Focus on the look in his eyes, the small, almost imperceptible shift, the shame that appears, and the tears it brings. He averts his gaze at first and then raises it back to Crowley because he understands now, he finally realised what Crowley has been trying to tell him the entire time.
No nightingales. It means we're done, we're over. It means I cannot come with you, I have to leave and safe myself. It means I love you, I know you love me, but it isn't enough.
It means we could have been us—but not anymore. Crowley sees him understand, and THAT is why he calls him an idiot; it's not about him returning to heaven or any of the other shit he said. It is about Aziraphale not listening to Crowley, of being so caught up in his bullshit he did not understand the simple message he was being told.
"You idiot. We could have been us."
I love you I love you I love you but now we are ruined and I blame you. If you had listened we could have been happy together, but look at where we ended up instead.
Aziraphale is still staring at him, but once those words leave Crowley's mouth, the tears begin to rise. Lips pressed together to keep himself from crying, the little wobble disturbing them, the pure, distilled pain etching itself into his face.
Shame. Guilt. Anger. Blaming Crowley, blaming himself. Aziraphale is confused, forced to make decisions without getting the space to breathe, to think, and he fell back into the easiest option—be a good angel and do what heaven says.
A part of him KNOWS all of that. It knows what he just did, what he ruined, how much they ended up hurting each other. So the tears come, and when he can no longer keep himself from crying, he turns away.
Crowley understandably combusts at that because really? Really? You dare to turn away from me after all this? I ripped myself open in front of you, and when I FINALLY manage to make you understand you turn your back on me?
He is desperate and hurt, heartbroken beyond repair, and there are six millennia of hopeless love spilling over—so he kisses him.
Hear me, listen to me, understand, I love you I love you I love you, I am losing you, I don't want to lose you, we're done. I know this won't change anything. I know what you will tell me, but I need to try. I need to make sure you know how much I love you.
I need you to understand what you are leaving behind.
There is no secret conversation happening, there's no trick, otherwise this moment of realisation would not exist.
But it does. It is right there for everyone to see.
After everything, this was probably the most painful moment for me, because you see him get it. You see him process, you see him understand, you can practically taste the chaos unfolding in his mind.
Aziraphale understands, but it is too late, and so he finishes what he started and leaves anyway.
#alex talks good omens#good omens#ineffable husbands#crowley#aziraphale#good omens season 2#go2#aziracrow#crowley x aziraphale#ineffable divorce#the final fifteen#good omens meta#no nightingales
284 notes
·
View notes
Text
DFF - Character Reveals and Why Some Work and Some Don't
I have been thinking about Phee and Tan and why the Tan reveal was so amazing while the Phee character reveal post episode 9 destroyed the character for a big chunk of the audience.
It all started with a post from @mikuni14 here is the link with a couple of additions and back and forths, from me, op and @leconcombrerit and the comments in the notes by @kerrikins which I just say today and accidently helped me figure out why I don't like post episode 9 Phee.
Set Up to The Reveal
I think most of us can agree that Tan and Phee have been suspicious since episode 1. The key to the later reveals was for Phee to appear the one in charage as highlighten in this excellent post episode 9 post from @lurkingshan
So for 8 weeks of real world time, everyone who watched live spend that time with this image of Phee: A loyal, smart, leader oriented teen that made a mistake in anger and betrayal and is now trying to make up for it. Someone who is charge and on top of this revenge plan. Someone who is willing to get their hands dirty.
While Tan came across as someone who wants answears, who likes to get high with these people but is only for real close to Phee, and fades into the background unleass you are specifically analyzing his character.
Speaking from me only, even while I was obsessing over Mio's microexpression I was skeptical over the Tan is the brother reveal, I was coinvinced that I wasn't going to suspend my disbelief over Mio's age and that it didn't make any sense because Phee looked to be so much more in charge.
Writers don't know what the audience is going to like about the character before the reveal happens. And with every character you ran the risk of that reveal destroying the audience's attachment by changing the wrong things.
The Reveals in Ep 9
While DFF had other reveals, specifically with Phee, all those revealed only served to strengthen the audience initial perception of Phee.
Then came episode 9. And while the Tan is New reveal blew everyone including me out of the water over how good it was, seriously Mio was amazing in this role and the writing for him was insanly good, Phee's episode 9 reveals didn't work as much.
Why?
It's simple because Tan was very much non entity pre-reveal. If you weren't obssessing over everything like myself you barely payed attention to him.
There was no character for the reveal to assinate, Tan never came across as someone who was especially close to any of the others except for Phee, at the most he Fluke and Top were his weed buddies and that is the extent of the friendships you saw between Tan and the group.
The reveal strengthents the character, they make it better, they make you go back and appriciate everything you didn't notice. All the little moments of barely concealed disdain.
While with Phee it's the opposite. Phee was a strong character already, and everything that we saw seem to reinforced that.
But episode 9 changed that. Episode 9 destroyed all of it, and while it worked fine at the time, the cracks started to appear as soon as episode 10 rolled around.
Because everything we learn from episode 9 destroyes everything we know about Phee as a character.
Loyal = He flipped on the boys as soon as they were nice to him and Tan [Read: OUR FRIENDS NEED HELP - I haven't forgotten, OUR FRIENDS I wanted to kill him]. Falls in love with Jin in three scenes (and yeah I know that it might have been weeks of real world time, BUT FOR US it was 3 scenes, in 3 scenes he was over Non and totally lovey dovey with Jin.), Enables New's revenge and pretends to be on his side still all the while not doing anything to help or not even wanting to do anything that doesn't help his guilt anymore.
Smart = Are we really supposed to believe that Phee had no idea that New had the intention of seeing the boys die? Am I really supposed to believe that the son of a cop, saw New totally loose everything, ask to die, profess revenge [the flashback scene I'll Make Them Pay in episode 12] and then heard "This won't killed them" in that tone and not made 2 + 2??? Are we for real right now??????
Leader Oriented = Not in charge of their mission, taking New's lead
Teen who made a mistake and said something in anger = This one is still valid, but it lessened by knowing he never actually confronted that what happened to Non was predatory and a little more complicated then actual cheating. Or the fact that he dismissed Non's call or explanations. The fact that he seemingly gets over Non and totally falls for Jin within a week of meeting him fits with stupid teen boy, but really doesn't help.
In charged and on top of this revenge plan = Again, not in charge of the plan seemingly just going along for the ride.
Someone who is willing to get their hands dirty = He has ethics about muder completely OUT OF FUCKING NOWHERE!! It is valid to not want to kill people but I'm sorry where the fuck were this boy ethics before? An incompelte lists of things Phee did that he was somehow totally fine with despite his so called "ethics":
Sleeps with Jin under false pretenses
Lied to his father and implicated himself in a crime just to help Non.
Ok with drugging people with a dangerous experimental drugs that causes fear and paranoia after New's reassurance that it tots won't kill them trust me bro.
Sleeping with Jin while he was definately 100% under the influence of New's drugs (the fail blow job in episode one) [We know they were still influenced because if the hand groping Tee was an hallucination then all the characters were still drugged]
Enabled New's revenge quest for three years whithout ever trying to get New to go back to his family (we didn't see it or have it mention so it didn't happen within the text)
Totally ok with sending Top with New post Uncle Dang getting his head chopped off while under the impression that New is responsible for said head chopping
Under the impression that New caused Por getting impaled but still not saying anything (we know that he could have said something because that is what he does later)
Learns that Jin filmed Non and posted the video and reacts with: So we were both hurting him and is fine with it in 5 minutes.
Apparently never fucking interrogated or contronted what happened to Non with Keng, never calls it grooming or abuse. Never recognizes that there were deeper motivations. In three years he manged to do 0 internal searching on it. Despite the fact that Por (who is a dick and the same age as the other boys and Phee) managed to come that conclusion right away.
There's probably more. His ethics come out of nowhere and feel like he is betraying New and being a dysloyal dick, because this character doesn't and has never come across as someone who gives a shit about ethics.
Like ok none of those things are muder fair enough, but a story needs to set up a character internal conflict over murder on a revenge quest a little better then a simple "This won't kill them right?"
Phee post episode 9 character falls apart because it is simply not the same character we thought we were getting for the previous 8 episodes. If you are not a PheeJin shipper there is not much post episode 9 to like about Phee. In the most charitable of read he comes across as bellyflopping follower who couldn't make a decision about what he wanted for 3 years.
I think somewhere along the lines something from the original idea got lost in the writing. To the writers who know this character inside and out and created him, Phee probably comes across as someone who struggled for years and was very conflicted and tourtured, unfortunatly the structure the chose for the plot doesn't have much time to show that to us.
Character reveals should always feel like they make sense, you should be able to go back and fit what you previously knew about the character with the new reveal. The reveal should feel like something that re-orients the puzzle, or helps you to put something in a different prospective. Not something that totally breaks everything that came before.
Reveals that are meant to make you feel like everything you knew about that character was a lie are much trickier to writer and balance, and crucially YOU MUST TREAT THEM LIKE THEY DO.
I never got the sense that the show wanted me to see Phee's betrayal and flipping on New as a bad thing, as something that goes against what the audience believed the character to be.
It just comes across that he is going from sympathic villain to tourtured anti-hero. At least that is what it feels like the writer wanted to show with that. Not that I see Tan or Post episode 9 Phee as sympathic villains. It feels like the writers saw them like that.
34 notes
·
View notes
Text
some assorted gay chicken show thoughts:
(i put a cut bc this got so stupid long i'm so sorry lol)
i think Earth has a really tough task with this role but imo he is totally nailing the restrained longing of it all and the undercurrent of wistful regret for lost opportunities in everything he says and does. the way he's not necessarily unhappy with his lot in life but doesn't think there's any value in it or what he provides for his community. the way he's resigned himself to loneliness but still can't help but want something more in a part deep inside of him (the shot of him looking at the moon in ep 1... I Am Thinking). i think it's really easy to see how bold and open Wen is with his feelings and be swept up in that bc the way Jim expresses his attraction is a lot more subtle but I think Earth does an amazing job of conveying that longing through the tiny shifts in his microexpressions, the way he looks at Wen when he thinks no one is looking (it KILLS me his expression when he sees how gentle and kind Wen is to his cat), the way he orients himself around Wen without thinking - it seems like he always has to consciously pull himself away in scenes like when he's dropping Wen off at the main street or at the end of ep 2 when Wen almost kisses him and i like the way Earth carries himself in scenes like that, he makes it easy to buy into
i really like the more meandering conversations that establish characterization and relationship dynamics. one example that comes to mind is when Jim and Wen are talking about the DVD. Full disclosure I'm not familiar with the movie referenced but judging from the title and the cover and the way Jim described it as "classic" I'm guessing it's some sort of romance. But then, "i haven't watched it in a long time. The disc is probably damaged." and then, when Wen says he can stream it if he wants, he says "that's okay, i don't want to watch it anymore." i like the way this dialogue hints at his history with love and ideals. "I don't want to watch it anymore", implying that he did at some point in his life want to watch it. The disc is probably damaged, but he can't bring himself to check to be sure. it's better to leave it alone and in the past. but in the past it was something he wanted to watch, an ideal he wanted to believe in; what changed? (who hurt u uncle jim i just want 2 talk)
the contrast between day and night life in this show ugh ugh ugh. the intimacy and vibrancy of the night, but also how lonely it sometimes can be; how harsh and uninviting the reality of daytime can be, but also how chatty and bustling. it's getting late and i'm sure way smarter people have already said much smarter things about it but just know this is a theme that always gets me and it is getting me now so fuckin hard.
and again i'm sure much more intelligent things have already been said about the relationship between Jim and Li Ming but I am fr LOVING it so far, not least of all because it reminds me so viscerally of my own teenage relationship with my parental figures skdjfnskdjfnskdjf but also the conflict between them just feels so well drawn and realistic, the way Jim is just trying to do what's best for Li Ming but doesn't know how to show that, the way Li Ming lashes out when at the end of the day all he really wants is for Uncle Jim to understand his point of view. it's some good shit u know
i do think imagining this whole situation from Li Ming's perspective is incredibly funny. like imagine it's one in the morning and you are in your room just minding your own business when a completely wasted man you've never met before wanders into your room, doesn't say a single word to you, and then when your emotionally distant uncle ushers him out he doesn't say anything to explain either he's just like "k sorry bye" and yeets himself out of there to go have shockingly tender sex with a man whose name neither of you know. and then like a month later you come into work only to find said drunk man is now your COWORKER at your UNCLE'S RESTAURANT. Li Ming doesn't get paid enough to deal with this shit. Uncle Jim wants us to think he has his life together so bad but he's just as messy of a bitch as anyone else on this show bless his heart
i'm really into the progression of the last part of ep 2, the subtle shift of the power dynamic, the way Wen so casually paying off the couple flows into Jim watching him work and understanding that they come from vastly different worlds flows into Jim telling Wen he's not fit to be anyone's home. and yet he still wants this closeness, as much as he tries to deny it; he made the choice to buy the second beer at the convenience store, he made the choice to offer it to Wen, he made the choice to let Wen rest on his shoulder if only for a little while. unstoppable force (Jim's yearning for closeness borne from a very deep loneliness) v immovable object (his abysmally low esteem of himself and his life)
as well i'm a huge hoe for glass metaphors so you know when Jim let himself want closeness with Wen by buying the beer only to come back and see him behind the window (like yes there is jealousy in that scene of the man Wen was talking to but there's also a distinct sense of never actually being able to reach Wen in his world; the reality is he stands behind the glass) a bitch was completely weak for it. it's me i'm bitch
obviously i love everything about the conversation at the end of ep 2 (a bitch is weak for a person as a home!!!) but something that especially interests me about it is what it tells us about Wen's relationship with Alan and the way he feels when he comes back to their apartment. i'm gonna be honest at this point i'm very confused about what's up with that whole clusterfuck lol but the implication that the place he lives in doesn't make him feel any of the things he described that he wanted from a home... home where someone waits for me, home where all my tiredness is gone and i have peace of mind, home that's more than just a place to sleep... how much he yearns for it that he's willing to pursue it with a man he only recently met... it paints a picture of a very lonely person and it does make me feel for him (even if I think it's really bizarre how completely casual he's being about cheating on his presumably long term partner not just with himself but with his friend who clearly knows the both of them skdjfnsdbfskdjfnsdjkfsn)
what i like most about this show so far is how at the core of it everyone just wants someone to see them and understand them. this, the aching loneliness everyone feels but in such different ways, is the driving force behind so much of the conflict and the drama and the interactions between characters. tonally it's exactly my kind of shit, i'm really looking forward to seeing how it builds as the story continues
#sarah.txt#moonlight chicken#it has been. difficult to pay attention at work this week. let us just say#this post is very long. i'm sorry. I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS.#mlc meta#story meta
69 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi, me again, just wanna say a few things about ur last post. (Love the analysis btw)
When you are studying human non verbal communication, it's interesting to see the specific details that are hiding, but, one of the most fascinating of all, are the different actions someone do on a basic conversation, and when they feel unrelaxed.
Like you mention earlier, Ian doesn't know how to express his emotions. He's Always making Jokes when he needs to hide his feelings, u can see it in a lot of videos, never talks seriously when the question need a serious answer, it's his way to avoid things, he is a non-confrontational guy. He's not used to explore vulnerable conversations.
He needs to see outside of the room to search the appropriate words to have a better description of what he thinks, trying metaphors to explain his train of thinking, using fillers to have more time to think too.
In the video you can see changes on his way of action. First of all, when he is close to have an encounter with some topic he has really strong emotions, he starts to laugh, making the people who is watching be more comfortable by doing jokes like hand gestures or silly faces, touches his beard and hair, scratches his neck, he is nervious, shy, wants to have something covering him and don't feel so exposed, even he slowly starts to raise the notebook to the height of his head.
He makes microexpressions of surprise when Anthony wrote about Ian hurting people, like if he never anticipade that kind of comeback be on the lecture.
And when Ian finish the reading he stretches to leave all the stress behind, and when Anthony talks about the facebook chat? He rapidly closes his eyes, uncomfortable and ofc ashamed of his past actions, once again, he doesn't like confrontation and his fillers start to be more notorious. Also, he always use a lot his hands to have a little more confidence to speak (like Anthony does).
Idk, some of the things I want to aknowledged and attached to your analysis. Keep doing it please!
Edit: first of all i just wanna appreciate how smart and considered he is. He probably is aware he has some communication issues and tries to cover it by learning/adapting to other skills. Maybe he can't sooth himself but he's still thinking about the room even if it's unconscious (but i think it's not unconscious i think he tries hard) and tries to make them feel lighter. That's not only coming from him being considered tho I think he works on this skill so he can avoid talking about his feelings more. Like i feel like he always has a wall between people and him that it's hard to pass to. And there's a smiley face sticker on that wall he's trying to pass as his emotions.
Yes yes yes thanks for all the additions!!! I agree with you on everything. Especially him passing the question/emotion if it's too much for him. Hide behind a smile, trying to cover it with a joke and immediately move on from it.
And oh about the microexpressions yes. I didn't touch on that one but it was obvious he didn't like that he did it at the time. But again i think it all comes from him can't tell Anthony directly (cause Anthony was too defensive in that subject) he probably felt like his place is filled by this girl and he was jealous at the time. Now as an adult brain he probably cringes from even remembering his words from that.
And tbh i get the feeling. I had the same with a friend she was so obsessed with that walking red flag that we stopped talking at the time. She'd get so offended if I said something about him and even yell at me. But now we're talking and she's all 'yeah you were right'. Ofc it's not good talking behind Anthony but it's probably because he felt like they're not the same anymore because of that person (if he still says the same it's obv he thought that in the past) and he was more angry towards that person than Anthony himself. It was more towards him leaving Ian behind and being with that girl but Anthony was protecting that girl who's obviously bad for him and this probably made him more pissed. (Probably) but now that he's a grown man he knows these actions (especially talking shit behind him) was not something he should be proud of.
But like he said there was no way to talk to Anthony about it so it's either talking shit or closing in. And maybe after Anthony left he realized that some of his words hurt more than he intended them to be. And maybe that's why he started closing in instead of talking.
#only frann#asks and answers#also Anthony was probably having too much emotions at the time#like baby why do you remember him saying your shoes suck at 1959
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Good Omens: A Big Gay (Queer) Allegory
Please note: these are just my thoughts and interpretation. It's one way to read some of the events of Good Omens, especially Season 2, but is not the only way by any means. I'm not looking to denigrate or sideline any other interpretation or understanding of this show.
The show has turned, slowly, into a big gay allegory, about the complications of perception and openness, especially in the 20th and 21st Century, and especially in terms of how Aziraphale and Crowley both manifest themselves and are perceived by the world around them. The show uses elements typically associated with the persecution of queer people throughout the 20th Century, as their relationship must remain secret (closeted) through much of their exitences. The 1941 episode in Season 2 involves fascists spying on Aziraphale and Crowley with a camera, trying to get evidence of their relationship. The 60s vignette takes place in 1967, the same year that Britain decriminalized homosexual acts, and is the first real indication that Aziraphale might be able to put a name to their relationship (but can't quite do it yet).
This is not about whether Aziraphale and Crowley are gay in the sense of being two homosexual men, but how they are perceived by the world at large. The joke from the book that Aziraphale is "gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide" is in the context of how others (humans) perceive him. And this governs them both—because they both typically manifest as men, use male pronouns, and because the world perceives them as men, their relationship would be perceived as homosexual (whether that is a reality or not). Nina asks Crowley about their relationship because, to her, they are behaving as a couple, and her assumption after he tells her "it's not like that" is still that they're together, just maybe not a couple-couple. She certainly never assumes that Crowley is a straight cis man—her questions are all about whether he has a husband or boyfriend, and all assume that he and Aziraphale are having sex. She seems to assume that they are two gay men.
That kind of open discussion, from an out lesbian who discusses her relationship with customers and friends (but not, we note, with cops), would have been impossible in 1967. Or 1941. Or 6,000 BC. But it is possible in 2023, in a relatively safe space like Whickber Street.
Crowley's reaction, I think, is not surprise about the relationship itself, but about how their relationship is being perceived. It's putting a name to something that has had to remain nameless or been outright denied as even existing. He falls back on denial—"it's not like that"—but he realizes that it is, in fact, like that. It's him facing the fact that a relationship that has never been defined is being perceived by others and that's something that is now relatively safe. This quite obviously becomes something he embraces as he realizes that he and Aziraphale can be together, openly, as whatever they want to be. There's nothing to be afraid of anymore.
(I think it very indicative that the next scene involves Crowley confessing that he's been worried about Gabriel/Jim "waking up" and smiting him. It's a repeat, in its own way, of Aziraphale's initial conversation with Jim and is expressive of the last fear that Crowley has: that someone will see what he is and destroy him for it. And it's one that's put to rest by the next scene between him and Jim.)
Aziraphale hasn't made that move yet, at least not in the same way. He is still, essentially, closeted, because he perceives their relationship as still being dangerous. In the very first episode of Season 2, he responds to Jim's question about needing to be close to one particular person in a series of microexpressions (thank you, Michael Sheen) that indicate, yeah, he knows exactly what Jim is talking about. But he immediately denies it and draws away, saying that he has "no idea what that feels like." Of course he knows, but Jim might very well be Gabriel, a representative of the organization that will destroy him and Crowley if they are found out (outed). He can't admit that feeling openly, though he knows he has it, and he's likely known for a very long time.
The entire act of concealing Gabriel is a queer act: they are choosing to protect someone who is hiding from powerful entities because, as we learn, he has fallen for someone else he's not supposed to love and defied Heaven. Aziraphale's bookshop becomes a safe haven for persecuted beings, but Aziraphale himself doesn't feel safe about his own relationship.
Crowley finally feels safe enough, through his conversations with Maggie and Nina and through the example of Gabriel and Beelzebub, to speak his feelings and try to put a name to what exists between them that they've spent their existences pretending wasn't there. Aziraphale doesn't yet. He thinks he finds a solution with returning to Heaven, to literally go back into the organization that would have destroyed him for his relationship—literally enforced social conformity that nonetheless would be safe.
Although it is safer now, in 2023, to be openly queer than it was in 1941, it is still dangerous. There is still the threat hanging over people that how they are perceived will harm them, that the discovery of their relationships and their identities will be used against them, even by those who seem to be innocent or their friends. It's as much about fear as anything else. Crowley and Aziraphale cannot be together openly in part because they are still afraid of what could happen to them if they are. They not only know what Heaven and Hell can do to them, but what was done to queer people over the course of centuries. They were there.
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
Beyond The Spiderverse theory time, and I hope no one gets mad at me about this but...
...I do believe there is a big possibility that Peter B. Parker is going to die, and this will involve Miguel's breaking point which will push him to go against Spots.
I have this theory stuck in my head when seeing how isolated not only from the main Spidersociety team Peter is, but also how he feels let go of his spider-man apprentice and didn't support him against Miguel.
This is obviously because Peter was in crossfire which involved Miguel, a man is suspected he has knows for over a year and HELPED him through the grief of losing his daughter, even when Miguel seems to just brush Peter aside, Peter is familiar with Miguel, even more so than Jess, and then there is Miles who now feels betrayed by his one and only teacher, someone he saw as a role model even when depressed due to a divorce.
Also this could play as Peter not being the only spiderperson in his universe anymore, Mayday is already stated to be a spiderling in development and she will need a Uncle Ben situation to rise. Even if she is young, carrying the weight of her father's legacy might cement this.
Now, returning to the complexity of Miguel and Peter situation here. They are friends, maybe is not evident in the superficial sense when watching the movie for first time, as it seems one-sided because Miguel is distant and cold, but there is familiarity and friendship there.
I mean, Peter was there when Miguel lost his daughter Gabriella, just behind him, and I do believe is not a coincidence the animators did this. Miguel shock and sorrow is palpable , and I wonder what happened then? Afterwards? Who carried battered Miguel to 2099 after he lost the people he loved the most?
As well, Miguel seems distant and tries to isolate himself plenty, but Peter does not care about this, which is not the same as not noticing it. He DOES NOTICE, but there is a deeper layer of something unspoked regarding to what happened that day, because it changed everything.
As well, even when Peter is pushy, Miguel does not push him away, still Miguel, in all his deoression, hurts him while showing Miles the canon events of each one of them. This is because Miguel wants for people to feel his hurt and pain, his sorrow and his depression, and he becomes violent and desperated if no one listen to him, he becomes abusive and destructive against him and also against others. This could be the reason he has nearly no body movements while Mayday was crawling all over him, a symbolism of him not wanting to taint the kid which in some sense symbolices Peter's care, future and parenthood.
And I do believe Peter knows this, for his body language, he does not respond negatively againts Miguel's snarky comments and angry behaviors, he goes and shows him pics of Mayday and even allows the girl to crawls over Miguel, to which the latest says nothing, and Miguel only repriments him but does not push Peter away, because he is desesperate to help the best he can to people he feels need it the most. This seems unchanged until...
"Not you, I had the right amount of you"
I watched that scene several times to pinpoint if Miguel's face is out of annoyance or out of regret to what he is gonna do/say against Peter. Miguel's microexpressions are fantastic during the movie as it shows a lot of emotions even more than other characters around him.
I do believe, maybe I want to believe, is both, annoyance over Peter complete lack of common sense, but also knowing and regreting he will need to push away a good friend, as this friend seems not to realize how high the stakes are and also, his parental skills are seriosly something to be questioned. But the scene plays as if Miguel truly hates what he has to do, just how he said in his own intro.
"Some times I don't like what I have to do"
So, now we knows Peter is going to be in the final movie and he is also bringinf Mayday with him, and I doubt he will be out of the very final fight against Spots, and I think for Miguel is going to be extremely difficult to turn around when his friend is in danger, or when his daughter is.
If it happens, as well, I do not think it will be a quixk dead, I think is going to hurt. Peter might say things to both Miles and Miguel, maybe he will ask Miguel to take Mayday with him to safety, because is important to him, is his daughter and the future of his whole dimension.
For Miles, Peter B. is already an stablished character who is seems as a mentor and parental figure, while for Miguel, Peter is EVERYTHING he would have wanted to do, in some sense he is proud of Peter for having the life himself will never have, and in a more negative and dark side, Miguel might have wished some times for a future where Peter might go away and disappear, for all the pain and sorrow he still experiences due to Gabriella's death.
And if Peter dies, maybe in front of Miguel, or be in front of everyone, Miguel might felt such regret he will snap, regretting not having been ways more careful for what he wished for.
EDIT: As well, is important to realize that Peter B. arc as a mentor and teacher to Miles is already over, Miles choose his path as his own Spider-Man, and Peter does not need to mentor him through it. Miles will be fine without Peter, but I do believe Miguel needs to realize that pushing away his friends and also a posibility of found family is just diving into grief and depression, a self-destructive behaviour as strong as to accept Canon events as facts, is unfair to life itself. And what is more unfair than the sunshine of a man who is Peter, with a little girl and happy wife, with a bright future in front of him, dying when protecting the innocents?
#peter b parker#miguel o'hara#atsv theory#atsv#across the spiderverse spoilers#across the spider verse#spiderman across the spiderverse#spidervers theory#spiderverse#miles morales#mytheory#beyond the spiderverse
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
A post by Stopworkplacebullies that reads:
Signs of a High Soul Vibration:
1. Animals feel safe in your presence.
2. People stare at you in public.
3. Random strangers love to come to you and tell you their stories.
4. You can feel energy shift when you enter a room.
5. You irritate toxic people just by being you.
*sigh* Okay, sorry to be That Guy, but this is the kind of stuff I call out in the "High Vibe" community because it lends itself to toxic positivity, toxic spirituality, spiritual ableism, and creates blind spots. I generally do not agree with what people say is "High Vibe" and feel like it can cause issues in perception and further blinds us to seeing problems within our circles or ourselves. Let's break it down.
(Disclaimer: I'm a spiritual person, whatever that even means anymore. My spiritual practice is a really important part of my daily routine and how I process trauma and life in general. It's a creative mode of knowing that helps me make sense of the overwhelming and traumatic world we live in and to cultivate hope. So I'm coming from a place of being in these communities for a long time and seeing these problems first hand.)
1. "Animals feel safe in your presence." This isn't a sign of being "High Vibe". My bullies and emotionally unhealthy family members are generally good with animals. Most of them know how to respect animals' boundaries and some even do animal rescue! They have BIG hearts for animals. But they still abused me and traumatized me. They'll take care of a sick animal but if I'm having a chronic illness flareup, I get emotionally abused, gaslit, and neglected. So we can't measure "vibration" or "being a good person" this way at all.
2. "People stare at you in public." People stare at me because I'm unusual. I move weird, dress weird, interact weird. This doesn't make me "High Vibe." Also sometimes people just stare, it's different across cultures. I don't know what it means nor do I care. "People stare at me bc I'm high vibe" also just sounds, Idk? Eew?
3. "Random strangers love to come to you and tell you their stories." Having worked retail for many years, I can tell you this has nothing to do with high vibe because again, even my abusers have this effect on people. I don't know why customers treated me ringing them up like therapy sessions. Maybe they were just lonely or hurting and I felt safe to them. I don't think this makes me "High Vibe." And yeah, I'm gonna keep putting that in quotations.
4. "You can feel energy shift when you enter a room." I am very sensitive to energy and can often "feel" someone else's anxiety like sandpaper against my skin. But I'm also a neurodivergent trauma survivor whose nervous system was wired to read people for signs of danger. The "energy shift" that I feel is usually my CPTSD responding to microexpressions/posture/etc.
5. "You irritate toxic people just by being you." I mean, yeah, I irritate my bullies just by being me because they're incredibly insecure and self-centered people. But I also irritate NONtoxic, cool people, probably just because I'm ND and don't always read social cues. I also get irritated by awesome people who I actually like because I have a lot of random triggers, but I work hard to keep it internal to work out on my own because it's my problem, not theirs. This doesn't necessarily make me toxic, nor does it always make everyone who gets irritated by me toxic.
It's fine if "High Vibe" stuff resonates with you, but just be sure it doesn't cut you off from compassion or from doing self-investigation.
48 notes
·
View notes
Text
A rare personal vent time in this time and age lmao
Feels like im boiling up, put on small simmer but it's been going on for months. I'm trying to do the sensible adult thing and vent less online, especially when, now I 1) have come to realise how stressful it is to be on the receiving end and 2) I don't have proper "anonymous" channel to just yell my stuff into void. I've been on sites too long, know too many people I don't want to cause stress to, etc.
I do think it's healthier to not vent online and I do go to therapy but it's also different sensation to complain online and be excactly as pitiful and meme-brained as you need to while doing it, versus talking to 60y old nice lady once a month desperately trying to come up with scenarios she would understand without needing to explain 5 levels of current brainrot. And also just the feel of sharing your pain with bigger audience, even if that audience is anonymous silent users who don't care.
But I'm super tired and stressed all the time. I can barely sleep without anxiety medication and when I manage to sleep it takes ages to wake up. I have things I should do and know I need to do, but first time ever in my life I'm just too tired to even attempt to do them. Can't muster the energy to fill a simple form. Like my tiredness overwrote my anxiety of needing to do stuff? That is very new. I disappear from online spaces, I don't feel joy anymore, just fleeting moments of Not Feeling Anxious. Even normal friend gathetings I usually enjoy are now more or less overwritten by anxiety of Wait Do Everyone Hate Me Actually? and I Am Reading Everyone's Microexpressions To Determine If They Are Happy Or Not. and that's not fair or cool for me nor them. I'd say panic attacks are new but actually I'm just now connecting dots with them.
And yeah I know it's depression I know!! I used to have it!! For years!! And then I was better for some 5 years and it came back and feels more crushing this time because now I know how life is supposed to feel like. I guess for the positives I can now recognise when Bad Thoughts are just brain being stupid and not reality, but it makes it no less annoying.
#me tag#it's nothing bad just my depression is back and that sucks#and i sometimes miss yelling stuff online#it's not a good practise but listen. listen#it just feels nice sometimes
1 note
·
View note
Text
( this chapter’s gif by @ransomflanagan from this beautiful set ! )
✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 5/?
summary: your plan goes to asbolute shit.
pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader
tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn
word count: 9k, please pray for my fingers
a/n: there’s action, there’s gunshot wounds, there’s canon appropriate violence! this one has a lot of plot, a lot of action, and i truly want to sleep for seven days after writing this. you should listen to the glass cannon’s club playlist while you read, though, for vibez.
( PREVIOUSLY | AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT )
You do have a plan.
Maybe it’s a little vague, a little messy, and a little up-in-the-air, but it’s a plan.
Get in, find Kiwi, avoid a handful of unsavory characters, and access the Alexandria Library.
Getting the hell out The Glass Cannon once you and Bucky were in was going to be a whole different plan entirely — one that was more improv than anything else. Hopefully, running a quick facial recognition program wouldn’t take long. With any luck, it would get a hit on any more recent aliases Innessa Sidrova was using after parsing the motherload of information Kiwi held onto with her life.
Kiwi wasn’t always known as Kiwi. She worked at SHIELD, like you, and back then she was known as Suji Awal. She stuck around longer — and she’d stayed on board during the active collapse to do heaven-sent work. It was an absolute Hail Mary, but while HYDRA had tried to purge all of SHIELD’s cloud data to protect their active agents and decades of progress, Suji had beat the hare in the race. Two steps ahead, she’d managed to pull nearly 97% of all confidential data including mission reports, agent profiles, and even electronic correspondence. While the metaphorical fire burned the documents behind her, she’d managed to salvage one of the only surviving, comprehensive looks at SHIELD before the curtain was pulled back to reveal HYDRA’s infection.
It had been used to try multiple HYDRA agents in the wake of it all in the federal courts. It was significant evidence, but after nearly all was reaped from the crop, Suji had taken the aptly named Alexandria Library and gone underground. Now, Kiwi was just another hacker in the thick of it and the Alexandria files were all but whispers.
It’s all about knowing the right people in the end.
Kiwi was a regular at The Glass Cannon. There was a nine out of ten chance you’d find her there. And if you didn’t find Kiwi, you’d probably find Climber and… Well, going to him wasn’t the most ideal situation, but out of the menagerie of acquaintances you’d gathered up throughout the years, you could trust Climber. He’d send you Kiwi’s way if you finally called in that favor he owed you. Either way, you’d find her and you’d get the files.
You just needed to avoid Alexei Gardzov.
Easy. Ish.
In truth, you barely get anything done Thursday — you’re too preoccupied in your head, running over the so-called plan even now as you fold laundry in the basement of your apartment complex.
You’d dug around in your closet, trying to find some semblance of an outfit. It was difficult. It wasn’t like the barely-there dresses and platform shoes were your thing anymore. Back then, your diet was mostly energy drinks and alcohol — in a way, it’s a relief to find that a good number of your staple outfits no longer fit. It made you feel like you really had put all this behind you.
You have.
Sure, it was the Rabbit you were going to have to be for tonight, but you’re not the Rabbit you were eight years ago. Good thing, too. You’re not too sure you and Bucky would have gotten along otherwise. Right now, your relationship with him was the biggest thing keeping you afloat — for the first time in a long time, you feel like you have some sort of purpose, even if it was a vague one at best.
You knew Innessa Sidrova was a threat — and you knew Bucky had to remedy that threat. You knew he felt responsible for creating her, for planting her in a position of power where she could manipulate and control. In truth, there was still a lot of vagueness surrounding his past. He’d made it clear he hasn’t been himself for a long time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wade through the muck of his trauma to pluck out your answers. It just felt wrong.
If you were to say you hadn’t been tempted to go out on your own and dig, that’d be a lie.
Even now, as you pull out the ink-black top from the dryer and fold it neatly on top of the other pieces of laundry needed for tonight, you can feel it sparking like a lighter in the back of your head.
He was keeping something from you.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
You nearly jump six feet in the air.
It’s Miss Bonnie — and she’s laughing when her feet touch the cold concrete of the unfinished floor. Her basket of laundry is balanced neatly on her hip, and she walks with a smirk on her face. Her hair is piled neatly on top of her head, and as she bends to plop the basket down, she offers a wink.
“I could hear you thinking from upstairs,” she ruminates, paisley and dyed skirts kissing the ground, “Like a little steam engine.”
You laugh quietly into your task. You duck your head and heft a black bra and jeans from the dryer. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
She looks up, eyes moving carefully from the laundry pile to your face. Her eyes glimmer with quiet curiosity. “And a big night planned, huh?”
You snort. “What was the giveaway?”
“It’s always the lacey bras,” she chirps and slides a smirk your way as she waggles a finger at your pile, “And the strappy little bodysuit was a good hint, too.”
You exhale with a laugh, bracing a hand against the dryer. She’s not wrong — you’d really forgone comfort with this outfit lineup. It was temporary, though, and well worth the efforts if it meant helping Bucky tick off a name from his list of amends. You knew how much those meant to him.
“So,” she continues, voice muddled as she continues to load the washer, “I take it this friend of yours is really helping you out of your shell?”
“I guess so. Yeah. It’s — It’s sort of a mutual shell-cracking, I guess.”
“Mm,” a hum, “You sound troubled, though.”
Your mouth opens as your fingers trace the line of the bodysuit. You pause, and you rock back on your heels. Miss Bonnie notices.
She waits patiently, bent at the knees.
“You ever just…” you wave your hand, “Feel like — I don’t know. He’s my friend. My best friend, honestly, and that’s… Really saying a lot. But, there’s stuff under the surface and I know it’s not my business but…”
Out comes a strangled groan.
“What? Like a crazy ex-girlfriend?”
“No, no — I don’t think so,” you mutter, “Wouldn’t surprise me, though.”
“Handsome?” she asks, smiling.
You close your eyes and ignore the smile on your face as you reply. “Yea, handsome.”
“Well, have you tried asking?” she shrugs as she stands, “Not about the crazy ex, but about the stuff you’re worried about? It never hurts.”
“Problem is, I don’t really think it’s too much of my business.”
Miss Bonnie hums at that and presses the start on her washer. She’s quiet for a bit, swaying slightly as she weighs the conversation and you watch — enamored with the older woman’s calm wisdom. She gestures openly with ringed hands.
“I think it’s normal for us to want to know everything about those we care about,” she says, “We want to know how we can protect them, how we can comfort them. But… it comes in due time. All of it does. You’ll find a time when he does open up about the ex, or whatever it is on his mind. You’re friends, after all.”
You’re nodding, chest tight with thanks.
Miss Bonnie’s face is soft.
“You got a picture?” she chirps like a bird looking for a worm, “I wanna see who this little friend is. And if he really is as handsome as you’re suggesting...”
You scoff and lean to dig out your phone.
“Cut it out,” you mumble as she moves closer, “No playing matchmaker.”
“Sure, sure,” she waves, leaning to watch as you scroll through your camera roll.
The only photo you have of Bucky is there from Tuesday night — after he’d housed nearly an entire container of noodles and promptly passed out during the third Lord of the Rings movie. You’d woken up around one in the morning to find that Poke had unceremoniously curled up on top of the supersoldier’s chest. Bucky’s hand was still in the calico’s fur as he dozed, the colors of the TV painting his face all sorts of peaceful. You’d taken the photo, shoving it in his face after gently nudging him awake.
He’s laughed.
You gesture to show Miss Bonnie.
Like ice, she freezes.
You notice a microexpression dart across her face, but it’s gone in an instant. You can’t pin it, but the way she bends to pull the phone closer and zoom in on her face comes off as interest. You blink, label it as shock, and move on.
Her voice sounds different.
“Handsome,” she mumbles plainly, preoccupied with the sight, “I get it now. What’s his name?”
“Bucky,” you say as she hands the phone back, “He’s… He’s a good person.”
Miss Bonnie just nods.
You tuck your phone away and plop your laundry into your basket. Ignoring the sudden quiet that had crept between you both, you haul up the stack and offer her a gentle smile. She’s fiddling with the washer’s timer.
“Thank you, Miss Bonnie.”
“Of course,” she rushes out, smiling gently, “And be safe tonight.”
“I will.”
With your promise, you ascend the stairs.
In that basement, Bonnie McLayne is no more, and instead, Innessa Sidrova remembers that night in Moscow, back in 1975.
She remembers the Winter Soldier.
◦ ◦ ◦ ◦
Bucky calls you three times with no answer.
Normally, he’d just give up — but it was Thursday, and you weren’t answering the buzzer to your apartment either. He tries his best to ignore the strike of panic that sparks in his chest. It could stoke a wildfire, really, but he pushes it down and remembers to breathe. He doesn’t let himself think about what he’d do if something happened to you.
After all, you’re probably fine. Sleeping, maybe. The both of you had a long night ahead.
(Longer than either of you realize, really.)
It’s nearly seven o’clock, and after trying your cell one more time from his perch on your apartment’s stoop, Bucky decides to say fuck it.
A well-adjusted person might frown upon what he was about to do, but Bucky wasn’t exactly well-adjusted, now was he?
He rounds the back alley with long strides and easily finds that, with a little maneuvering, he can hoist himself upwards on top of the nearest dumpster. With a well-timed hop, he can also snag the bottom of the fire escape’s ladder and haul it downwards. The rest is easy, and he’s scaling the fire escape to the third floor with ease before he even knows it.
There’s even a smug little smirk on his face the whole time he does.
Finding your window is a little harder, but Bucky eventually spots Poke’s round little body smushed against the glass — it’s a dead giveaway, and after some prowling, he finds the window to your living room and unceremoniously throws it open.
It’s unlocked, for whatever reason, and he makes a mental note to have a conversation with you about safety and security in the city. After all, you never knew when an ex-assassin supersoldier was going to break in and pet your cat.
Upon opening the window, he pieces together pretty quickly why you’re not answering. Could be the music coming from your bedroom, or even the singing that’s coupled alongside it. From the bathroom across the hall from your room, steam has settled above on the ceiling. The whole apartment smells like fruit and soap and perfume and Bucky’s not really sure how to parse through all the sensory experiences that greet him with he shimmies in through the window, legs first.
All in all, they make him smile.
Bucky shuts the window behind him as he’s quickly greeted by Poke — the calico offers a gratuitous little chirp when Bucky bends to scoop up the cat. Easily, he melts. Poke is purring loudly in his ear as Bucky takes a moment to survey your apartment a little bit closer. Mr. Poke Bowl rubs his face against Bucky’s stubble as the man weaves through the kitchen.
It’s very you.
He isn’t really sure what that means at the end of the day, but all he knows is that he feels at home here. He feels safe. He feels comfortable. He feels like he can be himself. Not James, not Sergeant Barnes, not The Winter Soldier. Not even Steve’s Bucky, but just… his Bucky. Himself. Sarcastic and exhausted and a little cynical.
Bucky lets Poke down on the counter and moves to the fridge.
There’s still beer from the other night in there, tucked in the back, so he makes easy work on popping open a bottle and busying himself with petting a very adamant Poke.
As he sips the Leinenkugel, it’s no small coincidence that his phone buzzes again — for what feels like the hundredth time today — with a message from Janelle.
She was nice — pretty, too. Once upon a time, she would have been his type.
That was before he met you, though.
There’s a little pinprick of mortification at that quiet confession that’s been slipping into his heart more and more in the last few days. You are, after all, his best friend. He’s your best friend. Guilt swims with the feelings that have begun to pluck his heartstrings and he has to admit he’s not too comfortable with the song they play.
His biggest fear is fucking this up.
Fucking you up.
Honestly, his track record isn’t great. The whole defrosted-international-threat bit made it a little difficult to date. Janelle seemed to think the date had gone well enough, though, hence the handful of texts he’d been getting every few hours asking if he’s free.
Like usual, he ignores them.
Exercising his own free will is hard sometimes. Especially when it comes to saying no.
Taking another swig of the beer, Bucky shoves his phone back into his pocket and tucks his fingers back into Poke’s fur. The calico’s tail swings patiently as he sits and watches — and it’s a little weird how human his eyes are for a second there. He mmrrps and lunges for Bucky’s hand when he comes close, bonking his head eagerly against the cool vibranium.
It’s a different sensation.
That’s another big adjustment — learning how things really feel with this new arm. It’s not just handling recoil or gripping knives or throwing punches. It’s the soft tickle of fur, the gentle pressure of a warm rag to clean the joints. Meticulous upkeep wasn’t something HYDRA did often. He doesn’t miss the twinge of pain and molasses-like stickiness that came with a dirty arm. Blood was the worst. Always sat deep in the cracks.
He flexes his fingers. Poke meows again.
He moves to plop down on the couch. Poke follows.
You’re singing, still, to some song that Bucky’s never heard, when you push open your bedroom door and move towards the living room.
You jump six feet in the air and scream when you see him just sitting there, clutching a beer and petting Poke like he fucking lives here rent-free.
Bucky’s reaction is muted, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with your outfit and your jewelry and the pink eye shadow that creeps up your brow-bone. There’s glitter on your eyelids and lip gloss on your mouth and he can smell some sort of candy-sweet perfume coming off you. The plunging neckline of the jet-black top is enough to leave him shifting his gaze back up to your startled expression with a tight jaw.
His face is blank.
Then he offers that stupid fucking smile he does. Y’know, the tight-lipped one where he somehow maintains a dead-eyed look the whole time. If you weren’t trying to calm your racing heartbeat, you might have laughed. You hate the white-hot flare it sparks in your chest.
“How the fuck did you get in here?” you hiss, waving your hands.
“We need to have a serious conversation about locking our windows,” he says as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table and wags a finger at you, “Also, what are you wearing?”
“You — You fucking broke in through my window?”
“Yea, well, you were too busy pretending to be Britney Spears to hear me try and buzz up, and my phone calls.”
Sheepishly, you cross your arms. “Nice reference—”
A shrug from Bucky. “Thank you.”
“—Also, what are you wearing?”
He looks down at his usual t-shirt, leather jacket combo. He squints back up at you.
“I’m sorry,” he chirps, “You’re talking to me? Did the department store run out of fabric, Rabbit?”
You self-consciously adjust the plunging neckline of the bodysuit as you frown deeply. “I think I’m gonna skip on the fashion advice from the man who lived in a time where ankles were seen as scandalous.”
“I was born in 1917,” he mumbles as he stands, actively avoiding another pass over your outfit because as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad look on you, “Not 1817.”
“Point being, we’re going to a club. And you look like you’re going to the local Home Depot,” you move to snag a set of dangly earrings that are sitting on the coffee table, “We’ve gotta look like we’re there to party, nothing more.”
Bucky sighs. He finishes the beer, places the bottle down and sheds his jacket. “So, what?”
You pry your eyes away from the flash of skin — his arm, flesh and blood, speaks to how strong he is. And, undoubtedly how easy it was for him to fucking scale three stories of the fire escape to bust in.
“So,” you mumble as you thread the earring in, “I have some of Jaimie’s old shirts. There’s probably something you can use… If they fit.”
Bucky exhales softly. “You kept them?”
“Didn’t have the heart to throw them out,” you reply as you gesture for him to follow you into your bedroom.
The back of your top is arguably more crisis-inducing than the front — it’s an open back, and Bucky settles on admiring the decor rather than the curve of your spine. He has to. For his own fucking self-composure.
Your bedroom is nice — and like the rest of your space, it makes him feel comfortable. It’s all warm colors and posters and plants in the corners. Across from your queen-sized bed, there’s a large desk with a triple monitor setup. That’s where the music is coming from. The little knick-knacks on your shelves and desk make him chuckle.
Then, he stops, halfway to the closet, and stares.
You blink over your shoulder as you bend, digging to the back of your closet to pull out the clear bin you’d piled most of Jaimie’s stuff into after the funeral. After you’d cleaned out his apartment on your own.
He’s looking at the poster — the one from Cap’s USO tour. It’s framed nicely, set up on the wall beside your desk. It’s got a gold frame, and Bucky can’t help but wander closer to look at the signature.
It’s Steve’s alright.
“How much did you pay for this?”
You scoff. Your necklaces tinker together. “Don’t even go there.”
“The jerk signed thousands of these,” he mumbles, crossing his arms as he leans closer, “And still, the fame didn’t go to his head.”
You smile softly, leaning back.
“Jealous?” you chirp, raising your brows as you pretend to swoon, “Oh, Sergeant Barnes, I’d just love to meet your dear friend—”
Bucky’s laughing as you swat at his knee, leaning back on the carpet like a damsel in distress.
“Shut up,” he snorts, “It’s a sore subject for me.”
“Oh my god.”
“I’m serious — do you know how many dates I had to set up for the chump? And then, boom. I’m invisible.”
“Yeah, well,” you mutter with a smile, unclicking the lid, “Some people just like blondes, Buck. I’m sure there were plenty of eyes on you. Stop being so dramatic.”
“Yea, the best friend, sure,” he mumbles at the poster, “Hell, he was taller than me. You know you don’t need to lie to me—”
“Listen, if I was some Lauren Bacall-looking nurse back then,” you wave your hands, “I’d have gone for you. Alright? Stop lamenting and get over here.”
He goes quiet and ignores the warmth in his cheeks. He squats by your side. “Shut up.”
“We seriously need to work on taking compliments,” you groan, throwing your head back, “I’m being serious, y’know, for once. And I’m not just saying it as your friend. You’re handsome and everyone knows it except you, apparently. My neighbor agrees that’s for sure.”
He squints.
You wave it off and gesture to your outfit. “She saw me doing laundry.”
“That explains nothing,” Bucky deadpans, “Literally nothing.”
“I showed her a picture,” you cry indignantly, moving to shuffle through some of the old t-shirts sitting on top of the bin, “Relax.”
He moves to plop down, crossing his legs beneath him. He decides to let the topic die — again, for his own self-composure more than anything. The compliment, though vehemently denied by the worst part of him, is tucked neatly in the homes of his heart. The idea of meeting you, before now, is a little intoxicating. What would it have been like?
Would you have even spared him a dance?
Bucky rubs his cheek. Poke meows and buts the door open with his head.
You’re wrist-deep in the bin when you speak. “He’s obsessed with you, y’know.”
Poke has already taken up a post in Bucky’s lap. Bucky smiles, petting Poke gently with his vibranium hand. The cat seems to like the cool metal. Bucky mumbles softly down to the calico, scritching his cheeks. “I like him, too.”
You pause long enough to try and remember the sight.
Bucky’s eyes find yours, and you’re quick to turn back to the bin.
“Here we go,” you exhale as you pull out the shirt you’d been looking for.
It’s a long-sleeve button-down, one that you can distinctly remember Jaimie wearing to his engagement party’s after-party — a real typical night of Jaimie being Jaimie. It’s black with a barely-there red floral pattern. It’s flashy enough that Bucky won’t look horribly out of place.
The only problem is Jaimie was a little smaller than Bucky.
“Try this on,” you mumble as you dig around trying to find something else in case it doesn’t do the trick.
Bucky catches the silk shirt and gives it a once over. He raises an eyebrow, and deciding against debating this, he simply nudges Poke off his lap and stands.
He moves to your bed, laying the shirt out. On your closet door is a full-length mirror. You want to snap it in half when you accidentally catch a glimpse of Bucky hauling off his black, cotton t-shirt and anxiously fumbling with the buttons on Jaimie’s old shirt. You have to breathe — and remind yourself that that’s Bucky.
Your Bucky. Your best friend Bucky.
When he calls your name, it sounds far away. You’re busy angrily sorting through old clothes.
“I look ridiculous.”
When you turn around, the first thing you notice is that it’s a little tight. Not in a bad way, but the buttons are gapping along his chest, and it’s tight around his arms.
Your eyes widen a little and you swallow. You tilt your head.
Bucky’s frowning.
“Let me see,” you offer gently, standing and moving close, “It’s not that bad.”
“You don’t sound too sure right now,” he mumbles as you enter his personal space.
You’re nimble with undoing the top three buttons — it gives him enough room to move his shoulders, though, and the dip of the shirt along his sternum brings dog tags into view. You reach, momentarily entranced, and read them to yourself.
You smell like vanilla and sugar.
Bucky shifts in his boots.
“Y’know,” you say, moving to the sleeves, “I think this works.”
You roll the sleeves, stopping at his forearm.
When you step aside, Bucky can see himself in the full-length mirror. He looks less than enthused.
It’s not an entirely bad look — he’ll admit that much — but he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s too much chest and skin and… Christ, this shirt is tight. He does, though, look like some of those trendy folks he sees at Izzy’s bar every now and again. Hipsters.
“I look like a douchebag.”
“That’s the point,” you chirp as you close the box and shove it back into your closet, “Now the outfit matches the personality.”
He swats at your head on the way by. You laugh.
You’ve got boots in your hand, and you land on the bed with a bounce. Bucky is busy fixing his hair in the mirror while you zip up the thigh-high boots. When he turns around, you’re about three inches taller. He blinks, yet again entranced by the outfit.
Then, you’re muscling on the jacket.
It’s neon pink — and shaggy and cropped. It falls just above your waist and swallows you whole. But, Bucky’s attention is mostly on the back.
There’s a large, white embroidered Playboy bunny there, with RABBIT written across the shoulders in a chunky, blackletter typeface.
His brows are high on his face when you turn around.
You freeze.
“...What?” you ask, “Something on my face?”
“Playboy bunny, huh?”
You could smack him. “Weren’t you busy being a frozen dinner when Playboy came out?”
“I’ll have you know,” he says tightly as he follows you out of your bedroom and to the living room, “The Russians enjoyed their fair share of editions.”
“The Russians? Sure, what’s that saying? There’s no sex in the USSR?” you chide, “You can just say Bucky Barnesenjoyed his fair share—”
The tips of his ears are red. You notice. It makes you split into a grin that worsens the pink shade that’s crawling up his neck.
He coughs. “Have you ever considered never opening your mouth again, Rabbit?”
You nudge his arm. “Nah. Bothering you is more fun.”
He shrugs on his jacket, sighs, and decides that keeping quiet is just easier.
However, that’s not entirely your plan — and you speak quickly as you pull your purse over your shoulder. You’re rummaging quietly, stacking your wallet and phone inside. You glance up at him.
“You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” he mumbles, bending to pat Poke one last time as you move to the door of your bedroom. He watches you flick all the lights off, and before you leave, you double check the calico’s food and water. He’s got enough for a few days. Bucky leans against the door frame, “Care to run me through the plan?”
Nodding, you move to open your front door.
“It’ll be easy,” you explain as you make room for him, “If we play our cards right—”
Bucky’s stopped, though, and is digging in his back pocket as his cell phone rings. You watch him exhale tightly, eyes on the screen the entire time he squeezes by you and starts down the hall. You make careful note of the delicate scowl on his face, only before you catch Miss Bonnie out of the corner of her eye.
Her door is half-cracked across the hall, and she’s watching.
She offers you a smile.
Bucky keeps walking.
You wave, lock your door, and jog to catch up to Bucky.
“Hey,” you call, “Earth to Mr. Claw Machine?”
His head snaps up. “Sorry.”
“Who was that?” you ask carefully, nudging his arm with yours, “Falcon?”
“I wish,” he mutters as he muscles the cellphone back into his pocket, “I wouldn’t feel so bad sending him to voicemail.”
“Yeesh,” you wince, “Lemme guess, was it the owner of the coral lipstick that was all over your face on Tuesday night?”
Again, that temptation to feel jealousy flares up in your heart. But, he’s here, isn’t he? With you. Ignoring her calls. And probably texts judging by the guilty look that’s on his face. You feel a little bad — but at the same time, Bucky’s a grown man. Maybe a grown man who needs to create some more transparent lines of communication with the poor woman, but still.
“Bingo. I mean — it’s not that she wasn’t great an’ all but…”
You raise both hands. “I’m not judging.”
He sighs raggedly as he bounces down the apartment’s stairs. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
“What?” you ask with a laugh, “Dating? Yea, it’s pretty fucking terrifying, Buck.”
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
You hold the door open for him and slide him a pitying look.
“Because I am.”
The walk to The Glass Cannon is spent walking Bucky through the plan — and for the most part, he makes a point of nodding along and listening. His only real anxiety pops up at the mention of Alexei, which is relatable to say the least.
It’s dark, the streets are relatively quiet, and the spring chill has pricked your skin. Your heels click against the pavement, and you stalk along. Shoving your hands in your pockets of the pink, shag jacket, you huff.
You’re starting to feel the anxiety.
Fifteen minutes later, you’re both approaching the blue glow of the storefront.
Computers & Stuff was a family-owned and operated computer shop from the 90s that was taken over by a lesser-known hand of the Russian crime family in New York, the Gardzovs. Alexei’s father is the formal owner of the shop, and his son runs the lucrative activities of the underground club that lay beneath the graphics cards and motherboards.
Bucky, as you both near the entrance, speaks quickly. “Anything else I need to know?”
“Just follow my lead, okay?” you whisper.
The bell above the door dings when you pull open the glass door.
The lighting is sterile and if you’re real quiet, you can hear the dull hum of the fluorescents. The store is empty, save for one man behind the register.
You almost duck out the entrance at the sight of him.
Igor has been a bouncer at The Glass Cannon for as long as you’ve been a patron — and he’s also one of Alexei’s dogs. This part of the plan was something you’d considered only briefly, and for a second, you’re thankful you worried over the million and ten ways this would play out for days.
“Well, if it isn’t the little bunny.”
It’s said with malice. Igor’s tattooed hands land on the counter as he leans.
You, however, hold your head high. Bucky watches as something changes in your posture.
“Good to see you, Igor.”
“Is it?” he growls, stalking around the counter and quickly encroaching on your personal space, “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not welcome here, bunny.”
Bucky gets a good look at the man now — clearly an enforcer. He’s got prison tattoos, a shaved head. The long beard is a weak spot. Doesn’t seem to be armed. Blue eyes flick to you and the way you don’t even flinch when the man leans to breathe right in your face.
You just smile.
“I thought you’d say that,” you mumble, moving to swing your bag to the front and dig your wallet out, “But, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”
Suddenly, there’s a hundred-dollar bill slipping from your well-manicured nails into the vest pocket of the bouncer. There’s a tense pause, then, while the two of you size one another up.
“Fucking your way through college paid off, huh?” he hisses.
You stay quiet.
Bucky, though, moves between you both with a quick shove. Immediately, Igor’s attention goes to Bucky as he sizes him up — he laughs. His nose is nearly touching Bucky’s.
“What’s wrong, pretty boy?”
“You should watch your mouth,” Bucky says evenly, “Or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”
You’re careful to hide your expression; the feeling the words stir isn’t one that you’re happy about. This sudden protectiveness, though, makes you feel some sort of invincible.
Igor settles back on his heels.
He steps back.
He gestures to the back room with his head.
You keep walking when he calls out: “Careful, bunny, the dogs are going to be looking for you.”
You grit your teeth tightly and push through the fabric curtain.
He barks, taunting you.
Bucky is by your side in an instant, gaze still rooted over his shoulder at the hulking bouncer. He waits until you’ve settled down until you’ve said his name. His eyes fall to you, then to the stairwell before them.
Above it, in curled neon tubing, reads The Glass Cannon.
The windows are blacked out, but from his spot at the top of the stairs, Bucky can feel the rattle of a deep bass vibrate his ribs.
“Come on. We’re on a time crunch now.”
“Alexei?”
You nod as you lead the way down the stairs. “Word travels fast. We need to be quicker. Stick to the crowds. Remember, we just need to find Kiwi — then we bail.”
Bucky nods tensely.
Then, you open the doors.
Immediately, his eyes adjust to the darkness — neon and strobes and the pulse of purple and pink LEDs make his vision swim. It’s warmer down here, and the stairs leading down into the sub-basement is lined with people sipping drinks and chattering over the loud music. It smells like piss and beer and tobacco.
Again, Bucky watches as the person he knows melts away.
The Rabbit in front of him is different.
You reach, as if on reflex, for his hand.
When you turn around and flash him a smile, he has to swallow down a sudden rise of sheepishness.
The sea of people part around you, and Bucky realizes quickly that people recognize you. He can see their painted lips moving, muttering things into curious ears about the pink-clad woman in front of him; there are smiles there and frowns, and shock. You’re slow in your descent, making a show of the arrival — all while Bucky begins to piece together that The Glass Cannon is larger than he originally suspected.
As they near the bottom of the landing, he can see out across the floor.
There’s a square-shaped catwalk around the dance floor, laden with dancers on their designated poles. Tables line the outside of the cavernous room, and the bars along each wall are crowded — even still, these glimpses of his surroundings come in temporary flashes of light. The music coming from the center of the dancefloor is loud. The entirety of the scene is raucous.
He can’t imagine you finding solace here.
He tightens his grip on your hand. You squeeze back.
When both of you reach the bottom of the stairwell, the sea of people swallow you in a current of dancing and drinking and laughing, and you crawl into Bucky’s personal space to shout in his ear.
You’re still holding his hand tightly, pressed to his chest, as you lean upwards to brush your cheek with his.
“Follow me, okay?”
He nods.
You begin the methodical crawl through the dancefloor, working your way to the bar — there, you pause long enough to be served a drink that’s as pink as the glitter on your eyelids. The flecks dance in the lights, and Bucky graciously accepts a shot from the bartender who smiles sweetly like honey at you.
You bat your lashes, thank her, and stand gracefully from the barstool.
You take a pointed swig and scan the floor.
Kiwi would be in one of the private booths, you suspect — she was enough of a high roller here. But, with the crowded club bursting at the seams, it was nearly impossible to get to the other side. You sway a bit on your feet, still tightly gripping Bucky’s hand in your own. You refuse to let go.
For your sake and his.
Bucky is a silent shadow, eyes roaming the club — he watches a dancer dip down low and snag a green bill from a patron. Someone beside him laughs loud, another bumping into his backside as you continue to weave to the outer rim of the room. The music is so loud his heartbeat could be mistaken for an 808, and he feels the thrum in his bones.
If he wasn’t so overwhelmed, if he was drunk, maybe it could be fun.
Finally, out of the haze of bodies, Bucky can breathe.
You’re leaning over again, speaking quickly.
“I don’t see her.”
“I can’t see shit in here,” he calls back, eyes moving along the ridge of the room. He scans the booths set into the walls, set up on platforms, and roped off with velveteen, “Where would she be?”
“Hard to tell,” you mumble, “But I think I might need to go to Plan B.”
Bucky follows your solid stare.
In the booth directly across the floor from you, there’s a man in black — black everything, save from his hair. That’s the brightest blue Bucky has ever seen. He’s swallowed by a harem of men and women who are laughing and drinking and dancing, and he’s entertaining. Ringed fingers wave in the air, face split into a laugh so wide he swears it’s a mile long. He’s got glasses on and they’re tinted blue.
Bucky watches carefully as you move to his booth.
It’s like a prey surveying a trap — you’re careful.
Finally, when you stand before it, you let go of his hand.
“Hi there, Climber.”
The whole booth falls silent. The man stiffens, back turned to you totally. Bucky watches as his hands fall and slowly, the man you’d called Climber turns around.
His expression is stone cold.
His voice, however, is as warm as a hot poker.
“Oh my goodness, is that Rabbit?”
He ascends from the booth, platform boots leaving him to tower over you — he’s no small man, either. Bucky watches as he bends to kiss both of your cheeks and hug you tightly. He, however, doesn’t pull away entirely.
“What the fuck are you doing here,” he hisses, “You want to be roadkill?”
“I need to find Kiwi,” you whisper quickly, expression almost begging, “Please.”
He pauses, dimpled chin wavering a bit. Bucky watches him sniff, push his glasses back, and readjust his posture. Climber licks his lips and his eyes dart to Bucky. He’s thinking, Bucky realizes, and after a quick moment of deliberation, he seems to cave.
“Only because I owe you.”
“I know,” you say, raising your hands, “I know.”
In a dash, his demeanor changes once more. He’s flying over to his harem, waving his hands and blowing kisses and promising he’ll be back in a flash. They whine, they moan, but Climber appeases them with another round of jello shots from strobing syringes that a waitress is carrying by.
“Come on then,” he says, “And stop looking like such a prude.”
He begins to weave.
You follow hand returning to its spot in Bucky’s like a lifeline.
You’re sipping your drink, moving through the crowd easily. There’s a slight sway in your step now, and at one point you and Climber even get noticed by a pod of people who recognize your faces. It’s met with laughing and squealing and in the fray, the both of you slip back into the crowd. Bucky is taking it all in, desperately ignoring the tingle of a panic flaring in the back of his head.
Too many people.
Soon, though, Climber is moving towards a side entrance.
It’s a back room.
Suddenly, the dim lights and neon dissolve, and instead, Bucky is flashed in the face with the abrasive sting of fluorescent lights. It no longer reeks of spilled beer, and his boots don’t stick to the ground. No, there’s quiet chatter back here — Climber continues to lead the two of you through a maze of supply crates full of booze and soda.
Then, a right turn. And a left turn.
Someone is taking inventory.
“Kiwi, I know you’re going to hate me for this—”
The woman who turns around is beautiful. She’s in the midst of eyeing an open crate that looks just like the others but fitted with a hollowed center, marking off what looks like an inventory of burner cell phones. Her brown skin is decorated with glitter, her eyes streaked with the same green shade of her tightly shaved head. The green is bright and it reminds Bucky of summer.
Suddenly, her expression sours.
“What the fuck.”
“I know—”
“No,” she snaps, raising her hand and waving to the assistant beside her to take her tablet and make themselves scarce, “You need to get out of here.”
“I need your help,” you say finally, tone heavy.
It’s enough to make Climber sigh. Kiwi watches you, scratches her neck, and swallows.
She meets Climber’s eyes.
Then she breaks.
“Where the fuck have you been, Rabbit?” she asks, worries seeping into her eyes as she pulls you into a rough hug, “We thought you were dead.”
“No,” you shake your head, “But you know I couldn’t be around here anymore.”
“Yea,” Climber snorts, “Not good for your health, huh, love?”
“Alexei still wants your head,” Kiwi chimes in, crossing her arms, “Does he know you’re here?”
“Igor was on the door, so I’m sure he’s heard by now.”
Both of them curse.
Guilt flashes across your face as you screw your eyes shut and nod. “I know. I know, I just… I seriously need your help, Kiwi. It was worth the risk. It’s — HYDRA. I need to tap into the Alexandria Library.”
Immediately, the woman stiffens.
Her eyes flash to Bucky in the corner. He stares back.
“He waits outside.”
“You can trust him—”
“No,” she snaps, “I can’t. And I don’t. And I won’t.”
You give Bucky a pleading look. Between the two of you, a negotiation happens between your eyes. It’s a compromise, and finally, Bucky relents.
“Fine,” Bucky barks, tilting his head and giving you a tight-lipped smile, “Fine. I’ll wait out here.”
“He’s cute,” mumbles Climber as Bucky rounds the corner, long legs carrying him out of the supply room, “Boyfriend?”
“Shut up, Climber,” you mumble, waving your hand, “Just listen—”
“Who is he?” Kiwi asks, eyes still watching the doorway, “And why did you bring him along?”
You sigh, rubbing your brow. “He’s the one who’s trying to find this HYDRA agent. He knew her before.”
“So he’s HYDRA.”
“No,” you snap cooly, “He’s not.”
“So, just handsome, then?” Climber asks, hands waving, “Right. Great. Really making a case for yourself, Rabbit.”
“He’s trying to find a woman named Innessa Sidrova. She was one of the original agents who helped form the American HYDRA cell,” you explain quickly, “I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and… And he’s a good person. He’s my friend. I’m trying to help him, but I can’t do it without you. Both of you.”
Kiwi hums. She sighs. “That explains why you went MIA.”
“Aside from putting Alexei behind bars?” you scoff, “Yea, the GRC played a part in it.”
The three of you are quiet for a moment.
“Fine.”
You look up at Kiwi. Her hands are on her waist.
There’s an immense wash of relief that floods over you at that moment — and from the looks of it, Kiwi can tell. You move to grab her hand, and she grabs back. Both of you smile, and the hug that follows is warm. You’ve missed her. A lot.
“Thank you, Suji.”
Then, footsteps.
That relief is traded in for an anxious backfire of fear in an instant.
It’s slow. Dress shoes on polished cement.
Then:
“Oh, bunny, bunny, bunny. Tsk, tsk.”
Climber and Kiwi’s faces upturn to the doorway and they tell you everything you need to know.
So, you decide at that moment that you won’t be the prey tonight.
You turn around and come face-to-face with a man playing devil.
Alexei Gardzov is a handsome man — a beard and piercing grey eyes. His hair is tightly cropped, and intricate tattoos decorate every inch of his skin. Some of them are new, you realize, and there’s temporary pride that bubbles up at them. They’re from prison.
You almost smile.
Behind him, three goons loom.
“I’ve been wondering when you’d come hopping back,” he croons as he enters the room with the swagger of a man who trapped his dinner, “Well worth the wait, I think.”
His cologne hangs like smog in the air. He strolls up to you, and in a flash, he’s got your hair in a vice grip.
He yanks it back, you grit your teeth.
The barrel of a gun digs into your cheek.
“Climber, Kiwi, and Rabbit,” he sing-songs, “All in one room again like it’s NYU’s 2014 hack-a-thon. Isn’t that cute?”
Kiwi speaks. “Alexei—”
“Shut up,” he snaps, gun moving to flash towards Kiwi, “And stay out of my business, Sujina.”
The gun’s muzzle is cold. He’s rough, and you try to ignore the twinge of pain that comes with his unceremonious yank of your hair. Once more, he tsks. His breath is hot on your face. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey.
“I spent seven years behind bars,” he bites, “All because a’ you.”
“Me? I wasn’t the one trafficking girls—”
“SHUT UP!”
The pistol cracks across your cheek and the cement floor hurtles towards you. The gasp that falls from your lips is from shock; your fingers dig into the cold ground as you try to blink away the blurriness. Your ears ring. Blood drips from your cheek between your fingers.
Again, there’s a hand in your hair.
Now, the fight begins.
Climber and Kiwi are stuck, frozen in fear.
You don’t blame them, because Igor and the others have guns already drawn. One of them, one that’s young and you don’t recognize immediately, has a baseball bat in his hands.
Alexei drags you by your hair as you grimace, refusing to scream. Your heels scrape against the ground as you try to get purchase, but he’s quick to throw you back against the far wall.
“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he smiles, “I won’t kill you. Not right now.”
Then, a kick.
Right to the ribs.
You can’t breathe — you gasp earnestly at the white, hot shot of pain.
“Get up.”
You’re not listening, you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.
“I said,” comes a growl as he reaches, hand in your hair again as he drags you up the wall. Your legs buckle, and you try to hold your chin high as you stumble upwards, “Get up.”
Then, there’s a hand around your throat.
Tight. Too tight. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t get his hand off your neck, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t fucking think, can’t stand, can’t see, can’t breathe —
“Boss!”
A new voice.
The pressure is relieved for a second.
A new face has run into the room — he looks frazzled, hair askew and gun out. He’s eyeing the scene before him in a moment’s pause.
“Can’t you see I’m a little bit busy?” Alexei snags as you gasp, clawing at his hand. He swings his head to the figure in the doorway with an annoyed bark, “What is it?”
“The cops, boss,” he stammers, “They’re here.”
“What?”
“They’re here for her, boss.”
A slow turn to where his finger is pointing. His gaze lands on you. Alexei laughs.
“Well,” he says as the goon disappears, “Isn’t that just peachy, bunny?”
The choking starts again.
Then, a metal hand.
Vibranium.
You watch it swing, you watch it grab Alexei’s throat.
Suddenly, you can breathe.
Suddenly, Bucky Barnes enters the fight.
You make friends with the ground again as you duck, just as Alexei is rammed into the wall above your head by his throat. As you cough while Kiwi calls your name — you can hear a fight. But everything’s moving slow, and it’s not until the first gunshot that you’re kicked into action. It’s loud. Your skin pricks alive.
Someone screams.
You stumble to your feet, eyes finding Bucky’s form moving quickly between the three goons — the gunshot had come from the pistol that had somehow found its way into Bucky's flesh and blood hand. One of the men is on the floor, suit pants stained with a bullet wound through the thigh. He’s wailing. Bucky doesn’t notice. Or he doesn’t care. Maybe both.
His face is cold.
Another gunshot is fired off, this time richoting between you and Kiwi and Climber and embedding itself into the cement wall overhead. The three of you scream, ducking reflexively.
That’s when Bucky snaps.
“Now would be a good time to go!”
Kiwi’s hands are on your arm as you quickly break through the doorway through the storage room. Climber is following, checking over his shoulder at the carnage that Bucky begins to reap in the room.
He’s hysterical, trying to jog in his white platform boots. “What the fuck, Rabbit!”
Your voice is hoarse. You’re clutching your ribs. “Not now, Climber!”
“I’m parked in the back,” Kiwi says, ducking through plastic flaps as she helps you through the back of the club, “Come on, we’ll go through the trucking entrance.”
You hear Bucky call your name — he’s jogging to catch up, gun drawn in his hand. Seems like he made good work of the others, sporting nothing more than a split lip. You turn, pausing for a moment to take inventory of his well-being.
And that’s all it takes.
Alexei Gardzov, limping, steps in front of you and Kiwi and Climber at an intersection in the hallway.
There’s a gun in his hand.
The first thing you feel is the impact.
Like a truck slamming into you at full speed. For the fourth time tonight, you have the air robbed from your lungs. It’s instant confusion.
Then comes the pain. Hot. Hotter than the sun. Hot like white flames. It tears through your shoulder and all you can do is gasp; you’re sent into a stutter step — and while the world around you continues to move, you’re busy reconciling with the fact you’ve just been shot.
A bullet flies by your head.
Alexei Gardzov drops.
You’re grasping at your chest, staggering, when Bucky breaks into a sprint — but you’re okay. You’re okay, it’s just your shoulder, it’s just your arm, you’re okay, you can feel your fingers and you can breathe and the pain is nearly unbearable but you’re okay.
Then, a baseball bat.
It clocks Bucky directly in the skull. He’s clotheslined.
It’s Igor.
The gun from Bucky’s hands clatters across the ground to your feet, and you’re too busy trying to get to Bucky to realize — but, you’ve got tunnel vision and adrenaline and at that moment, you think a good sidekick doesn’t need anything else in this life.
Igor goes to swing at you, but you duck. Your stiletto crushes through the top of his shoe. He screams and in a flurry of pain and panic, you manage to snag the bat quick enough to turn and clock him under the chin with a roll of the wrist.
His teeth clack together and he falls backward, unconscious.
“God, I really wish you could have seen that, Buck.”
You spit. Blood paints the ground.
The bat clatters to the cement as you fight through the pain. Kiwi and Climber are by your side in an instant.
“No, no!” she screams, “We do not have time for this—”
“I am not leaving him,” you snap, nearly screaming at the woman, “Come on and help me with him. Now.”
After a sigh of resignation, Kiwi shoves the gun she’d snagged from the ground into the back of her jeans. You’ve got your hands around Bucky’s ankles as Kiwi and Climber take his torso — and the four of you make a break for the back entrance. You can hear the cops outside now, and there’s the chatter of Russian following you into the back parking lot.
“Hurry up!”
“He’s not exactly light as a feather, you know!”
“Shut up, Climber!”
You’ve got Bucky halfway into the back seat of Kiwi’s white Cadillac when another bullet whizzes by your head.
“Fuck.”
Kiwi hops into the driver’s seat as Climber scatters to hop the hood and throws himself into the passenger's seat. You lean, clinging to the door of the backseat as Kiwi peels out of the parking lot. It swings wide open and you curse loudly. You can see Alexei’s men watching from the back entrance, shouting in Russian — so you muster all your strength to pull back and throw the door closed as Kiwi’s car bounces over a speed bump and rams through the parking meter’s gate.
In the rear window, the front of the club is surrounded.
Red and blue lights illuminate the street — but Kiwi is quick.
No one follows.
And when she finally makes it to the Manhattan Bridge, you exhale.
Bucky’s head is in your lap. He still hasn’t come to — there’s blood coming from his nose and you’re worrying. You lace your fingers into his thick, brown hair and chew your lip.
Kiwi’s voice pulls you from him.
“When were you going to mention the vibranium arm, huh?”
You laugh. It’s more of a breath of air than anything. Your head rests back against the seat. Your shoulder is still on fire. You’re hot, but cold. You’re bleeding still. Your ribs aren’t right. You know that.
“I can’t believe he shot you,” Climber mumbles, “He fucking shot you.”
“And your boy toy shot him,” Kiwi says, sparing you a look in the rearview, “So you better pray he’s dead.”
You ignore the commentary.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe,” she says, accelerating into Manhattan, “Where I can get you those files and you can keep your head down.”
Sounds like a plan.
Better than the one you had, anyways.
#vacant mirrors#bucky barnes#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky x y/n#winter soldier x reader#winter soldier imagine#tfatws imagine#bucky x you#BOY OH BOY THE FORMATTING I WANNA SCREAM
984 notes
·
View notes
Note
I know someone will have asked this already by the time I send this, but John Sheppard for the character meme you just posted. XD
BAHAH nope! u were the first <3
favourite thing about them
how he cares so deeply about his friends, but is physically incapable of verbalizing it in any way 😭 his emotional repression should not be this compelling, and yet. i find myself analyzing his every microexpression in scenes because i want to see inside that crazy head of his.
least favourite thing about them
hmmmmmmm. if i have to say anything, i think it might be the way he acts offworld sometimes. we talked a bit about it on the podcast, but when he tries to act charming, it comes off very, uhh, snake oil salesmany. if i were a pegasus native, i wouldn't trust him as far as i could throw him 😂
favourite line
"I'm a worrier."
brOTP
oh, so many. but if i have to pick, i'd say john & teyla. i love that their bonding time is teyla beating him up with sticks :'))) and how, when he's having an emotion, he tries his best to talk it out with her. and even tho he fails miserably, she understands what he means anyway :') oh, and that she calls him out when he's being an ass.
OTP
john & rodney; bing and bob of the stargate universe. “I guess in my own way, I sorta love you,” is the sentiment underlying all of their interactions. also, the taking turns saving each others lives thing. and rodney bringing out the nerd in john. and the way their relationship is so subversive? u would think the nerd character would be panting over the jock, just happy to have a friend like him, but with john and rodney, i feel like rodney has a lot more power over john than even he realizes (thinking trinity and miller's crossing) and i love that.
nOTP
i can't really see john with anyone but rodney, romantically speaking. but if i had to pick one i'd say john/teyla? painting their interactions in a romantic light kinda cheapens their friendship for me.
or maybe john/wraith? i kno there are some cool parallels there and usually im pro monsterfucker, but in this case? just can't do it BAHAHA.
random headcanon
he was raised in a conservative catholic household. this may raise some eyebrows, but i see it in his GIGANTIC guilt/martyr complex. i have never seen a character more willing to die for others at the slightest provocation. also, the way all the alien's that read his subconscious say that he "tortures himself every day" over what he perceives to be personal failures screams catholic guilt to me. that, and his biggest fear is himself. not to mention, that boy does not know how to function when he's being hugged. casual intimacy does not seem to be in his lexicon, outside of actual sex.
also, he had feelings for holland, but was content to go the rest of his life never saying anything or doing anything about it. something to acknowledge about himself once, then bury and try to never think about again. but then holland died. so it didn't matter anymore, anyways. (in vegas, john had feelings for the nurse he disobeyed orders to try and save and PARALLELING THAT WITH IN CANON EVENTS RE: HOLLAND'S BOTCHED RESCUE ARE JUST TOO GOOD TO RESIST)
unpopular opinion
he's not as shallow/boring as he's perceived to be. this is definitely not an unpopular opinion on the sga side of tumblr at least, but of the stargate fandom at large, definitely.
song i associate with them
johnny cash's solitary man goes without saying. but definitely heropsychodreamer by live. oh, and stereo by the watchmen. OH, and superhero by ani difranco. if ur interested in more, u can listen to my sheppard inspired playlists here & here. with another one in the works alksjdhfasfd i know, im insane.
favorite picture of them
i know this is joe BUT. its giving sheppard vibes.
taggin' @alfredspennyworths as well, who also asked for john <3 thank u!! i love talking about him bahah
send me more characters!
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
Regret Me - Sharon Carter
Zemo warned you that Madripoor was a lawless place, a den of pirates and thieves. The last time you saw Sharon Carter, she was neither a pirate nor a thief, save for the fact that she had stolen your heart long before. Turned out, she kept it as her favorite treasure.
WARNING: a n g s t
“Hopefully you can make something here work.”
“Hopefully? You got a whole damn shopping mall,” Sam quipped as he stepped up to one of the clothing racks Sharon pulled out. The blonde shrugged and leaned up against the nearest wall, dark eyes full of waiting. While Sam scanned through the array of options and Bucky looked on with disinterest, you fixed your attention on Sharon.
There were the faintest hints of a smile on her lips. Small lines, the dip of her dimples, deepened slightly at the corners of her mouth. When was the last time you saw Sharon Carter smile? When was the last time you saw Sharon Carter at all? Too long ago.
It was before the Blip, but after your stay on The Raft. When Steve broke you, Sam, and Wanda out, you decided to run your own way for a while. Your path led you back to Sharon, her apartment, or what was left of it. She was packing, stuffing what she could into luggage. In your mind, there was a dull, dim echo of your name falling from her lips and...
“Y/N?”
...not saying goodbye.
“Y/N?”
Sharon’s eyes were on you when you managed to pull yourself from your faded memories. You quickly averted your gaze and shook your head slightly in the hopes of clearing it; though, your muddled recollections remained and hung in your mind like storm clouds ready to release a downpour. When you looked back up at Sharon, her posture was straightened. She no longer leaned against the wall and there was worry perched in her furrowed brows.
“Sorry, what?” You asked, scratching at the back of your neck. Every nerve ending of your body itched to move, to run away and hide, but where? Sharon’s home, her new world, was so, terribly unfamiliar to you. It made the want to disappear into the home you remembered with her all the more painful to bear.
“I have choices that might be more your style,” she replied, slim arms crossed over her chest. You forced your eyes to remain trained on hers, despite how you longed to take in the full sight of her. “You interested?”
Sharon was always strong, it was one of the many things that initially drew you to her. But there was something in how she carried herself, how she looked at you in that moment, that made her seem invincible. Perhaps it was the all-black outfit, how it fit like a uniform but was entirely removed from her days as a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative. She looked ready for a fight or a party, and you felt that she would be happy with either.
You nodded at her question before you let yourself dwell on the allure of her confidence. Sharon’s lips quirked up in a full smile and she turned around, flicked her hand behind her to entreat you to follow. You glanced at Sam and Bucky, only for the latter to stare warily back at you. Glints in Bucky’s eyes revealed the same nervousness that tightened your chest.
Be careful.
You dipped your head, a wordless concession before you trailed after Sharon. The sound of her heels as they clicked against the hardwood floor matched the quickened pace of your heartbeat. To distract yourself from the alarmingly swift rush of blood through your body, you glanced around the channels of the apartment. Despite the lavish level of living the sleek modern furniture and expensive, most likely original, works of art, Sharon’s house did not feel like a home. It was bare bones.
The hallways you passed through were stark. Where old apartment in D.C. was decorated with her and he friend’s smiling faces, plants, and life, this High Town suite was lifeless, pictureless. The only thing that lived inside its walls was Sharon, but even then you weren’t entirely certain that she was living as she once was.
When she glanced over her shoulder, to check to see if you followed her, her dark eyes brightened. For a moment, she looked like she did before you both ran away. You had run in separate directions after Steve took Bucky to Wakanda. When Sharon smiled softly at you, you struggled to remember why you didn’t go with her.
“Like I said, some of this might be your style,” she said as she walked into what you assumed was her bedroom. Sheets on the queen-sized mattress were without a wrinkle, without a touch. “But, it’s been a while since I last...since I’ve seen you.”
“Yeah,” you said as Sharon walked over to a large set of closet doors. “I missed you.”
Sharon paused at your words. Her hands settled on the handles of the closet before they tightened. Knuckles, strained, turned white, but when she turned her head to face you, Sharon wore a smile. No longer were her eyes bright; in fact, they mirrored the blank, white walls of her apartment. The sight made your stomach twist.
“I’m flattered.”
Before you had a proper chance to react to the coldness of her tone, Sharon threw open the closet doors. Racks of silk slip dresses, pressed suits, and formal robes, all in clashing patterns, hung in troves. Some were sleek and monochrome, while others were borderline floral, a jungle stitched into fabric. Once you accumulated to the colorful assault before you, you glanced over at Sharon. Her smile had dropped, but her gaze remained trained on you.
“Your personal wardrobe?”
She shrugged. “Pick out what you like.”
You opened your mouth to reply, to ask why she seemed so frigid, when she turned her back to you, busied with her phone. It had been years, you told yourself, and she was still trying to help. Times were hard and clearly changed her, but she was still Sharon to the core. She was still the Sharon you once loved, the one you gave up everything for.
You frowned as you looked back to the closet. Idly, you searched through the hangers. As you flicked through each fanciful piece of clothing, your eyes landed on a simple shirt and jacket. The tags stuck out of the collars and caught your attention. They were both in your size.
You pulled the jacket from the rack and thumbed the tag to read it more clearly. “This is in my size, in your closet?”
“Yeah, that,” at the sound of her voice, you glanced up at the blonde. She eyed the jacket in your hands and nodded. “I saw it, a while back. Thought of you.”
Her dark eyes flickered up to hold your gaze. She watched you, carefully, read every microexpression you could not help but show. You almost felt her calculating. She had wanted you to find the jacket, to ask about the size.
“Sharon.”
“Try it on.”
You sighed and shook your head to clear it of all the things you longed to say. “I don’t think it will do us any good. Maybe I should go and-”
“Please.”
Never in your life had you heard Sharon Carter beg, not for anything. She took what she wanted, whether it was a job, a bullet, or your heart. She made it so easier for you to fall for her because you knew she was already prepared to catch you. When you were caught at the airport in Berlin, held in The Raft, you thought only of her. The moment you were free, you ran to her only to run away. Why?
“Please.”
You cut through the memory to the fear. What was the why: because you would run to her every time if given the chance, and that scared you. You got caught but she would look at you with all the want in the world. She would be ready to meet you in the middle as you made your way back to her. Sharon deserved better. Despite how everything else around you had changed, that fact had not.
“Okay,” you conceded, unable to deny the pained look in Sharon’s expression. You had caused her too much hurt to bring about anymore. As you stepped over to the full-length mirror propped up against the wall, you caught Sharon’s reflection behind yours. Her eyes were glued to you as you slipped the jacket over your shoulders.
Unable to deny how it fit so well, you admired the look of your reflection. As your gaze traveled up, you caught Sharon’s eyes in the mirror. You turned on your heels to face her and saw that the ache that she once wore had morphed. Her eyes drank in your form but her expression was blank. Even as she stepped towards you with hands extended out towards the lapels of the jacket, you could not read her. She was always a good spy.
Wordlessly, Sharon reached out and adjusted how the jacket sat on your frame. A whiff of her perfume, rose-like florals with hints of something more bitter, filled your nose. The smell was enough to throw you back into the memory of the last time you saw her, your not-goodbye.
"It fits, really well,” you said in the hopes of grounding you back to reality, to that moment. “You've really made a life for yourself,”
"I have.” Sharon brushed her hands along the lapels to flatten them out. She pulled away, met your eyes, and, suddenly, you could read her. "You could've come with, helped me."
"I..."
"This life could have been ours,” she pressed. “After I stole the shield and wings. I wanted you to, I asked you to. Do you even remember?”
"There was a lot going on. The team was..." You trailed off at the thought of the Avengers and let your eyes fall from Sharon’s. At least you were all alive back then.
"We were both wanted criminals, branded traitors,” Sharon continued, denying your excuse. “Why...why didn't you come with me?"
Your heart ached at her question, her tone. The confidence you saw, you admired only a few precious minutes before faded into the quivering bottom lip of insecurity. Sharon wasn't invincible, despite all her trying to be. You were her weak point, just as she was yours.
"I was scared...I didn't want you to regret me, me coming with."
“Regret you? Y/N,” her eyes widened, “I loved you, I needed you.”
You shook your head and gestured to the sleek room around you. “You don’t need anyone, Sharon. Look at what you’ve built for yourself.”
“I wanted to build it with you,” she said as her hands grabbed yours. You glanced down at your joined hands then back up at her face. The pain was there again. It hung in her dark eyes and downturned lips.
“I wanted that too,” you admitted, “but we...we were on the run, and if I got caught-”
“You wouldn’t have, I wouldn’t let you,” she interrupted.
“That’s my point. You would risk your life for me and I would have risked it all for you, then we would both be lost. We might both regret it, us.”
You slipped one of your hands from her and reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. Sharon leaned towards your touch for only a moment. Then, as you tucked the hair behind her ear, she thought better of it. Her eyes met yours, held your gaze with an intensity that refreshed the image of her strength in your eyes.
“I regret having to miss you.”
“I did too.”
Sharon nodded and swallowed hard before she added, “I mean, we didn’t even really say goodbye.”
“I didn’t want to think we had to, I guess. We are here, so…”
“We are here,” she echoed. For a long moment, you and Sharon stared into the other’s eyes. You swore you saw her lips twitch up slightly, an almost smile, but it didn’t last. It melted away as she began to lean towards you.
She pressed her lips to your forehead. It was a gentle kiss, only the smallest reminder of what you and Sharon used to be. Though, it was enough to make your heart swell and dull the soreness of your heart. When Sharon pulled away, you saw that, perhaps, it did the same for her too. She seemed less grim, more like she was when you, Sam, Bucky, and Zemo first ran into her: confident and new.
“So, no goodbyes. Only, ‘see you laters’.”
“Only ‘see you laters’,” you agreed. Sharon nodded and stepped away from you. She started towards her bedroom door and, for a second, you thought she was going to leave you alone. Just as you were about to resign yourself to your thoughts, your regrets, Sharon glanced over her shoulder. She smiled.
“C’mon, we got a party to go to.”
#sharon carter#sharon carter imagine#sharon carter imagines#sharon carter fanfiction#sharon carter fanfic#sharon carter x reader#sharon carter x you#sharon#carter#agent carter#tfatws#marvel#marvel mcu#marvel mcu imagine#marvel imagine#marvel imagines#marvel fanficition#marvel mcu fanfiction
204 notes
·
View notes
Text
Names
Established MSR (oh and I'm taking prompts if anyone has any :))
The stakeout- if it could even be called that- had gone on for way too long, by Scully’s estimation. Eight hours, spent in a car with cracked pleather seats and Mulder’s questionable taste in music, had forced Scully to drastic and dire measures. As much as she loved him, standing Mulder’s Elvis impersonation one more time very well might be out of her powers. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
“Hey, Mulder,” He looks at her like he is expecting a scolding, which makes Scully feel a little guilty, but she counts what is coming as reparations. “Do you want to play a game?”
Mulder looks at her in surprise. “Uh, sure. What did you have in mind?”
Scully shrugs, running her fingertips along the seam of her seat. They catch on the split fabric, a distraction from how badly she wants to hold his hand. She softens unexpectedly, something that’s been happening more and more often when it’s just the two of them. “You can pick, actually, I just don’t want to hear Elvis anymore.”
Mulder screws up his face like he is about to impersonate The King again, but he seems to think better of it and stops himself. His head lolls against the seat as he turns to look at her, and Scully mirrors him, annoyance fading quickly. Who could stay mad at a face like that?
“There was this game that Sam and I used to play. We’d call each other every name we could think of, then, once we ran out, we’d make up the funniest imaginary ones we could.”
Scully tilts her head quizzically. “No offense, Mulder, but I don’t think calling you names counts as a game. I can do that all on my own.” She smiles, tightlipped and cheeky, up at him. Her eyes glimmer dimly, the only light a streetlamp at the corner of the block.
Mulder stretches and moves in his seat to face her better. “Oh really? And what would you call me?”
“Well, I call you Mulder on the Bureau’s time, but I can think of some other things I’d like to call you on my own time.”
“Honey?”
“Hm?”
“No, would you call me honey on your own time?”
He’s teasing her now, looking at her with that microexpression that Scully knows well as ‘lovestruck.’
“Maybe.”
“Baby?”
“If you’re lucky.”
“My love?”
Scully cracks a grin at that one. “I actually just thought of a really cheesy response to that. You want to hear it?”
Mulder props his elbow on the center console and rests his chin on his hand. “I’m all ears.”
Scully leans in dramatically, his little co-conspirator. “I don’t call you my love, you are my love.”
That earns her a delighted chuff, and Mulder pinches her cheek like a little grandmother has inhabited his body. “That was awful. I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” They’re way too close now, in the dark, to claim any pretense of helpful investigation. Scully holds his eyes for a long moment, distracted by the sight of him, and is caught off guard when he backs away.
“Sorry,” Mulder smiles ruefully, “I didn’t think Skinner would appreciate having to bail us out for public indecency, and I’m not saying that’s where my thoughts were going, but…”
Scully places her hand palm-up on the center console, asking for his hand and making no other advances. “Mm, since when did you become so responsible?”
Mulder places his hand in hers but lets the question hang in the air, unanswered, as they turn their attention back to the warehouse they are supposed to have been watching the whole time. A few minutes later and he has apparently recovered his irresponsible spirit. “What about kitten?”
She is incredulous in response. “Kitten?”
“Not good enough? Bunny? Monkey? Turtle?”
She presses her lips together and creases her brow at his worsening suggestions. “And here I was thinking we were Moose and Squirrel.” He has to applaud her for the straight-faced manner in which she answers him, knowing now how much he secretly amuses her.
They’re still holding hands, and her thumb crosses his knuckles back and forth. He sneaks a look at her from the corner of his eye, and finding her attention on him already, decides to bite the bullet.
“What about Fox?” He asks softly.
Her eyes were already on him, but they lock in intently at his question. “I can call you that if you like.”
He doesn’t meet her gaze, keeping it trained on the streetlamp’s glow. “Sometimes, I don’t think I’d mind hearing you say it.” His voice is quiet, reflective like the light in his blown out pupils. “Sometimes.” He repeats himself, but Scully doesn’t have to ask why.
A stakeout car isn’t really the best place to have this conversation, but Scully understands anyways. That’s one of the things he loves about her, his thinker. Things don’t have to be practical or convenient. She’ll take his abstract thoughts and rambles and connect them into something understandable, something human.
“Is right now a ‘sometime?’” Her hand has stilled against his.
“Mmm. Do you want to find out?”
“I don’t know, Fox. Do you?”
Mulder lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, finally turning to look her in the eyes. “It sounds different than I remembered, coming from you.”
“What are you thinking?”
“It hurts less than it used to.”
Scully closes the distance between them, pressing a gentling kiss to his lips. Nothing else needs to be said, at least not now. She pulls away and it’s like nothing ever happened, except everything has changed. He’s not just her Mulder. Now, he gets to be her Fox too.
#the x files#txfic#x files#dana scully#fox mulder#they're in LOVE#it's for the people#can you really blame me?
110 notes
·
View notes
Text
Are You Lonesome Tonight?
summary: Reader and Spencer's relationship is on the rocks, but they manage to work it out.
tw: light swearing, arguments
word count: 2.3k
genre: angst/fluff
a/n: This is a songfic after "Are you Lonesome Tonight" by Elvis! This one is honestly one of my favorites to write :0 and don't worry, it's not super sad, just a little :)(Reader goes by she/they)
This has been going on for far too long now. Y/n couldn’t take it anymore. They felt alone in their own lovers’ arms, he was like a stranger, a ghost of the man they once knew. They loved him still, so much, but he was distant and he never talked to them about the things he was obviously stressed or drained from.
Y/n just wanted to help him but he never gave them a chance to, they’re actively being pushed away and it’s a pain that they never thought they would experience in this lifetime. So they decide to talk to Spencer about it.
“Spence…?” She calls from his bedroom doorway. He’s sitting on his bed cross-legged surrounded by piles of books, and his head in his hands.
The case he had just gotten back from was a difficult one, to put it mildly. Teens held hostage by another student, who was a lot like Spencer. Too smart for his own good and always overlooked by his peers. He couldn’t save them all and it was eating him up inside. He didn’t look up from the page he was dwelling on. Re-reading and trying to fit all the pieces together that he missed. You hated seeing him like this. Broken and isolating himself, throwing himself into his work where he would eventually drown.
You walk over to the bed and place your hand on his knee. He flinches back away from your touch. He’s never done that before and it breaks your heart. You retract your hand and sit on the ottoman next to the bed. You both sit in the uncomfortable silence for a little while before you say,
“Spence… I know you’re having a difficult time right now, but I really think we should go on a walk or something, just to clear your head-”
“No, y/n. I’m fine. I don’t need your help right now. Just leave me be.” He said with venom in his voice. He’s never talked to you like that before, and it hurts like hell.
“I- ok I will, but Spence at least let me get you some water or something, please just let me help-” you tried to reason with him.
“I said get out! I don’t need you here!” he shouted. That was the last straw for you.
“Fine! I’ll leave you here for the next week and a half dwelling on all the things that you could have done when you should be trying to recover from all this. All you do is push people away when you’re upset and you never think of the consequences or the people you hurt in the process.”
You lost your cool then. All the pain you’ve been feeling for the past couple of months spilling out like a dam bursting.
“The BAU’s Golden boy who could do no wrong, huh? Well, I think that’s bull. Don’t call me until you put your big boy pants on and want to talk about what’s going with you.”
Y/n could see his jaw clenching so hard his teeth might split, but at that moment they could care less. She was done being the subject of his emotional whiplash. With that, you left with tears streaming down your face and a heart so heavy you thought you would collapse from the weight of it.
~
It’s been a week and 4 days since y/n has talked to Spencer. There hasn’t been a call, text, email… nothing. She misses him of course, but she has to stand her ground. It’s so difficult not being able to pick his big beautiful brain for ideas for her songs. Y/n realized she depended on him more than she thought. She wants to pick up the phone and call him so badly, to tell him that she’s sorry and that she went too far, but pride is holding her in an iron grip and it’s almost suffocating.
All y/n has been doing is working on their covers and desperately trying to find inspiration for their next song. They haven’t had any luck so far, their mind is too preoccupied with how Spencer is holding up after what happened that night. To try and distract themselves from their own mind, they put on their favorite oldies playlist and lay on their floor.
The first few chords of their favorite song play and then,
Are you lonesome tonight
Do you miss me tonight?
y/n closes their eyes and lets a few tears slip past their lashes. Oh, how they miss their lover so…
~
Spencer hasn’t left his apartment all weekend. Wading in the guilt he felt over hurting the most important person in his life. He hadn’t meant to snap at them like that...or any of the other times it happened over the last few months. He’s pacing his apartment trying to distract himself from his own mind.
On Monday as he walks into the bullpen, he tries to keep his microexpressions in check so the team doesn’t try to profile what he’s going through. All he wants to do is get his paperwork done and go home. To do what? He’s not sure, especially because his partner won’t be there with him. Just thinking about it like that makes him tear up. He’s eventually able to pull himself together with a few deep breaths, but not without Derek catching on at the last minute.
Derek looks up from his paperwork right as Spencer hangs his head in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. Derek knows how private Spencer is when it comes to his love life, hell he’s only met his partner once the whole time they’ve been dating. He knows something’s wrong and he cares about the kid, so he walks up to him and says
“Hey, boy genius, what’s on your mind?”
Spencer turns to him, trying to keep it together. “Just thinking about this case….” He held up (what he thought to be) a random file.
“You sure about that, kid?” Derek said while reaching for said “file” which really turned out to be a loose page of his handheld calendar with a red heart around one of the days.
Derek only had to look at it for a moment to know exactly what was wrong. He was having relationship problems and suddenly he was floundering. Derek knew that feeling all too well, knowing that the job had put such a strain on his past relationships.
Spencer whips around and stares at the page, tears welling in his eyes that threaten to spill. He grabs at it and takes it back without a word. He’s embarrassed and upset and this day isn’t going as smoothly as he’d wished. Derek pulls up a chair and clears his throat to get his attention. Spencer turns to him with a look he can’t quite read. He says,
“Look, kid… I know relationships can be tough, especially in this line of work, but we have to push through the bad stuff to get to the good parts that we’ll remember forever.
Spencer sat in silence, contemplating his words.
“Do you love her?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.
“Yes… A thousand times yes. When days and cases get really bad, she’s the only thing that keeps me going…” tears glistening in his hazel eyes.
Derek nods and leans forward. “Go to the place you think she might be… you mentioned she sings at that jazz club uptown right?”
Spencer nods, knowing where he’s going with this.
“Ok, so tonight you’ll go and see if she’s there.” Giving Spencer a small smile and pats him on the back.
He leaves for his desk and leaves Spencer alone with his thoughts once more. He would do anything to see his lover again...
---
That night Spencer found himself at the Black Rabbit Jazz Club, all by his lonesome. Sitting at the bar waiting for open mic night to start. He was replaying their fight over and over again in his mind when he heard the first chords of Y/n’s favorite Elvis song flow through the speakers. Then he heard it… The voice he’d come to know and love, filled with honey and gold.
Are you lonesome tonight?
Do you miss me tonight?
Are you sorry we drifted apart?
He turns in his chair to see Y/n, in a sleek black cocktail dress with fishnets and 40’s style heels. She’s always had an affinity to dress to the club’s feel. Her hair is situated to frame her face beautifully and the spotlight she’s given makes her look like an angel, his angel.
Does your memory stray to a brighter sunny day
When I kissed you and called you sweetheart?
They’re scanning the crowd to find a spot, or someone, to focus on to pour their heart into. Suddenly a familiar face appears to them in the crowd.
Spencer
It takes everything in them not to jump off the stage and run to him. Instead, she chooses to pour her heart out to him the only way that would seem to fit, through song.
Do the chairs in your parlor seem empty and bare?
Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?
Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?
Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?
At this point, Spencer is in awe of his partner. Holding eye contact with her as she sings, knowing how much emotion is behind those words. He’s shed a few tears at this point, but she’s not finished.
She steps off the stage with the mic and walks through the tables and chairs in the audience gracefully. She says,
“I wonder if you're lonesome tonight, Fate had me playing in love with you as my sweetheart. Act one was when we met. I loved you at first glance,”
She was looking right at him now, baring her soul to him while he stared in awe into hers.
“You rambled your facts so cleverly and never missed a clue. Then came act two. Honey, you lied when you said you loved me, and I had no cause to doubt you. I'd rather go on hearing your lies, Than go on living without you.”
At this moment Y/n had let go just enough to let a single tear fall past her lashes, creating a faint trail of mascara with it. Though it was getting tough to hold it together, the show must go on.
“Now the stage is bare and I'm standing there, with emptiness all around, and if you won't come back to me then make them bring the curtain down.”
Spencer dropped his head to hide the tears falling from his eyes then. Seeing them so emotionally exposed in front of him like this was rare. Especially after putting up with so much.
By then Y/n had made their way back onto the middle of the stage and sang the ending lines of the song while staring at their lover.
Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?
Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight…
She reached out to him as she sang, and as the ending chords played she placed her hand on her heart.
After the song ended there was roaring applause, for the performance and the show she put on as well. She thanked the audience and exited the stage. She made her way out the door and Spencer followed. He rushed after her so fast he barely missed her leaning on the brick exterior. She looked up at him, slightly startled. They gazed at each other, wondering who would make the first move. After about 2 minutes y/n reached for his hand, hoping he wouldn’t pull away.
He meets her halfway and they start on the walk home. It’s wordless, but there’s no negative energy, no tension to be felt. As they arrived at Spencer's apartment door he went to unlock it and y/n wrapped their hands around his waist and leaned their head on his spine. A subtle gesture to let him know that they loved him. After going inside and sitting on the couch together, Spencer finally speaks.
“I’m so sorry. For everything. I’m sorry for not being there when you need me, I’m sorry for putting my own insecurities and self-doubts before your feelings, and most of all I’m sorry for being selfish, y/n. You deserve so much more than being cast aside. I love you so much.”
y/n’s bottom lip quivered as she tried to hold herself together so she could speak too. She took a deep breath to calm herself and said
“I’m sorry too. I should have never said those things about you and your job. God, you're wonderful at what you do and I should have never used it against you like that. I was being stupid and I wasn’t thinking. Can you forgive me, even after all of that…?”
He took y/n’s hand and kissed the back of it, he pulled her in close for a tight hug and cuddled into her. She quietly cried into his shoulder as he whispered sweet affirmations in her ear to help her calm down. After a while, her breathing evened out and her sniffling stopped. She moved to be face to face with him and gently placed her hands on the side of his face and pulled him into the sweetest kiss he could have ever imagined. If she claimed her lips were made of honey, he wouldn't doubt her for a second. After a beat or 2, they pulled away and decided to order in and watch Doctor Who, and all was well.
Fin~
#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid#songfic#maddies fics <3#boldlyreblog
68 notes
·
View notes
Text
Can we talk about how much I love the idea of a Matt and Andrew friendship for a second because I love it so much.
- Tall friendly person and small murdery person = best dynamic. I do not take constructive criticism on this.
- Bonding over Neil hurling himself into trouble at every given opportunity
- Just. You don’t understand how much I need Matt and Andrew exchanging the most exhausted look you’ve ever seen in your life every time Neil’s on press duty, ok?
- Matt, being Too Good For This World, is very respectful of Andrew’s boundaries, and puts a concentrated effort into understanding him better. He may or may not ask Neil to give him a crash course on the Minyard Microexpressions.
- This is mainly what causes Andrew to go from tolerating to genuinely appreciating Matt.
- The first time Andrew gives a little huff or a tiny upward twitch of his lips at something Matt says, he nearly tears up (but forces himself to hold it together because Andrew wouldn’t appreciate that).
- I also feel like Matt is the key for the other upperclassmen to start getting along with Andrew, since him drugging Matt was the initial point of contention between the two groups.
- Dan starts out as ‘well even if you aren’t holding a grudge anymore I AM’ bc you know she’s that kind of person (and I’m not saying that’s a bad thing!! I like Dan, and I think her dislike of Andrew during the series is absolutely justified, I just also love the idea of her forgiving him over time).
- but eventually, between Matt and Neil singing his praises + having to hang out in his vicinity during Fox gatherings, she starts to see what her boyfriend and friend see in him.
- Allison, under Matt and Neil’s combined assault, finally stops calling Andrew a monster. She also starts poking fun at him (in a not-too-mean way) more, because hey, now he’d have two people mad at him if he stabbed her.
- Renee is incredibly proud of her friends and very pleased with all of the above happenings. Matt joins her and Andrew’s sparring sessions sometimes.
- Also love the idea of Nicky and Kevin being surprised but pleased that Andrew and Matt are so close (cause hey, Matt’s cool, we like Matt) and Aaron absolutely F U M I N G because did you *have* to steal my roommate? Really? But lowkey also happy about it because Matt’s actually pretty cool and he likes having him around more and seeing his brother relax around people who aren’t family (or, god forbid, Josten).
- I just want Andrew to have a friend who is super chill and just likes being around and has never needed anything from him/made a deal with him/been obligated to stick around and Matt would be perfect. I also feel like Matt lowkey wants to be closer with the Monsters, and really likes having Bro Time with them.
66 notes
·
View notes
Note
ugh i rly want to believe the red car is significant like how you pointed out green was their connecting color.. but also idk my mom drives a nice red car cus.. she likes the color. maybe she liked it /bc/ of yijin but at this point the present timeline isnt annoying me. i really do hate the sentiment that you have to be this boring version of yourself when u get older cus responsibilities and life changes... but most of the ppl today who are older are craving their nostalgic past. thats why everyone and everything are rebooting shit bc ppl cant let it go cus it brought them joy and most importantly, they /remember/ that joy. ppl fade out ur life yes but those are people that you just.. either outgrew or didnt care as much anymore cus lets be honest, if you want someone in your life, you work for it. i know circumstances play a role but idk im just irritated. who is even heedo today. how much different can u be 20 yrs later? hell 10 yrs go by hella fast. i just wanna crawl through the screen and be like, HOW DO U NOT REMEMBER HIM? THEM? THE MOMENT?
Re: the red car thing: maybe this is just confirmation bias, but i have family that sell (used) cars, and I've noticed that over the years that less and less red cars are being made standard off the line than they used to. Their car lot has a lot more neutral/muted colors than it used to be, and all the bright, bold-colored cars that are standard are greens and blues (and oranges like ~5ish years ago). Whereas 3 of my first 4 cars were all from the 90s and were red. Also just in kdramas in general, they usually drive black SUVs or sedans, depending on who is sponsoring them, maybe a white car if they're being crazy.
Re: the fading memories thing: ugh that really irritated me because it was a special trip made by her first love for a documentary about her. AND it was the first time she had ever done anything with friends, bc she never had friends before! And what, she just forgot the whole thing like an AI dumping out unnecessary data?? Like, i get what they were trying to convey [insert "i guess??" meme here], where time always moves forward and it takes work to be happy in the present and not stuck in the past, when the present is always changing, but using something so special and significant ain't it.
Also, it doesn't help that current!Heedo's actress acts like a mannequin who just came to life with barely any recall or memories with reactions that seem superficial and devoid of depth of passion. Where's the fire and zeal and intensity we have come to know of Heedo?? Even if the years have smoothed away some of her hot-headedness, it's weird seeing her uncanny valley smile as she reacts like a fairy tale princess who jumped out of the book to teach us a Very Important Lesson to everything her daughter says. I get that they probably couldn't have Kim Taeri go into old age makeup for all the current day scenes bc of time constraints, and that then she would have been in 90% of the scenes, but maybe the two actresses should have workshopped the character together so that at least current!Heedo's microexpressions would make a bit of sense and the line delivery wouldn't make me wonder if she has like, functional amnesia or something.
#ask#anon#i assume your ask had a typo and you meant the present timeline IS annoying you?#otherwise oops i totally said the opposite of what you're thinking#twenty five twenty one#kdrama#2521#2521 meta#sorta?#meta#my meta#idk i feel a bit cheesy tagging this as meta bc it's not rly a significant analysis but they *are* my thoughts so...
8 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
seatsummer45
The Journey of Lunde 496
seatsummer45
The Journey of Lunde 496
imaugediesterne
Entgrenzung
seatsummer45
The Journey of Lunde 496
dajethy
Dajethy DothStyle