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missorgana · 3 years

Text

at the end of the day

pairing: bucky barnes/sam wilson

fandom: marvel cinematic universe

rating: general

word count: 3165

warning: blood mention, nightmares

summary: "You don't have to do this, you know." Sam finds himself protesting, and Bucky wipes his arm in his t-shirt without looking up, "Yeah I do, genius." (canon compliant, mistaken for being a couple, domestic fluff)

(of course i had to get one more fic out before the TFATWS finale is upon us 💔 basically just... domestic idiots. a little hurt/comfort. i’m gonna miss them so much it’s critical. don’t have much else to say?? enjoy??)

read on ao3

They haven’t been talking much about anything since they got back.

And he wasn’t planning to see Bucky here of all places. Home. He guesses it’s typical of him to drop in unannounced like that, stoic act on and silently helping out on the boat, after greeting Sarah with a semi-confident smile.

He wanted to try and talk to him, but Sam doesn’t quite know what to say. The other man gave him a smile, too, but it seemed different from the one he gave his sister, somehow. More smug, kind of. But not really.

And really, despite how goddamn annoying he is much of the time, Bucky seemed to enjoy the work, and the super soldier strength certainly helped moving things forward. So Sam practically insisted on him taking the couch. Sarah, too, it’s the least they could do, and the man was fishing for the invite anyway.

So when everyone finally calls it off before midnight, he sets up the couch for his co-worker for the night, the boys already sleeping and Sarah watching him from the kitchen looking cocky as hell.

Sam can’t help glancing at where he packed away the shield, just one more time. He’s not sure what to do with it yet. Just stares at it, thinking about the blood that he managed to wash off.

He eventually turns to her, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Sarah shakes her head. Opens the fridge, closes it, turns off the light and leans against the doorway with a chuckle. “It’s nice of him to help out, you know.”

“Hm?”

She raises her eyebrow, “Bucky.”

Sam tries to figure out what she’s saying. No, he knows what she’s saying, but for some reason, he feels like she’s keeping a secret from him. He doesn’t even know if he has energy to question her, too sweaty and muscles aching just a bit, so maybe, for now, he’ll let sleep take him and tease her about it tomorrow.

“Yeah.” He dumps the last throw pillows in the corner before she wraps her arms around his waist and rests her chin on shoulder. Sam returns the hug instantly. Such a softie.

But he feels her laugh again against his chin, so he plants a kiss on the top of her hair and expects her to say more, but she doesn’t. Just scrunches her nose at him, when the front door opens and Bucky walks in.

The man stands in the dark for a second, warily, perhaps scared to interrupt, so Sam calls the idiot over, “Couch is all set. Unless you need more pillows, or, uh…”

He only realises he has no idea where he’s going with that sentence when it’s already out. Sarah smacks his arm away.

She also turns around to Bucky, who gives her the tiniest wave possible. His sister returns it by grabbing her almost empty cup of tea and passing him on the way up with a pat on his back, “Night, boys.”

“It’s fine, you know.” the other man tells him then, only surprising Sam for a moment, seriously, and he weighs his feet, unsure of whether to take his leave already. Probably should, “Sorry, what?”

“The couch.”

Of course, his senses are the worst without eight hours of sleep. At least. Albeit, he hasn’t had that in a long time, “Ah.”

Bucky’s staring at him. He’s definitely been standing here too long, absentmindedly and feeling the exhaustion out into his fingertips, but unable to move. Might be better than all the pacing.

So he bids his goodnight, not even bothering to check the time, and the only response given from the other man are the brief touch of fingers grazing his palm as he leaves the living room. Sam can’t begin to unpack what sort of secret his co-worker might be trying to let him in on right now.

But he knows Bucky waited for this gesture to be theirs alone. Why is that?

It turns into a bit of a routine, Bucky circulating their workplace and doing the heavy lifting when they need it. He especially likes to do it when Sam’s around, he’s noticed.

Still staring, too.

Sam particularly feels some certain eyes on the back of his neck while he’s screwing bolts in place, then there’s a hand on his waist, and since it’s early, he can’t quite be bothered fighting the other man on this.

And when it occurs to him that the man might be, definitely is following him with his eyes as he steps down to fetch the paint, he can’t even react, due to Sarah’s elbow nudging his side. She also snatches the paint right in front of him, defeated once again.

“Hi, Sarah!” Bucky exclaims, dramatically wiping his forehead, zero shame. He’ll have to give him a don’t flirt with my sister talk later.

She giggles, “Hi.” then looks over at him again and clicks her tongue. “Such a gentleman.”

Sam can’t help but laugh out loud at that statement. Bucky’s frowning at them in the distance, pretending he isn’t, but not exactly the king of subtly.

“A showoff, more like,” and when his sister shakes her head, he wonders, like last night, exactly what she’s trying to tell him without telling him, “What?”

Perhaps she’s not telling him anything and he’s just reading her wrong, but that’d be the most shocking of the more than confusing life they’re accustomed to lately. Returning post-blip, having not seen his family in five year, Sam still knows her like the back of his hand. And oh, she’s well aware, because she’s smirking again.

“You’re not fooling me, Samuel.” Sarah tells him, poking his nose before accepting his co-worker’s offered hand and stepping onto deck.

He feels his own frown forming, but Cass calling his name takes him out of the trance his sister just put him in, and he carries on. Maybe it really is nothing. Maybe Bucky tries too hard to spend time with Sarah and he’ll have to give him a tongue-in-cheek scolding later, because truth be told, he’s not that mad. It’s equally heartwarming and ridiculous, he decides.

Sam’s not sure what that funny feeling in his gut is doing when the other man finds him on the lower deck and, like it’s second nature by now, helps him out, softly pushing him out of the way when he sees him struggle.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” he finds himself protesting, despite the deed already being done, and Bucky wipes his arm in his t-shirt without looking up, “Yeah I do, genius.”

Sam doesn’t know why the visual of his co-worker sticking his tongue out in concentration feels endearing and personal and like a savorable moment to remember, but it does, so he can’t hide the smiling finding its way onto his lips.

When he gets Bucky’s attention again, the man looks stupidly intense.

“We’re due a lunch break-”

“Hold on,” the voice interrupts him, and in a flash the other man is mere inches from him, moved into his space and touches his cheekbone with ease.

He’s not sure what that’s about either, but it may just cause Sam’s heart to skip a beat or two.

Bucky nods, more to himself than to him he figures, and steps back to gather the tools scattered across the floor. That wasn’t weird, per say, but it was something.

“Something wrong?” Sam wonders aloud.

It’s hard to interpret his facial expressions, but this time, he smiles shyly and mussles up his hair just a tad more. He himself feels quite silly for watching that movement this closely.

The other man wiggles the pipes a little more, seems satisfied they’re secure and gestures for him to ascend out into the open first, “You had an eyelash.”

“Oh.”

After precisely four and a half months without nightmares, one makes its unwelcome return and has Sam shuddering awake not long after midnight.

The bedroom’s humid, but his blood feels frozen in his veins and despite trying hard, too hard, his legs have turned immovable.

Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth.

His brain counts to ten three times over, raking memory after memory of the techniques he knew from his therapist, but it’s not always easy to find in practice. Not when his friend’s figure crashing down beside him, falling with an impossible speed from the sky, has burned its way back on his retinas.

It’s that scene that plays over and over. Not always this part, but most of the time.

For some reason, the nightmare takes him back to the shield lying hidden in plain sight in the living room, hesitantly grasping onto it, the blood transferring onto his bruised hands, the damned thing stuck in his mind so much that he had to take it home.

Sam’s breathing is still ragged, despite another attempt at an exercise.

That’s why he barely registers the door opening and gentle footsteps crossing the carpet until a hand comes to rest on top of his own.

He fully sits up in an uneven jump, still unable to feel his legs, but Bucky’s features soon materialize in the dark. Sam’s heart has suddenly moved into his throat.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, and instead of gripping, his co-worker’s fingertips start drawing soft circles over his knuckles.

Sam doesn’t need to force himself to focus on the sensation. His eyes hurt too much to look at the other man, or anything, really, so the attempt at keeping them shut seems like a better plan.

The bed shifts a little, but Bucky doesn’t come closer. “Breathe with me.”

He does. Attempts to gain control, make the thudding in his ears quiet, and step by step, his muscles seem to relax. First his stiff neck, then his shoulders, winding down with every breath he lets out, then the strain in his biceps fading.

After what seems like forever, the blood returns to his legs. Sam almost fears moving them, expecting them to crack, but he does, and they don’t.

This is why he decides to open his eyes, for some unknown reason in him, and lifts his gaze to look at Bucky again. He doesn’t say anything but their breathing is almost in sync now. The other man nods.

And he keeps those circling touches, never pausing, never leaving, even when Sam finally feels like he can hear his own thoughts and his heart isn’t threatening to claw its way out of his chest. Now, all he listens to is his co-worker’s breathing. Bucky’s palm is significantly sweatier than before but he shows no intention to take it back.

Sam also decides to flip his hand and meet the man’s, palm to palm. Just feels like the right thing to do.

Judging by Bucky lightly lacing their fingers together, the feeling is mutual.

At some point, with zero idea of just how long they’d been sitting there, he notices his body has seized its shaking, and the actual warmth of the room overwhelms without suffocation.

The other man seems to notice this, because he silently moves off the bed, abandoning Sam’s hand and cracks open the window to the whoosh of the wind through the leaves and distant chirping of crickets. His fingers reach up aimlessly for the missing touch until he returns.

His brain doesn’t understand why Bucky doesn’t leave then.

Their bare feet lay flush against each other. If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d say their hearts were beating in perfect harmony.

Bucky insists on cleaning up the table after dinner, so neither of them protest once they see the determination in his eyes.

Disappointment is what shows in both the boys’ eyes when his sister finally calls television time off, kissing both their heads with a chuckle, “Alright, time for bed, superheroes.”

Sam has to admit, he’s a little proud of his nephew when AJ tries to bargain them out of the situation. “We’ll sleep extra early tomorrow!”

“No, you won’t.”

They accept their mother’s proposal, of course, even if they sigh dramatically when Sarah finally gets them up the stairs. He has a funny feeling that stubbornness might’ve been picked up from a certain metal-armed man wandering around in the other room.

When his sister returns, she drops next to him and puts her head on his shoulder.

They take a moment to listen and enjoy the silence. Should do that more often, when he’s not in life or death situations, that is.

The tap turns on and off and on from afar, metal clangs against glass, and a muttered “Fuck.” makes its way to his ears, somehow. Sam doesn’t think his co-worker meant for anyone to hear that but himself, but he does. The feeling of Sarah’s warm cheeks and mouth forming into a smile, and then she lifts back up just enough to look him in the eyes.

“I’m glad you brought him along,” she tells him, and pats his thigh like she always does when she senses he needs assurance, even when he doesn’t feel it yet, “He’s good for you.”

His train of thought stumbles over the last part, but decides not to address it. Not yet, anyway. “He kind of showed up on his own, but alright.”

“Shut up.” his sister orders, still smiling, forehead returning to his shoulder once again.

Sam can’t make up any comeback, so he opts for putting his arm over, caressing her back with his mind absent and far away. In fact, it might be travelling into the kitchen to track the movement of Bucky, each step of the way.

He also might come to think that that’s what Sarah’s been trying to tell him.

That doesn’t make sense, though. Or he can’t really argue against it, but the saying seems out of place.

Maybe it’s got something to do with the other man finding him the other night, Sam falling back asleep with the presence of his hand and the disappearance of it in the morning. Come to think of it, it’s also got something to do with Bucky’s foot poking his own under the table while they were having breakfast. And most of all, it’s got something to do with the pleasant warmth that spreads from his chest and down to his toes whenever the other man’s figure comes into his line of sight.

Her statement isn’t out of place at all. It surprises him in a specific way that, deep down, isn’t surprising at all.

The sound of Bucky’s humming greets them, the source of his own smile.

He begins tracing circles on his sister’s back the same way the other man had done, mulling over the secret that’s uncovered, “I think you’re right.”

Sarah hums in agreement.

Sam knows that his sister thinks he and Bucky are a couple. And Sam knows that his feelings for the other man have changed without him even noticing, until now.

What he doesn’t really know is what to do with that information.

They’re really supposed to formulate some sort of plan, so the love confession he realises he’s harboring might be ill-timed. Besides, he honestly has no idea how Bucky’ll react, they’ve never talked about relationships or sexuality, probably because they’ve both been insisting on not being partners.

Which is untrue, obviously. Bucky wouldn’t find him and help his family out if they weren’t friends of some kind, right? A friend of a friend, in any case.

So he comes to the conclusion of keeping it as his own little secret, for now. Maybe a better time will come. A right time. Or maybe it won’t.

Either way, Sam thinks it best to let Sarah know of how they’re not, in fact, a couple once this whole thing is over. This superhero thing? This not-a-team thing? The promise of extended long vacation and, as he comes to regret saying, never seeing each other again looms over his consciousness.

You live and you learn, is that what you say?

But late after training, dinner, cleaning up that Bucky still insists on doing all by himself, Sarah long since gone to sleep, Sam finds the other man sitting on the end of his bed. The frown on his face sparks a worry in him, so he finds a seat on the desk chair, the two coming eye to eye.

“Hey,” Sam gets his attention instantly, “You good?”

Bucky blinks twice in confusion, but his tense posture seems to come and go like a lightswitch flicking on and off, relaxing under his gaze.

“Yeah… yeah, I guess. I don’t know,” and he clears his throat before ending the sentence with, “I’m sorry.”

The other man so easily makes Sam’s heart do somersaults again, over and over. He wonders if Bucky’s noticed. He also wonders if he should move over and sit next to him, but decides to watch their feet instead.

“You already apologised.” he reminds him, but his co-worker shakes his head.

“I know, but,” Bucky tries, but whatever he’s about to say is stopped with a sigh, several excruciating seconds pass by, until he takes Sam by surprise, “I just don’t feel like I’m a very good boyfriend.”

All too familiar to his sister’s observation last night, the words that sound in the bedroom don’t settle with him immediately. He feels like he must be frowning himself.

Did he just say what he thinks he said? Sure sounded like Bucky’s voice.

And unlike last night, Sam can’t help but blurt out his process of thinking about this, a thing that’s somehow also passed right over his head, “You- you’re what now?”

That’s also when he finally stops wondering, stands up and takes his place on the bed, because the other man’s frown deepens even further, and he’d rather not they misunderstand each other further than they, clearly, already have.

“Bucky,” Sam starts, and, for some reason, he feels incredibly brave in this moment, so much so that he reaches for the man’s hand the same way he did a couple of nights ago, “Do you think we’re… a couple?”

His co-worker huffs, “I know we are.” but it sounds just as much like a question.

He also starts tracing patterns on Sam’s hand again, taking his attention and warmth rushing to his cheeks as if on cue. Bucky isn’t frowning anymore, looks confused instead.

“Well, you could’ve told me.” he replies, and despite the other man opening his mouth, continues regardless, “I’d like to have known sooner.”

The man’s fingers moving on his skin don’t falter for a second. “So… you don’t want me to be your boyfriend?”

Sam can’t stop his smile, even if it’ll pain his jaw. Not that he wants to put a stop to it, not at all.

“Bucky Barnes, you’re ridiculous,” is the conclusion that pops up in his mind, crystal clearer than anything he’s felt in his life, “There’s nothing I want more.”

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yikesola · 3 years

Note

Hiii!! I couldn’t resist and read all the spoilers you posted lmao 😂😂 thank you for posting them!!! But as you’ve finished the book- do you think there was a lot of juicy dan stuff in it? He kept saying there would be but I saw some perhaps questionable anons on some other accounts saying that it was all stuff we’d know already. What are your thoughts?

So I’m bundling these just bc it’s easier lol hope this helps!

It’s not a memoir, he didn’t get into salacious deets— but it’s not a wellness brochure promising a little yoga and celery and deep breathing will magically cure you either. he was personable and chaotic :’)

There were definitely moments he bared his soul, but it wasn’t an exclusive tabloid scoop, if that makes sense. It wasn’t “you won’t believe who Dan’s been sending nudes to” and “this relative said a ~slur~🤭” and “top five youtubers dan will NEVER collab with again!”

And the therapies/exercises were semi-familiar to me but explained in such a helpful way that like ,, I might actually effectively use them. Like instead of my therapist saying “just pay attention to your body when it tenses” and me saying “..okay?”

I also can’t praise enough that I think it’s so appropriately paced for what is immediate concerns (coming down from a panic attack) to turning point concerns (exiting a depressive episode) to long term concerns (meds and lifestyle and non-linear healing)

He wasn’t lying about the number of Easter eggs which us in the know ,, will know akdjf but I also think the general public will find it so damn helpful for what it is

there was A Lot about financial insecurity, which we like /knew/ about his upbringing and student loans and moving to london broke, but it just really put into context for me that like ,, until tabinof they were living off ramen and still not making rent :( which idk I knew they moved as a risk but then I assumed working for the bbc paid Something! It gave really good context for their work work work anxiety ;__; and it stopped any like “poor little rich boy” the mean corners of my mind would’ve wanted to pull forth, in a similar way to when he’d mention “and I’m British so I know I’m privileged to have health care, and I’m a white guy so I’m given systematic advantages in that way, other people will have additional hurdles and that simply isn’t fair” which was always a nice reality check

there was a bit about the canceled Philippine ii show which we all at the time assumed was a customs issue, and it kinda was but it was even Bigger than we thought, like all the stage equipment was detailed and the crew and them were detained and they couldn’t talk about it publicly and dan went into problem solving mode while Phil and the crew panicked and he admits like ,, he could’ve just panicked with them. It was a very panic-worthy moment, there was nothing HE could do to solve the problem! :( like I don’t want to say the Asian phannies who traveled very far specifically for that show had no right to be upset by the last minute change, I’m saying dnp don’t do things flippantly or callously and this is a really large scale example of how some things are simply out of their hands

he talked about making online friends on guild wars and how hard that is to make those specific friends but he did what we all do: scream at people and hope they like us lol and some of them did, some were weird, some ghosted him, and he’s got some he talks to all the time and who love him and check up on him and it reminded me so much of how us dumb phannies are and I hope he understands he and Phil have given us that :’’)

There was a lot of anecdotes that like the examples above we ~knew~ about, but now there’s a clearer and more human picture 🥺 stuff about his dad and about his “gonna get out of this small town!” compartmentalization and about his many many visits w doctors and therapists til he found the right ones, and so much more. It wasn’t necessarily brand new stuff he was offering unless Dan is new to you — what he gave was “Daniel and Depression: Extended Edition” and “Basically I’m Gay: Extended Edition” woven between genuinely digestible mental health exercises and contextual validation. Which makes sense, this isn’t a book Just for us, it’s gotta be accessible to more than his core audience, and saying things like “juicy” and “tea” might be kind of just promo language depending on what you’re looking for when he says something like that. But :’) I found it really satisfying. And it’s okay if you don’t, but I hope you do or at least helpful/enjoyable/interesting on whatever level you end up engaging with the text

It was good ;__; It wasn’t the big tell-all memoir I’m counting on him releasing for free as a pdf in 45 years, sure, but it was still very intimate and personable and Very Dan between the techniques and terminology ✨

#ask #answered #anon #ywgttn spoilers #dan book

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comradekatara · 4 years

Note

god i dont know how this shit works still so im sending you the same question here, how would u do an azula redemption arc?

the thing about azula’s redemption is that realizing the error of her ways is only the first step; she needs to earn it. that said, she also needs to be shown empathy and tenderness, to be proven that people are capable of it, and capable of directing it towards her. azula’s arc must a) understand the weight of the harm she has caused b) make tangible amends where she can c) be good without expecting a reward d) realize that she doesn’t have to be perfect e) realize that she can be forgiven f) realize that she can be loved.

to answer this question, i am going to write a semi-thorough outline of how i would structure a post-canon spinoff series of atla. this is not a fourth season of atla, but a series that is supplementary to canon. i say this because the narrative structure of it would not work as a fourth season. i would structure azula’s redemption arc as vignettes sewn together, and somewhat eschew linear chronology. this isn’t to say i think this is the only narrative decision that works, but simply how i would choose to write it. and please keep in mind, this is merely an outline.

before i break down the “episodes,” i need to address the other existing continuations of atla.

legend of korra: actually this one is easy bc azula is never mentioned. next!

the comics: they do azula so dirty i refuse to read them as any sort of canon continuation of her arc whatsoever. the comics are also bad for a whole other slew of reasons. (this isn’t mentioning imbalance, which i enjoyed, but in which azula does not feature.)

measure each step to infinity: chell made me shout this out, and people have been imploring me to read the whole thing forever. i will not. i do not like it. disrespecting aang is an automatic red flag. next.

the series will be structured as “life-changing field trips.” first, is

SOKKA GAME: azula’s first introduction to hubris as downfall is when sokka casually offers to play her in pai sho. they agree to best of three; azula wins the first round easily, loses the second round easily, and loses the third round with slightly more difficulty but still in embarrassingly record speeds. having never lost a game of pai sho in her life, she is distraught. over the course of the game, they discuss war, imperialism, and sovereignty. one conversation isn’t enough to change her mind on all she was brought up believing, of course, but it plants some seeds. she decides she never wants to play sokka in pai sho again. but a year later, he offers again, and she is determined to prove herself. she loses, but it’s a closer match. that, in itself, is a small victory.

TOPH HIKE: a series of moments once a week spanning years. the one constant in azula’s life becomes toph, who is very reliable indeed. she is not scared of azula and never was, and she is empathetic enough to reach out. she takes her on hikes, same time every week, without fail. at first, azula is apprehensive that toph is planning to kill her. then she believes it to be some sort of test, a sick game. they walk in silence, though occasionally azula will say something snarky, which toph has learned to ignore. eventually, azula begins to talk. and toph listens, and commiserates, and pushes her in the right direction vis a vis getting her shit together. toph is the best therapist.

AANG ADVENTURE: remember that time azula murdered aang? yeah, so do they. it’s all they can think about now, trapped in the swamp together. aang asserts that it shouldn’t be difficult to get out if they just walk straight ahead, eventually the path will clear. but somehow, it doesn’t. azula’s emotional turbulence is making way for mirages galore. she runs into ursa (of course), ozai, zuko, ty lee, mai, suki, katara, azulon, sozin, iroh. aang sees gyatso, he sees his friends, his people. and azula sees them too. the entire nation her great-grandfather wiped out, and the sole remnant of it she nearly killed. looking at this boy in front of her, who is so powerful, and yet trying so hard to be gracious to her despite having every reason to hate her, and realizing that he shoulders enormous burdens she doesn’t actually know anything about, she breaks down in tears. aang helps her calm down. eventually, they decide they’re gonna find their way out this swamp. they run into toph, who says, “i thought i might find you losers here,” and gracefully shows them the way out.

AZULA ALONE: finally, after a good couple years of waiting for the opportunity, azula manages to make her escape. she is so fucking sick of being under zuko’s watch, under zuko’s authority, and all she wants is to leave. her hikes with toph are, she will admit, a pleasant breath of fresh air, but it’s not remotely close to freedom. she hitchhikes all the way to an ex-colony in the middle of a river, where she doubts she will ever be found. she knows she can’t stay forever, but she is tired of running, so she decides to stay for at least a couple of days. it is here that she meets dock (or is it xu?) who tells her about the waterbender who saved their village. well, azula only knows one waterbender: sokka’s sister, whatsherface. (she hasn’t actually seen katara since the comet, which is more than fine with her!!!!) then, they tell her about how the new firelord freed them from fire nation occupation, and how their economy is functional and their quality of life has drastically improved. azula scoffs at the adulation with which they speak of katara and zuko, as if they are heroes. that night, she realizes that she does not have enough money for food (she pickpocketed a guy she hitched a ride from earlier, but she had to spend it all on the ferry across the river). a little boy overhears her, and before she can protest, drags her by the hand to his house, where his family welcome her and offer her their food. she’s uncomfortable; there is so little of it as it is, but they insist that they have plenty. she watches them casually, lovingly interact over a meager meal, and she is still unable to place that pit of longing in her heart. the next day, she is greeted by none other than suki, who merely rolls her eyes and says, “come on, you don’t really want to stay here, do you?” and azula sighs and says, “no... i suppose not.”

SUKI FAVOR: long timeskip. (but also crucial that the previous episode ended on suki so that her character is fresh in the minds of the audience.) the kyoshi warriors were the only people zuko trusted to guard azula at first. we see this in the earlier episodes when they are guarding azula, but we do not see them reacting to her. eventually, the kyoshi warriors go back to kyoshi island, and while zuko still keeps azula at arm’s length, he also knows that she isn’t a danger to herself or others. azula hasn’t seen suki in a while when she returns to the palace. now that suki is there for another purpose, not as her prisoner, and not as her prisoner, azula sees her humanity, and is overcome with guilt at the memory of what she did. she is determined to prove to suki that she deserves her forgiveness. she does a series of favors for suki which do nothing to earn suki’s favor, and eventually suki says “im not going to help you ease your conscience. are you penitent, or do you just want to be absolved?” and it is then that azula realizes that she is penitent. and she proves it.

KATARA SHOWDOWN: one morning, azula awakes to the realization that she cannot bend. she freaks out, naturally, and demands to know if the avatar is behind this. aang assures that he is not. she can still produce a low, simmering flame, which means she hasn’t lost her fire entirely; it’s just… gone out. this time, when she leaves, it is because zuko has deemed her ready (he trusts toph and sokka’s opinions on the matter, and they sort of actually like her). this time, she makes it all the way to the south pole. she sees a lot on the journey there. she has never been this far south, and it dawns on her just how much of the world she hasn’t seen. just how young she was, still is. she gets trapped in a blizzard, and would freeze to death (fireless) if it weren’t for a man finding her out in the cold and bringing her back into town. there, she wakes up to katara’s furious face as she demands to know what azula is doing here. azula tells her the truth, and katara scoffs. there’s no way she’s supposed to believe that, what? azula is just...on holiday? they get each other so riled up that they end up fistfighting in the snow in the middle of town, and it is only when azula does not defend herself against katara’s waterbending that katara falters. maybe she really has changed.

IROH APOLOGY: the fact that no one in ba sing se recognizes azula as she enters their walls does not surprise her; they were always a particularly incompetent bunch. she finds the jasmine dragon easily, as everyone claims it is the best tea shop in the city. “wow,” azula says dryly, “the whole city????” iroh is somewhat stunned to see her. zuko had told him about her, of course, but it’s different when you haven’t seen your niece in person since she had you thrown in prison. which, yes, is how long it’s been. she orders a ginseng, and never takes her eyes off him as he prepares it. if her intention is to unnerve him (which it certainly is) it’s working. she drinks it so properly she does not look human, and she talks to him only in niceties. he responds just as politely. he asks her about her travels, and she tells him. he seems surprised that she is willing to admit that she was wrong in the past, willing to admit the error of their once-shared imperialist agenda. “why not?” azula asks. what differentiates them, other than the fact that she successfully took ba sing se where he could not? is it the fact that he was significantly older when he became enlightened? is it the fact that he had always discarded her, deemed her irreparably broken? he says “no, of course not,” and she says, “don’t bullshit me, uncle.” they are taking a walk through the city, that still stands despite their legacies, when they apologize. they both owe apologies, and are owed apologies. and they accept it.

ZUKO PROOF: it takes a really long time for zuko to fully forgive azula, and when he does, there is still a big part of azula that doesn’t even understand why. (she chalks it up to naïveté.) it takes a much longer time for zuko to truly trust her. this episode is a series of moments in which azula proves herself worthy of that trust. it takes a lot, because zuko thinks it’s all part of a long game, where she’s trying to earn his trust to eventually betray him. above all, she has to prove she has no interest in the throne. she has to prove that her vulnerability isn’t an act, and that she’s not lying, and that she wants to zuko’s trust so desperately that she will prove it. zuko tells her to pack a bag. she asks where it is that he intends on taking her. “to get your firebending back,” he says. it is only when the dragons deem her worthy that zuko’s final doubts can be allayed. azula cries when she realizes what firebending can be, that firebending can feel good, like love instead of approval. her flames are never blue again.

additional notes:

azula does not confront ursa, mai, or ty lee. not for a long time, at least. some wounds never heal, and you just have to learn to live with it, to live without it. we see, in hints elsewhere, that mai and ty lee are okay.

azula does not have some earth-shattering realization that ozai was a bad father/leader either. it is far more gradual than that.

azula does not deserve suki or aang’s forgiveness, but she gets it anyway.

she does befriend toph and sokka, who manage to forgive her once zuko does, and they both think she’s a riot, but she and katara maintain a relationship of mutual hostility/grudging respect for the rest of their lives.

it is crucial that azula shedding her nationalism is emphasized throughout her arc. she needs to realize that everything she grew up believing, about power, fear, superiority, the divine right to rule, etc. is all bullshit. she needs to learn to value globalism and kindness.

this is a rough sketch of the timeline:

#azula #analysis #lmao this 2k word outline and not even remotely as thorough as how i would structure it were this an actual project #as opposed to hypothetical #(hint: bryke hire me)#asks #dumb-soprano-bitch #postwargaang #outlines

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softer-ua · 3 years

Text

Two Left Feet, And One In The Mouth

Pt. 1

Lying there catching his breath seething Katsuki became suddenly aware of the feeling of melting iceberg quickly soaking his back, every drop replacing his already spread thin patients

Katsuki knew he need to hurry up and fix things with Deku, that he should go change into the spare clothes he kept in his office, that he had a much better chance of winning Deku over if he played nice with his friends, and he knew Shoto was only turning his hoodie into a impromptu sponge to piss him off and distract him from actually accomplishing any of that.

He also knew that it was fucken working.

Jumping up he felt his hoodie’s new weight pulling on him, the bastard had soaked him all the way through and the hoodie's fluffy inside was only making it worse, gross dirty floor water was fast spreading all the way down his pants and even through to his front.

Kasuki was seeing red, the only thought in his head was a vision of the Icyhot bastards head on a pike.

And that's how 15 minutes later he found himself standing in the meeting room sporting a few new bruises and dripping a puddle onto the floor, as he argued with ‘Lightning Mcqueen in glasses’ that he shouldn’t have to take the sole blame for ‘blowing up half the lobby’ or the charring on the lower branches of the lobby’s new ‘just set up yesterday, took all day to decorate, Sato ate half a snickers cheesecake just to get it in here, Tamaki and Ochako were so excited to put the star on, blah blah blah’ Christmas tree.

Those were clearly fire singe marks, not explosive blowback, and he told Mirio as much as he turned to blatantly ignore Iida. He also told him it was absolutely bullshit they had a tree up in the first week of fucken November!

Katsuki didn’t care to admit most of this blustering was to avoid admitting the main reason ‘a little bit of water set off a top ranking pro’ was because his brand Fucken new, curently one of a fucken kind, limited edition Hero Deku tee was hidden under his hoodie.

It was supposed to be part of the nerds Christmas present. His dad had just given it to him last night for a trial wear before they made the actual order to have enough made in time to be advertised and auctioned off to raise funds for the nerds favorite holiday charities.

Katsuki had planned to show up to dance practice in it after patrol and then do some photos together to boost the word about the dance and the auction.

Now not only was Deku not talking to him, but if he showed Deku this gross wrinkled mess he’d probably never speak to him again. Today officially sucked and all because ChargeDolt and RedRot couldn’t keep their fucken mouths shut... and some other things that were definitely not his fault either.

Eventually Mirio and Iida seem to tire themselves out and let the group go with a warning to expect their already packed schedules to be slammed with several hours of community service and outreach.

And of course Mirio asked Katsuki had to hang back because the universe hated him today. And of course he was given some more bad news because why would anything ever be easy?

Deku had been switched to evening patrol for today with Tokoyami, and Amajiki had agreed to take his place for the first half of the morning and Uraraka would join him after lunch

Katsuki wanted to bitch that they couldn’t reschedule because they had stupid dance practice, but between Deku not wanting to talk to him, no ‘don’t stay mad at me’ surprise, not wanting to explain to Deku what happened to the lobby, and not even a half baked explanation or apology in mind for why he said what he did Katsuki just grunted his acknowledgement and went to change into his costume. If anything he was getting off easier like this. At least Amajiki was on of the few extras he could stand.

_______________________________________________

If Mirios plan for punishment was to guilt him to the core by saddling him with a semi sulking SunEater, then he was an evil genius. Cause it was working, Katsuki hadn’t felt this all around ashamed since.… well probably only like a year but still.

Amajiki was one of the few people who Katsuki actually respected as a hero and a person, not only did the fellow pro have a kick ass quirk that he used creatively but Katsuki had grown to (begrudgingly) admire the hero for how up front he was with his anxiety and how hard he worked through it. It kinda reminded him of Deku and his oddballness and how the nerd used it to his advantage to become the symbol of hope.

Katsuki had been expecting a half mumbled lecture and a maybe even prodding about therapy. The nervous nellies' unusually strong(for them) vendetta with the hero world was it's slacking in mental healthcare or whatever.

So after struggling through about four hours of sullen silence, (that was also infuriatingly familiar, apparently heroing wasn’t all the nerd had learn from his senpais), Katsuki snapped with a screech like an overly taunt fiddle string.

“I’m sorry about the fucken tree! If it’s not replaced by the time we get back I’ll do it my goddamn self, happy?!” Katsuki had been expecting Tamki to give a quiet nod or retreat into himself more, depending on how he took his offer. He definitely didn’t expect to be glared at

“You think I’m upset about the tree?” Amajiki tilted his head in confusion. Maybe they should talk about Katsuki seeing the team's therapist more. Monthly was the minimum everyone on the newly forged Heros Union of Honor had to attend but Katsuki was clearly needing more support right now. Maybe it was the holidays? A good portion of them were going biweekly now for that reason.

HUH was more than an agency. It was a newly emerging code of ethics board. You were expected to be worth the honor of being called a hero when partnered with HUH, and that meant getting your mental health to its peak was a priority.

That didn’t mean everyone (or really anyone) was perfectly mentally fit, just that mental health was a priority. Other agencies had taken notice of how differently they operated even within their first year, and since then a few had even sent their heroes through the HUH program to learn how to operate more like them. They were quickly taking up the void the Hero's Commission had left.

“I’m not upset about the tree, I’m upset because you hurt my friends and fellow hero partners-“ Amajiki was rudely cut off as he caught a gauntlet to the chest, thank god they’d gotten smaller over the years.

“He’s your business partner, he’s MY hero partner, has been since before we agreed to join this agency.” Katsuki thundered.

Why everyone on the board had to call each other partners was something Katsuki didn’t understand, but he refused to let them slip up and start tossing around the phrase Hero Partner. They were all business partners,something anyone could become. A Hero Partner was a major commitment, and Katsuki had the signed legal waivers to prove it.

Amajiki stopped and looked at Katsuki fully, really taking in his teammates' rattled appearance.

Katsuki had been doing well, dare say even flourishing within HUH, so today’s outbreak was nearly out of character at this point and still Katsuki didn’t appear to be calming down any. If anything he was only growing more tightly wound.

Yes, Amajiki was upset with Katsuki but he’d remained silent during their patrol more so the blonde could have some time to think, but it didn’t seem to have done him any good. Amajiki fought through the nervousness that crawled under his skin and begged him to just let the explosive guy be.

Mirio had asked him to talk with Katsuki, under some false impression that Katsuki respected him more, but before this moment he’d figured it was better to not butt in. He hadn’t been around when this morning’s incident happened but he could see another one brewing.

Amajiki shuffled side to side for a second considering his options. He could just send Katsuki home early, even put him on leave until he got cleared by the teams therapist. Or he could do what Mirio suggested and reach out to a struggling teammate.

Therapy was good, but therapy with a support network was better.

“GroundZero, let’s take lunch. I think we need to have a talk-“ Amajiki put up a slightly trembling hand to silence the blonde. Straightening his back and furthering his resolve he pushed forward. “-This isn’t really optional, we neeeed to have a talk, and about more than this morning's incident. I wanna talk about your hero partner.”

Katsuki’s argument died on his tongue. He shoved his hands in his pockets with a grunt and jerked his head to signal to Amajiki to take the lead.

Katsuki knew he wasn’t gonna like what came next but he tried to reminded himself that he trusted and respected Amajiki, and that meant hearing him out when asked. It’s what Deku would do, so it’s what Katsuki would try to do.

#my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia #kacchan #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #dekubaku #bakudeku #bnha fanfiction #I’m sticking with GroundZero cause that’s who was envisioned when I first wrote this lol #I struggled keeping the same vibe as part one #but like I wrote it a forever and half ago and just posted it so I wouldn’t have to look at it in my drafts anymore lol #I hope those of you who liked the first part aren’t to disappoint #I have the next part written but I might change it depending on the reaction

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snovaness · 4 years

Text

A Letter

A letter part two

Part one

You should have kept in touch with him. It’s not like you didn’t want to but life got really busy and if you were being honest the time zone difference didn’t help at all. Eventually the messages grew scarce until there were no messages at all. The only reason you knew anything about him was through social media. His Instagram had gotten a flood of new followers ever since he joined MSBY team. People thirsted after him which you thought was strange considering you still saw him as college friend Usa-Chan. His life seemed so exciting while you had graduated school over 3 months ago and still hadn’t found a job.

You felt your phone vibrate and saw it was a notification from Instagram. Opening up the app you see a message from a guy named Atsumu Miya. His messaged read: hey I know you don’t know who I am but I’m Sakusa’s teammate. I am messaging you on behalf of the MSBY Black jackals team because as you know Omi’s birthday is in a week. I’m sorry that this is really short notice but we only recently found out about you being Omi’s best friend two days ago due to the drunken state Sakusa ended up in. The team is willing to purchase your ticket from where ever you are currently and fly you out to Japan. The team has a party planned for him but when we found out that you haven’t seen each other in over 2 years we thought that bringing you out to see him would be a great gift for him. Plus it would be something he actually would like compared to anything else we could get him. Please let me know as soon as you can so our manager can book your ticket. I hope you’re able to join us.

Seeing Kiyoomi again was something you hoped you’d be able to do the first few months after you left Japan but ever since the two of you grew apart you assumed it wouldn’t happen. Would he even be excited to see you? I mean a free trip to Japan sounds nice plus you could visit some of your other friends that you made there. You didn’t really have anything going on currently besides the occasional nanny job. “Fuck it I’m going to accept!”

Hello Atsumu,

I really appreciate this opportunity and I would love to take it but I have to be honest with you, Sakusa and I haven’t really talked to each other in over a year so I’m not too sure if he would be excited to see me. If the offer still stands despite this I am prepared to go at any moment. If not I still appreciate you reaching out to me. I wish your team the best of luck and it was really nice to meet you!

You didn’t expect a reply right away yet again your phone began to vibrate but this time it was from a video call. Well now you knew Atsumu was bold because he was about to video chat with a complete stranger. Without really thinking about it you set your phone against the cereal box and answered the call. You noticed a tuft of orange hair I’m the background as Atsumu sets the phone down. You panicked slightly when you began to hear their fast paced Japanese. Of course you knew they would speak Japanese but considering the message that was sent to you was in English the thought escaped your mind.

“Sorry if my Japanese isn’t the best also I’m in my pajamas because it’s currently 8 in the morning for me.” “Oh no worries! We just wanted to kinda meet you so that way you feel more comfortable around us.” A confused look settled onto your face but then 2 other guys came into the frame. “Hi! I’m bokuto!” “I’m Hinata!” “We’re all teammates with Omi Omi” you let out a slight snort. “You guys call him Omi Omi? I bet he hates that. I can just image the look on his face of pure disgust.” The guys chuckled “that’s the exact look he gave us at first but he’s use to the name now. Anyways I read your message that you guys aren’t really in contact anymore and we know that. He was really drunk a couple nights ago after we won our last match of the season and he mentioned how he wish you guys had better communication but the time difference made things difficult. Our manager will probably contact you tomorrow morning Tokyo time which I’m sure will probably be evening for you. But we’re thinking flying you out two days before Omi’s birthday which gives you one day of traveling and another for resting before the party. We want to see the face he makes when he sees you at the party, which is semi formal by the way.” You spoke to the guys for about an hour going over the details of the trip.

You felt the excitement bubble up in your chest as you saw the familiar scenes of the Tokyo airport. Atsumu himself had come to pick you up with the other two volleyball players. “How was your flight!” Hinata questioned. “It was amazing! You guys didn’t have to get me first class seats! I slept for about half of the flight it was so comfortable. I’m really grateful that you guys did this. Sakusa really has some amazing friends.” You had gotten to Japan the day before the party and even though you have bought enough clothes for a week your craving to shop for Japanese fashion took over. “I’m sure you guys are probably busy today but would any of you like to join me? I want to go shopping.”

You had an enjoyable day with Hinata who was the only one that could join you for your shipping trip. You had even picked up a few gifts for Sakusa himself. Staring at the gift bag that help the pink plush you smiled to yourself. Tomorrow you would be attending the party and would be seeing Kiyoomi after two years. A mix of excitement and fear began to rise in your chest similar to how it did when you arrived at the airport.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived with Atsumu. Your hands slightly sweaty from the nerves. You noticed the tuft of black curls across the room and Atsumu warned you to hide from Sakusas view until it was time. “Omi Omi! Happy birthday! I’m glad you actually decided to come to your own party. I got you the best gift you could ask for!” Atsumu handed him a decorative bag that held the plush you purchased the day before. As Sakusa pulled out the bunny you made your way to stand behind him. “Sumu why did you buy me a pink bunny?” You put your hand on his shoulder “Now don’t tell me that you forgot all about your nickname Usa-Chan” the look on his face was pure shock.

“I- is this real? How did you know about all this?” He pulled you into a hug “Atsumu actually messaged me on Instagram and said it was a team gift for your birthday to invite me since you know it’s been a little over two years.” He gave you a big smile “well your Japanese has gotten better. Plus your hair is different now but I won’t lie I already knew that from Instagram. Looking at you is like I’m in a dream right now because I never expected you to be in front of me again.” He placed a hand on your cheek “well you know me I’m a sucker for romance so I had to come back after that letter you wrote me” his face turned into a light shade of pink “ahh yeah the letter I wrote you when you left... we never talked about that so I thought you never got it”

For the rest of the party you hung around Sakusa and his teammates, Komori even spoke to you for a while. As the night went on all you could think about is how everything felt like it was normal, it was as if nothing had changed. Unfortunately, many things had changed since those college years. You still haven’t found a job while Sakusa was successful volleyball player. The two of you were on different paths in life. Your smile began to fade into a frown. Many thoughts burned into your mind ‘You shouldn’t have come to Japan’ ‘Sakusa forgot about you there was no reason to be here’.

“Hey what’s eating you up?” “I just feel a little out of place with all these successful people around me” Usa-chan’s laugh vibrated through the room as you spoke to Atsumu. “What do you mean? Omi Omi said you were studying to be in sports medicine isn’t that pretty successful?” You let out a sigh “It would be if I could find a job but it’s been a rough few months since I graduated. I was supposed to work with a soccer team in Spain but that didn’t go through since my Spanish wasn’t advanced enough. My only option is going to be in English speaking countries I guess.” You noticed a grin grow on Atsumu’s face. “You know I happen to know a team that is in need of a physical therapist. Hey Omi! I think I found the perfect person for our little Japan team problem”

You sucked in a deep breath when Kiyoomi made his way over to the two of you. “What Japan team problem?” There was a wiggle in Atsumu’s brows that looked troublesome. “We aren’t supposed to say anything yet but last week we got selected as official players for Japan’s Olympic volleyball team and I heard that the usual physical therapist they hire is retiring. I’m sure Omi and I can pull some strings.” “Wait did you even give her an option? You don’t even know if she wants to move to Japan. You can’t expect her to just pack up her life and move to a whole different country especially when a stranger is asking her too.”

“I would be willing if you asked me Kiyoomi. If you told me right now to apply for a visa for the Japan olympic team I would.” Pink began to tint his cheeks but you weren’t sure if he was blushing or if the alcohol had finally begun to take its affect on him. “Y/n we haven’t seen each other in 2 years it would be stupid for you to do that. I mean I’m sure you have offers back at ho-“ “No I don’t have any offers. I’ve been a part time nanny for my parents neighbors for 3 months now. Usa-chan… do you still feel the way you did when you wrote me that letter? I need to know if coming back here was a mistake.” There was an awkward silence which was Atsumu’s cue to leave the two of you alone on the balcony of the ball room that was rented out. “I thought I moved on. I even went out on dates with other people but I just kept thinking about that time we almost kissed in my car. I haven’t been able to escape from your grasp. Listen if you really want to move back to Japan… if you want to move here for me I can talk to the teams management.” He placed his hands on both sides of your face “I regret not keeping up with you I hope you know that Y/n” you nodded slightly “I regret never kissing you that night in the car.”

“I can fix that if you want.” Your eyes fluttered shut as the feeling of his lips began to graze over yours. All in one swift movement he pulled your face towards him to deepen the kiss. His mouth tasted of champagne and it began to feel intoxicating. He pulled away but you kept your eyes shut a few moments longer. Finally when you opened them you spoke. “ I never wanted to leave Japan in the first place. If I have the opportunity to stay here with you and find a job I would take it in a heartbeat. He smiled down at you. “Stay at my place tonight and I’ll make the call tomorrow morning.”

The next few days felt like an alternate reality. There you were in an interview for your paperwork to live in Japan with the lawyer of the Japanese olympic volleyball team, next you were heading back home to pack and great rid of somethings you would no longer need, and finally you were moving into your own apartment near the gym for the Olympic Games. With Kiyoomi’s hand in yours you walked into the gym together greeting all your new coworkers who would quickly become some of your best friends.

#sakusa #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #kiyoomi #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #hq kiyoomi #kiyoomi fluff #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyū!!#haikyuu x reader

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heli0s-writes · 5 years

Text

Good in the World

Request: So nice thank you! Is there a way you could change the Endgame ending? You were a woman saved by Steve during his time on the run who in the years became your best friend but he leaves you behind all alone. He comes back years later as he realized he was in love with you. You are now struggling (mental health) and you do not want to forgive him as the heartbreak was too much. He does everything he can and in the end you both can move on together.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: My first request and I promised I would deliver something good for my boiiii. I tried! It’s angsty and deviated from the prompt a LIL. I slammed it out in a day and please God let it be AITE.

Images of him come to you in flashes.

Terrible little souvenirs of shared dinners and evening conversation. The once white and red stripes of his suit, grimy and soot covered. The way he held his arm out and asked, “You okay?” the first day you met after the shooting incident in the park.

Three days later, him at your door, checking in on you.

Steve Rogers, on the run, had grown out his hair and beard, had hardened into a fatalist. But he showed up with a cup of soup and sat with you until you stopped crying.

“Hey. It’s okay. Take your time.” In between blubbering stuck syllables of “Wh-wh-why? Wh-what the f-fuck?” as your brain tried to process the sequence of the trauma. A random act of violence in the park. Two shot dead. Four others bled out on their way to the hospital. You, missed.

Why them? Why you?

And he kept showing up. Not too often, but often enough to where you started to expect him.

He turned on the lights for you. Offered to warm up your food when nothing mattered and everything was cold.

Days turned into weeks turned into months and the fugitive Captain America turned into your… something. Perhaps a confidant, maybe your therapist, at the very least, a semi-stable-unstable fixture.

You imagined that outside of his cohort of similarly hidden friends, you were the glimpse back to reality he could have.

The memories of him sting you inside out.

And now that half the world had been reduced to cinders and ruminations and your life turned into one long and desolate dream, sometimes you cling onto his memory because it is all you have. He’s still out there, you know, because the news channels broadcasted every Avenger who was dusted, and they didn’t broadcast him.

He’s out there, but he hasn’t come back.

The fatalist in you has resigned to being just another human, blipped out to him like all the rest.

You teach the art therapy class held every Thursday at the local YMCA. It’s a shit-show, in all honesty, and you’re sure that everyone who’s there can see that you are in no shape to be leading it. Even with your shiny groomed hair and soft pink lipstick, performing the necessary task of femininity, they can see. You have nothing but the meager paycheck and the emptiness of a single studio apartment in a now-dilapidated building.

The current session is dragging when one of your students breaks down half-way through and smashes the canvas. You’re up on your feet, pulling him aside to practice the crisis-prevention strategies you’ve learned throughout the years. He’s sobbing and rocking in your arms, falling apart as he wails.

It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. Why did I survive? I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be here.

You tell him a joke. You hold his hand and run it under cold water. Strategies to replace the overloaded emotions with anything else. You remind him that he’s going on a date next week with someone he’s been very interested in. That the people he loved—loves, would want him to be happy.

He tells you the man he’ll be seeing is also in a group. Grief group. They met by chance. Talked about their grief. Cried over salad about their grief.

Yes. It’s okay. That is okay. Take small steps to move on and soon enough, you’ll have moved so far you won’t be able to see where you started. Go on the date. Let yourself find love and happiness.

The words pour from your mouth like running water, trickling evenly until he is all covered and cool. After a few minutes, the two of you return to the paints, and you pat his back and tell him he’s doing just fine.

The image comes, then, of a heavy brocade comforter wrapped around your shoulders, a cup of tea between your hands burning so hot Steve has to take it from you. You are staring into the dead screen of the T.V. when you say, “I try so hard to have faith in the good in the world. But this... how can it be good? This fucking shitty… fucking life.”

And him, blowing on your tea, holding it to your dried lips, whispering, “Careful, it’s hot.”

When you go home later, you drop tears into your own dinner because the stupid plate is blue and green and shines like Steve Rogers’ eyes and why the fuck have you never noticed it. The words you used to console your student are too close to the ones he had used on you, once. You throw it into sink where it splinters into a hundred pieces, and a little part of you hopes he feels it too, wherever he is.

On a late Thursday session, he arrives with the fallen autumn leaves as they gust in through the sliding doors. Crunching under his feet alerts you to the entrance where he steps in bashfully, as if he is a late dinner guest.

You furrow your brow because you’re not sure who he is at first, because your full session is nearly finished, and you don’t have room for another student. His once covered jaw is smooth, and the long hair you had grown used to seeing is shorter than ever, swept back, more flaxen.

He’s Captain America now, a paragon of hope in these dark times, so he’s dressing the part.

Everyone has finished cleaning their brushes and have placed their canvas to the side to dry. Your rags are slung over your arms, apron crusted with acrylic.

“Hey.” He says, like he’s been here for the past five years. “I heard about a really great art therapy group led by someone who sounded like you.” Then he smiles, like he’s your friend and not your flashback.

The smile is all it takes. You recede into a moment in the kitchen when you made dinner and the sound of tires running over glass bottles outside popped too loudly and your world suddenly caved in. By the time you returned, Steve was smothering a stovetop fire with wet hand-towels and splashing water onto the burn on your palm.

He wrapped you up afterwards with gauze and you half-heartedly made a joke. “Hey.” You called, “What did King Tut say when he had a nightmare?”

In his enormous and calloused hands was yours, half curled with the irritation of the inbound blister. “What…?” He asked, eyes narrowing because it was not the right time for a joke someone might find on a Laffy Taffy wrapper.

“I want my mummy. Fucking classic.” You replied, holding up your hand, gauze now tucked into the wrist. The fugitive Captain America had closed his eyes as the slightest half-smile lifted his face, and under the yellow glare of the restroom light, you imagined a good world protected by him.

He is different now. His grief is different, and his needs are different. His reality is the same as your reality, as everyone else’s reality. He no longer needs glimpses into anything.

So, you think, why is he here?

“Hey. You okay?”

What the fuck? Your irritation pools inside you like magma, threatening to erupt at any sudden movement as you work to clean up the vacated room. Steve slowly moves forward, having been sitting down for the last fifteen minutes since you’ve ended the session early.

“Get out of my sight.”

He looks like you’ve just slapped him across the face, and a part of you wish you had because fuck him. Fuck Steve Rogers and fuck Captain America and fuck this shitty fucking world. He takes a few steps up to you, and in those familiar eyes you see how utterly worn down he looks.

Ironically, Steve Rogers clean-shaven looks older than when you knew him.

In the bedroom, on a particularly rainy afternoon, he had helped you put on the newly washed sheets no longer stained with the old blood from your clothes—splashes of other people as the bullets ripped through them. You’d slept in it for almost a month before he discovered it, and then, without another word he tore them off and threw them in the washer. The First Avenger, leaning over your machine, deep in thought had sent you into a fit of laughter.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes. I did.” He was firm and too serious. You told him as much. It wasn’t a big deal, you said, sometimes you don’t even notice the blood. You didn’t have to tell him why you never washed it for him to figure it out.

“You don’t have to carry this with you.” Steve stepped forward, until your back was pressed against the wall. He put both his hands on your shoulder. “You’re okay. You can let yourself move on. You don’t have to keep punishing yourself.”

He rubbed his knuckles over his beard and pulled you into a hug when you shook silently.

As he predicted, you eventually took steps to move on. It wasn’t easy, and it had taken almost a year. You still cried a lot and had nightmares almost constantly, so you hardly slept. On one occasion you were so deprived you had come in after a day of work and left the door wide open, collapsing on the couch. When you mentioned it to Steve in passing a few weeks later, he made it his personal mission to swing by even more. It made you uneasy, because as someone in hiding, having a schedule of checking on someone would make him stupid.

He didn’t listen.

At three in the morning as you laid sideways on the floor watching the second movie of the night, Steve had knocked and demanded that you go to bed.

“Can’t.” You sighed, “It’s been too loud lately. Everything… moving. Big noises. I get--” Your eyes squeezed shut, “scared.”

He called your name, jerking you from the haze that threatened to overtake you again, and pulled you up by the hand. When you swayed, he lifted you up and took you to bed, tucking the covers under your chin. Steve had turned down the temperature, piled on a spare blanket on top, and sat by your bedside until you had fallen asleep.

The next day, he dropped off a white noise machine at the door while you were at work.

“Get the fuck out of here.” You hiss, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry. I j-just want--”

“You’re sorry? Holy shit, man. Five years, you asshole! It’s been five years!”

Steve takes in a deep breath and sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his dress pants until the fabric is stretched tight over his thighs. “I don’t know what to say.” He murmurs. “It’s been… really difficult.”

You nearly shriek as a sob threatens to rip from your throat. “You have got to be fucking with me, Steve.”

They’re the wrong words, though, because the last time you said that to him was the last time you saw him. Hearing them out of your own mouth again opens the floodgates.

The white noise machine accompanied by a strict bedtime routine let your progress advance just a tiny bit more, until it crawled along at a snail’s pace, but it crawled, nonetheless. Steve walked you through it in the beginning, turning off all the electronics, setting the temperature to a chilly 67 degrees, piling heavy blankets on your bed, and making the tea.

You told him it was stupid, but he was insistent. The two of you listened to a relaxation video together, practiced deep-breathing, and then he read out loud from a book on your shelf.

Your eyes closed for a few minutes. When they opened again, you were screaming, and Steve’s arms were wrapped around your waist and back.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re okay.”

It had been two hours since he closed the book. He said he didn’t mean to stay for so long, but he was worried. He was reading on the couch when he heard you crying. You sobbed into his chest until he laid you back down.

Eventually it became a habit for him to come over in the evenings. Then, it was making dinner together. Then, it was watching a movie sometimes, curled up on the couch. You started sleeping better, having nightmares less, laughing more than he’d ever seen before.

Eventually, all of those things came for him, too. Eventually, he found it easy to be with you. Eventually, he forgot that he was shunned from the world, because you always welcomed him into your home.

It rained the night he kissed you. It had been raining all through the movie, and he meant to leave earlier, but you patted the place on the couch—his place, and gave him such a sweet smile he couldn’t bring himself to say no.

So, he sat once more next to you and you told him the premise of the movie you picked out tonight. You were notoriously bad about spoiling the plot, so he had laughed when the information was coming hard and fast and he clamped his hand over your mouth before something important slipped.

You bit him.

And the feeling of your teeth on his skin ignited something that hadn’t sparked in him since the war.

Before either of you knew it, Steve Rogers pulled you on top of him and kissed you so roughly you had to break away for air.

“S-Steve?”

He didn’t stop. He fisted your hair, latched onto your neck, bound your torso to his with two powerful arms and kissed you until you were dizzy. He felt so good. Warm and safe, like the world could disintegrate and you would be just fine as long as you were with him.

The days turned into months turned into almost two years and Steve Rogers was holding you in his arms like you were something to him. Like you could have been a lover.

It was too bizarre. You shook your head in the middle of him lifting up your shirt and held his face in your hands. “Steve,” He blinked the haze from his eyes, “Steve, are you fucking with me? Are you—serious about this?”

“Yeah.” He sighed into your neck, “I am. I’m tired of not feeling. And it feels good to be with you.”

You don’t think you can take any more of this. Seven years ago, a random act of violence tore your world apart. It took two years and the help of Steve Rogers to stitch it back together, until he took it into his hands and pulled it to pieces again. The world did disintegrate, and he wasn’t there.

The decimation poked a million holes in it, and you poured out of the spaces until you became nothing more than this. A shell. A husk. A monotonous thing, masquerading as a person.

And now he’s back, shoving his fingers in the chasms.

“I can fix this.” He says. “I think I can. I can go back to before. Before Thanos.”

Your perfectly made hair and immaculate make up aren’t enough armor to shield you from his assault. Him, standing before you now, pierces straight through your chest and your gut, and you are falling apart, all five years of nothing, sliding from your eyes.

“I’m sorry I disappeared. We—we had to go. He came and we couldn’t stop him. A-and, I think I’ve been too...ashamed to admit that. My failure changed the entire world. I couldn’t..”

You want to scream at him and say, I’m not the world. What about me? What about how you changed me?

But inside of your shitty fatalist veneer, you still believe in the good. Despite what Steve Rogers has done to you, he can still be the good you once thought of him. But the years have been unkind, and you hold too big of a wound inside to be healed by an apology. Even if he is good for the world, he isn’t good for you.

In the middle of you sticking a loaded paintbrush onto a canvas, the YMCA erupts into noise as bodies materialize from thin air in poofs of bursting smoke and ash. It’s like the snap in reverse order—and people are crashing into your supplies and students, and there is fumbling and screaming and so many questions.

Your therapy group is scattering like flies, grabbing their coats and rushing out the door, running back to their homes to find their loved ones. When a boy you recognize from before the decimation grabs you by the hand and asks you what’s going on, you gasp audibly because his face is still the same from the last time you saw him. Smooth, prepubescent, on the cusp of growing into a man but still baby-faced and gangly. Your eyes widen when you realize:

Steve did it.

Your feet are soaked by the dirty paint water from your bucket as you look around at young men and women chattering in confusion. Slowly, they move from the room and out the door where others are running and crying, throwing themselves into the arms of their families. Children sprint down the street, going home. Home. A word that’s hurt so many for so long.

Absently, you clench onto the boy’s hand until he taps on you to stop. Your heart might burst now, looking at him.

Steve really fucking did it.

Your dilapidated apartment building is exploding with life. The repairs started last week, and you wake every morning amazed at how the world can heal so quickly with a bit of human effort.

There is energy again. There is life again. Even the wind tastes sweet, even if you can’t quite remember what it was like before.

Memorials for Tony Stark pop up on every corner of the city, but even in the sorrow, the world continues to turn, and the pain is coated in gratefulness and optimism for the future. You walk there, too, under the light and against a gentle breeze, purchasing a thriving stem from a nearby shop. The florist beams at you, tells you it’s a beautiful day.

Yes, you think. It is.

It seemed so gray for so long. The sunflower in your hand is a radiant yellow bloom and you can’t help but smile at it on your way back home, a tangible reminder of the reanimated Earth.

Your steps quiet when you arrive.

He is blue and red at your door. Bruised and cut, but he stands facing the frame and knocks before he rubs his hands over his face and sighs, “Fuck.”

“Hey.” You say, quietly, holding the stem tightly in your hand as if it could give you some comfort or assurance. When Steve turns, his eyes are sunken and welling up with tears. A startling slash on his lip nearly touches his chin and over his eyebrow is an ochre patch nearly identical to your flower- dappled with green and black.

His mouth tugs at the corner, as if he could cry. Or smile. Because you are stepping forward, putting the flower in his hand as you reach for your keys to unlock the door to the apartment he knows all too well.

Down the flight of stairs, children’s’ bike bells ring and chime, cars honk noisily, voices argue and yell. The birds are back and singing. Summertime cicadas screech with the joy of being alive. You crack the door open from its frame and turn to look over your shoulder at the wet trails hanging from Steve’s cheeks.

With a small, hopeful smile at the man who has proven to be the good you need in the world, you ask,

“You okay?”

And he nods. And it’s enough.

#steve rogers #mcu #marvel #steve rogers x reader #fanfiction #reader insert #fic request

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villainever · 5 years

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Touch Them, Talk to Them: Villaneve & Nuance in Villanelle's Psychopathy (2x07)

okay there is SO much to say about 2x07, but none of you want to read 10k words of analysis, so im going to pick one topic and stick to it (for now). in this post, im going to talk about how this episode is – I believe – a response to: a) villanelle’s season 1 claim that what she wants is, among other things, “someone to watch movies with”, b) eve’s question, “you really don’t feel anything?”, and c) martin’s assertion that to psychopaths, there are only “i / it” relationships. i think aaron is a fantastic opposite/parallel to villanelle, because i believe that a great antagonist doesn’t just provide practical obstacles in the plot-path of the protagonist, but removes obstacles in their character-path. an example of what i meant by this is that in season 1, villanelle killed bill, killed frank, ruined evidence, impeded the investigation, and messed eve around (obstructing her plot-path). but she also drove eve to confront the (sociopathic) personality traits that she’d been repressing, and helped eve find her sense of purpose, confidence and power (smoothing her character-path). in season 2, however, villanelle has been shifted from an ~antagonist~ (ostensibly, as she doesn’t fully conform to this reductive role) to a protagonist, and aaron replaces her as the mysterious Other. just as we had with eve/villanelle, he is both Like and Not-Like villanelle. it’s the likeness that makes him an interesting (and dangerous) opponent for her, but it’s the not-likeness that’s so significant.

in 2x06, villanelle has her iconic “boredom” speech, and monologues about how nothing makes her feel anything. so at the start of 2x07, eve asks her if that’s all true – although it seemed authentic, it’s fair enough of eve to ask, considering how often and easily villanelle lies while playing her characters, and that villanelle prompts her (“you’ll feel better if you talk about it”). villanelle’s reply is that she doesn’t actually KNOW if she’s telling the truth or not. i don’t think she’s deflecting here; she appears subtly, but genuinely, torn. she DOESN’T know.

she wants to give eve a real answer, but she can’t. this is probably the result of a whole lot of mixed information: she’s obviously been told she’s a psychopath (by lawyers and therapists and fellow prisoners and konstantin, then eve), and she knows she enjoys killing people, controlling them, and she is often bored, too, like she said, but none of those things feels like enough. so she offers eve the most she can give: “i feel things when i’m with you.” and while she definitely means this – we could’ve guessed it, considering the lengths she’ll go to to even end up in the same country as eve – she’s still conflicted.

so then, in the last quarter of 2x07, we get this scene between villanelle and aaron:

he describes them as “voids”, and villanelle doesn’t hesitate before agreeing. she’s a psychopath, right? she must be a void. she’s not “nice and normal”. she doesn’t mind stabbing or suffocating or toying with other people. between her and aaron, there’s this heartbeat of dissonant kinship. she’s already joked that they might be “soulmates”, so here, she’s just chatting with him. she’s certain they’re fundamentally the same, and there’s not much to be learned from this, so she’s mostly humouring him. so she asks something out of mild interest, but she thinks she already knows the answer.

“do you ever get lonely?” villanelle does. she finds being cooped up by herself to be tedious, and uses the time to prepare her next interactions – elaborately faking her death for konstantin; planning new presents or tricks or reminders for eve. importantly, in defiance of the “incapable of ‘i / you’ relationships” idea, she is able to apply this notion of isolation to eve. in 2x06, she tells konstantin she’s texting eve “because [eve] might be lonely”. sure, villanelle primarily wants to know how much of an impact she had by killing someone right in front of eve, but she’s not really lying; she can follow and understand the emotional process of “niko left - today’s been a high-stakes day - eve is alone - eve might want somebody to decompress with”. and she feels compelled to offer eve that, to make things better for her. but:

like i said, villanelle has been trying to reach out on the common ground she percieves them as having. she expects to relate to aaron in every way, because he’s a psychopath, too. except aaron goes on about how he knows so much about people, how he observes them. villanelle often does this as well – stalking eve in clothing stores back in season 1, googling her, watching through her windows, etc. but that’s not even near to enough of eve for villanelle, so her reaction is one of confusion. “you don’t want to talk to them? touch them? sleep with them?"

"god, no.” aaron’s inflection is almost one of disgust, and definitely one of superiority. it’s like she’s asked him if he’s interested in hanging out with rocks. he can’t imagine having any involvement behind mild amusement at the opportunity to manipulate people, like toys. “do you?” he asks.

“yeah! i do. all the time.” it’s an immediate knee-jerk response, and though it’s soft, it’s emphatic. villanelle doesn’t doubt her answer. as the shot pans out, she gives a slight gasp, and almost smiles (mirroring that slight smile through her sobs in amsterdam). aaron remains impassive.

i believe that this exchange is maybe the MOST important of the episode, second only to eve/villanelle’s semi-sex scene. i also believe that it’s this conversation with aaron that leads villanelle to breaching that last unspoken barrier between her and eve. to be clear, i’m not trying to say villanelle isn’t a psychopath. one revelation does not fifty people un-kill. just a handful of hours before this moment, she murdered gemma with a plastic bag. so i’m not suggesting villanelle is just like any of us. she’s not, eve’s not, and we don’t want them to be. my point is that this moment clarifies a lot for villanelle. she’s been trying to figure out her own capacity for emotion and connection. one thing that she’s considered a fact about herself since before the pilot is that she “wants someone to watch movies with”. she expresses this desire to eve and konstantin with no hesitation; she’s sure, and this becomes a tacit premise in a lot of her reasoning over the whole show. i suspect villanelle doesn’t have any long-term understanding of what that really means, but she wants it anyway. she also plans most of her life around being able to get closer to eve, whether by teasing her or helping her or steering those in eve’s life to create the required conditions for a confrontation.

which is why aaron telling her he has NO need for human contact is such a big deal. because villanelle obviously DOES. she needs it, she wants it, she always has. anna, eve; villanelle develops romances that run deep – even though she’s no longer obsessed with anna by season 1, she still clearly feels a connection to her, and i don’t think she’d have killed her if anna hadn’t killed herself. then there’s konstantin, and she’s a little shit to him, but she definitely missed him, if the way she ran into his arms in 2x03 after being forced to put up with raymond for ten minutes is any indication. villanelle and konstantin have a rapport, and they trust each other (in that they both know each other well enough to guess when they might betray each other, and can account for it accordingly). essentially, until now, villanelle has been running with the equation “aaron = psychopath; me = psychopath; thus, aaron = me”. she’d assumed that part of psychopathy was just the level of human interest she has – which is why she doesn’t have an issue telling eve “like us, you mean”, even though eve has a long-term relationship and friends: that amount of involvement is still realistic for them, right? but aaron doesn’t have this need for people. so now, “aaron =/= me” for villanelle.

crucially, this interaction gives villanelle CONTEXT. rather than dealing in absolutes, she now has a spectrum of psychopathy: “aaron –> me –> eve –> carolyn –> konstantin –> etc.” aaron has inadvertently told her that what she feels is real. maybe she’d almost believed that, seeing as psychopaths can’t feel anything, can only have the “i / it”, that what she experienced was an infatuation or illusion (although this was shaken by eve stabbing her and by crying in amsterdam); but here’s aaron confirming that the idea of fascination with/caring for people has never even occurred to him. and it does NOTHING BUT occur to villanelle. eve runs circles around her head.

let’s look at that in practice. aaron’s most significant relationship is with his sister, who he treats like crap. he’s got her babysat, won’t listen to her opinions (“the grownups are talking, amber”), disrespects a friend she likes, calls her a “thickie”. then villanelle, the closest thing he has to a friend – he watches her without her consent, plays dress-up and stay-still like she’s a doll, tells her what she’s going to do (“spit it out”) and instructs her on how she should feel (“you’ll be bored”). but villanelle? her most important relationship is with eve. and sure, she makes really fucked up choices, but she also makes an effort to consider how eve might feel, what eve might want, what might appeal to her. AND, she’s IMPROVED at that. for example, in 1x03, she kills bill to get eve’s attention, but it’s at the price of hurting her. by 2x07, though, villanelle won’t kill niko. it’s mostly selfish – she doesn’t want eve to be mad at her – but if it were aaron, he’d try and force eve to be un-mad somehow, with money or threats, etc. (not that aaron would bother; he wouldn’t mind if she hated him) villanelle, though, she wants eve to ACTUALLY love her, not to HAVE to love her. villanelle is manipulative, obviously (e.g. telling niko that eve stabbed her to cause a rift between them), but she sees these indirect manipulations as a way to arrange things how she wants (it doesn’t really occur that there might be an alternative), and attempts to course-correct when eve sometimes gets upset. this is huge for villanelle. aaron gives her something NOBODY else can, by being like her, but less like her than she’d believed. the distinction between them might seem minute to viewers who have the full range of emotions/empathy, but for villanelle, that small difference means the world. it means her and eve are REAL, or real enough. martin said, “don’t add, take away”. but aaron proves that that can be true by degrees; villanelle is dotted with minuses, but fewer minuses than aaron. this is set up throughout the episode, kicked off thematically by eve’s question, but compounded by aaron’s consistent use of villanelle like a thing. THIS is an “i / it” dynamic. “stay there, exactly like that”. “wear this”. “these are your clothes now”. “we’re leaving”. “you’ll get ice-cream, and i’ll watch you eat it”. to him, villanelle is a totally disposable puppet. but over and over and over we’ve been shown that this ISN’T how villanelle perceives eve, and that’s definitely cemented in amsterdam, when villanelle breaks down over eve “forgetting” her.

aaron, like villanelle, has up until this point mistaken them for exactly alike, but they’ve been miscommunicating all along. at lunch, villanelle said, “i dont like rich men” – meaning, i like women, specifically eve, and i have my own resources. aaron counters, “but you like money”. he’s misinterpreted, and thinks villanelle means, like him, that she never wants to have sex or talk with other humans. instead, he concludes that she likes the material object of money, and the subsequent ability to aquire items which might spark some kind of response – and this lines up with villanelle’s later remark about liking to buy and own things, which aaron recognises in himself. they’re replying to each other, but really, they’re having slightly different conversations. so what does this mean, overall? we’ve known forever that villanelle wants eve to be the person she “watches movies with”, but this conversation tells villanelle she could maybe be that person to eve, too. villanelle can “love” in her own unique way, can be present. and because eve’s stepping off the ledge and meeting her in the middle, neither of them will have to be anything other than who they actually are. and they can be who they actually are, together. this analysis got a lot more muddled than i wanted it to, because im a lil wine drunk after haning out with some friends, but i had Thoughts. i have many more Thoughts about the villaneve hookup, hugo, gemma’s death, why aaron is such a creepy villain, carolyn’s plans, etc. but i’ll leave it here for now. i hope this made some sense lmfao.

#killing eve #killing eve spoilers #ke analysis #villainever writes #ke #ke spoilers #villaneve #aaron peel #villanelle #villanelle x eve #eve x villanelle #killing eve 2x07 #ke 2x07 #killing eve season 2 #killing eve s2 #konstantin #villainever #killing eve analysis #villanevest writes

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popwasabi · 4 years

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Lockdown Lookback: Catching up on the past months’ Pop Culture

Aaaaannnd we’re back!

It’s amazing what a little pandemic can do to shake you out of your creative cobwebs but if we’re all going to die, I want to make sure all my pop cultural hot takes are up to date at least.

Many of us are already on lockdown and many major movies including “007,” “Black Widow” and ummm I guess “Mulan” are all getting pushed to the backburner as no one is leaving their God damn homes unless they’re told to!

(Didn’t realize the thing I wish I had more of in the apocalypse would be sweatpants...)

But there’s still plenty to talk about from the previous months and other hot topics I have been meaning to write about but just hadn’t found the time or energy for. Life has been hard I think for just about all of us these days thanks in no small part to this pandemic. For me personally, I’ve had two different vacations canceled because of the virus and currently working understaffed at my job which is considered essential. Not to mention my therapist is on call only at this time and both my martial arts schools have been suspended, so I can neither talk nor punch my feelings out of my system.

So, I might be just a LITTLE on edge at the moment.

(My internal monologue for most of these past few weeks, more broadly years...)

Anyways, I digress, you come here because you like to read my highly unprofessional takes on pop culture and genuinely to those who have cheered me on from the beginning thanks, you guys are my prime motivators. But anyways let’s talk about all the shit I was supposed to write about these last two and a half months.

“Birds of Prey” was a hot, but needed, mess

Earlier last month I got to see the sort of sequel to the much-maligned “Suicide Squad” in “Birds of Prey and the…waaaay too long of a title for me write here.” I had cautious optimism for it because it looked strange and off the beaten path of most comic book movies and seemed to promise at the very least a fun time at the theater but it’s still also a DCEU movie so the floor was pretty low on its possible quality as well.

In the end, the movie is kind of bit of everything; the best and worst parts of the DCEU.

In terms of the good, it’s definitely outside the box, a sort of fem Deadpool first person story as told frenetically by Harley herself. Margot Robbie is, of course, still quite great at this role and you can tell she’s having a blast as this character. The humor is mostly good and visually the bright colors and cinematography pops on each screen and on that front there isn’t much to complain about.

But as a DCEU movie it does suffer from some narrative imbalance partially due to it’s psycho storyteller but mostly, and more than likely, due to corporate editing that probably axed an entire dance number that I was honestly looking forward to from the trailers.

(Seriously, I actually wanted to see the full unedited version of whatever hell this ended up being.)

It’s definitely in the “could’ve been better” camp of comic book movies but you know what? I’m still glad it exists. You know why? Because comic book movies dominate our blockbuster culture right now and if the genre wants to survive, at least artistically, it needs some outside the box films like this. I HATED “Joker” but I appreciate that it opened the door for stranger, more unique takes on a genre that is getting increasingly more stale. This movie falls into that unique category too.

(Also, to all the faux-intellectuals and alt-right nerds making a culture war out of “Sonic” vs “Birds of Prey” *kindly* reevaluate your lives please...)

We’re at the point now where comic book movies should be getting weirder, not more formulaic, and that means swinging for the fences even if a couple don’t quite make it out of the ballpark. If it takes a few not so stellar takes on the genre for Hollywood to greenlight a truly fantastic one I’m all for it.

In any case “Birds of Prey” doesn’t quite end nor continue the DCEU’s recent hot streak but it is enjoyable enough to where I would be more than open to a sequel. It’s worth a watch.

The Mandalorian and The Witcher: Two shows about violent mercenaries and fatherhood

Both these shows are old news at this point, but I did want to talk a little about both for a bit if you would have me.

First, “The Mandalorian” which was Disney+’s flagship production to begin its streaming chapter late last year is definitely a more than welcome addition to the galaxy far, far away. It’s pretty easy to feel fairly jaded about Star Wars these days given how flat the new trilogy ended but for what it’s worth “The Mandalorian” was a good mix of nostalgia bait and something new and interesting for fans to chew on. Its production value is obviously top-notch, no doubt because of all the Disney money pumped into it, it’s well-acted and thrilling and fun from start to finish. It plays heavily on the genres that influenced the series, primarily westerns and old samurai flicks, and fans of those will certainly enjoy the homages to them all.

The series was something of a coming out party for Deborah Chow who directed two of the season 1’s best episodes. Her steady hand, eye for details and tributes to Asian cinema throughout really gave the series an extra kick at times and showed how Star Wars can evolve still. Chow is set to helm the upcoming “Kenobi” series and one can only hope that she *really* leans into the samurai genre for that show.

(Hopefully, there are some “Yojimbo” vibes in there somewhere...)

The Mandalorian’s best and worst parts though are its semi episodic nature making each episode easy to digest as a one-off but also lacking some narrative tension between each. It plays kind of like a Saturday Morning cartoon to both its benefit and detriment with bite-size easy to digest plots and dialogue for the viewers but not offering a ton of depth beyond that.

The Mandalorian himself is also kind of a Gary Stu. His armor is basically impenetrable and far and away the best killer onscreen typically, making more than a few action scenes lack real stakes and tension. Baby Yoda certainly helps at times to make him more vulnerable and puts him in precarious positions plenty of times but outside a few moments (mainly episode 2 and to a lesser extend the final episode) he’s just a little too overpowered to be a more interesting character.

But this show and frankly the Star Wars series as a whole is meant for kids, no matter what the neckbeards try to tell you (violence =/= adult), and that’s not necessarily a bad thing either. Plenty of kids productions can be both great and even sophisticated and while I wouldn’t say “The Mandalorian” is either of those it’s a good and fun kids show for the fans.

(And yes I’m aware that the books, some comics, and games have touched on more adult stuff, you weirdos. But how would you describe the overall tone and presumptive audience of the movies and TV series as a whole, guys??)

As far as “The Witcher” goes it also has a bit of an episodic style to it as well with an overarching, albeit, convoluted story that runs parallel to it. The first 3-4ish episodes can be classified as a quasi “Game of Thrones” clone leaning perhaps a little too heavily into the tropes of that series. Once the series finally starts leaning into its real identity, a dry-witted hack and slash fantasy, the series is much more consistent both tonally and narratively.

Henry Cavil is solid as Geralt of Rivia and the supporting cast of Joey Batey as Jaskier, Freya Allen as Ciri and even more so Anya Chalotra as Yennefer are all great in their respective roles delivering some great moments throughout the season.

(And lest you forget this earworm...)

“The Witcher’s” early season struggles keep it from being as tonally or narratively consistent as “The Mandalorian” but where the monster slayer beats the bounty hunter is that it has overall more compelling drama and has more to say, leaning much more heavily into the thematic greys of the plot. There are tons of problems with “The Witcher” on a story-telling level but you can definitely say it cares more about adding some depth in between the more pulpy aspects of the story which is something you can’t say as much for in “The Mandalorian.”

Of course, I’m partially overselling “The Witcher” a bit here, it’s not anywhere near “Game of Thrones” best (yet at least), and on the flipside one could argue that “The Mandalorian’s” more subtle sense of story-telling does its themes better. But when it comes down to these two shows you get somewhat similar story-telling ideas, mostly involving both characters and their smaller counterparts, in two very different genres with equally diverging conclusions to their respective seasons.

(🎵 Toss an “Oof” to your Witcher...🎵)

All in all, they’re both good and worth a watch and I think they deserve a chance to evolve and hopefully showcase more of what they have to offer moving forward.

“Parasite” wins Best Picture! Many people have some hot takes, including the president...

Last month one of my favorite films of 2019 “Parasite” won Best Picture at the Oscars. It’s a movie that is becoming increasingly relevant as elites and celebrities alike are getting front of the line testing despite being asymptomatic in the middle of pandemic and think they can assuage our concerns and dread by poorly singing “Imagine” together within the comfort of their McMansions.

It’s about as a good time as any to revisit this movie, I mean where else are you going to go during this timeline, and at a later date I’ll write something more extensive about it eventually (hopefully) but first here’s a helpful video on one particular thing that came out after director Bong Joon Ho took home the night’s top honors:

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“Cats” is still a fever dream of madness

Back in late December, I watched “Cats” for science, as I had AMC A-List and a friend crazy enough to join me. I figured it would be bonkers and unlike anything I had seen before in the worst way but even then, I don’t think I was truly prepared for what I ended up seeing that fateful night.

I remember quite vividly going to the bar inside the theater and ordering a stiff drink beforehand to numb the pain and the bartender asking “So what are y’all watching tonight?” and beginning to laugh manically like an insane asylum patient at the innocuousness of the question. Walking into the theater was like that feeling you get before getting on a particularly scary-looking rollercoaster at Six Flags but instead of the pre-ride jitters eventually subsiding to the eventual fun and joy of the ride, only a deep sense of existential dread built up and sustained itself through what felt like six hours of the most baffling thing put to screen in front of my eyes ever.

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(The music that played in my head as I exited the theater...)

Have any of you watched the Stanley Kubrick movie “Eyes Wide Shut” before? You know the scene when Tom Cruise is walking around in his mask observing the strange occult sex orgy going on around him at the mansion? That’s kind of what “Cats” felt like except way more terrifying, somehow MORE sexual, and definitely crazier.

(Is...this some type of...intepretative dance to summon an eldritch horror??)

There’s a voyeuristic terror that comes from sitting in that theater room as you watch bipedal humanoid looking felines dance to confusing songs about “Jelicle” cats (whatever the fuck that means) and all other manner of things that should NOT take human form throughout it’s near-endless runtime. A lot was made about Rebel Wilson and the disgusting roach people she consumes but NO ONE warned me about the frankly HORRIFYING mice children in the same scene!

(I am not perusing the internet to find that image again for y’all. I have enough nightmares each night...)

The saddest thing about the whole movie is everyone, save for Ian Mckellen who seemed to be acting as if a gun was pointing at him offscreen and Judi Dench who looked 100 percent like a geriatric in her digi fur, was giving the movie their fullest effort in what can only be described as a Titanic-sized level of hubris by all parties involved. This movie really needed a “Chaostician” involved in evaluating the production for studio heads and shareholders because there were definitely NOT enough people on this project wondering whether or not this film SHOULD exist...

(Dr. Ian Malcolm coming to Universal Pictures to access the film.)

What has “Cats” wrought upon this world? The universe has been clearly out of balance since this movie came out and while I’m not saying it’s director Tom Hooper’s fault, I’m not saying it isn’t either.

“Cats” is one of those things, much like The Matrix that cannot be simply described but must be seen to believe. It’s one of the worst things I have ever seen onscreen but with the right group of people and a few stiff drinks it’s certainly an experience you won’t forget. Consider it for your next Google Hangout during this apocalypse.

Anyways, that about wraps up my thoughts on the last few months. Going to try to be more consistent going forward especially given how much more time I have now to write, for better and worse. But more importantly, just want to say stay safe y’all. It’s going to be a process to get through this and while things are more likely to get worse before they get better there will be a day when this all ends and some normalcy may yet return to our life but in order for us to get there we need to remain vigilant.

So stay at home, wash your hands, and if you want to watch movies just order it online for now and we’ll just wait until aaaallll this blows over…hopefully.

Don’t panic...

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mexcine · 4 years

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Parasite (2019) review: A Tale of Three Families

The Academy Awards don't mean that much to me. Most years I see only a handful (at most) of the nominated films, and rarely do I have a dog in the fight. This year, I'd only seen part of one Best Picture nominee (Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, losing interest about halfway through), but almost literally at the last moment (the afternoon of the day the Oscars were awarded), I watched Parasite.

I thought it was well-made and thought-provoking, and the awards it won were certainly deserved. It’s fascinating, nuanced, and entertaining. It’s slick and “accessible” to all audiences (although I suspect Koreans will pick up on aspects that others will not, similar to Roma). I'd read little about the film before I saw it, and have not read any critical analysis since then, so if the following repeats conventional wisdom, so be it. [Note: spoilers follow.]

There are many aspects of Parasite worthy of extended analysis, including the visual schema, the various references to the USA (including the two Kim children going by “Kevin” and “Jessica” in their positions in the Park household), and of course socio-economic class/conflict. However, I’ll focus here on the film’s depiction of family. Parasite is structured around three families: the struggling Kims, the wealthy Parks, and the family of the Park's housekeeper.

The Kims and the Parks each consist of 4 members: Mr. Kim, Mrs. Kim, grown son Ki-woo and grown daughter Ki-jung; Mr. Park, Mrs. Park, teen daughter Da-hye, and young son Da-song. The housekeeper Moon-gwang and her husband Geun-sae have no children. All of the major characters belong to one of these three groups; Ki-woo's friend Min appears briefly (and plays a key role in getting the plot started), and the Park family's chauffeur has a small part, in addition to some other minor characters.

The 3 families are presented in neither a wholly negative or positive light--any actions they take are done to protect or benefit the family, and are thus seen as justified. For example, Ki-woo essentially betrays his friend Min, who arranged for him to become Da-hye's tutor. Min does this out of friendship but he also trusts Ki-woo not to seduce Da-hye, because Min himself is romantically interested in her. Ki-woo almost immediately reneges on this promise (and pays for it later, getting bashed in the head with Min’s “scholar’s stone” gift). Later, the steps taken to remove the chauffeur (and replace him with Mr. Kim) and the housekeeper (so Mrs. Kim can take her place) are directly harmful to these individuals (whereas Ki-woo and Ki-jung got their positions with the Park family through deceit but no one lost their positions so the Kims could be hired). At one point the Kim family makes a passing reference to the chauffeur, assuring each other that he probably got "a better job," but they don't even try to do this when they engineer Moon-gwang's dismissal, and in fact utilise her potentially serious peach allergy to stigmatise her and thus achieve their desired outcome.

The first part of Parasite is structured as a humorous, "heist" story, as the Kim family schemes to improve their standard of living by obtaining positions in the Park household. However, the Kims are not robbing the Parks: they actually provide the services for which they've been contracted (well, Ki-jung is not exactly a qualified "art therapist," but she seems to get along with Da-song), and are not skimming from the household accounts or anything of this sort. As noted above, the means by which they secure their new jobs become increasingly dodgy, but the ultimate goal of their plan is not to defraud or steal from their employers.

As Parasite begins, Ki-Woo (aka "Kevin") seems set to be the protagonist, and he does ultimately have slightly more footage than his parents or sister, but the Kim family becomes a collective protagonist as the film goes on (with somewhat more emphasis given to Mr. Kim and Ki-Woo than to Mrs. Kim or Ki-jung, but a fair amount of time is spent on the whole family's interactions). It's never specifically stated what brought the Kim family to its current station in life: were they middle-class before, or have they always been living in a precarious economic state? Clearly, they are willing to work hard to improve their lot in life, but why can’t they find opportunities to do so?

The second family group in Parasite is the Parks. Mr. Park is a prosperous businessman, Mrs. Park occupies herself with her children and her social circle, Da-hye is cramming for her high school examinations, and Da-song is a hyper-active boy with a mysterious "trauma" in his past. Although the Parks pay handsomely for Da-hye's tutors, Da-song is the focus of his parents' attention. Is he, as Da-hye bitterly remarks, faking it? Later in the film, Mrs. Park orders a special dish (ram-don) prepared for Da-song; when he doesn't eat it, and Mr. Park also turns it down, Mrs. Park consumes it herself. Da-hye points out that she was never offered any: it's as if she doesn't exist. On the other hand, Da-hye seems to be a moody teen-ager who shuts herself up in her room a lot, so perhaps Mrs. Park simply forgot her daughter existed for a moment.

The Kims acknowledge the Parks are “nice” rich people, while making the observation that perhaps they’re nice because they’re rich. In other words, they can afford to be pleasant and generous, since they’re not in a frantic competition for their daily bread, unlike the Kim family (in one scene, Ki-woo practically begs for a part-time pizza delivery job). One trait of the Parks which ultimately has deadly ramifications is their fastidiousness. The Kims live in a crowded, roach-infested “semi-basement” that is literally flooded with sewage at one point, while the Parks live in a spotless modernistic mansion. Mr. Park is offended when his chauffeur apparently has sex in the back seat of the Park’s auto--not even in his “own” space, the front seat!--and leaves a pair of panties behind as evidence. Mrs. Park dons rubber gloves and uses tongs to pick up the underwear, and Mr. Park almost seems more upset by the unhygienic nature of his driver and the man’s violation of his (Mr. Park’s) personal space than by the act itself.

Mr. Park also remarks to his wife about Mr. Kim’s odor, comparing it to “boiling a dirty rag” and says he’s smelled the same thing on the subway. Young Da-song also detects and remarks upon the similarity of the personal odors of Ki-woo and Ki-jung, a breach of courtesy. During the birthday party massacre at the climax, Mr. Park grimaces when he has to move Geun-sae’s corpse to retrieve the keys to his car (it’s been previously established that Geun-sae’s subterranean life has resulted in an unpleasant body odor); Mr. Kim sees this and--having previously overheard his boss talking about Kim’s smell--is inspired to stab Mr. Park. Snobbish and classist to be sure, but believing “poor people smell bad” is hardly worthy of a death sentence.

The third family group in Parasite is revealed only in the second half of the film. Housekeeper Moon-gwang is fired when the Kim family convinces the Parks that the woman has tuberculosis, a contagious disease. Prior to this, the housekeeper is a neutral background figure, with no particular personality. However, she returns to the Park home and explains to Mrs. Kim (her replacement) that Moon-gwang’s husband has been living in a secret bunker underneath the house for several years. The shocked Mrs. Kim berates her predecessor but holds the moral high ground for only a few moments, until the Kim family full-employment conspiracy is revealed. This leads to conflict between the two under-class families, and ultimately to a protracted bloody denouement.

There are a few loose ends in the Moon-gwang/Geun-sae story. Possibly the Parks would not have hired Moon-gwang as a live-in housekeeper if they knew she was married (or wouldn’t have permitted her husband to live with her), and apparently her salary wasn’t sufficient to allow him to live alone (he’s unemployed, but then again so are the Kims as the film opens, and they have an apartment, shabby as it is). As noted earlier, I haven’t read any analysis of Parasite so I don’t know if the issue is raised at all (or raised and debunked), but there is a slight hint that Moon-gwang and her husband may be North Korean emigrants. In one scene, a manic Moon-gwang mimics a North Korean propaganda broadcaster, castigating the Kim family for their scheme to “defraud” the Parks; at another point, Geun-sae pointedly says he doesn’t qualify for a government pension.

Additionally, Moon-gwang indicates she’s been taking food to her husband and he’s been starving since she was fired, yet we see Geun-sae has the ability to enter the main house at will (in fact, he’s the “ghost” who traumatised Da-song several years before): why didn’t he simply do this (i.e., steal food from the pantry and refrigerator) when his wife failed to show up? In a clever bit of dialogue, Mr. Park earlier admitted Moon-gwang was a good housekeeper but she “ate enough for two people”--yet Moon-gwang indignantly tells Mrs. Kim she paid for her husband’s food out of her own salary. This changes the Moon-gwang/Geun-sae family dynamic: all the members of the Kim family contribute to their general welfare, Mr. Park is the (traditional, male) bread-winner in his family, but it’s Moon-gwang who supports her unemployed husband: he takes the dependent economic role of a child or a grown slacker offspring, living off his parent’s salary. Geun-sae is at once a pitiful and a weirdly creepy character, his long sojourn underground costing him his mental stability. He worships Mr. Park--who is (through the medium of Geun-sae’s wife) the "provider from up above," and his last word (to Park) is (in English) "Respect!" On repeat viewing, it appears Geun-sae deliberately attacked Ki-jung (after having already badly injured Ki-woo), since he then calls out "Chung-sook" (Mrs. Kim) and tries to stab her (but is defeated by the feisty Mrs. Kim, who runs him through with a sausage-laden sword).

Moon-gwang and Geun-sae wind up the losers in this three-way Korean Family Feud, killed by the Kim family; the Parks lose Mr. Park and possibly Da-song, while only Ki-jung of the Kims dies (although Ki-woo is badly beaten by Geun-sae, using the "scholar's stone" given him by Min). Why do the Kims "win"? Because, one might surmise, they're the family that is truly united--despite some occasional arguments, they stick together to the very end, whereas the Parks and Moon-gwang/Geun-sae are less cohesive, more dysfunctional, and have more "weak links" than the Kims--neither of the Park children is assertive and capable (a function of their age as well as their privileged upbringing--although Da-hye does step up to carry the injured Ki-woo to safety), and Moon-gwang and Geun-sae have no children (and Geun-sae is, as mentioned, somewhat emasculated by his living situation).

Parasite obviously deals with the issue of socio-economic class, viewed through a specifically Korean prism that outsiders are not privy to (What's the unemployment rate in Korea, etc.). However, equally important, the film seems to say, is family. The Parks aren’t obviously evil just because they’re rich, and their wealth doesn’t directly contribute to the misfortune that befalls them. Conversely, Moon-gwang loses her job and this removes the safety net she had been providing for herself and her unemployed husband: this is directly the fault of the Kim family. So, the underclass preys on itself, rather than uniting in solidarity?

I’ve now seen 4 Bong Joon-Ho films: The Host, Snowpiercer (I had some issues with the basic premise of this one), Okja, and Parasite. Parasite is the only one of these with no fantasy elements, which makes its themes somewhat more subtle, less didactic, and less overt. But the ideas are still there.

#parasite (2019)#parasite review #Joon-ho Bong #bong joon ho

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cycwrites · 5 years

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Switching Gears Part 5 - Truce

Words: 11,400ish

Rating: M (Eventually)

As always, my undying gratitude to @tiny-maus-boots for never giving up on me even if I take 3 weeks to sit down and finish a chapter.

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Also on AO3 and FFN

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~A~

On Saturday a week later, Aubrey decided to take the short two block walk from Stretch to her favorite juice bar. She had just stepped onto the sidewalk after crossing the street when she saw people pointing. She took out one of her earbuds but as she turned to find out what the hell was going on there was a loud rumbling sound growing from her left, which was the direction people had been pointing. She looked up and saw a crowd of kids on skateboards about to hit her. Jerking backward to avoid being run over - the mass of teens taking up all available sidewalk space - she stumbled off the curb and felt a flare of pain from her left ankle. Pinwheeling her arms she tried to maintain her balance but her ankle didn't want to support her weight and she prepared herself to fall ass over teakettle into the street.

“Look out!” There was a clatter and a yell to her right and then she found herself caught and cradled securely and protectively against someone's chest just as a semi-truck drove behind them, close enough that Aubrey’s hair fluttered in the breeze.

“Holy shit!” Aubrey's heart raced in her chest, stuttering every time she realized that if she'd fallen into the street there was no fucking way the truck could have stopped in time.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” The arms around her were gentle and showed no sign of letting go before Aubrey was ready, so she took a moment longer to take stock of what had just happened, wondering whose heart was beating harder, her own or that of her rescuer.

“I think so?” Aubrey gingerly rotated her foot and hissed out a breath. “Except I think I sprained my ankle.”

“Here, let me help you up on the curb.” By the quickness of breath and shake to their words Aubrey knew her rescuer was just as freaked out as she was. “Nice and easy.”

Gingerly Aubrey hopped on the curb, holding her leg up to avoid the natural instinct to walk on it. Strong hands braced against her waist until she found her balance against a nearby mailbox. “Thanks.” She awkwardly turned around and stopped in shock as she came face to face with the brunette bell thief. “You.”

A wry smile curved the other woman's mouth. “Me.” She lifted her sunglasses to rest on her head and Aubrey felt a sense of deja vu, except her expression this time wasn't condescending but full of genuine concern. “Can I trust you to not try and hop away while I go get my bike?” She nodded at the juice bar two storefronts away. “We can take one of the tables outside and see how bad it is.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “See if they serve anything alcoholic on the side.”

Aubrey blinked, her brain still scrambled from the near death experience. “I…” she licked her lips, fright having dried her mouth. “Yes.” She hesitated. “Thank you.”

The tall brunette walked back to her bike which was laying half on the curb and half in the street. Lifting it easily to the sidewalk, she walked it over to Aubrey who was still staring at her.

“I can't believe what just happened.” Aubrey paused. “What actually did happen?” She still felt like she was in a dream that she could not wake up from.

“You almost got mowed down by a group of tweens who need a good ass kicking. Then you almost got mowed down by a truck.” She eyed Aubrey. “Are you going to punch me if I put my arm around your waist?”

“What?” Aubrey blinked. “Why would you - oh.” She half laughed. “To help me to the table. Right. Sorry, still out of it.” She shook her head. “I think saving me from being run over is more than enough reason to declare a timeout.”

“Okay, then here we go.” Her arm gently circled Aubrey’s waist while her other hand kept hold of her bike. “We’ll go slow.”

After putting an arm around the other woman’s shoulders, Aubrey hopped tentatively, finding it was easy to move forward with her support. The two of them made their way to the juice bar and Aubrey gratefully settled into a seat at one of their outdoor tables. She was painfully aware of the eyes on them and had already waved away other people who offered to help. It was bad enough that her erstwhile nemesis had seen her trip over her own feet much less be the one to literally save her life. Aubrey couldn't believe the last ten minutes weren't a nightmare.

She lifted the strap of her messenger bag over her head and let it rest in the chair beside her, watching as her rescuer walked her bike over to chain it to a nearby telephone pole. Coming back she pulled another chair in front of Aubrey. “Okay, gimme your leg.” She wiggled her fingers and Aubrey hesitated, eyeing her narrowly. “Oh come on.” The brunette let out an exasperated sigh when she didn't move. “Damnit Aubrey, stop being so stubborn. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Aubrey pressed back into her seat. “How do you know my name?” She took a quick breath and let it out in a hissing whisper. “Are you stalking me?” Anger was better than the sick feeling roiling in her stomach every time she thought of the semi rushing behind them.

“Oh for the love of…” the other woman trailed off and ran one hand through her hair. “No. I'm not stalking you.” She paused and took a deep breath, obviously pushing back frustration. “I'm friends with the owner of Stretch It Out and she told me your name when she watched the video feed of… the day we first met.” One dark eyebrow went up and Aubrey straightened defiantly despite wanting to squirm a little.

It was one thing when the feud was just between them but knowing that Chloe was aware of their petty actions made Aubrey feel incredibly childish. “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “My mistake.”

“Mmhm.” She held out her left hand again but her lips twitched like she wanted to smile. “Leg?”

Slowly Aubrey extended her left leg, surprised when the grip around her calf was gentle and not the rough handling she'd half expected from someone she'd had a silent war with for the past few months.

“Can’t tell if it’s bruising yet under your sock, but it’s definitely swelling.” With a light but sure touch fingers gently probed at her ankle, stopping just this side of agonizing every time Aubrey hissed out a breath. “Stacie, by the way.” She looked up and met Aubrey's confused look. “My name.” She smiled a little. “So you can call me something other than what you probably do in your head.”

Aubrey felt herself blush. ‘Mother would send me to my room without supper for forgetting my manners. For a week.’ She cleared her throat again. “Sorry. I’m still a little shaken.”

“Understandable.” Stacie looked back down and gently tried to rotate Aubrey’s foot. “Any cramping or muscle spasms?”

Aubrey forced herself to relax as she became aware she’d been clutching the seat of the chair with both hands. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Good.” She ran her fingers over Aubrey’s ankle once more and then scooted forward a few inches to let Aubrey’s calf rest on her knee. “I think it’s a strain though, not a sprain. Depending on how much you can keep it elevated and iced, it should heal in a few weeks.”

Aubrey wanted to pull her leg back but it really did feel better up. “How can you be sure?”

There was a moment of hesitation. “I’m a physical therapist.” Stacie nodded at Aubrey’s foot. “I’ve seen hundreds of these.” She pursed her lips. “Of course, it might not be a bad idea to maybe see your doctor, just to be safe. Make sure nothing is actually torn.”

Aubrey blew out a breath, glad when this one finally didn’t shake. “I’ve had a tear – back in college – and it doesn’t feel the same.” She tried a smile but it didn’t feel like it fit on her face yet. “This pain isn’t as sharp or as deep.”

Stacie nodded. “Good. It didn’t look like you twisted it too badly as you went off the curb but if you start to get cramps or spasms, go see your doctor.” They both looked up as one of the employee’s came out from the juice bar and Stacie spoke first. “Sorry we’re taking your seats, I promise we’re going to buy something-“

“Don’t even worry about it,” the woman interrupted, holding out her hand. In it was a large Ziploc bag half full of ice and wrapped in a towel. “We saw what happened and wanted to make sure you were both okay.” Eyes wide, she handed the bag over when Stacie reached for it. “I’ve never seen someone move so fast.”

Aubrey braced for both the cold and the pain as Stacie placed the baggie over her ankle, making sure it covered the top and sides. “What do you mean?” The woman, whose name tag read ‘Kylen’ looked back at Aubrey.

“We saw her,” she nodded at Stacie, “fly off her bike at practically full speed and take off toward you at a dead run before it had even landed on the curb. I honestly thought there was no way she would reach you and you’d both end up getting run over.” Kylen frowned toward the street. “I wish they’d change the speed limit through here.”

“Me too,” Aubrey muttered, the surreal sensation of falling and being caught coming back to her. “Thank you for the ice.”

“But don’t you guys worry about buying anything.” Kylen jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “And if you need anything else, just wave.” Aubrey nodded and the woman turned and walked back inside, calling over her shoulder. “Just bring the towel back and we’re even.”

Aubrey waited until they were alone again, ignoring the stares of people passing by them. “You ditched your bike?” She watched Stacie adjust the towel a few centimeters.

“I heard the semi behind me at the same time I saw you step up on the sidewalk - which was about two seconds after I saw the skateboarders.” She fidgeted with the towel again, not looking up. “I knew there was no way I’d be able to keep my balance on my bike if I tried to catch you while I was on it.” Stacie lifted one shoulder. “So I had to get off it.”

“Did you know it wouldn’t land in the street?” Aubrey asked curiously.

“No.” Stacie looked up, one corner of her mouth lifted. “But it’s just a bike.”

“Oh.” Aubrey said softly. “Thank you, Stacie.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you for saving me.”

“I’m just glad I was there.” Stacie sat back, one hand keeping the towel in place. “My heart hasn’t slowed down since I heard the truck behind me.”

Aubrey gave a weak laugh. “I know the feeling.” She closed her eyes for a second, her own racing heart only gradually beginning to slow down. “I think I actually felt yours after you caught me.” She lifted her hand, unsurprised when it trembled. “Hopefully that stops soon.” Lowering it back to her lap, she closed her eyes again and took a deep breath before exhaling slowly.

“I definitely know that feeling.” Stacie said softly and Aubrey looked at her curiously.

“You?” Aubrey looked down at Stacie’s hand where it held the towel in place, her fingertips resting on Aubrey’s shin. “Your hands seem pretty steady.” There wasn’t even the slightest hint of a tremor, just warmth where they touched her skin.

“Occupational hazard.” Stacie was also looking down at Aubrey’s leg. “Can’t let the patients know you’re nervous. They tend to not trust that you know what you’re doing.”

“Makes sense.” Aubrey settled back in her chair and studied the woman across from her who was gently lifting the ice to check on the swelling.

Now that she wasn’t influenced by frustration, Aubrey could admit that Stacie was pretty. Honesty forced her to amend that to beautiful and she immediately heard Beca’s ‘Ha!’ in her head. Plus on top of the whole hero thing, Aubrey could tell that Stacie actually cared about making sure her ankle was taken care of; the concern the other woman was practically radiating spoke of an empathy Aubrey wasn’t sure she deserved. In different circumstances she’d have maybe… but now… Aubrey sighed as the full extent of her pettiness sunk in again.

“I’m sorry, did that hurt?” Stacie looked up from where she’d been readjusting the icepack.

“What?” Aubrey blinked as she was pulled from her thoughts. “Oh, no. It’s… I think the ice is helping.” She flexed her foot slightly and winced. “Maybe not.”

Stacie chuckled. “It is. The swelling isn’t nearly as bad as it could be. But you’re definitely going to feel it for a while. Actually…” She shrugged out of her own backpack and set it on the table. “I’d really like to wrap it, keep the swelling down.” She met Aubrey’s eyes and looked hesitant for the first time. “But it would mean taking off your shoe and sock so you could leave it on as long as possible today.”

“Oh.” Aubrey wondered how many times she’d said that in the last few minutes. “I… Sure.” She smiled and this time it felt more natural. “You’re the professional. I trust you.” Then she frowned, not having the faintest idea she was going to say that.

“You do?” Stacie’s eyebrow shot up as searched through her bag.

Aubrey didn’t answer right away, knowing that the pause was nothing short of awkward and it made her uncomfortable. It wasn’t like she had any reason to distrust Stacie but she didn’t actually know anything about her either.

Except she’d just saved Aubrey’s life and was actively taking care of her despite everything over the past three months.

Aubrey made a decision and took a measured breathe. “This may sound… stupid… but is there any way we could start over?”

Stacie eyed her, the other eyebrow joining its partner. “Like a truce? No more chains and bells?”

Aubrey shifted, aware that she was blushing again. “Something like that.”

“Sure,” Stacie said easily, pulling a small first aid kit from the bottom of her pack.

“Really?” Aubrey was surprised and wasn’t sure if she’d have been so quick if the positions were reversed. Stacie really had done nothing wrong and Aubrey’s reaction had been over the top.

“Really.” Stacie set the kit down.

“That’s… wow. Thank you,” Aubrey said and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Aubrey.”

Stacie smiled and shook it with a firm grip. “Stacie.” She let go and opened her kit, pulling out an Ace bandage. She closed the kit and stored it back in her bag. “You sure you’re okay with me taking off your shoe and sock?”

“Yes,” Aubrey agreed. “I think you’d do it with less pain than I would. Or at least quicker. I see you’re prepared for anything.”

“Another occupational hazard,” Stacie chuckled. “Alright, here we go.” She moved the ice to the table and began to untie Aubrey’s shoe. “If it gets too bad, let me know but it’s going to hurt some and the quicker I can wrap it the better.” She looked up, her left hand cradling Aubrey’s calf and the right poised to slip off her shoe. “I don’t really have anything to distract you with, but if you focus on watching how I wrap it, it might help. You’ll need to do this the next few days.” One corner of her mouth twitched up. “Unless you’ve got someone at home to help you wrap it when you wake up.”

Aubrey blinked, sure she was imagining things but she swore she heard something more than just casual conversation in that last sentence. “No, I… uh… no.” Her brows knit together in sudden pain as her ankle began to throb again. Looking down she saw that not only was her shoe off but so was her sock. “Sneaky.” Stacie tucked her sock into the shoe and handed it to Aubrey who stored it in her bag.

“When necessary.” Stacie looked up briefly and smiled at her. “Definitely bruised. That’s going to be a gorgeous shade for the next several days.”

“Lovely.” Aubrey said dryly, taking in the bruise that had already bloomed around her ankle. “Guess I won’t be going to Stretch for a while.”

“Not if you want it to heal,” Stacie said as she began to wrap the bandage around Aubrey’s foot, working her way from toe to heel, moving quickly as she spoke. “If you had a tear in college, this will be familiar. Let me know if you’ve any questions.” She wound it around Aubrey’s ankle and calf in a figure-eight several times before wrapping the final ends around her calf. “You’ll also want to loosen it a few times a day for blood flow but the most important thing is going to be RICE.” She sat back in the chair and put the ice back on Aubrey’s ankle.

Aubrey closed her eyes in relief as the pain slowly lessened again. “That sounds familiar.”

“I could go into doctor mode and explain it,” Stacie sounded amused. “But people tend to hate that if they already know the answer.”

“I know it’s simple, but I can’t think yet, so please, feel free.” Aubrey huffed out a breath. “Thank you, again. That does feel better.” It wasn’t a lot, but anything was better than the first blinding moments after the near accident.

“Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation.” Stacie explained.

“I knew it was simple.” Aubrey opened her eyes again and was caught by the quiet empathy on Stacie’s face. It threw her enough that whatever she was going to say next was forgotten. “Uh…” Fortunately Stacie misunderstood and went into greater detail.

“Just keep off it as much as possible, keep it wrapped for at least two days though three is preferable. Ice it for twenty minutes or so at least four times a day for the next two days as well, to keep the swelling down. Don’t let the bandage be so tight that it cuts off the circulation. And last, ideally we’d like it over your heart for elevation, but at least keep it parallel to the ground as much as possible. Plus the pillow prop while you sleep.”

It was on the tip of Aubrey’s tongue to ask how to reach Stacie if she had any questions but she realized how stupid and presumptuous it was. Obviously the answer would be to call her doctor and she wasn’t sure why she thought Stacie would hand over her number. Instead she just nodded. “Right. That's... right."

“Do you need…? Is there someone who can…?” Stacie hesitated. “I can go home and get my car, so we can get your bike – I assume it’s at Stretch – but I’d hate to leave you here until I get back.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a friend I can call. She’s got a truck, so no worries on the bike.” Aubrey smiled at her. “But thank you for the offer.”

“Here’s another one – what kind of drink do you want?” Stacie made a face. “Now that the adrenaline’s worn off, I could really use a drink.”

“Only if you let me pay,” Aubrey opened her pack and pulled out her wallet. “Least I can do since you swooped in and saved me.”

“Actually,” Stacie winced. “I probably owe you, considering…”

“Clean slate,” Aubrey said and held out the twenty she’d pulled from her wallet. “Leave the change for a tip, but I would die for the strawberry smoothie with bananas and apples.” She grinned. “And if they do have alcohol on the secret menu, vodka.”

Taking it, Stacie laughed. “Deal. Alright, this is going to sting and I’m sorry, but I’ll be gentle.”

Aubrey tightened her grip on her bag and nodded. “I know.” Even she wasn’t sure if she meant she knew it would sting or that Stacie would be careful. “I’m ready.”

Stacie lifted Aubrey’s leg up with her left hand under her calf and stood up carefully, making sure not to shift or bump it. As she rose, she pushed her chair backwards so she could turn her body sideways and step back, keeping Aubrey’s leg motionless. Then, with her right, she pulled the chair forward again and placed her bag on the seat, setting Aubrey’s calf gently on it.

“There, all done.” Stacie stood up and eyed her handiwork.

“That hardly hurt at all.” Aubrey let herself relax again. “And that’s kind of miraculous considering.”

“What can I say; I’m great at my job.” With a grin, Stacie turned toward the building. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“No worries, I’ll call my friend.” Aubrey pulled her phone from the bag. As Stacie walked inside, Aubrey muttered to herself, “Who is going to have a fucking field day with this.” Unlocking her phone she opened up her favorites and dialed Beca’s cell. It didn’t ring long before it was answered.

“Hey Aubrey. Aren’t you supposed to be in your death on wheels class?”

Aubrey gave a small laugh. “You can’t knock it till you try it.”

“Sure I can. Watch me. Oops, one sec.” Without waiting for a reply Beca set down her phone and Aubrey could hear her ringing up a customer.

While waiting she stared at the ice pack covering her leg, trying not to let her mind remind her that she’d almost been run over. Something, she knew, she was not going to tell Beca over the phone. If positions were reversed she’d be completely freaked out until she could see for herself that Beca was actually okay.

“Sorry about that.” Beca had picked up the phone while Aubrey had been distracted. “We’ve actually got some customers this fine Saturday morning. What can I do for you if you’re not spinning the day away?”

“I was wondering if you happened to drive your truck to work today.” Aubrey resisted the urge to shift in her seat, not wanting to accidentally jar her foot and whimper into the phone.

“You’re in luck,” Beca said cheerfully. “Said vehicle is currently parked behind the shop. What did you have in mind? Are we driving out to that new pizza place tonight?”

“No,” Aubrey said slowly. “Not exactly. I strained my ankle and could use some help getting my bike home.”

All trace of joking dropped from Beca’s voice immediately. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Mostly.” Aubrey smiled at the worry filling her friend’s words. “Just can’t walk on it.”

“Dude.” Beca blew out a breath. “Lead with that. How’d it happen?”

“Walked to that juice bar on 6th. Slipped off the curb.” She frowned at her foot.

“Please tell me you’re not lying in the street and calling me.” Beca half laughed.

“No,” Aubrey said quickly, before the thought of the truck could come back. “I had help getting to a table outside.” Automatically her eyes drifted to the window of the juice bar, finding Stacie just turning around to check on her. Aubrey gave her a thumbs up and could see Stacie’s smile just before the clouds shifted, the sun coming back out to obscure the glass under its glare.

“Okay good,” Beca fell silent for a moment. “Let me call Lilly, see if she can come in and close today. It might be a while – are you sure you’re okay? Are you going to need the doctor or is there anything we’re going to need to get?”

“I promise, I’m fine. We’ll just need to get my bike from Stretch on the way home.” Aubrey paused, thinking. “I think I’ve got a couple ice packs and can order groceries if I need it.”

“We’ll get to your house and see what you need. I’ll run to the store for you.”

“Beca you don’t…”

“Zip it, Posen.” Beca cut her off. “You took care of me when I had that death flu last year, so this is just me returning the favor.”

Aubrey smiled, touched at the concern she could hear. “Okay, I’ll shut up. Thanks.” She looked up as Stacie came back out, a drink in each hand.

“You’re welcome. I’ll be there when I can – is that the place that’s only got street parking?”

“Yes,” Aubrey said, turning to scan the street. “And it’s all full.”

“Damnit. Maybe I can just double park and come help you to the truck.” She could practically hear Beca’s frown.

“I could probably hop my way to the street,” Aubrey teased.

“You will not.”

Aubrey blinked as the words echoed both from the phone and in front of her. She looked up and saw Stacie was frowning at her. “I won’t?” She wasn’t sure how to take the fact that she and Beca had said it at the same time and in the same disapproving way. “Hold on a second, Beca.”

“Not a chance.” Stacie set both drinks down. “I’ll stay here till your friend gets here and will help you over.” She paused in the act of preparing to move Aubrey’s foot so she could sit down again. “Unless you want me to leave?”

“No,” Aubrey shook her head. “That’s not… don’t you have things to do?”

“I can go later,” Stacie said as she reversed the process from earlier until Aubrey’s calf was once more resting on her knee. She looked up from arranging the ice and saw Aubrey watching her. “I’d rather make sure you didn’t have any more mishaps.”

“Alright,” Aubrey smiled at her. “Thank you.” A pointedly cleared throat drew her attention back to the phone. “Sorry, Beca. But apparently if you just pull up in front, I’ve got help to get to the truck.”

“That sounds like a woman and your voice went all soft and girly!” Beca accused. “Are you using your injury to get a date?”

“No! And it did not!” Aubrey said indignantly, immediately flushing as Stacie’s eyebrow went up.

“Well now I know you’re lying, but I’ll see for myself soon enough,” Beca said. “Sit tight, I’ll get Lilly in and be there as soon as I can.” She hung up before Aubrey could come up with any sort of denial.

Aubrey shook her head and put her phone back in her bag. “My friend’s got to cover her shift but then she’ll be here.” She picked up her drink. “Thank you again for…” She laughed. “The rescue, the first aid and the drink.”

“You paid for the drink,” Stacie pointed out. “You’re welcome, but, Aubrey… You don’t have to thank me for any of it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” She paused then continued. “If it’s not too nosy, why’d you yell there at the end?”

Caught off guard by the question, Aubrey couldn’t think of a lie fast enough and found the truth coming out before she could stop it. “She asked if I was using my injury to get a… uh… date.” She busied herself with stirring her smoothie with the straw, almost able to feel the considering look she knew she had to be getting.

But all Stacie said was, “I take it you didn’t tell her about the semi?”

“No,” Aubrey said, still unwilling to look at her. “I figure that’s better to do in person, with all my limbs mostly intact.”

“Good plan,” Stacie mused. Aubrey finally looked at her and saw the expression she’d been expecting was still there. “Is that a thing you do often?”

“Withhold the truth?” Aubrey blinked at her, confused.

“No… Use injuries to pick up women.” Stacie smiled when Aubrey flushed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That was presumptuous and uncalled for. I apologize.”

Aubrey forced herself to stay relaxed. “Accepted.” She gave a small smile. “Though it’s been so long since I’ve been on a date, I probably should.” She blinked as she realized what she’d just said. And that she’d said it out loud. And who she’d said it to.

“Oh?” Stacie’s brow went up again.

“Oh… uh… that’s not…” Aubrey swallowed nervously. “I didn’t mean…” Obviously she was still shaken and completely off her game because normally she was far more articulate than she’d been today. It didn’t help that Stacie was gorgeous, caring and, so far, had a good sense of humor. In any other circumstances Aubrey would have been extremely intrigued and gone for it. Except she’d been so petty for the past few months that there was no way Stacie could be interested.

“It’s okay,” Stacie said, patting Aubrey’s calf lightly. “I was just teasing, I’m sorry. Again. I’m too used to giving Chloe and Emily a bad time.” She hesitated then continued. “It only happens when I feel comfortable around someone.” She gave a crooked grin. “Guess this truce-slash-clean slate thing is working.”

“Good. Maybe we can just forget I was a jerkface. I mean,” She cleared her throat. “That’s… good.”

“I don’t know that I’d call you a jerkface,” Stacie said, tilting her head. “A little intense that day, maybe.”

“Now you’re just being nice,” Aubrey interrupted with a laugh. “I was totally a bitch before and after.” She fidgeted with her straw again. “I don’t even know why I did it.”

“I definitely didn’t expect to have to get Chloe’s bolt cutters,” Stacie nodded. “I was a little… let’s just say hot under the collar.” She grinned suddenly. “Chloe said she’d never seen you look so pissed.”

“Oh god.” Aubrey set down her drink and covered her face with her hands; the chill from the one that had been holding her drink was a welcome sensation on her now burning cheeks. “I don’t have anything I can say in my defense. I didn’t think she’d be involved. Which is dumb, because I know the camera is there.”

“Eh,” Stacie shrugged. “She was amused more than anything. She kept…” Stacie broke off and cleared her throat. “She said I must have hit a nerve because she’d never seen you anything but cheerful.”

“Great,” Aubrey muttered. “I can never go back there.”

“Don’t be silly. Chloe would blame me.” Stacie said immediately. “Do I lose points for agreeing to the truce if I tell you that Chloe asked me to stop stealing your bell a week ago?”

“She did?” Aubrey eyed her. “Do you guys talk about it often?” What she’d really wanted to ask was if they talked about her but she didn’t think she wanted to know the answer to that. Or maybe she wanted it too much.

“No,” Stacie said earnestly. “I swear. She and my cousin came over for dinner that night and the bell was sitting on my counter.” It was her turn to squirm. “She told me to stop making her an accessory to theft.”

“I hadn’t… thought of it that way.” Aubrey said slowly.

“Me either,” Stacie shrugged. “It was just between us – but Chlo pointed out that if you chose to get the police involved, I was the one who was actually stealing.” She smiled wryly. “Technically you weren’t really doing anything wrong.”

“I would never have gone that far.” Aubrey shook her head. “That… I felt it was between just us too and never would’ve gone to anyone else.”

“Same.” Stacie nodded. “So we didn’t really talk about it.” She smiled again. “Unless I needed the cutters.”

“I’m sorry,” Aubrey said again. “The whole thing was extremely petty and I made a much bigger deal about that spot than it actually was.”

“It’s not like I didn’t park there on purpose afterward,” Stacie replied. “Not that I know your schedule, but if it was free I took it. Just to be an ass.” She took a drink. “So I guess that means we’re both petty. Except we’ve agreed that’s the past.”

“So we should both stop apologizing for it.” Aubrey smiled when Stacie nodded. “Alright. I’ll try.” She suddenly became aware that Stacie’s hand had been resting on her calf since she’d patted it and was grateful when Stacie steered the conversation elsewhere. Because it felt nice. Natural. And Aubrey wasn’t ready to deal with what that meant yet.

“If it’s not a bad injury, you should be able to maybe use it lightly after a week or so. Maybe two to be safe.” Stacie narrowed her eyes. “No spin class for at least three though a month would be better.”

Aubrey frowned. “Shoot, I didn’t think of that.” She glared at her ankle. “Flo is going to kill me and I’m going to get fat.”

“I highly doubt that,” Stacie shook her head. “Plus Flo’s not that bad.” She hesitated. “At the risk of sending us both into PTSD… Maybe one of the beginner yoga classes would help you not feel like you‘re just sitting around.” She raised one finger. “But only after two weeks and only if you’re able to walk on it without pain.”

“I’ve never done yoga,” Aubrey said, fighting the flashback that swam through her mind.

“It’s very calming and… it can center you.” Stacie said. “I’ve done it for years. Even thought of teaching it once or twice.”

“Why didn’t you?” Aubrey asked without thinking. She definitely understood what Stacie meant by feeling comfortable – she wasn’t normally this nosy at a first meeting.

“Timing,” Stacie said regretfully. “But I haven’t given up hope. Maybe when I retire.” She looked back at Aubrey. “Sometimes the instructors can give alternative poses if you let them know in advance that you’re favoring an injury.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Aubrey said. “Being unable ride a bike will either be a great break or drive me completely insane.”

"Is this going to cause problems for your job?" Stacie asked curiously.

"I don't think so," Aubrey said slowly. "I'm a vocal coach, so I can sit down and put my foot up."

"That sounds so fun!” Stacie leaned forward eagerly. "Do you also do the pianist accompaniment?"

Aubrey laughed. "Sometimes, but we'll have to make do with recorded music for a while. Do you sing?"

"Just for fun; usually in the solitude of my apartment or with Chloe and Emily." Stacie sat back again. "Or when they drag me out for karaoke somewhere."

"Emily? The one who works at Stretch?" Aubrey asked in surprise. She hadn’t put the two together when Stacie had first said her name but now it clicked.

"Yeah, she's my cousin." Stacie took another drink.

"So, I definitely picked a fight with the wrong person," Aubrey mused then blinked as she realized what she said but Stacie only grinned at her. "Can we forget I said that?"

"In the spirit of our new truce, yes." Stacie tilted her head. "But I reserve the right to maybe revisit it if we move past the awkward phase." She winked and Aubrey felt her cheeks grow warm.

"I suppose that's fair." Aubrey wasn’t sure if she was blushing because of the reminder of how they met or because of the wink. She was afraid it was the wink, which meant she was rushing headlong down the hill of new crush and that was entirely ridiculous considering how annoyed she’d been by this very same woman since they’d met. Mostly. Honesty forced her to admit that she’d kept up chaining Stacie’s bike because she just couldn’t stand to lose even if she was the only one who cared. She ignored Beca’s snort in her head and changed the subject. "So you do karaoke?"

"Sometimes. Why?" Stacie settled back in her chair again, her expression thoughtful; almost as if Aubrey had done something to surprise her.

Aubrey wasn't even sure why she asked, but since she'd started herself down this path she had to continue. "My best friend and I go to Lyrics & Libations every Friday." She realized she was twisting her fingers together and forced herself to still them. "You should join us one night. Uh, all of you," she added quickly.

"We went there once." Stacie nodded. "Nice place, good singers... great vibe." She smiled slowly and Aubrey’s heart sped up for an entirely new reason. “Are you sure you’re not using your injury to get a date?”

Aubrey forced herself remain calm because this was definitely steering them into the realm of flirting and butterflies had grabbed hold of her stomach and were trying to tug it out of her body. “Are you saying I would only get a date out of pity for my injury?”

“Oh I wouldn’t say that…” Stacie’s smile widened further, slow and sure, as her eyes once again scanned Aubrey, full of something that Aubrey’s slowly waking up ego wanted to call interested appreciation.

“Good.” Aubrey lifted the straw to her lips and took a drink, trying not to smirk. She couldn’t help her own pass over the woman in front of her – every inch of tanned and toned leg up to where they were covered by form hugging bicycle shorts; slender arms that showed off defined musculature every time she moved; green eyes that were sparkling, with amusement as Aubrey met them. “Now that that’s settled.”

“Mm.” Stacie’s eyebrow bounced.

“If you ever find your way to the L&L on a Friday, just tell the bouncer that you’re with me. She’ll show you the table.”

“Ooh. You’ve even got a reserved table?” Stacie whistled. “Fancy.”

“Do I lose points if I say it’s because I happened to pick a best friend who is friends with the owners?”

Stacie pursed her lips. “No, I don’t think so. Means you have good taste.” She paused and Aubrey saw a flash of something pass through her eyes before it was gone too fast to identify.

‘Well shit, now I’m in the gutter.’ Aubrey took a drink to give herself time. ‘Thanks, Beca. I didn’t used to be a dirty bird.’’ When Stacie’s lips twitched Aubrey realized she wasn’t the only one potentially thinking of a different meaning to those words.

There was a pause then. It wasn’t awkward and Aubrey felt it should be. They were still two strangers, for all that they’d been circling each other from a distance for months. But she couldn’t deny the tug she felt as they both sat there, sipping their drinks and watching each other. It was stupidly rash and impulsive – two things Aubrey had never been. Until, she supposed, she’d left her job as a lawyer to move to a smaller town and teach people to sing.

Maybe this was just a continuation of her growth from the crappy, career driven drone she’d been to someone who got up in the morning with the sun and took a ride around her neighborhood to wake up instead of getting the biggest espresso she could get her hands on just to find the energy to go to the office.

‘Maybe Stacie is my next step.’

The thought startled her – rash and impulsive, like chaining a woman’s bike to the rack – and she was glad when Stacie broke the silence. Because it had also felt right, and she wasn’t quite bold enough to take that leap. Yet. Not until she was sure she wouldn’t be doing it alone.

“So what kind of truck am I looking for?”

“Just a black F-150.” Aubrey looked past Stacie down the street. “And I think she’ll actually come from behind you since she didn’t have to get it from home.”

“Any identifying marks in case she doesn’t?” Stacie looked over her shoulder reflexively.

“Just the name of her bike shop, One for the Road, in blue and white.”

“Sounds like drinking and driving.” Stacie turned back around when Aubrey laughed. “What?”

“I tease her about that all the time, actually.” Aubrey chuckled.

“Great minds,” Stacie said. “Actually, I’ve heard of that place. They’ve got a really good reputation.”

“Ever been?” Aubrey asked curiously.

“No, I’d researched the bikes I wanted before I went and ended up at DSM.” She blinked when Aubrey made a face. “Now what?”

“Sorry, habit. They’re sort of Beca’s nemesis when it comes to racing.”

“You can have a bike nemesis?” Stacie laughed.

“What would you call the last few months?” Aubrey tilted her head.

“Hm, good point.” Stacie tapped her chin. “Though, really, I think my nemesis was your bell.”

“It’s because it was jaunty, wasn’t it?” Aubrey teased.

“Maybe.” Stacie took a drink while Aubrey look past her as a car turned onto the street. “She here?”

“I don’t think so, it’s too soon.” But it was definitely a black truck headed their way. Aubrey waved as Beca paused in front of them, making obscure gestures with her hands. “Well, that is her, but what the hell is she doing?” She frowned, trying to decipher the motions.

“I think she’s saying she’s going to circle the block,” Stacie said looking back down the street. “Because it’s going to take a few for us to get sorted and over there and there’s cars behind her.”

Aubrey gave Beca a thumbs up. “That seems way too logical for her.” Beca returned it and resumed driving down the street. “But apparently you’re right and I’m impressed.”

“Me too,” Stacie said with a laugh. “Alright, let’s get you on your feet and ready.” She nodded when Aubrey opened her mouth. “And I won’t say anything about the semi.”

Aubrey eyed her. “Well that’s scary.”

“What?” Stacie picked up her pack and shrugged into it before moving the bag of ice from leg to table.

“Beca’s always ranting about mind readers…” Aubrey laughed and shook her head when Stacie glanced at her. “I just roll my eyes and tell her if she wasn’t always in the gutter it wouldn’t be a problem, but now… that was exactly what I’d been about to ask you.”

“If I was, you wouldn’t expect me to admit it, would you?” Stacie said loftily.

“I suppose not.” Aubrey set her own bag on the table. “How do you want to do this?”

“Let me get up first, so I can pull you out of your chair. The longer you can avoid trying to use it the better.” Stacie said as she carefully lifted Aubrey’s foot and stood up again, this time pushing the chair out of the way. “Think you can resist the urge to put it down?”

“Only if I keep telling myself the floor is lava but only to my left foot.” Aubrey shook her head ruefully as Stacie let out a bark of laughter. “If you ever tell the kids I teach that I used that phrase, the truce is over.” Aubrey convinced herself she was just tuning out the pain when she focused on the fact that Stacie didn’t look ridiculous bent over with Aubrey’s calf in her hand. Then again, it could be the amount of leg on display so close to her face.

Stacie solemnly crossed her heart. “Promise.” She nodded encouragingly. “Alright,” she lowered her arm a little more. “Remember…”

“Lava.” Aubrey took a deep breath. “Okay.” She lifted her leg from Stacie’s grip and nodded. “I got this.”

“And I got you.” Stacie straightened, holding out her hands and Aubrey took them, ignoring the renewed throb of her ankle.

“Count of three?”

“On three or after three?” Stacie asked as she tightened her fingers.

“Dealer’s choice.” Aubrey shrugged.

“Let me do most of the work,” Stacie said. “One, two…” She pulled Aubrey easily to her feet – rather, to her foot – so easily that Aubrey overbalanced and tilted, having also used her arms to pull herself up. “Oops.” She let out a huff as Aubrey collided with her and quickly wrapped one of her arms around Aubrey’s back and held her steady. “Sorry about that; how’s the foot? Did we bump it?”

Aubrey prayed to every god she had ever heard of that she wouldn’t start blushing furiously at finding herself held gently against Stacie’s body. Again. It was so much more distracting face to face and no longer on the edge of death. “Nope, it’s fine.” She cleared her throat and Stacie stepped back carefully, still helping Aubrey to balance with one hand. Aubrey reached for her bag but Stacie had already snagged it with her free hand and slung it over her shoulder.

“I’ll carry it over.” She handed Aubrey her drink. “That way you don’t have to take it off again when you get in the truck.” Stacie slipped her arm around Aubrey’s waist as Aubrey reached across Stacie’s back. “Let’s do this.”

“Thanks.” Aubrey looked up at the running of feet. “I guess you found a spot?”

Beca came to a halt, her eyes wide as they darted between Aubrey and Stacie. “Someone pulled out as I turned the corner again.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder then pointed at Aubrey’s foot. “Dude! Holy fuck you’re purple!”

Aubrey looked down. “So I am.” She looked back up at Beca with a grin. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Of course,” Beca said, crouching down to get a better look. “You’re sure you’re not broken?”

“Yes I’m sure.” Aubrey rolled her eyes. “Stacie’s a physical therapist and has assured me I’m not going to die.”

Beca stood up slowly. “I am going to assume you’re Stacie and say thank you for helping out klutz over here.”

“Right place, right time,” Stacie said. “I’ve always got a first aid kit with me, so it didn’t take long to fix her up.” She held out her free hand. “Stacie.”

Beca shook it. “Beca.” She looked between them again. “Is there anything I can help out with or…?”

“With Beca here to carry things, maybe it’ll be easier if I just carried you to the truck,” Stacie said casually. “Keeps it elevated and from bouncing.”

Aubrey froze in place. Logically she knew that Stacie had to have been offering from a purely practical point of view – everything she’d said was accurate and there was no inflection otherwise – but Aubrey didn’t think she stood a chance against her hormones if Stacie carried her like a damsel in a romance novel. As the seconds ticked by and Stacie grew more and more innocent looking, Aubrey realized she was being teased again. Or maybe tested.

“Actually,” Aubrey finally said, ignoring Beca’s eyebrows shooting up as far as Aubrey had ever seen them, and held out her drink. “Can you carry this and grab the ice off the table?”

“Uh…” Beca eyed them both. “Yeah, sure.” Beca took the cup as she stepped past them. “Is that it?” She reappeared with the towel and ice hanging over one arm, Stacie’s drink in the other. “I’m assuming this is yours and you don’t want it left behind.”

“Thanks,” Stacie held out her hand for it. “I’d have forgotten it.”

“I think that’s it.” Aubrey assured her. “Stacie can get me to the truck.”

“Then let’s get you home.” Beca raised her eyebrows. “Do we need to stop for crutches? I assume you’re going to need crutches for a while. You can’t just hop everywhere even if it would amuse me greatly.”

“No, I’ve got some stored in a closet somewhere.” Aubrey said. “I’m ready when you are, Stace.”

“Alright, nice and easy.” Stacie’s arm tightened around her as Aubrey hopped forward. “Let me know if we need to pause or if you change your mind on the hopping.” Aubrey stuck her tongue out and Stacie grinned at her. “Do I need to give Beca the rundown on what you can’t do and how long you have to wait until you can?” She laughed quietly. “You seem the type to rebel against orders.”

“Actually, Aubrey loves rules.” Beca said cheerfully. “Normally she’d hit me for saying that, but since she’s otherwise occupied…”

“We’re about to get into the same truck,” Aubrey growled and Stacie laughed again. “You’re going to be in punching range.”

“Good point.” Beca mused. “Maybe we should just put you in the truck bed.” Aubrey took a breath but before she could say anything Stacie tightened her grip.

“No, that’d bounce her around too much and could injure her worse. You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?”

“Spoilsport.” Beca sighed.

“How did you get here so fast anyway?” Aubrey asked to distract herself as each hop jarred her.

“Lilly was already in the shop and I didn’t know it.” Beca laughed. “I texted her to see if she could come in and she appeared behind me twenty seconds later.”

Aubrey chuckled. “I’m waiting for the day you put a bell on her.” She looked up when Stacie gave a low grunt and saw she was frowning. “Bells can be handy,” she said lightly.

“So you say,” Stacie shook her head. “I still disagree.”

Beca quickened her pace as she dug her keys out of her pocket. There was a beep as the truck unlocked and Beca opened the passenger door. “It’s not like the truck is jacked up or anything, but getting you in and out of this thing will be fun.” She watched them approach, her worried expression giving lie to her casual conversation.

“Beca,” Aubrey said as they reached her. “I’m going to be fine. It really is just my ankle.”

“She just needs to keep it wrapped, elevated and iced. And she can’t try to walk on it for at least a week.” Stacie turned her head to look at Aubrey. “I’ve got an idea and I don’t know if you’re going to go for it.”

Aubrey eyed her narrowly, not letting herself get distracted by the sun highlighting the flecks in her eyes. “Is this a truce breaking idea?” She ignored the curious look Beca was giving her. There’d be time to explain this entire afternoon when they were alone.

“I don’t think so?” Stacie hedged. “But I was thinking if we back you up to the truck I can lift you up so you don’t have to try and push with one foot.”

“That’s actually a good idea, Bree.” Beca said when Aubrey hesitated in answering. “Getting out is easier because you can lower yourself with your arms. After I go in and get your crutches. While I think I can help you get into the house without them, it won’t be as easily as Legs here.” She leaned inside to put Aubrey’s drink in the cup holder. “I’ll hold yours,” she said to Stacie, “while you do the heavy lifting.”

“First you call me a bitch and now I’m fat.” Aubrey frowned at her. “Tell me again why we’re best friends?”

Beca rolled her eyes. “Stop stalling, woman.” She stepped out of the way when Stacie handed over her drink.

“Alright… You’re right.” Aubrey agreed and with Stacie’s help got herself situated in the open door. “Whenever you’re ready.” She was disturbed by how much she noticed the lack of Stacie’s arm around her when they separated. She was even more disturbed by how natural it felt when Stacie stepped up and gripped her waist. In any other circumstance this position was immediately followed up by a lot of kissing and the sheer muscle memory of it made her sway forward an inch before she stopped herself. It didn’t help when Stacie’s eyes dropped to Aubrey’s mouth, her fingers flexing against Aubrey’s hips, and pure reaction and nerves made Aubrey wet her lips. The moment hung between them for a timeless instant before Beca cleared her throat.

“If you guys need me to come back later…” Her gleeful tone meant she was going to be insufferable on the ride home.

Stacie met Aubrey’s eyes, a smile playing along generous lips. “Ready?”

Unsure for a split second if Stacie meant for them to make out or to get Aubrey into the truck, she could only nod. Stacie’s hands tightened on her hips and as she lifted, Aubrey pushed backward with her hands on the seat behind her. When she was settled, Stacie stepped back once more.

“Please don’t bump your foot swinging it in.” She turned to Beca. “Can I get the ice?” When Beca handed the towel over, Stacie took the bag out of it and slung the towel over her shoulder.

Aubrey carefully turned herself until she was sitting in the car with her left leg slightly crossed over the right and resting on the calf. “This should work for the ten minute drive home.”

Stacie leaned forward and arranged the ice until it was resting on the bandage and not her skin. “It’ll probably fall off on the drive but until then…” She pulled Aubrey’s bag from her shoulder and handed it into the truck. “It was nice meeting you, Aubrey.” She held out her hand, one corner of her mouth twitching into a grin.

“Thanks for the rescue,” Aubrey said again as she took it. “I definitely owe you one.”

“Clean slate, remember?” Stacie said as she backed up and turned to Beca. “Nice meeting you too. Make sure she stays off it. If she doesn’t tell you the rules, go look up RICE and make her follow them.”

Beca frowned as they shook again. “Like, cooking? Do I have to put Aubrey’s foot in a bag of rice like you do when you drop your phone in the toilet?”

Stacie eyed her, obviously wondering if Beca was serious but finally noticed the grin Beca was having trouble holding back. “Something tells me you and I could one day be great friends.”

“Same,” Beca laughed and handed Stacie her drink before going to the drivers side and getting in. She started the truck and Aubrey rolled down her window. “Since you were in the right place at the right time, you get the lifetime friends of friends discount if you ever find yourself in need of anything from the shop.” Aubrey’s brows shot up and she turned to look at Beca who merely looked past her and out the window.

“You don’t…” Stacie said as she leaned in the window, her arms resting on the frame, but Beca interrupted.

“Too late, it’s said. Plus it’ll win me friend points I can use against her later.” Beca frowned when Aubrey hit her thigh. “Shit, I forgot you were in hitting range now.”

Stacie laughed. “Get her home and get that elevated.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Aubrey reached out and put her hand on Stacie’s arm. “Thank you.” Stacie covered it with her own and squeezed.

“Anytime.” She stepped back. “It really was great to meet you.” She nodded at Beca. “Both of you.”

“I’m sure I’ll see you around,” Aubrey teased. “One way or another.”

“Not for at least a month or I’ll get Beca to kick your ass.” Stacie’s brow arched.

“And I will.” Beca agreed and turned to Aubrey. “Ready?”

“Yeah, it’s starting to ache again.” Aubrey sighed. “God I hate being injured but being unable to walk is the worst.”

“Could be worse,” Stacie said and Aubrey shuddered. “Bye.” She took another step back as Beca backed the truck up so she could pull back into the street when the traffic was clear.

Aubrey watched her, feeling the echo of warmth around her waist and the touch of gentle fingers on her leg. She realized she was a little sad and wondered how her feelings for someone could change so fast. Then, before she got too far down that path, Beca distracted her.

“Dude. You guys totally almost made out in front of me.”

Aubrey gave a startled laugh. “We did not.”

“Oh yeah. She’s gorgeous so I wouldn’t have blamed you.” Beca drummed her fingers on the wheel. “I’d have totally watched too.”

“Oh my god.” Aubrey buried her face in her hands. “We were not going to make out in front of you.” She could feel her cheeks flame under her fingertips.

“So you’d make out if I wasn’t there?” Beca sounded far too amused for Aubrey’s liking.

“I don’t…” Aubrey stopped and tried again. “There was going to be no making out.”

“Useless gay.”

“Hey!”

“Did you get her number?” Beca glanced at her out of the corner of her eye.

“No.” Aubrey admitted.

“Then I say again: Useless gay.”

“Shut up.” Beca snorted and Aubrey dropped her hands back into her lap. “It… it wasn’t really that kind of meet cute.”

“Taking care of a stranger’s ankle is exactly a meet cute.” Beca said slowly, as if to a child.

“She’s not totally a stranger,” Aubrey mused without thinking.

“HAVE YOU BEEN HOOKING UP WITH SOMEONE AND DIDN’T TELL ME!?” Beca risked a look at her, over exaggerated outrage written all over her face.

“I am not hooking up with anyone!” Aubrey thumped her in the leg again.

“But she’s not a stranger? What are you keeping from me?” Beca’s tone was edging into sulking and Aubrey immediately felt bad. They told each other everything and Aubrey didn’t want Beca to think she’d broken that unspoken promise.

“She’s the bell thief?” The truck fell silent and Aubrey found she was holding her breath.

“I’m sorry – did you just tell me that tall, dark and almost-pinned-you-against-my-truck back there is the same woman you’ve been warring with over the past few months?” Each word was spoken carefully and Aubrey couldn’t tell if Beca was amused or angry.

“Yes?”

“And you let her put her arm around you?”

“Yes?” Aubrey turned to watch her.

“And she got it back?”

“You make it sound like I was going to maim her or something.” Aubrey accused.

“You’re the one who said you couldn’t let her win.” Beca threw her another look. “What happened to ‘the war’?”

“Well...” Aubrey sighed. Hopefully Beca wouldn’t freak out since Aubrey was safe in the truck with her. “There’s a bit more than I told you over the phone.”

“Did you fall off a curb cause you guys were making out?”

“Oh my god, no! Would you stop bringing that up?” Because if she didn’t, Aubrey was never going to get it out of her own mind.

“Nope.” Beca said and gave a small sigh. “It’s a really…really… good image. And you can’t really complain because you just acted out at least half of it.”

“You’re such a gutter rat.” Aubrey resisted the urge to fidget because Beca was right and Aubrey’s brain kept showing her Stacie’s eyes on her lips. It didn’t help that she’d been pressed against Stacie’s body several times in the last hour. Now that she wasn’t freaking out about dying she was aware of how much she’d enjoyed it. And already missed it.

“Guilty.” Beca smirked. “Okay, now that that’s established, what did you actually want to tell me?”

“This is going to be a super hard right turn from pornoland, but…” Aubrey sighed. “I actually, literally-no-joking-here, think I almost died today.”

“What do you mean?” Beca stiffened in her seat and looked at her as they came to an empty four way stop.

“I stepped onto the curb but then a bunch of skateboarders almost knocked me off it. That’s when I twisted my ankle and started to fall backwards into the street.” She put her hand on Beca’s thigh as her eyes got wider. “But instead of hitting the ground, Stacie caught me… just as a semi passed behind us.”

“You… you almost…” Beca’s eyes shimmered as her voice broke. “Holy shit, Aubrey.”

“I’m okay, Becs.” Aubrey felt the sting of her own tears and was glad she’d waited until they were face to face before telling her. “I’m okay. I’m in the truck with you. And the only thing I’ve hurt is my ankle.” She squeezed Beca’s thigh lightly. “I’m right here and I’m fine.”

“But you could’ve…” Beca jumped as a horn blasted behind them. “Fuck!” Her eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror. “Asshole.” She blinked quickly and a few tears clung to her lashes. “Okay… Okay. Let’s… Let’s go get your bike because there’s a whole lot to unpack here and I just…” She cleared her throat as she pulled through the intersection. “I need a minute.”

“I know,” Aubrey said quietly. “It’s why I didn’t tell you on the phone.” She left her hand on Beca’s leg, knowing she’d need a physical reminder if their positions were reversed. In moments like this, logic didn’t matter and irrational fear almost always won out.

“I’d have…” Beca blew out a breath as she began circling the parking lot looking for a spot. “Oh I’d have lost my shit, Bree.”

“I know.” Aubrey fell quiet as they waited for someone to finish pulling out of a spot; waited until Beca had parked the truck and turned it off. “I really am okay, Beca. I’m safe and with you.”

“I should be the one comforting you,” Beca let out a weak laugh. “Not you comforting me.” She took off her seatbelt and sat for a moment before she turned until she was kneeling on her seat, facing Aubrey. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” She leaned over and hugged Aubrey tightly. “I don’t… I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You’re one of the few people that’ve taken the time to get past my resting bitch face.”

Aubrey reached up and gripped the arm Beca had across her chest with both hands. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, Mitchell.” She willed herself not to cry but it was a close thing as the emotions of the day caught up with her. She promised herself that she’d have a good cry once she was at home; maybe in a bubble bath with her foot propped on the edge of the tub.

“Okay.” Beca sat back in her seat and wiped her cheeks. “Tell me the rest of it.”

“Not much more to tell,” Aubrey sighed. “She apparently saw what was going to happen and jumped off her bike to catch me. The juice bar employee said she thought there was no way Stacie could reach me… but she did.”

“She literally caught you?” Beca sniffed but her voice was steadier. “Like a literal superhero swooping in to save you?”

“It’s not like she flew,” Aubrey said automatically. “But… yeah. I guess you could say that. She helped me back up on the curb and that’s when I realized who it was.”

“Did you punch her?” Beca asked and Aubrey let herself relax. If Beca was making jokes then she wasn’t spiraling about Aubrey’s near miss.

“No, but she did ask if I was going to if she put her arm around my waist to help me to a table.” Aubrey winced as she forgot her injury and shifted, bumping her ankle. “Shit.”

“Crap, okay. Gimme your key and I’ll go get your bike.” Beca held out her hand. “You can tell me the rest of it on the drive home.”

Aubrey opened the zippered pouch on the front of her bag. “Sounds good. It’s definitely starting to remind me it exists.”

“You probably were too distracted by the almost making out to think about it,” Beca said as she grabbed the small keychain Aubrey handed her. “I’ll be back.”

Aubrey shook her head as Beca quickly left the truck and headed toward the bike racks. “That went about as well as I expected.” She grabbed a napkin from Beca’s glovebox and wiped at her eyes. By the time Beca returned and hooked Aubrey’s bike to the rack sticking out of the truck’s hitch, Aubrey was calmly drinking the last of her smoothie.

“Was it in ‘your spot’?” Beca asked as she started the truck. Aubrey was relieved to see that Beca was clear eyed and her voice no longer shook.

“Yes.” Aubrey shrugged. “I can’t help it.”

“It’s a good spot, right in front,” Beca said absently as she backed out of the parking spot. “Definitely superior to the one’s in front or behind.”

“I hate you.” Aubrey leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “Now there’s two of you.”

“You actually love me.” But there was something in her tone that made Aubrey open one eye and squint at her. “But maybe not as much as you lurv the bell thief.”

“Lurv?” Aubrey closed her eye again. “Two encounters and mutual harassment doesn’t make lurv, Beca.”

“Of course not, you were in public. Can’t make lurv in public without getting arrested.” There was a pause. “Unless you’re very sneaky.”

“I sense a story I haven’t heard yet.” Aubrey opened her eyes and found Beca grinning at her.

“Maybe – but you’re also not going to hear it now. Maybe later when I’m drunk. There was a park, some sprinklers on a timer… the usual.” Beca shrugged. “But first, tell me everything that happened after she got you to the table.”

“There’s nothing,” Aubrey said. “We just declared a truce; she told me how to take care of my foot. We exchanged basic info-”

“Except phone numbers,” Beca interjected.

“-like our occupations but no… no phone numbers.”

“Then how are you going to find each other again?” Beca said as they waited for a light.

“Well, I know where she is at least some of the time.” Aubrey shrugged. “Plus she’s best friends with Chloe, so I could ask her for her number.”

“Wait – she’s friends with the woman who you did not ask out for the past year? But you’ll ask said woman for her best friend’s number?” Beca laughed. “I love you, please never change.”

“Hm,” Aubrey considered. “Good point. But her cousin Emily works there. We talk every time I see her, so I could do that if I really wanted.”

“Why would you not?” Beca turned onto Aubrey’s street.

“I don’t know. She didn’t ask for mine either.” But Aubrey didn’t think it was due to lack of interest. “Maybe we’re just going to let fate decide. Since she’s known Chloe forever, and we’ve only met twice in the year plus I’ve been going there, maybe it isn’t meant to be.”

Beca waited until she’d pulled up in front of Aubrey’s house and turned off the car before answering. “I was wrong before – your whole first encounter is definitely a meet cute.” She ignored Aubrey’s sound of protest and kept talking. “And you guys had chemistry that I could see in the whole five minutes I was in your presence. I really did think she was going to kiss you before she boosted you onto the seat.”

“Me too,” Aubrey muttered. “I swayed.”

“I saw.” Beca grinned at her. “You literally fell into her arms as she saved your life… But because you’re a useless gay you didn’t ask for her number.”

“I did invite her to karaoke…” Aubrey trailed off.

“Oh, maybe not so useless after all.” Beca said approvingly. “I’m so proud of you!”

“Well, her, Chloe and Emily.” Aubrey pursed her lips. “There may have been some panic involved.”

“Annnd now it’s back. We’re going to have a long talk after I get you settled and stocked for a week.” Beca opened her door. “Are the crutches in the garage?”

“I think they’re in the spare room,” Aubrey said after a moment’s thought. “If I needed them I didn’t want to search the whole garage for them.”

“Alright,” Beca hopped out of the truck. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Ha. Ha.” Aubrey flipped her off as she closed the door. She watched Beca go into her house and settled back in the seat. It was annoying that Beca was right.

She had already begun to fall for the bell thief and that wasn’t like her at all. Aubrey Posen was a woman who never did anything without a thoroughly thought out plan of attack.

‘No,’ she reminded herself. ‘That’s who you used to be. You came here to be different. More spontaneous. This will work out how it’s supposed to.’

And as much as she’d panicked at the thought of asking Stacie out on a date – which since Beca would be there it’s not like it’d be an actual date – there was a calm space at the center of her thoughts. One that was telling her she’d meet Stacie again – soon – and her life would change for a second time.

Aubrey was surprised to realize how much she was looking forward to that moment.

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A/N: I've officially reached the end of things I had already written, so my '10 days between posts" is no more. I've been working a lot of overtime at work and hadn't counted on how completely it would suck any ounce of creativity out of me, so please forgive the length between posts. I swear it will be finished and not abandoned though!

(x)

#staubrey #aubrey posen #stacie conrad #beca mitchell #pitch perfect fanfic #cyc writes #switching gears

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