#(mostly cuz I think this is actually a very necessary fight and there's hope at the end of this tunnel)

[rainbow-crane]

hey this is the opposite of what I wanted from season 6, actually. Why do these writers hate me personally

[faroreswinds]

I’m really mad because my recordings of my SB playthrough have been cutting out for some reason at times. It’s not going to make the cut pretty when all is said and done. >:(

I think I fixed it but man, so many hours of garbage. 

I know my comments on my playthrough probably aren’t very exciting but I’m also posting them for reference later. In case I need to call back on something. 

Anyways, time for anons and other asks! My answers are short because my hands hurt from typing so much.

Varleys sliminess is well documented. Even in the final battle and facing the Agarthans, killing Imperial Varley for being scum and spreading false teachings is a priority for some of Rheas troops.

The guy is an Imperial plant. I don’t blame from people wanting to take him out. 

Like I'm not asking for Claude to stay the mostly squeaky-clean Good Guy he was in 3H, I'm just asking that he be allowed to retain any semblance of his character. Like... he could have brought in Almyran forces without telling anyone despite having fought off a large army from them not that long ago - in fact, specifically because of that last altercation with them, because he can't find it in him to trust his friends to believe in him, even though he desperately wants to.

That can cause some deep tension and suspicion between the Deer and Claude, and hey Shahid can be a reoccurring threat in his route to deepen that tension even more (instead of just a joke who immediately gets killed off - hey, maybe don't throw away one of the most interesting new additions to your story for no reason 3Hopes!!). You can have it to where Claude secretly gathering Almyran forces to bolster his Fodlandi ones is causing problems in Almyra, because now the people are split between supporting Khalid (the runaway prince, but who's fighting in a war that's proving daunting) or Shahid (the hot-headed fool, but one fighting for "traditional Almyran values" - i.e. proving themselves superior to Fodlan). That could cause Claude to question whether his faith and dreams of people working together as friends and allies is worth what going through with said dreams is causing to the war in Fodlan, his homeland, and his friends.

And his route as a whole can be about the struggle of having to juggle trusting your friends, trusting yourself (cuz hey Claude showing some self-doubt in GW is actually really neat but like. lowkey doesn't go anywhere imo), recognizing what is necessary to be a good leader, and his personal conflict regarding Shahid and Almyra as a whole! Oh, wow!! YET AGAIN Claude is given a route where OBVIOUS DIRECTIONS FOR HIS CHARACTER are right there that aren't taken, except now there's blatant character assassination to go along with the missed opportunities!! Oh boy my favorite!!

@fea-and-fehf-headcanons

There is nothing to add, really. I agree. They didn’t have to make him squeaky clean, but this just... isn’t Claude. It’s crazy how different this guy is.

They botched his route. I’m so sorry, Claude fans. 

I just read the dev interview and I find the byleth take odd. I think you can the same plot for three hopes just playing as the lords.  If the what if a scenario is what the lords not meeting byleth why do you need a new avatar?

They could've given byleth their own route showing how much being a professor or working at church changed them. Maybe a secret route playing as them bouncing between all three factions fighting for each side as a common merc watching fodlan burn. A weirder idea is to have byleth raise their mini-army and get the sword of the creator and the people herald them as the new "liberator". Byleth could do this as a response to seeing the bloodshed on all three sides. Deciding to finally take action rather than passively jumping from place to place for work. That's sort of a character arc for them.

The only thing byleth concretely influences on all three routes for better or worse in three houses isn't the lords. It's the war coming to a close. Which doesn't end in three hopes. So having byleth be the one to end the war vs all three lords could be interesting?

I guess I should remember warriors games arent for plot/gameplay more so for fanservice and some mindless fun. Sorry for the word barf.

@happiighost

When I saw the new avatar months ago, I groaned out loud. Seriously, I HATE avatars. Shez was so unnecessary, especially when you have such a strong cast to play off of! 

And yeah, the devs didn’t want Hopes to have a conclusive end or else it would invalidate Byleth. And like... ok? Then WHY have another avatar at all???? Just use the lords right out the gate and boom, problem solved. 

But I will say this. The game IS fun. Dumb, but fun. And it does have some very good moments. Seteth crying for Flayn to escape was divine. I live for that shit.

Oh hold up, when does claude sacrifice his allies ? Which allies ?! Agh I'm afraid to watch the playthroughs and yet my curiousity arghhh

The Empire. Actually, I don’t think he ever sacrifices Kingdom allies. Just the Empire allies. Both routes, actually. Randolph in particular. 

Am personally dreading how fans are already saying hopes/houses is worse than the other because x character, y scenario, z outcome, and tbh part of why i left the fandom is because no one can just fucking enjoy anything in fire emblem without immediately hating on its predecessors/sequels. Can people fucking chill? Regardless of their stances on any character or route can people really not find it in themselves to enjoy the games on their own?

No, people cannot chill. Sunk fallacy and all that. They have devoted their lives to “being right” and they will now feel vindicated, damn it!

But I think the reason people are so mad is because Hopes wanted to address fan criticism AND not invalidate Byleth. This is both a blessing and a curse. And not only that, but they are butchering characters in a way that isn’t entirely logical.

You can enjoy the game. But people have a right to be upset when the game isn’t faithful. 

Like... I’m actually having a lot of fun! I’m confused a lot per the story. But gameplay is honestly great. 

[darlingbudsofrae]

Andrew Minyard Appreciation Post

Foxes Appreciation Series : || 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6  || 7 || 8 || 9 || 10 ||

I believe that even with all the overwhelming Andrew Minyard content, we can never give the love this precious soul deserves.

Andrew Joseph Minyard deserves all the love in this universe.

He is very loyal.

Like, because he was often left behind most of the times in his past, it’s kind of ironic how Andrew understands the concept of family.

How willing he is to fight for his family, keep his family- even if it doesn’t show in the most obvious ways.

Friendly reminder that Andrew Minyard strike deals with people because he thinks it’s the only way to make people stay.

Friendly reminder that he is willing to go through hell and back for his family to the point of even hurting himself.

Because he could give less shit if he gets hurt. This MF is willing to go all in in protecting “his” people even if it kills him because he just don’t see anything worth living his life all the while secretly doing the best he could because he wants his family to succeed and that’s just-

Isn’t it ironic that everything Andrew Minyard are for are also the same things that ended up hurting him?

Like this kid honors promises to a fault and ensures hope when necessary (eg Kevin and Neil) when his life consisted nothing of false hopes and broken promises.

Did you know that the second character in the book to say the word fine the most is Andrew? While Neil says fine as a defense mechanism, Andrew mostly says the word to assure others that they’re going to be okay when they’re overthinking.

He also really values consent and that first kiss with Neil, when he pushed him and said he wasn’t in the head space to give it? That scene is underrated af.

Also, for someone who got lied to all his life, Andrew is so honest. He tells the truth in all its ugly glory because better terrible truths than kind lies.

Honesty suited Andrew because he was an instigator at heart and his opinions were often unpopular.

Andrew Minyard is not a good person- doesn’t try to convince someone he’s a good person.

He threatens people, he can kill without a second thought. I think this is why most people view him as “psychotic” but if you do read the times Andrew act out on violence, they’re mostly because they’re provoked by inappropriate behavior slash words.

Like with Nicky, and the things he says about Neil and Kevin. I really like that Andrew acts on that because as violent as it is and as much as I love Nicky, he tends to oversexualize someone and say unnecessary and inappropriate things.

I love how Andrew doesn’t act like he likes people. Doesn’t feel inclined to make someone comfortable. 

And honestly, who can blame him when most of the foxes see him as a monster? Like I love the foxes but they’re judgmental assholes.

I really hate this about the books, like I can defend why the upperclassmen and even his own family sees him as such but it just gets to me.

Because for me, out of all the people there is in the world, the foxes should’ve been the first people to understand that Andrew was human with real feelings- that he didn’t have to act on a certain way.

I will never get over about how until the end of the book, the rest of the foxes still sees him that way.

As someone who went thru a lot of shit, Andrew was such a comfort character. Personally, I feel like his character arc was one of the best ones I’ve read.

He’s coping, still coping- and that’s okay.

Y’know what I love about Andrew most? He actively goes to therapy. In a way, despite seemingly giving up on everything, kid is willing to fix himself.

And maybe the results are slow or next to none but so what? He doesn’t have to recover immediately and honestly, reading AFTG back in a time when I was pressuring myself to heal fast because I was too frustrated with everything- reading Andrew was like getting washed by a cold bucket of water.

Recovery takes time. Healing is a process. And it could even take years and no matter how long it takes, it’s okay ✨

Also, another thing I like about Andrew’s character was that Nora made a point about not forgiving abusers. Most books tend to send that message (which is disgusting) but with Andrew’s character, it’s clear that you don’t have to attach yourself to your abusers.

Forgiving abusers is not a necessary part of the healing process. 

 This is getting dark so to lighten things up a bit, Andrew has a sweet tooth. He loves ice cream.

Also, he majored in criminal justice and I know Nora said he did that just to be a troll but I like to believe that deep inside, he wants to help those who are in a situation like him and actually make the world a better place.

Andrew knows what to do when someone’s breaking down. Like, with every character, his apathy aside, he always knows how to act.

Also, he’s one of those annoying even-if-I-don’t-make-an-effort-I’m-talented-af-and-can-still-perform-well-so-sue-me assholes and normally I hate those type of characters but Andrew was an exemption. 

Like, we do not talk enough about the fact that he asked Wymack to choose between numbers 1 - 5 and only let that number of goals in of the opposing team that night before shutting down the goal completely.

Or that he only let 13 of the ravens’ shots - the nation’s best team - in and that is oh my gods where do I even begin with Andrew Joseph Minyard being a superior goalie I cannot-

Also the fact that Andrew completely shut down the goal when Neil freaking asked him to- who is this man? 

What a simp. What power. 

I hope in the AFTG universe, someone out there is doing the god’s work and compiling his saves. Like, I don’t normally watch sports stuff cuz I hate sports but I would pay good money to see that yes sir I will.

We could talk about Andrew’s saves more but that just deserves its own post cuz it’s chef kisses

We do not talk enough about Andrew’s eidetic memory. Seriously, we don’t.

Also, you can say all you want that he’s an emo kid but kid has good fashion sense.

Andrew seriously has the best lines in the series. Did some of them made me choke and wheeze and cringe? Yes. But did most of them make me cry like a bitch and hit my heart right where it hurts? Also yes.

“Congratulations are in order, I suppose! Since I have none to give, I will tell the others to respond appropriately.”

Also, some of them were lowkey Shakespearean and I refuse to believe that Andrew doesn’t read Shakespeare-

Seriously, he’s so extra but he’s also so traumatized and such a gay disaster I can’t-

He’s five foot short.

[barschter000]

OWOWOW MY FANGAN

THANK YOU SO MUCH AT EVERYONE WHO IS INTERESTED IN THIS SERIOUSLY YOU CAN'T BELIEVE HOW HAPPY THAT MAKES ME MY HANDS ARE SHAKING (that's also why it took so long to post this akhdjwjs)

Baiko Omori – Ultimate Lucky Student

"My name is Baiko Omori, I am here as the Ultimate Lucky Student. The pleasure of meeting you is mine, my dear friends! There are actually quite many things that I'm talented at and hopefully, this academy helps me find my 'true Ultimate.'"

  Birthday: March 11th (Pisces)

    Blood Type: A+

    Height: 165cm / 5'4”

    Weight: 67kg / 148lbs

    Likes: vintage 50s music, street food, grocery shopping

    Dislikes: cockroaches, the smell of gasoline, betrayal

Baiko never means harm as he values life over everything else. He is friendly and considerate, always smiling. He offers help where he can, sometimes coming off as intrusive but never does something that would put him at a disadvantage. He has the habit of calling everyone his “dear friend” and is in general, quirky and a little detached from normality. When you're around him, you can't help but feel like there's something off but Baiko is too nice for you to bring that up.

Ei Hagakure – Ultimate Ghost Whisperer

"Name's Ei Hagakure, Ghost Whisperer. Sup? My gramps went to this school back in his days. Sadly didn't inherit his spiritual powers, so guess I'll substitute with a bit of science."

Birthday: April 29th (Taurus)

Blood Type: B+

Height: 177cm / 5'8”

Weight: 57kg / 126lbs

Likes: bad television shows, abandoned buildings, the pizza they have on Wednesday at her university's cafeteria

Dislikes: family fights, doctor's appointments, olives

Ei is a laid-back young scientist that leaves the world of academics in wonder at her more or less successful inventions. Her greatest goal is to prove the existence of ghosts based on scientific findings. Despite Ei's grand ambitions, she is relaxed and calm and just weird enough to get along with almost everybody.

Hideaki Yukiyama – Ultimate Mathematician

"Yukiyama Hideaki, Hideaki Yukiyama, Mathematician and the Ultimate at that! This class looks pretty alright so far. You shitwits seem like the type a smart boy like me can have fun with, hehe."

Birthday: May 2nd (Taurus)

Blood Type: 0+

Height: 156cm / 5'1”

Weight: 62kg / 137lbs

Likes: the feeling of chalk, messy notes, his own laugh

Dislikes: boredom, sitting straight, school uniforms

Contrary to what his talent might lead you to believe, Hideaki is actually a brat. Constantly in the search for mischief and entertainment, he likes to ridicule and annoy others. His genius lies hidden in his complicated speech and spectacular knowledge that he uses to confuse the people around him. All negativity and criticism towards his character simply bounces off him. It is not easy to befriend him as he believes that friends hinder him but deep down, he wishes for someone to get through his irritating personality to know him better.

Ichini – Ultimate Robotics Engineer

"My model's name is 1.2, that's Ichini for you. Ultimate Robotics Engineer. Be prepared to have that weirded-out look wiped off your faces, meatbags! Someday I'll drown this world in chaos and rule humanity with my machines!"

Birthday: August 13th (Leo)

Blood Type: 0-

Height: 210cm / 6'8”

Weight: 132kg / 291lbs

Likes: the smell of electricity, children's' shows, energy drinks

Dislikes: being photographed, asparagus, humanity

Ichini is a mean cyborg that has rejected humanity and all its aspects. Xe thinks xemself superior to everyone around xem because they are still human and will not survive the overthrow of the machines that xe is planning. Despite xir large, armed metal body though, Ichini is all bark, no bite and wishes to be more courageous and confident in xir choices.

Jun Nagao – Ultimate Escapologist

"My name is Jun Nagao, I'm the Ultimate Escapologist. There's nothing much about me, really. Sorry."

Birthday: September 25th (Libra)

Blood Type: AB-

Height: 171cm / 5'6”

Weight: 63kg / 139lbs

Likes: flower bouquets, art from the Romantic era, freshly laundered clothes

Dislikes: skin tight clothing, reading out loud, overcrowded subways

After his face was paralysed in a kidnapping incident, Jun has adopted the perception of him being emotionless and cold. As he usually dismisses others and their feelings, Jun is a loner. Because his talent stems from his continued abductions, he finds it distressing to be enrolled at Hope's Peak Academy but accepts his fate to ensure his own safety.

Kaida Tsutsumi – Ultimate Stock Broker

”Kaida Tsutsumi... Ultimate Stock Broker... That is all.”

Birthday: January 9th (Capricorn)

Blood Type: AB-

Chest: 82cm / 32”

Height: 153cm / 5'0”

Weight: 58kg / 128bs

Likes: coffee, Paganini, listening to the rain while falling asleep

Dislikes: the cold, bitter coffee, wool sweaters

Kaida is a small and timid girl, so shy that it is hard to imagine that she works at the stock market. Kaida is great with numbers and probabilities and rather spends time with diagrams and prices than with people. She only speaks as much as necessary and gives her answers clear and direct. Because of her reluctance to talk about herself, she is mostly seen alone but will get extremely attached to you the moment you show that you acknowledge her. It feels like she holds a secret that she can't reveal.

Kyo Kido – Ultimate Horror Author

"My name's Kyo. Uh, Kyo Kido, that's probably how you know me. I'm the Ultimate Horror Author? I'd offer to give out some autographs but my hands are kinda shaking right now cuz– Wow– Hope's Peak, y'know! So it's gonna look kinda ugly, ahah."

Birthday: November 21st (Scorpio)

Blood Type: 0+

Height: 180cm / 5’9”

Weight: 79kg / 174lbs

Likes: romance novels, romantic comedies, the clacking sound of typewriters

Dislikes: ink stains on his hand, sharp pencils, soup

Kyo is really just a normal teenager with a knack for writing; at least, that's what he believes. Like every other teenager, he is a little awkward and shy and, in contrast to his talent, not at all scary. However, Kyo's books manage to evoke such terror in his readership that it's dubbed and loved as 'Kido's curse'. Kyo is flattered but honestly can't handle the fame.

Maxis von Läuterbach – Ultimate Knight

"My name is Maxis von Läuterbach, wielding the title of the Ultimate Knight. It is not often that you see someone as wondrous as me, so my lieges, I am ever at your service."

Birthday: June 21st (Gemini)

Blood Type: AB-

Height: 182cm / 5'9"

Weight: 75kg / 165lbs

Likes: stained glass windows, historic castles, Belgian pralines

Dislikes: blisters, ignorance, ill-behaved children

Growing up surrounded by ruins of glorious pasts and with the wish to set themself off from their peers, Maxis chose to walk the path backwards and do everything in their power to become a historically accurate knight. Unfortunately, Maxis had miscalculated and noticed that a knight lives to serve, not to be served but there is no turning back now.

Shiori Ishimaru-Owada – Ultimate Team Captain

"I'm Shiori Ishimaru-Owada, proudly bearing the title of the Ultimate Team Captain! I'm excited to get along with y'all! Honestly, I don't really know why I'm at this academy, but as long as I make my Dads proud, I'm probably doing the right thing!"

Birthday: December 14th (Sagittarius)

Blood Type: AB+

Height: 185cm / 6'0”

Weight: 79kg / 174lbs:

Likes: racing games, exercise, cooking

Dislikes: reading, hospital stays, basements

Shiori is an intense and upbeat girl. She is a capable leader with strong beliefs that she defends well and at times, imposes on others without noticing. While not being truly talented at a singular sport, she has tried out many things and has always effortlessly attracted a group of allies around her, no matter where she went. She is kind and motivational and, strange for a teenage girl, very attached to her parents.

Tamae Shiroma – Ultimate Whistleblower

"I'm Tamae Shiroma, Ultimate Whistleblower. Pleasure. Before I get any complaints later: Know who you're talking to, alright?"

Birthday: May 21st (Gemini)

Blood Type: B+

Height: 159cm / 5'2”

Weight: 73kg / 161lbs

Likes: hot baths, spicy food, her sister

Dislikes: reality TV, sugary food, caterpillars

Famous for her small but well-placed leaks, Tamae is the tiny thorn in the side of many politicians. In the shithole that she considers the world, Tamae tries to find the truth as painful as it may be to some. She is wary and never fully trusts anyone, knowing that how dirty people play for their achievements. While talking to her, it always seems like she knows more than you've told her. That is probably true. At the cost of her anonymity, she is attending Hope's Peak where she is promised security. Her talent is her duty, whether she is happy with it or not.

Etsuya Iwata – Ultimate Opera Singer

"My name is but fleeting. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, a song of any other melody would sound as fine. For now, call me Etsuya Iwata, forever I am the Ultimate Opera Singer. Allow me to bring pleasure to your ears, my darlings!"

    Birthday: July 9th (Cancer)

    Blood Type: B-

    Height: 174cm / 5'7”

    Weight: 65kg / 143lbs

Likes: being on stage, tea, sightseeing

Dislikes: having to keep secrets, incompetence, boring drama

Etsuya is a charming lad that likes to bathe in the spotlight. He comes from renowned music schools and stages and he is aware the extend of his talent such as his vocal range, performance abilities, musical expertise or the languages he is fluent in. However, Etsuya is not arrogant, he rather aims to make people happy with his performances. It's easy to fall for his appeal and compliments but it's just as easy to notice that he is moody and picky and overall dramatic, and terrible at lying.

Rokuro Nakatani - Ultimate Fraud

"Rokuro Nakatani, sixth son of my generation. This school calls me the Ultimate Fraud yet there's no actual evidence for this claim. I fear they might have given me that title based on my sisters who were arrested for theft and forgery. Well, these are only two of my eight siblings, black sheeps aren't uncommon, right?"

Birthday: April 14th (Aries)

Height: 167cm / 5'6"

Weight: 66kg / 146lbs

Likes: lucky charms, rabbits, looking stylish

Dislikes: noisy places, manual labor, seaweed

Rokuro comes from a family of forgers and grew up in criminal ranks with limited contact to a normal life. He is used to being assessed and given a value and, just like everyone else in his clan, is a perfectionist through and through. His talent, artistic skills and his eye for detail all came naturally to him without much effort. Rokuro is the poster child of his family, earning him prestige and confidence but also pressure and envy from his parents and siblings. Towards others, he is condescending and belittling. Despite his standing in the Nakatani family and with his crafting abilities at hand, Rokuro often wonders if there is a way for him to create something original.

Miyoko Iwata – Ultimate DJ

"Miyoko Iwata, Ultimate DJ! The lil' hodgepodge I'm wearin' on my face isn't actually a laser or sumthin', it just helps me see. So no worries, I don't bite! Or at least, not that often."

    Birthday: July 9th (Cancer)

    Blood Type: B+

    Height: 172cm / 5'6"

    Weight: 68kg / 152lbs

    Likes: bass, crowds, playing violin

    Dislikes: the quiet, being lonely, salty instant meals

Miyoko is a young music producer that is known for her remixes and features and grew her large international fanbase through social media. With how many experiences she has made in so little time, she has matured quickly and developed a sort of maternal protection over those she holds dear. However, that protection often slips into violence. Miyoko lashes out and threatens people, sometimes pulling the knife she carries on her. There seems to be something hidden underneath her visor and neon clothes that Miyoko doesn't wish to talk about. She says that she is looking for something.

[ridiculousn3sswrites]

Coffee’s for Royals

*Zuko (ATLA) x Reader

*Summary: Opening shift is usually terrible, but a certain prince coming in every morning makes things more tolerable.

*Warnings: Swearing. Let me know if I need to tag anything else.

*A/N: Coffee Shop AU starring a certain angsty prince. My childhood crushes on both Zuko and Mai are back in full force.

My Ko-Fi

**********

You hated taking the opening shift. You were the closing type, not the wake up at 3:30 in the morning so you could open up the store with your overly peppy coworker type. Normally your manager was amazing and let you work mostly closing shifts, but there were the rare occasions the opening shift was short staffed, and your manager would send you a text. Now, you were never one to turn down an extra shift (you definitely needed the money), but you didn’t enjoy taking the opening shift.

When you walked into the coffee shop at four in the morning, you were already fighting the urge to fight somebody. “Why the hell didn’t the closers clean up last night?” You asked as you pulled on your apron.

“I don’t know, aren’t you a closer?” Suki asked, unimpressed. She was a regular opener, having the kind of discipline to regularly wake up at hellish hours. You loved working opening shifts with her - she was a complete badass and one of your closest work friends - but she hated your habits as a closer.

“Yeah, but when I’m a closer, cleaning is a problem for the openers,” you groaned. She threw her hat at you. “Hey!” 

“And that’s why I hate you. Give me back my hat,” she said, walking towards you with some cleaning supplies.

“No, you threw it at me, now it’s mine,” you joked, taking a rag from her.

“So what the hell are you going to do with two hats? Hurry up before shift lead comes in.” You tossed Suki her hat, already feeling better about taking the shift. Sure, you were tired as hell, but you enjoyed the banter you always had going with her. “Alright, what coffee do you want?”

While Suki made the two of you some drinks, you got to cleaning what closing shift didn’t. Most of the machines were cleaned on the surface level, but you had to run some deep cleaning cycles on them. Once that was done, the two of you started brewing the base coffees, needing at least something to serve the customers that would come in during the first few hours of the shop being open. Before you knew it, it was officially time to open. Suki sent you to unlock the door, and then the two of you were just hanging out, filling the occasional order.

Once it started nearing six, you were already wondering when you could take your break. Sure, you hadn’t seen that many customers yet, but you just wanted to sit behind the counter and drink the second coffee Suki had made for you. You stood behind the register, kind of just vibing to the music Suki was playing over the speakers. A guy wearing a hoodie came in, hood pulled up to mostly cover his face, so you went to pretend like you were fully present at work. “Hi, good morning,” you said, putting on your customer service smile. “What can I get for you today?”

“Yeah, hi, uh, can I get a grande white chocolate mocha?” He asked. You knew that voice from somewhere. You didn’t know how, but you recognized that voice. You looked up, scanning his face to see if you actually recognized him or just thought you did. When your gaze landed on the scar, it immediately hit you.

“A-are you Prince Zuko?” you asked, taking the grande cup from the stack.

The guy’s hand immediately went to rub the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “Yeah, I am.”

“Cool. So is that hot or iced?” You asked, not knowing what else to do. It wasn’t like your manager trained you on what to do when royalty randomly walked into your store.

“Hot, please,” he said with a small smile. You typed the order into the computer, waiting a second for the cup’s label to print.

“Alrighty, can I get you anything else?”

“No thanks.” You nodded, finishing up the order. He handed over his card, and went to wait by the order counter to wait for his drink once you handed it back. There was no one else in the shop, and Suki was already working on his drink. You just stood behind the register, not knowing if you should make small talk with him or just try to act like you had things to do. His drink didn’t take long, and when Suki went to put it on the counter, she just lit up when she saw who was there.

“Oh, hey, Zuko!” Suki called as she worked on his drink. “You know, you should try something else every once in a while. I’m starting to get bored just making this one drink.”

“Nah, I like my white chocolate mocha,” he joked back. The two of them kept talking as Suki went about making his drink, and you just stood there, drinking the coffee Suki made for you. You couldn’t believe the way Suki was just immediately joking like that. He must have been a regular, but even with your regulars, you didn’t joke like that. It seemed like they were actual friends, but then how the hell did Suki know the Prince outside of just being his regular barista? Once Suki handed him his drink, they stayed chatting for a few minutes before he finally left.

As soon as the door closed behind him, you turned to Suki. “How the hell do you know the Prince?”

“Oh, Zuko? Yeah, he’s one of Sokka’s friends,” Suki explained. “You know, you’d see him more often if you took more opening shifts. He gets here before the rushes so he doesn’t get recognized.”

“Who said I wanted to see him more often? I just think it’s wild you’re friends with the Prince,” you explained, taking another drink to hide your little embarrassed smile. You hated being put on the spot like that, especially if Suki was implying what it seemed like she was.

“Anyways, he’s single now, not that you’d be super interested in that,” Suki continued to push. You choked on your drink, making Suki laugh. In the nicest way possible, you were going to kill that girl.

**********

It was a complete coincidence you happened to take a couple opening shifts over the next couple weeks. It wasn’t too often, but it was still more than you were usually willing to take. “You know, it’s weird that you’re taking these shifts now,” Suki commented as you cleaned.

“Shut up, I just need the extra money,” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’s not my fault no one else wants to work opening.”

“Okay, sure. Then why’d you look so bummed out when Zuko didn’t show last shift?” Suki teased. You shot her a deadly glare, which she answered with a self-satisfied grin. “He was sick, just in case you were lying about not caring.”

“Anyways,” you tried to change the topic, saying the one word louder than necessary. “Can I choose music today?”

“Yeah, dude. All you had to do was connect your phone first.” You finished cleaning the machine you were working on, already heading over to the door to open for the day. “Hey, what coffee do you want?”

“(Coffee drink of choice),” you said, unlocking the door and flipping the sign.

“No, something easier,” Suki joked, going to make your drink anyways.

“Thank you!”

There was a little rush of customers for about twenty minutes after opening, the super early commuters trying to get their caffeine fix. After that, you and Suki were able to just hang out, adjusting your playlist to whatever vibe you wanted in the shop, and tend to the occasional customer. You were kind of starting to get used to the vibe of opening shift, and you had to admit it was kind of nice. Not enough for you to want to become a regular opener, but it was still nice.

Almost on cue, Zuko walked in as soon as six rolled around. You perked up when you saw him in his red hoodie, hood up but now with a black baseball cap on his head. “Hi! Good morning, Prince. Grande white chocolate mocha?” You asked as he walked up to the counter.

“Oh, uh, hey. Yeah, how’d you know?” He asked as you put in the order.

“Sorry, I just heard Suki say you always order the same thing, so I kinda figured it was your regular,” you explained with a small smile. You could see the flush on his face at your answer, so you immediately went to focus on getting the cup.

“Yeah, it is. She’s always trying to get me to try something else.” Zuko laughed. “I just can’t handle the pure coffee flavor, so, mocha.”

“I get it, I didn’t start drinking actual coffee until I started working here. Alright, so that’ll be $4.45.” Zuko handed his card over, but instead of going over to the pick up counter to talk to Suki like he did last time, he just stayed near the order counter once you handed him his card.

“So, uh, you don’t normally work opening, do you?” Zuko asked, not meeting your gaze directly. You were a little taken aback, not expecting him to actually try to hold a conversation with you. You handed Suki his cup, and she just grinned as she looked between the two of you. “I come in like every morning and I haven’t really seen you here before, you know?”

“No, I work closing but I’ve been picking up a few shifts every now and then,” you explained. You didn’t know why you were giving him so much information, but it wasn’t like you could stop it. Zuko nodded, still looking around the shop like there was something that could take his attention away. You waited a second to see if he was going to go talk to Suki, but when he didn’t, you figured you’d keep the conversation going. “So, you’re friends with Suki’s boyfriend?”

Zuko looked at you, once again a little surprised at your question. “Yeah, we met a few years ago when we were both travelling around. How’d you…?”

“Sorry, I asked Suki how she knew you cuz you guys seemed like kinda close. I hope I wasn’t overstepping my bounds, Prince,” you apologized, looking down at your register. You could feel your face heating up, realizing admitting to the Prince that you were asking his friend for information about him might come off as very weird.

“Don’t worry about it! Oh, uh, by the way, you can just call me Zuko,” he told you. You looked up, catching a glimpse of the shy smile he had. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Oh! I’m (y/n)! Nice to, like, officially meet you.” The two of you just stood there, awkward little smiles on your faces until Suki decided to ruin it.

“Hey, Prince Moody! Stop flirting with my coworker and come get your coffee!” Zuko looked to you, mortified at what Suki just said. He sputtered out an apology before going to the pick up counter. You tried to ignore the rapid-fire whispering from the other side of the counter, instead focusing on what drink you were going to ask Suki to make for you next. The whispering lasted for the longest minutes of your life, but finally Zuko made his way to the front door, turning for a second to wave goodbye to you before leaving. Your heart raced at the small gesture, but the second you looked at Suki, your mood was ruined. She was leaning against the counter, resting her chin on her fist. “So, when’s the wedding? You could do spring, but I’m thinking you’re more of a fall person.”

“We were literally just talking! What, I can’t speak to my customers now?”

“Oh, so he’s your customer now?” Suki teased.

“I hate you.”

“You know you don’t.”

“You’re right, I don’t. Can you make me an iced coffee next?” Suki gave an exaggerated gasp, holding her hand up to her chest.

“Do you only like me because I can make coffee?” Suki questioned, pouting.

“Well, I can make coffee too, I’m just too lazy to make it myself right now,” you said with a sweet smile.

“You gremlin.” Suki rolled her eyes, grabbing a cup for your drink anyways. “You’re lucky you’re my friend.”

“I’m honored.”

**********

When one of the openers gave their two weeks, your manager asked if you wanted to switch over and become an official opener. Before then, you’d already been working a few opening shifts a week, only taking closing about two nights a week. You agreed to the switch, knowing you were already heading that way anyways. Suki quickly jumped in with the teasing when you told her, but you just rolled your eyes and laughed. So what if you enjoyed seeing Zuko in the mornings, just talking about whatever while Suki made his drinks?

When Zuko walked in during your first shift as an official opener, he could tell something was different. As he walked up to the counter, you already put in his order. He immediately pulled out his card and handed it to you. “You seem happy. What’s going on?”

“What, I can’t just be happy?” Zuko gave you a look that let you know he wasn’t awake enough to deal with this. “Alright. So, you’re looking at the newest opener!”

“You switched over from closing?” Zuko asked, eyes widening as you handed his card back to him.

“It wasn’t like she was actually working closing shifts anyways,” Suki chimed in, grabbing the cup you set aside for Zuko’s drink. “She’s been mainly opening because of her favorite customer.”

“Would you please just go make coffee?” you whined. You were avoiding looking at Zuko, but you could picture the blush no doubt on his face.

“Yes, ma’am!” Suki said, giving you a salute before heading to the coffee bar.

“I would say sorry about her, but you’ve been her friend for longer,” you said, finally looking at Zuko. There was the faintest blush tinting his cheeks, a lot less than what you expected. “But, yeah, I’ve been opening a lot more lately so the manager asked if I just wanted to switch over officially.”

“Well, I mean, that’s good if you’re enjoying opening shift anyways,” Zuko said. He paused, looking around the shop before turning back to you. “I’m kinda glad. I like seeing you in the mornings.”

And now it was your turn to blush. You didn’t know what to say, so you just looked down at your register as you tried to will away your burning cheeks. It took a few seconds for you to look up to him with a shy smile. “Thanks, I like seeing you in the mornings too. You know, Suki wasn’t exactly lying when she was talking about my favorite customer.”

“Your Royal Asshole, your boring coffee is ready!” Suki called out, voice clear across the empty coffee shop. Zuko groaned in annoyance while you tried to stifle your laughter. She always came up with a new nickname for Zuko when she felt he was too distracted talking to you, each one more creative than the last, always having something to do with his royal blood.

Zuko went to grab his coffee, having another whispered conversation with Suki before going to leave the shop. Just before he got to the door, he turned to look at you. “See you tomorrow, (y/n)! Have a good day!”

“Thanks, Zuko! See you!” You called back. Zuko smiled brightly as he left, while Suki huffed from beside you.

“Rude ass. He didn’t even say bye to me,” Suki pouted. “I’m supposed to be his favorite worker here. You should go back to closing.”

“And he’s the rude one?” You asked with a gasp, holding your hand up to your chest. “Plus, aren’t you all supposed to hang out later?”

“Oh yeah, I told you about Sokka’s thing, didn’t I?” Suki crossed her arms over her chest. “But still, he should’ve said bye.”

“And I’m sure he’s going to hear about it tonight,” you told her, rolling your eyes.

“He absolutely will. Alright, what coffee do you want?” You could tell that was her way of trying to make peace. It worked.

**********

You were used to your routine of being an opener now. You managed to switch up your sleep schedule, you didn’t have to deal with any overly-peppy coworkers - though there were the rare times Suki had her moments - overall, opening shifts were going pretty well. You weren’t going to attribute it completely to a certain royal that came in at exactly the same time every morning, despite how often Suki would tease you about it.

When you were working, you noticed Zuko was sticking around longer. Before, he would stay just long enough to get his coffee, any conversations had while Suki was making his drink. Now he was hanging around, chatting (which was closer to flirting, in your opinion) while he drank his coffee, leaving just before the morning rush officially started. He’d been recognized a few times, the other customers coming to the counter and whispering ‘Was that Prince Zuko?’ You and Suki found it amusing, but never let it slip that he was a regular.

Just as you were in the groove of things, you got a text from your old shift leader. One of the closers had called in sick for the next day, and she’d already spoken to the store manager about switching your shift that day from opening to closing. All she needed was your approval. It only took a few seconds before you gave her the go ahead to switch your shift around. You texted Suki, letting her know what was going on before you jumped in bed, looking forward to a few extra hours of sleep.

When you walked into the shop, ready to start your shift, your old coworker immediately lit up. Well, about as much as she could. “Hey, I thought you abandoned us,” Mai said. “I don’t know why you’d switch over to opening.”

“I have my reasons,” you joked. While Suki was your favorite coworker for opening, Mai was definitely your favorite for closing. There was just something about her stoic nature that you loved. “Why the hell do you guys leave such a mess?”

“Ugh, you definitely sound like an opener now,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Go put on your apron and help us.”

You smiled and followed her orders, going to the back to put on your apron and hat. You quickly fell back in step with everyone else, used to the more laid back nature of closing. The time just seemed to fly by, and you had a brief moment where you questioned why you switched shifts in the first place. It was only a moment before your favorite customer came into your mind, reminding you what you’d miss if you went back to closing shift.

The half hour before closing was one of the quietest times of the day, probably tied with right after opening. You and Mai were chatting about some different concerts she went to since the last time you saw each other when the door opened. You had your back turned to the front, but you saw Mai’s eyes narrow at whoever just walked in. 

“What are you doing here?” she snipped. Your eyes widened at her attitude - which wasn’t anything new, it was just never directed at the customers if she could help it.

“You know, she still scares me.” You recognized that voice from the few times he came in to get Suki after work. You finally turned to face the customers. Zuko stood there, trying to look anywhere other than at Mai, and Sokka was standing next to him. Sokka waved at you.

“Well?” Mai demanded.

“I, uh, I wanted-”

“(Y/n) wasn’t working this morning and Zuko got bummed out. Suki told me she was working closing today,” Sokka cut him off. Zuko nodded, looking at the floor.

You looked at Mai, wondering what the hell was going on. “So am I just dumb or is there something happening right now?” 

“I used to date Zuko, and I told him never come in here when I’m working,” Mai said, getting louder as she directed the last part to Zuko.

“It’s not like I knew you’d be working tonight!” Zuko tried defending himself. Sokka ignored their back and forth, walking up to the counter.

“Alright, so can I get an iced coffee?” Sokka asked you. You just nodded, going through the motions of taking his order. Zuko and Mai were still going at it, so he lowered his voice as he talked to you. “Look, I know this entire thing here is awkward, but Zuko likes you. Like, he won’t shut up about you. Ever. He was supposed to ask you out today, but, you know, this is happening now.”

“So what, you decided to just pop in so you could flirt with my coworker? You really couldn’t find anyone else in this entire city?” Mai argued. You were a little surprised she overheard.

“It’s not like that!”

“Then what? You just decided to follow one of the workers from opening to closing shift?”

“You know what, I’ll wait for you outside, Sokka,” Zuko gave in, just leaving the shop.

“I hate that guy,” Mai huffed, going to the back, leaving you to finish up Sokka’s order.

**********

The next morning Zuko came in during your shift, things were definitely awkward. You put in his normal order, not sure how you were going to address things. “So, uh, you and Mai?”

“Yeah. We dated for a couple years. I didn’t know you guys knew each other,” Zuko mumbled. “I’m really sorry for that. I shouldn’t have let Sokka talk me into coming during closing shift.”

“I mean, it did get a little tense-”

“A little?”

“Okay, very tense, but like, I guess it was kind of sweet of you,” you said with a tentative smile, Sokka’s comments at the back of your mind.

“Wait, what?”

Zuko’s confusion immediately made you question what Sokka told you the last time you saw them. You turned to Suki. “Why does your boyfriend like messing with me?”

“He’s just like that,” Suki said, obviously confused at her sudden involvement in your conversation. You just finished ringing up Zuko’s order, giving the cup to Suki so she could make the drink.

“What did Sokka tell you?” Zuko asked as he took his card back from you.

“Nothing important,” you tried brushing it off with a wave of your hand. He’d already caused you enough embarrassment, and he wasn’t even there.

“(Y/n)...” Zuko dragged out. You hated how easily he could tell you were lying. Suki was busy making the coffee, not paying you any mind (as far as you knew), but the drink would only take so long to make. “C’mon, what’d Sokka tell you?”

“I mean, he might’ve said you liked me-”

“Well, yeah, I think you’re a pretty cool person-”

“No, like, you like me as in you were gonna ask me out, but you and Mai got into it,” you interrupted him interrupting you. “That’s what Sokka told me, but he likes messing with me, and since you’re his friend he probably likes messing with you more, so I probably shouldn’t have taken it so seriously.”

You could feel Zuko watching you as you rambled, even as your own eyes stayed glued to the register. “Sokka likes messing with people,” Zuko started. He paused, probably looking around the shop as he tried to figure out what to say. Your mind raced, thinking about how you probably just made things really awkward. He was probably just figuring out a nice way to reject you, and you really shouldn’t have switched shifts just because you might’ve had a crush on this dude. What were you even thinking? This guy was a royal, there was no way he-

“But yeah, it would’ve been nice if I could be the one to tell you I like you. And I guess he kinda asked you out for me?” Zuko said, more of a question than anything else. “Well, would you like to go out? We could get coffee or something.”

You froze, not sure if you heard him right. Zuko immediately flushed, taking your shock as a bad sign. “If not that’s really fine too! I’m sorry, it’s probably weird for a customer to-”

“I’m not doing anything right now, if you want to get some breakfast or something,” you interrupted him, regaining control.

“Yes the hell you are doing something right now!” Suki called from the pick up counter. “You’re working! Go on your little date after your shift is done.”

“She’s technically right,” Zuko laughed. “I can come get you after your shift?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” You could feel the excitement bubbling up within you, the little wisps of nervousness somewhere in there too.

“That’s cute. Your coffee’s getting cold, by the way,” Suki said, holding up Zuko’s cup. He went to get it, leaving soon after with a small smile and a promise to get you once your shift was over. Once he was out of the shop, you looked over to Suki. “Question still stands. Spring or Fall wedding?”

“You’re so annoying,” you laughed.

“I called it and you know it!” Before you could say anything else, another customer walked in, calling your attention to the fact that, yes, you were still very much at work. Only a few more hours, then you would be free to go on your date. You just needed to survive Suki’s teasing until then.

**********

Permanent Tag List: @treatallwithkindness

[tsunderedoctor]

Hello! I recently started following you and started up one piece once again. I just finished the Sky Island. Had to start over cuz mom wanted to watch (she likes zoro). I adore all the straw hats even some of the other characters. Buggy is hilarious. Though I was wondering if I could get a match up with some characters. My personality type is ENFJ-T. I am loyal to a fault, sensitive to emotions and others emotions and I'm able to pick up on it before they've even noticed. I do speak my mind and it sometimes gets me in trouble. I love being able to help others and I'll even go as far as do the thing for them or even help them as much as possible. I listen mostly to what they have to say and I'll offer advice but I don't ever force it on them. I find myself getting leadership roles or people just end up following me for whatever reason it may be, it could be something like a small project to larger project. I don't mind it though it does make me nervous since I know they are relying on me. I am very protective of my family and friends and will even fight them if necessary. I am the type of person who will literally give you the shirt off my back, even if that person has hurt me so deeply. I'll still wish them well and hopes that they've learned a lesson as much as I have. I am out here to have a good time and live a happy life and if I can share that with other people than that's fine by me. I know that if I loss some of my happiness it's going to someone who needs it. If I find out someone has been messing with my friend of family member I'll get angry and cause some trouble for that person, whether it's dumping horse crap on their front porch (which I have done). Though I don't think I'd physically hurt someone ever. That's just not in me. I've been told I'm too nice. I am 5"0, I have short dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. I am tiny but I have some chub on me (around my thighs, ass, and my stomach) which is fine because organs and what not. I have freckles across my nose, and a scar on my right cheek going from my ear to the center of my cheek. I do wear glasses (always) and contacts from time to time. And I love sharing my food and anything I have on me, being money, snacks, change or whatever. (If this is too much I'm sorry I am not using to doing asks).

Hiya!! I am glad to hear you got back into it! I will definitely say One Piece has been a great show to keep me going with my own mental state, so I hope you decide to continue it! 😊🤗 (I also got my mom in OP, though she hasn't picked a favorite yet haha)

But you most definitely can, love!! We are actually quite similar! I just struggle talking to people so tend to fall into the INFJ category haha! I hope it’s okay I added characters who have been introduced later on after Sky Island, I won’t state any spoilers, mostly just their personalities. (Also never apologize! I love how you described yourself, it was perfect!)

Kikunojo

Babe is your dream woman! She’s an ISFP, which is your ideal type based off the MBTI and I also feel she would radiate well with you! She’s also extremely loyal, despite her introverted nature, you will still see her stand up for the things she believes in and the people she loves.

She admires your ability to want to be there for others and taking on a leading role, she will definitely be your right hand woman in any project you do and will not let you down! She also admires your ability to want to help, though she worries people might take advantage of you, so she is deeply protected of you!

I believe she would also worry about you getting hurt or caught in something dangerous when your emotions get the best of you, so she will do her best to be your logic in your time of need! Reminding you there are other ways to get people back from hurting you or your loved ones.

This beautiful woman is 9′5ft! So she is a giant compared to your 5ft self! But she doesn’t mind the height difference and won’t tease you of it, it makes her feel like your protector in a way and just loves that even though you are so small compared to her, you pack a punch!

All around this woman loves you, for you well, being you! She knows everyone has flaws in the world, but she still loves yours and wouldn’t trade you in for anything! She will do everything in her power to bring you happiness and love, and she knows you would do the same for her with your caring heart!

Fujitora

This lovely admiral is an INFJ (go team!), out of all the admirals he is regarded as being the most morally just one. He believes in right and wrong and has no problems admitting when marines have done wrong and pirates have done right. 

He shares similar view points of you, and would do the same for his friends and loved ones, however, he will also be the logic you need to not get yourself caught in something dangerous and unsightly. He admires your dedication and love for the people around you, and believes you are worth fighting for and protecting.

He’s another one who will worry over your kind heart, he’s no full to the corruption of man and will stir those away he knows only mean harm to you. If needed he will be the knight you need when cruel hearted people try to steal your light.

Quite tall himself, a staggering 8′10ft (like why is everyone in OP tall?), he feels even more protective of you and considers you small and innocent in nature. He’s also older in age (54) so he even finds you to be more innocent and a representation of the world he hopes to see one day.

Despite his gambling nature, he will not take your heart as a gamble. He values you and your humane ways and never wants anyone to taint that. He will always take your words at value and do his best to see your side of things, he only hope when the time comes, you will share that dedication in tenfold.

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Day Two

Hi folks! Here is a little chapter! I was going to post twice a week, afraid this may not be timely because the stay at home orders might end, but I think I’ll stop worrying about that.....and post weekly! So here is day two of Harry and Elise at home! Thanks to @dirtystyles for the beta and the amazing live from your bed call!

"Can I get you a cup of tea?" 

She'd wandered into his living area at a time that felt unbearably early, she was drowsy. It had made her jump a bit, his voice. She was surprised she felt tired. She may have woke up a bit early, but they had turned in really early too. There was only so much you could say to a total stranger who had inadvertently kidnapped you, and was also the subject of your daydreams at one point in your life. They'd had a bit of an awkward first night, maybe wordless was a better word.

She'd wanted to kick herself for agreeing to quarantine with him so easily. Especially when they sat across from each other at his kitchen table in fallow silence. She was hoping today they could both find their voices, or these 14 days were going to be miserable.

His voice was like a desert backroad, this morning, graveled and with ruts like a washboard. It wasn't helping her speak with ease. She'd heard his morning voice before, had screamed over it at 17, in secret because the fixation had fallen out fo fashion for her age. Elise had clearly forgotten how devastating it was.

"Um," great now her voice was funny too. It wasn't all deep and sexy though, it was an embarrassing high pitch, if he had a dog it was about to come running. She didn't think he had a dog. "I don't really like tea, no offense." She squealed. Her roommate had been visibly offended, but too polite to say it when she'd turned down her brew.

He burst into a laugh at that, "your face! It's not like you insulted my cooking or looks or something. It's ok to not like tea!"

"You sure about that, the girl I live with may beg to differ. When I shared the same sentiment with her she looked at me like I was wearing an American flag cape and was about to douse myself in ketchup and fire a gun in the living room." She had to ask, as he was very un English about this, in her limited experience.

"That's an image!" He ducked his chin, bit his lip to stop speaking.

"What?" She asked.

"Just the cape?" His cheeks warmed, but not like hers. They were flaming. "Anyway, I prefer coffee, actually."

"Oh!" She opened her mouth in faux shock. "I'm horrified! You are a bad Brit!" She laughed with him a little.

"The worst! Just ask my friends. I'm even losing my accent."

"Sounds pretty strong to me." She shrugged. "I pick up accents easy. Maybe you do too."

"I do, it will be interesting to hear what we both sound like once we can rejoin the world." He turned around then and started rummaging in the cupboards.

"Can I get the key to your flat? And do you want hot coffee or iced? Do you have to designate when coffee is hot? That's default right? I basically live on iced coffee, it keeps me going and such. Think it started when I was on my last tour, but you know, we never really slept on tours with the band either, like."

"Harry, Harry! Harry! Stop!" He was firing questions at a concerning pace. She thought he talked slow.

"What? Have you gone off coffee? I was hoping we'd keep that in common." That was interesting, but she didn't let it distract her.

"No, no, that's not it. Why do you need my house keys?" She was sure he had been rambling about semi important things, but really, she was a bit lost on that part.

"Oh, so I can leave them for my assistant to go get you the necessary articles for the next couple of weeks. She can drop them on the doorstep. That way we need not expose her and vice versa." He said it matter of factly.

Elise was momentarily distracted by the French press he was seeing to now. She could taste the strong bitter flavor already and she was already imagining how his forearm would flex while he applied firm steady pressure to the top.

"Yeah, ok, but, I probably should have asked this before I agreed to stay the night last evening, but, why are we holed up here together? I could just as easily have gone home. Furthermore-"

"Oooh, furthermore, you an English major or summat?" He was smirking a little and the expression was so familiar and yet devastating she nearly lost both threads of conversations they were weaving.

"No, international relations and antiquities."

"That sounds...niche."

"It is. It's also extremely pertinent to current British politics. But we can talk more about that later-"

"Gonna hold you to that." He nodded for her to go on.

"You are very good at evading questions."

"I know." He looked like he'd just signaled dawn, cock of the walk.

"Good skill in your line of work?" She imagined necessary.

"It's useful. I've been trying to do it less lately."

"Can you do it less now?" She gave him her play school eyes, from when she had the 3 year olds at her first college jobs. She'd been in early childhood education. She switched soon after. But the eyes were effective, apparently, Harry fessed right up.

"Listen, I feel extremely guilty. I knew, dammit, I knew I should have just ordered delivery, or sent someone else to pick up the things that I wanted, but, well." He sighed. "I really value my independence and a sense of normality, little things like going to pick my own avocados matter to me."

"Did you get avocados?" She was hungry.

"Yeah. Did."

"Can you make avocado toast and we can finish this conversation over that?" Her stomach growled and the coffee smell started to really permeate the air. They were connected, coffee and her appetite. That smell meant yum to her. She lived for breakfast.

He grinned. "Sure. Coffee is about done. Wanna start there."

"Yes, please." He poured her a cup and placed it at her elbow.

"How do you take it?" He stopped and screwed his mouth to one side. "Though I should explain I only have some oat milk and if there is any proper cream, it might have gone off."

"Oat Milk is fine. I've been trying to eat less dairy."

"Yeah me too, bad for my voice."

"Your voice seems so much better though." She exclaimed while fixing her coffee and looked up with her lip between her teeth and her tail between her legs. That and recognizing him plus the squeak and her readiness to move on it, must expose her as a fan girl, former at least.

"Hmmm." Was all he said, knowingly. Wait, he was supposed to be on the hot spot.

"So you broke quarantine for avocados, and then sneezed on me."

He blushed at least then, so he had a little shame.

"Yes, yep, I did do that."

"So, why didn't I just go home? Shelter in my own place, get my own things?"

"Ok, I'm about to sound like a pompous arsehole. Promise to forget it?"

She nodded.

"I, well, you look like you're my age, a little younger proabably, a student. And London is expensive. I assumed you have roommates?"

She pursed her lips but nodded for him to continue.

"Well, I just wanted to mitigate my guilt. And also." He stopped then and played with his lip before realizing he wasn't supposed to and washed his hands. Before pulling the toast out and mushing avocado like he'd worked at a sub shop, not a bakery.

"Also," Eise prompted, when he turned back and topped her toast with an egg.

"I just.....this way I can pay for everything. Including if you get sick. Cuz it's my fault, I just had to pick my own produce." He flapped his arms uselessly. And she just let it go. She could have put up a fight. About him whisking her away, or getting her things, or going home, or even thinking she wouldn't chip in for the food she'd eat. But instead she gave him her keys, and filled her belly with the food he made, and laughed at his jokes. It wasn't a crazy thing, or so horrible to have company while they were both stuck inside. And there were her roommates to consider. London was expensive, and he was negligent.

Plus, he was lovely and even more lovely than she had built him up in her mind to be, years ago. There were lots of sentiments she agreed with upon listening to them.

Mostly, she knew a bit about making decisions out of guilt. She could spare him this easily. She had nothing to lose, and at worst, wonderful company to gain.

[lovemesomerafael]

It’s Complicated                       Chapter 10:  Wooing

Source: @fortheloveofbarba

Chapters 1-5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Read it on AO3

As they sat in the squad car in the gathering dark, Mike Dodds nervously tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.  He darted a glance at Sonny Carisi every once in a while, but mostly just looked out the windshield toward the door of the office where Barba and Frankie were.  

“You nervous about this, Sarge?  Because we both know they’re either screamin’ or screwin’ in there. No other options with those two. And we’re not gettin’ involved with either one.”

Dodds smirked and gave a laugh.  “That’s for sure.”

“So what are you so nervous about?”  

‘I’m not nervous.  This is just how I am on a stakeout.”

“Dude, I’ve been on stakeouts with you where I had to tell you jokes to keep you awake.  And those were ones with real criminals.”

“Whatever.  Maybe I just need a drink.  Assuming we don’t have to process a crime scene in there, you maybe wanna have a drink after this?”

“I thought you had a thing about not fraternizing with the minions?”

“So don’t fraternize,” Dodds joked with a weak smile.

“Yeah, OK.  Sure.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching nothing happen.  Carisi rolled his window down briefly and, sure enough, faint sounds of yelling could be heard coming from the industrial unit. The men shared a look and a grin.

Which got Carisi thinking, again, about how attracted he was to Dodds.  He’d jumped at this chance to spend some time together, just the two of them.  Carisi wasn’t afraid of the way he felt, because he knew he could never, ever act on it.  He could only imagine what Dodds would do if he knew how much Sonny wanted to reach over and take his hand from the steering wheel and curl their fingers together…  Wait a minute.  Dodds had asked him if he wanted to have a drink after this.  Together.  Just the two of them.  Holy shit.  But no. It couldn’t be.  That would be a dream come true, but…  It couldn’t be Dodds.  Could it?

“Hey, um, Dodds…  This is just a wild guess, and I’m sure it wasn’t you, but…  Did you happen to…  talk to Frankie about me?”

Did Dodds hesitate there?  “Whaddaya mean?  Of course I’ve talked to Frankie about you before.”

“No, I meant…  never mind.”  Don’t be an idiot, Carisi.  Dodds isn’t into guys, and even if he was, he wouldn’t be into you.

For a moment, Mike Dodds felt as though he’d been abducted by aliens.  This could not be real.  Did Carisi just look at him like…  Shit, he’s beautiful.  Look at those eyes.  Come on, Dodds.  He said he wouldn’t shoot you just for letting him know you’re interested.  He’s a nice guy.  He’ll be kind when he lets you down.  Which he will.  But still, don’t waste this chance.  Dodds cleared his throat.  “Oh.  That.”

“Huh?”

He cleared his throat again and forced himself to look at Sonny. He’d looked down the barrels of guns with less fear.  “Yeah, I, uh…  I am the one who talked to Frankie about you.”

The smile that spread across Sonny’s lips stopped Mike’s heart.

“So this drink,” Sonny almost whispered.  “Would it be… a date?”

“Can’t be.  I’m your superior officer.”

Sonny’s smile got bigger.  “That wasn’t a ‘no’.”

“You’re right,” Mike said, able to smile a little himself, now that Sonny had actually not shot him.  More shocking still, he also appeared to be happy to know that Mike was the fellow cop that was interested in him.  “That wasn’t a ‘no’.”

“I hope these two don’t start shooting,” Sonny observed, indicating the building where Barba and Frankie were.  “I’m gonna be distracted now.”

“Welcome to the party, pal.  You’ve been distracting me for months.”

Mike felt it deep down when Sonny gave him that gorgeous, crinkly smile like a little kid handed a puppy.

 ***********************

Barba sauntered out to the lobby, a cup of takeout coffee in each hand.  He handed Frankie one, which he was happy to see she accepted.  It was still hot.  

“Strychnine or Hemlock?”  She asked, taking a sip anyway.

“Hemlock would have been very classical of me, but all I got you was a shot of vanilla.”

“This is unlawful imprisonment.”

“Only if a court says it is.”

“You don’t think I can find a way to get out of here?”

“I’m sure you can.  Which is a bit of a weakness in your unlawful imprisonment case.” 

“Well, since we both agree I can escape, why don’t we do this the easy way and you just let me out?”

“Because I have some things to say and I want you to listen.”

“Now you want to talk.  You barely acknowledge me for months except to scream at me, you dodge my calls, I have to make a fucking appointment with Carmen to get you to sit still long enough to hear me out, and now because you’re suddenly in the mood to talk, I’m supposed to listen?”   

Barba thought she was the most beautiful he’d ever seen her, annoyed and enraged and frustrated.  He wished he could just take her against the wall here and now, but he figured he’d get hot coffee in the face for even suggesting it, and his face was still a little tender from that slap earlier.

“Please listen to me.” 

“No.  You’ve said quite enough for one day.  So you’ve committed a Class E felony for nothing.”

“Class A misdemeanor.  I could only be charged with second degree unlawful imprisonment because you’re not in danger of physical harm.”  

“No, but you are,” she hissed.  He really was irresistible when he smirked like that, the shit.

“You’re not gonna slap me again, are you?  Cuz I deserve it, but that really hurt.”

“You deserve a full-on ass-kicking, is what you deserve.  But I am sorry I slapped you.  Violence is the resort of the weak-minded.” 

“And the seriously pissed off.”

“Them, too.”

“You have a right to be angry.”

“Damn straight I do!  And I am!  How dare you compare me to that snake Maduro!  Do you have any idea how…  And you have no idea what it was like to sit there in your office and…  AAAUGH!  And then you have the gall to tell me…  AAAUGH!  I oughtta rip your head off and spit down your neck!  I oughtta…”

“You oughtta let me apologize.  And try to explain.”

“I have no desire to hear you explain anything, you fucking self-centered, unfeeling, pocket-square-wearing, sadistic…  jackwagon!”

He turned and walked calmly down to the office he’d been in, bringing the cheap metal chairs with him and setting them down near her.  She looked at him as though he’d sprouted butterfly wings.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna sit here and watch you having a tantrum.”

“You’re gonna what?”

“I’m gonna sit –“

“I heard what you said.  You can’t just sit there and watch me.  You have to fight with me.”

“No, I don’t.  But feel free to yell at me for as long as you need to.  I know what a jackass I’ve been.  I deserve it.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop smiling like that.  Stop being amused by me.  You fucking hurt me, Barba.  You treated me like I was – like I was Maduro.  You damn well know I’m not like him.  You know that!  So don’t you dare sit there fucking smiling like everything’s gonna be OK.  It’s not.  You’re an asshole, and you’re cruel, and you’re cold, and you’re too fucking arrogant by half.  You’re aaaaaalwaaaays right.  Well, you were wrong as fuck this time, and I tried to tell you that like a million times, but you wouldn’t listen to me.  And you know what?  It’s too late now.  You blew it.  I loved you and you blew it.  So let me out of here.”

“No.”

“Don’t ‘no’ me.  Let me out.  I don’t want to be here with you.”

“I know.  But you will.”

“Barba, seriously.  Let me the hell out of here.”

“Come over here.  Sit by me.  Or yell at me some more.”

“Let.  Me.  Out.”

“I love you.”

“Let me out!!!”

“Did you hear me?  I love you.”

“I heard you.  Strap in for a big surprise, you conceited shit.  I don’t care.  Let me out.  And stop fucking smiling!”

“I can’t help it.  I love you.  And I finally said it.”

“Well, boo ya for you.  Smug bastard.  I said it to you about a hundred years ago.  And you didn’t…  you just…  And then I had to see you with that woman in the pantsuit I wanted…“

As soon as she started to choke over her words and he saw tears in her eyes, he sprang up from the chair and went toward her.  He tried to put his arms around her, but she turned her back, ripping herself from his hands, and stepped away from him. 

“I don’t want to be here with you,” she said, no longer yelling – now trying valiantly not to cry, but already sniffling.

“I think you do.”

“Of course you think I do.  You’re an egotistical…”

“Jackwagon?”

“That’ll do for now.”

“You love me.”

She whirled around, trying to be angry again.  “So what?  Huh?  So what?  I’ll get over it.  You think I’m ever gonna trust you again after the things you said?  You think I’m stupid enough to ever let you anywhere near me?  I’m not.  So do whatever you have to do to let me out of this place.   It’s over.  You lost. Go have Chinese food with the pantsuit.”

“Come sit by me.” 

“No.” 

“Will you at least listen to me?”

“No.  I’m serious, Barba, let me the fuck out of here.”

“Here.  Let me give you a tissue.”

“I’m not crying.”

“Yes, you are.  You’re crying because you love me.  And I love you.”

“Of all the cocky, narcissistic…”  She stepped just close enough to tear the tissue from his hand.

“Come sit by me.”

“No.  I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Quit saying that!” 

“Sit.  C’mon.  You don’t have to sit close.  Just sit.”

“I’m not sitting.  You want me to sit.  So I’m not sitting.”

He couldn’t help laughing at that.  “Will you listen?”

“I don’t seem to have a choice.  Which, just to remind you, is unlawful imprisonment and if you choose to give up your right to remain silent every single fucking word you say will be used against you in a court of law.  So choose wisely.”

“Francisca, I’m sorry.  I screwed up in every possible way.  I hurt you, because I thought you were someone you’re not. Someone who hurt me.  And I knew you better than that.  I betrayed your trust.  You’re the woman I love, and I was a coward, and jealous, and petty, and I’m more sorry than I can ever possibly tell you.”

“And you kidnapped me.”

“Yes, I did.  And that was wrong.  Necessary, and actually kind of genius, but wrong.”

She glared at him.

He tried to stop smiling and look contrite.  “Very, very wrong.” 

She stood, saying nothing, arms crossed.

“What else do you need to hear?  Just tell me, and I’ll say it.”

“I need to hear the sound of that door opening.  That’s what I need to hear.” 

“Francisca, I can’t excuse my behavior.  But I can explain where it came from.  Maybe if you know that, you might be willing to let me start to apologize.  Because you were right about me.  I am a snob, and prejudiced.  I’m owning my bias.  Rich people, people who think the rules don’t apply to them, who look down on people like me and my family…  It makes me crazy.”

“I noticed.”

“And when it came to you, I got completely turned around.”

Frankie didn’t respond, which Barba took as a good sign.  “Will you let me tell you?”

She looked at him over her coffee cup.  “Five minutes.”

“When I was at Harvard…”

 **********

“Have I really been distracting you?”  Carisi asked, looking shyly at Dodds in a way he’d never seen before, with a flirtatious little smile Dodds was glad he’d never seen before. If he had, he would’ve done something inappropriate long before now.  

“Let it go, Carisi.  We’re on the job.”  Sonny might have been a little stung by that, except for the tiny grin Dodds couldn’t control.

“Well, when we’re not on the job, I want to hear about it.”

“You’re not gonna go all needy on me, are you, Carisi?”

It wasn’t Mike’s fault.  Sonny turned his smile on at full power, with that flirtatious tilt to his head. Mike was helpless to resist.  

“OK, fine,” he said.  “I think you’re hot.  OK? Happy now?”

“Yeah,” Sonny shrugged happily.  “You thinkin’ I’m hot, that’s pretty good.”

Dodds shook his head, running his hand through his hair and turning to look out the window, but smiling against his will.  “Shit.  I don’t know if I can handle you.”

“One way to find out,” Carisi said, a seductive note in his voice that Dodds felt inside.  He risked a look over at Sonny, who was looking at him invitingly, dimples on full display on either side of his plump, pink lips.  

“Damn it,” Dodds muttered, leaning toward Carisi, who closed the distance.  The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was Sonny’s hand reaching to cup his cheek.  When their lips met, Sonny made just the slightest noise as he exhaled, unleashing a storm of lightning in Mike’s lower abdomen.

 **********************

Frankie drank her coffee while Barba told her several things she’d never known about him.  Things, in fact, most people didn’t know about him.  Frankie was hurt and angry.  She wasn’t particularly disposed to see his point of view.  But the things he told her explained quite a bit, and they resonated with her.  She listened for far longer than five minutes, and he noticed when she began to nod with recognition.

“I know what you’re talking about,” she said quietly.  “My father made sure we did.  I’m not saying I can get where you are.  I can’t.  I’m not you.  But I do respect your experience, because I have just enough of my own to know it’s real.  Not only in terms of money, but racially, as well.  It’s not easy being Mexican in Texas, no matter how much money you have.  But having said that, Barba, I’m not them.  Don’t do to me what they did to you.  I’m just me.  Judge me on me, not anyone else.”

“I am.  I do.”

For a moment, they simply looked at each other.

“What happens now?”  He asked, wanting to stand and take her in his arms, but not wanting to break this fragile peace.

“I don’t know,” Frankie answered honestly.

“I have some wonderful ideas,” he suggested.  “Come home with me and I’ll tell you all about them.”

“No.”

He gulped.  “No?”

“Oh, no.  You think you just kidnap me and we have a heart-to-heart and then you get to take me back to your place?  It’s not gonna happen like that.  You fucked up.  If you want me to come home with you, there needs to be dating.  Wooing.”

“Wooing.”

“That’s what I said.  If you ever hope to get me back to your apartment again, you’re gonna have to woo me.  And not ‘Carmen does all the work and you just show up’ wooing.  Real wooing, Barba.  I want to see some effort.”

“I can do that.  But tell me…  how long does this ‘wooing’ process last?”

“I’ll let you know.”  She put her carryall over her shoulder.  “Now, tell Dodds and Carisi to let us out.” 

Barba stood, a little stunned and a lot disappointed, but ready to do whatever ‘wooing’ was required to get Francisca back into his life for good.  He picked up his jacket, sighing.  “I just need to signal them from the door.”

He followed her down the hall and to the door, but was surprised when she stopped short, put a hand on his chest, and pushed him a couple of steps backward.

“Um…  Text them.”

Barba did a double take.  “Why?”

“Just… text them.”

“What’s…” he went to step around her, but she stepped in front of him again.  

“What’s going on?”  He asked, confused.  

“That’s need-to-know.  And you don’t.”  

He just looked at her for a moment.

“Will you just trust me on this?”  She asked.

“Maybe.  On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Kiss me.”

Frankie stood very close to him, looking up at him, considering. “I want to, but I don’t want to encourage your behavior.”

“OK, so here’s my offer.  I don’t ask questions, you kiss me, and I agree never to kidnap you again.”

She grinned and stepped to him, taking her time as she slid her arms around his neck.  “I can live with that,” she said, tilting her head as Barba, smiling, touched his lips to hers.  

It began a bit oddly, because neither of them could control the smiles turning their lips up, but they wanted very much to kiss each other, so they made it work.  And it wasn’t long before Frankie’s fingers were buried in Rafael’s hair, grasping a handful, while with her other arm she pulled him close.  He let one hand drift slowly down her back, the other on her hip keeping her where he wanted her.  They took their time, reacquainting themselves with each other, tasting and breathing in one another, both very happy to be in each other’s arms again.

“I love you,” Rafael whispered into the kiss.

“I love you, too,” Frankie murmured, immediately going back to what she’d been doing with her tongue.

“Let me take you home.”

“Text the guys.”

Barba wouldn’t have dreamt of asking any questions.  Not now.  

Five minutes later, Rafael had managed to maneuver Frankie against the wall where he could press against her, and was drawing soft moans from her. They began to hear metallic scrapes at the door.  A moment later, Dodds’ head appeared around the doorway. 

“Everybody alive?”  He asked.

“We’re good.  Ready to get outta here.”

“All right.  Let’s go,” Dodds said, holding a hand out toward the door.  Barba stepped past him, then Frankie, who leaned close to Dodds as she passed.  

“Zipper,” she whispered, then stepped over and kissed Rafael to distract him as Dodds quickly fastened up.  

Rafael flicked off the lights and locked the door with a single key on a small fob.  

“What is this place, anyway?  Are we even supposed to be here?”

Barba and Dodds shared a look.  “That’s need-to-know,” Barba said.  “And you don’t.”

The three walked the few yards to the squad car, where Carisi leaned against the roof, holding the rear door open.  His hair was hopelessly askew.  

“Glad to see nobody’s bleeding,” he said, smiling broadly.

 ***********

The flowers Barba sent the next day were so big Frankie actually had to work around them in her small office at Federal Plaza.  The inconvenience made her smile.

The next day, he took her on a dinner cruise around Manhattan, just the two of them and a crew of five on a classic, teak yacht.  That was pretty fabulous, but it was so much fun to torture him that Frankie still kissed him good night at the door of her apartment.  

Barba sent more flowers the following day, a perfect little bouquet that was a better size for her office and brought tears to her eyes with its beauty.  It was exactly what she would choose for herself, and the card made her knees weak.  She had to hide it in her desk because, while not graphic, it was just too personal to have out for anyone to see.  

Through these days, he called and texted so much she wondered how he was getting any work done.  In truth, he wasn’t.  He was working too hard trying to think of ways to “woo” her, and Carmen was only willing to help him to a certain extent.  Frankie and Carmen were becoming friends, and Frankie had wasted no time letting her know the conditions of Barba’s parole.

They had a long, intimate lunch that Thursday.  That evening, after they’d finally both made it home and into comfortable clothes, Frankie was laying on her stomach on the couch, feet in the air and chin in her hand, laughing at something Barba had said as they chatted on the phone.  This “wooing” process, while slightly frustrating for both of them, was also a lot of fun.  And they were enjoying the opportunity to truly know one another.  After all, it had only been a few months since they’d met.  The best part was that, the more they knew, the closer they became, and the surer they were that they were, in fact, in love.

“You sound happy,” Barba murmured sexily into the phone.  

“Well, I’m not not enjoying being wooed,” she smiled.  

“Jeez.  What’s it gonna take to get an actual compliment from you?”

“You could deal with the spider in my bathroom.  I’d definitely compliment you for that.”  

“Romantic.”

“Well, you said you like it when I need you.  And dealing with the spider would involve both protecting me and supporting me through some emotional distress.”

“Uh-huh.  It’s a start, I guess.”

“Barba, you don’t understand.  It’s a spider.”

“Just kill it.”

“I can’t.”

“Then re-home it.”

“I can’t.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I… can’t with spiders.”

“You’re afraid of spiders?”

“I didn’t say that.  I said I can’t with them.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I can’t.  With spiders.  No puedo.  Con las arañas.”

“And that’s different than being afraid of them how?”

They moved on, with Barba frequently returning to the topic of her fear of spiders whenever he thought of a new way to tease her about it.  Almost an hour later, they were still on the phone as Frankie rooted in her sparsely-stocked refrigerator, looking for something to snack on.  

There was a knock at her door.

“Huh,” she said to Barba.  “There’s someone at my door.”

“Who is it?”  

She went over to look out the peephole, a smile dawning on her lips.  “It’s you.”

“Is it?  Then you should let me in.”

“What about wooing?”

“How conceited of you to assume I’m here to ravish you.  I’m here to deal with your arachnid problem.”

“Oh.” She undid the locks and opened the door, pushing the “end” button on her phone.  “Then come in.”  

He smiled in that slow-burn, eye-twinkling way that she felt all over, stepping through the door.  Closing and re-locking the door behind him, she then turned to face him where he stood a few feet into her apartment.  They looked at one another and, without a word, Frankie stepped into Barba’s arms.

She softly took his lower lip between hers, moving her lips slowly over his and gently nipping.  He gave a soft moan that was all it took before she was pushing him toward her bedroom.

“Wooing’s over,” she said, her voice almost a growl.  

“Thank God.”  He began to walk backward, both of them moving together while they kissed and Frankie pulled Barba’s sweater and T-shirt off, tossing them onto her couch as they passed. His skin felt wonderful; she was suddenly hungry to touch all of him.  By the time they reached the edge of her bed, she had his jeans unfastened and was pulling them down his hips.  He helped her get them off, along with his loafers, so that he could concentrate on her.  She made it difficult to get her sweatshirt and yoga pants off because she couldn’t get enough of touching him.  

“Doctor, you are not cooperating,” he laughed softly.

“You’re the one who’s…  not… oh, damn it-“ she tore her yoga pants off and pushed him roughly onto the bed.  She half-pushed, half-dragged him up to the pillows, where she could stretch out on top of him, touching as much of his skin as possible with hers. She couldn’t hold him tightly enough, even with her full length stretching along his.  Barba held her as tightly as she was holding him, understanding her need.  He lifted a hand to the back of her head to hold her mouth against his, needing the most intimate possible kisses.

“I love you, mi fresa.  You have no idea.”

“Do, too,” she muttered into his mouth.

“Don’t argue with me,” he chuckled.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”  She lifted to her knees enough to straddle him, pulling his hands to cup them over her breasts and wiggling her hips toward him.

He took a hand from her breast to put it on her hip, shifting them both into position.  “Fuck me,” he growled.

“Except that,” she said, sliding onto him with a gasp.  “Fuck, Barba!  I love you-“

It had been too long, and they were too glad to be together, for either of them to last very long.  They weren’t worried.  They had all night.  They had forever.  

Later, lying together happily nuzzling and whispering together, Frankie remembered the spider.

“You forgot to deal with the spider.”

“I’m not going to.”

“What?  That was the whole reason I let you in!”

“Mi fresa, that lie is unworthy of you.”

“It’s not a lie.”

“Of course it is.  You let me in so you could ravish me.”

“And so you would deal with the spider.”

“In that order.”

“OK, I admit that.  So now I’ve ravished you, at least for the moment.  Time to deal with the spider.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Ravishing.  As much ravishing as you want.”

“You’re going to do that anyway.  You’re crazy about me.  What else?”

“Barba, are you going to protect and support me, or are you going to give me a bunch of trouble?”

“Yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~The End  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[commentaryvorg]

Danganronpa V3 Commentary: Part 6.10

Be aware that this is not a blind playthrough! This will contain spoilers for the entire game, regardless of the part of the game I’m commenting on. A major focus of this commentary is to talk about all of the hints and foreshadowing of events that are going to happen and facts that are going to be revealed in the future of the story. It is emphatically not intended for someone experiencing the game for their first time.

Last time in trial 6, everything became terrible in a hopefully-mostly-deliberate way as Keebo took over as protagonist. Tsumugi pandered to the audience by trying to twist the story to be all about them and not this story’s actual goddamn cast, then completely forgot about that moments later as she forced an arbitrarily cruel final vote on the students that has nothing to do with actual hope and despair, apparently Kaito’s efforts in trial 5 suddenly mean nothing because it turns out the audience is totally okay with unfair executions after the mastermind broke the rules, and Keebo kept spouting a familiar meaningless buzzwordy hope that didn’t address any of his friends’ actual reasons for being in despair, which the audience lapped up because they’re morons while Keebo utterly failed to consider that maybe what they want from him isn’t actually a good thing.

Keebo’s already chosen to become the first arbitrary pointless sacrifice of the vote, and the Mass Panic Debate we just finished was supposedly him trying to inspire one of the others to do the same, even though he wasn’t even shooting his hope at them.

“Nekomaru”:  “Even if you won’t give up, as long as you don’t sacrifice someone el—”

Not giving up is the definition of hope! Doing anything other than that should not be necessary for hope to “win”, you arbitrary fucking murderer!

But one way or another, whether due to Keebo’s nonsensical Hope Bullet efforts or not (I’d very much like to think not), Maki chooses to sacrifice herself.

Maki:  “If Keebo and I sacrifice ourselves… then Shuichi and Himiko live, right? Then they can… survive this absurd killing game…”

Of course it would be her. Her backstory meant that she’d never cared all that much about her own survival or her own suffering, so if she can die to let at least Shuichi and Himiko live, then that’s no real loss, right? Kaito only helped so much with her sense of self-worth… and maybe his influence has been dampened right now because of all the bullshit Tsumugi has been spouting.

Shuichi:  “Maki…?”

There’s a very subtle wavering to Shuichi’s voice here beneath his surprise. He can’t bear the thought of losing her too, and it’s this pain that’s going to lead to him figuring everything out and fighting back.

Maki:  “I don’t want this killing game to end with despair. That would just… piss me off.”

Tsumugi:  “Even if you only feel that way cuz I wrote you like that? Just like with Kaito…”

Tsumugi’s still bullshitting about the Kaito part, but otherwise what she’s saying is not entirely wrong. Despair being bad is self-evident and you don’t need to be written a specific way to think that. But the feeling of needing to “defeat” despair is something that’s still a part of Maki being manipulated, not by the way she was originally written, but by that Flashback Light in chapter 5. Maki still can’t quite see that to its fullest extent, despite having long since realised that the main point of that Flashback Light was to manipulate her into killing Kokichi.

Maki:  “Even then… I’ll choose that ending if it means I can kill you. Even if I have to sacrifice my life, I will kill you!”

Now that’s something that’s how Maki’s always been written. Deal with problems that have no easy solution by killing them, and definitely kill the big evil mastermind no matter what you have to sacrifice to do so. Maki Roll, can’t you see that this is exactly like what you were trying to do for the first half of Kaito’s trial?

This would at least be Tsumugi’s writing backfiring on her, if this “punishment” she was going to receive was actually death. But since it’s not, she’s quite happy with Maki choosing this, and guh.

“Makiiii”

“my darling assassin T_T”

“That’s my Maki.”

“Assassiiiiin”

Maki has fans. Her fans seem somewhat possessive of her (although at least she doesn’t have the total sicko that Shuichi has). It also seems that some of them are hung up on the idea that she’s an assassin and don’t see her as so much more than that, as if the only reason they like her is a shallow “hurr durr schoolgirl assassin hot”, rather than any of the many things that have been compelling and interesting about her character and her arc. She deserves so much better than this.

“ALL OF THESE TEARS”

“;_; i’m gonna cry…”

At least a few of them are actually having meaningful, human reactions to this – a character they love is going to sacrifice herself for her friends! This is sad! …or, well, it would be if the sacrifice was at all meaningful and not completely arbitrary, but, you know.

“Another hope loop?”

This might finally be a vague allusion to other seasons we haven’t seen. I can kind of imagine a “hope loop” becoming the fandom term for one particular way in which the meaningless arbitrary hope ending was once resolved, but it doesn’t sound like it’s referring to DR1 or 2 specifically.

“Shuichi looks yummy <3”

I’m going to keep giving you updates on this one person just so you can keep seeing how much of an absolute creep they are.

Tsumugi:  “I told you over and over there’s nothing for you out there.”

Keebo:  “No, once the audience sees this ending, I’m sure they’ll help us.”

Oh, poor naïve Keebo, thinking that the audience is a force for good and actually gives a fuck about any of his friends when they’ve been watching them die. When they’ve been doing this for fifty-three seasons and keep wanting more. This ending right now is not meaningfully different from any of the previous ones and is not going to change anything about the audience’s behaviour at all, Keebo.

Shuichi:  “It’s because of hope that this whole thing is happening!”

But Shuichi gets it! He’s figured it out! I also love the emotion in his voice here. All of Shuichi’s (English) voice acting in this last part of the trial we’re entering is just fantastic.

The music used for Shuichi’s Rebuttal Showdown here is Clair de Lune again, which is lovely. It’s like that’s become less Kaede’s song and more just a song for Shuichi’s sadness over losing his friends.

It’s a neat twist that the last Rebuttal Showdown is against the game’s actual protagonist. This is possibly the easiest one in the whole game, with Shuichi’s words coming in completely horizontal, unmoving lines. He’s just explaining the plain truth of the matter. He’s not wrong and he’s not trying to get in anyone’s way; he’s about to fix this whole ridiculous mess.

Keebo:  (Shuichi… why? Is this the power of despair? Or…)

Yes, Keebo, despair is clearly so powerful and so evil that it dares to make Shuichi not talk like hope is the best thing ever. It couldn’t possibly be that Shuichi’s actually making complete sense and isn’t in despair any more and you should listen to him.

Buuut, Keebo’s only bullet (or, well, blade) is still just “hope”, so he still thinks that’s the only possible solution to this situation.

Keebo:  “Despair takes everything from people! Even their strength to press onward! That’s why it’s not possible for despair to be better!”

Keebo, you absolute moron, this isn’t about which one is better! Obviously Shuichi knows that hope is a better feeling to have than despair, because he’s not an idiot! But no matter what Tsumugi’s trying to make it sound like, this isn’t about proving any kind of point like it was in DR1; this is about what happens next. This is about whether the outcome of the vote, regardless of which meaningless label is slapped on it, is something we’re actually okay with, including the fact that the killing game will keep happening if we do this.

“Shuichi is the cycle of despair?”

“What are you saying, hat boy?”

“What if Shuichi is the mastermind?”

“You’re slipping up, detective.”

“Fire, Keebo! I’ll allow it!”

Aaaaaand the audience has suddenly completely stopped caring about Shuichi as a character because he dared to say a bad word about hope. This is again not remotely what an actual reasonable, human audience that’s been enjoying this story up until now would ever do, and this time it can’t just be the cherry-picked minority of despair lovers, because this is the people who are rooting for “hope”. A reaction something like “well, he’s kind of got a point, but I still want more killing games…” would be reasonable, but not just immediately denouncing him the moment he questions them. Did they not even care about Shuichi at all during the five chapters they’ve seen of him and the arc he’s had?

Shuichi:  “The people watching probably feel the same way… They want hope, too.”

Oh, Shuichi, you are giving them far too much credit. You’re assuming that the “hope” they’re obsessed with is actual hope that will inspire them in their daily lives. It sure would be realistic and understandable and relatable if that was the actual way the narrative was portraying this, but it really isn’t.

Shuichi:  “Even if it’s fiction, everyone wants to feel hope… It gives them… courage.”

That should be how this works. And I love that Shuichi clearly understands this on a personal level. Now would be a very relevant time to remind everyone that Shuichi’s Likes in the report card are listed as “Novels”. Which means that, most likely, he always used fiction to give himself courage, especially when he had so little courage on his own in the first place! Shuichi understands better than any of these one-dimensional morons in the audience exactly what gaining real hope from fiction really feels like!

Shuichi:  “While they ignore all the tragedies that we had to suffer to get there!”

Keebo:  “Shuichi, that’s—”

Monokuma:  “Then let’s start the Voting Time!”

Hah, Monokuma sure does jump in quick. He’s afraid of Shuichi pointing out what’s really going on here and how real all their suffering is and making the audience realise that maybe they shouldn’t actually want this after all, isn’t he.

Shuichi halts them to ask what the “punishment” for this vote will be, because he’s already figured out what it is. If we’d been playing as him, we’d have seen plenty of inner monologue of him slowly realising this and piecing it together as Tsumugi rambled on and on. But since we’re not seeing inside his head right now, all Keebo has seen is Shuichi being almost completely quiet and then suddenly jumping in with a fully-formed theory explaining exactly what’s going on and why this vote is bad. Shuichi really does look like a hero from the outside.

Shuichi:  “That’s what Rantaro was talking about.”

…

Rantaro:  “You wanted this killing game, so you have to win no matter what. …No matter what.”

…

Shuichi:  “Something similar must have happened in the last killing game, and he was given a choice. He sacrificed himself… and was forced to participate again.”

See, Rantaro wasn’t the only survivor of his killing game. There were two actual survivors who got to escape into the outside world just like Shuichi and Himiko hypothetically would here. Rantaro just sacrificed himself to allow for that. (In my headcanon, those two survivors were both girls and kind of reminded Rantaro of his sisters and that’s why he chose to do that.) It’s still a stretch to think that Rantaro would ever have thought of that as “wanting” this killing game like his message said, though, so I still think that line was mostly there just to make chapter 4’s opening stinger mysterious.

But man, spare a thought for Rantaro’s two friends who survived and escaped, dreading to watch Rantaro go through this again while having forgotten about them, but watching anyway because they have to know what happens to him… and then seeing him be the very first one to die. That has to have been awful. I hope that when Shuichi, Maki and Himiko do escape, they find those two and every other pair of survivors from each past killing game and start some kind of big therapy group to deal with their trauma together and share stories of their lost friends and reassure themselves that they’re all still real.

Shuichi:  “Tsumugi will still be the mastermind, Keebo will still represent the viewers… and Maki will be the new Ultimate Survivor. The killing game will begin again.”

Even if Maki wouldn’t necessarily die in this outcome, the fact that she’d lose her memories of everything in this killing game and forget about Kaito and Shuichi and be reset back to the guarded, lonely, self-loathing assassin she was at the beginning would still be awful and unacceptable. Especially since Kaito was one-in-a-million and the next game probably wouldn’t have anyone willing to help her out of it again.

It’s a little odd to think that Tsumugi would still be the mastermind? I always assumed Tsumugi wasn’t the mastermind of Rantaro’s game, simply because if she then also masterminded this game as well, it’d ruin the mystery for the audience. Unless she usually cosplays as some made-up character and this is the first time she’s ever played as herself (or at least someone who looks like herself and superficially shares her nerdiness but is less terrible and murdery).

“Izuru”:  “Then it’s despair? You’re going to choose despair to end the killing game? …How boring.”

“Celeste”:  “But this is fine. Our audience loves despair, so this will please them too.”

Will it? I mean, maybe it would if it were actual despair, since there’s emotional investment you can get from that even if it’s nothing but painful emotions. But what’s actually going to happen with the “despair” outcome of this vote is simply Shuichi, Maki and Himiko (and apparently Tsumugi) continuing to live isolated, boring lives in the academy without any more killings. That’s not a despair ending, that’s a boredom ending. Precisely the kind of thing the audience shouldn’t want.

Keebo:  “Then… hope has to win this game, too. If we continue to win for hope, then this killing game will surely end someday!”

Keebo, dude. You’re going to continue doing the thing that Shuichi has just explained is exactly what causes more killing games to happen… and then you’re just going to hope that eventually they’ll stop happening anyway? You are not being very smart right now. If you’re going to hope for something to happen, you should also at least act in a way that might help make it come true, otherwise your hope is useless.

Shuichi:  “When Maki said she was going to sacrifice herself just now, I thought… Why? So many of our friends have sacrificed their lives. Why Maki? Why now? Why do we have to go through it again…? The sorrow of losing Kaede… and Kaito… Why do we have to feel that sadness over and over and over again…? Why do we have to bear that burden…?”

I love Shuichi here so much. I love that he’s realised what this means and that it’s cruel and unfair and wrong.

Shuichi:  “Well, I don’t care how much the audience wants it, I’m not gonna feel that way anymore! I don’t want anyone to feel that way anymore!”

I love that he’s realised that the audience wants this from him and how fucked-up that is! I love that he’s thinking that not just for himself, but for every hypothetical character in future seasons who’d ever have to go through this same pain if they don’t end this right here!

I just… really wish that that actually seemed like what the in-universe audience wanted at all. Some people were sad when Maki offered to sacrifice herself, but not a single person was thinking “oh man Shuichi’s going to be devastated to lose another best friend” and empathising with the pain Shuichi’s feeling here and enjoying doing so in that immersed, in-story way. Instead, they just immediately stopped seeing him as a person the moment he spoke out against them and their precious “hope”.

The thing is, I’m still enjoying Shuichi’s emotional pain here! Of course I am! Because I care about him and I’m empathising with him, and all of this is making me want him to succeed and get what he wants and never have to feel like this any more, even as I’m enjoying that he’s feeling this way right now.

And, see, while the in-universe audience are obviously inherently more twisted than an out-universe audience because the people they’re watching aren’t really fictional and they know this, that doesn’t have to automatically make them this kind of one-dimensional asshole who can’t even empathise with the characters or engage with this like it’s a meaningful story at all. Things could still have been made to work while having them basically respond to Shuichi and his story like those of us on the other side of the real fourth wall.

Enjoying actual genuine fiction requires suspension of disbelief, compartmentalising away and ignoring the knowledge that it’s all made-up, so that you can get invested and care about what happens. So in a similar way, it might be just about believable if we could be shown that this in-universe audience has instead been suspending their knowledge that it’s real, compartmentalising away and trying to ignore the fact that real people are suffering, so that they can still enjoy this and keep watching despite knowing that people – uhhh, characters, definitely not real people – are going to die. Then they could have been reacting to this approximately like a real person watching genuine fiction would (you know, with actual investment in and empathy for the characters), until Shuichi blows the lid off their wilful ignorance right here and forces them to confront their awfulness.

Shuichi:  “Even if this is fiction, even if we’re all fictional… The pain in my heart is real! The sadness I feel when I lose the people I love is real!”

I am so, so glad that he’s realised this! This is one of my favourite moments in this trial and completely restored all the faith first-time-me had lost during all the ridiculousness of last post. This is exactly what we need to be talking about and really should never have stopped talking about – the fact that of course they’re still real people regardless of how fake their memories were. They still really felt all that pain, and they still really meant everything they did for their friends, and they still really died, regardless of the “writers” that were sometimes pulling strings behind the scenes.

And I adore the way Shuichi calls them “the people I love”. He’s not talking about specifically romantic love here, because he doesn’t have to be. Of course he loved them anyway regardless of what kind of love it was; they were his friends and they gave him all of his strength and meant everything to him. If anyone tries to use this line as proof that Shuichi must have had romantic feelings for Kaito as well, they’re completely missing the point. Using the word “love” in a platonic sense will always melt my heart and it’s especially so in this context here.

Although, while Shuichi is using this pain of his to prove to himself that he’s still meaningfully real, I do wish there was a little bit of time spent on the realisation that, since they all must have felt the same way as him, his friends must have been real, too. Being deceived into thinking they were just lies was what caused Shuichi to fall into despair, and there’s no way he’d have been able to climb out of that despair and talk so passionately about losing his friends if he didn’t truly believe once again that their lives were worth exactly as much as a “real” person’s. He has definitely figured this out by now, but it’s kind of a shame he never directly mentions it.

Shuichi:  “I won’t forgive this game that treats us like toys. And if this is what the world wants… then I reject that world! I’ll fight the world that inflicts suffering for entertainment!”

Shuichi is being such a hero and Kaede and Kaito would be so proud to see him like this!

And it’s still inconceivable that seeing him like this isn’t what the audience wants. This is a far more inspiring and meaningful story than any of the nonsense Keebo has been spouting. They should be cheering Shuichi on, not Keebo – even if that means cheering Shuichi on against themselves.

“What are you saying, detective?”

“Forget about Shuichi.”

But nope. The audience doesn’t care about him. Now that he’s speaking out against them, they’d rather just drop him entirely.

“You’re in despair, right?”

“It’s okay to feel despair sometimes…”

Yes, clearly the only reason Shuichi is saying this is because he’s being controlled by that super-evil force known as “despair”, not because he’s right.

“C’mon, Keebo! Attack!”

“hurry up and refute it!”

“Force hope through!”

And of course, they just want Keebo to yell more words about hope at Shuichi, because doing that will totally change his mind and make him think inflicting suffering for entertainment is okay. Yelling emptily about hope can achieve anything, right?

“The big reveal, at last.”

Uhh, no? What does this person even think the “reveal” is supposed to be – the fact that these characters aren’t actually fictional and that watching them suffer for entertainment is fucked up? That’s not a reveal, that’s something that should have been apparent from the start but everyone has been wilfully ignoring. (And it’s something that everyone should now be forced to confront whether they like it or not, but apparently almost nobody is.)

“mmm… shuichi’s eyes ^q^”

This “fan” of Shuichi’s is still here. And they still don’t actually give a fuck about him and haven’t been paying attention to anything he’s been saying or feeling at all.

“Why have we been doing this…?”

You! You, right there, are the one sensible actual human being in this whole stupid audience! This is what everyone should be thinking right now – realising that Shuichi has a goddamn point and that this whole practice is vile and that if they actually care about any of these characters at all then they should want what Shuichi wants, which is to end all this and never have another killing game again!

“something’s different, right?”

“Are they blaming us?”

These ones are more ambiguous, but it is possible that these two people are also vaguely starting to realise that what they’re doing is not okay. Maybe.

Tsumugi:  “It doesn’t matter what you do. No matter what a fictional character does or says, it’s just fiction to the outside world.”

See… based on the audience’s current comments, it’s really seeming like this is actually true, in this world. Those three just now are the only comments during this part that give any sense of people actually listening to Shuichi’s words. The overwhelming majority are like the ones I quoted at the beginning, complaining about Shuichi’s outlook and wanting Keebo to “fix” things for them.

Shuichi:  “I… refuse to vote.”

Tsumugi:  “Refuse to vote…?”

Keebo:  “Monokuma said that if we don’t vote, we’ll be killed for breaking the rules!”

Shuichi:  “Yes, I know. That’s why I’m doing it.”

And here’s this rule which has been vaguely a thing in the background of all the Danganronpas but was pointedly highlighted at the beginning of almost every trial in this one, making it kind of obvious it’d somehow be important later on. It’s also quite relevant that Monokuma’s declarations of this rule always explicitly said that not voting would result in death, not just “punishment”, because it means Tsumugi can’t suddenly pull a loophole and pretend this still just means they get forced into another killing game.

(Although that’s only assuming that the audience still cares about her following the rules, which, ha fucking ha.)

Shuichi:  “If this ends without a single vote being cast for hope or despair… The audience would hate it. They’d never accept an ending like that… So I abstain! I refuse to give the outside world the ending it wants!”

I appreciate Shuichi’s determination and willingness to give his life to end this killing game for good and give a huge fuck-you to the audience… but honestly, it’s kind of flimsy that this would actually achieve that. It’s hard to believe that, over fifty-three seasons, there haven’t been a few kind-of-disappointing endings here and there (even accepting that this audience laps up meaningless buzzwordy hope-versus-despair nonsense like this). But surely the occasional boring ending would only make people shrug and hope the next season is better, and it’d take several in a row for them to finally think things will never get better and the show might as well just end.

Which, to be fair, might have been happening already if this season took longer than usual to come out and some people weren’t sure it ever would. But that apparent fact was buried in some obscure audience comments and wasn’t something Shuichi seemed to notice, so he shouldn’t be nearly so sure that this would work.

Plus, it shouldn’t only be about the ending – the rest of the story is a part of the story too. The other trials in this game have mostly been fantastic and there should be no way the audience wouldn’t want more of that kind of thing, no matter how disappointingly it ends!

…This should also still not actually be a disappointing ending at all, because look at what an amazing hero Shuichi’s managing to be! He’s willing to give his life to stop the real villain behind all this – not some meaningless concept of “despair”, but the people who actually wanted him and his friends to suffer! This is still something that it should be possible for the audience to accept makes a good story, despite the fact that they themselves are the villains in it.

Keebo:  (Hope… won’t end the killing game? If that’s true, then this feeling that I must win for hope is…)

Geez, Keebo, glad you’ve finally caught up with us. It really should not have taken you this long.

It’s pretty neat that the “lying” mechanic as used here with Keebo isn’t actually lying – hope is just a concept, it’s not even a fact that you can lie about. Instead, it’s representing Keebo finally choosing to ignore and go against what his inner voice is telling him to do. The only weapon he has is hope, but that doesn’t mean this is the only choice he has.

“What are you doing, Keebo?”

“Hurry up and side with hope.”

“COME BACK HOOOPE”

“it’s hope again, right?”

And of course, the majority of the audience is not happy about this. Really, though, Shuichi has already ruined their hope ending by pointing out that this “hope” is arbitrary and cruel, and no amount of empty yelling about hope from Keebo could change that now even if he did keep listening to them.

“show us maki roll!”

This single comment here is the closest anyone in the audience ever gets to even vaguely acknowledging Kaito’s existence, since they’re using the nickname he gave her. And the utter lack any other mention of Kaito from the audience is quite clearly another thing that is completely Unrealistic and Wrong. Kaito was the best, and a significant amount of the audience should have been invested enough in his story and his influence on Shuichi and Maki to still be occasionally mentioning him here.

“i wanna break Shuichi’s fingers <3”

I sincerely hope that when Shuichi gets out of here, he ends up absolutely nowhere near this person and they never figure out where he’s living. Geez. Go and re-examine your life, you sick creep.

Keebo:  “I may be a robot, but the thought of my friends dying still fills me with sadness. I don’t want anyone else to feel this way!”

You know, if they’d actually done anything at all with Keebo’s issues about being a robot, it could have worked pretty well in this trial. He’s always been struggling to fully understand the feelings of “real” humans, and so he should have also struggled to justify to himself that his own feelings matter even though they’re just being “simulated” by computer software. But he still feels it, so it still matters, robot or not. That’s exactly the kind of argument Shuichi had to make to himself to justify that he’s still real. Keebo could have been the perfect person (among those still with us) to help Shuichi and friends come to terms with the existential issues that this trial has given them! If only Keebo had had an actual proper character arc about accepting himself as just as much of a person despite being a robot, and also if only he’d ever been trying to give his friends actual hope during this whole deal. His character has so much wasted potential.

His protagonist status wears off here, which is an appropriate moment for it to do so. All he was ever meant to do as the audience’s protagonist was to keep the cycle going and keep more killing games happening, and now that he realises that, he doesn’t want to be their protagonist any more.

“gonna dismantle you, Keebo.”

Oh boy, here’s some foreshadowing to what they actually end up doing, because apparently none of them ever really cared about Keebo as a character or a person.

“WTF? You already killed each other?”

As if the fact that the murderers were all participants of the game makes everyone in the game a bad person and therefore it doesn’t matter if they suffer and die? As if most of the actual murderers were even bad people and not good people desperately trying to save everyone and/or being manipulated into it? Yeah, no, sure, this was all just a meaningless slaughterfest and so it’s totally okay for them to all continue to die.

“the questionnaires were pointless?”

I mean, it’s not like you guys ever affected Keebo’s actions in any meaningful way up until now anyway; I don’t know why you’re so disappointed.

“Shuichi has a point.”

Hello, sensible person! I don’t know if this is the same person as that one from before, but it’s nice to see at least a tiny, tiny fraction of the audience getting it. It really is such a tiny fraction, though – the vast majority of people are still just complaining about not getting what they wanted. And I’d like to just put this down to the fact that the people who are realising this are also nice enough to then stop watching and stay out of the comments section – but, no. The comments section is exactly where these people who’ve realised this should be, because they should be trying to persuade everyone else to agree with them and realise that this is fucked up and no longer want this!

Shuichi:  “New characters are created just to show the outside world a fictional hope. They get written into these killing games, forced to betray one another…”

I appreciate how Shuichi is describing them as being “created”, because it proves that he now understands that this is exactly what happens. This has nothing to do with the pregame assholes who auditioned and wanted this; they just donated their bodies. The characters who are actually in this killing game never wanted any of this, yet they were literally created to suffer. That is not fucking okay and Shuichi will not let it continue. No-one else will ever be created for that purpose. He and his friends are the last.

Shuichi:  “To end this killing game, and end it forever… We will reject Danganronpa!”

This whole speech here accompanies Shuichi’s protagonist status switching back on, and it has pretty nice dramatic effect. He’s being a hero!

Shuichi:  “Tsumugi… you were right. I’m weak. I’m weaker than anyone else… If I didn’t have my friends, I’d be useless. That’s true even now!”

It’s lovely that Shuichi is okay with this. He realises that this is the character Tsumugi wrote him to be… but that doesn’t mean that it’s not still who he is, and it doesn’t mean he’s not real.

But he’s still not giving himself enough credit at all. Yes, he’s only able to be strong when he has friends to rely on and inspire him, but all that potential strength is still right there inside him, ready to be brought out by the right people! All he needs is a little nudge in the right direction, from the right kind of heroes.

Shuichi:  “If Keebo and Maki didn’t stand up… I would have ended it all right then.”

It’s really sad to think what Shuichi probably means when he says “end it all”. Kind of like the way he once said that Kaito “saved his life”, without ever properly elaborating on what he meant by that.

But still, Shuichi – Keebo and Maki may have chosen to sacrifice themselves, but you’re the one who used the pain of that to realise that you’re still real and figure out what everything meant. They weren’t trying to encourage you to do that, or even to be strong at all, when they made their choice. That all came from you, and from your own strength that you’ve built up through Kaede and Kaito’s belief in you. You’re not as weak as you were at the beginning, not by a long shot!

Shuichi:  “But it’s because I’m weak and because I lost my way… that I finally realized. I finally realised how cruel this “hope” really is.”

It’s cruel because the best way to write a good story is to have characters that are weak and suffer like Shuichi has been. The most inspiring type of heroes who give people the most hope aren’t the ones who are perfect and invincible, but the ones who struggle and suffer and yet still manage to win in the end. Shuichi has realised, because of his own suffering and the fact that he’s managed to claw his way through it anyway, that this is the kind of thing the audience should want to see, because it gives them the hope that they can overcome their weaknesses and struggles in the same way. A storyline like Shuichi’s should be exactly what the audience wants and exactly why this has happened so many times to so many real people who didn’t deserve to suffer for this.

I say “should be”, because this isn’t even remotely what the in-universe audience actually wants to see at all. It’s honestly bizarre how obvious the divide is between what Shuichi is describing as a genuinely inspiring engaging fiction that should be the reason the audience keeps wanting this, and the one-dimensional idiocy that this nonsensical audience apparently wants instead. If the out-universe writers are able to write Shuichi talking about the audience wanting this kind of story, they should also be perfectly capable of writing the audience actually wanting it! This shouldn’t be difficult.

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[Next post]

[magic-owl]

i wish these had numbers to not take up room but alas: what is your absolute favorite ship? what’s a ship you like that most people don’t? what is the most underrated ship, in your opinion? (choose any of your fave pairings for the following bc I'm curious about all your faves) rate [pairing] from 1-10 and explain why. what’s your favorite headcanon of [pairing]? what’s your favorite canon moment of [pairing]? favorite AU ideas for [pairing]? what song(s) remind you of [pairing]?

Thank you my dear! You are my Star Wars Friend so I’ll keep it SW focused (if you wanted to ask this to solely find out what else I liked BESIDES SW sorry lol just let me know and I can redo it). This got long because turns out I have a lot to say about my ships so answers under the cut!!! xD

Absolute favorite ship: This one’s kinda hard but I’m gonna have to go with Obi Wan/Anakin! I also like them a lot as a trio with Padmé, but overall I gotta say these two are just my faves? Why? Because they are such a M E S S and gosh I just love them so much. Ppl say they don’t like each other very much but come on, have you watched the TCW, have you watched RotS, they’re the greatest team there ever was, they’re constantly fretting and worrying about each other, they’re always teasing (the constant banter omg boys pls) at each other and hyping the other up and believing in each other and Ahsoka literally calls them her adoptive guardians in the Ahsoka novel, that’s how much of a family they were and ugh they’re just so married. And they’re such a TRAGEDY and it breaks my heart and it’s delicious to watch because in the final fight it’s just heartbreaking betrayal because through it all they love each other so much and that’s WHY they’re so furious with each other because to them it feels like the ultimate betrayal. Even after (when after everything, Obi Wan still loved Anakin too much to kill him himself) they’re constantly on the other’s mind, and ugh the pain hurts but in such a good way, and how in the end Anakin did the right thing and Obi Wan was RIGHT THERE to help guide him back to the light in spirit and now they can rest happily together for eternity (with some spare stressing about, ya know, Kylo Ren and the impending return of Sidious, but never mind all that). and on top of that, it’s my fave because I also absolutely love their relationship platonically as well, as much as I LIKE to see them together, it’s not necessary for me because they have such an enjoyable dynamic. *coughs* Sorry, so yea, they’re my disaster faves! 😅

A ship I like that most people don’t: See above lol. I get aspects of the Obikin ship can be problematic in the whole power dynamic and age difference thing, but I’ve only ever shipped it after Anakin was knighted as an adult when there’s literally not a problem with it (it was weird for me because I watched the prequels totally out of order. I actually saw the TCW cartoon FIRST and then I saw RotS and then I didn’t watch the first two for a while after that because I was a fool and listened to prequel bashers who said the first two weren’t good, so when I started shipping them as adults that was all I saw them as). To be honest, for the most part the PT fandom is done with the drama since ya know, like a good half of the SW general fandom still hates us, so no one’s really vocal about not liking it and our shipping community is mostly left to ourselves, but every once in a while I’ll come across a joke post/fanart of the two and OP will be all snarky in the notes like “tag as a ship and I’ll come after you with my spiked bat” (someone’s exact words btw) and it’s like ok jeez, do not interact then, was minding my own business dude...

My most underrated ship: Hmmmm....... Gonna have to go between Luke/Ezra and Satine/Padmé. Skybridger I understand since they’ve literally never met in canon, but come ON, they’d get along like a house on fire and argh they should have met, it would be great. I honestly don’t get why Pads and Satine aren’t more of a thing (THEY DON’T EVEN HAVE AN OFFICIAL SHIPNAME ;_; ) cuz c’mon they’re the subtler explosive yin to Obi and Ani’s wildfire yang. They get along great and work together really well, and they both seem to have a type. I am doing them a little better in my new OT4 fic, and I hope ppl like it!!! Ya know what, I’m also gonna add Kaeden (cute girl from the Ahsoka novel!) and Ahsoka because even if a lot of ppl actually ship them, they hardly have any content and neED MORE DANGIT THEY WERE SO CUTE!!!!!!!

Gonna go with Obikin for all the following ones cuz I haven’t had the chance to gush about my boys in a while and you’ve opened Pandora’s box

Rate them from 1-10: 10, plus a hundred more points because I love them, then subtract that hundred again cuz Anakin is an gotdang idiot who ruined it and now they both make me cry. My scoring reasons are that they make me feel all the emotions and I love them Ever So Much and argh.

Fave headcanon: Oh boy, I’ve got a couple actually!

Whenever they’re talking/arguing over the phone, they’re always subconsciously mirroring each other’s actions even when they can’t see what the other is doing. It’s kinda creepy because you’ll hear yelling and it’ll look like one of them’s talking to an invisible person in front of them when it’s actually each other.

There has been multiple instances of them both getting injured in battle because they were distracted watching the other be a total badass (not that either will admit it)

Neither of them are morning people. AT ALL. Obi Wan actually has self-discipline and is able to get up with an alarm and crankily drag them both up, but both are almost impossible to deal with until they’ve had caffeine in them, and it’s been established that unless you want to risk murder, neither of them talks in the morning until caffeine has been provided.

There has been many, many cases of accidentally taking the other’s robe and not realizing it but thinking to themselves that said robe feels more comforting than usual today.

A mutually drunken arm wrestling match absolutely turned into a mutually drunken makeout once. Neither can remember it, and they wonder why some of the clones have been acting funny all week.

Half of the Temple thinks they’re already dating.

Ok I’ll stop it here

Fave Canon Moment: Ughhh, this is HARD. I really like the “any closer and you’d be kissing it” line in TCW, basically any moment in TCW when one of them refers to Ahsoka as “OUR padawan”, the extra long stares and unnecessary touches they give each other in TCW, the elevator scene in RotS movie (THE NOVEL MAKES IT A MILLION TIMES BETTER), also in RotS the way Anakin is half-ready to straight up fight Palpatine when he suggests leaving Obi Wan behind to die, the RotS “No loose wire jokes” bit, the RotS “Roger. Roger.” bit (OKAY JUST THE WHOLE FIRST HALF OF THIS RIDICULOUS MOVIE), the way Vader built his big stupid castle where they had their breakup, the way he’s constantly mentioning Obi Wan when the convo wasn’t even about him, seeing them together again at the end of RotJ (whoops you asked for one, you get MANY SCENES)

Fave AU ideas: Again, there’s a couple!

Superpower AU: Can’t decide whether I’d put this in canon or modern. Most powers in this AU are stolen from inspired by X-Men, DC, and other popular media, so I’m torn between Anakin having Jean Grey/Dark Phoenix style powers while Obi Wan had a variation on Rogue’s with additional energy manipulation. OR it would be a thing where Anakin could commune with the dead a la Klaus from Umbrella Academy while Obes had sort of Avatar-style wind/flight powers. (Both are relevant for different plots).

Sith AU: I know these are far from unpopular in the SW fandom, but the way I’d do it would be to try and write two stories at once, update one every other week so one update a week total. The stories would what would happen if either of them became the Sith Apprentice after the events of Episode 1, and how their dynamic would be during Ep 2 and The Clone Wars with one of them on the other side. It’s funny because the way I’ve plotted it, the Sith!Ani fic would have very big Good Omens vibes, while the Sith!Obi one would have very strong Under the Red Hood vibes, so two VERY different dynamics going on xD

WWII Spies: This is one I 100% plan to write someday, even tho it is a very long time from now. It’s basically following Anakin as an American naval pilot who got injured in a crash and discharged. He still wants to serve and eventually his talent gets him into the intelligence end of the war and sent to Europe where he meets Ben, who’s been working with British intelligence since it broke out, and sparks fly. I’m kind of cheating here cuz as of now this is an Obianidala story, not just Obikin, but it’s one I’m very excited for

Phantom of the Opera AU: This idea I had when I realized that Anakin as Vader is kinda a Lot like the Phantom, but he’s also a Lot like Christine too. So it turned into Anakin as a talented ballet dancer getting preyed on by Palpatine!Phantom (there is NO romance there, Palpy is a total creep and will be treated as such) with Obi Wan as a combination of Raoul and Madame Gery and I have a bunch of ideas and idk if it’s gonna be an actual thing, but I want it to.

Shapeshifter AU: Canon, not very complicated but they can all shift into animals. Obi Wan is a kind of cougar panther cat with a fluffy ginger tail, and Anakin is a big grumpy black Krayt Dragon with a stump for a front leg.

Not A Jedi!AU: One in canon in which set like the Sith!AU, two different stories exploring how their dynamic would be if one of them wasn’t found by the Order. As of now, I’ve got Anakin as the warrior pirate prince of Tatooine, after having grown up and staged a slave rebellion, then promptly put his mother on the throne, and Obi Wan’s there to negotiate something during TCW and things happen. For the Obi Wan one, he’s a political journalist and war correspondent who keeps on running into Anakin’s assignments and popping up where he’s stationed and Anakin has to keep this idiot from getting himself killed/stop asking me annoying questions that criticize the Jedi and the government.

Dark!AU: A kind of morbid canon divergent fic where Padmé dies early and unexpectedly (Palps didn’t plan it). Anakin goes off the rails and Obi Wan agrees to go with him on a murder vengeance roadtrip to try and keep him from Falling or the Sith from getting to him. He kinda fails and they both Fall in a way and it ends with them hunting down Sidious’ players one by one. I’m not entirely sure I want to continue with this tho because it plays strongly on the Fridged Woman trope, which I can’t stand. I’d have to figure out how to give Padmé some sort of active role after her death...

Songs to describe them: There’s a couple (I could have very well gone cranky but I decided to do (mostly) serious))(also my music taste kinda stinks)

Icarus— Bastille

Anna Sun— WALK THE MOON

Animal I Have Become— Acoustic cover by Vitamin String Quartet (original by Three Days Grace) (seriously y’all listen it’s sooooo gooooood)

Warriors— Imagine Dragons

My Demons— STARSET

Ignorance— Paramore

Set Fire to the Rain— Adele

Stubborn Love— The Lumineers

How to Save A Life— The Fray (yes i am aware it is stereotypical angst song leave me Alone it FITS)

Viva la Vida— Coldplay (tbh this fits like the entire PT but I liked it)

Raised by Wolves— U2 (another more PT-centric, but this one works dangit)

Bonus Broadway Song! : Confrontation from Les Miserables (now that ya think of it, that would be a pretty good AU too.....)

Bonus Broadway Song! : The Tango Maureen from Rent (I always imagined this one as Obi Wan and Padmé about Anakin, but it would be about something other than cheating cuz canon has established Anakin views cheating as a worse crime than murder, so yea)

Bonus Broadway Song! : Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better (aight this one’s mostly a joke but come ON don’t tell me that’s not completely them xD)

[avelera]

*emerges from their grace* a chubby Newt that stress eats???? Also hi it's been a while :v

aaaah, babe it’s been too long!! Thank you for the prompt!

This one’s gonna combine a few Anon prompts too including: 

Chubby Newt never manages to lose his lovehandles even in the middle of the war, his eating habits aren’t always the best and there’s always junk food wrappers in his room but he’s always comfortable and soft and friend-shaped.

&Newton’s one of those kids that stacked on the puppy fat as a teenager but assumed he’d grow more and even out but he just… didn’t? Like, he’s taller than he was which is nice but he’s also still got chipmunk cheeks and a few stretch marks on his thighs and for all his talk of being a “rock star” he can actually be quite sensitive about these things, especially when it comes to being intimate with someone (he’s had a few bad experiences). But he’s still got a rockin bod! 

And mostly:

sickfic type thing with (a lil chubby) newt who ate too much and hermann taking care of him—

On the Risks (and Benefits) of Stress Eating

Also available on Ao3

Words: 2,682 (I knooow)

Ship:Newt/Hermann

Timeline: Shatterdome era

Man I just remembered I was thinking of tying my SFW Shatterdome era prompt combo one into the tattoo prompt but then sickfic took over. OH WELL. I’ll get to that one soon cuz it’s amazing.

This ficlet is proooobably gonna lead into my NSFW prompt combo, just FYI ;3

—-

“Newton, maybe you should slow down?”

Newt grunted in acknowledgement of Hermann’s point, whatever it was, and went back to summarily ignoring it. The LiDAR mapping of the latest Kaiju attack had just come in and he needed to square them with the video as well since there was almost zero chance he’d get any live samples from this one. He’d have to make do without. He crunched on another potato chip without tasting it and when the bag was empty tossed it on the ground with the pile of others. His brain hummed, streamlined and focused from taking his medication twice today and if he stayed focused he could ride this wave to getting a week’s worth of work done in an evening. And if he could manage just a few, oh, thousand more nights like that then maybe they’d have a shot at winning this war.

“…Newton, that’s your fifth bag of junk food, this is getting obscene. At least let me fetch you a meal from the cafeteria before it closes? Perhaps something with a vitamin buried in it somewhere?”

“No thanks,” Newt muttered. Could the guy not see he was busy? Cafeteria food meant knife and fork which meant freeing up his hands which meant breaking his concentration and he was on a roll. Achieving this level of focus was a once in a blue moon thing for him, usually he needed to bounce between three projects to finish any and sure, that meant three projects got done in the time it took most people to do one, but he wasn’t going to stop now when hyperfixation was helping him out for once. Just to make the point he blindly reached over and grabbed another bag of snacks, tearing it open with his teeth and burying his hand inside to stuff his mouth full before returning his hands to the keyboard.

“… Newton, I…”

Newt snarled and spun in his chair. “What is it, Hermann? Can’t you see I’m working, or at least I’m trying to if you wouldn’t interrupt every five minutes?!”

Hermann recoiled, his hand snatching back from where it had presumably hovered at Newt’s shoulder. He drew himself up, expression growing pinched and severe. His suit jacket was tossed over one arm and he gripped his cane hard in the other hand. “It’s been three hours since I last interrupted you and before that it was another two. I only interrupted this time to tell you I’m retiring for the evening, so do remember to switch the lights off this time,” he said stiffly.

Newt blinked then his eyes drifted to the clock blinking military time on the wall. 2300 hours. Oh. His vision swam now that it broke from the screen and he realized he didn’t feel so great. Like, not great at all, maaaybe more than a little nauseous.

Then he spotted the pile of junk food bags and wrappers in a halo around his chair. His lap was encrusted with crumbs and his keyboard wasn’t much better. He prided himself in his total lack of squeamishness but this was…kinda more than a little disgusting.

About as disgusting as he felt right now.

Hermann’s wide lips thinned to a line. “I did try to warn you.”

Newt groaned and flopped back in his chair, which was a big mistake because the accidental stretch sent a pang through his belly and he doubled over, heaving shallow breaths and trying to swallow back the nausea.

“And don’t throw up on my shoes, if you would be so kind.”

“No promises,” Newt wheezed. Hermann took a careful step back out of the “blast radius.” Newt swallowed a few more times, fumbled for water bottle on his desk and took a swig. His medication left him dry-mouthed so he always had one handy. After a tense moment, the wave of nausea passed which only reminded him of the other gross part of his hyperfixation bouts.

Stress eating. His whole body felt bloated and gross and his stomach distended to just this side of pain. The buttons on his shirt were tight and if Hermann would just take off already so he could unbutton his pants and breathe he’d feel much better. His stupid, tight pants were only a fashion statement when he wasn’t spilling out of them like an over-ambitious muffin in front of the guy he’d been hopelessly dreaming about boning since he were twenty-fucking-three, and right now he couldn’t imagine feeling any less sexy. Newt buried his face in his hands with a groan.

“You can go. Don’t worry, I’ll get the damn lights,” Newt muttered into his hands, then scraped them back through his hair as he sat up. Hermann was still standing there looking, if anything, kinda… worried.

“Are you certain you don’t need help returning to your quarters?” Hermann said. “I know how it can be with your… your mind the way it is, and it does you no favors when you lose track of your surroundings, and worse, your own wellbeing like this.”

“You say “lose track” like it was something I had control over,” Newt said dryly.

“My apologies, I know it’s not as simple as that, I merely meant…”

Newt waved him off. “Nah, don’t worry about it. Thanks for trying earlier, sorry I was a dick about it.”

“Well, I won’t contradict you on that point.”

Newt snorted. On any other night it would be way too embarrassing to let Hermann walk him back, people might get ideas. They might get the exact idea that Newt was really hoping someone would get, and that someone was Hermann, when Newt went through waves of getting handsy with the guy when the crush got too bad and then scrambling away again when another fight flared. Usually because Hermann had a stupid opinion about Newt’s research, or Newt had an opinion about Hermann’s stupid research. It was just how they were, and fighting was almost as good as fucking when it came to breaking up the very one-sided sexual tension.

Ugh, sexual tension. No fucking chance of breaking that tonight. Maybe it was for the best.

“Actually, y’know what? I think I could use that hand,” Newt winced.

He wasn’t sure if he should expect another exasperated retort or jibe for that one, but Hermann said nothing, only offered his arm to Newt the way he’d done countless times in return.

Hermann must have deemed this episode to be on the no-insults side of the line that existed between them, where dwelled the topics Never To Be Discussed, mostly stuff they had no control over. Newt never brought up the leg unless it was logistically necessary and Hermann never brought up Newt’s weird brain except for similar reasons (one time Newt heard that Hermann tripped a J-tech with his cane for calling Newt that spastic freak in the dungeon but try as he might Newt couldn’t get anyone to verify that crowning moment of awesome). Their insults always stayed in the realm of the other’s stupid research, or stupid clothes, or stupid hair/tattoos, stuff that they had control over (and god if only Hermann would take control of that wardrobe). For whatever reason, Newt stuffing himself with junk food on a work binge counted as “stuff they couldn’t control” and for that he was endlessly grateful.

The floor swayed beneath Newt’s feet and he had to swallow back another wave of nausea as he stood. He leaned on Hermann’s arm more than he’d really meant to when he’d accepted, he didn’t want to hurt the guy, but while their progress was slow out the lab (Newt got the lights on the way) and down the hall to their rooms. Hermann hesitated outside Newt’s door.

“Would you like me to come in…?” Hermann said hesitantly.

God, yes, Newt thought, not that he could ever say it.

“God, yes.”

Crap.

“… and see you settled?” Hermann finished.

Double-crap. Just play it cool, Newtster.

“Sure, I feel like total shit. Maybe you could rub my tummy or something?” he winked.

That wasn’t cool at all.

Newt grimaced. It’s not like he cared what Hermann-stick-up-his-arse-Gottlieb thought about him (ok he did care, a lot, way too much) but even his not caring was more about hoping that attitude came across in a reckless, devil-may-care, sexy bad boy kind of way. Not because he was too nauseous and bloated to give a shit that he was covered in crumbs instead of engine oil or alien guts, and just generally gross.

Instead of waiting for Hermann’s inevitable exasperated huff and retort about Newt’s talking nonsense, he opted for spinning the industrial-grade lock on his door and going inside. He stumbled through the doorway and only then turned to see Hermann still standing there, his cheeks lit up like Christmas.

“Is it something I said?” Newt hazarded.

Hermann shook himself. “Your… stomach, is it really hurting that much? All jests aside, Newton, the medical bay is closed but I’d be happy to help however I may. Your health is a serious matter.”

Newt’s eyes narrowed. Since when was Hermann helpful about anything? “You want to rub my stomach?”

Hermann’s face turned crimson and for once it was definitely not with anger.

“I…” Hermann said in a strangled tone.

“Look, I’m gonna get ready for bed,” Newt said and jabbed his thumb back over his shoulder at his rumpled pile of comforters. Godzilla sheets poked out at the corners, it wasn’t exactly a love nest. “You can do whatever you want.”

Newt turned and back to unbutton his shirt. The iron door clanged shut behind him and he sighed, exhaling to allow his gut to hang over his pants and sighing with deeper pleasure when his fingers reached the top button of his pants. He’d have to file that blush away for later, because for now if he was going to take another stab at seducing the human personification of a sweater-vest (why did he crush on that guy so hard, why?) it would have to wait until he felt human again at all.

There was a polite cough from behind him.

Newt shrieked and whipped around, his hands flying to cover himself since the pants had slid halfway down his thighs. Hermann stared, his fist covered his mouth until he slowly lowered it. “I… you said whatever I… I’d feel better if I knew you were…” Hermann cleared his throat. “I’ll just see myself out, then.”

“Wait,” Newt blurted. Seriously, Hermann was still here? Newt had said he could do whatever he wanted and he’d stayed? “Was that offer serious?”

Hermann turned back and the blush was there again, heating up to his ears. “I… I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t,” he said stiffly.

“I, well… sure? Hell, why not? It’s not like I was going to get any sleep without it,” Newt said. Right, they were just pals here. Pals who were mostly rivals, pals who definitely didn’t have crackling sexual tension filling the room like a Tesla coil gone haywire. That was only in Newt’s head. He tentatively finished unbuttoning his shirt and tossed it over the back of his desk chair before bending to shuck his trousers. “Thanks, man, I guess that means I owe you.”

“What are you doing?” Hermann squawked.

“Getting ready for bed?” Newt said with a raised eyebrow. “Dude, you stayed, sorry if that means you get the whole package because I am not wearing anything except boxers to bed.” He paused, and it couldn’t get much worse anyway so he added with a wink, “And even that’s a concession.”

He snickered under his breath as Hermann sputtered but then, the guy had volunteered and there was something going on with that blush that had the wheels in Newt’s brain turning. It’s not like he could do anything more to sabotage his future chances with Hermann anyway, so might as well not worry about it. He flopped down on the bed, then winced and curled in on himself as the pangs returned with a vengeance. Yeah, it hadn’t been a total joke about the not being able to sleep. The first time he’d had a night like this was when he started undergrad as a teen and back then he’d averaged at least one night like this a month.

“Here, just let me,” Hermann huffed as he sat down beside Newt on the bed. He was still wearing the shirt and sweater-vest, which made Newt feel a little underdressed for the occasion until he reminded himself that Hermann was overdressed which instantly made him feel better. Hermann’s fingers were cold but it was nice, kinda soothing as they began to massage slow circles around his belly. His soft, protruding belly with its gaping Kaiju maw and airbrushed flame abs that definitely weren’t fooling anyone at this point.

It was only a few minutes before the pain began to ease and even with a double dose of meds, Newt found relaxation taking the place of the manic energy that had powered him through the night and probably would have gotten him to the morning just in time for a spectacular crash if he’d kept riding it.

“Dude, you’re really good at this,” Newt murmured and let his eyes slide shut.

“I…ermm, I’ve watched some videos on the matter,” Hermann coughed.

Newt’s brow furrowed and he cracked an eye open. The blush was back. Interesting. Hypothesis time. “Sorry I’m so gross right now,” he said. “I know this is more up-close-and-personal you wanted to get with me, especially with the whole swollen tummy and over-eating thing.” Hermann’s blush spread. “It’s not like I plan it or anything, I just lose track of time. It’s been like this for ages, I was never a skinny kid or anything, but the freshmen fifteen hit pretty hard especially when my dads weren’t around to keep healthy food out and, uh, I grew out of a few wardrobes…”

Hermann gave a muffled squeak and his fingers dug a little too hard into Newt’s stomach so that he winced. “That’s… interesting,” Hermann said faintly. “Hrm. That is… you should be more careful in the future. I’d be happy to keep you well stocked in food of some nutritional value if it will spare you another night like this.”

“You’d feed me? That’s sweet of you, Herms,” Newt said. Jackpot. Hermann looked like he was going to start sweating if he blushed any harder, he might have already. “I’d eat from your fingers if it meant not feeling this cruddy again any time soon.”

Hermann released a deep, slow breath that shivered at the end. “D-Don’t be absurd.”

“I’m not.”

Hermann jerked to stare down at him and Newt looked back up frankly. Forget gross, he was starting to think he’d stumbled upon being quite the opposite.

He yawned hugely. “…But not tonight. I’m wiped and I need to let a little of this to go down before I think of eating anything more,” he said and patted his stomach, rubbing it once for good measure. Hermann’s eyes widened. Yup. “You can stay here if you want.”

“Why would I stay here when my quarters are next door?” Hermann said and sounded like he was trying to be offended but the words came out breathless.

Newt shrugged. “Why not? I don’t mind,” he said and curled over on his side and shut his eyes. “It’s up to you.”

He didn’t open them, just waited to hear the heavy iron door open and shut.

It didn’t.

—

[zenith-is-a-titan]

Collector

((Posting here from long time ago cuz sad boy hours. Set after Red War.))

Summary: After the Red War, guardians stepped up to go search for MIA people and guardians. Most of the time all they find is remaining bits of torn marks, cloaks, or bonds. Still, they return them to the fireteam dutifully. Zenith, a titan, chooses to help out and become a "Collector." 

“Titan! Hold up!”

Zenith froze mid step. There was only one reason why someone would come up to him with such urgency not even knowing his name. Still, he turned slowly and looked at the rushing Warlock coming to him. She was two heads shorter than him and her hair was pulled back into a messy bun. The bags under her eyes told him she hadn’t slept in a while which was scarily common nowadays.

“What can I do for you?” He asked already knowing the answer.

“You’re one of them right? A Collector?”

He hated that word. Collector. It made his job seem so much more pleasant. Still, he didn’t correct her. “Yes. What would you like me to search for?” Straight to the point. It was easier that way.

“M-My friend...She...We were separated during the evacuation. She’s a hunter. My height. Light brown eyes. W-White...white hair…” The Warlock teared up at the memory and covered her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

Zenith nodded and placed a calming hand on her shoulder. “Take your time.”

“Her...Her cloak had her name sewn in it. She always lost it...Please...Find her for me. Or...Something. Please.” The Warlock was nearly in hysterics and Zenith nodded once more.

“I will do my best.”

“Thank you! Thank you! I don’t have much but if you find anything I’ll-” Zenith stopped her with a shake of his head. “That is not necessary. I do not require any payment.”

The Warlock looked like she wanted to argue, but nodded instead. “Okay...Thank you…”

The looking was the hardest part. Zenith looked from sun up to sun down most days. From evacuation routes to dirt trails. Hell, even animal tracks. All for the chance to find something. Anything to give closure to those who wait. Some days he goes home with new for 3 fireteams or more. Sometimes with nothing at all. Through the quiet moments where he trudges through muddy terfs, he thinks.

Zenith was lucky. He came out of the Red War with all of his fireteam. Even if Gid...Even if He wasn’t with the fireteam anymore. That was a lot more than he could say for a lot of people. And those nights at the farm where there were just too many wounded and not enough parts to go around...Zenith shivered at the thought and continued looking. As he looked, he searched for spare parts he could take back to the tower for the wounded. He also might find a usable voice box for River. While she took to sign language like a duck to water, Zenith knew she’d appreciate one less reminder of what happened.

It was when he happened upon a fallen tree that his search gained traction. Stuck to the bark war a knife. And to that knife was a ripped piece of a cloak. Removing the knife, he examined the cloth. It was small, but he could see threads making out a word. Abigail. The Warlock had told him the hunter’s name and that it was sewn into the cloak. He was close. This was left here on purpose.

He continued walking, staying close to the rock wall until it broke off into a large cavern. If a hunter was leaving clues, they wouldn’t stray far from them. So, Zenith headed inside. Kyo lit the way for him as he walked. Water dripped from the ceiling and echoed across the cavern.

“Abigail? Abigail!” Zenith called out.

Suddenly, Kyo gasped. “I can feel something! Another Ghost! There’s someone here!” Up Ahead!”

Zenith doubled his efforts and quickened his pace. Just as his ghost said, there was someone there. A human. A hunter. Laying with their cloak wrapped tightly around themselves. Shivering. Suffering. Just then, a light shot up and blinded the Titan momentarily.

“Ah! Get away from her! Get away!” The ghost said floating in front of her guardian.

“Wait! We’re here to rescue you! Is she Abigail?” Kyo asked worriedly.

The other ghost gave a sceptical look before turning to her guardian. “I felt the light returning...but by then it was too late. She’s been rationing her food and making it stretch the best she can, but...I can’t even reach any frequencies to send an SOS. She ran out of rations two days ago. Please...Help her.”

Zenith nodded and put away his weapon. He walked over to the shivering girl and easily picked her up. The way she curled closer to his body heat reminded him of how he did the same to Aiona when he was first revived. “How far is a clearing?”

“A 5 minute jog at most. I’m sending a report now to have medics ready to take her at the tower.” Kyo said.

Zenith turned a 5 minute job into a 3 minute one quickly but made sure not to jar Abigail too much. The ride to the Tower was deadly silent.

As promised, there were three medics waiting at the hangar with a gurney ready for their return. A crowd of guardians had gathered to see who would be returning. Right at the front was the Warlock.

Zenith walked down the boarding ramp of his ship with Abigail held tightly to his chest. Ever so gently he laid her down on the gurney and helped the medics spread a shock blanket over her.

“Abby!” The Warlock cried out as she ran over. But the medics were already speeding away. She watched as Abigail was wheeled away before pulling Zenith into a hug. For someone so small she sure had a strong grip. “You saved my Abby! Thank you!”

“No thanks needed.” Zenith assured giving her a firm squeeze in return.

“If you need anything please just-”

“No. Thank you...But no. You should go to her. She’ll need you. But here,” Zenith took out the knife and the strip of cloak and handed them to her. “She will need this back.”

The Warlock looked ready to burst into tears but nodded as she held the cloth close. “Traveler bless you, Collector.” Were her parting words as she took off after her friend.

Those are the good days. But they are very few and very far between.

Most days Zenith doesn’t even have a body to return. Sometimes it’s a gun or a ripped piece of cloth with a name. Rarely he gets a hug. Mostly he gets lucky to get a second glance. But every single one of them call him by that name Collector.

Every morning he wakes up with a heavy heart. Forces himself to eat breakfast. And tells himself he’s lucky. He has everyone. Everyone lived. Gid...HE was okay out there.

Aiona catches him one day with his legs dangling from the tower’s edge.

“Aren’t gonna jump are ya?” It’s supposed to be joking but it burns Zenith to know there’s actual suspicion in those words.

“No…”

“You don’t have to do this you know.” Zenith doesn’t even need to ask for clarification on what she means.

“I do.”

“Why...Why must you hurt yourself?”

“I am lucky, Aiona. Everyone turned out okay. Even Gid-...Him. The least I can do is give others closure.” He said looking down at the long long drop. “Even if it hurts.”

“You’ve helped enough. You can quit…”

“You know I cannot. We are stretched thin as it is. I can do this.”

“You don’t need to punish yourself.”

Zenith didn’t answer that time. Aiona sighed. “At least...at least take a break tonight. We can relax and sleep in for once. Just one day. For me?”

He couldn’t say no. Because in another universe she wouldn’t be here to even ask. “Okay. But I have to make a delivery first.”

That night, he delivers a Mark stored in a glass case to two guardians...and a child. Two guardians who now have to explain to a little boy why Daddy isn’t coming home. Zenith hates himself for giving it to them. But he knows that’s what they need. Closure.

One of them sobs on the spot as soon as they see him walking towards them. Probably hoping he’ll turn away. Or realize it’s a mistake. The Titan takes the case from him without a word. She hugs it to her chest with a force that makes Zenith think it might shatter. It doesn’t. And the Titan turns to the little boy. He doesn’t know what it is. Only that it makes people sad. But as he looks down through the glass, Zenith can see a bit of recognition in his eyes. “Daddy…”

Zenith turns away and forces himself to walk home. He doesn’t eat dinner that night. Barely sleeps either. But he lets Aiona rest her head in his lap anyway. Because she needs closure too.

There were so many people she must have known before Zenith. How many of them didn’t come back after the war? He forces himself not to think about it.

Zenith awoke later on to something small colliding with his chest and the sound of River screaming. He bolted up right to see her tiny ghost staring at him, chittering franticly as she zoomed out of the room and back in. She couldn't calm the exo was the only thing the awoken could think of. He charged out of his room, Aiona's door opening the same time as he shot past it.

"Zee whats happening?" Aiona asked, eyes wide with confusion. Earning no response from the Titan she quickly followed Zenith into River’s room. It was bad one this time. No that they weren’t all bad, but this time River was thrashing in her sheets as if in a desperate attempt to fight off an unseen enemy. The Exo’s claws ripping long gashes into the cloth.

Aiona and Zenith watched in utter horror they realized River was still asleep, her screaming starting to fill up with distortion and static. Zenith lept into action, managing to grab one of the exo's flailing arms. What he didn't expect was the still free one to slash him across the face. Small droplets of blood landed on River as Zenith nearly shouted as pain blossomed on his cheek. River's eyes blinked on. Her screaming was replaced with a startled gasp and frantic breathing. Confusion seemed to fill her facial plates as she proceeded what had just happened. It was the four small but jugged lines that made River realise what she'd done.

Zenith didn’t hold it against her though. She was young and traumatized. She didn’t know any better. And if he refused to let Kyo heal the scratches right after then that was his business. He couldn’t help it. Part of him hated the fact that he couldn’t give her closure.

Still though, tomorrow is another day. Another day of tears. Another day of forcing himself to eat breakfast. Another day of being a Collector...

[atmilliways]

Stuck on the Outside Failing to Look In (Just Like in Real Life)

This @mtl-trick-or-treat​ fic is for @tanyonlee​, who asked for either a treat of “Very cute Skwistok!!” or a trick of “Skwisgaar and his gmiltf girlfriend XDDD.”

It’s your lucky Halloween dude, because I wrote BOTH. In five parts. I hope you like 8300+ word fics. 💩 

Here’s part one! (1412 words)

~

Excerpt from Skwisgaar Is Ams Dick by T. Wartooth, chapter four (“Skwisgaar Is Ams Slut”), pages 132-133:

Everyones knows that Skwisgaar will does just abouts anybodies. That ain’ts the halfs of it! Every times ol’ Toki starts talkings to a beautiesful girl, Skwisgaar rolls right ups and starts the whisperings horny nothings to her ear what’s like I’m not theres. Fucking rudes! Then he goes and screws thems. Sometimes they don’t even bothers to leaves the room! And it’s not evens like whats the ladies are really sluts. Some ofs them ams real nice, whats have hopes and dreams and real goods teeth and everything. Some even haves the boobs thats am all naturals, just like mothers makes ‘em, though nots veries often ‘cause most groupies gets them sized ups whats to catch our attention betters.

But anyways, the ladies ain’ts the sluts, Skwisgaar ams. The ladies only wants to sleeps with likes four, maybies five guys, because we ams super mega famous. Skwisgaar ams the ones who doesn’ts cares whos he puts the you-know-whats sausage into sides of as longs as he gets to does it! You barlies ever see his ass with the sames lady twice!! He ams physicallies uns-capable of even gettings that close to settling downs and I can proves it. Ins this chapter I wills...

~

“... In other news, Toki Wartooth seems to be on the Toki Warpath! He’s been arrested seventeen times in the last two months alone, and at last night’s Dethklok concert in Washington DC actually lept from the stage and started it all-out brawl. The incident ended up outing several ultra-conservative Senators and House Representatives as closet Dethklok fans, despite having made so much effort to distance themselves from the group in the past. Thanks to the staff at prominent DC hospitals that leaked copies of the intake forms to the press, they’ve got quite a bit of explaining to do to their constituents.

“And that’s the Dethklok Minute!”

~

Groupie Debriefing Transcript

ID: 174849464438

               [ x] Returning                [ x] Approved for return

On file:

    [ x] Pain waiver     [ x] STI screen upon arrival     [ x] STI screen prior to debriefing     [   ] Paternity waiver     [ x] Medical record of infertility due to                [   ] Hysterectomy                [   ] Tubal ligation                [ x] Menopause                [   ] Other: ________

Name: Beulah Rosenberg

Rating: GMILF

Debriefing Agent: 7982

7982: Please state for the record which members of Dethklok you interacted with on this visit.

ROSENBERG: Just Skwisgaar.

7982: Skwigelf?

ROSENBERG: Is there more than one Skwisgaar floating around here, dear?

7982: Just being thorough, ma’am.

ROSENBERG: Oh good. I don’t think he would like that, he’s a very sensitive boy you know. Being unique is very important to him.

7982: I’m aware, ma’am. And what was the purpose of your visit?

ROSENBERG: I don’t kiss and tell, dear.

7982: Um, okay. And you were with him from approximately 3:15pm yesterday to 8:45am this morning, is that correct?

ROSENBERG: That sounds about right. And we spent most of that time talking, for your information.

7982: Talking? With Lord Skwigelf? Instead of, uh... I mean, isn’t that a bit unusual? In your experience? Which... you’ve been on file here for several years now.

ROSENBERG: Eight years, nine next September. It is a bit of a change, but not necessarily a recent one. He’s been more introspective ever since... I’d say a little bit before his little band mate got kidnapped, but definitely more so after that.

7982: And I see from our records that he’s been requesting your presence more often since roughly that time. Was all that, uh, mostly taking as well?

ROSENBERG: Well... mostly.

7982: Grandma!

ROSENBERG: Oh for god’s sake, don’t be such a prude, Denis.

~

Therapy session transcript 5-625148-TW, excerpt:

TWINKLETITS: So what’s been on your mind lately, Toki? What’s going on in that noggin?

WARTOOTH: Nothings.

TWINKLETITS: Toki, Toki. You’ve got to be honest in this room, okay buddy? It’s been a big year. Lots of things going on. Lots of things that sooner or later you’re gonna have to face head-on one way or another, and wouldn’t it be nice to do that in a safe, supportive environment?

WARTOOTH: Not reallies.

TWINKLETITS: I know what’s been going on. You’ve been picking fights, breaking windows... you’re scaring people, Toki. All your friends are worried half to death about you.

WARTOOTH: [unintelligible]

TWINKLETITS: That’s a big load of bull pats. Why would they go through all that trouble to get you back if they didn’t care?

WARTOOTH: The bands—

TWINKLETITS: They found you. Do you think that was easy?

WARTOOTH: [unintelligible]

TWINKLETITS: Toki, have they talked to you at all about what it was like getting to you?

TWINKLETITS: Toki?

WARTOOTH: [unintelligible]

WARTOOTH: Noes.

TWINKLETITS: Well they told me. They didn’t have any idea what they were doing, but they went anyway, and followed any crazy idea they could pull out of their asses to do it. Pickles guessed they should look in the place where you played your very first gig as a member of Dethklok—

WARTOOTH: The Depths of Humanities? That shitshole?

TWINKLETITS: Exactly! And Skwisgaar—

WARTOOTH: I don’ts wants to talk about that asshole! Fucking bastards don’t gots no time for anything but sluts—

TWINKLETITS: Toki, no!

WARTOOTH: [unintelligible yelling, smashing furniture]

~

From: c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk

To: s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk

CC: n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk, p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk, w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk

Subj: Consider this a band meeting

Skwisgaar, I don’t know why Dr. Twinkletits is still calling me, but can you think of any reason Toki might be angry with you?

Kind regards,

Charles F. Ofdenson

~

From: p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk

To: c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk, n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk, s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk, w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk

Subj: Re: Consider this a band meeting

uSUal reason right? not giving hm sodas? back ne up her gays

8=====D doodily doodily dooo

~

From: p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk

To: c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk, n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk, s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk, w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk

Subj: Re: Re: Consider this a band meeting

SOLOS!

8=====D doodily doodily dooo

~

From: n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk

To: c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk, p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk, s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk, w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk

Subj: Re: Re: Re: Consider this a band meeting

No. He’s just still fucked up from being kidnapped.

Hey Charles, you ever going to fucking visit us man? Thought you were hamburger time again. Answer your phone when I text you. Dick.

~

From: w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk

To: c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk, n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk, p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk, s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk

Subj: Re: Re: Re: Re: Consider this a band meeting

Hey fuckfaces,

You’re all wrong!!! Take it from me, a real lady’s man. He’s upset over some chick who went and broke his stupid heart!!! I’ll take some booze over to his room later, we’ll talk it out, problem solved. Nailed it. ;)

—WM

ps, What’s with the “kind regards” signoff, Charles? Pretty gay.

~

From: p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk

To: c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk, n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk, s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk, w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk

Subj: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Consider this a band meeting

ahahahahha mface thinks charlies pretty

cuz hes gay mface is gay THATS THE JOOKE

8=====D doodily doodily dooo

~

From: c.f.ofdenson@mordhaus.metal.dk

To: n.explosion@brutal.metal.dk, p.the.drummer@fuckoff.metal.dk, s.skwigelf@guitargod.metal.dk, w.murderface@planetpiss.metal.dk

Subj: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Consider this a band meeting

OK, thank you for all your responses.

Pickles — That’s a good idea, it could be the lack of solos. I appreciate your input.

Nathan — Recent trauma is also a strong possible explanation as to why Toki has been acting out lately. Also, I am sending you a text right now. Please text back whenever convenient, and perhaps we can schedule an actual call.

William — I’m not sure alcohol is necessary in this situation, but otherwise I agree, Toki would probably benefit from having a friend to talk to right now.

If anyone could advise me as to why Skwisgaar is not replying to emails, that would be appreciated. Good afternoon, gentlemen.

Kind regards,

Charles F. Ofdenson

[emmettspeakz]

Game of Thrones 8x01 Notes **SPOILERS**

-Lady Mormount my queen of taking no shit

-Lannisters still hated in the north surprise surprise

-”What do dragons eat anyway?” “Whatever they want.” Well damn D*ny make her hate you more why don’t you?

-awkward reunions with people is this whole fucking episode godddd

-awkward reunion sansa and tyrion 10/10 on awkward scale

-also tyrion is so out of character there? wtf?? Tyrion isn’t stupid enough to believe his sister, that’s just poor writing.

-Jon in the Godswood kill meeeee

-Jon and Arya reunion HOLY FUCK I’VE WAITED YEARS FOR THIS.

-”sansa thinks she’s smarter than everyone” YOU’RE PREACHING TO THE CHOIR JON. I’ve been saying this all along!!! Fuck off sansa.

-”Good”???? it’s actually bad that they’ve broken through the wall. Cercei you on a suicide watch or something?? You should be.

-Poor Yara, my baby darling lesbian girl!!!

-Still on about Imma “fuck the queen” nonsense ughhh stoppppp what a waste of a character

-cercei, the fearless monarch, is scared of this damn greyjoy??? HAHAHA BAD WRITING! she can literally handle him, writers wyd???

-everyone wants to fuck bronn i guess?? maybe more plot and less porn this season ok?

-Bronn is supposed to kill Tyrion for rewards, i wonder if he’ll do it. he’s not very loyal to tyrion, just money so *shrug*

-prince in cercei’s stomach means death before the age of 14 sorry ya dick

-theon how could you do something so stupid yet so brave?? yess yara slapping him lol (you abandoned her ok you deserved that)

-theon fighting for the starks, i’m gonna cry. he’s still loyal to them even though he done fucked up ahhhh

-karstarks and starks working together?? hmmm. big oof though. hope it works out. 

-loyalty is earned in the north...okay then.

-Jon and Dany a good couple?? HAHAHA NOPE. THEY NEVER WERE QUIT YOUR BULLSHIT 

-”nothing lasts” what a lovely sentiment varys. i need some of my favorite characters to last ok? shut up!

-jon you gonna get your hand bitten off.

-oh yay...riding dragons together what a great date. :/ 

-although Jon being on a dragon HOLY SHIT MY TARGARYEN STARK SON. HE’S A WOLF RIDING A DRAGONNNN

-dragon riders: jon, dany, night king

-we don’t need to see all this footage of them riding dragons. gimme more plot shit please

-ewwwww stop kissing!!! -the dragons probably and also me cuz noooooo

-oh shit arya and the hound and gendry holy shit tits! the reunion i’ve been hoping for.

-arya is so cold to everyone now tho i don’t get it. what the hell?

-can gendry and arya hug? no? okay.

-”lady stark” “don’t call me that” ARYA IS TRANS or nonbinary fight me!

-House glover fuck you but also called that lol

-Jon, she is like her father okay? she burned sam’s family alive. maybe rewind before bending the knee once y’all live.

-to protect the north sansa stop being a little brat!!

-she killed sam’s dad and brother wtf aww sammmmm nooo baby boy :(

-Just TELL JON ALREADY JESUS CHRIST

-Jon and Sam HUGGGGG IT’S BEEN 84 YEARSSS. you gonna tell sam you died?? or does he already know?? this hasn’t been addressed and i’m curious.

-the mad queen strikes again. nope not cercei. the fucking dragon lady.

-”you were king, you always were” DAMN RIGHT SAM

-dany’s not gonna bend the knee what are you crazy??? she’s too damn arrogant and bitchyyyy

-”you’re the true king” YESSS IT’S TRUE AND HE SHOULD SAY IT.

-”oh but wait fuck dany and i fucked” -jon probably

-at least jon knows but dany will never bend the knee lol wut nice try tho

-Tormund should be dead. I’m not complaining, I’m just saying. A+ plot armor my guy.

-Ed’s alive too! He killed “the umber boy” did he really though? that weird laugh/screech holy fuck genuinely scary. but they know the night king is coming and getting close so why the message? like why was that narratively necessary?

-JAIME! 

-awkward reunion: Jaime and Bran 1000/10 awkwardness, wouldn’t recommend.

Overall, episode gets a 6/10: mostly fan service, a lot of things out of character and not narratively necessary but all around decent start to the season. 

[sian22redux]

Entanglements

by sian22redux

For @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan  ‘s Angsty writing challenge: Star’s Marvel Mayhem

Prompt:  ‘He was acting like our kiss had broken him, and his reaction was breaking me.’

Bucky x reader

Rating: M

Summary:  The fight for love is sometimes harder than the mission.  

How Bucky and Y/N of Private Party came to be together.

Timeline:  After Wakanda of Black Panther end scenes, but assumes IW is over and he’s safe.

Tags:  oral sex-mentioned, het, canon-compliant mayhem, hurt/comfort, angst, angst, angst

Thank you so so much to the heroic @wheelrider for expert beta’ing, even in a fandom that is not hers!!  And to awesome @theycallmebecca for checking it worked!  

—————————————-

The first time it happens, it is just a drunken hookup.

The party at Avengers Tower is star-spangled, loud, and pulsing fun; rare vodka fueled and graced by the hottest DJ in New York.  You’ve left your uniform and new medal of valour in the hospitality suite Miss Potts has thoughtfully laid on.  Donned a slinky black cocktail dress and four-inch heels and walked into the space on Mr Stark’s arm,  blushing at his gushing praise.  

Thank heaven this evening event is more relaxed than the White House’s lavish ballroom. Your knees had knocked so loud you were sure that the President had heard. Visibility is not your thing.  Or speeches.  But your few heartfelt words had tumbled out, applauded by brass and dough-faced senators and Bucky had stood, smiling, looking oh so perfectly edible in a charcoal suit.  He’d winked at you, a shining in his eyes that was almost as bright as in the moment your marksmanship had saved his life.  

 Perhaps you hadn’t imagined his yearning after all.

Tony plies you with whiskey sours, and sometime after the fourth (or fifth?)  Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson coax you out onto the dance floor.  Time for some fun.   Bucky stands and stares and takes it in: Steve’s hilariously sloppy groove, Sam’s easy sway. He’s frowning adorably, critiquing every move until he’s had enough of watching amateurs.  He sets down his beer, absolutely murder struts out onto the dance floor, and with a ‘my turn punk’ rips you from their arms.  The music settles into something smooth and slow (has Steve’s had a hand it that?) but then suddenly Bucky leans in.  Cheek to cheek and hip to hip.  There’s a fire blazing up inside that takes the pair of you by surprise, and when Bucky whispers, voice molasses dark and slow, “Doll, let’s escape,” you go.  

Oh god.  

You wake up so hung over it feels like you need to shave your tongue.  Your dress is nowhere in sight and Bucky is sprawled out on his stomach.  The bedclothes are mostly on the floor, his evening tux makes a trail of black and white against cream carpet and your (only) lacy underthings dangle off the lamp.  

Fuck, what were you thinking?  

Weren’t, obviously.  You’d let the heady abandon of the evening, the crackling electricity between you both mess with your hard-earned self control, but it just can’t be.  This man is your assignment, the one you are set to guard from the tentacles of a wounded, dying global empire that is trying to grab hold.  

Best not to stick around.  You lever upright, stagger to the washroom, run a wet hand through your tangled hair and try not to notice the lurid hickey on your collarbone.  

Your dress is underneath the dresser (?), you slip it on without a sound, but ugh, the shoes are a pain: your feet are swollen from dancing for so long and so you fumble, trying to do up the flimsy straps.  Finally, the prong slots through the tiny hole.  All set.   

Just as you find your purse and reach across the bedside table for your thong, a silver hand shoots out and clasps your wrist.  

Gently.   

But not planning on letting go. 

“Doll, where ya going?”  Bucky cracks one eye open and the corner of his mouth quirks up.  “No one’s on this morning.  Tony promised.”  

“Got a briefing,” you lie, wincing internally, hating yourself for doing it, but this is a one-time thing and you do not plan on speaking of it.   

Again.  

Or ever.  

The disappointment that clouds the lazy sparkle in his eyes is something to avoid.  You hastily turn away, but at the door you pause guiltily for far too long.  At last, you speak to the quiet resignation from the bed.   

“Thank… thank you.”   

Safe. Or almost.  Steve Rogers wakes up early.  He’s showered after an early run, set up in the kitchen; got french toast frying and washed wineglasses in the drain tray.  He’s grinning.  Wide and hopeful just like an excited Labrador.  

“Breakfast will be ready in a jif.”  

You blink in the too=bright space and think, Fuck my life.  

“Captain… uhh.”  

What the ever lovin’ hell should you say??  

Sorry, can’t stay after banging your best friend. Can’t eat cuz I might just puke.  Or better yet…yes I have read DAOD 5019-1 but this does not constitute inappropriate fraternization across the ranks. 

“Not hungry, Corporal?”  Steve shrugs those massive shoulders and flips a tea towel across his arm, peeking at the toast’s browning underside.  “Suit yourself.”   

You do.

But no regrets.  

It had been too wonderful for that.

—————-

The second time it happens, you tell yourself it is just the frantic release of relief.  

It’s been another too-close-for-comfort call.  Six months past cryo in Wakanda and the insanity that was the Infinity War, and you’d think in the aftermath the remnants of Hydra would no longer care.  But they do, and can’t help but see he’s back, and if they can’t control the Asset, they want him gone.  

There is a careful balance between keeping Bucky safely whole and actually giving him a life.

You’re walking up out of the subway into Battery Park’s wintery sun, a hologram cover hiding your M24 because you just can’t saunter past New York’s Sunday shoppers and happy families pushing strollers openly armed to the teeth.  

Bucky’s a block in front, sunglasses on and hood of his dark puffy jacket pulled right up because camouflage is necessary and the stiff southwesterly off the Hudson is cutting through the naked trees.  He’s heading for the SeaGlass carousel where he will stand and smile, hands sunk deep in pockets, remembering the original aquarium he and Steve delighted in another lifetime ago. 

After two months of tracking him on every outing, you know him well. 

James Barnes loves plums and granola bars.  Extra whip at Starbucks and hunting for old comic books.  The Hayden planetarium and giant, hairy, slobbery dogs.  A fresh trim means things are good because Nat can get close to him with shears.  A fringe of days-old stubble means he’s having harder nights.  The triggers are gone, but not the memory of what he’s done.  When he stops, stock-still in the middle of the sidewalk, lips moving and new hand clenched into a fist, you know he’s centering.  Running through a routine in whatever language comes to his head.  

At least he is a better subject than most.  Always watching.  Baseball cap or hood pulled down, changing his route each day, not making it easy on the goons who might dog his steps.   Or you.

It’s part of what makes this detail fun. This day he’s slid into an empty booth at Gigino, near enough the front for light but not so near he hasn’t a good view of the door.  The notebook’s out, bristling with sticky tabs like a multicolour hedgehog.  You are sitting diametrically across, scanning everything around but him, cuz hit men don’t all look like Brock Rumlow after all and folks carrying things in bags make a prickle at your nape.  Your unobstructed view down the gravel walks is good, but somehow, a figure by the Liberty dock sets the hairs rising on your arm.  Hunched. Looking back too often to the restaurant.  Arm akimbo and hiding something.  

You whisper urgently into the comms, hustle out of the doors and fire on the run.  It’s a challenge but not long range, nothing like the shot before, but precision is the thing.   You have no intention of damaging any of the good folk around.  

The subject drops.  Bystanders freak, scattering in all directions, and even as two agents materialize to cluster around Bucky as a precaution, he looks unerringly across at you, recognition and open longing on his face.  

Yeah. Well.  Me too, pal.

You melt away into the shadows, and after the NYPD have it all locked down, you find yourselves thrown together back at the Tower for a hastily convened debrief.

Coulson’s reviewing footage and Fury’s frowning, tapping impatient fingers on the tabletop, talking about the need for better eyes, but you’re having trouble focusing.  

There’s a thirst in Bucky’s eyes that matches the one making your nether regions throb.  God, how good would it be to strip off the Stark body armour underneath his vest.  Press your skin along the length of him and feel every hot, hard inch.  Too good. To be avoided, but beside you the metal hand flexes back and forth.  As if he’s read your mind.

“Soldier?”  Fury’s question drops like a bomb into your awareness.  Neither of you are listening, too aware of each other to focus on mundane things like strategy.    

“Umm, yeah…”  Buck licks his lips and starts again.  “I mean, no, I don’t know any more about that sleeper cell. 

Fury turns to rake you both with his good eye.  After one eternal minute, he shakes his head, looking more bemused than mad.  

“Get outta here.  Both of you.”

You don’t need to be told a second time.  

Buck stalks out into the hall and you follow, thinking how it was too close a call and you are pissed Hydra’s not backing down and goddammit why are the other agents letting these shitballs get so very close and it’s almost like you are vibrating 

Fuck.  Wrong choice of word.  

Your skin is positively alive with how aware of him you are, nerves jangled, sparking white hot arcs of lust, and then he has to make it worse.   He turns and devours you with those ocean eyes as he slams the button for the elevator.

Hard.  

With his prosthetic hand.

The thought of it on you again makes your bones almost liquefy.

“Steve’s off doing PR.”

The few spare words are said with a crooked grin, eyes challenging, and like lightening you are both struck on.  Somehow, your legs are wound about his waist, lips locked, your back up against the cool mirror of the elevator wall, so engrossed you don’t notice when the motion stops.  His metal arm bangs through the apartment and bedroom doors, makes the hinges scream in protest, and then without warning the axis of your world flips over.  You are both horizontal.  On the bed, frantically shedding clothes until his cock sinks into your molten core.  You arch your back with the utter bliss of it, strokes hard and fast and frenzied, rising higher and then, inexplicably, he stills; drags his lips off your nipple to stare intently at your face.  

“Y/N I ain’t gonna last.  I…”  

You open your eyes and catch his gaze.  His eyes are dark and wide and filled with wonder.  As caught off guard as you by the pure fury of the need– but oh you are not going there.  Not thinking about how right this feels, how close and perfectly in tune you are.  Nope. Nuh unh.  This is sex, not making love.  Scratching an itch.  Purely mechanical.    

“Bucky, move!”  

You flip up your hips just so, knowing instinctively what it will do to him, and pull his hip bones closer, tighter, until you’re both grinning and he’s moaning, long and low, shuddering as he spills and you come apart, shining in the afterglow.

This time you deliberately stay the night.  

You curl up into the crook of his flesh arm because you’re weak.  Just can’t pull yourself away.  It’s warm.  And easy. And some part of you wants the peace—for him and you.

When you eventually awaken, stiff and achy, smelling of sweat and musk and the haute perfume of the disguise you never bothered to wash off, the sun hasn’t risen yet. Bucky’s dead to the world, face soft and slack in sleep, so beautiful and vulnerable it almost hurts.

For a moment, breakfasting together flits across your brain, but no.  Way too risky.  Too much like normal couple life.

You slide out from under a heavy bicep and set your feet soundlessly on the chill of the floor, ignoring a lazy snuffle, but, by the time your shrug back on your (ridiculous) Dolce coat, the worry line has settled on his brow again.  

Damn. For a few precious hours, the perennial mark of his mistreatment had erased.  You want to run a finger down it, smooth away the shadowed ridge with a soft caress, but you do not dare.  That is exactly how another bonfire could ignite.

Instead, you gather up your rifle, activate the hologram and tip-toe away.  Like a thief in the night or a spy who’s set a honey trap.  

You text him ‘sweet dreams’ because this is not the bitch you want to be…  

————————-

The third time it happens—well, it’s just pure weakness…

You are, of necessity, an expert at disguise.  Part of a scout-sniper’s training is advanced stalking skills, keeping yourself hidden from a target just five feet away in rough open bush;  you’ve done that and mastered alternate camouflage for  downtown New York.  Four changes of outfit a day if Bucky’s going far.  Rocker grunge in ripped jeans and blue streaked hair.  Finance exec in Burberry trench and heels.  Thank heaven platform sneakers with lace and skirts are a thing; easier to run in those.  

Bucky may not pick you out, doesn’t know exactly where you are, but he knows you’re there.  Today, your hair is brown, next week redhead, after that could be pink: anything but your natural, and naturally noticeable, pale blonde.  It’s like a game—you hiding and him guessing where you might be.  He shows it (and how he’s memorized every conversation that you’ve had) in little actions meant just for you.

One morning, he ‘just happens’ to be forgetful and leaves a cup of mocha/hold-the-whip on the bench where he just sat.  Another scorching afternoon, he buys your favourite Oddfellows miso cherry cup and leaves it safely in the shade of a blue postbox.  Once, he spends two hours stalking every exhibit at the Met’s armory museum because you’d admitted you’ve never been.  (You like old rifles.  What can you say?)  

How can you not fall for this man?  He’s sweet and kind and deadly.  Wants the best thing for everybody if not for himself, and will soon become impossible to resist.  

Scratch that.  Is.  Is impossible to resist.  

Damn his super hearing.  One lunch strolling past Agent Provocateur, he catches your quiet sigh at something flirty but way, waaay out of your snack bracket and, the next thing you know, he’s marching into Victoria’s Secret.  Cruising the racks in exactly your right size.  Leaving the pink bag wedged behind a subway seat.  

Collecting it is just not wasting money, right?  

It goes on like this for weeks, until the day the teasing shit walks into Narcisse, buys chocolate body paint and leads you straight back in the direction of the Tower.

Oh god.  

This necessitates yet another reconnoiter with wardrobe at the safe house.  No one thinks twice about a well-groomed Chanel-suited woman visiting Tony Stark. 

When the morning comes and you crouch, hand poised above the new skimpy scrap of lace, silently agonizing whether to bring or leave, Bucky sits up in bed.  Confused. Dark hair temptingly messy and fingers reaching out.

“Y/N? Where’s the fire.  It’s early yet.”  

Fuck, he makes this so very hard.  Bucky wants something for himself and you want to give it, but this is, if not exactly wrong, so far from right.  

“Ah…” You don’t know what to say.  The sheets are rumpled low about his hips and the comforter sprawls across the floor.  He’d shoved it off.  Kneeling between your legs to plunder you mercilessly with his tongue.

Oh, Christ, Y/N, don’t think of that.

“I want to get in a run.”  The lie comes easily.  You hate running, but he doesn’t know that yet.

“Gonna hafta change those heels,” he chuckles, stretching languidly.  “You’ll need your coffee first.   Steve said he’d put some on first thing.”  

You pretend to relent, smile and plant the softest of kisses on the knotted scars of his shoulder.  

“See you later,” you murmur, intending to go straight on home, but Steve Rogers has other plans.  Ever the gentleman and always up with the birds, he’s made pancakes. And sausage.  And fruit salad with blueberries.

The table is already set for three.

In the awkward silence, he misunderstands why your mouth is open.  

“Syrup or sugar and lemon juice?  Buck’s mom was British.”  

The assumption you don’t understand the condiments is just too much.  Turning him down again would be far too rude.  

You sit, wrinkled disguise and all, and take a bite of bacon, realizing you have slept with the subject eight times over three different nights and you had no clue what his mother’s background was.  

The fact you want to know is somewhat startling.

From down the hall, you hear the whoosh of water beating down and an adorably off-tune whistle.  Your faithless libido says if you’d played your cards just right you’d be in there too. Soaping up his six pack and the dimples in his butt cheeks.  Going yet another round.  

Desperately, you hide your flaming cheeks in a perfectly foamy cappuccino, but Steve isn’t fooled.  

“You know,” he remarks, casually forking up the detritus of an entire fluffy stack.  “Buck never has nightmares when you are here.”

It’s a hard lesson, but one you obviously have to learn.   

Again.  

Never, never underestimate Captain America’s mastery of tactics.  

———————————–

A week, a month, and you fall into a routine. Bucky’s shadow in the day and his teddy bear at night.  A watcher on his six.  Fire when he needs it and softness when he does not. That he’s let down his guard and become intimate with someone shows just how far he’s come. A growing part of you wants to do this, cheer on every little bit of taking back himself; but another part says stop.

You pride yourself on your skill and professional approach.  Dispassionate execution.  It is part of the reason you are so very good.  You do not get distracted.  At all. You’ve got no baggage. No serious exes clutter up your past. You have not spoken to your folks in years (their commune frowns on ‘making war’).

It comes as something of a shock to need your daily dose of Buck.  Sarcastic jokes.  Lips like silk.  Muscles rippling underneath your touch.  

It shouldn’t matter but it does.  The mission is to protect him.  

Even if it means from yourself.  

———————————-

It is the shot, just a few centimeters stray, that settles things in your mind.  

Sure, everyone has rougher days. Aim a little off.  Skin jumpy and so tight it messes with your zen. But not you.  Never you.  Your concentration is absolute.  You just can’t miss and that is exactly why Coulson first brought you in.  Ms. Hill, in charge of Stark’s security, wants the best of the very best and you are it.  

Next to the man you are sworn to protect.

Barton’s grinning and looking at the minor spread on the target sheet, leaning casually on his bow. “What are you thinking of, Y/N?“ he laughs, blue eyes sliding up to your face.  “Sure ain’t your work.”  

Your cheeks flame up.  He doesn’t mean it.  This is Clint never passing up a chance to take the piss but still it gets your brain cells firing.  What were you thinking of?   Slim hips in black tac pants.  A stubbled, chiseled jaw.  Silver fingers cradling the barrel of a gun.

Shit.

Bucky’s standing not ten feet away in the next corral and, fuck, you can’t help yourself.  It’s the first time you’ve seen him all that day and the need flares up; wild and feral and messing with your head.  You want to know how he’s doing.  Ask about his bout with Steve, see if he wants to grab some lunch, make sure he’s eating right because he’s looking a little hollow in the cheeks and…  

Stop.  

You’re shocked and frankly terrified.  Is this love?  Infatuation? A school-girl crush?  Your heart is raw but what is this for him?  A diversion?  Something steady?  You have no idea, you don’t get much time to talk but you know what it shouldn’t be: too serious.  He is still recovering. You’re his rebound and it isn’t healthy.  Buck needs to date casually, get a better sense of himself and Jesus fucking Christ he is your job.

If Coulson or Fury find out, they’re entitled to put you on report.  A black mark on your copybook.   Though that isn’t what’s got you truly rattled.

You have to be a perfect shot.

For him.

His life depends upon it.

When you finally find the courage to rip the bandage off, you learn first hand that bullshit in Russian has an awfully familiar tone.

Bucky’s a solid wall of disagreement, arms crossed over his chest.  “Babe, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

“It does.”  You raise your chin.  “I am here to protect you.  I can’t do that when my focus is…distracted.”  

“It’s not that way for Nat and Clint.”

Really?  You file that new tidbit of gossip away for more analysis, but still have to regretfully shake your head.  “Not the same. They’re a team, trained to work in tandem.  This is different.”

“It’s not.”  

“It is.”

“Not true.”  

His certainty that you’ll relent begins to melt away. “Y/N, don’t do this.  I thought we had something. Were working on it.  Can be something more.”  

“Please.”

He falls silent in the face of your hard bitten stare.  Lost eyes dark and pleading.  More like a kicked puppy than a famous murderbot, but still you hold.    

You can’t.  You wish you could, but no.  

“It has to be this way for me.”  

To blunt the hurt, you stretch up on tip-toe to press a delicate apology to his lips.  

Bucky flinches, acting like your kiss has broken him and his reaction is breaking you.

‘I thought we had something?’

The accusation rings in your ears all the days to come, but even tears don’t put the heart fires out.

——————————-

You do your job.  Break down and reassemble your gun for the soothing repetition.  Keep well away.  Do exactly what you need to do and not one iota more, but watching him all day is torture.  

Both of you are miserable.

You hide it.  Bucky not so much.  His blue eyes lose their spark;  become haggard and bloodshot.  You know you’ve put the dark bags there, but at least they’re there, you tell yourself when another hit gets foiled.

Everybody notices.  On those rare times you have to be in the Tower, Steve remains so professionally polite and clipped it’s just like being shot.  Next to him, no one knows.  You sit, mute and hurting, inconveniently placed beside Pepper and Maria at a SHIELD event, taking in Natasha’s blistering attack on ‘the gold dipped bitch’ who’s hurt her friend.  They know Bucky, too.  How much the silent, morose Soldier is a capitulation; how working through hurt makes it harder for him to keep the last dregs of Hydra programming at bay.  You hate yourself for it. But there really is no other way and now you realize, it’s getting harder.  Your concentration’s worse if anything and it would be kinder to stop torturing you both.    

The sick reality falls like lead into your stomach. 

You can’t be there at all.  

————————-

You never planned to work for SHIELD.  

You’d enlisted at age eighteen because with no formal schooling and no degree, Uncle Sam was the only outfit that would promise you a job. Your long-honed hunting skills were evident in basic; refined in sniper school until you were something of a legend. You’d set your heart on Special Ops, did every extra ribbon and rotation but still were not sent to the front. Women were not then given combat roles. It sucked.  And if your superiors were sympathetic, they still attached you to endless close protection details. Sent you to the AMU competitions.  Ignored your increasingly strident, respectful pleas for reassignment until you’d thrown your resignation papers down and marched straight off the base.

Seemed like just minutes passed before a bland, grey-suited man tapped you on the shoulder.

“Miss Y/N?” said Philip Coulson with a smile. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

Nick Fury is the best boss you’ve never officially had, because sometimes your Army cover is somewhat helpful and Phil swiftly arranged for your resignation papers disappear.  

The rest is history.

——————————

“You want to be reassigned.”

“Yes, Sir.”

You will not squirm, but the Director, away from prying ears in his secure coordination room, is fixing you with his patented thousand-metre stare.  “You really want to go back to Fort Bragg and do paperwork?  Get trotted out when they need an affirmative action photo shoot?”

You groan. Ugh. They will and you know it, but anywhere than SHIELD is the objective.  Better a clean break, you think, but Fury’s not done with you yet.  

“I hear the First Daughter had some death threats.  FBI’s asked us if we can spare a gun. We could reassign you to Sparrow’s detail.”  

Oh fuck no.  The President’s petulant and self-absorbed teenager burns through agents faster than she raids Bloomingdales.  

It takes everything in you to do that nod.

Fury’s one visible eyebrow nearly hits the roof.  “You are serious.”

“Sir. I am.”  You’ve called his bluff.  You stand to attention and wait for it.  The serious suggestion you know is coming.  

“Thing is, Y/N, we were going to recommend you for a new assignment,” Fury paces, hands behind his back and shoulders to the view.  “It involves training.  As hard as anything you’ve done.”

Really?  You’re skeptical. You’ve done the Rangers even if they didn’t let you in the field. Toughed it out with the toughest the Army had.  

What he says next, nearly has your jaw upon the floor.

“We want you permanently cross-posted to the Advanced Threat Containment Unit.  Watch Sergeant Barnes full time.  Close in as he transitions to his next new role.”  

Surprise makes you blurt out the first thing in your head.  “You can’t mean on combat missions?!”

“Mhmm.”  

But that means…  “You’re sending Bucky back into the field!”

“Got a problem with that, Corporal?”  

Your mouth is hanging open.  “But you can’t…”

‘I don’t do that anymore’ rings in your ears.

“You’re going to let him…”

Fury looks, not mad, but entirely amused. “Not do assassinations, no. But let him train and participate.” 

“You can’t,” you stubbornly repeat.  He’s stupidly reckless.  Prone to throwing himself headlong into everything. Not completely healed.  “Not ready,” you finish lamely. 

“You disagree with the psych eval?” 

You shuffle your feet.  This is thin ground. SHIELD does not employ folks with fake degrees.   “No, Sir.” 

The Director smiles, as warmly as you’ll get.  Which is to say, about as a warm as a melting icecube.  “Good. Sergeant Barnes needs someone who has his back and Captain Rogers can’t do that leading from the front.”  

So true.   But also why Bucky shouldn’t be out at all.  “Sir, he forgets…”  To care about himself enough.  

“Precisely why I’ve suggested you be assigned.  You are the best markswoman we have got.  Look, I’m not entirely happy with this either, but he can’t sit and knit forever.  Stark says he’s ready.  The -ologists say he’s ready.  And he’s spending his days moping around the compound too much.”  You wince inside, knowing the cause of that.   “Getting some of his own back might even help.”  

It might.  

And someone will try to take Bucky out again.

And he will be focused on everything but himself.

Shit.  

There is no choice.  

You know you can keep him safe.

Fury, the bastard, just stands and cracks his deaths-head grin.

 ———————————

Training with the Avengers is more brutal than anything you’ve done.

Steve’s in charge, and Nat.  Both merciless.  Both focused on honing you into something more than a gun.  It’s brutal and physical but that isn’t the hardest part.

Bucky is there training, too.  

It feels like being a cat on a hot tin roof.  Circling each other.  Carefully.  Two negative terminals on a magnet—repelling as far away as they can get.  

“Corporal.”

“Sergeant.”  

You’ve said no and Bucky is bending over backwards to be polite and perfectly correct.  No physical contact outside sparring.  No first names unless you can help it.  No interaction at all, outside missions, to be honest.  Tony, oblivious (at least you think he is), organizes movie nights and BBQs that you mostly miss.  You follow Buck’s lead, keep yourself more closed than usual.  Socialize with your old SHIELD squad when you can, haunt your room when there is no time.  

It takes a toll.  

You are not, by nature, a recluse but this is how it has to be. You can’t stand the brief flashes of disappointment in Bucky’s eyes, the wariness with which he interacts.  They cut at your resolve. Shred it, until you’re forced to shut out everything but mission goals. 

They come and go.  Days. Weeks.  The strain coils higher, but you tell yourself you are doing it for him: the man whose eyes haunt your waking moments. You become a shell, sapped of life and desiccated, but each shot is crisp and clean.  This makes it right, but not natural. Eventually, you switch roles like understudies in a play.  He is the pro, silent and efficient as he does his job, while you are the damaged one, snapping at every little thing, recklessly taking risks, heedless of your own safety.  

It all seems worthwhile until the day you walk silently up the empty ramp for the Quinjet and find Steve and Sam huddled by the cockpit.

They don’t hear you slide like a shadow into your berth.

“His nightmares are getting worse.”  

Sam whistles low. “Worse? Man, they were bad before.”

Steve slowly shakes his head. “It’s like Wakanda before he went in cryo.  I honestly don’t know how he is even functioning.”    

“Yeah.  But the shit truth is there nothing you or I can do about it.”  Sam sounds resigned.  “Unless he comes clean on what it is that’s eating at him, and you know he won’t do that easily. Dude’s too stubborn.”

“He’s not the only one.”  

Steve, you realize later, says this for you.  His eyes bore like a laser into your forehead when he comes over to sit down, shrugging his five-point harness on.  

“Corporal.” 

“Captain.”  

“You good?”

“Yes, Sir.”

You fiddle unnecessarily with the heat shield on your stock.  Out of the corner of one eye, you can see him frown, loop his fingers into his belt and sigh, but you know he won’t call you out, won’t give away your private business to anyone.  Still, the optimist in him can’t help but hope.  Steve Rogers is really like a giant collie dog that shepherds a whole flock of misfits—he isn’t happy unless everyone’s set right; and you and Buck are waay out on the fringe.  It feels as if the solid, brooding bulk of his suit is willing you to change your mind. But you are stubborn.

(A trait that you and Bucky share, along with snark and an obsession with perfect lattes.) 

While you wait for everyone to load, you keep your head down and bite your lip, worrying about what you’ve heard.  Fuck, if Buck’s not sleeping that makes both of you, and to do this job you need to be on. You’re good.  You’re fine, you can tolerate a little sleep deprivation, but Bucky—that’s not right. Years of cryo and mind-wipes have messed with the circuitry.  He needs sleep to heal, more than most, and you shake your head, knee vibrating like Clint’s bowstring, dreading but anxiously awaiting for him to load.  

You don’t have long to wait.  Nat and Clint clatter past and take the pilot seats, Tony swans through and starts briefing Steve with last-minute intel and then Bucky’s there. Stowing his gun and hiding behind a fall of dark, lank hair.  You’re shocked.  It’s been a week since you saw him last, in the common room, but oh god he is worse. Clearly.  He barely responds when Clint does a system check. Grunts at Steve’s chirpy welcome. Falls into his seat across from you and that’s when it starts.  The sense of failure.  The hurt that the brutal truth is you are making this all worse; doing exactly what you had wanted to avoid.

Bucky’s not safer with you there.  He’s more in danger and the knowledge of it sucks out all the oxygen.

You spend the three-hour trip and first half hour of the ensuing firefight under water, surfacing for precious gulps of air between the mounting pressure in your chest; like your harness is strapped down way too tight.  

You thought that you’d be helping him, but oh, Y/N, you are really not.  

You need to leave.

Entirely.

Goddamn it hurts, but you have no time.  The heinous bastards who have grabbed a SHIELD tracking station have their dander up, are resisting with all they’ve got and you need to be on your game following as Bucky’s cover.  You leap and sight, neutralize another target still feeling like you can’t get air, watching his lithe form duck and roll, mercilessly slamming a terrorist to the ground.  

His face is all dark angles and unhappy shadows.  Lined and smudged, a ghost of the man who’d smiled, run his fingers through your hair, gently nuzzling at your neck  

“Babe, I could stay this way forever.”

The flash of memory is like a sucker punch to the gut.  

You’ve screwed this whole thing up.  

Can’t do your fucking job cuz you gave in and slept with the man who is your mission and now you’re… what?  

Miserable in his company.  Miserable without.

In love.

Fuck.

This is not how things should be.…  

You’re drowning in the unhappiness, but even with a red haze of doomed understanding filtering across your gaze, you can’t not see it.

The motherfucker three hundred yards away taking aim at Bucky’s head 

You need to pot the asshat now–but your view is obstructed by the base’s cell tower and, so, you leap out, aim and squeeze, heedless of your own back.  The concrete behind the man’s dead eyes neatly disintegrates in a spray of elegant debris and your world dissolves in a rain of stabbing hurt, like a whole river of gravel is fired from the sky.  

You fall.  

There’s a roaring in your ears and the breathlessness is getting worse.  Iron and smoke tinge the soup of dust and rock and gas that your lungs don’t want to breathe. Concussion grenade, must be: and, at first, you struggle, but the twisted beam that roofs your little world won’t even shift.  It’s close, pressing on your chest and you will yourself to fight the panic down.  Don’t disturb it.  Don’t make the situation worse.  You want to laugh at that—fuck no—all you do is make situations worse— but the breath in hurts like full-on hell.  

That has to be good, doesn’t it?  It’s when you don’t feel anything you’re going down…

Ok.. just…lie.  Breathe… take inventory. There’s a trickle of blood running from your hair down through your eyes: you can taste it upon your tongue.  Your left hand stings, but your right is just lying here. Numb. Not moving. Broken probably, but that is the least of your concerns.

The pressure of the beam bears down steadily.

And with it your space to get some air.  

“Y/N!”

From somewhere to your left there comes a voice.  Faint and muffled.  As if someone is shouting way way far away and you realize—this is it.  You are going to die.  No ones gonna arrive in time but weirdly you are ok.  Bucky is allright.  You saw him flip and roll away.  That’s good…that’s everything.  You cough on the settling dust and steel and try to take shallower breaths.  Your heart’s too fast and the air’s too thin and you close your eyes.  Float, indistinct at the edges.  Nothing hurts too much right now.  It’s good. You can close your eyes and drift away.  

“Y/N!”

This time the call is muffled but louder: anguished, as if everything in the world is wrong.

A chunk of steel is wrenched away and for the first time a patch of light shines through the dim.  

“Y/N, are you hurt?!”

You blink through the blood that gums your lashes.  Bucky’s there.  Shoulders wedged into the impossibly tiny space, eyes wide with something you are sure you have never seen.

Fear.

You want to ease his mind, but words are a little hard.  “I’m ok,” comes out more wheeze than whisper.

“Hang on, we’re gonna get you out.”  Bucky barks into the comms for Sam, and help, and oxygen.  He turns and gingerly shoves aside the loose jagged chunks of steel to make a little space.  When there’s a hand’span of pavement clear, he dips down on his left, grimacing and flexing up against the beam.  

There’s a slow metallic groan, an endless pause, but eventually it lifts just barely. 

But sadly not enough.  

The fuzzy world is whiting out, dissolving in a ring of sparks.

“Y/N!”  He frees a hand, shakes you roughly and sends a lance of agony through your chest.  “Stay with me, babe, stay with me.  Cavalry is coming.”  

But we don’t have any horses…  

The wry smile on his face is blurry.  You must have whispered this out loud.  He closes his eyes, resets his metal hand down against the pavement.  Flexes up again.  “Aiighhh!”

The monumental effort gains another precious millimeter and the sparkly whiteness starts to fade to the indigo of his vest.

“What? Can’t you hear the hoofbeats?”  Bucky is shaking, sweat beading on his brow but above there is a whoosh and the carbon ion smell of repulsor jets.

“Got it, Barnes!”

“Took you long enough!”  Bucky sags just slightly, protecting you in case something shifts, but mercifully the metal does not move.  

Sam is crouched behind.  You dimly hear his coolly calm instructions. “Barnes, don’t let her move. Pretty sure those ribs are broken.  Can’t risk a pneumothorax.”  Bucky squeezes out, disappears through the gap but is quickly back again, metal fingers softly pressing a cannula to your nose.  The dizziness fades some more.

“Better?”  His Brooklyn accent aches with hopefulness.  

You nod, warily taking a deeper breath, feeling clean, cool air rush in. Fuck its good but lord it hurts.  At least the world does not swim.  Bucky reaches to brush some damp strands from off your brow and Sam passes a pad into the gap.  You hiss as he presses the treated gauze over the worst of the cut.  “Sorry.  Sorry.”

He glances around the narrow space.  You’re basically in a coffin.  Just wide enough for your hips and long enough for your feet.  When you flex your foot, your toes touch something that feels smooth.  A dish? A beam?  The girders of the tower have toppled like a marionette’s arms and legs when the control strings have been cut.  “Gonna take a bit to cut this mess.  Properly, so it doesn’t shift.”

Bucky’s right, but you’re worrying about the waste of time.  “Is it safe? The cell?”

You mean the rogue Hydra group, the reason why you’re here, because if it’s not, Jesus, you are going to thump him hard.  You’re useless pinned.  But if there’s shooting still going on…

“Relax, babe, we got ‘em.  That grenade was their hail mary pass and it’s failed.  Steve and Clint and Nat are mopping up.”

Thank God.  Some of the tension bleeds away, like steam from a radiator.  You shiver, shock starting to set in, and, tenderly, he drapes you with a silver thermal blanket.  It’s better, but now it’s time to wait.  Bright arcs of light shine through the cracks and you know Tony is working as fast as he can, but still it’s hard.  You’ve been strong forever, but the fear you’ve held a bay is now too much with Bucky near.  

A whimper escapes your lips.

“Shushhh, baby,” he croons, leaning near to cup your cheek with a warm hand. “I’m not going anywhere.   It’s all gonna be ok.”  But it really isn’t.  His other one, metal reflecting Tony’s blazing work, keeps stroking your tangled hair.  This close you can see a forest of tiny scrapes and nicks and cuts upon his dusty skin.

And the ever present smudges of tired grey below his eyes.

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”  You’re stammering.  You’ve been selfish, you see that now. Doing what you thought right and best for him. Totally certain you had to be the one to help and all the time the ache of want has never stopped.  

It doesn’t matter.  You need to be strong for him.  Move on and let someone else have the watch.  

“I can’t do this anymore.”    

You’re not sure what you are speaking of: holding yourself together while he kneels and strokes your face, or staying at his side.  Both make sense.  The sounds of working are getting louder.  “Barnes, I’m almost through,” crackles through the link.  

A cool metal finger strokes your brow.  “Hey, not much longer now.”

You turn your head, catch the light in his worried eyes. “No..us, side by side.”  

There, you’ve said it.  SHIELD med will patch you up. Ship you out to base where you can crumble into dust somewhere on your own.

It’s brutal but better than being an irritant.  Scratching endlessly at the scab of him.  

“Goddammit, Y/N. You don’t have to go.”  

His growl is not hurt but sheer frustration.  There’s a storm in his eyes and in the flat set of his frown.  Bucky wriggles a little closer in, cradles you like the most precious thing in all the world.   “Fuck, it takes this battered brain a while, but, babe, you gotta hear me out.  I get it now.  You’re terrified that serving alongside someone who means too much makes you vulnerable.  Messes with your skills–but it doesn’t have to be that way.  There’s a shakedown sure, for a little while, but Clint and Nat–they manage.  Wanda manages with Viz.  Steve works alongside me and we may not be lovers but our bond is just as strong.” His lips pull into the saddest smile. “I fucking need you. You. Y/N. Not the Corporal with the medals.  I need you everywhere.  At night, when the monsters in my head crowd close and, in the day, when I need a snarky smile.  You are best thing I have had in my life and I can’t let that go.”  

Bucky’s face is almost pressed against your cheek.  It’s that smile, soft and warm, and just for you.  

Fire in the night and a watcher on your six.  

“I’ve tried, Doll, I really have, but it just doesn’t work. I need you, complicated as it is. And I won’t let you give up on us. Not without trying, anyway.”  

His whisper is rough with meaning.  He huffs out a little sigh and presses an achingly gentle kiss across your bloodied lips.

This time his kiss breaks you….

——————–

tags:  @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan  @theycallmebecca @mewsiex @emilyevanston @mycapt-ohcapt  @pegasusdragontiger  @winters-beauty

@badassbaker @heather-lynn @saffreelove @loricameback @nomadicpixel @missfirstavenger @prplprincez @marvel-lucy

[blatherkatt]

Well, Hey, If You Need A Wingman

Summary: In which Rose is a useless lesbian, John is a dirty ice cream stealer, and Kanaya doesn’t actually have any dialogue and may have forgot to take the whites out of the wash. Contains Rosemary, John and Rose friendship, and a good old dose of the Sexuality Panics. [humanstuck fluff] 

“—Nope, I’m paying and that’s final!” John’s voice rang into the ice cream shop, nearly drowning out the bell as he swung the door open.

“John, really, it’s not that big of a deal,” Rose insisted, but John shook his head adamantly.

“Nuh-uh! We’re celebrating! I don’t care if fourth place isn’t considered a big winner, you still placed in a national contest, and I thought your entry was really cool! I mean, it was kinda hard to read, sure, but whatever, it’s worth celebrating, so I’m buying!”

“It was hardly my best work, honestly,” said Rose. She’d already had to deal with her mother being somewhat obnoxious about Rose’s modest entry into a national contest for high school works of fiction, but, well, at least John was keeping his own version of commemoration rather quiet. She still hardly felt it was necessary, though. For goodness’ sakes, she’d written the piece long enough ago that she felt hardly any attachment to it, now…

John was already busily looking at the options available. There were some with peanuts, which was a little worrying, but he’d come prepared with a bit of emergency medication if it came to that, and made sure to warn the vendor as he folded the newspaper he’d been reading. He waved Rose over, insistently. Honestly, he really hadn’t understood the story she’d written at all, but it was still cool that she’d placed so high in a competition with so many entries. And, well, more than that, it was a good excuse to get Rose out of the house for something other than school! She’d been so stuck in her own head lately, and he was really hoping some fun out and about would help her relax a little, or at the very least give him a clue as to what was eating her.

With a roll of her eyes, Rose finally caved in and picked out her own dish. When John paid, the worker said, “Have a nice date!” in a perky voice, and Rose surprised John by responding almost too quickly.

“We’re not dating,” she said, her voice flat. She picked up her dish and informed John that she was going to pick out a table, whatever it was that was on her mind lately clearly coming back in full force. John winced, stammered out an apology to the server, and hurried to sit himself next to her in the booth she’d chosen (but not too close! Didn’t wanna make it weird, after all).

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked.

“Perfectly fine,” said Rose. “It’s a lovely day out, and I’m spending it with my very dear friend. What on Earth could I have to be unhappy about.” She sounded just a touch bitter as she said it.

John twirled his spoon around in his bowl, nervous. “I, uh, I’ve noticed you’ve been kinda off lately. Is it, um…Oh, has your mom been doing that thing again where she acts like we’re gonna get married just cuz we grew up together? I know that annoys you—“

“That’s not…exactly it,” she said. “It’s related, technically, I suppose, but…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, John, it’s…It’s very personal. I’m fine, really I am.”

“Is it about wizards?” he grinned, knowing that he was giving her a free pass to change the subject. “Did Gandalf fall down a hole again, is that it?”

She flashed him a grateful look, and took it. Better to waste time shooting the breeze about something meaningless than to spend it talking about her thoughts as of late. “Oh, hardly,” she said. “Please, Lord of the Rings may have been foundational, but we can’t spend all our time dwelling on our founders, Genres move on, John. Honestly, update your references.”

John laughed. “Yeah, sorry, silly of me. I oughtta be talking about your goofy wizards! Like, uh, Zazzlepants?”

“Zazzerpan. John, really, I could’ve done much better than that thing I threw together for this competition, you don’t have to force yourself to bring up something so trite. Anyway, I’ve since moved on to more interesting fictional wizards in my own works.”

“Well, tell me about them!”

Rose sighed, her exasperation mostly pretend. It really had been too long since the two of them had just hung out, and it was nice to have someone to share these things with who didn’t feel the need to mock them for being admittedly deeply self-indulgent. Conversation carried on as she described the rough outline for the grand story she’d begun to envision, coupled with the occasional breaks to eat a bit of their ice cream, or for John to crack a joke (one of which actually inspired some very real plot development, she’d have to scribble it down somewhere before she forgot).

And then, she walked in, and the world ground to a stop.

John was still babbling on about how, in his opinion, the wizards ought to stop trying to beat Calmasis with trials of wits, since Calmasis was obviously a genius, and should instead just prank them so hard they had to give up in shame, but Rose suddenly couldn’t take her eyes away from the new customer who’d just entered the tiny ice cream parlor. This wasn’t the first time their paths had almost crossed, leading Rose to believe the girl lived somewhere in the area, but each time, Rose had felt her breath taken away. So lovely was she, always with her stunningly green eyes and her always elegant clothing, she might have passed for something straight out of a painting—especially after she picked out her ice cream and sat down alone at a table some distance away from Rose and John, perched with her spoon resting temptingly on her lip for just a moment, the light from the window casting her into tones of ethereal beauty, highlighting her wistful gaze at the world beyond…

“What are we looking at?” spoke John in a stage whisper, right next to Rose’s ear, causing her to nearly jump. Realizing her mistake—staring in public, with John right there, God, she’d nearly given everything away!—she tried to pull herself together, fighting the blush that threatened to creep across her cheeks.

John tipped his head, now feeling a little worried. If it’d been Dave, he wouldn’t have thought anything of his friend zoning out all the sudden, but this was Rose! “Are you okay?” he asked. “You seem real distracted all the sudden!”

“No, I’m quite alright,” she said, trying a little too hard to be chipper and fooling no one. She stirred her ice cream, now seeming like she was trying not to look the way she had before. John looked over that way himself again, but he didn’t see anything weird this time, either. Just some girl who’d walked in a few minutes ago, sitting sorta awkwardly by herself and looking maybe a little lonely. Other than that, there was nothing over that way, just empty tables and a big framed black-and-white photo of a historical building. John never got why some places did that, it was sorta weird.

He looked back at Rose again, and caught her sneaking another glance at the girl, before quickly turning back to her ice cream. And just like that, it clicked.

“As to your suggestion, I’ll certainly take the idea into consideration,” she said, “But the trouble with it is that Calmasis is—“

“Oooh, I think I know what’s going on,” John said, grinning.

“Well, of course you do, I’ve just laid out for you the entire rough plot I currently have set down of what may well be my magnum opus.” She was really talking fast, pretty obviously trying to derail him, but John would not be swayed! “I’d feel insulted if you didn’t know what was going on, as it would mean that I’d either failed to explain, or that you’ve not been paying attention.”

He snorted. “Not with that, I mean what’s going on with you! You like her, don’t you?”

Rose dropped her spoon, startled. Bingo. The look she gave him was real scared, though, so he added on quickly, “I’m not gonna be weird about it, promise! I won’t tell anyone!”

Tension drained out of her with a relieved sigh. “I’m…thank you, for that,” she said, picking her spoon up and stirring her ice cream again. “It’s been a rather…recent realization, and I’m still sorting out that I’m…you know, gay.” She looked around nervously as she said the word, fearing someone might be watching, but the shop had only three customers, and the server was quite occupied with the Sunday comics. She let out a breath she’d been unaware she’d been holding. “I’ve no idea how I’m going to tell mother, nevermind the rest of the world, so I’ve been keeping it to myself for now.”

“For what it’s worth,” John said, “I think I only figured it out because of how you’ve been looking at her. I had no idea thats what this was about! Sorry you’ve been dealing with it alone.”

Rose sighed, and nearly cursed herself for how lovelorn it must have sounded. “How can I not stare at her? Look at her, she’s like something straight from some gothic romance, an enchantress here to draw away the unsuspecting into her dark embrace, some unknowable entity full of knowledge mere mortals could understand…”

(John just thought she looked mostly like she’d forgotten something and was trying to remember what it was, but he let Rose keep talking. Gosh, she was adorable right now.)

“—She’s something sublime, in the sense of—oh, Jesus, stop looking, she’s turning this way, stop looking!” Rose turned her face down, suddenly intently focused on her ice cream again. John looked away too, but hazarded a glance out of the corner of his eye and saw that the girl wasn’t looking at them at all, she’d just sorta turned to look at one of the black-and-white photos on the wall.

“You should go talk to her,” said John.

“I-I couldn’t!” Rose hissed.

“Why not?”

“She’s a complete stranger! I’m not—I couldn’t bother her, it’d be, be, be uncouth, I’d be a nuisance!”

John rolled his eyes. “Rose, she wouldn’t mind, I’m sure of it! I mean, when I wanna be left alone while eating, I hunch over and eat fast and stare at my phone, you know? But she looks really bored, and she’s eating super slow—I think she’s taken maybe three bites of her sherbet this whole time? You should totally ask her to come over and sit with us, see if she wants some company!”

“I couldn’t possibly…”

“Sure you could! Go for it!”

Rose bit her lip. “I don’t even know how I’d engage the conversation in the first place…”

John laughed. “Just say you like her shirt or something, I dunno. Rose, c’mon, you’re like, one of the best people with words I know! You can handle one conversation!”

“No one can be eloquent in the face of the very goddess of beauty, John.”

“Oh my God, Rose, she’s just a person. I bet you she’s just been trying to figure out if she turned the lights out at home before she left this whole time, you goof. She’s not gonna bite you just for talking to her! Who knows, maybe she likes girls, too, and you guys’ll hit it off!”

“Let’s not get carried away, now,” Rose said, having to force down a blush that threatened to consume her whole face. Still, she’d be lying if she tried to claim that John wasn’t starting to wear her down—perhaps there was a chance, and if she did invite the girl to sit with them as John had suggested, it wouldn’t be as if she needed to take on the entirety of this first conversation alone…

John nudged Rose with his elbow. “Go on! You got this, and I got your back! Go talk to her!”

She took a deep breath. “Alright,” she said. “Alright, I’m going for it.” She stood up, hardened her resolve…and turned back, just for a moment, to fix John with a long and meaningful look as she said, “Thank you.”

He grinned, flicked her a thumbs up, and, as soon as she started talking to the girl, stole a big spoonful of her ice cream.