#I just wanted like the tiniest tidbit of information

[nyxlarkyn]

I'm so Sorry Y'all

I was just so hungry for a breadcrumb

[riahlynn101]

"Just Breathe" (2).

This is my second attempt at writing the second chapter. The other one included All for One not being beaten up, Izuku not in pain, and the tasing of a certain, annoying vestige.

Be forewarned, Izuku does not have a good time here.

Trigger warning: Extreme violence, major character death, possessive behavior, and implied child abuse.

Chapter 2

--

“You aren’t Yoichi,” All for One says.

“An astute observation.” First kicks at the ground. “Actually it’s a lot more nuanced than that. I guess I’m as similar to your brother as you are to the All for One quirk. So, I suppose it all depends on how you look at it.”

“You aren’t Yoichi,” All for One repeats. “He would have stopped this. Izu- Deku wouldn’t have ended up like this.” It doesn’t escape his notice how Yoichi’s brother cringes slightly at Ninth’s hero name. 

“I’m not, though, as you have bluntly pointed out.”

“This is between me and you.”

Nana stalks forward, hackles raised. 

“Tell that to my husband!” She yells. Banjo and Third hold her back from attacking. “Tell that to my son!” She continues to shout, tears streaming down her face. 

All for One watches her display with a hint of amusement in his blood red eyes. Even bargaining for his son’s life, he can't help himself. 

First sighs, tired.

Once a bastard, always a bastard.

“My family!” Nana sobs, sliding to the ground. Banjo pats her on the back. 

First steps in front of Nana, blocking All for One’s view. “Enough,” he starts, succeeding in getting the man’s attention back on him, “we’ve waited a long time. Passing this power down in hopes of destroying your- you….in hopes of destroying you .”

“I see,” All for One drawls out. “Took quite a long time.”

First shakes off Yoichi’s brother’s comment. A dig at their individual and combined abilities, as well as a subtle way to burrow under his skin. 

“As fun as that sounds, I have other obligations,” All for One says. 

“What?” Second asks, and First sends a glare his way that he pointedly ignores, “to retrieve your son that you abandoned ?” 

All for One flinches back as if burned. A hurt expression takes over his face. He clenches his teeth, eyes burning craters into them. “Do. Not.”

“But that’s what happened isn’t it?” First pushes further. Nothing like this-in all their shared memories-has ever happened before. 

Sometimes he watches the others' memories - nothing super personal or gross. They act as long movies, offering little tidbits of information about his fam- co workers. Like, through watching her memories, he learned that Nana originally had a fear of the dark. So, he makes sure that there’s a light source always on when she’s around. 

Or when he learned that Banjo feels proud of ‘Black Whip’ and loves sharing it with other people (though a little less literal when he was alive). And-since his own passing-is always the first to greet a new arrival, so First may have, potentially allowed him to speak with Ninth first. Of course there’s the matter of Izu- Ninth manifesting Black Whip before any others, so really it’s smart to have Banjo greet him first. 

But you should have seen the fight that that decision caused…..he nearly smiles at the memory, but stops himself. 

That, he reminds himself, wasn’t real. None of it was real. 

He swallows, the action unnecessary, and smirks at All for One. A near perfect mirror to the one the man had been wearing not three seconds prior. 

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Truth? What truth?” All for One scoffs. “I didn’t leave them, because I wanted to. I left them because someone, not going to name names, punched my face off!”

“And?” Second asks. “Based on the kid’s feelings and tendency to attach himself to any and all adults that show the tiniest bit of care towards him, you never made an effort to keep in contact with him.”

“I…I thought he was better off not hearing from me. I wrote to my wife often, and she gave me little updates here and there about his well-being.” His voice sounds strained, like he’s doing everything in his power to not show how much this situation is affecting him.

First’s nonexistent heart clenches painfully. He pushes it down. “Regardless,” he starts, “of how we got here, it all ends today.”

As Second turns back around to face their collective nemesis, First reaches down to where little Ninth lay. He kneels next to the boy. His face looks so peaceful, and not for the first time he is reminded of how young the latest One for All successor is. He comforts himself with the thought that, after all is said and done, they can see the boy again in the vestige realm. Yes, he thinks to himself, stroking the boy’s face, they’ll comfort and soothe little Ninth. They’ll care for him better than the boy’s own parents. 

(Not that that’s necessarily hard, considering their competition is a supervillain and a woman who isn’t here right now. Unfair, a voice whispers in the deeper part of his consciousness, of course she isn’t here. She’s a civilian! ) 

These thoughts comfort First enough to proceed with the plan. He daydreams of holding the ninth, cradling the boy - younger than he appears right now - in his arms. He’s always wanted a child, and he’s not averse to taking Yoichi’s brother’s. Besides, he reasons, after Ninth passes away he’ll need a lot of extra comfort. 

“I do apologize for this, Ninth.” 

He clamps a hand over the boy’s forehead. 

In the second between tightening his hold and the next, Ninth is writhing in agony. A scream escapes from his mouth. First murmurs another apology, loosening his hold, and carding a deceptively gentle hand through Ninth’s curls. 

A bright light radiates from the boy. It draws everyone’s attention, including All for One. 

“Izuku!” The fiend yells out, forgetting their current situation. “My son!” 

Something deep, deep down within First reacts to his tone of voice. A small voice in his head whispers that this isn’t right. That the price to be rid of such a terrible person shouldn’t include the blood and sacrifice of someone they all hold so close to their hearts. 

He smirks, but the smug feeling is only surface level. Again, he runs a hand through the boy’s hair. Ninth winces away, face scrunching up. A whimper escapes him.

First ignores this, powering through. Already he can feel Ninth’s life force giving him his physical form back. Judging by the pleasantly surprised faces on the others, it’s safe to say they’re feeling similar effects.

“Leave him be!” All for One holds out a hand, threatening them. “Get away from him!” 

“No,” First says, starting to hum a lullaby under his breath to Ninth. Just because this is necessary to beat Yoichi’s brother, doesn’t mean that little Ninth has to suffer alone. He remembers, from Yoichi’s memories, a time where he himself longed for the times where his (read: Yoichi’s) older brother would comfort him. Singing lullabies and reading stories to distract him (again read: Yoichi - because he isn’t Yoichi; he can’t be. He refuses to be. Being Yoichi means he’s willing to hurt his nephew; his only family member that isn’t dead or batshit insane.) from the pain of being chronically ill. 

“Must hurt, huh?” First taunts, secure in the knowledge that he’s finally getting under All for One’s skin. “Finally being on the other side of all the pain you’ve caused. Because be rest assured, this all could have been avoided. All of this pain and suffering that Ninth is going through is simply a testament to your legacy of blood.”

-x-x-x-

Izuku cuddles up to Tenko. The two boys sit up against a wall, trying to keep each other somewhat warm. 

Izuku has almost fallen into a second dream state, head lolling onto Tenko’s shoulder, when a sudden spike of pain hits him like a freight train. Now, he’s no stranger to pain. Breaking his bones is practically a hobby to him. But this is different, it’s somehow worse in every single way. 

A terrible white hot sensation fills his entire being, deeper than his skin and bones and blood. It burns and burns and-

A scream is ripped from his throat.

Tenko jumps back, an alarmed expression on his face. “I-Izuku?”

“Make it stop! Make it stop!” He shouts, writhing around in agony. The cool floor of the vault is just barely enough to ease the heat consuming his very soul. 

“Make what stop?” Tenko asks, hands hovering above Izuku’s body. “What’s happening?”

Another stab of pain leaves Izuku breathless and fighting to speak. “Mommy! Daddy! Help me! It hurts! It hurts!” His body wracks with sobs.

Tenko takes one of his hands, and then places his other hand on Izuku’s forehead. He hums a song he’s pretty sure his momma used to sing to him before…..

“It’s going to be alright,” he murmurs. 

Izuku whimpers, the noise subdued in comparison to the ear-piercing screech he gave. “Mommy…..daddy…..help….” his voice is hoarse and very weak. 

“Shhhh….rest.” 

When the noise has finally petered out, Tenko lays down next to his former-nemesis-turned-friend. He stays awake, watching for any more signs of discomfort. 

In the dark of the vault, someone else watches the exchange. Their teeth gritted and nails digging into the palms of their hands. “Izuku,” they whisper. 

-x-x-x-

Hisashi isn’t a man of many regrets, but as he watches his only child slowly die in front of him, he has at least one. 

Izuku screams again, head rolling from side-to-side. His eyes are closed, which probably means he’s asleep. A good thing considering the circumstances. Hisashi hopes his son is having a pleasant dream, and is not just trapped within the vestige realm. 

Yo- First should have enough empathy not to do that.

He watches with mute horror as they all begin to become more tangible. Heroes, still not moving a muscle to arrest him or save Izuku, chatter amongst themselves. 

First stands up, joining the brother-stealing-pest at his side. A smug smile on his face. He taunts Hisashi once again, but all he can focus on is his son’s prone body. 

Izuku’s breath is coming out in ragged pants. His skin has a bluish tint, like someone is actively strangling him. 

He moves forward. The second One for All user blocks him, but Hisashi is ready and uses air cannon to shoot the pest(s) out of his way - at a slight angle of course, they’re all going to die but not right now. 

He’s nearly there, just another couple of steps. He reaches his hands out, ready to pull his son into his arms. They can all go to hell. Hisashi needs to get Izuku somewhere safe. 

If they need energy so badly, they can find a way to take it from the Shimura brat. 

He’s just about to kneel down when he’s being pulled back. An appendage-looking like a cross between a tentacle and whip-wraps around his middle. He’s flung back, closer to the useless heroes. 

They scatter upon him landing. 

He scrambles to stand up; his thoughts focus on one thing and one thing only: save Izuku. 

If he can just-

Hisashi locks eyes with Yoichi-and he’s only known two people with those eyes, one being his son and the other being his brother-he’s hit with a sudden understanding. 

His son would not be leaving this battle alive. 

What remains of Hisashi’s soul dies with this knowledge. 

-x-x-x-

Tenko wakes up with his arms empty. He shivers, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. It doesn’t make much sense to him why they can fall asleep when they’re already asleep, but he supposes it gives them an escape from their current predicament. He looks around for his friend. 

“Izuku,” he calls out. 

A soft shushing gets his attention. Tenko looks towards the furthest corner. He can’t see much as it’s bathed in darkness. 

“Izuku?” He asks, an odd feeling welling up in his chest. 

A figure emerges from the corner, imposing and familiar. Izuku lays limply in his arms. “Shush, I said.”

“Sensei?” Tenko gets to his feet. His hatred for the man in front of him is temporarily overshadowed by the fact that his new friend is at Sensei’s mercy. Diplomacy has never been Tenko’s forte, but for Izuku, he’ll try. 

“Hello, Tomura.” He continues to rock Izuku back and forth, shushing him when he makes a pained noise. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“My name’s not Tomura,” he protests, all the years of bottled resentment coming to the surface. “I’m Tenko.”

“That you are,” Sensei retorts, a condescending edge in his tone. “Well, Tenko, how about you fill me in on how you two got here. Usually I can sneak a peek or convince one of the vestiges to fill me in, but it’s been radio silent for the last year or so.”

Tenko grits his teeth. Why does every action have to be like playing chess? He hates this! He hates being near Sensei! He hates him! He hates him so much!

Izuku cries out, bringing him back to his senses. 

Tenko takes a deep breath. “It all started when I tried to beat up Gigantomachia…”

-x-x-x-

Izuku screams out. First spares him a glance. Soon, he tells himself, it will all be over soon. 

All for One stares him down, positively seething in rage. He lunges for him, making his way from across the battlefield with several different quirks. First side steps his pathetic attempt. 

Banjo uses black whip again to fling the resident supervillain around. At Third’s signal, he allows black whip to dissipate. All for One lands on his stomach, hitting his chin on broken concrete. 

Third pulls back his arm, using Fa Jin he punches All for One six times in row. Each hit is harder than the last. 

First makes his way back over to Ninth. The light is slowly dimming. They don’t have much time left - Ninth doesn’t have much time left. He watches his found family finally get a smidge of the revenge they deserve, petting his son’s hair. 

Second uses his ability on a piece of broken ply-wood, sending the shards deep into All for One’s skin. He looks to First; his eyes flicker to Ninth. His expression softens. “Ours now?” He mouths. 

First nods. 

The light dims further. Some of the attacks don’t land as they should. It won’t be long now. 

Nana picks up All for One. Using float she carries him up and up and up until they’re high in the sky, and then lets him go.

-x-x-x-

The All for One locked away in the vestige realm, cringes back. For some reason he feels oddly disappointed. He shrugs it off as the weirdness of the day. 

He regards the small boy in front of him. “And then, you beat up the leader of the Meta Liberation Army?” 

Tenko gives a hesitant nod. 

He can feel the pure, unadulterated hatred coming off the boy. Some people can be so ungrateful. It’s not like he had to take the Shimura brat in. He did it out of the kindness of his heart (and to spite All Might, but that hardly matters in the grand scheme of things). 

“You know, back in my day, Destro was a real pain in my-”

Izuku shifts in his arms. He shushes him. 

“Sensei? Why are you holding Izuku?” Tenko asks, anxiously looking between Izuku and All for One. 

“You don’t know?” 

Tenko shakes his head. 

All for One chuckles, slinking back into the darkness. The boy could follow him into the corner, but he knows Tenko won’t. 

Finding his place against the furthest wall, he sits down with Izuku. He ignores Tenko’s calls for him to come back, instead focusing on his son (is this his son? Technically speaking, he’s only an impression of All for One’s personality from hundreds of years ago. They aren’t the same person. But yet, yet he feels a need to hold and protect and hide-)

A hand slaps him upside the head. “Give him back!” Tenko demands, tugging on Izuku’s arms. 

The smack leaves him stunned. He never expected little Tenko to have the gall. When he finally gets his bearings back in order, a large grin takes over his face. “How about, no.” Using a small percentage of his power he pushes Tenko back. 

He listens intently for the groan of pain or heavy thud but it never comes. Curious, he peeks out from the darkness. 

No one is there. 

“Huh, that’s-”

A kick to the side of his head makes him drop Izuku. Tenko pulls Izuku into the furthest corner before he turns around to face All for One. A feral grin has taken up much of his face. “I told you,” he starts, charging forward, fist pulled back, “to give him back.” 

-x-x-x-

As the light dims even more, their attacks get weaker. Some even pass right through the super villain. 

All for One has long since passed out - En’s smoke screen finally did him in. Nowhere near dead but definitely out for the count. 

Izuku screams once more and then goes very, very still. 

“It’s time,” First announces. 

The others gather around. 

“We’ve fought for centuries for this moment. I hope you all feel just the tiniest avenged.”

“But All for One isn’t dead,” En pipes up. “What if he breaks out of containment again?” 

First motions to Tenko’s motionless body. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

[magxit]

Why can’t it just have been the truth that they had “no contact” at that time, but things can change? It didn’t say they will have no contact ever again until the end of time. I swear, people hold onto the tiniest tidbits of information without taking into account that these people are real and in real life relationships ebb and flow, and you might not talk to someone for a little while but you can talk to them again at some point if you so choose. She doesn’t have to be a liar if her situation changes after some time passes!

Fans are going to react however they want regardless of what Taylor meant or didn’t mean. I am not team reunion. I am team Matty is town for something and I would like to know.

[the-bau-quinjet]

Seven Drinks

Bucky x f!reader

Summary: There's a reason Y/N has never had more than 3 drinks around the other avengers, and they're about to find out.

Warnings: depression, thoughts of suicide, panic attacks, angst (don't worry there's fluff too)

Word Count: 4322

a/n: This is inspired by that episode of Brooklyn 99 with 6 drink Amy (I adopted that concept!) and also Halsey's album Manic. :) I hope you like it. Anything in bold is a lyric from one of the songs on the album!

Please let me know if I messed up the trigger warning tags! I've never written anything like this before, so I just want to make sure I do it right.

Masterlist

"We're having a party tonight." Tony's announcement was met with the usual groans of annoyance at having to schmooze with the typical socialites that attended Tony's party. "You know, you are so ungrateful sometimes. here I am trying to throw you a party, and you're complaining!"

"Tony, we all appreciate the effort you go to, but- at least speaking for me- I don't like people." Y/N's response was effortless, swiftly calming Tony and explaining the reactions.

"That is why-" Tony stuttered when he actually registered the words you said. "That doesn't sound like you at all. And besides, this is a party for just us. It'll be more like team building, but without any pre-planned activities. No "smarmy, rich people" to deal with." He directed his last sentence at Bucky, Steve, and Sam.

The team actually seemed excited at the prospect, albeit skeptical of Tony's motivations.

Unsurprisingly, Nat worked up the courage to question him on it first, "what's the catch?"

"No catch. Just friends, food, and lots of alcohol." His grin quickly shifted into a smirk as the entire room turned to look at you.

You groaned slightly, not wanting all the attention. "Look, there is a reason I cap myself at 3 drinks." Holding up one finger, you started to explain, "One drink Y/N is barely any different from my sober self."

Wanda quickly cut you off, "not true! You get louder." She smirked, happy to have added that tidbit of information.

"Fine." With a laugh, you admitted she was right. "I might get the tiniest bit louder." You held up a second finger to continue your explanation, but were once again cut off.

"It's not a bad thing. It's just your happy, bubbly, and slightly louder than normal personality shining through!" Nat added, seeing an opportunity to tease you for being so positive all the time.

"Thanks Nat. Anyway," emphasizing the rudeness of being interrupted twice, you continued, "two drink Y/N is more touchy feely than normal. Not in a creepy way though!"

"I love two drink Y/N. She gives the best hugs!" Thor eagerly added to the conversation, glad to have dropped by when he did.

"Thanks Thor." With a small smile in his direction, you held up a third finger. "Three drink Y/N is the perfect amount of just past tipsy to have fun without doing anything extremely embarrassing. It makes the most sense to stop there." You finished her little speech with your typical smile and a resolute nod of your head.

"Seriously, you need to relax. Just let loose this one time!" Sam tried to encourage you. With the eyes of nearly every avenger set on you, your resolve didn't last very long.

"Fine! Maybe I'll have a fourth drink." You were met with cheers as you rose from your spot on the couch, trying to prepare for the night that was to come.

--

As soon as you stepped off the elevator, you had a drink in your hand. Clearly your friends were going to make sure you got a fourth drink. even Steve seemed excited when he saw you, although his golden boy personality didn't disappear completely.

"You sure about this? I don't want you to feel pressured!" Bucky nodded, weirdly enthusiastically, before adding, "Yeah doll, don't drink more than you want to."

"You two are too sweet. Sam's right, but don't tell him I said that." You winked at the two super soldiers, emphasizing the joke. "I should let myself relax sometimes. I'm in a safe place, with friends who won't let anything happen to me. What could a few more drinks really do?" You couldn't help but smile at how true that was. You were surrounded by people who care about you.

"Oh, so now it's a few more drinks? What are we talking here, six drink Y/N? Seven?" Bucky teased.

"You'll have to wait and see, Ducky." You teased right back, knowing how flustered he got at the pet name. Steve laughed at his friend as you walked away, ready for your second drink.

--

Before long, you had your fourth drink in your hand. It was slightly odd how literally everyone was staring at you, but your were three drink Y/N at the time, so you were drunk enough not to care.

You downed the fourth drink, unprepared for the consequences.

"So, Y/N... how do you feel?" Clint braved the waters, everyone eagerly awaiting your reaction.

"That is so nice of you to ask! I feel great! I don't think I've ever been this happy." You jumped up and down, hugging Clint with a huge smile on your face.

"How did you get even happier?" Tony chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

"Do you not like it?" Like a switch had been flipped, you were nearly crying.

"What?! No!" Tony was so taken aback at the tears pooling in your eyes, he froze, unsure how to fix it. He looked around the room for help, but everyone else was just as shocked as him.

"I'll fix it!" You were at the bar, fixing another drink before anyone fully comprehended your mood swing.

You walked back up to the group, sipping from your fifth drink as if nothing happened. "What?" You questioned the odd looks, but before receiving an answer you squealed, again jumping up and down. "Let's dance!" You turned around, ready to move to the more open area before looking back over your shoulder, "Wanda! Nat! Pepper! Come on!"

The women shared a look, ultimately shrugging before joining you on the makeshift dance floor.

-

"Bucky, you've been staring at her for 20 straight minutes. When are you finally gonna talk to her?" Steve couldn't help but pester him about his feelings.

"I can't help it. I've never seen her dance so much. I mean, I know she's always happy, but this is a whole new level." He didn't take his eyes off of you, even when he was responding. "I can't tell her tonight, though. This is the most she's had to drink in years."

He watched as you moved back over to the bar, needing another drink after dancing so much.

"Here we go, six drink Y/N." Bucky gestured to the bar. Steve shook his head, but allowed the change of topic.

-

About five minutes after your sixth drink, you were somehow bounding around with even more energy. You were nearly running around the room, trying to talk to everyone at once.

"Ducky! Have I ever told you I took gymnastics lessons for 7 years when I was younger?" You were bouncing with pent up energy, excited to be sharing more information about yourself.

"No, you've actually never mentioned that." He smiled, enraptured by your childlike enthusiasm, so enraptured that he didn't notice the mischief in your eyes.

"Well, I did! Watch this." You handed a confused Bucky your now empty glass, turning and throwing your arms up. Bucky realized two late what was happening, and with both yours and his glasses in his hands, he couldn't physically stop you.

"Y/N, wait!" His shout had everyone turn and look as you flawlessly executed two cartwheels in a row.

Bucky would swear your smile got even bigger as you turned around to look at him again.

"Normally I can do more, but" you hiccuped, then lowered your voice to a really terrible whisper, "I'm a little drunk." You leaned into him, laughing as if you just told a joke.

Wanda walked up to you with a seventh drink, hoping seven drink Y/N had a little less energy, but happy to see you having so much fun. "Here ya go! One more of your favorites, just like you asked."

"Thank youuuuuu!" You shifted to hug Wanda, leaving Bucky to miss your added warmth.

-

You sipped your seventh drink slower than the rest, quickly running out of energy. Sliding the empty glass across the bar, you slipped out of the party unnoticed, making your way to the kitchen for some pickles- your favorite drunk food.

Your seventh drink hit you just after you opened the pickles. Gone was the happy, bubbly persona you showed the world. The mask slipped away, leaving you alone to contemplate your life choices.

You made your way to to the lounge just outside of the kitchen, choosing to lay on the floor behind the couch and stare out of the large floor to ceiling windows.

-

"Where's Y/N?" Bucky glanced around the room, an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

"Huh? Oh, she said she wanted a snack." A very drunk Wanda turned to look at where the food was set up, scrunching her face in confusion when she couldn't find you. "Weird. Maybe she went to the bathroom?"

Bucky, having noticed your absence 8 minutes ago, didn't think you left for a bathroom break. "Maybe." Plus, you always took the girls to the bathroom with you. His eyes flitted about the room, taking one more glance before deciding to go look for you.

He decided to head for the kitchen since Wanda said you wanted a snack. He laughed at the open jar of pickles, knowing you at least passed through this room. He put the pickles away before popping his head into the lounge area.

"Y/N?" He called out, figuring this was the most likely location for you to end up.

You hummed in response, not moving from your spot on the floor. Bucky walked further into the room, slightly confused as to why he could hear you but not see you. That is, until he realized you were laying on the floor behind the couch.

"Why are you on the floor?" He smiled when he found you.

"I'm just looking at the sky." Your voice held a melancholy air as it floated through the room. Bucky's smile faltered, not used to hearing you sad. In the three years he's known you, he's only ever seen you sad because of a movie or tv show. Otherwise, you were quite literally always happy.

"Why-" he faltered, unsure how to check on you. "Is everything okay?" he nearly choked the words out, feeling slightly stressed at your sudden gloominess.

"Yeah." You took a deep breath, slowly letting it out in a deep sigh. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just... I don't know." You sigh again, still looking at the sky.

Bucky chances another question, wanting to get you talking since you're acting so off. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel... so sorry." You words were so soft that Bucky could barely hear them.

"Sorry?" He tried to hide his confusion, matching your soft tone as he sat down a few feet away from you. "About what doll?"

"Just... because I feel so sad." Tears pooled in your eyes, but you didn't stop staring at the sky.

"What are you sad about?" It's taking everything in him for Bucky not to hold you right now. He doesn't want to make you even more upset, especially because he's never seen you like this.

"No one around me knows who I am..." He watched as a tear rolled down your cheek, shining in the light from the moon.

Bucky moves closer, just close enough for him to reach out and hold your hand. You squeeze it, instant relief flooding through him that he hasn't crossed any boundaries.

He goes to speak, but you cut him off. "I'm not breaking. I won't take it. And I won't ever feel this way again." Your voice is harder, as if your angry with yourself.

"Hey, hey, hey. It's okay to have feelings. You're allowed to feel like this. Don't push it away. Talk to me. Why don't you think anyone knows who you are? We're all here for you, Y/N." He rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, trying to convey how serious he is.

You let out a dry laugh, wiping the the tears from your cheek. "My self preservation..." Bucky can tell there's more to, choosing to wait for you to continue. "All of my reservations..." You sigh again, sitting up, you scoot closer until you can lean your forehead against his shoulder. "I bottle it up. I'm my own biggest enemy." You let out another dry laugh, shaking your head without moving it from its resting place on Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky wraps his arm around you and leans his cheek against your head. "Take your time. You can talk to me." He whispered, trying to keep you talking without getting mad at yourself again.

"Well, I'd like to tell you that my sky is not blue, it's violent rain." The sounds of your sniffles break his heart. "I just pretend everything's fine because that's what I had to do when I was younger." Rather then interrupting, Bucky continues to rub small circles on your hand and your back, encouraging you to continue when you're ready. "Can I tell you a story? I... I think it'll help explain some of it."

"Of course. Anything you need, doll." He curses himself for the pet name, not wanting you to think he's joking. He just can't help it when it comes to you.

"Thank you, ducky." You chuckle, but your words are just as sincere as his. "You know I have two sisters, and I love them with all my heart, but sometimes growing up with them was hard. My older sister, she put so much pressure on herself to succeed. And, she did. She was so good at everything she did, that I felt like I had to be just as perfect.

With my younger sister, it was like it was effortless. She put just as much, if not more pressure on herself. but, she could do anything she tried to, with almost no learning curve. I always felt this crazy amount of pressure to be just as good.

My parents, they didn't really help with that. I mean, they were so supportive and I'm so grateful to them, but it was a lot of pressure. The summer between my junior and senior year of college, I wanted to get an internship. Ya know, to get some experience. It would set me up better for getting a job after graduation.

I spent months looking and applying, but nothing was working out. So, I went home for the summer. My mom would come home everyday and ask me if I got a job yet.

I spent nearly every waking hour looking for a job, even just a part time one for the summer. So one day, when we sat down for dinner and she asked if I got a job yet..."

Bucky could feel how tense you were telling this story, but he knew you needed to get it out.

"I told her, 'no, not yet' and she just seemed so disappointed. She asked if I was even applying and I snapped.

I yelled at her, something that had never really happened before. I told her I was trying. I was doing everything I could. She yelled at me for yelling and said it wasn't unreasonable to ask for updates.

I yelled right back. I kept saying I spend all day everyday trying and just when I finally get a break, she walks in and brings it all up again. I was stressed enough without her constant reminders.

I ended up running away from the table, in tears. I hid in the bathroom, there... there was a pair of scissors on the counter and I really thought about killing myself that day."

The tears are pouring out of you at this point. Bucky threw caution to the wind. He picked you up, maneuvering you to sit across his lap and lean your head on his chest. He kept rubbing circles into your back, murmuring words of encouragement.

"My younger sister tried to check on me, but I wouldn't open the door. My mom stomped down the hallway to her bedroom. I was full on having a panic attack in the hallway bathroom. I think I stayed in there for an hour before I went back to the dinner table.

My dad was in the kitchen. He put my plate in the microwave to heat up dinner for me. I ate through near constant tears, it only got worse every time he tried to ask me what happened. Why I snapped like that.

I wanted to apologize to my mom for yelling, so after I ate I went to her room. I knocked, and when she told me to come in I opened the door. I just remember her looking so angry.

I apologized. I told her I was sorry for yelling. She said something about not being unreasonable again. I cried again. When she asked what was wrong, I told her I was scared.

I couldn't put it into words though, so when she asked me 'of what?' I just shrugged. Then, she asked me if I was on my period.

God. I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell at her again, To make her understand 'I only wanna die some days. But if I decide to break, who will fill the empty space?' I decided that day that I would never try to tell anyone how I actually felt."

Bucky holds you as you cry. You're not sure how long it's been when you can finally breathe enough to talk again.

"I just, so many people have bigger problems then me. I grew up in a loving household. I went to college and made friends. I got a job after I graduated. So why am I so sad sometimes? I just wanna scream but what’s the use? At night, I lay awake and I stare at the door, I just can’t take it no more."

Bucky continues comforting you when he speaks again. "Just because other people have problems, doesn't mean yours are irrelevant. You are 100% allowed to feel however you feel, even if it seems like there's no reason for it. Have you ever thought about talking to someone about all of this? I know you just said you haven't told anyone how you actually feel for years, but I think it could help." He smiled nervously when you raised your head to look at him.

"I have actually. I joked about it a lot with my roommate right out of college. I always used to say 'everybody needs therapy' as a joke. Of course, I meant it. Most people probably do need therapy." You laughed, moving your arms around Bucky's neck to hug him. "Thank you for listening to me. I like talking to you."

Of course, Bucky noticed your smile didn't reach your eyes. He was confident in his words when he spoke again. "You can always talk to me. I'll always be there to listen." He followed that with a less confident "What's been bothering you today?"

"Oh, nothing that serious. It's just all pent up inside, ya know?" You smiled again, hiding your face so he couldn't see your lies.

Of course, he could still hear it in your voice. "Y/N, you can tell me. I want to be here for you."

"I... It's just, my insecurities are hurting me." You laughed at yourself. "Here we go with the fucking riddles, again. On the plus side, I think I've cried so much I'm back to one drink Y/N."

"Well, it has been 3 hours since I left to come find you." You were grateful for Bucky's joke, needing something to lift the mood a bit. "But, don't try and change the subject. I still want to know what's got you all sad." His words were light, but you knew how serious he was.

You took a deep breath, burying your head in his neck. "How could somebody ever love me?" You spoke into his shirt, not moving your head back even an inch.

"You know I can't understand you when you talk into my neck like that." Bucky tried joking, but even he knew it would do little to calm your fears.

You moved back, lips still grazing his skin when you repeated yourself, "how could somebody ever love me?"

Bucky wanted to scream. He wanted to tell you how much he loves you. He would gladly spend every day of his life loving you, but he didn't think this was the right time. Not when you just poured your heart out to him. So he settled for the almost truth.

"Anyone would be lucky to love you. You are selfless. You put everyone else first, no matter what. You always make sure everyone has a reason to smile, even when things aren't going right. You tell the best jokes. You're great at cuddling." He squeezes you closer to him, emphasizing the point. "You are beautiful, inside and out. Everyone who comes into contact with you automatically has a better day. You are incredibly strong and independent. I've never met anyone so incredibly good. Even Steve. Anyone would be lucky to be loved by you."

His words brought more tears to your eyes, pooling in the corners. "Then how come everyone that I’ve dated says they hate it cause they don’t know what to do with me? I feel broken."

"They were all idiots. You're not broken. Not even a little bit. You're learning how to express your feelings. You just need someone who would take it slow." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, struggling not to tell you everything.

"I wonder if you��d take it slow." Your eyes go wide when that slips out. You hadn't meant to make things uncomfortable. One look at Bucky's face has you freaking out. He looks stunned. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to say that. It just slipped out! Oh god, you've been there for me all night and I go and fuck it up by admitting I'm in love with you."

Your eyes grow even larger. You would move out of his lap, but his arms are still holding you in place. "Shit! Maybe I'm still drunk because apparently I have no filter." You say the last part more to yourself, but he can still hear you.

"Y/N?" Your name comes out of his mouth in a soft whisper.

"Yes?" You cringe internally at messing everything up.

"I would take it slow." He smiles, leaning his forehead against yours while he waits for you to absorb his words.

"Yeah?" You whisper back, a smile ghosting your lips.

"Yeah." You both lean in, exchanging soft, slow kisses and sleepy smiles.

--

The two of you ended up falling asleep leaning against the back of the couch. The sun streaming through the windows, combined with the noise of the other avengers in the kitchen, wakes you up.

You nudge Bucky, grinning when he pulls you closer.

"C'mon. Let's get some breakfast." He groans again, but eventually stands up.

The two of you walk into the nearly full kitchen, surprising everyone by coming from the lounge rather than the elevators. They share amused expressions, unaware of the emotional hurdles you jumped last night.

You head right for Sam, hugging him tightly before moving on to hug everyone else.

"I just wanted to thank you all. For encouraging me to live a little last night, but also for being there for me." Tears spring to your eyes again, shocking everyone but Bucky. "You're all like a family to me and I'm so glad I have you all to lean on." You made your way back to Bucky, leaning into his side while he poured both of you some cereal.

You smile when you look at him, kissing his cheek before sliding into the stool next to his.

As if broken out of a day dream, Sam sputters out a question. "What the hell did seven drink Y/N do last night?" Thrown off both by your behaviour with Bucky and the short emotional speech.

"Oh, seven drink Y/N is an emotional little bitch. I think I cried eight years of suppressed tears." You laughed, grinning at Bucky when he squeezed your hand. "Also, I think I need a therapist." Your casual admission has Tony spitting out his breakfast.

"What the hell happened last night after you disappeared from the party?" He guffaws, trying to put the pieces together.

"Also, why aren't you even a little bit hungover?" Nat chimed in, upset at missing out on seeing you anything but cheery.

"Well, to answer Nat first, I don't get hungover. Never have, even the one time I blackout out." You shrugged at everyone's slightly jealous expressions. "To answer Tony, I had an emotional breakthrough. Bucky helped me talk through it, something I never thought I'd be able to do. Long story short, i'm going to learn how to share my feelings instead of suppressing them all."

"Suppressing them? What are you talking about? I've literally never felt anything but happiness from you before?" Wanda questioned the new development.

"Well, that's because I'm really good at hiding how I feel. I'd rather not go through it all again, so just watch the security footage from the lounge last night, yeah? I want you all to know, even if it took seven drink Y/N to share it." You quickly finished eating, pulling Bucky to the doorway.

"While you do that, we're going out. Bye!" Before they could question anything else, you ran to the elevator, dragging a very willing Bucky behind you.

"We're going out?" He questioned when the elevator doors shut.

"Yep. Get dressed, I want to see all your favorite places in New York. Even if they're different now. Take me to all your favorite spots." You both smiled, sharing another soft kiss before parting to change for the day.

"Hey," Bucky called, causing you to turn over your shoulder, "I love you."

"I love you too."

[where-theres-smoak-2]

Here’s the transcript of an interview LB did a couple of weeks ago. Be prepared to be annoyed at her not knowing wtf she’s taking about but pretending she does especially in the Darkling and the decision to make Alina half Shu sections:

https://www.penfaulkner.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/10/Literature-on-Screen-Shadow-and-Bone-Transcript.pdf

So there were a few bits in this interview that I want to talk about. I am going to shock you here and say there were actually parts of this interview where I agree with what LB says and gave me the tiniest bit of hope. But before you get too worried its the parts where she is talking about season 2 and her involvement in the show and writing process. Here is what she said when asked what her involvement in season 2 is:

With season two, I've been able to be a little bit more involved in casting, costumes, production design, meeting with directors.

Then I think I am going to step back. I'm not going to be as involved in reading the scripts. I think at this point, we are going to be diverging quite a bit more, and it's all I can say. I really cannot say more than that. I'm about to be descended upon by Netflix assassins. For me, there has to be a moment of saying, “This doesn't belong to me anymore.” The books are mine, they will always be on the shelves, and this has its own life now.

She also said something similar a little later in the interview when talking about changes between the books and the show and how she got negative reactions to saying the show was like an expensive fanfiction:

Which to me is like, "Why are you so mad about fanfiction? It's amazing, first of all. Second, all adaptation is fan fiction. That's what it is. All adaptation is fan fiction." To me, this is the way adaptation should work, where you keep the core and you keep the heart, but you're allowed to play. Otherwise, you cannot ask, I think, a group of smart writers, talented directors, amazing actors to simply transcribe. I don't think that's exciting for anyone.

That funny thing about that second statement about tv adaptions basically being fanfiction is I said it myself in a post a while back. It does seem like LB is more open to changes from her book and it also looks like she is not going to be as involved with the writing process for season 2, we also have heard in other interviews that they are going to be diverting away from the books in the next season, whether that is a good or bad thing is yet to be seen but I do think it is a good thing that LB is taking a step back from the show, as she herself said the books are hers and they will always be there so the show should be the show and it should be allowed to have a life of its own. I've said before but I prefer it with tv adaptions if they don't follow the books because to me that's more exciting than if I know exactly what is coming next, I like to be surprised.

Something else I learned from this interview is this:

Eric Heisserer, he is our showrunner on Shadow and Bone season one and in season two he'll be co-show running with Daegan Fryklind who is one of the wonderful writers from season one.

So from a google search I found out that Daegan was the writer for episode 6 and episode 8. Again whether its a good or bad thing that she'll now be co-running the show with Eric I don't know but it is still an interesting bit of information and I'll take any info I can get on season 2.

However whilst I was feeling optimistic about everything LB was saying about season 2 and was actually kind of impressed at how she seemed to have let go a bit and was happier with the idea of changes from the books than she seemed in the past, but she then said this:

Petra: Following on from that, actually, somebody is asking, and I know you've said that the story is going to diverge from the books in future seasons, do you – Let's assume this is a spoiler too but I'm going to ask it anyways, and you can tell me to get lost. Do you want the shows and the books to end in the same place, the same way?

Leigh: Yes I do. [laughs] Yes, I do. Look, I wrote the books the way I wrote them for a reason, and that – I haven't seen any sense that that is going to change at all, but there are certain things that I know if we get to move forward will change because we'll want to see these characters continue in their adventures. Also because there's a finality to some things that happen in the books that then is sort of undone in later books, I'm really being abstruse here, but I guess my point is there are certain things that are essential to me that stay the same and certain things that I don't care. You learn which things and, fortunately, I've been on the same page with the writers from moment one.

Just no, please no, no, no. This I just don't understand ok. LB and the showrunners/writers must be aware of how unpopular the ending of her books were right? I mean I've seen an interview where LB herself says that she was aware that the ending was controversial amongst fans and that many of them were angry at the ending. You could put up a good argument that it was the thing people hated the most about her original trilogy, the ending. So why on earth would she or the showrunners want to keep that ending? Like any part of it? I mean she says there are some things she doesn't care if they are changed and others she thinks are essential they keep and unfortunately I feel like it most likely Alina losing her powers that she wants to keep and that for me was the worst part of the ending. To be honest it kind of makes me really wary about continuing with the show because I don't want to get invested in the show just to be really let down by the ending. Also if that many book readers didn't like the ending what do they think is going to happen when the tv viewers see that ending, its likely going to be game of thrones 2.0.

As you predicted some of the things she said about the darkling and Alina being half Shu did annoy me. I feel like with Alina being half shu she just sort of glossed over the question which the interviewer brought up the critique that she had wished that they had explored Alina's Shu heritage outside of just the racism she faces and dive deeper into that which LB just basically said they will be exploring more about what it means for Alina to be Shu and Ravkan in season 2. I will say I do hope that they do cover more of the other cultures particularly the Shu culture as we got to know a little about the fjerdan culture through Matthias but we know very little about the Shu culture.

As for the darkling I am not going to go too much into it because its not really anything new I'm just resigned to the fact that LB and I are always going to have different opinions on his character and not to sound too harsh but I don't really care what her opinion or views are anymore. One thing I will point out though is this little tidbit:

Leigh: Look, there's never been a problem creating sympathy for the Darkling. This is a very beloved character, sometimes to my great frustration.

I mean this is nothing us darklinas didn't already know but the next time an anti says that LB never had a problem with people liking the darkling/darklina show them this interview where she openly admits that she found it frustrating. I do kind of feel for her I guess it must be frustrating to write a villain that you meant for everyone to hate only for them to become the most loved/popular character in your series.

[diazboys]

i like watching the days go by with you | 2k words | buddie | pre-relationship, domestic fluff | ao3

written for Eddie Diaz Week 2021 | Day 2: “This is nice.” + soft

.

A quiet but persistent buzzing noise coming from somewhere behind his head is what startles Eddie awake. He peaks one eye open but his vision is still fuzzy from sleep so he almost knocks over the lamp as he tries to locate his phone. Eventually, he manages to silence the alarm. With a sigh, he falls back onto the pillow, blinking and waiting until he feels awake enough to roll out of bed. The curtains are slightly parted and the already bright L.A. sun is creeping up the floorboards, painting a narrow path across the bed and widening up on the wall behind Eddie. He smiles to himself. 

At the beginning of their group sleepover — or quarantine, if you wish — in Buck’s apartment Eddie made a small comment that getting blinded by the sun first thing in the morning wasn’t really his favourite thing to do. Since then, the curtains were kept shut every morning. Sometimes, when Eddie stirred awake as Buck was getting up, he saw his friend walk towards the window to peek outside. And every single time he parted the curtains just the tiniest bit, mindful of Eddie’s half-serious comment. The thoughtfulness made Eddie’s heart soar. 

This whole living at Buck’s place thing has been… interesting so far. The sleeping arrangements seemed like a challenge at first but they’ve dealt with it pretty quickly. On the first day when they showed up on Buck’s doorstep, he had an argument with Hen about giving her the bed. Unsurprisingly, Buck lost and Hen happily took the couch. Chim, only slightly less happily took the mattress they've placed downstairs. There was a perfectly good mattress waiting for Eddie in the loft as well. 

But the problem was that… he never really used it. That first night they were all tired after their shift, Chim and Hen already snoring quietly downstairs. Eddie moved over to the corner of the room, with every intention of crashing there for the night. But then Buck made a casual comment about the bed being big enough and that they could share if Eddie wanted.

And Eddie wanted. For a lot of reasons. Though the one that sounded the most reasonable at that moment was the fact that the bed was way more comfortable and required much less preparation than the mattress. And Eddie’s brain was too tired to tell him why sharing a bed with Buck was a dumb idea. ‘Having some kind of not-strictly-platonic feelings for Buck’ would definitely make it to the top of the list. But there was no list at the time, so Eddie just snuck under the covers on the left side of the bed that Buck left for him. They were both out within minutes. 

And then Eddie just… didn’t bother with the mattress. Even though — or maybe because — on that first morning he woke up well rested and content, with Buck’s arm thrown loosely across his waist. It was nice. It took all of Eddie’s willpower not to roll over, closer into the warm embrace. Neither he, nor Buck commented on it and they let it be. Eddie was more than sure that Hen and Chim noticed — they noticed everything — but except a curious glance or five every now and then, they didn’t say anything. They kept up the whole thing even when Hen decided to go back home to Karen and the kids. Chim took the couch instead, his mattress had been put away. And Eddie stayed in Buck’s bed.

So here Eddie is now, sprawled on said bed with a stupid smile on his face, staring at the curtains like it’s the best thing ever. It certainly is great and lets him wake up without feeling like someone’s flashing a torch into his eyes. But it’s not directly responsible for the stupid smile, he must admit. 

It takes him another minute before he finally wills his body to move. The right side of the bed is already vacant when he rolls over onto his stomach. He sends a glance downstairs. Buck is bustling around the kitchen, earphones in so he won’t disturb anyone. Eddie is pretty sure that he’s listening to this science slash comedy podcast he’s been obsessed with lately. He can’t really remember the name but he’s pretty sure there was a “fish” in it.

With one more content sigh, Eddie rolls out of bed and makes his way downstairs barefoot. As he walks closer, his brain recognises the scents coming from the kitchen. Coffee and something delicious that smells of tomatoes and fresh basil. His smile grows even bigger. He’s spent enough mornings here to hope that there’s a cup of freshly brewed coffee waiting for him as well.

Before Eddie can make a beeline for the coffee machine and check, Buck turns to take something from the kitchen island. His eyes skip to Eddie and his whole face lights up in a smile. Eddie’s breath hitches but he reciprocates the gesture. How can he not when Buck is looking like that, all happiness and soft curls? Eddie’s right hand twitches by his side. There’s a sudden need in him to run his fingers through Buck’s hair, to see if it’s as soft as it looks like. To stop himself from doing something stupid, Eddie grabs the barstool and sits down. He stuffs his hands under his tights, for good measure.

“Morning,” Buck greets, taking his earphones out and putting them in his pocket.

Before Eddie can say anything, a cup of coffee is placed right in front of him. He inhales the scent and lets out a happy little hum that makes Buck laugh.

“Hildy sends her regards,” Buck jokes, laughing even harder at the unimpressed look on Eddie’s face. 

Really, it’s about time Buck let that go. It wasn’t Eddie’s fault that he had been startled, hearing a strange voice saying “Hello, Eddie” as he walked into the kitchen that first morning. And he already apologised for the mug he dropped. To Buck’s credit, he did disable the voice greetings after that. Now the cursed machine was just… quietly lurking from its place on the counter.

“Thanks, Buck,” he says sincerely after all, deciding to ignore the comment. 

Buck only shrugs with a smile and turns back to whatever is sizzling on the pan. Eddie wraps his hands around the mug and takes a sip. Another content hum escapes his lips before he can stop it.

“This is nice,” Eddie says.

He’s not even sure what exactly he’s referring to. The coffee, the slow and calm atmosphere of the morning, the sight of Buck in a soft hoodie, pushing an omelette towards Eddie? The domesticity of it all that makes Eddie’s heart ache? It’s all of it and probably more. If only Christopher was around to join them in the kitchen right now, to ask for pancakes for breakfast and complain about his online classes or tell them about the dream he’s had. Then, Eddie would be completely and thoroughly happy. 

And this is a thought that both excites and terrifies him at the same time.

But it’s a bit less scary when Buck is standing right in front of him, his big arms resting against the counter as he leans forward. He’s looking at Eddie with those soft eyes and a beautiful smile on his lips. The only thing Eddie can do is to stare back and hope that his face is better at controlling his emotions than his heart is.

It would be so easy to just lean forward a little and—

“God, you two make me miss Maddie even more,” Chimney says from somewhere behind Eddie’s back.

His sudden appearance startles Eddie enough that he pushes a fork off the counter. It falls to the floor with a loud clatter and he quickly ducks to retrieve it.

“I’ll start giving you plastic utensils at some point, I swear,” Buck says, shaking his head at Eddie. His eyes are laughing, though, so Eddie knows he’s not being serious.

“Oh fuck off, I apologised for that mug already. And it was just a fork this time, don’t be dramatic,” Eddie rolls his eyes at him but he’s smiling as well. Then he turns and adds, “Morning, Chim.” 

Chimney is freshly showered and pours himself a cup of coffee. He’s also watching them with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile on his face. Eddie tries his best to ignore that, just like he ignored Chim’s comment. 

“Um, so,” Eddie starts, wanting to steer the conversation onto a different track. “What facts did they have today?” he asks, pointing his chin at Buck’s phone laying on the counter. Just like he expected, there’s a paused episode of that No Such Thing as a Fish podcast.

“Oh, did you know that there is a type of pasta that only 3 women in the world can make?” Buck’s eyes light up in excitement. “It’s some fancy one they make in Sardinia and it’s called threads of God. The recipe has been passed from mother to daughter for ages.”

“What if they run out of daughters and have a son?” Eddie asks.

“It’s fine, cause the recipe isn’t even secret or anything,” Buck says, pointing the spatula at him. “It’s just a pain in the ass to make. They’ve been trying to teach people how to do it but it’s just hard enough that most of them just give up.”

Chimney chuckles at that around a mouthful of omelette. "You should totally try. I wouldn't be surprised if you'd manage to do it, out of sheer stubbornness."

And Buck — both because he's interested and because he rarely steps down from a challenge — reaches for his phone and starts googling for the recipe and reads out whatever he finds.

It sounds really interesting. And not only because Eddie has a soft spot for Buck and the little tidbits of information he gathers and then excitedly shares with everyone who wants to listen. Eddie always does. Some people just shrug or roll their eyes at Buck, but Eddie really admires his interest, the childlike curiosity about the world that Buck has. There are so many things Eddie admires about him.

All things considered, Eddie shouldn’t be surprised that somewhere along the way he has fallen in love with his best friend.

It catches him a bit off guard, being able to put a name to the feeling that has been blooming in his heart for so long. But it doesn’t make him panic, at least no more than having feelings for his best friend already did. It’s more of a relief, really. It all makes sense now. 

Eddie doesn’t even realise that he’s been smiling and staring at the half-eaten omelette in front of him until his phone buzzes with a new text message. It shakes him out of his thoughts and he opens it to find a photo from Christopher.

"Everything okay, Eddie?" he hears Buck ask.

Raising his head, Eddie is met with a slightly worried gaze. He smiles, showing Buck the text he's just gotten.

"Yeah, Christopher's just complaining about his history assignment," he explains.

Buck chuckles at the photo of Chris' pouting face as he holds a history textbook and 'There's too many dates!' with a row of angry emojis written underneath. "We should FaceTime him later. I miss that little rascal."

Eddie doesn't point out that they've done that barely two days ago. Instead, his smile grows bigger as he agrees. He knows for a fact that Chris misses his Buck just as much and that the two of them have been texting a lot.

For some reason, Chimney sighs, rolls his eyes as Eddie glances at him, and leaves the kitchen with his coffee cup still in hand. Eddie's not sure what that was about. He doesn't have time to dwell on it though, because Buck drops on the barstool next to him with his own breakfast, their knees knocking together as he makes himself comfortable. Sipping the last of his coffee, Eddie bites the inside of his cheek to stop a smile.

He really could get used to spending all of his mornings like this.

[3pirouette]

Fic: The Honey Trap (8/?)

Title: The Honey Trap

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :) 

Story Summary: Peggy’d lost count. She wasn’t sure if she was a double or triple agent at this point, and in the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of this alive.

A/N: Still chugging away at this. It looks like I won't be able to stick to a rigid posting schedule due to RL commitments, so updates will come when I can. I promise, there is an end, and it's not abandoned. Please hang in there with me.

Chapter 8: Love Letters

February, 1945

It was ludicrously simple to feed Wallace information. As far as he was concerned, Peggy and Steve were having face to face meetings and she was bringing him back tiny tidbits of verbal information. At least, that had been what she told him.

What she hadn’t told Wallace about were the letters.

They’d settled on letters, because Steve could get her those even when he wasn’t in London, and it was brilliant. He slipped them in her purse and down her cleavage when they were together and in full view of their Hydra tails, and sent them by courier to “avoid” the censoring of the government when he was away.

Peggy swore up and down Steve was giving her very little, and fed the man only the tiniest bits of information that he pretended was very helpful. Wallace, knowing very well from her Hydra tail that she was getting letters, was only too happy to go through her desk and start reading them. She kept the stack in her desk drawer, and always gave Wallace time to read them while she wasn’t in the room- finding excuses to pop to the loo or hide in her bedroom for a moment. He was good, but he wasn’t good enough to notice she’d set a piece of chalk on the bottom edge of the back of the drawer where she kept her letters, so she knew each time he opened it and read them.

He thought he was getting highly detailed information about the Allied troops and feeding it to Hydra.

Instead, he was being fed exactly what Phillips wanted him to know, and after a couple of planned “successes” for Hydra, it led to three ambushes of Hydra teams and the capturing of two very high-profile Hydra operatives.

Steve’s letters made him sound like a lovelorn simpleton, detailing troop movements so she’d supposedly know where he was and what he was doing, fully of sappy language and grand declarations of love.

For Peggy, the letters contained highly coded messages. First, she had to decode them with the cipher in her compact, and then decode that with the numerical Commando cipher she already knew. Peggy knew the real operations, the real troop movements, Steve’s real assignments, and whatever information they needed her to feed Wallace.

It was working like a charm.

For her part, Peggy had been able to supply Steve a steady stream of intel from Wallace using Howard’s pen camera and the cigarette case telegraph. It wasn’t that he was sloppy, but now that she was lying to him, he seemed to trust her more.

It was something she’d seen over and over- when the target thought they were getting just want they wanted, they turned a blind eye to the things that should have been giant, waving red flags. He left paperwork out. He took phone calls where she could hear him. He took her to dinner parties where Hydra operatives talked in German about missions and inventions, assuming she didn’t know the language while she pretended to be engrossed in small talk with the wives.

What she didn’t have yet, what she needed, was access to the new research. She needed to get closer to Schmidt, closer to what made Hydra tick, so she could figure out how to take them down, not just stop troop movements here and there.

February trudged on, long and cold with the Commandos stuck in the Rhineland and icy, pelting rain and slushy snow making London miserable. Peggy made her way through each day, typing away at transmissions and letters in the typing pool, decoding orders and “slipping” information to Wallace with a smile. Steve’s letters were the only connection she had to him as the weeks wore on and their last rendezvous seemed farther and farther away.

Late at night, Peggy re-read his letters when she was alone, trying to force sleep to come. They were sappy, and silly, and meant for other people to read, but every few sentences there would be a line, a few words, that she knew were his own. He’d told her, the last time he saw her, that he tried to put at least two true things into every letter, and it was always right after he’d written her name so she’d know it was true.

Peggy, I love you.

Peggy, I miss you so much sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe.

Peggy, I’m going to make good on all those promises to take you on real dates.

Peggy, the sunset over the mountains last night reminded me of you, and I wish you’d have been there with me to see it.

Peggy, I’m glad you’re not here, no one should be out here.

Peggy, when this is all over, I’m going to ask you to marry me.

She always saved that one for last, because it filled her with the most hope. One day, this war would be over and she’d never have to pretend to love another man. One day, they’d never have to pretend again.

~*~ March 1945

She found it odd, trying to play the double agent at this point, and an inexperienced one, at that. Peggy slipped her coat tighter around herself, sliding around the edge of the inn. She was supposed to be seen, but she was trying not to be, at the same time.

Sometimes keeping it all in order set her mind whirling and she had to go back to the basics, back to the cover story to keep it all straight. Playing everything so earnestly was hard, and she was starting to lose herself.

It had been so long since she’d said goodbye to the Allied camp that this reality seemed the only one.

She liked the women in the typing pool where she worked in London. Once they’d stopped speculating about her and actually spoke to her, she found most of them quite lovely.

Sometimes she lost herself and genuinely enjoyed the company of the people Richard brought her around, they all seemed so normal talking about lunches and rationing and longing for days before the war, until she watched them stand and perform the single and double armed salutes with purpose and she grew nauseous at the idea that she forgot they were the enemy.

Sometimes, when she started to see the humans and not the Nazi party, when she started to sympathize with the young mothers who passionately just wanted a better future for their children and didn’t understand the lengths the men at the front lines were going to, she didn’t know who she was.

Deep cover did that to people. It was doing it to her.

It had been too long since she’d seen Steve, and even though his letters came like clockwork, she was starting to feel unmoored, starting to feel adrift in the lies. Keeping track of what she had told Wallace, what she was supposed to think he knew, what he knew and what she really knew he knew was getting exhausting and confusing. She was tracking real and fake troop movements, letting slip false information and protecting real information while getting every bit of intel from him that she could.

It wasn’t much, but she was working on it. The dinner parties weren’t fun, but they were chock full of information and were increasing in frequency. And she’d finally, finally gotten a break that might just bring this all to an end if she could just hang on a little longer.  

Peggy kept to the shadows of the building, forcing herself to remember how this was going to work. Wallace had said they’d be able to hear, not see.

Crikey O’Rilley, she hated that, but she had to go along with it. Peggy’d lost count. She wasn’t sure if she was a double or triple agent at this point, and in the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of this alive.

She stopped and knocked on the door, slipping one hand into her pocketbook. By the time Steve opened the door, she was rimming her lips with a fresh coat of red, the tiny light on the outside of the lipstick container blinking bright green at him, alerting him to the fact that she was wired.

He nodded, but the smile didn’t fade from his face, and his voice didn’t waiver when he said her name and stepped aside to let her enter. She slipped the lipstick away as she moved past him into the small rented room, Steve shutting and locking the door. She could feel her heart pounding.

“It’s been so long,” she whispered, looking up at him, tears in her eyes.

He didn’t let another second go by before sweeping her up into his arms. “I know. I’m sorry.”

She clutched at him, tears coming hard and fast, and they didn’t need to say anything for long minutes as they just held one another until she caught her breath. They both knew someone was listening, both knew they had a part to play that wasn’t planned, but for just a few moments, in silence, they could be themselves.

Peggy pulled away far enough to put a foot of space between then, dropped her bag on the floor and shrugged off her coat.

Steve watched as she started to unbutton her blouse, swallowing hard. “Peg…”

She shushed him with a silent finger to her lips, and stopped only halfway down her chest, opening her blouse to reveal the wires taped to her chest. “I’m afraid I can’t stay, Steve.”

His reaction was real. They’d been expecting for some time Wallace would bug them, or find a way to surveil them closer, but she knew Steve wasn’t prepared for this. Wide eyed and surprised, he looked her up and down. “What? Why?”

“I’ve come to stop this.” She shook her head and pointed at the wire, pleading with him to understand. “Things have changed quite suddenly and…”

“And what?” He asked, stepping closer, hands fidgeting, energy building up in him as he tried to figure out what to do with the situation.

“And I’m leaving with Richard.” She nodded, telling him this was true. “He’s offered me more than you can. Offered to take me away from this damned war.” Tears pooled in her eyes, but she pointed to her purse. Steve dropped down, rummaging through it quietly as she kept on. “What can you give me but eternal war? You know they’ll never let you stop, never let ‘Captain America’ retire, and I deserve more than that.”

Steve sat back on the floor, holding up a blank envelope. She nodded, but it didn’t change the devastation on his face. “I don’t understand, Peg.” He took a slow breath and added the next part for the wire’s benefit,  “I thought you loved me.”

She pressed her lips together and looked away, fighting the tears. “I do. I don’t think anything will ever change that.”

Steve scrambled to his feet, taking her into his arm. “Please don’t do this, Peg.”

She pulled back and kissed him, desperately at first then taking on a feeling of softness as the seconds ticked by before she pulled away. “You know why I’m doing this,” she whispered, eyes finding his.

He could only nod.

It’s all in there, Peggy mouthed, nodding her head towards the letter in his hand, Find me. She took a deep breath and stepped away, buttoning up her shirt. She bent, throwing her trench coat on quickly and shoving her bag over her shoulder. When she stood, she looked over her shoulder at him.

Without thinking, Steve dropped the letter and picked her up, pressing her against the door and kissing her with all the desperation and passion he felt. She wrapped her legs and arms around him, giving in and letting herself indulge. He pulled away far too quickly, but kept his eyes on her as he snaked a hand down her shirt and crushed the bug between his fingers.

Peggy shook her head, tears coming fast. “Now that you’ve done that I really must go,” she whispered.

“Tell me. Fast,” he begged, holding her tight and running a gentle hand over her cheek.  

“He’s gotten us an audience in Berlin, but we must leave tonight.” She searched his eyes, begging him to believe her as she nuzzled into his touch. “I think…” She took a deep breath, her face as serious as she could make it. “I think I can get to Schmidt.”

“Damn it.” He whispered, setting her down. “You have to go.”

She kissed him quickly. “I have to go.” She pulled away and set her skirt to rights. “Everything’s in the letter. Same ciphers.” She put her hand on the doorknob, reluctant even though she knew what she had to do. She clutched her shirt tight. “Come find me, Steve, and we can end this.”

Peggy pulled the door open and huffed out. “And you’ve broken a button, you brute!” she yelled behind her, stomping her foot and wiping at her tears. “I never want to see you again!” Peggy stooped down, picking up a rock and throwing it at Steve as he stood in the doorway. He closed the door just quick enough to avoid getting pelted, but Peggy didn’t miss that the curtain to his room moved as she moved quickly away, not even pretending to sneak as she set herself in the car in the back of the lot.

She sat heavily in the back seat. Wallace and his Hydra contact stared at her. Wallace’s eyes were dark but calmed somewhat, confused to see her crying, make-up irrevocably smudged. “What… what happened?” Wallace asked almost gently.

“Your wire stopped,” the agent accused sharply.

“He got fresh is what happened,” Peggy spat out, carefully pulling the crushed wire from under her shirt and presenting it to them. “I was able to hide it from him but it got crushed in the process.” She sniffed and tossed the wires into the front seat, looking away. “Thought he could give it a good go of getting me in bed to change my mind.” She huffed, leaning back. “Can we leave?”

Wallace seemed mollified, and waved his hand, letting the agent know to set the car in motion. “Don’t worry, Maggie. We’ll be in Berlin before you know it, then the Alps after that.”

~*~ The Next Day

“Jesus, she’s good,” Howard sat at his desk, scribbling down the decoded message as he went through the letter for the second time. He looked up at Phillips. “We’ve been searching for Hydra on the wrong side of the Alps.”

“What?” Phillips barked, setting his elbows on the table. “Sit down Rogers, you’re making me seasick.”

Steve stopped his pacing and set himself in the seat across from Phillips, but still fiddled with his hands on the edge of his shirt. “You didn’t see her, sir, she was—”

“You think I can’t tell that from how you’re walking around here?” Phillips shook his head at Steve, then turned back to Howard. “As soon as you have—”

“It’s done.” Howard slid the paper he’d been writing on across the table. “We’re about six-hundred miles off,” he shrugged. “She gave us exact coordinates and dates.” He smiled.

[im-the-punk-who]

Toby Stephens Thirstography #6 - Vexed (2010-2012)

Toby Stephens Hotness: 20/10. One point for every time DI Jack Armstrong is clueless about being a bottom. One extra point for that time he gets in way over his head with a Dominatrix and another for the time he gets tongue-fucked in a diner.

This is another of those ‘must a show be good’? Is it not enough for Toby Stephens to be frequently naked, or singing, or handling dildos, or being topped or having his hair pet, or just having completely no clue whatsoever about what’s going on? IS THAT NOT ENOUGH. ARE THE ARMS AND THE LAYERS NOT ENOUGH. 

Seriously my favorite thing about this role is that DI Jack Armstrong is just...clueless. Zero brain cells. If it were possible to have negative brain cells, DI Jack Armstrong would possess them. And yes I have to use his full name because I just like the way it sounds. 

He’s so dumb. I love him so much. My tiniest, dumbest child.

Tasty Tidbits below the cut, as always. Plus, Outtakes: Incorrect Sitting Edition!

Plot: 5/10 There...there is no plot.

Toby plays the main police detective in this semi-procedural cop comedy. There’s no real overarching plot, it’s just an episodal show of DI Jack Armstrong being a fucking idiot and the people who are subjected to him along the way. Kate Bishop to receive an actual caring husband for her efforts, Georgina Dixon to be canonized. 

Watchability: 2/7 or 9/10, there is no in between and it really only matters how drunk you are.

Vexed is the sort of show you can only watch with all of your brain cells turned off and a thick piece of blue tape over your critical lens. 

It has sort of a live action family-guy type vibe. I say, having watched very little actual family guy but having been inundated with it through pop culture. (This is a very on brand way to describe Vexed because that’s basically how DI Jack Armstrong rolls through life. Just kind of assuming he’s right and doubling down when he’s called out for it.)

Listen IF you can watch it, this is an incredibly entertaining role for Toby Stephens, and also a great thirst role as he is...constantly in bed with someone. Every time I rewatch it I love it more because it’s just...fucking silly and charming and brain off head empty entertainment. But I’m gonna say it again, don’t go into this thinking you’re watching any sort of high brow shit. You’re gonna be offended, everyone is going to do, or be, absolutely terrible, and you will likely have to leave the room at least once screaming really?!?!? 

That said I first watched this exclusively while drunk at 2am and I was literally laughing so loud I know I woke my neighbors because this show is...it’s terrible. I’m not sure if I want to give the writers credit for knowing how bad what they were writing was, but it’s almost impossible not to. 

Anyway Toby said it best: 

“I loved it! It was almost a vacation, I had so little to do. Jack is so awful at his job that he has no clue what’s going on: my character was even less informed than me.”

No thoughts, head empty, and enjoy, pirates. 

Warnings: 

Warnings for....just about everything imaginable. Seriously, everything. The biggest ones are rampant ableism and sexism - I think the only ones it doesn’t hit are there isn’t any graphic sexual assault, no animals die, and it’s not very heavy on gore, but everything else gets at least one episode to be addressed. If anyone needs specific warnings I’m happy to provide them but there are really too many to list.

Where to Watch:

This is on Netflix in the US, and I believe a few other countries, and also available through Acorn(free trial if you have access to Prime.)

[roughentumble]

Thinking about Jaskier working up the nerve to start asking Geralt about Renfri because he knows precious little about her and just wants to know more, even if it's just insignificant little things

He just asks little tidbits, and Geralt always answers him as honestly as possible bc he knows that even if he can only give him a tiny bit of information Jaskier will be more than happy

Like, Jaskier asks seemingly inconsequential things like "what did she smell like?"

And Geralt explains she smelled like blood and anger and red apples and snow and dandelions when they turn white, when they die, essentially, and Jaskier's heart swells in his chest bc he knows he smells like dandelions, Geralt's told him so, and it feels like a connection to her - one he's always had but never knew he did and he feels just the tiniest bit closer to her, even just the memory of her

oh shit, how long has this been sitting in my inbox???

ahhhh how bittersweet.... i love it

[politesper-moved]

the  more  information  itsuki  has  the  more  dangerous  he  is ,  i  think .  whether  or  not  he’s  a  threat  or  plans  to  make  himself  a  threat  in  the  future  is  unknown ,  but  talking  to  him  is  a  risk .  he’s  very  talented  at  picking  up  on  things ,  even  the  tiniest  slivers  of  information .  as  asahina  the  elder  has  said :  “ you’re  ( itsuki )  simply  too  clever .  a  single  careless  word  from  me  could  become  ten  words’  worth  of  information  for  you . “

seriously  though ,  that  whole  exchange  says  more  about  him  then  anything  else  we’ve  gotten  before .  i’m  analyzing  the  entire  thing  under  this  cut .

(  “  asahina - san ,  from  your  perspective ,  we  haven’t  had  an  encounter  in  some  time ,  correct ?  “

“  that’s  probably  true .  “  asahina  the  elder’s  face  bloomed  in  as  beatific  a  smile  as  koizumi  could  ever  manage .  like  a  witness  who’d  just  noticed  a  prosecutor’s  leading  question .  “  i  can’t  tell  you  anything ,  koizumi .  you’re  a  highly  dangerous  person ,  even  among  people  of  the  past .  there  are  things  that  even  i  am  prohibited  from  doing .  but  no ,  even  if  it  were  something  i  could  say ,  by  my  own  judgement  i  wouldn’t .  you’re  simply  too  clever .  a  single  careless  word  from  me  could  become  ten  words’  worth  of  information  to  you .  i’d  love  to  reminisce  with  you ,  though .  that  is  the  truth .  “  )

firstly ,  we  can  see  that  asahina  regards  him  cautiously .  she  doesn’t  confirm  is  suspicions ,  hence  the  word  “ probably “ .  she  doesn’t  want  him  to  know  how  long  it  has  been .  then ,  she  mimics  his  smile ,  what  itsuki  does  when  he’s  hiding  things .  i  wonder  if  adult  asahina  picked  that  habit  up  from  him ,  seeing  how  often  she  shoots  kyon  kind  smiles .

she  explicitly  is  stating  she  doesn’t  trust  itsuki ,  and  doesn’t  want  him  to  know  anything  about  her  or  her  circumstances .  the  only  things  she  would want  to  discuss  with  him  are  what  he  would  already  know .  things  from  their  shared  past .

(  “  i quite  understand .  those  words  are  enough  for  me .  you’ve  told  me  what  i  am ,  and  how  i’m  viewed  in  the  future .  even  if  that  was  fake ,  it  amounts  to  the  same  thing .  i’ll  do  my  own  information  analysis .  above  all ,  i  should  thank  you ,  asahina - san .  thanks  to  you  coming  here  i’ve  understood  what  it  is  i  need  to  do .  the  fact  that  you’ve  appeared  in  front  of  me  is  quite  extraordinary .  which  means  that  i’m  going  to  face  that  extraordinary  thing  myself  too .  you  could  not  face  what’s  going  to  happen  alone ;  you  must  need  my  power .  no ,  not  only  my  power ---  suzumiya - san’s  power  too .  am  i  wrong ? “  )

immediately  itsuki  dissects  her  words .  he  really  is  the  over  analtical  type ,  but  it  works  in  his  favor .  he  knows  he’s  regarded  as  dangerous  in  the  future  now ,  if  asahina  was  lying  it  wouldn’t  matter  because  there  would  be  no  reason  to  lie  to  him  or  avoid  telling  him  information  if  it  wasn’t  in  some  sense  true  that  he  couldn’t  be  trusted  with  even  tiny  tidbits  about  the  future .  this  just  further  pushes  the  idea  that  there’s  genuine  tension  between  mikuru  and  itsuki  even  in  the  present .

(  “  asking  questions  you  already  know  the  answers  to  is  an  interesting  hobby .  i  felt  this  way  before ,  but  even  so . . .  koizumi ,  out  of  all  the  stc  data ,  you  truly  are  an  irreplaceable  individual .  that’s  why  you  were  invited  into  the  sos  brigade .  you  were  chosen  by  suzumiya .  “  )

it  is  a  strange  hobby ,  isn’t  it ?  another  push  to  towards  the  fact  that  he’s  less  ignorant  than  he  appears  to  be .  i  have  a  feeling  that  a  lot  of  questions  itsuki  asks  people  are  purely  rhetorical .  also  noting  we  don’t  know  that  STC  data  stands  for  still ,  but  personally  i  believe  it  means  “space  time  constant”  data .  since  that  seems  to  make  the  most  sense .

again ,  references  to  being  chosen  by  suzumiya .  looks  like  it  wasn’t  just  kyon  after  all ,  but  all  of  them .  but  we  been  knew  that .

(  “  i’ve  become  aware  of  that ,  yes .  at  first  i  only  half  believed  it ,  and  explained  it  away  as  the  product  of  happenstance ,  but  i  no  longer  doubt  it .  i  am  part  of  the  sos  brigade .  as  is  nagato ,  and  your  younger  self .  so  what  about  you ,  the  grown - up  asahina - san ?  what  did  you  learn  when  you  returned  to  the  future ?  why  have  you  come  back  to  this  past ,  or  are  you  merely  here  to  interfere  with  your  former  self ? please ,  explain  your  position  to  me .  “   )

a  contrast  to  back  when  he  said  that  he ,  mikuru ,  or  nagato  could  be  replaced  while  kyon  couldn’t .  it  proves  that  itsuki  is  growing  in  his  views  of  the  situation  as  he  gets  information .  his  understanding  changes  and  thus  he  changes  his  views .  i  find  it  interesting ,  since  he  is  also  very  inflexible  in  his  beliefs .  he’s  once  again  a  walking  contradiction .  sometimes  i  wonder  if  he’s  just  pranking  us .

as  always ,  itsuki’s  first  goal  in  conversing  with  someone  is  to  get  information  out  of  them .  if  he  is  not  giving  information  himself  he  would  like  to  be  receiving  it .  i  find  it  also  interesting  to  note  that  he  doesn’t  seem  to  fully  grasp  the  time  traveler’s  goals  and  mikuru’s  role  specifically  in  all  of  this .

(  “  what  if  i  said  it  was . . .  classified  information .  “

“  i  would  not  be  surprised .  i’m  sure  if  i  went  back  to  the  past ,  and  the  inhabitants  there  asked  me  that  question ,  i  would  tell  them  the  same  thing .  however ---  “  koizumi’s  keen  eyes  regarded  fujiwara  and  asahina  the  elder  equally  piercingly ---  “  i  would  ask  you  not  to  underestimate  the  humans  of  the  past .  we  are  not  so  very  foolish ,  you  see .  i  won’t  go  as  far  to  say  this  aplies  to  all  humanity ,  but  humans  deeply  concerned  with  the  future  certainly  do  exist . “

i  was  surprised  by  the  sight  of  an  aggressive  edge  to  koizumi’s  gaze  that  i’ve  never  seen  before .  )

itsuki  also  mentions  that  he  would  hide  information  from  the  past  if  he  was  from  the  future .  he  can  understand  things  being  classified  and  probably  already  relates  to  the  idea  of  withholding  information  from  others .  he  actually  gets  upset ,  at  both  of  the  time  travelers  in  the  room .  he  believes  that  people  of  the  future  see  people  from  the  past  as  inferior  and  itsuki  refuses  to  be  underestimated  by  the  likes  of  them .  his  group  is  on  the  same  level  as  theirs ,  is  what  he’s  saying ,  despite  being  humans  from  the  current  time ---  arguably  the  ones  with  the  least  amount  of  information  and  a  severe  lack  of  technology  to  back  them  up  as  compared  to  the  future .  the  humans  he  describes  are  the  organization ,  and  he  even  makes  a  point  to  seperate  them  from  the  rest  of  humanity .

(  “  little  by  little  i’ve  come  to  understand  this ,  thanks  to  all  the  commmotion  that  various  aliens  have  caused .  suzumiya - san’s  ability . . .  the  ability  to  change  reality ---  it’s  not  permanent ,  is  it ?  it’s  not  that  it  weakens  with  use ,  but  it’s  not  something  she  will  possess  forever . eventually  it  will disappear .  am i  wrong ? “ 

“  well . . .  “  asahina  said ,  obviously  attempting  to  evade  the  question .  )

this  is  interesting ,  because  itsuki  had  originally  said  back  in  melancholy  that  haruhi  was  god .  he  recognizes  that  it  is  not  100%  the  case ,  her  abilities  are  god-like ,  but  she  is  not  the  creator  or  allmighty  authority  over  this  world .  haruhi  being  god  was  simply  a  popular  theory  among  the  espers .

however ,  if  her  powers  are  temporary ,  that  means  that  there  is  no  way  that  she  will  hold  that  staus  forever .  asahina  seems  hesitant  to  answer  him  and  confirm  his  theory .  i  can’t  tell  if  this  is  because  she  knows  the  truth  and  is  trying  to  ensure  itsuki  doesn’t  find  out  or  if  she  doesn’t  want  to  feed  into  itsuki’s  views ,  but  i’m  assuming  the  former .

(  “  it’s  not  as  though  you’re  being  pressed  to  choose .  when  they  want  to  do  something ,  they  control  you  as  they  please ,  thereby  controlling  suzumiya .  the  power  she  has  can  even  be  transferred  to  another .  nagato  once  managed  to  do  something  similar ,  so  these  aliens  can  surely  do  likewise . “  )

i  believe  itsuki  is  referring  to  asahina’s  superiors with  that  first  bit .  i  appreciate  how  quickly  he  is  able  to  catch  on  despite  just  being  tossed  into  this  situation  on  a  whim .  we  gotta  remember  he  didn’t  get  all  this explained  to  him  like  kyon  had .  he’s  piecing  this  all  together  on  the  spot .

(  kuyoh  was  standing  there  like  a  wooden  statue ;  koizumi  shot  her  a  contemptuous  look .  “  it  may  be  presumptuous  of  me ,  but  there’s  something  i  simply  must  say .  so  i  shall . “  he  took  in  a  deep  breath ,  and  once  again  revealed  his  true  thoughts .  “  i’d  like  to  ask  you  not  to  underestimate  the  people  of  earth .  we’re  not  such  stupid  creatures  as  you  might  think .  regardless  of  what  the  data  integration  thought  entity  or  other  alien  intelligences  might  say ,  we’re  quite  clever  in  our  own  way .  at  the  very  least ,  there  are  those  among  us  who  strive  for  that . “  )

this  is  itsuki’s  defense .  a  defense  in  himself  as  well  as  a  defense  of  the  people  on  this  world .  he  may  not  be  nearly  on  the  same  powerlevel  of  these  extra  terrestrials ,  but  he  will  not  stand  by  and  be  underestimated .  he  knows  he  is  capable  of  great things ,  he  knows  he  is  smart ,  and  while  usually  he  would  laugh  these  things  off  and  humble  himself  here  we  get  a  true  glimsp  at  koizumi .  someone  who  is  self - aware ,  maybe  a  little  cocky ,  maybe  a  little  dramatic ,  but  someone  who  faces  adversity  head  on .  i  think  i’ll  finish  this  off  with  a  quote  of  his  i  found  intersting ,  as  itsuki  is  constantly  saying  he  is  tired  of  conflict  or wants  to  avoid  it ,  but  despite  that ---  “  on  the  surface ,  humans  seem  to  hate  conflict , but  in  reality  they  seek  it .  “

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 76

Whew!  Enormous Family Dinner is finally done!

This took 2 more chapters than I originally planned, but I feel that holds pretty true for any good conversation you have among your found family... it just never wants to stop!

As always, thank you to @satan-parisienne for being so very, very patient with my ‘hurry up and wait’ style of requesting feedback, especially while you haven’t felt the greatest.  You are far better at pointing out “yeah, but this makes sense to LITERALLY NO ONE ELSE” than anyone I will ever know.  Also, @baelpenrose for helping me nail some of the dialogue, along with keeping me on track with all the bits and bobs I try to include in a single chapter.  Between the two of you, I feel like a better writer every day.

To give an idea of how crazy this chapter was to write, content warnings include mentions of:

Food Painfully spicy food Witches (non specific) Burning witches (the fact it happened) Sex (non explicit) Drugs Paranoia Food aversions

To be clear, none of this occurs on screen with the exception of the foods.  But it is all referenced in the conversation within the chapter, so just in case I wanted to make sure to mention it here. I also tried to tag it all.

I managed to calm myself down while Conor and Maverick dragged Sam to get more food.  As I wiped the last of the tears from my eyes, Alistair was dutifully telling Arthur some of my more humorous antics.  The dry humor and deadpan delivery threatened to put a smile on my long-lost friend’s face.

“It was ginger tea, not green tea,” came Tyche’s voice and she snatched a curried-vegetable wellington out of my hand. Stuffing it in her face, she turned to the teacher-cum-warlord-cum-teacher. “If you ever do or say anything unpleasant to my sister, if you make her even the tiniest bit uncomfortable, I will end you,” she advised jovially.

“I can’t exactly return that threat,” he pointed out, nonplussed. “I probably know more about your reputation than anyone on this ship except Sophia, and I’m not brain-dead enough to think you’re going to hurt her.” He paused before clarifying. “Necessary kicks in the ass notwithstanding. Hey - “

“You have to earn that privilege, professor,” she interrupted.  Draping herself over a chair - there weren’t any arms, how was she doing that? - she turned to me. “I like Parvati.  Guerilla protest artist in the body of a goddess.”

“Fortunately, humanity progressed past a point where we burn witches at the stake,” Arthur rued in agreement.  “Otherwise, I’m pretty sure Ms. Fletcher wouldn’t have made it out of infancy.”

“Certainly no Refugee Guernica,” I agreed with a sigh.

Grey sat down and nodded a greeting before adding “I have come to burn your fields and steal all your women.”

“Our dear Councillor Kalloe certainly seems to worship at that altar,” Alistair commented before I could stop sputtering at the sudden show of humor.  His face was entirely innocent when our heads whipped around collectively. “What? There is not enough soundproofing in the several galaxies - “

A dark hand swatted at his face as Derek objected. “Not in front of the dumplings,” he signed before swatting at Alistair some more.

“As a former warlord, I feel like I should object to that,” Arthur directed at Grey. “I mean, I may have burned a few fields, but I never stole all the women…”

I sighed with feigned wistfulness. “I don’t think Parvati had to steal anyone.  They probably marched behind her happily, with desperately high hopes.”

Several nods exchanged around the table before Arthur cleared his throat. “Speaking of witches…” He glanced pointedly at Tyche. “I managed to find something from Earth already in the consoles, and I am well aware that Sophia is insane about spice.” More than I did, my sister immediately perked up. “This is something I got to try exactly once in the Before, and it’s definitely not for the faint of heart.”

“Berbere,” I murmured.  I could remember him telling me about it afterward.  It was the hottest thing he had eaten in his life, at least at the time.

He nodded in confirmation. “Exactly.  But, just a warning before anyone rushes off to try this: it isn’t just spicy in the Scoville sense, this is spicy in the Dune sense of the word.”

A few confused looks exchanged around the table.  I threw looks at both Tyche and Arthur asking for permission before explaining. “In the fiction series Dune, there is a drug that is only found naturally on a planet called Arrakis.  The drug is nootropic, anti-gerial, and mutagenic, primarily allowing for expanded consciousness, ability to understand fifth and sixth dimensional navigation, and in limited cases, ancestral memory. Although the actual name of the drug is melange, the common name is simply ‘spice’.”

Arthur mimed applause; he had heard me mention my tendency to spout information like a walking encyclopedia, but this was the first time he had seen it in person.

The confused looks cleared up slightly, but there were still more than I would have liked.  Grey gently raised a hand for attention. “And… You actually want to eat this?”

I nodded fervently, as did Tyche, although Arthur tilted his head back and forth. “I mean… I believe after the meal I… experienced… I used the phrase ‘what unholy fire did I just put into my body’, but hey. It was delicious, even if the experience was a little closer to fiery transcendence than was altogether comfortable.”

Tyche snorted. “Burning witches at the stake, you mean?”

Ahhh… that was why talking about Parvati made him think of berbere.

“Just don’t give it to Derek, I’m begging you,” he responded. “This is not the ‘understanding eyes of kindly folk who burned witches alive to save their souls’ kind of thing. This is more ‘being consumed in the unholy fire of the most delicious thing you can imagine and seeing the fabric of reality in the process’ kind of thing.” Shuddering dramatically, he glanced at Derek. “Something tells me you would try to hack reality, and we kind of need that to just keep working right now.”

A sudden expression crossed Tyche’s face that I could only describe as looking like the physical manifestation of a click-noise. “Transcendent… I’ve noticed several people on the Ark - and I mean easily over a hundred - acting strange lately.  This can’t be related, can it?”

My neck ached in sympathy for the way it would have snapped around, had I not been facing her already. “You’ve noticed it, too?”

Derek tapped the table emphatically, requesting our attention. “Noticed what?”

“People have been unusually antisocial,” Tyche clarified. “Instead of greeting strangers, they look at me skeptically when I say hi.”

I nodded in agreement. “Even people who were very casually friendly in the last year or so, suddenly just nod and duck away to whisper furtively. It would be one thing if I had done something that clearly had a negative impact on the crew, but… I mean, I even see people who are carrying portable habitats for Else eyeing me weirdly.”

If Arthur had cats’ ears, I swear they would have been pricked as far forward as possible - for someone who was suspicious as a default, he looked curious enough to die for the satisfaction of an answer. “How large are these groups? Have you noticed any frequent meetings? Do you ever see people from several groups interacting? Are they quieter when you - or any other outsiders, I guess - approach?  Is it always the same people?”

My head spun as I tried to parse out answers. The questions had come rapid-fire, and I realized abruptly that Arthur, for all our digital interaction in the Before, wasn’t used to my auditory processing issues.

Thankfully, our Knights of the Dinner Table arrived from a successful quest, laden with several plates of tidbits and small cups of hot soup.  Tyche and I glanced at each other, silently agreeing to suspend the discussion of odd behaviors, before I spoke. “Soup isn’t on the menu, guys.”

“Special request,” Sam insisted carefully. “We all like miso, and it helps digestion.”  Without waiting for approval, he took one bowl, scooped all the tofu out and added it to a second bowl, and handed the first bowl to Derek. “No mushy,” he promised sincerely.

I restrained the urge to gape.  Never had I seen Sam assert himself like that, and it honestly made me insanely happy to watch.  Looking around the table, I saw the slightest twitch of Grey’s mouth. “It is very healthy to be clear about what you want, and builds friendships when you do so for others.” 

So they were the culprit behind Sam coming out of his shell. Interesting. “Cheers to insurrection,” I murmured, toasting with my half-gone bloody mary.

“And soup,” Maverick added cheerfully as he accepted the cup with extra tofu.

Not even bothering with the spoon, Conor actually toasted with his soup before downing it in one swallow.  “Slainte.”

Thankfully, Tyche and Grey both took much more graceful sips from their small bowls. 

Quickly, I sent a message to Arthur to send his questions in writing so that I could answer them fully.  Derek also made quick gestures with his datapad, seemingly asking the same thing. 

Everyone ignored Derek slipping half his bao back on Sam’s plate.

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[narastories]

Happy 280th Birthday Tom!

After having such a great fun with doing this for Lord John, I decided to do a reading for our wee Byrd as well.

A Natal Chart Reading for Tom Byrd

Disclaimers:

I am still not an astrologer

This is made in the spirit of appreciation of this character and his story. The purpose of this is pure fun on my part and hopefully to entertain some of you as well. Plus, to maybe provide some character-study-style insight or inspiration.

Tom Byrd’s character belong to Diana Gabaldon - duh -

Tom has no official canon birth date as far as we know it. A few of us decided on a whim to celebrate him on this day, and oh boy is it perfect from an astrological standpoint. Of course, it is. But that’s it, it’s just adoring fan-silliness from our part.

Again, I take full responsibility for the time of day chosen. I have cycled through the day by the hour, compared charts and decided on the one that I’ve found most fitting and just went with that.

Tom Byrd’s character has appeared only in the Lord John books so far, so every example I’m giving here will be from there. Nothing too spoilery.

This is astrology applied to a fictional character, you have been warned. Continue at your own discretion.

Let’s transport ourselves into the world of Outlander, and imagine the day that world was gifted with the presence of this cute and complicated character. What do the stars tell us about him?

Double Cancer 

No one ever said that Cancerians would be easy to understand. People born under the Crab are capable of holding many contradictions in their personality, and this is twice as true in the case of Tom Byrd who has both the Sun and the Moon in Cancer. When the two most powerful planets of a chart are in the same sign it tends to make the characteristics of that sign very prominent.

He is extremely cautious, but won’t hesitate taking the initiative when he needs to. Others tend to underestimate him at first, because he will stick to the rules. That is until he breaks them. He does not welcome change, but still adapts quickly to changing circumstances.

Tom appreciates safety, like the security that comes from stable employment, but still has a secret love for adventure. Luckily he can satisfy both of those cravings as the valet of Lord John Grey, because we all know that his lordship has the talent of getting into the most bizarre situations and is more than happy to keep Tom around to accompany him. (#zombies #succubus)

Just like a little crab crawling sideways he might have an indirect approach to things, but eventually he will always get where he wants to go.

He is sensitive and kind, but since his feelings are so dominant his mood can change fast. This is usually concealed by a carefully constructed exterior built from propriety and good manners. He uses this to hide deep feelings and extreme sensitivity underneath. He might be calm and collected on the surface most of the time, but there is a constantly shifting tide of emotions in his heart. He has the tendency to worry too much, to brood silently when he’s hurting or sulk when he disapproves, but no one listens to him.

Those who know him a little better will know that this grumpy little valet has a heart of gold. He is extremely caring and has a natural talent for making others comfortable and cared for.

At the same time Tom is cautious about revealing too much, which makes him naturally discrete. Besides his skill at giving a close shave this was one of the characteristics that made Lord John keep him as a valet just after just a short while of knowing him. Tom is also exceptionally perceptive and hard to deceive. He will notice the tiniest of details. This, and his high sensitivity to people’s emotions makes him good at figuring out others’ motivations. His intuition also makes him great at sensing public trends, and this combined with his creativity contributes to him becoming a good valet. He has a good memory and likes to collect information and store away small details later to be used.

His most admirable trait is probably his loyalty. When he is caring for someone, nothing can deter him. Crabs are known to retreat to safety at the first sign of danger. Don’t be fooled by Tom’s occasional outburst heroism, bravery is not his default setting. (#roaches) And because of that it means so much more when he does choose to stay and fight.

Cancerians tend to be quite the people-collectors. They don’t easily let people they know out of their sight. So fyi: there is no way Tom Byrd would willingly abandon Lord John Grey or let him out of his life completely. I think he would have loved if Jack decided to stay with them, but you know… his brother had his own loyalties.

Underneath all these layers Tom hides a fragile heart. He secretly needs and craves support and encouragement. He tries to hide it, but he has a lot of insecurities and can be a bit shy.

He is passionate about fixing other people’s problems. It comes from a strong urge to care for others even if it can be a bit overbearing sometimes.

Having the Moon in Cancer as well makes him even more protective and persistent. He perceives the world through his emotions, rather than rational arguments. This can cause a conflict with people who try to argue their feelings away - khm John khm - because that is very hard to understand for Tom. Other aspects of his chart play into this as well (Mars in Taurus) Sometimes he won’t be willing to see someone else’s point, especially if he knows that person feels differently than the argument they intellectually make.

No matter how in tune with his feelings he is, he doesn’t usually show them openly and as hypersensitive he is to other people’s emotions, he can sometimes be blinded by his own.

He is best in a deep, committed and loving relationship with someone who will appreciate his delicate heart and will dispel his feelings of unworthiness.

Capricorn Rising

Tom Byrd has a serious outward demeanor. No matter how young, inexperienced or out of his depth he may be in a certain situation, he is more than capable of employing the ‘fake it ‘till you make it’ tactic.  

With strangers he is often quiet and reserved. He also possesses great willpower and determination. It is important to him that he achieves things through his own hard work and that he feels like his life is meaningful. (Mars in Taurus) He has all the necessary discipline, ambition and patience to do just so. Becoming a lord’s valet is something he takes pride in, no matter the initial circumstances.

He has an active mind, quick intelligence, and the ability to concentrate. He likes to map things out ahead of time, because he doesn’t like to be caught unprepared. Fussing over details is his way of staying in control. He’s also a bit of a perfectionist.

He is a worrier. He loves deeply, and goes out of his way to be kind to others, but on the other hand he will hold onto hurt, and will hold a grudge.

His chart is ruled by Saturn which is in Cancer in the 7th house of partnership. This might suggest that he is emotionally too dependent on others. However, he is great at seeing a task through completion. Can be sly if he wants to. (see how he inserted himself into John’s life? see??) The obstacles he needs to overcome are his insecurity and lack of confidence.

Other interesting tidbits

The evils of propriety

Tom is mindful of decency and societal norms. (Capricorn Rising) That doesn’t mean he is not ready to throw them out the window, this is just another one of his contradictions. With him belonging to one of the Uranus in Capricorn generations he has the confidence to break through old established ideas. This aspect of his chart does oppose the likewise generational Neptune in Cancer, which suggests that this conflict is something he has a lot to do with in his life. Old-fashioned values vs. change for the better. Being compassionate towards others and maintaining harmony vs. fighting for your values and/or goals.

Sweet little cupcake

Tom is irresistibly likeable and naturally attracts warm feelings from others. (Venus in Leo) Do I need to say more? He is adorable and I have fallen under his spell. Points to Venus - there is my excuse lol

Twin influences

Tom has Mercury in Gemini, which gives an interesting quicksilver quality to his personality. He is surprisingly hard to pin down (get your mind out of the gutter ;P ). He is curious, versatile and quick witted. A great example of this is when in Private Matter John is trying to be very discreet about inquiring about his brother, and is surprised to find that against this effort, Tom immediately sees through him that he considers the possibility of his brother being guilty.

He also has Jupiter in Gemini, which again points to his adventurous nature and the knack for getting into advantageous situations. Do I need to say more?

Detective

My favourite small tidbit in his chart is a complex trine which suggests that he is good at looking beneath the surface for answers, good at investigating and unearthing things, and that he finds great allies in this. He is quite a little detective, our Tom. Seems like a small thing, but the placement of it suggests that this aids him in a great way. Which we know is true ;)

I hope you enjoyed this little ramble. It was fun to write, and it just made me fall twice as madly in love with our wee Byrd. Not that I need the encouragement on any day lol

[ddaenghoney]

chapter seven

masterlist link in blog description.

As a successful songwriter, you want nothing more than the acknowledgment that the chart-topping musical pieces are your own creations. But contracts, relationships, and the difficulty of facing the stakes involved head on, keep your mouth shut until pressure builds too much.

Pairing(s): Park Jimin x Y/N, Min Yoongi x Y/N

disclaimer: any characters depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Chapter-based written fic, Slow-burn relationship(s), Fake-dating, Unrequited love, Songwriter/producer!oc, idol!Jimin, idol/songwriter/producer!Yoongi, friends with benefits, drama, romance, smut, angst, fluff (updated as needed)

Chapter warning(s): none.

Word count: 5064

if you enjoy please, please let me know!

Yoongi, 2:36pm: Can you meet me at my apartment? I have to upload some things, and my stylists are going to set up there.

Y/N, 2:37pm: Yeah, hopefully I’ll be there before four. I don’t know what Yerin wants.

Your head lifts from your rigid posture on the couch, glancing in the direction of the elevator as a random employee delivers mail to the secretary. She told you to sit and wait approximately twenty minutes ago. The man returns to the elevator, bidding a cheerful goodbye to the girl who waves back at him. Your eyebrows furrow back down at your lap, hoping her normal demeanor can be taken as a positive sign for you.

Yoongi, 2:40pm: Whatever she says can’t be too awful. You haven’t done anything wrong.

Though you’re inclined to agree, at this point in your hole of misdeeds you wonder if even the tiniest things could set her off nowadays. The dates you and Yoongi go on aren’t blatantly full of affection, but given your mutual lack of acting--and desire to be affectionate with one another, you think you’re both done pretty good. Twitter likes it all, from what you have looked at, and celebrity news outlets commonly refer to you both positively as well.

Y/N, 2:42pm: Maybe she’s going to ask me to break up with you at the dinner thing later

Yoongi, 2:43pm: Wouldn’t you like that lol

Yoongi, 2:43pm: Well me too though

If anything good has come from the fake dating, it’s getting on stable foundation with Yoongi. Especially where production is concerned, he’s your favorite person to work with, even if all the things he’s let you have been informal content. The collaborative efforts have been a great use of your spare time, so much so that you don’t mind if they don’t amount to anything he’ll ever actually use. He said the songs aren’t likely to be, because of what he wants done with him, and how their styles won’t work properly with the conjured persona his management team deeply loves to publicize.

An image that you’ve found to be quite different to whom Yoongi actually is. One he also dislikes.

Yoongi, 2:50pm: I’m ordering pizza because I hear the food they plan to serve is going to be weird

Y/N, 2:50pm: You’re a hero… If you get cheese stuffed crust… I’ll buy one million copies of your next album….

Yoongi, 2:51pm: Get your wallet ready then (was already getting stuffed crust though)

“Ms.,” You turn your gaze to the secretary, thoughts of the enjoyable comfort food drifting from your thoughts as she smiles politely, “Ms. Baek is ready for you.”

Walking into the office, you’re met with Yerin sitting back relaxed in her seat, seemingly tranquil. She gestures with her hand to the empty chair across her desk, then uses it to take hold of her coffee mug, taking a languid sip. Unassuming, somewhat welcoming. You remain proper in the straightness of your spine as you sit, simply saying a small greeting that felt repressed like you were in her presence.

“I won’t take long with this.” She flips her hair behind her shoulder, rolling the wheels of her seat closer to the desk. “Just a check-up.” You nod, not fully understanding what she means, considering she hasn’t done anything like this since your first year of working in the company. “From what I see in the press the relationship is going over nicely. It helps giving some official information first to the main news sites that’ll give beneficial commentary.” She goes on like there’s a check-list of points in her head to cross off, while you nod. The first headline to drop the company’s official statement dressed the relationship with pretty phrasing, and light-hearted banter in the paragraphs about pictures of you and Yoongi on the first visible date. “It may start getting a little trickier now, though.” She takes another moment to drink her beverage while you noticeably frown.

“The appeal won’t simply die down?” You ask, words weightless of strength and only curious. Yerin shakes her head, finger tapping on her notepad while she explains,

“No, there’s always going to be a desire for public pictures of an open relationship like this; especially considering Min Yoongi’s prestige in the public’s eye.” At that you nod once, accepting that tidbit of information to be correct, especially with how much acclaim his work has received in recent years. “With that being said, there needs to be more out of you both.”

You only stare at her, taking in the ideas behind her words, hoping you’re misunderstanding, but knowing that not to be the case.

“Yes, as in more physical interaction.” Straightforward. Yerin rests her chin on her hand as though what she’s saying is cumbersome to explain. She shrugs, catching you off-guard as she beats you to commentary, “I know it’s obnoxious and, perhaps, uncomfortable, but that’s how it is. I’m not telling you to make out with each other in the streets, but hand-holding won’t cut it forever.”

“I,” You bite your lip, not happy with the idea of talking back to her, considering you and Yoongi had already gone in this deep with the thing. But you should speak for yourself. “I don’t think I can do things like that with someone I don’t genuinely like in that way. It’s going to look awkward-- I can’t even see Yoongi agreeing to this idea, either.”

“I know he wouldn’t.” She nods, glancing from you to the window. “Like I say: I don’t need you both to make out, or even kiss. In fact, I don’t want you both to be spotted kissing, that runs the risk of being too unprofessional. Just act more friendly than you both do now. You can still have your boundaries of no real physical affection, but delve deeper for the sake of cameras and people outside of the company’s perception.”

Your head tilts in disappointment of her unwavering decision, though you can’t help but agree with her worry of media’s perception. Not that you truly wanted to deceive people, but from the objective perspective of a general person, Yoongi and you only ever held hands in public, sat across at tables with no further physical interaction-- you both haven’t even faked a selfie session. You bite the inside of your cheek, still trying the last card, “And if Yoongi doesn’t go along with this at all?”

“He will.” Yerin cooly responds to you, finally shifting her crisp stare back to your person. You’re stiff at her words’ finality, wondering how she can be so sure. “Besides that all,” Her calculative actions and stoic demeanor are truly the most intimidating things about Yerin. “You’ve been working on music with him.”

Like how she’s able to state information she has received without you possibly understanding where she would have received it from.

“Y-Yeah,” Because you’re surprised, the affirmation stutters, but you clear it up in the retort. “It’s not against policy.” She nods in agreement,

“No, it’s not. I’m not upset with the fact. Just acknowledging it. Of course I’d want the best of the company’s songwriters to be collaborative with one another.” You nibble on your lip, eyes widening slightly at the high-praise of your value. “I was going to try and get you to help him with his upcoming album anyways; it’s best that it happened naturally, considering how particular he is.” Your shoulders feel less burdened to straighten, fueled by the change in topics that ended up being so much more uplifting than you would like to admit out loud. “Keep up the good work. It always shows you do your best.”

---

A plate with crumbs and the faint remains of a few drops of tomato sauce sit cold on the night stand beside Yoongi’s bed. You sit in a desk chair wheeled in from his spare room under bright lights the stylists brought from the company as you receive their final touches of makeup. It feels like an hour has passed, making you murmur of worry at the idea you and Yoongi would arrive late to this dinner he was cordially invited to.

But on the other hand you’re fine with the delay. Still trying to figure out a way to express Yerin’s order of more PDA to Yoongi, after avoiding discussion of anything in regards to the meeting once you arrived at his apartment. Timely as it was, he had just finished his appearance preparations, and greeted you with steaming slices of cheesy pizza questioning immediately if everything went okay.

You hurried in a yes, fumbling over words but able to avoid untactfully blurting that she wants more from you both.

“Y/N,” The familiar stylist says your name with pride, overlooking you from behind as you take in your freshly styled makeup, hair, and the perfectly fitting dress that you chose out of five options. It holds the contours of your figure with grace, a bandeau-style neckline, with the sleeves purposefully sewn to fall off your shoulders loosely, and somehow in an ethereal way. The fabric’s shine under the fluorescence entirely highlights the rich shade of bronze, and as you take in the entirety of the ensemble-- beautifully black heels and all-- you can definitely agree with the tone that the stylist goes on in. “This dress kills. You have great taste.”

If the foundation didn’t layer your skin, you’d likely have a noticeable flush of confidence, but that aspect is evident in your widening smile. Hell, looking this nice may be convincing enough for Yoongi attend more to those demands Yerin asked you of.

You bite your lip at the thought, head shifting to disperse it entirely--silly idea, maybe even conceited, plus it’s Yoongi you’re talking about. It’s only Yoongi.

“Wow,” You catch sight of the man himself enter behind you, his reflection in the mirror showcasing a fixated, noticeably surprised, expression. Your chest beats with more warmth, fueled in confidence from his reaction that you didn’t genuinely think would occur. You turn, biting your inner cheek as he simply remains quiet, unabashedly taking in the outfit as you properly faced him. Then Yoongi startles in the quiet, releasing the door knob from his hand and entering into his bedroom, wandering towards the rack of clothing that was brought for him, facing it as he finishes. “You look nice, Y/N.”

“Nice isn’t enough, Yoongi.” You nearly cough as his stylist interrupts the moment, missing your lips tighten to refrain from smiling bashfully at his comment. “You should tell her at least a paragraph’s worth of words-- I mean, look at her!” She rambles, adjusting his suit coat while Yoongi allows her to, casting you a glance. This one contained entirely to find your eyes. He smiles softly and nods as though to tell you he genuinely means the small sentence he said.

You didn’t need him to. You knew.

--

“So,” Yoongi says, comfortably beside you as you both ride to the destination. “Sorry if this dinner thing ends up being really boring for you.” He speaks quietly, somewhat slowly like he’s looking for something to comment on. “I wanted to skip it, since I’m not a fan of the host, but couldn’t get out of it with Yerin.”

You know the statements reasoning invite you to question his disdain of the host, but you miss the chance to keep on track with the subject of Yerin. “Speaking of Yerin,” Watching him flinch a little as your voice raises, you just ignore it and get out the phrasing as innocently as you can, “She,” You reach to fiddle with your hair, smiling in a nervous manner that he could get upset by the idea. Yoongi’s lips curl a little in a frown, taking in your evident worry about whatever you are about to say, and he knew he had the right idea when you shuffled past him to get your makeup done, barely remembering to get pizza until he reminded you. Something definitely happened. “She wants us to be a bit more physical than just holding hands.” Your voice trails, as does your eye contact in favor of the seat’s polyester.

Yoongi’s frown remains, due now to the confusion on why that was so difficult for you to say to him. Judging by past interactions with her, he had a feeling that would eventually come. The idea that she directly asked you instead of having himself present as well for the request makes him uncomfortable. Wondering what her methodology was when this message clearly made you worried to pass along. He sighs, irritated again by the odd work relationship between you and Yerin. But Yoongi’s gentle as he answers you, subconsciously happy when he notices your shoulders lose tension and he settles your small bundling worries. “That’s okay. We’ll figure out some other stuff to pacify the media.”

Your eyes find Yoongi’s profile as he looks out at the passing evening scenery. You’re skeptical. He was just as against the fake relationship as you were in the beginning, so seeing him go along with this new addition as easily as this feels strange. And you wonder even more how Yerin was able to assure you this occurring outcome would come to be. “I’m sorry I couldn’t convince her against it.”

Yoongi faces you, eyebrows furrowing in dismay at your need to apologize, “This isn’t your fault; you don’t need to apologize.” He shrugs, admitting softly, “I had a feeling she’d want more eventually.”

“But not a lot, don’t worry.” You try to soothe your own discomfort as you remind yourself, “Just small things-- not kissing obviously.” Yoongi chuckles, rubbing his neck, humored by the way you pop in small comments.

“Obviously.” He mimics your tone, earning a small pat from you against his arm as you pout at the teasing. Embarrassed, but he didn’t push it. “I know what you mean, Y/N. It’ll be okay, we’re not doing anything either of us are uncomfortable with.”

“Do you want to have some sort of signal in case we cross boundaries like that?” You ponder ideas of how to be subtle, but pause as Yoongi murmurs absently, as though what he says is casual knowledge,

“I think we understand each other well enough to know without that.” Despite the statement sounding unassuming, you can’t deny little jitters of warmth at its implication, but you shrug them away, thinking in the end that it’s silly to read so much into simple things like that.

The car comes to a stop, the area outside sparse of crowds due to the lowkey nature of the dinner party that is apparently only supposed to be learned about after the event concludes. Nonetheless, you exit from the vehicle, holding Yoongi’s hand as he helps you out. The usual. Leading you both into the tower, you think maybe posting a picture with him on your social media account could be enough to suffice for the evening, leaving you both with an opportunity to think of other things for future dates, but as Yoongi’s hand strays to find a gentle purchase around your waist, tugging you closer to him in the slightly busy elevator shaft, you realize he’s able to adapt easily to the new parameters of the fake relationship. Like he didn’t have to think at all.

“Too much?” The words feel like they brush into your hair, but so quietly in order to keep the other few people in the elevator as away from the question as possible. Your head shakes only a little, and it’s not enough to convince him as the grip begins to loosen, then stray away, but you can’t be the only one lagging in this. He didn’t like it either, but you shouldn’t force Yoongi into making all of the effort. You hand shadows over his before it leaves your waist, keeping it situated, warmth leaving the tips of your fingers and onto his skin chilled from the short walk inside. “Okay.” You register his nodding beside, as well as the fluster very slightly in his voice.

Your responsive giggling falls before you’re able to stop it, humored by his shy reaction and how you thought Yoongi was effortless in acting like your boyfriend. Clearly as nervous about the small things as you are. You shift closer towards him when his hand suddenly squeezes in a tickling manner, and you glance up at him only to try harder to muffle laughter as he looks down at you completely embarrassed with his lips straight in a tight line that makes his cheeks fuller.

“Stop-”

“I’m sorry.” You nod away the entertained thoughts, then smile at him dramatically, overly apologetic, trying to play it all away with humor. Yoongi just shakes his head, sighing softly when the door opens.

“I’m not good at this I know.” He says vaguely enough for those who could happen to listen in, but of course you understand. As such you shake your head, walking as he leads you both to the reception area cluttered with celebrities and those sporting designer clothing to fit into it all.

“Listen, we both clearly suck at this.” You respond, catching sight of the refreshments going around on dishes. Yoongi was right: they looked weird. “But we’ll probably get better, I guess.” You shrug, wondering why the event is called a dinner party when no formal dining tables were anywhere to be seen. Instead, you catch sight of people throughout the music industry and beyond, casually involved with one another in dignified manners. Practiced at the art of social interaction, and from what you could see most weren’t meeting for the first time that evening. Feeling like you’re the odd one out. “Don’t ditch me in this, please.”

“No plans of that. Don’t worry.” You step in further with him, altering position so that his hand leaves your waist in favor of your hand, for the ease of walking. You keep close, realizing more and more by your unfamiliarity with everyone that you’re not a part of the world that plays out in the party. Idol and producer Min Yoongi’s date, but not songwriter and producer yourself.

“Just when I thought I was going to get iced out of here.” Walking ceases at a clear voice that causes Yoongi to pause, looking beyond you while you do the same. You immediately bite your lip, trying to refrain from the shock of Jung Hoseok walking towards the two of you, suit sleek, with the patterned shirt beneath it glimmering, a flute of a drink half-finished in his hand, and a bright smirk present. You’re silent, glancing back to Yoongi who responds instantaneously,

“How are you here?” Yoongi speaks quietly, eyes narrowing with baffled shock. You try to think back on any mentions of him knowing Hoseok before, but draw blanks. Then again, why wouldn’t we, they worked at the same company previously. You narrow your eyes at this thought, in your own world for the moment while you get vague recollection of headlines surrounding Hoseok about a year earlier than you hadn’t paid much attention to. The implications of so leading to his removal from the company, and left uncontracted to SoundWave following the merger.

“Believe it or not, people still like me that aren’t the press.” He says with a shrug, sipping at his flute while Yoongi continues to look perplexed by Hoseok standing there. You can’t think of why in particular. Hoseok looks to you before Yoongi can fumble out any other response, smiling politely with an extending hand, “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself. You must be Y/N. I’m Hoseok.”

“You know who I am?” You ask in surprise, then recall his hand and shake it in greeting.

“Yoongi told me about you-”

“Hoseok, this is Seulgi’s party.” Yoongi’s continued concern shows, attempting to get Hoseok back on task to the conversation of being there. At mention of the host’s name, you remember it in relation to Hoseok’s in the headlines last year. Jimin had mentioned something about one of their careers getting damaged because of their relationship being caught in limelight. You hadn’t concerned yourself with that, instead fixating on the way the same could happen in your own situation, so as Yoongi sets the last piece of the puzzle in your mind, you revert into quiet.

Calmly looking up at Hoseok who turns his gaze back to Yoongi, you wonder like Yoongi what he’s doing there. A tiny part of you wanting to ask what happened if only to grasp at some fake comfort in knowing that it wouldn’t happen to you at this point. The only good thing perhaps that you could find so far.

“Obviously I know that.” He nods, taking a moment before speaking. “She let me in, it’s not like I snuck through security.” Yoongi’s hand around yours stiffens, worrying you a little that the small statement made him upset, but his expression looks torn instead. “Came with a friend that wanted to come.”

“Yoongi-” The three of you startle as a new person enters the hushed conversation. She steps passed Hoseok, ignoring his presence entirely, and instead smiling wide at Yoongi as she goes on, dress glittering under fluorescence. “You came after all. I’m glad.”

Where Hoseok’s sudden entrance felt easy to adjust to, the appearance of Seulgi is opposite. You feel uncertain of how to take in her sunshine tone towards Yoongi, while Hoseok takes another long drink to finish off his flute, eyes drifting from her to somewhere away. You swallow nervously, feeling implications hiding quietly around the bubble that felt hostile despite the cheerful demeanor the model and idol group member in front of you portrays. “Company said I had to.”

“Don’t be like that,” She teases reaching for a gentle nudge against Yoongi’s arm that intends to remain until he shrugs it off. The hand holding yours tightens once more, and you step closer to him before realizing so, concerned only with creating some type of barrier between them, because Yoongi seemed uncomfortable. “Ah,” Seulgi’s styled waves of rich brown fall over her shoulder as she looks towards you, polite smile, discerning eyes. “The rumors were true after all, hm?” She disregards greetings, head tilting back to Yoongi, “I want to catch up. I’ll show you to the open bar?”

“I’m not planning to drink much, or stay too long actually. Y/N and I have things to do in a while.” After listening to the decline, Seulgi’s eyes take a quick glance again, searching for confirmation that comes in the form of your head nodding, putting on a false, polite smile of your own. Your gaze perhaps more irritated than she would have liked to receive, so she smiles coyly. Nodding once, though chuckling sarcastically,

“What kind of plans happen at almost midnight on a Friday night, Yoon?” In the corner of your eye, Hoseok’s frame notably tenses, releasing a baffled scoff that Seulgi pays no mind to, and Yoongi doesn’t miss a beat in his reply,

“Things that don’t concern you.”

“Harsh.” She giggles like the conversation is an amusing game. “Y/N, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” You’re undeterred by her obviously knowing who you are, trying to roll with the punches as well as Yoongi does.

“You have your work cut out with this one.” She never looks at you as she speaks, never acknowledges Hoseok beside her, just intent on staring daggers into Yoongi’s eyes while the rest of her presents itself as quaint and easy-going.

“I didn’t ask.”

Seulgi’s head turns towards you, dark red lips parted for only a moment at your dry remark, before they close again. She properly takes you in, eyes narrowing in what appears to be a lapse of confusion, while Hoseok beside her chuckles in the midst of it all. She exhales a sigh at his antics, then a small smirk blossoms, matching the condescension in her speech, “Guess it’d be boring if he picked someone that can’t talk back.”

“Seulgi,” Yoongi steps between you two, eyes narrowed towards her but his voice is controlled, appearance utterly poised for any outsider to notice. She takes only a half step back, unafraid, but giving distance to cross her arms dismissively. “Leave her out of this. Don’t get any ideas.”

Seulgi looks at him silently, unbothered by the definite demand Yoongi speaks towards her. You get the feeling that she doesn’t buy it, likely hoping to push him even further. Letting you easily understand why Yoongi had so much reluctance in attending this particular event.

You tug the connection of your hands, causing Yoongi’s head to glance back at you, eyes speckled with the lighting and appearing concerned that something is wrong. Your lips tighten towards him, the smallest of head shakes telling him this isn’t worth it. You feel relaxation in his grip on your hand, returning to the feelings you’re used to, and Yoongi turns to Seulgi who speaks before he can get the two of you away, “Humor me with a chat.”

“Why should I?” His eyes narrow at her offer that she’s confident in. Seulgi takes a look to Hoseok who’s maintained near complete silence despite what his character is known for in the public. Eyes to Yoongi, releasing depth that you didn’t understand,

“Considering last year, you owe me.” Despite the majority of him faced away, you knew her statement struck a chord with Yoongi. Jaw stiffening and eyes narrowing in emotions other than anger. Like he lost to her. Lost to something that happened. You can’t help but frown, worry cascading around your stomach that tells you this isn’t a good change at all. As you turn to see Hoseok’s opinion on this discussion you find him only looking at Seulgi from the corner of his eyes, concerned, confused, curious.

If she was his ex then what does she want with Yoongi.

Yoongi sighs after what feels like an eternity, holding your hand still as he steps away from Seulgi and Hoseok only a few paces. His body faces from them, blocking you from their view as your holding hands dangle between you both. “I’m sorry, I need to talk to her though.”

You want to ask why but your lack of involvement and importance to Yoongi lead you to avoid that, but you’re visibly worried. Tone matching as you still try softly with concern, “Is everything okay, Yoongi?”

He nibbles his lip, though nods. Words gentle, apologetic. “I’ll tell you about it some other time, but I won’t take long.” He pauses, eyes appearing to frown in memory of his earlier promise to stay with you through the entire party. “I’m sorry, I really won’t be long. We can leave after; I don’t want to stay.”

You nod slowly, still wondering if you should let him, but having no reason to stop the situation that is the biggest cause of his discomfort. “Yeah, of course. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re bad at lying.” He says softly, smiling a little sheepishly, while giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. You shake your head, but Yoongi halts you from your need to cover up. “I think you’re worried. It’ll be okay though, it won’t be a long talk. Wait for me at the bar?”

You nod, thinking he appears hesitant to leave you, even after releasing your hand. But Yoongi eventually turns, finding Seulgi patiently behind him despite her still crossed arms. Hoseok’s disappeared, escaped to another part of the venue, and you’re unsure if he spoke to her at all during your small discussion with Yoongi. Then Yoongi and Seulgi disappear as well, mixing into the crowds and going off somewhere.

You sigh, wondering about the dense amount of history and problems between the three of them, and thinking if Yoongi would be okay when he seemed so bothered by Seulgi’s implications. Stepping in the direction of the bar, you try to ignore it, leaving it to Yoongi to handle, because it is clear he wants to. Despite his obvious animosity there is something for him to work through. He said he’d tell you about it.

Your lip drags between your teeth in an attempt to smother the warmth you feel that he trusts you in that way. After Yoongi’s tried to give you an outlet for your problems, and trying to overlook his early judgements of your person to give you the benefit of the doubt, you feel happy that there could be a way for you to help him through any of his troubles as well.

Through the partygoers you walk along, finding the bar as lively as it would be. However, you’re not entirely interested in passing time with anything, instead using the location just as the place to meet with Yoongi after his discussion concludes. You take another look at the attendees, curious if any other big names that you admire have come out, but for the most part see artists of other agencies, socialites, and people you’ve never seen before in the slightest. The atmosphere seems inviting, though you can’t help but feel away from it. Aside from your lack of public image, the people around act separate, like there are things to hide and appearances to keep up, like how Yoongi did his best to maintain visible composure in the jabs between him and Seulgi who herself acted just as well-adjusted as him. Even in this semi-private sphere, people are on guard, unwillingly to give out pieces of themselves that are unsightly, or even human.

Your eyes hit head after head, bewildered by how different this party is despite what you would expect from people who seemingly have it all; even the recognition you crave. Then the gaze halts, locked on sight with the most familiar face you should’ve expected to see tonight. In the midst of Yerin’s slight praise, and the advancing air of friendship between you and Yoongi, the idea of something to upset the positivity left your thoughts long ago.

But as Jimin stands paces from you, eyes greeting yours silently, you wish you considered this outcome. And wished you tugged Yoongi and you out of this party altogether to have a night unbothered.

if you enjoy please, please let me know! i hope you enjoy the series, i’m working really hard on it! : )

tag list (send an ask to be added): @jaiuneamesolitaiire​ @tsvkino-usagi​ @xionysus​

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 65: Like Peeling an Orange

Chapters: 65/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Mature Warnings: NSFW

Relationships: Loki x Reader (There We Go)

Characters: Loki (Marvel),  

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Loki Gets A Scolding, Sometimes Loki Should Not Do What He Wants, This Armor Looks So Cool In My Head You Guys, And A Fun Time Was Had By All

Summary:   Loki helps you into-and back out of-your new armor.

Your armor was finally ready. Loki pored over it, examining every minute detail. It had to be perfect. He had to make sure it was perfect.

The weavers and tailors had brought their best. The scaled plates of nornbein and steel had been removed from their original leather backing, and affixed to new; less bulky, more supple, to better fit your smaller frame. Each bit of metal had been embossed with beautiful swirling knotwork, some of them ancient Midgardian motifs.

The quilted silk tunic glistened like polished jade, soft but tough. It would peek out from under the armor here and there, offering protection from sharp things, and signaling your importance.

But the helmet-the crown-was a grand achievement of deceptive metalworking. It looked so delicate, constructed of dainty petals and leaves, affixed to a wide band. Long, gem-studded petals stretched over the top, overlapping ivy leaves trailed down the back to protect your neck, fiddleheads would cover your cheeks.

It looked as fragile as a real bouquet, but the smith had whacked it with a heavy mallet for Loki to see, and it hadn't left a dent.

“And if anyone tries to strike without a weapon, they'll lay their hand right open.” The smith had assured him. “The edges aren't sharp enough to cut just by touching, but with applied force, they certainly are.”

Loki gathered it all up, impatient to show it to you, to see you put it on, to see you take it back off, and he rushed to the kitchen to pick up some dinner that you could eat together. Preferably in front of the fireplace in his room.

The under-chefs greeted him with some amusement, wrapping up a simple dinner and a chilled bottle of that Icelandic fruit wine for you.

“So, is the Seidkona beginning a new project?” One asked politely. “A special Midgardian spell, perhaps?”

When pressed for what he meant, he became a bit nervous. “W-well, she rushed in here very excited about something, and asked for the largest glass jar that we had. We had some of those five-gallon pickle jars, so, of course we gave her one. She gave no suggestions as to what she was doing with it, but I've heard that some Midgardian sorceresses used to put their spells in jars, so we thought perhaps she was simply making a very large spell.”

“Don't worry about it.” Loki said. “I'll see what she is up to.”

Upon entering you room, he saw that you had placed your flowers-vase and all, inside the pickle jar, and covered the top with a tied down cloth. He set the bundle of armor and the basket of dinner down on your dresser.

“Darling, what-”

“Silvery Checkerspot.” You said shortly.

“I'm...not sure as to what you are referencing...”

You pointed at the vase inside the jar. More accurately at a fat, undulating worm, crawling up a flower stem.

“This creature?” He asked. “Does it offend you?”

“No, this is a caterpillar! It turns into a Checkerspot butterfly. They're pretty. Black and orange, with tiny white spots on the edges of their wings. Lacy. I used to see them and these caterpillars all the time. They're so beautiful. Also, and this is the important part-they don't live in Iceland.”

Your voice had gone a little hard, and Loki internally recoiled. You knew. This traitorous little orm had whispered his secret to you by very virtue of its presence. How could he have known that, among the no doubt thousands of species of butterflies in this world, this would be one that you were so familiar with? How could he have known that there were none here? And how was he to know to search for hitchhikers in the first place?

He'd been so high on success, and trying so hard to hold on to all the sensations that had been swimming in his head, that he hadn't spared a thought to looking out for creatures that would give him away.

And now you knew that he had been back to your home without you, and he was just now realizing how angry you might be about that. Very angry, perhaps. Betrayed, even. 'Never touch me or talk to me again' maybe.

Oh no.

Had he ruined it? He'd been trying to do something nice! How could he continually fail so badly at doing good things for people?

He hadn't always been so bad at this. It was one of the many things that had gotten lost on the way. One of the things unfairly taken from him.

Was it going to drive you away too?

“I thought you had gone back to Akureyri on your business. I figure Leynarodd could probably get you there and back in way better time than we made. But you didn't exactly say where you were going, and that's why isn't it? Letting me assume isn't the same as lying, is it? But Leynarodd can't get you across a whole ocean. God, when I woke up this morning in all that pain, I should have guessed...”

Loki flinched. The pain. He'd thought he could avoid it if he went while you slept, that he could do all this without causing you any trouble at all, but the trouble was all here anyway.

“What could have taken you back there?” You continued. “Couldn't have been just the flowers.”

“I...needed to understand you better.” He explained. “I needed to experience the world you lived in. The surroundings you grew up in. The land that shaped you. I needed to know it better. There's something I want to do for you, and I needed that information.”

“What thing?” You asked, sounding mildly skeptical. Loki's mind screamed at him to fix this, fix it right now.

“It's a special surprise, just for you.” Loki leaned down, placing both hands on your shoulders, gazing sincerely into your eyes. “Please don't be angry with me.”

“Oh, Loki.” You wound your arms around his neck. “I'm not angry. I'm sad I didn't get to go.”

He took the opportunity to hold you tightly to him, relieved that you weren't pushing him away.

“I'm sorry.” He said, possibly the first time he'd uttered the words to you. “Of course you miss it. I'll take you there, sometime. When it's safe. When we can walk the streets without having to hide. They honor you, you know. They've named a cupcake after you. They even seem to have accepted my involvement, though it might be no more than crass opportunistic commercialism. I saw no effigies of myself burning, though, so that's a good sign.”

“Dad and Tara tell me they've been spreading the word about my 'medical treatment', so everybody probably just thinks you're bad at being altruistic.”

Loki scoffed. “I suppose I'm not exactly famous for it...”

“You will be. You really seem to want to do big, great things. As Asgard grows, you'll be able to do more. You'll live so long that you'll have time to do a lot. Long term projects. I wish I could see-”

“Shhh. I'll show you everything.” Loki promised. “Don't you worry. What will you do with the worm?”

You glanced back at the pickle jar. “It's a big bouquet. And the caterpillar is in a late instar. There should be enough there for it to eat until it pupates. Then...I guess I'll let it go. They don't live long after  coming out of their chrysalis, and there's no more butterflies for it to meet up with, so there's no way for it to become invasive. The cold will probably kill it early, but that would have happened back in Iowa too. Sometimes they just get started late, and don't have enough time. This would probably have been the last flush of flowers that it would have found. So it's okay. I just want it to reach it's full potential, even if it won't have much time after that.”

Loki stroked your hair. Was that what it felt like to you, when you examined your lifespan in contrast to his? Like this larval creature, did you see your magical potential as something to be mastered, even if you wouldn't have many years to make use of it?

Could there be some way to prolong your time?

And if there wasn't, what would he do?

He released you and you glanced curiously at the things he had brought.

“Presents?” You asked. He scooped up the armor bundle and dinner basket.

“Of a sort. I thought we could eat in tonight. Your armor is finished. Would you like to try it on?”

You agreed, and he led you back into his room, down in front of his fireplace. Dinner first, little bite-sized tidbits that he knew you liked, fed back and forth, and a moderate amount of wine.

He could see just the tiniest bit of tipsiness shining in your eyes when he put the food and drink aside, and brought out your armor.

You marveled over each piece, rubbing your face against the shimmering silk, delighting in the little details all over the armor. Loki helped you put it all on over your dress, and then, he offered the helmet.

At first you were speechless, overcome by its beauty. Then you couldn't stop gushing over that beauty, interspersed with welcome thanks and much less welcome insinuations that you didn't deserve something so grand. You deserved everything. You deserved the moon and stars. You deserved every ounce of precious metal, every carat of gemstone, you deserved it all, if only because he wanted to give it to you.

He stood you in front of the large mirror, and with great satisfaction, lowered the helmet down onto your head. Like a reverent coronation, you stared at yourself, as if trying to recognize your reflection. Beyond the slight asymmetry of your face, which had never quite gone back to normal, there was now the new look of your perfectly tailored armor over top of your flowing skirt, all your beautiful jewelry, your precious knife, and this helmet, a crown fit for royalty.

You were no different in appearance than a noble goddess, one of the glorious Aesir. He could see you at the head of a battlefield, shouting orders and being obeyed, at the head of a table, presiding over a victory feast, at the head of a bed, holding a swaddled infant in triumph.

You had turned and could clearly see what was in his face, as he hadn't bothered to hide it. Maybe he wanted you to see.

“Show me yours.” You said-almost commanded, pawing at his chest.

He liked this side of you equally to the shy side. The side of you that demanded, that expected, that could be selfish. The side of you that made you run up and grab his hand in the first place.

He knew what you meant. Green light webbed over his body, replacing his comfortable tunic and trousers with his ceremonial court armor. You stared, breath becoming heavier, taking it all in. The stiff, thick cape, the tall horns, the complex Nornbein breast plate with all its interlocking pieces meant to mimic the scales of a snake-or the belly of a dragon. The built in scale tassets on the thighs of his fine, olive trousers, that just so happened to draw the gaze in a certain direction...

He watched your eyes drift downwards, slipping down the metal guides to their intended focus-he still couldn't believe his mother had never said anything about it-and grow round at the sight of him, lovingly cupped by taut cotton. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips.

You pressed close, and though he couldn't feel you much through all the layers, there was something just as exciting about the clink and weight of the armor as there was in the silky warmth of bare skin. He wrapped his arms around you, squeezing, and you smashed your mouth against his in hungry lust.

You nearly knocked him over in you eagerness to get him onto the bed, and he fell into a sitting position, laughing.

“Stars, you're beautiful.” He purred. “Powerful. Grand.”

He reached for his trousers, but you stopped him.

“Not yet.” You said.

“Not yet.” He repeated.

“Just this.”

You straddled him, your skirts hitching up around your thighs, and pressed very close. Now Loki could feel your warmth, cloth barriers the only thing separating you from his swiftly hardening member, the bulge of which you began grinding slowly against.

A soft groan escaped him.

His hands found your rear through your skirts, and your throat with his lips, delighting in the vibration of your pleased moans. The friction grew between you  as you drew away to gaze at him through heavy-lidded eyes; His armor, his helmet, whatever it was you saw that you liked so much had you throwing your head back and rolling your hips even faster.

And it was he who had done this. Merely existing, wearing a certain set of clothes, he had driven you to this frenzy of lust. Just because he wasn't truly inside you just yet, didn't mean this wasn't what it was. You were taking him as your own, and he was absolutely going to let you do it. Anytime, any way, however you liked.

Your moans grew high and ragged; Loki crushed you to his chest, bucking his hips. The friction, the heat, and the sound of your impassioned cries sent him spiraling into his own orgasm.

You held each other like that until your breathing slowed, and your bodies relaxed.

“Well. We should get you back out of that armor.” Loki said, voice slightly rough. “I'd say it more suggestively, but it appears you beat me to it.”

“You really don't know how sexy that armor is? Didn't anybody ever throw themselves at you while you were wearing that?

“Well...yes. But it didn't really matter. It wasn't you.”

You mewled an embarrassed little sound, and hid your face in the crook of his neck. Loki chuckled, running his hands down your body. Your new armor melted away into your comfortable and modest nightdress.

“Wow...Where did it all go?” You asked, wriggling in his lap, as his own armor faded into soft sleeping clothes.

“To your room, where your nightgown was.” He said, as you ran your fingers through his newly freed hair.

“Your horns are so handsome.” You murmured against his lips. “Just like you.”

He felt the bashful smile curl his mouth. “Will you stay with me tonight? He asked hopefully.

You nodded. “I'd like to. If you don't mind though, I need to play noise on my phone. It's been helping me sleep.”

“Whatever you need.” Whatever kept you by his side.

The two of you took a little time to clean yourselves up and prepare for bed, then snuggled down in the sheets together, holding and stroking one another. You set your phone up to play cicada song, and Loki watched you slowly fall asleep to its sawing.

Soon, his little project would be done, and you might never have to sleep away from him again.

[wolvesandvisions]

What’s your process when you go about designing your posters? Is there any particular guide or rule set that generally applies to making good posters for movies you use or are you just shaping it based on poster styles or is there specific things you do? I wanna try my hand at fake promotional content/posters so I was curious

Well I want to start off by saying, I’m a graphic design major, it was never necessarily a big passion of mine but yes there are very specific rules and angles you have to take when dealing with things like posters and typography. 

I’ll go through a break down of some basics and some videos that really help.

So…there’s no specific thing I’m doing as far as planning goes that I don’t do for refular illustrations – I usually think of a scene… and then I think about the best way to dramatize it. This is best expressed in my PMD Poster where I remembered the snow area in the game held some significance to me, it felt larger than life when I was a kid because the game made me feel like I was dragging my feet to some inevitable end. And so I framed it in a way that feeling was captured, and took a quote from the game to intentionally contrast it.

You have to have a good grasp of color theory, I started off this poster by color picking blues from the game, but the eevee I had to adjust (red and blue contrast, and her brown was creating a vibration against the blue so she had to be dulled)

DETAILED VIDEO ON COLOR THEORY.

As for typography, it becomes an eye for eye thing but you really have to think about text and whether or not it meshes well with your composition, this is one of my weaker spots on a professional level however her are some basic rules:

- Dont center text. I break this rule a lot but the idea is text needs to stay right aligned or be closely justified so u can create a rectangle around it.

This is just me personally, but I think centering text is fine in moderation, you would need a program that alters text specifically to get these things cleaned up like Adobe Illustrator or other alternatives.

- Don’t use outdated fonts. This seems pretty obvious, like for one instance you shouldn’t use comic sans, but I also personally make it a rule not to use text I’d use for a paper… like Times New Roman or Arial…something that tends to be used a lot in the graphic world is “Gotham” and “Domus Tilting”… those are really good so I’d download them.

- Never alter or stretch typefaces. You shouldn’t do this starting out, it’s way more preferred and recommended you go find a typeface that suits your needs rather than try to alter it, and if you do alter... make it super minor like the bottom of a T or something.

-  Simple is better. Don’t make anything overly complex, your composition or your text, and don’t overwhelm a poster with long walls of text, condense all and anything you have to as few sentences/lines as you can.

Again this is kind of a weak sport for me and there’s so many little intricacies I’m not gonna be confident I can explain correctly so:

DETAILED VIDEO ON TYPOGRAPHY.

In general, I wouldn’t say there’s a big secret to how I’m doing these posters, being in school and having been constantly critiqued to the bone on the tiniest details has made it where avoiding little mistakes is instinctual and have to memorize all these rules has made it second nature, but anyone can do it. I do suggest getting opinions from your peers about little things, like ask them if anything looks out of place, ask them which typefaces look better with your composition, and also ABSOLUTELY look at movie posters, especially ones by graphic artists. Those are the ones I studied the most on my personal time.

I hope these little tidbits of information helped, absolutely look at those videos I linked and more by them, theyre super helpful!

[jjkmagic]

Chained Heart  Ch. 1 - NeroV Fic

Title: Chained Heart

Pairing: V/Nero Rating: M (will change in later chapters)

Word Count: 7707 Summary: "Devil May Cry" is the name of a bar located in a remote part of the town. Not many know of its existence, and even less are aware what "kind" of bar it is. Nero, too, only learns of its existence by talking to a regular online. At said regular's insistence, and admittedly his own curiosity, Nero decides to check it out. Tags: Human AU, BDSM, Dom/Sub, Collars, Light Bondage A/N: This is actually the first DMC fic I wrote, but of course I had to start a multi-chapter xD So, to celebrate the 2nd chapter that I’ll finally post tomorrow, I decided to post it here on tumblr as well^^ Can also be read on AO3.

Chained Heart Chapter 1: Of Angels and Demons

It was well past ten when Nero arrived at his destination. The night was quiet in this remote part of town, far-off from the popular club scene. He had been told that the location was intentional, to avoid unknowing stragglers stumbling into a place they had no business being.

Nero, however, had business being here, of that he was sure. With the lingering bitter taste of disappointment on his tongue, he hoped—no, yearned— to finally find what he was looking for.

Though he had left home when the night was still young, his nervousness had made him idle in a common bar down the road until the hour grew late. He knew what he wanted, and yet, the mere idea of finding it sent his mind into a jittery mess. There was always the possibility of him screwing up this last chance as well. 

So he had taken a detour to borrow just the faintest flush of liquid courage. Nothing to impede him, but enough to heighten his senses, to eliminate the "What if?" and strengthen the "I can do it. I want this!"

With that thought guiding his hands, Nero pushed open the bar’s door in front of him. There was no bouncer present and no line. With each step, he left behind the quiet of night and the neon sign of the bar that had guided him, the letters glowing a deep red against the darkened stone of the building.

At first glance, there was nothing of interest to see: only a small set of stairs that led up into a bigger—presumably the bar's— main room. It was surprisingly quiet, Nero only catching a faint bass reverberating in the background, the actual music practically inaudible from where he stood. 

The bar was lit up in a warm, but not overly bright light, the dark—possibly black but he couldn't be quite sure—walls absorbing part of the illumination. It wasn't unpleasant; he might even call it cozy, but he didn't want to start praising the establishment before he had seen what he was really here for. He made his way up the well-worn stairs and took a first look at the room that lay beyond.

It was longer than it was wide, with a well-stocked bar to the right and an alcove equipped with tables and comfortable-looking sofas on the left. Nero barely noticed the man behind the bar, who looked up at his arrival; his attention was caught by one of the sofas instead, or rather, the people occupying it.

Reclining comfortably on the couch was a light haired man: tall, broad-shouldered and the epitome of relaxation. He wasn't who caught Nero's attention though; no, his gaze was drawn to the second man sitting to his right, if sitting could even be used to describe his position. He was practically sprawled across the other man's lap, head lowered to rest on the man's shoulder, eyes closed in bliss as the other’s hand carded slow strokes through his hair. The collar on his neck glimmered even in the muted light of the room.

Nero swallowed, for a moment overwhelmed by want, but he could feel the man behind the bar watching him stare, so he forced himself to look away and approach the counter. As Nero did so, his eyes caught light spilling out from what, at first glance, he had thought to be a wall, but turned out to be a room divider consisting of broad straps of what looked like leather, if the way they glinted in the light was anything to go by.

He had the sudden feeling that the actual bar was beyond there, seeing as except for the couple on the couch, the room was devoid of customers. The music, that had only grown faintly louder, also seemed to be originating from the other side.

He was distracted by imagining just what he might find behind that wall, until his gaze met that of the man behind the bar, and suddenly he couldn't look away anymore. There was just something about him, an almost palpable aura of confidence. It was as if the man's gaze alone demanded that Nero look at him.

The man was smiling, but it did not quite reach his eyes. His expression wasn't unwelcoming, but guarded in a way.

"A new face," he said in lieu of greeting. "What brings you here?"

At that point, Nero couldn't shake the feeling that the man was somehow skeptical of him. Maybe he suspected that Nero was unaware of what kind of bar he had just entered, even though Nero knew all too well.

"I was told this place might fit my... expectations, so I came to take a look," Nero told him, watching the man's face somehow grow more guarded.

"Do you have a name?"

At that, Nero paused, a sense of dread growing in him. Was this place possibly invitation-only? If so, the guy who had almost exuberantly encouraged him to check it out had clearly neglected to tell him that tidbit of important information.

Ignoring the dread settling firmly in his gut, he decided to answer honestly. What else could he do? 

“The name's Nero.”

And just like that the man's expression changed, his smile growing wide and earnest. "Nero! Glad you could make it! You didn't sound too sure about coming when we wrote the other day.”

Oh. Apparently this was the very man he had thought about just a second ago. Nero hadn't expected to actually meet him when he had decided to take him up on his offer.  Not wanting to seem rude, he wracked his brain to remember his name. "...Dante, right?"

"The one and only!" the man proclaimed with a grin. "I apologize for the rough greeting. I take full responsibility for everything that happens in this here establishment, so I like to know who I’m letting in beforehand." Dante sounded genuinely apologetic, even as he gave Nero an obvious once over, making the younger man take just the tiniest step backward. Dante just kept grinning, leaning on the top of the bar in a display of nonchalance. "So, you're looking for someone to show you the reins, yeah?"

Heat rushed through Nero's body at the implication. Unfortunately, he was pretty sure that included his face as well. He cleared his throat, lowering his head slightly in an attempt to make his sudden flush less noticeable. "You could say that."

Dante laughed, somehow managing to sound earnestly amused instead of degrading, prompting Nero to meet his eyes again.

"Don't worry, only decent folk around here, that I can guarantee," he vowed. "You got any experience, kid?"

Nero couldn't suppress the groan that slipped from his lips at the question, unfortunately still remembering said “experience” all too clearly. "Only ah... calls and such." Horrible, horrible calls he very much wanted to forget, thank you very much.

The pity that shone from Dante's eyes at his words told him the man understood exactly what he was talking about. "Sorry about that kid, lots of black sheep hanging about on those kinds of websites." He looked visibly chagrined by that fact.

"Yeah, I figured. But I didn't want to meet anybody when I couldn't be sure—” Nero stopped himself there, suddenly feeling unsure about his own reasoning. “It... just seemed like the better option at the time."

"No, no, no, you did the right thing, kid. Well, the best thing would have been coming here right from the start, but you can't help what you don't know, right?"

Nero thought that he was trying to be supportive, but the grin that seemed almost etched onto Dante's face at this point didn't exactly help the matter.

After a moment of silence, Nero received what he figured was supposed to be a pat on the shoulder, but Dante's hand lingered, and Nero wasn't entirely sure what to make of that.

"But now that you are here, well, welcome to Devil May Cry," Dante said, the hand not resting on Nero's shoulder moving with great flourish toward the admittedly unimpressive bar interior. Then he leaned in, suddenly very close to Nero. "Also, I don't wanna hear any comments about the name, okay? I, too, was young once, you know? Anyway."

At that, Dante stood up straight again and his hand, thankfully, left Nero's shoulder.

Don't get him wrong. Dante didn't seem like a bad guy. Nero just couldn't read him at all, and the nerves he had tried to drown with a few cheap beers earlier were already starting to resurface. He didn't like it. Dante probably meant well, but at the moment it was just a little too much.

"You can probably already tell, but this here area is the lounge bar,” Dante told him, drawing Nero from his own thoughts. “People come out here when they just wanna sit back and relax, or talk to little ol' me. Just kidding. I'm usually in the back myself, just keeping an eye on things, you know?" he asked, as if Nero actually could know, leaving him to nod along as Dante continued talking. "But V's back there right now so I figured I could take a little break,” Dante went on, but Nero honestly wasn't even listening anymore. His attention was drawn to the black leather separating Dante's so-called "lounge bar" from... well, what exactly Nero didn't know, but he knew that he very much wanted to.

"Yeah," Dante said suddenly, a knowing smile on his lips, "that's where the real music plays, not just literally, if you know what I mean.” But suddenly his smile faltered, as if he had just remembered something."It's a little late though, so most folks will already have found their playmate for the night."

"No, I know," Nero assured him quickly. After all, it had been partially intentional on his part. "I don't–"

"No, it's fine," Dante interrupted him. "Feel free to talk and mingle. Or, you know, if it's a little much, it's okay if you just take a look for now, too."

Nero's eyes widened in surprise, wondering if he was that obvious or if the other man was just that good at reading people. If Dante's grin was anything to go by it was probably the former.

"Look, I got this Dom here, practically a local celebrity at this point, so it's difficult to get a hold of him, but I’ll see if I can get him to talk to you. Not making any promises though. It's still up to you to convince him.” Dante winked at him, so quickly that Nero wasn’t sure if he hadn’t just imagined it. “He’s not a bad guy though, definitely qualified for the job.”

Job? Nero hadn’t been aware that he was suddenly considered a “job” now.

Dante just shot him another grin, which Nero quickly came to recognize was one of the man's trademarks. Was Nero really that easy to read?

“Don’t worry, darling. Go on, take a look. But–” Dante paused once more, looking at him. “Dress code’s black, I'm afraid.”

Nero blinked, needing a moment to process that statement after everything he had just been told.

“Oh, right,” he said, a little dumbly, when he finally caught up, unzipping his favorite blue jacket and letting it slip off of his shoulders.

He hadn't known if any specific dress code was in place, but black was always a safe option, so he had chosen pants and a plain tank top both of which he happened to own in that color.

“Is there anywhere I can put this?” Nero asked, jacket now in his hands.

Dante seemed almost surprised for a moment, before smiling again and reaching for the garment. “Sure, you can leave it with me. I promise I'll take good care of it.”

Nero handed the jacket over and Dante put it somewhere behind the bar, out of sight. Then he turned around, looking at Nero once more, and that grin, well, Nero tried to ignore it. But it was impossible to ignore Dante's comment. “Looking good there, honey, go have some fun.”

Nero was about to do just that, when he paused once more, against his better judgment. 

“What about you?” he asked, and Dante's eyes widened in confusion. For a moment Nero felt proud at having caught the man off-guard, but it didn't last long. “You're a Dom, aren't you?”

He honestly wasn't sure why he was asking. It was obvious in the way Dante held himself, the way he seemed able to tell Nero what to do without needing words. Yet, he hadn’t even mentioned it, immediately suggesting Nero find someone else, in fact going so far as to offer to find someone for him. Nero just didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad one.

Dante just stared at him for a moment, and then he started laughing. “Me? No, no, no, kid. I'm not taking on any new Subs. I’m getting old, you see? It's difficult enough to entertain my own Subs at times,” Dante told him, adding a secretive wink that, again, didn't really tell Nero anything.

Dante was clearly exaggerating. He was in no way older than 40, but Nero let it go. 

“If you say so…”

“I do. Now, shoo, I've got a business to run here,” Dante said, thusly ending the conversation, and proceeded to… sit down and grab some magazine that he had apparently lying around behind the counter.

‘Business my ass…’ Nero thought to himself, turning his back on the other man, and finally stepping through into the adjoined room.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he found there. It was too much to take in all at once, and not just because of the sudden change in color scheme; Nero suddenly found his world dipped into a dark red hue. 

The room was surprisingly massive in size, especially compared to the little lounge area he had just left. Nero saw the red hue of the room changing somewhere further in, turning a dark shade of purple towards the middle and a dark blue at the other end of the room. But most of all, the room was full; men and women, dressed from top to bottom in black leather or hardly dressed at all, were spread all across the room. Some were only sitting and talking, some openly engaged in noticeably different activities, but most noticeable of all was a small crowd a little further into the room to his right that seemed to have gathered around a man being tied to the wall.

All of it combined had Nero overwhelmed with conflicting feelings. He was completely out of his element and yet… he also felt like he had finally come home.

One thing was for certain: whether or not he fit in right now, he would make sure he did so as soon as possible. He was fed up with having to consider who he could and couldn't trust with his preferences. Apparently there was nothing quite as eye-opening as seeing a room full of people engaging in exactly what he had been repeatedly ridiculed for in his past to realize that it really wasn't much of an issue at all, not among the right people at least.

He had always figured that at least Kyrie wouldn't judge him if he ever were to tell her, but that still didn't mean he was eager to do so. Seeing this, though,  it seemed almost… easy, like it wasn't even particularly worth mentioning at all.

And just like that, Nero was excited, eager. He regretted that he had wasted so much time, had all but lost his chance to delve deeper into the world that had just opened up before him. 

The more realistic part of his mind reminded him that he would have had no idea where to start either way, and that coming earlier wouldn't have equaled knowing what he should do with the gained time. So he figured it was fine, no harm done. Now that he knew, he could always come back.

With that, his shoulders, that had grown tense without him noticing, finally relaxed, and he stepped further into the room to continue his exploration.

The walls were lined with the occasional sofa, each one probably big enough for a person to sleep on. The rest of the room was filled with small tables and chairs arranged in no discernible order, which led Nero to the conclusion that the visitors probably moved them themselves, to suit their respective needs.

Nero stopped for a moment where the apparent bondage show continued to draw an even bigger crowd. The man was fully tied at this point, the black ropes around his arms and upper body offering a stark contrast to his skin, which appeared almost red in the light of the room. The man responsible for the display seemed to be in the process of checking the ropes, and Nero could see him talk quietly to his partner, though he was unable to discern what was being said.

As curious as Nero was to see what would happen next, that was not what he was here for. In fact, his interest in bondage specifically was limited, and he couldn't imagine ever having the patience for all the knots to be tied and secured, let alone a full harness. They were nice to look at, he supposed, but ultimately not worth the hassle. There was no point in denying that Nero tended to be rather impatient.

He left the show behind him, even, unhurried steps leading him deeper into the room until the surrounding red hue faded to purple. Nero wondered for a moment if it was caused by the red and blue lights mixing or if there were additional purple lights to emphasize the effect, but he didn't care enough to check. After all, there were much more interesting things to see and find out.

There didn't seem to be too many people in the immediate vicinity, most of them drawn to the attraction going on somewhere behind him most likely. Nero almost dismissed the sitting area entirely until he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t say what it was exactly that drew his attention, but once he turned to look, he found himself completely blindsided by what he saw. 

One of the large sofas on the wall was occupied by a man that put everyone else in the room to shame. A dark curtain of hair hid most of his features from view. His skin seemed almost ghostly pale in the room’s light, highlighting every jet black line of ink running across his body—and there were so many of them. The man was reclined, somehow both seeming relaxed and overly aware. There was a book held open in his hand that Nero couldn't imagine could be easy to read in the limited lighting, and yet it seemed like that was exactly what he was doing.

His behavior was both surreal and so ordinary that Nero really couldn't be blamed for missing the other two people with him at first. And yet there was a woman quite obviously resting on the man's lap, seemingly unbothered by the fact that he was paying more attention to his book than to her, if the content smile on her lips was anything to go by. And then there was a man, not so much on the sofa as kneeling in front of it, with merely his head resting on the dark-haired man's knee. The hand not busy holding the book open rested on the kneeling man’s head, stroking in even, soothing patterns, not unlike one would do for a pet.

The kneeling blond wore a collar while the woman didn't, and yet in this moment there was no doubt that both of them belonged to him, though to what extent Nero couldn't even begin to fathom. Were they together or just “playmates”? The only certain thing was that both seemed perfectly content right where they were.

It was clear that the dark-haired man was in complete control, but it seemed so effortless, so easy, that Nero couldn’t help but compare him to the “Doms” that he had the misfortune of getting to know. They had never made Nero feel at ease, so intent on trying to get him to listen to their every word that it was obvious that even the tiniest bit of back talking completely threw them off.

It seemed like Dante had been right: Nero really never should have bothered with those “BDSM” websites. There was no way he ever would have found a man like the one right in front of him there.

Nero's gaze was transfixed; it didn't even occur to him to look away. The dark-haired man alone seemed otherworldly, an aura not unlike Dante's, yet so much more intense, surrounding him. But the whole scene in front of him was simply surreal, and Nero… really wouldn't mind being a part of it.

Nero swallowed, an almost feral longing hitting him full force, and he finally made himself look away and continue walking. The moment he did, Nero thought he saw the man look up at him, but when Nero glanced back the man hadn't moved, still engrossed in his book. Nero sighed. He could really use a moment to calm his suddenly racing heart.

The room turned a cool blue towards the back, and Nero had to admit that the calming color was really appreciated. As if sharing his sentiment, the people back here were engaged in quiet conversation amongst themselves, and Nero just stopped to look around. He had just started to do so when a sudden touch on his shoulder startled him, and not a moment later he came face to face with a woman practically clinging onto him without warning.

“Hey, pretty thing,” a sultry voice purred into his ear as pretty, delicate fingers ran down his arm, “you look lonely. Is there maybe something I could do for you?”

Nero was caught so off-guard by the situation that he needed a moment to process what was happening, and even longer to realize that the woman, despite being obtrusive, held her head lowered, pointedly looking up at him from below with half-lidded eyes in an obvious display. Nero balked when he finally realized what was happening.

The woman seemed to realize her mistake at almost the same time, her eyes widening and her lips forming a perfect O in surprise. She straightened a moment later, her grip loosening, though she didn't let go entirely.

“Oh my God, I'm so sorry. That was presumptuous of me,” she breathed, finally letting her arm slip off of him, as well. She didn't seem too bothered though, since in the next moment she was smiling conspiratorially at him. “You're on the hunt yourself, huh?”

“Uh…” Nero uttered stupidly, having no idea how he was supposed to react to the sudden turn of events. Her eyes widened once more as her smile turned soft. Oh God, he really was that easy to read, wasn't he?

“Oh my. I thought you must be new, but it's really your first time, huh honey?”

“Uhm, I guess…” Nero replied vaguely, not sure if he wanted to continue this conversation at all, but the woman just laughed softly.

“Oh honey, no need to be ashamed! The beginning’s always difficult but, believe me, it's worth it,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Something must have shown on his face again because she was suddenly leaning closer, like she was about to tell him a secret. “Let me just give you a tip: just because we like following orders doesn't mean we're weak, quite the opposite in fact.” 

Nero had to admit at this point he was curious, especially when she continued, “Just think of the lengths your Dom goes to to make sure you're satisfied. All you have to do is behave and you'll be treated like royalty.”

Was that how it really was? Nero couldn't quite imagine it; not when his memory was filled with raised voices and slurs when he did not obey immediately (but of course he hadn't, he had no interest in obeying just anybody, after all.)

Nero was snapped out of his thoughts when the woman, whose name he still didn't know, was suddenly right back in his face. “Oh honey, you look traumatized already. Don't worry, everyone around here knows how to treat a Sub with respect. We deserve it, don’t let anybody tell you any different!” The glint in her eyes was fierce, as if she was about to jump up and prove what she had just said, and Nero couldn't help but smile.

That was the second time today that he had met someone who, despite being a little much, was unconditionally kind to him. It felt good not to be judged, and made him infinitely more sure that this was indeed the right place to be.

“Thanks,” he said a little belatedly. “I didn't realize it before, but I think I needed to hear that, so...  yeah, thank you,” he added and was rewarded with an arm around his shoulder pulling him into a one-armed hug.

“Anytime, honey!”

It was then, when he was practically close enough to touch, that he noticed her collar for the first time, and ended up staring at it probably longer than was necessary, and definitely long enough for her to notice.

“What?” she asked before following his eyes. “Oh yeah, I have a partner but he is busy, so I have to find someone else to play with in the meantime,” she sighed. “I seem to have lost my touch though, when I'm even jumping Subs now. Sorry about that again.”

But Nero stopped listening after the first sentence, a little floored by the implication. “Your partner doesn't mind?” he asked.

“Of course he doesn't. He knows he's the only one for me, and this,” she said pointing at her collar, “ensures others know, too. He doesn't want me to grow bored in his absence though, so it's fine. A little playtime here on the main floor is usually enough to get my spirits up,” she explained with a smirk.

Nero believed her, basically, but it was still a foreign concept to him. There was a differentiation between “partner” and “playmate” for a reason he supposed, and he was a little embarrassed at how little he really knew.

“Hey,” she said to get his attention again. “Let me give you one more piece of advice right away: doesn't matter if you're going steady with a Dom or just playing around, basically everything is possible if you communicate it beforehand. Tell them what you want and don't want, listen to what they want in return and everything will work out just fine, believe me. But—” and there, she paused to look at him meaningfully, “find the right Dom first, before you worry your pretty little head about everything else.”

She actually ruffled his hair at that, but Nero was quick to escape her grasp. She merely laughed.

They continued talking for a while longer after that, until she eventually looked at her watch, and, declaring she'd given up for the night, said her goodbyes.

Nero took a deep breath once she was gone, realizing that he, too, didn't have much to do at this point. The room was slowly but surely growing more empty, and so he eventually returned to the lounge.

Dante was still there, but he had stopped reading and looked up when Nero came in. “Hey,” he greeted him with a grin, “did ya have fun?”

Nero shot him a wry look. “Not like that,” he said as he sat down on one of the chairs lining the counter.

“Oh, and what might that be?” Dante asked, his grin turning challenging. Nero just sighed and didn't honor that with a reply at all. “Okay, okay, but did you like it? It’s totally fine if you didn't. There are other bars I can recommend to you in that case. Though they're not actually as good as mine, of course.”

“No, no, it's fine. It's great, just—”

“Not the right time?” Dante finished for him. “As I said, it's late. V should leave soon, too, so now would be the only time to talk to him.” 

Nero had honestly almost forgotten about that. He remembered Dante mentioning the same name before, and, really, what kinda name was “V”? But it was late, and it was his own fault, so he really didn't want Dante to go and annoy one of his customers for Nero.

“That's really not necessary. I'll just—” But Dante cut him off with a stern look that brightened again the moment Nero stopped talking.

“No,” Dante said once he was sure he had Nero’s attention, “I said I'd help, and since you didn't find anyone on your own, as I suspected, I'll do just that. Now, before that, though, I have just one question.”

“And that would be?” Nero asked skeptically, seeing the man's expression turn unusually serious for a change.

“Do you want to play or do you want to get off?” Dante asked him, “V's very... thorough in his sessions, so I need to know if that's what you want. No point in introducing you two if it's obvious you're not compatible.”

Nero was a second away from choking on air. Really, what was it with people and their sudden, intimate questions? He had the feeling he would need to stop blushing like a damn virgin if he ever wanted to be taken seriously around here. “N-no, that's fine…” he said eventually.

“That's fine?” Dante repeated incredulously, and Nero wanted to hit himself, remembering an all-too-recent conversation about the importance of communication. Nero was aware that he wasn't exactly stellar in that regard. It was about time he started working on that as well.

“No, I mean—” he stopped himself before he could start saying something dumb again and started over, facing Dante. “I want that, so it's fine.”

Dante's eyebrows rose further before his lips split into a grin again. “Learning quickly, eh? Keep that up and you'll fit right in in no time,” he said with hardly hidden praise, and Nero couldn't help the flush that formed on his cheeks at that. “If that's settled,” Dante spoke up again, lifting a part of the counter so he could get out, “why don't you wait in my office while I go fetch V.”

Fetch? Nero couldn't help the feeling that this might be a bad idea after all, particularly if Dante was involved.

Dante merely pointed at a door behind the bar, that Nero hadn't noticed until now, not even waiting to see if his instructions were being followed, before stepping into the other room.

Doms, right? There was nothing else Nero could do, except maybe walk away and ruin not only his slowly budding—dare he say friendship?—with Dante but also every chance at ever coming back here again. 

Nero sighed, before moving behind the counter, closing the latch behind him, and entering the indicated room.

It took only a moment for Nero to realize that Dante most likely didn't enter his “office” on a daily basis, if ever. The room was illuminated when Nero walked in, but it was bare save for a suspiciously empty desk and a shelf propped against the wall that contained a few folders, each covered in a thick layer of dust. Dante presumably wasn't a big fan of paperwork. It seemed like a miracle that he managed to run an establishment at all.

There wasn't even anywhere to sit in the “office” except for a single chair behind the desk. Nero wasn't that presumptuous, so he opted to keep standing, preparing himself for a both mentally and physically stressful wait.

It was as if the present was just catching up to him. He was about to be introduced to a Dom, with the very real possibility that he might just become Nero's first Dom.

Strictly speaking, he had talked to Doms before, or at least people who claimed to be, but Nero was willing to wipe the slate clean, start over, open up that spot for someone who actually knew what they were doing. Dante, at least, seemed certain of that, and Nero's heart started beating faster without his say-so. It was too late to freak out now. God, why was he suddenly so anxious again?

It turned out he didn't have to wait long at all before he caught the deepest, most sonorous voice Nero had ever heard in his life approaching the room, threatening to make Nero's knees weak from the sound alone. Unfortunately it didn't sound exactly amused, and so the first thing Nero heard that voice say when the door opened was: "I don't have time to babysit."

Nero felt red hot indignation rising within him, forgetting all about how that voice sounded as he turned towards the source to tell them exactly where they could shove their—!

But instead he froze mid-motion, eyes widening and heart suddenly painfully still.

It was him, the dark-haired artwork of a man he had seen earlier, and up close the man's choice in attire offered a splendid view of exactly how far those tattoos spread. It was quite possible that there was more ink than skin on display and Nero couldn't breathe.

The man looked exactly like before, just as breathtakingly beautiful—quite literally so—despite the frown marring his features. There was a silver cane in his hand that Nero hadn't noticed before, and the man's grip on it tightened, turning his knuckles white, as he turned to Dante, who was following him into the room, saying something that Nero almost didn't catch.

"Don't be too harsh, V. You haven't even talked to the guy."

"I don't have to," V said in response, “I have Subs.”

“Yeah, and last I heard they were out of town, so you should have some time to spare, right?” Dante replied, wearing that same unapologetic grin that Nero had faced earlier. 

This was turning into a straight up nightmare.

Nero was entirely unprepared when the man's— V's— attention suddenly turned to him, not even deigning to respond to Dante’s words.

Nero had the strong feeling that V was someone who didn't show his emotions openly. Considering that it was quite obvious to Nero that he wasn't happy to be here, at all, probably meant that he was really pissed off.

Nero had never felt smaller in his life than at that very moment, with that judging gaze resting on him. He barely even had the time to swallow, though, before V seemed to lose all interest, and turned around again.

And Nero knew V was likely just about to tell Dante once more exactly what he thought about “babysitting”, but at that moment it just looked so much like he was about to leave. Nero's heart plummeted and he was overcome with the sudden need to act, now, before it was too late!

"Please wait!"

The words left his mouth before he had any chance to think of a follow-up.

The truth was there was nothing he could say. What could he possibly offer to a Dom like V? Nero couldn't even really call himself a Sub yet, at least not with any confidence. He had Sub tendencies, that he had been sure of for years, but that was a far cry from having any real experience, or even understanding the full extent of the expectations that came with the term.

But that was why was here. He wanted to know. He wanted someone to teach him, and right now he wanted V to teach him, the man who commanded all of Nero's attention so effortlessly, who had both the beauty of an angel and a voice as sinful as the devil’s. 

And those eyes, jade green and striking; Nero knew he wanted those eyes on him, preferably always. But for that to happen he needed to succeed, needed some way to prove he was serious.

He saw V reacting to his sudden outburst, but before the man could even finish turning towards him, Nero took a step forward and fluidly dropped to his knees.

When Nero lowered his head, all he could see was V's feet, black leather sandals clinging to flawless skin. They were pointed towards him, the only indication Nero had that the man had indeed turned. Nero only hoped that it was also proof that V was at least willing to listen to him. 

It still didn't change the fact that there was literally nothing he could offer the man, though, nothing but his desire to prove himself.

"Please,” he implored, lowering his head all the way to the floor, “all I want is a chance. I won't waste your time."

His request was met with silence.

It probably only lasted a few seconds, a few unbearable seconds, that ended with a soft sound from V, the meaning of which Nero couldn't even begin to fathom. He could only hope it was good.

Those leather clad legs took a step forward, so close that Nero felt tempted to lean in just to know what they would feel like against his skin.

"I suppose he has a certain charm," V said, and with the prior disdain gone, the sound of his voice was sweet and smooth like honey. "Look at me."

Nero was quick to follow the request—no, command —raising his upper body to look at V. A moment later, a single digit placed under his chin lifted his head even higher until he had no choice but to gaze straight into the other's eyes. Nero knew he was being examined, those green eyes seemingly piercing his very soul.

For a while nothing happened, and eventually that single point of contact between them disappeared, but Nero didn't dare move yet as V straightened from where he had leaned down to examine him.

There was scrutiny in that gaze, even now, but eventually V spoke, though his words were anything but what Nero had expected.

“I don't fuck my Subs. I have toys to do that for me. Do you have any objections to that?”

Nero blinked, unable to process all the implications in that statement at once, but he forced himself to respond quickly lest the man lose his patience. “N-No, none.”

Those eyes remained fixed on him, as if trying to discern the truth behind that statement. Nero didn't know if V found what he was looking for when he rose to his full height again.

V lifted a hand, and Nero couldn't help but track its path upwards, past intricately inked skin and one pink, rosy nipple—he really wasn't wearing much at all, was he?— to reach inside his coat and procure a single slip of paper.

Nero almost fell over in his haste to take it as V held it in his general direction.

“Tomorrow, 5 PM. If you have any other appointments you'd better tell me now.”

As Nero examined it, he saw that the note contained a single address and nothing else.

“I'm available,” he replied, almost without thinking. He knew it to be true, and even if not, he would find a way to clear his schedule. 

He didn't need to know V any better than he did right now to know that, for him, Nero would do almost anything.

There was the faintest upturn to V's lips when Nero’s attention returned to him. Unfortunately, he had no idea what had caused it to appear.

“It's a business meeting. Dress accordingly, black, but show your neck,” V instructed curtly, and Nero tried to keep up, the sudden dawning realisation that this was actually happening slowing down all other thought. “Being late is the same as not showing at all. You might as well not bother then.”

“N-no, I'll come,” Nero assured quickly. The mere thought of missing this was making his skin crawl.

“Of course you will,” V replied and, if Nero wasn't imagining things, there was just a hint of amusement in his voice. “Otherwise you'd be wasting my time. And I don't believe in second chances.”

“I only need one. I'll be there,” Nero said with all the conviction he could muster.

V's gaze remained unmoving, and Nero couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness under such intense scrutiny.

“Hm,” V voiced wordlessly, before turning around, apparently having nothing left to add to the conversation. Instead, he turned to Dante, who Nero had all but forgotten was there as well. “I'll be taking my leave now.”

“Sure. Later, V,” Dante replied so casually that Nero almost balked, but V neither reacted nor turned before he left the room.

The moment the door closed behind him Nero all but collapsed, all tension leaving his body at once.

He had made it, somehow. He had a date—an appointment?—with a Dom. And not just any Dom, but one so beautiful and awe-inspiring that it was hard to believe he was even real.

“You okay there, kid?” Dante's question pulled him back to reality and Nero sat up properly, not yet daring to stand lest his knees fail him.

“Yeah... I'm good.”

Dante grinned at him, looking unfairly amused at the whole situation. “Got quite a presence, huh? Don't be ashamed, he's brought tougher men to their knees.”

Dante winked at that, and Nero really didn't need Dante to tell him for him to believe it. To Nero, it was hardly surprising, and exactly the reason he was so jittery in the first place.

“Even you?” he asked instead, trying to distract Dante as much as himself.

Dante laughed. “Not my style, kid. If I ever felt like trying though… why not?”

“Really?” he asked in surprise. That was not the response Nero had expected.

“Listen, kid. I mean what I said, okay? He knows what he’s doing. As long as you don't act like a complete dick, which I don't think you will, I'm sure you two will get along just fine.”

And again, Dante proved to be way more insightful than he let on. Nero sighed.

Could it really be that easy, though? V didn't seem overly patient and Nero feared that the smallest slight on his part might ruin everything. God, and here he had no real clue what he was doing to begin with.

He heard Dante mirror his sigh and soon after a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, shaking him softly. “Relax, kid. He knows you're an amateur and he still accepted. He's not going to suddenly expect that you won't mess up ever. As long as he can see you're trying, you'll find a solution that you're both satisfied with.” Dante sounded so sure of every word that it was hard not to believe him.

“You really think highly of him,” Nero said, as that realization finally sunk in.

“Sure I do, and I'm by far not the only one. He's not as popular as he is because he's an asshole, that's for sure.”

It made sense. But there was something else, a recent memory that still buzzed around in Nero’s mind. “Is it true though?”

Dante looked at him, and, sensing that Nero had calmed down somewhat, removed his hand from his shoulder. “Is what true?”

Nero looked to the side, promising himself that sometime soon he'd stop acting like a virgin whenever the topic came up—the result of growing up in an environment where it was very much considered normal to have sex but very much abnormal to talk about it. But that time had not yet come.

“That he doesn't fuck his Subs? You said—”

But Dante made a quick “hold up" gesture that Nero saw even from the corner of his eyes, so he stopped, turning to the other man again.

“I said he is thorough. What exactly other Doms get up to during their sessions is not something I pry into. For now, you should just take his word for it.”

Nero just blinked. No closer to a satisfying answer in that regard, he settled for trying to make sense of everything else that had happened so far. At least that was his plan, until Dante suddenly stepped in front of him, forcing Nero to look up.

“What you should also do is stop looking like a wet rag,” he proclaimed and proceeded to grab Nero's arms to pull him onto his feet. Nero could do nothing but make sure he didn't lose his balance at the sudden movement and stumble into Dante. 

“Much better.” Dante grinned, and Nero was suddenly aware of how exhausted he was that he didn't even have it in him to be annoyed at the other man. “Go home and get some rest. You want to be fit for your date tomorrow, right?” Dante gave him a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

Nero could only roll his eyes and hold onto his jacket as it was suddenly thrust at him from God knows where.

“You're welcome, by the way,” Dante added, and Nero’s grip went slack for a moment.

“Yeah. Thank you, Dante,” he said honestly.

He hadn't expected anything like this to happen when he came here, but now he was really fucking glad he did.

“Now don't get all mushy on me. Shoo, shoo.”

“I won't,” Nero promised as he pulled his jacket over his shoulders, “but thank you anyway. I'll be back.”

Dante was smiling when Nero looked back at him one last time, more honest than his usual grins, and Nero gave a quick salute before leaving.

Once back outside in the cool night air, Nero took a deep breath.

Well, so much for not being successful tonight.

With a single slip of paper grasped securely in his hand where it rested inside his pocket, he started his way back home. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

If you liked it, please like and/or reblog, and feel free to yell at me via asks or messages if you want^^The second chapter will be up tomorrow, so stay tuned!