#Maybe it's what you get after you hit a certain number of following. Idk. Or maybe it's divine punishment for the crimes I've committed
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kyouka-supremacy ¡ 1 year ago
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zara-renata ¡ 7 days ago
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So I had one holiday prompt that I couldn't include in the big holiday prompt fic I posted last week, and I also have been receiving some really sweet and cute ideas that weren't exactly requests, but the ideas were so nice that I wanted to write something for them. I've gathered them into one story that I hope isn't disappointing. I had intended to do separate, cute little drabbles, but I had a bad day the other day and somehow uh, really dark angst happened, and then I used the ideas people sent for the comfort half of the fic? So please forgive me for just... taking it as dark as you can go before including the sweet, cute ideas that people requested. I hope you like the result anyway, although please read the content warnings. Several of the people who sent requests/ideas apologized for doing so, as if sending the ideas was 'too much', but you don't have to apologize for sending asks. My requests are open, and I like seeing everyone's ideas even if I don't end up being able to write for them, or if I tweak them a little to make them work for the story that comes out of my brain despite my best laid plans to stick to an outline.
The river | ao3 | masterlist
It's Christmas Eve, you're at the end of your rope after an absolutely awful year, and you decide to end it all after pushing everyone in your life away. Sylus pulls you from the brink and convinces you to keep going.
Sylus x fem reader, Sylus x mc, hurt/comfort, angst, grief, banter, fluff. CW: attempted suicide, depressed thoughts, NSFW, Sylus penetrating reader (this is not sex ed, do not follow these idiots' example, no discussion of condom or birth control, this is fantasy and we're not going to worry about that in the fic)
Ask #1 You asked to keep sending silly little ideas for you to write so I thought I'd give my own request! After Caleb and Gran (supposedly) die it's pretty much canon that MC refuses help from their friends and isolates themself in certain ways. I always imagine MC sometimes sees Sylus as "the only one they have left" since he is the only one who goes out of his way to check up on MC. But MC kinda grows to resent this and has a moment when their drunk/really going through it and basically ask Sylus why he doesn't leave them be so they can just rot away in peace. Sorry if this is too lengthy or I'm overstepping! Brain worms are getting to me
Ask #2 Okay, so random thoughts here, but do you know that superstition that’s like, “the places where you have moles on your body show where your lover kissed you in a past life”? But like… can you imagine what it would be like if MC had a mole in the exact spot where Sylus bit her during Abyssal Mark (cus I have one there lol) and then that superstition randomly gets brought up, only for MC to show him that mole and Sylus is just s h o o k??? N e way that’s my random thoughts lol (sorry if this is a lot 💀)
Ask #3 I love the way you write the MC and I find myself relating to them at least 99% of the time. Sometimes I just imagine them giving Sylus one of those "Do you like me? Circle yes or no!" Love letters to Sylus because they are terrified of rejection -> i wrote the MC in this story really, really depressed, so if this didn't hit the spot for you in terms of fear of rejection, let me know, and I can include your prompt in another story idea I had before this one that's a lot lighter and sweeter before I got hit by the angst truck that this fic turned out to be. just let me know!
Ask #4 the last holiday prompt! -> idk if anyone sent it yet but from the xmas prompt list, i would love to see what you do with number 8 -> I'm so sorry that this is what I did with it, I hope you like it anyway😭
Thank you everyone who has sent me ideas! If you've sent me a request and I haven't answered it yet, it's because I'm still intending to do something with it.
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Here you are. Again.
At the end of a long day. A long week. A long year. 
A long rope.
It’s the dark, this time of year. 
Maybe. 
You’re restless. You’ve passed through the Deepspace Hunters Association doors for the last time this year. Empty days of leave stretch before you.
Normally, it would still be light out, leaving this early. But not now, this deep into the year—it’s already full night, as you leave work early.
The bright lights of the building pour over your upturned face as you look back, just once. You don’t know what for. You’ve successfully severed most of the ties you had built before.
Before everything.
Tara, Xavier. After Caleb, Josephine—they reached out, over and over, and you bit their outstretched hands with your sharp, sharp teeth. 
You snapped enough times that they keep their distance, now. 
They’re still kind. 
Tara still comes, sits on your desk, shares tidbits of gossip during the workday. But she no longer invites you along to karaoke, to after-work drinks with other coworkers.
You and Xav work in sync, as you eliminate wanderers. He walks you to your door at the end of the day. But he no longer offers to lend you books. No longer invites you to the bookstore, or to try new restaurants.
You watch his broad back as he walks away from you, down your apartment building’s hallway. He feels as far away as a star in the velvet night sky.
It’s not their fault. You did this.
You wanted this.
You turn away from the warm light beaming from the Association as you leave early, the Christmas lights glittering in the windows, the holiday party you’re skipping still in full swing in the open, sleek company restaurant area on the ground floor. A division-wide shindig, to celebrate the end of the year, the holidays.
The night is cold. Fairy lights, nets of bright pinpricks in the dark night, cover the trees lining the sidewalk. Decorative light displays stretch across the busy road at periodic intervals, over the canals that parallel the streets, the gondolas and tour-boats festive under their own lights, red ribbons flapping in the cold winter wind.
You think about how they never recovered a body.
Only Josephine’s ashes fill an urn, sitting in a cold niche of a quiet columbarium. Caleb’s urn is empty.
You start walking, fast, along the busy sidewalk. People are out shopping, scurrying to tie up last minute errands before the city shuts down for the holiday tomorrow.
You want to unzip your coat. Unzip your uniform. Unzip your skin, your ribcage. Leave all these pieces of yourself behind, for others to puzzle over. To sweep up with the rest of the refuse left over from festive party goers on the street. You want to dissipate in the cold winter air like your breath with each cursed inhale, exhale.
You settle for beginning to jog to the metro station, your feet carrying you faster, faster, your boots heavy on the sidewalk. You see it lit in the distance, but you can’t stand the thought of being underground right now. Buried alive, with all the other people. You sprint past it. 
You’re graceful enough to duck and weave, not disturb anyone else, until the crowds thin.
You’re running, running, the city is streaming past, like the tears from your eyes. Wet from the cold, because you haven’t cried since waking up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s silver chain glittering in the firelight on the walk up to your grandmother’s burning house.
Tears won’t bring a body back.
You don’t know how much longer you can stand this.
The days, one after another. Alarm, moving through the dark to get to work. Moving through the dark to get back to your apartment at the end of the day.
The pain—your only constant, now. The only thing you expect, have to look forward to, day after blurred day. 
An echoing emptiness, like an urn without ashes. An emptiness that feels so full that your skin could burst with it.
You think about your apartment. The festive city outside its windows. The half-opened bottle of wine in the fridge, the only thing in it.
You veer from your neighborhood. Keep running. You’re sweating under your winter coat, your heavy Hunter uniform. It doesn’t matter.
You run, and run, and run, until you run out of streets, sidewalk.
Just the river, wide and black. There is a bridge, soaring over the water, in the distance. Its lights reflected in the water, along with the urban nightscape. Stars above, stars below.
You could drown in them.
You look at the bridge.
You could drown in it all.
There’s no one left, after all.
Who will miss you?
You slow. Stop.
Your breath is heavy in the quiet air. Fairy lights sparkle here, too. Pretty swooping light displays top each lamppost along the river path. 
You would have gone to identify the body, as you did with Gran. She didn’t look like herself. Not even a sleeping version of herself. They did their best, reconstructing her face. But it wasn’t the stitches, the bruising. It was that she simply wasn’t there anymore. Like a stranger’s body on display. An empty house after the residents have been forced to flee in a night of unimaginable violence. 
But running your hands through her hair, one last time. It soothed something in you. Enough that you could breathe in the cold mortuary air. Could nod. Could watch as they covered her again. As they escorted you out into the bustling hospital hallways, to stand under cold fluorescent lights. To stare vacantly at the wall, until you felt a strange, familiar feeling. You looked up, saw Zayne watching you, at the end of the long hallway. You stared at him, memorizing his beautiful face. His dark hair. His severe, cold loveliness. You let yourself look one last time, and he let you. Through the people filling the hallway, each walking with purpose, they were a blur and he was  across the world, across time, a part of your past that should never have reappeared in your present. It hurt too much, to look at his beautiful, distant face. He left you behind, once. He should have stayed gone. You can’t stand to experience the loss again, the loss you felt every time he listened to your heart, expressionless, a stranger with a beautiful, familiar face from your past, a past in which Caleb was still alive. 
You looked at Zayne one last time, across a bustling hallway in a place full of life, of death, and he let you. You then turned, headed to the reception desk. You switched doctors, hospitals.
You blocked his number, so you’ll never know if he sent you a text, tried to call and ask why, after. He let you walk out. Which is as it should be.
You wanted this.
The water churns under the whipping wind, the fast current. It looks so cold. Cold enough to numb. Cold enough to finally put out the fire that’s been burning in you, ever since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace shimmering in the flames.
You think of running your hands through his hair. Something the fire robbed you of—it would have been your first time, your last time. He would pat your head. Call you pipsqueak. Ignore your protests to not mess up your hair, to not treat you like a little kid. But he would always duck out of the way anytime you tried to return the favor, tease him, tousle his hair. His pretty brunette hair that always looked so soft. Now you’ll never know how soft it really was.
You look at the water. You look at the bridge. The car headlights meteors streaking along their guardrail-gated orbit.
You think about going home. Waking up tomorrow, Christmas Day. The silence. You think about going back to work. Killing wanderer after wanderer. Wondering which one will be the one to finally kill you.
The days blur. The constant emptiness echoing inside your apartment, inside your ribcage.
You look at the water. You look at the bridge. You imagine running your hands through Caleb’s hair for the first, the last time. A tender goodbye you’ll never have, because they never found his body.
There’s no one left to miss you.
Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You fish it out.
Rafayel no longer calls, or texts you words. He just sends photos, every once in a while. Mundane details of everyday life, rendered extraordinary through his artist’s eye. Paintings he’s working on. A foreign landscape. Leaves glistening with dew. The moon, waxing full.
You haven’t answered in months. You look at each one, tuck your phone back in your pocket.
You look back at the water. Think about taking a photo of the reflected stars, the thin crescent moon in the black waves, think of sending him one last response. But even you’re not that cruel. You don’t want him to realize later, that he was the last one to say anything to you.
You don’t open his text. You block his number. Tuck the phone back into your pocket.
You start to walk toward the bridge. As you walk, you keep your eyes on the path, its edges. Decorative, smooth stones line the walkway along the river embankment. You pick them up, here and there, as you walk. Slip them into your coat pockets.
Eventually you run out of room in your coat pockets, add more to your pants pockets. 
You turn your eyes back to the bridge, looming now.
You think of your empty fridge. Josephine’s empty face. An empty urn.
You’re ready to scoop out what’s left of you, leave it behind on the sidewalk, smoldering as the cold night finally smothers the endless fire, the only thing left inside you. Maybe it will warm someone else, in passing. A last good deed, from you to someone in the world.
A metal staircase, leading up, up, into the black sky, mirroring the dark river, your heavy boots echoing. The cars are loud. If you close your eyes, they could be the rushing waves of an ocean, instead of a river of traffic, above a river of water.
You keep your eyes open. You’re not going to pretend that you’re not doing what you’re doing, now. You’re not at the ocean, its pure salt air drifting through your hair, now whipping around your face. You’re on a busy, exhaust- and oil-stained commuter bridge on the night before Christmas, having cut your ties with everyone you have always known never wanted or needed you in the first place. What’s the difference if a wanderer kills you tomorrow, or if something kills you today? Just empty time, blurry days, photo frames without pictures.
The guardrail isn’t so high as one would guess. It’s an easy step up. An easy step over. You stand, looking back over the city where you were raised. The city that contains all the past versions of yourself, from the moment you were pulled screaming into life from a mother whose face you’ll never know, through to now, an empty shell of a person. If your fellow hunters could see inside you, they’d mistake you for a wanderer and put you down, like the scientists who experimented on you, your own grandmother, did years ago.
Since learning that Gran was one of the people who fucked with your heart, you have often resented that she and her colleagues weren’t successful in finishing the job years ago, when they had the chance.
But now you wonder, standing over a dark, freezing river that reflects what’s inside you now, maybe they did finish it. You just didn’t realize it. Not till tonight, as you look down in the mirror of the rushing water, far below.
Even now, the tears won’t come.
What use are tears, when they can’t bring a body back. When they can’t wash it clean. When they can’t lovingly touch it, one last time, soft strands of hair under your fingers.
Your tears, your heart, your suffering, your existence—useless, for the entirety of a life you can only half remember.
You wonder if it’s the dark, tonight. Why tonight, and not yesterday? Why not six months ago? 
Because it took that long to sever the ties binding you here?
Now you are assured, no one will miss you. It will take days before anyone even notices your absence because of your holiday leave.
You hope that they’ll assume it was a wanderer. Bad luck. Wrong time, wrong place. A modest little plaque on the wall of heroes, even though you know you’re no hero.
In the end, it doesn’t matter why it’s tonight, and not any other night.
No need to be dramatic, pretending there’s meaning in the meaningless.
You put your hands on the guardrail, the metal colder than your freezing hands. You lift a heavy booted foot. Take a deep breath. 
It’s so cold. It will be over before you know it. You’ve read that from this height, it’s the impact, and not the drowning.
You’ve always had dreams of flying. 
You lift your other foot, arms thrown wide for balance, just for a moment. The world feels so big, here at the end. The stars above, the stars below, the doubled crescent moon. You’re ready to drown in it all.
You only have one hope.
I don’t want to be reborn.
You breathe, empty your mind of Tara’s earnest smile, Xavier’s soft laughter, Zayne’s steady hands, Rafayel’s flashing violet eyes. Josephine’s empty face. Caleb’s soft, untouchable hair.
You let yourself fall.
You’re flying. Your heart is soaring. Your heart is seizing. The relief, the terror, mingle. You can’t scream, even if you wanted to.
You’re flying and it’s everything you ever dreamt, until it’s not.
Your body jerks, abruptly. Your hair whips down, lashes your face. You grunt with the impact against… nothing. You’re suspended over the water, drifting in the air. The wind tugs at your stone-weighted coat.
You twist away from the water, craning your neck to look up, up, back at the bridge.
You have withstood the uselessness of tears for almost a year now. But now, you want to cry so badly the pain of the need steals your breath.
You knew he was cruel. You knew he was merciless. You knew that he hated you. You just didn’t realize how much, until now.
You hang suspended over a dark, rushing river, wrapped in scarlet and ink tendrils, looking up into the sneering face of the one person you refused to think about as you made your final decision tonight, at the end of your desolate, half-remembered life.
His evol begins to lift you, away from the merciful impact, the numbing water. You, your past, your heart, the memories and despair and stones filling your pockets seem weightless, wrapped in his power.
His usual mask of bored indifference is gone. He is finally showing you his true face, what he must always feel when he looks at you—fury and disgust.
He says nothing, as he pulls you from the depths, back into the world. As he sets you gently back on your heavy feet on the sidewalk in front of him. His evol evaporates, winter breath in the wind.
He looks at your face with his wine-dark eyes. Looks at the water. Flicks his gaze back to your face.
You will not cry in front of this man. This man who hates you so much he won’t even let you seek the peace of death. Death, which has always been too good for you, but not for the people you loved the most.
You clench your jaw as the fire re-ignites in your chest. The flames you had tried so hard to scoop out, to leave behind.
You don’t want to feel this much anymore.
If you speak, you know you’ll cry. You can’t stand it.
Maybe, with enough repetition, he’ll get bored. He gets bored so easily, after all.
You turn, try to launch yourself over the guardrail again.
This time, it’s not his evol, but his arms that wrap around you, pull you back from the fall.
You struggle, throwing your elbows, kicking, throwing your head back, hoping to catch his perfect nose, break it under the hardness of your stupid, useless skull.
He says nothing, just holds you tighter, wraps one arm around your waist, the other over your chest, his big hand cradling the side of your face, pressing your head back into his own chest, as he hunches over you, an immovable wall of warmth. As you fight to break free of his hold, you are wrapped in his scent—cloves, gun oil. 
Sylus.
Eventually, you tire yourself out—despite all of your strength, it is no match for his. He holds you against himself easily, as you pant, lungs burning with the effort, the sweat warm once again under your Hunter’s uniform. You become aware of a whimpering, the keening of a wounded animal.
It’s coming from your throat. Your eyes burn. You go limp in his arms.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. A voice like warm liquor in your veins. You think he’ll let you go. You prepare, hoping you can get to the guardrail again. Maybe this time he won't be so fast. But instead of releasing you, getting away from you as fast as he can, the arm around your waist moves up, cradling your upper back. He scoops his other arm under your legs, holds you against himself like you’re a delicate princess, if you were anyone else. But because it’s you, he’s probably just holding you like a useless sack of shit that would be too annoying to drop. He begins to walk, his stride steady, brisk.
He looks down into your face. “I bought a dress for you. Silk. A design like stars over a flowing river. That’s the only river you’re allowed in tonight, kitten.”
You stare at him. His breath puffs white in the cold air. The face of disgusted fury is replaced by his usual bored mask.
Why is he doing this to you? He wanted to kill you, just a few months ago. Why not let you do the job for him?
He is the only person in your life who didn’t take the hint. Who kept showing up, after you made it clear that you didn’t want their presence anymore. That you couldn’t handle the ties, because ties become nooses, snapping your neck when the other person leaves you behind.
When he showed up where you were, in a ‘coincidental’ meeting on the street, on a jog, you would turn, move in the other direction. He would match your stride, doggedly pestering you with questions, asking you about your evening or weekend plans, telling you silly stories from the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran’s latest antics. Sometimes he’d just walk in contemplative silence, thumbs hooked through his belt loops, or jog quietly next to you, never losing his breath, never complaining about the pace.
When you would routinely see him at various restaurants you were headed to in order to pick up takeout, you’d leave your food, immediately turning and hurrying away. When the same food was delivered to your door half an hour later, you’d refuse to answer, letting the confused and irritated delivery man leave. A half hour after that, the same man would be back, yell through the door that he had instructions to leave the food even if no one answered, and then he’d make good on his promise. You were faced with the choice of either letting the food go to waste, or eating it guiltily at your kitchen island.
No matter how many times you told the delivery person of the almost daily packages you received with no return address that you didn’t want to accept delivery, they would always insist that their instructions were to deliver regardless of recipient response. You were welcome to bin the items after receipt, but if you didn’t accept, the packages would just pile so high outside of your door that you couldn’t reach your apartment anymore.
You would accept, and then donate whatever exquisite item was inside to women’s shelters, children’s homes, university museums, soup kitchens, fundraiser auctions. No matter how clear it was that you wouldn’t accept anything from him, Sylus never stopped sending you gifts.
When you were sick, he’d show up personally, barge into your apartment when you were too tired to look at the doorbell camera before answering, a duffel bag gripped in his big hand filled with fever reducing medicine, homemade soup from his home chef, painkillers, hot water bottles, cooling pads, muscle pads, vitamins. He’d lounge on your couch, manspreading, insisting that he wouldn’t leave until he saw you swallow the pills and drink a gigantic glass of water.
He’d wait until you lay back down on your messy bed, until you fell asleep. He’d be gone when you woke again, but your apartment would be clean and your fridge and freezer would be stuffed full of healthy pre-prepared food.
You were half-convinced he was just buttering, fattening his prey before getting bored and mercifully ending its life.
Tonight, you are now fully convinced.
“Did your tongue freeze in your mouth?” he asks, descending the stairs you had just walked up, thinking it was your last time ascending them. “Do you need mouth-to-mouth to warm it up again?”
You scowl at him, at how appealing the idea of Sylus’s tongue in your mouth is, even now. You hate yourself, your traitorous body for being drawn to him, even now. “What’s the point of talking, when you never listen?” you grind out, your throat sore. You hadn’t realized how much your animal wailing had wrecked your throat. At least the tears are no longer so close to the surface that they’re threatening to spill.
“I listen to every word out of your beautiful mouth,” he counters serenely, with that same inexplicable kindness that makes your heart hurt. So at odds with how you know he must really feel about you. “I just listen to more than your mouth in order to hear what you’re really saying.”
“What?” You stare at his beautiful face, the way the lamplight illuminates its sharp features for a brief moment, before the night swallows it again as he moves between lampposts on his way… somewhere. Back the way you just came from.
He spares you a glance. “Your mouth says one thing, while the rest of you is screaming something else.”
You feel the blood draining from your face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
One corner of his beautiful mouth lifts. “Don’t play dumb, kitten. You’re too smart for it to be convincing.”
You were just falling into the river. You were just about to be free. How did you get here again? In this man’s arms, his smug, roguish smile filling you with the unease of being seen. 
“I mean, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little more honest about the fact that you want people to fight for you, right?”
You begin to struggle again, shame lancing through you, making your body unbearable to be in. You know it’s weak, to have wanted so desperately that the people you were carving from your life would see what you were doing and stop you, place their hands over yours holding the cleaver, gently push it down, down, until it dropped from your grasp—how desperately you wanted them to step into your space, hold you tightly, just like this man who sees right through you is holding you now. You wanted Tara to keep inviting you out with your ridiculous colleagues, to sing your heart out at shitty karaoke clubs, to forcibly drag you to sleepovers and arcade nights. You wanted Xavier to push himself into your apartment, try to bake something horrible in your oven, sheepishly offer to go to the bakery with you instead when the fire alarm inevitably went off. You wanted Zayne to walk through the crowd to reach you at the other end of the hallway after you identified Josephine’s body, to ask to take your hand, to ask how you were doing, even though you knew you wouldn’t have been able to answer. You wanted Rafayel to keep inventing excuses for you to visit his studio, to keep insisting that he needed you to accompany him to expositions and fancy lunches as his bodyguard. 
But none of them did in the end, and that’s okay. You kept pushing them away, because your terror of their leaving was apparently bigger than your need for their presence in your life, and at least if they were already gone, as they inevitably would be, you’d finally be free. 
But the last person you would want to see this utterly humiliating need inside you, exposing you like this, is the one looking down at you right now with deceptively soft, all-seeing eyes.
You know the feeling, this need, of pulling away and pulling away and then being heartbroken when people finally let you is weak, and pathetic.
You may experience weak and pathetic feelings, but you’re not weak or pathetic. Not at your core. You were prepared to do what was necessary, to save yourself from the pain of your emptiness, the fire raging inside your chest. You weren’t asking anything of anyone. You were doing it all on your own. 
Not a burden. 
Never a fucking burden. 
You clench your teeth, buck in Sylus’s arms.
He just holds you tightly, a straightjacket for the insanity that you’re feeling, the insanity of this man, out of all the people in your life, stripping you of your masks, flaying you so that all of your most tender, shameful parts are exposed to both him and yourself.
“Stop that. You’re just going to tire yourself further, when I need you tonight.”
Of course. The quid pro quo. He helped you with the auction, the Aether Core. Now you owe him. He doesn’t give a fuck if you live or die—he just can’t let one of his assets destroy itself before it fulfills his purpose.
You go limp in his arms. Turn your head away from him.
He continues his train of thought. “No, it wouldn’t kill you to tell the truth to your friends, so you decided to take matters into your own hands, huh? Telling the people in your life that you actually need them wouldn’t kill you, so why bother, right, when you can just jump off of a fucking bridge?” His voice sounds like the night you met him. Controlled anger. Disgust. Accusation.
Then there’s something wrong with her.
You thought you had killed everything inside of you already. The yearning for human connection. The kindness of a friend. Family holding you in their arms. You thought you had scooped out most of it, even as some of it rekindled when he pulled you back from the fall.
But the way you’re hurting now, at the memory of his hate, the reminder that the people you love won’t fight for you even if it would be fighting against you, and that this man, for all of his false generosity, never cared for you from the beginning, that his gifts and his visits were all what you knew them to be, all along—a bored predator toying with its prey before using it and consuming it. 
You let your thoughts drift back to the bridge, push your pain away. Feed it to the fire. When he’s done with you, maybe you won’t even have to jump.
“Just shut up, Sylus. I’ll help you with your problem tonight. Just promise me you’ll toss me over yourself, when you’re done with me,” you tell the night, because you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.
He stops walking. The wind is so cold against your face. You wish he’d snap your neck, right now. You’re so fucking tired.
“Look at me.” His voice is low. Menacing.
You watch the water. Wonder how long it would take if you just walked out into it, without jumping. Just walk in with your stone-weighted coat and let the cold paralyze you, the current pull you under.
“Look at me, my heart,” he whispers. The change in his tone, his bizarre endearment, has you turning your head, looking up into his face. “That is one promise I can never make you.” He looks like he’s in pain. You don’t know why. He leans down, rests his forehead against yours, hunching his big shoulders, lifting your body in his arms so he can meet you. His breath is warm against your lips. “Please don’t talk to me like that.”
You want to snort. It’s rich, coming from him—the same man who is telling you not to tell him to shut up, after all the things he said to you as he starved you, strangled you.
“Please don’t tell me to kill you. To hurt you. That hurts me.”
You stare up into his face. See the sincerity in his eyes. The wind whips your hair. He wasn’t upset that you told him to shut up, but that you asked him to kill you? “What does it matter? Aren’t you going to, in the end?”
���Why would I stop you tonight, if I wanted you to die?”
Of course he won’t answer outright. When has Sylus Qin ever answered a direct question?
“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Why bother stopping me, unless you just need to use me and then be done with me? I can’t be that irreplaceable. Just get someone else to put on the dress, and let me get on with my fucking life. Someone who you can train to say just the right things, at just the right time, who’ll look good in whatever fancy shit you want to put her in. There’s gotta be easier idiots than me to serve your purpose.”
He closes his eyes, breathes in the cold night air. When he opens them, you have to look away. You can’t handle whatever is in them. “I know I hurt you, when we first met. That I said cruel things to you. I’m sorry.”
You laugh, even as your heart wrenches at this strange apology. Of course he doesn’t explain what offended him so much about your existence at the beginning. Why he treated you exactly how you deserved. Probably just whatever he saw when he used his Aether Core on you. He saw the echoing chambers of your empty, fucked up heart and was enraged that it was you, and not someone worthy, who would absorb the Aether Core. “There’s never been any need to varnish the truth, Sylus. You almost choked me to death the day we met. You should have fucking finished what you started,” you sneer. “Why does no one ever finish what they start?” You think of Josephine, her researcher cronies. Think of Caleb, his promise to return, the last text he ever sent you. Your fucking parents, who you will never know.
You don’t expect an answer.
And yet, you’re surprised when Sylus wordlessly releases his hold on you. Lets you slip from his arms, sets you back on your feet. You settle in your heavy boots, the weight of your coat, the stones in your pockets, grounding you to the earth.
The lamplight shines in his silver-sheened, wind-tousled hair. His cheeks are red from the cold.
Of course. Of course.
No tool is irreplaceable.
You’re not irreplaceable.
You finally said the right thing, to push him away.
This is it. This is it. This is it. 
Your mind returns to the bridge. Your hand is holding the cleaver, dripping with the blood from the last unwelcome tether to your life.
You try to memorize his face, just as you did Zayne’s, but for some reason looking at Sylus’s face hurts you so much more despite having known him for so little time. Just a sigh, in the timeline of your life. The warm glow of his irises. The softness of his lower lip. The pride in his shoulders, his nose. 
Maybe you didn’t want to think of him before jumping because you had fallen in love with him, despite the fact that any affection he offered was counterfeit—the steady way he breathed next to you on a jog, the way he spread out on your couch, his dry humor, his intelligence, his piercing gaze, his kindness that was actually more cruel than if he had just tossed you out and never bothered to look for you again after the auction.
You knew it was fake. You knew it was calculated. You knew that the reality was, because he had told you from the very beginning—
Don’t tell me that you like me. Is this all so you can get my attention?
Clearly you’ve read too many fairytales.
And yet you had believed, in the bright moments of receiving his kind attention, in the fairytale. Just for a heartbeat. A raindrop, splattering on the ground.
You thought that you couldn’t bear to see what it looks like when Sylus finally tires of you pushing him away, and stops reaching out, as everyone else has. 
But with just a few words, you’ve finally managed to do it. He set the burden of you down, and now he’ll walk away, replace you with some other beautiful, breathing tool.
You learn in this moment that you actually can bear it. You can bear anything, as long as you know that very soon, you won’t have to bear anything at all.
“You wanted the truth?” you say, suddenly, the relief flooding through you that the worst has happened, that you’re now actually free. You think of the fabric of the dress, liquid stars over a night river, and wonder whose body it will caress, with Sylus’s big hand on her waist, his gentle fingers drifting across her collarbone, his forehead pressed against hers, for whatever ruse he needs to run tonight, on Christmas Eve.
He grows still. Watches you carefully, as if searching your face for a trick. You look back at him steadily, scooping everything inside you out, letting it splatter onto the sidewalk, here along this dark riverbank.
“Will you give it to me?” he finally asks.
“As a parting thank you gift, for cutting me loose.” You nod. Take a shuddering breath of the frigid air. “Here is me telling you the truth: you should treat the woman who ends up wearing the dress you got with more gentleness than you did me at the beginning. You could have the world eating out of the palm of your hand, if you skip the cruelty at the beginning and just treat people the way you treated me in the last few months. She’ll do anything for you, I think, if you do. Because somehow you made me love you, despite our beginning. I could bear to cut everyone else loose but you.” You laugh, and the sound is like icicles snapping, shattering on the ground. “Thank you for doing it for me, instead. It’s probably the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
You smile at him. 
You don’t know why you’re surprised that he just frowns deeply, brow furrowing. 
Well. That’s okay. You never expected him to be pleased to see your face, smiling or not.
“Good luck, Sylus.”
You turn, begin to walk back the way you came, for the second time tonight. Your thoughts are already at the bridge. You’ve been falling for months now. Soon you’ll finally hit the crystal water and shatter. 
You hope you won’t be reborn.
“You said you love me.” His deep, low voice is carried by the wind.
You stop, turn your head. “Stupid, huh?” you ask, wondering if he wants to pour salt into the wound you just willingly exposed to him.
“Why would you love someone who treated you the way I did?”
You turn fully, face him across the night, one last time. “You’re so fucking funny. I’ve always appreciated men who can make me laugh.” You shrug. “And I’m a pathetic fool. You pretended to be kind, and I lapped it up like the thirsty dog I am.”
He tilts his head, takes a step towards you. “That’s all?”
You take a step back. You don’t need him and his pretty face, his delicious scent any closer to torment you.
You offer him more truth. “Of course not.”
“What else?”
You sigh. “What does it matter? We’ll never see each other again.”
He shakes his head. “Indulge me.”
So salt, it is. You press your fingers into the most tender part of yourself, peel yourself wide open. “Your cleverness. How sweet you can be when you want something—strangely pliant, for such a big, powerful man. The self confidence you have. I could say, do anything and you did so well pretending to never be embarrassed of me. You made me believe, very briefly, that you really wanted to be with me, do anything, go anywhere, just because I was there. It’s quite impressive, really. I can see why you’re so good at business. You’re competent. You’re beautiful to look at.” You pause, shake your head in turn. “But you already know all that. You know why you’re loveable. You made me feel cherished in a way that no one ever has, even as I was pushing you away. But honestly, those are just parts of you. They don’t fully cover what it is about you that makes my heart ache when I look at you. I love you because you’re you. Even hearing your name makes my heart race. Seeing your shoes in my foyer, because they were on your feet. The curve of your wrist, because it belongs to you. I know it’s pathetic, and stupid.” You shrug again. “Can’t help it, though.”
He stares at you. 
You prod him. “Is that enough?”
“How can you ask if that’s enough, when it’s everything?”
You look at him in confusion. “Huh?”
He takes a step towards you, frowning. “Are you only telling me all this because you think I’ve finally given up and allowed you to push me away, because I set you back on your feet?”
You take a step back, as he takes another step forward.“What do you mean ‘I think’ you’ve given up?” You squint at him.
“Did you only tell me all this because you’re going straight back to the bridge to try again?”
You take another step back at the intensity of his face, his question. “What does it matter? You don’t have to worry about what happens to me after this.”
He takes two steps. “You tell me you love everything about me, and then you plan to fuck off and leave me alone again?”
Okay, this was a mistake. You don’t know why he’s mad, but he’s mad again. “I’m sorry.”
You don’t know what else to say. You’ve been sorry your whole life. This is yet another miscalculation. You should have just left. What did you think would happen if you told him how you feel? That he’d be happy about your pathetic heart bleeding pitifully for him?
He strides over to you, his long legs outpacing your own. “If you’re sorry, don’t fucking do it.”
“What?”
He looks down into your face, so close you can smell him again, you can see the fine lines around his eyes as he frowns. “If you’re really sorry for loving me, for ever meeting me—which are the only things you have to be sorry for, then make it up to me by staying. Don’t leave me. Don’t push me away anymore. Just stay, and love me.”
You huff. “Are you really that desperate for help tonight?”
He lifts his hands, places his palms on your cheeks, his long fingers dipping into your hair. “No, I’m desperate for you tonight. It’s Christmas—I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do. I want to spend it with you. You made me watch you jump off of a goddamned bridge. What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?” He sounds so upset. You’ve never seen him like this. The fear is naked on his lovely face.
“What the fuck are you talking about? What does it matter? You said you could get someone else for the dress, for tonight.” You’re so confused. Why is he acting like this?
“I didn’t say any of that. You suggested that I replace you with someone else, I set you on the ground to make sure you were looking at my face, that you were listening to my words when I told you that you’re irreplaceable. That no one else will do. That after watching you almost die, I can’t continue being cautious and trying not to frighten you away anymore.”
“You… what?” 
“You love me. Right? You weren’t lying?” he looks uncertain, like he can’t quite believe it.
You can’t bring yourself to lie. The truth is out. You’re witnessing the fallout. There’s no point in backpedaling. “Yeah.”
He nods, once, decisively. “Okay. That’s enough.”
You sigh in relief. Maybe he’ll let you go, finally, finally.
He checks his chunky watch, the platinum flashing in the lamplight. “There’s still time.”
“Time for what?”
“For my plans tonight. Come.” He closes the distance, sweeps you into his arms again, cradles your body against him like something fragile.
“What plans? Listen—” you start to argue.
“No. Now it’s my turn to speak, and for you to listen.” he squeezes you tightly. “Today was the last day you spend alone. If you can’t live for yourself, then you can live for me, until you remember why you want to live for yourself again. No matter what you say, or what you do to get rid of me, it’s not going to work.”
You can’t even process what is happening. “What are you—?” you begin, but he cuts you off again.
His voice is strained, rough. “You love me. So you have to take responsibility. You have to stay.”
You don’t know what to say. 
I’m desperate for you tonight.
You can’t believe this. He hates you. He has hated you from the beginning. He was so kind to you because he wanted to use you for something he never bothered explaining to you. He needs you for your resonance, your amplification of his powers.
You’re irreplaceable. No one else will do.
Because of your resonance?
I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do.
He carries you along the wind-swept riverbank, through the frigid night. Stars above, stars below.
You made me watch you jump off a goddamned bridge.
You didn’t think anyone was left to care.
You were so careful, severing ties like arteries, so that you wouldn’t leave the world with more pain than you found it. It was already bleeding so much.
You just were so tired of bleeding with it.
As if sensing the turn of your thoughts, Sylus carries you to the edge of the river’ embankment, where the concrete falls away, drops into the water.
He sets you down again, but doesn’t let you go. His big hands slide down the outside of your coat, dip into your pockets.
He pulls out a smooth stone. Turns it in his hands.
“I’ll never understand how someone so light can weigh so heavily in me,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.”
His ember eyes flick back to yours. He hands you the stone.
“This is your conviction that the world won’t miss you, if you’re gone. You will hold it in your hand, one last time. And then you will throw it in the water.” He wraps your cold fingers around the stone. Somehow, his fingers are still warm.
You grasp it, look up into his face. You see yourself in them. It hurts, to be seen so clearly. You’re so ashamed. “How did you know?”
He closes his eyes, shakes his head a little. Opens them. “I looked into your soul, the day we met. I know you’re too soft-hearted in this life to kill yourself if you thought it would hurt someone else. You don’t carry that spite, anymore.”
In this life.
Anymore.
You can’t bring yourself to ask him what he means. You only know that once again, Sylus Qin has seen inside you, has seen you, in a way no one else ever has.
“But I don’t think anyone would miss me. I made sure of it.”
He huffs. “You’re a fool, if you actually believe that. The people you’ve pushed away still love you. But if you can’t believe that yet, then you can’t pretend to yourself that you’re disposable anymore, if for no other reason than I’m standing here now, telling you that I would miss you.”
You think of Tara, sitting on your desk, nudging a steaming latte she got for you on her way to work toward you, asking if you’ve heard the latest about Simone and Andrew.
You think of Xavier, walking you to your door at the end of a nasty wanderer encounter, reaching out, brushing a bit of mud off your cheek, then smearing it across his own cheek. See, we match now.
You think of Zayne, waiting across a busy hallway, patient, letting you choose to approach him, and respecting you by letting you walk away.
You think of Raf, the beauty he shares with you with every photo, the funny strings of emoji that don’t demand an answer.
“How do you know, that they would miss me?” you ask Sylus quietly.
“I’ve been watching you for a long time, sweetie. Do you think I haven’t seen your friends’ faces when you walk away from them?”
You clutch the stone in your hand. “I don’t think I can change my thoughts, my conviction, just like that.”
“You love me, so you have to try. Throw it. Every time you try to drag it back up, I’ll remind you that you threw it away, and you can let it stay at the bottom of the river.” He reaches up, caresses your cheek with his fingertips.
You want to cry. You want to cry, because you’re so afraid. If you let yourself believe that people love you, you have to stay, for them. You have to feel, every day, the weight of grief, of existence, the pain of being alive, of being inside yourself, your body. The hollowness will return, even with your friends, even with Sylus filling most of it.
It’s like he can read your thoughts as his eyes devour your face, as his fingers tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “I won’t let you pretend, anymore. You love me, and I will not survive if you aren’t here with me. So you have to stay. We don’t have to accept that life is a curse. We can fight back. Make it something better.”
“I’m scared,” you say.
His eyes are so tender, as he watches your mouth form your biggest truth, set it free in the night. “I will protect you, until you can protect yourself again. There’s nothing to be afraid of, if we’re together.”
You want to believe him. Your heart beats painfully behind your ribs. The moon is a sharp crescent in the sky. 
But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.
“You’ll really stay?”
He finally smiles, a faint Sylus smile that feels like a grin. “I told you. Today was the last day you’ll ever be alone. You can’t get rid of me now, no matter what you do, or say.”
You turn, holding the stone in your cold hands. You think of all the lies you’ve been telling yourself, about your friends, your place in their lives, because you were so tired of living with an unnameable grief, one you carried inside you long before Caleb and Josephine died, but whose loss compounded, made unbearable the original sorrow.
And I will not survive if you aren’t here with me.
You don’t know why he feels this way. Does he love you too? He hasn’t said so. Can he even love you, in the way you love him?
Does it matter? 
It’s enough, that he says he’ll stay. That he wants you to stay alive. That he’ll help remind you, when the whispers drift back in your mind, telling you that you’re just a burden, that no one actually loves you, would miss you when you’re gone. When the hollowness echoes so loudly it’s all you can hear.
You lean back, lift the stone, throw it as hard as you can, as far as you can, into the rushing river.
You don’t hear its splash over the wind.
You turn back to Sylus.
He dips into your pocket again. Pulls out another stone. “Your guilt, for having lived. For having been born.”
You take it from him. Let your mind drift. Feel along the contours of your memories, the jagged, missing pieces, all the way back to when it fades to black. You throw the stone.
You don’t see it sink to the riverbed.
He dips into your pocket again. “Your shame, for needing others. For being human, and imperfect. For not being able to do it all alone. For wanting to be loved.”
You take the stone. “Is it really okay?” you ask, helplessly. There’s no point pretending everything he is saying isn’t true. “To want these things, when I haven’t earned them?”
He steps closer to you. Places his hands on your shoulders, draws you in. “There is no okay, or not okay. There is no crime and punishment, no transgression, no sin. How can it be shameful, to want what you were born to want? Why does love have to be earned, instead of just given?”
You lean into him, press your face into his chest, his thick wool coat soft against your skin.
“I don’t know.”
He reaches into your pocket, places a stone in your other hand. “One for your shame, one for the idea that love must be earned. Throw them.”
You lean back again, and it’s already too far away from him. But you throw each stone, and they disappear under the cold water.
“That’s enough, for now. We’ll take the rest home.” He draws you back into his arms. Lifts you without effort, stone-filled pockets and all. The weight of all of you.  “When you have thoughts of shame, of guilt, of not being loved, we’ll come back. You’ll throw them again. Until they’re all gone. We’ll gather other stones, when other feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.”
Sylus carries you along the path back to the road that snakes along the river. His motorcycle gleams under a bright lamppost.
He settles a helmet on your head, checks to make sure it’s secure. Puts his own on. You sit behind him, cling to him. Rest your head against his broad back, close your eyes. The motorcycle is loud, and he drives it carefully through the busy, holiday bustling streets, until he reaches your apartment building. He holds your hand as he leads you through the front doors, as he stands quietly beside you in the elevator, his red, warm eyes never leaving your face in the elevator mirrors. He leads you to your front door, waits patiently while you unlock it with your cold finger.
In the hallway, he kneels at your feet, unlaces your tall boots while you look down at him, the soft fall of his silver hair, his big, nimble fingers working the laces.
He then removes his own boots. His coat. He’s wearing a garishly bright Christmas sweater, with prancing reindeer. He hangs his coat on a peg in the wall. He turns, slowly unzips yours. Eyes flicking between the zipper and your face. He gently lifts it from your body, again like it’s weightless, even though it’s still filled with stones. He pulls it from your arms, hangs it next to his.
He pulls you further into your place.
The first thing you notice is the warmth. It’s so warm, like someone came in while you were gone and turned on the heating.
The next thing you notice is the Christmas tree. The one you didn’t get this year, because the thought of the holidays without Caleb and your grandmother was unbearable.
Beautifully, tastefully decorated. Silver and gold, twinkling lights. Its pine scent fills your place.
Sylus moves to a record player on one of the cabinets along your living room wall. A record player that wasn’t here before you went to work today. He fiddles with the arm, and suddenly Joni Mitchell’s River fills your house.
It’s coming on Christmas
They’re cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on
He walks back to you. “Is this okay?”
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
Whoa I wish I had a river I could skate away on
The music flows around you, paralyzing you. You stare into his face, into the warm glow of his eyes. How could you have missed this? The way he’s looking at you now? Through all the long months since the auction?
He tried hard to help me
You know, he put me at ease
And he loved me so naughty
Made me weak in the knees
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on
The words wash over you, through you. The scent of pine warms you, memories without form filling you with the sense of home, safety, love.
I made my baby cry
I'm so hard to handle
I'm selfish and I'm sad
Now I've gone and lost the best baby
That I ever had
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on
He takes your hands in his, thumbs across your skin. “Is it too much?”
You think of how cold it was, standing on the guardrail of the bridge. 
You were running toward the bridge, while Sylus was filling your home with warmth.
What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?
You think of him spreading out on your couch, as a fever raged through your body. You think of your freezer, filled with food. You think of the takeout boxes, still steaming, sitting in front of your closed door.
You think of him hanging delicate ornaments on a fragrant tree. 
I made my baby cry
You shake your head, the enormity of what almost happened filling you. The enormity of the choice you made, that you enacted, until Sylus pulled you back from the rushing dark.
You start to shake.
“Kitten?”
“It’s not too much,” you say, teeth chattering. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”
He stares down at you, seems to make a decision. “Shower. Now.”
You nod, moving away from him, but he follows. 
Inside your small bathroom, he takes up the entire space. He peels off your hunter’s uniform, tosses it beyond the open bathroom door. His gaze flicks from your undershirt, your underwear, to your face. “Do you want me to leave?”
You think of the dark water, an impact that never came. Sylus plugging in the record player, choosing a record with one of your favorite Christmas songs on it. Placing it delicately on the turntable.
“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again.”
He smiles a little. “I mean, leave the bathroom.”
“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again,” you repeat.
He stares into your eyes. Nods. Lifts your undershirt. He reaches behind you, unhooks your bra with the same agility that he unlaced your boots. He lifts it from your body, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales.
You shiver.
He tosses the bra behind him. Kneels. Pulls your underwear from your hips, down your legs. You step out of them. He stands again.
He leans over, his ridiculous, festive sweater soft against your cheek, as he reaches past you to turn on the shower faucet. As he messes with the knobs until steam begins to fill the small space. He nudges you forward, past the sliding glass door and into the small shower cabin, letting the hot water pour over you. You turn, watch him through the clear glass. He picks up your underwear, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales as he did with your bra. His eyes close for a moment, and then open. He tucks the little slip of fabric into his pants pocket, sits on the closed toilet, rests his elbows on his knees, and continues to watch you.
You let the hot water flow over your tired, cold body. You stare at Sylus’s face, let it fill your vision, blot out the rushing river, the impact that never came, the idea of everything you would have missed, if he hadn’t pulled you out. Everything you would have missed, in such a short amount of time. What else would you miss, if he hadn’t caught you? If he could give you so much within an hour, how much would you have missed in a day? In a week?
What have you been fighting, this whole time? 
Just yourself. 
You think of the stones at the bottom of the riverbed, instead of your body. Your conviction that you’re not loved, your guilt, your shame, instead of you.
You stare at the man who handed you each one, and told you to get rid of them, instead of yourself. The man sitting in your tiny bathroom, filling it with his big body, his even bigger presence, staring at you, staring at him.
You stop shaking.
Reach for the body wash, lather your hands. Run your hands along your body, under your armpits. He frowns, eyes on your hands. You palm your breasts, dip between your legs.
He lowers his head, eyes still on your hands, rests his full lips on his long steepled fingers.
You finish lathering your body, let the water wash it away. He’s too far away, even this close, on the other side of the glass.
As you turn off the water, he stands, lifts one of your towels from the rack. Holds it out for you. You step into it, him, let him wrap it around you. He turns you both, so that you’re looking in the bathroom mirror, which is mostly fogged.
“Better?” he asks.
You nod, soaking in his warmth at your back, the steam of the bathroom. 
You have a question, a question you can’t bring yourself to say out loud yet.
You reach out with one hand. Trace a finger through the fogged mirror.
Sylus watches you, resting his chin on your shoulder. 
Letters, a question.
Do you like me? Circle yes or no
Sylus smiles again, lifts an eyebrow. He reaches out, takes your hand in his. He circles no with your finger.
You frown, heart sinking, but Sylus just whispers, “Patience, kitten,” and flattens your palm across like. Guides your finger again, just above the erased like, drags it through the moisture in an elegant script.
love
He then gently sets your hand down. Lifts his own, circles with one long finger, yes.
He watches your reaction in the mirror.
You had no idea.
This whole time, you had no idea, even though he was showing you, with every ‘chance’ encounter, his pestering you with questions about work, life, his silly stories about the N109 Zone. His packages at your door. Fever medication, a big glass of water shoved into your hands.
You think of the rushing water, what almost happened. What you almost missed.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me believe you still hated me?”
He looks down at you now, away from your reflection in the mirror. His eyes trail your face, down your curved neck. He palms the back of your neck, his thumb drifting along the side, over a mole there.
“Have you heard of the myth that where we have moles is where someone kissed us in a past life?”
Even if so much has changed between you in just the last few hours, you’re reassured that Sylus Qin still can’t answer a straightforward question with a straightforward answer.
You shake your head. “No, I had never heard of that.”
Sylus smiles, and it looks a little sad. He leans down, presses the softest of kisses against your skin, the mole there. “Like most human legends, it’s a pretty lie. Not quite true.”
You laugh. “I could have guessed as much.” You tilt your neck, enjoying the press of his warm lips on your skin for the first time.
He opens his mouth, runs his teeth over where he just kissed you. Bites, gently.
You shiver again. Press your neck into, instead of away from his teeth.
He bites harder.
You gasp.
“I was afraid I’d frighten you with the enormity of my feelings for you, when in your mind, we’d only just met,” he murmurs against your neck, his saliva, the indentation of his teeth hot on your skin.
He bites again, presses himself into your ass through the towel. You realize he’s hard.
You forget about the last part of his sentence. Had you not only just met?
You lift your hands, let the towel unfurl from around your body, let it drop to the floor.
You almost died tonight.
What have you been fighting this whole time?
Just yourself. 
He tried hard to help me
You know, he put me at ease
You turn in his arms. He’s breathing hard, cheeks pink.
“You love me?”
He closes his eyes. Opens them. Shakes his head. “Love isn’t intense enough.”
“Adore me?” You lift your arms, wrap them around his neck. Pull his face closer to your own.
He shakes his head again. “Still not enough.”
“You won’t survive without me?” You lift on your toes, his soft sweater almost unbearable against your sensitive nipples.
He nods. “You’re getting closer. Can’t breathe without you. When I saw you jump…” He swallows, thickly. “You might as well have pulled me down with you, beloved. If it ever gets to be too much again, take me with you. I’ll never leave you alone again. Promise me the same,” he demands, big, calloused hands running up your naked sides, the fabric of his dark jeans rough against your body, where your thighs meet, as he helplessly nudges against you again with his hips, his hard dick behind his zipper.
I'm so hard to handle
I'm selfish and I'm sad
“I wouldn’t have known, unless you told me,” you breathe against his lips. “Promise that you’ll tell me how you’re feeling from now on, and I’ll promise to take you with me if I can’t leave the stones in the riverbed, even with you here.”
His voice is deep, rough like the fabric of his pants against your sensitive skin. “Deal.” He closes the distance, presses his soft lips to yours. Licks into your mouth.
And he loved me so naughty
Made me weak in the knees
His hands drift down your sides as his tongue dips into your throat, as he swallows your noises of pleasure, just from kissing him, his hands on you. He grips your ass, urges your legs around his waist. He carries you out of the tiny, steaming bathroom, manages not to knock you against the doorway, or into any furniture on the way to your bedroom, even as he continues to kiss you, as your hands in his soft hair probably block his peripheral view. He lays you down on your bed, the puff of your duvet. It’s so warm in your place that you’re not even shivering. You watch as he pulls his cheerful sweater and undershirt over his head, tosses them to the floor. As he unzips himself, hastily yanks down his pants and boxers, his socks. He blankets you with his big body.
You wrap your arms around him, pull him tightly to you, arch your breasts into his chest. He leans down, runs his nose along your cheek, inhales the scent of your hair at your temple. You just feel each other, for a long stretch of time. His soft chest hair against your skin, the silken skin of his dick between your thighs where he just leisurely rubs himself against you, as your palms run down the muscles of his back, the line of his spine. You’ve refused to think of him like this, ever since he wrapped his hand around your throat. You couldn’t bear his beauty, through all the long months that followed. You fled, every time your heart raced at the flash of silver as he approached you, met you where you were, over and over and over.
But now he says he has loved you, through it all. That he’ll never leave you alone again.
You let yourself feel him, under your hands, under your tongue, as you lick into his ear, feel him shiver. As you squeeze your thighs together, offering him a tight, snug space for him to keep pleasuring himself, as you feel your own wetness begin to coat your inner thighs, his cock, the longer you feel him on top of you, inhale the scent of his skin, the ever-present gun oil, the cloves, his clean sweat underneath it all.
After a lifetime, or only a few minutes, he leans down, says softly into your ear. “I want you. Tell me you want me too.”
“Can’t you tell?” you ask, bucking a little, squeezing him with your legs again.
He makes a low, pleasured sound in his throat. “I want to hear you say it. You’ve gone through a lot tonight. I need to know you actually want this. That you’re not just—” his breath hitches, as you move your hips again, as his dick slips between your wet, soft places. “That you’re not too tired to say otherwise, not thinking straight.”
“Use your Aether Core on me. Then you’ll know that my body is telling you what my mouth would, if I said the words.” You smile at him, teasing. 
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
You had wanted to fly. You had settled for flying for a brief moment, before shattering. 
But Sylus is offering you constant flight, under, over, along his crow’s wings.
You think of the rushing water. The tide of cars behind you, the wind whipping your hair. You almost missed this. You don’t want to waste any more time.
He lowers his forehead to yours, breathes, speaks against your saliva-slick lips with his own. “I don’t want to use my Aether Core on you. I want the words in your mouth, in your heart. I want your free will, your freely given consent. I almost lost you because I tried to force you, at the beginning. You believed I hated you, this whole time. Don’t ask me to force you again, my heart.”
You understand. You accept his request, his demand. “I want you, Sylus.”
He exhales, shifts above you, slips his wet cock between your legs, slides into your body with gentle, firm, graceful waves of his hips.
You whine, the feeling of fullness layering into the pleasure of the warmth of his skin, the taste of his tongue. For once, the feelings inside you threatening to burst out of your skin are so good, instead of painful, so pleasurable, that you can barely stand it. 
He kisses you, his velvet tongue big, heavy in your mouth. You suck, whine again as he lifts a hand, palms your breast, begins to thrust into you.
You are filled with him. His warmth. The size of him.
You widen your legs, wrap them around his thick ass. Urge him with your own body to move faster, to fuck you harder. He gives you everything you want. Just the pressure of his body against yours has you coming, the release bright, sudden—you shake with it.
Your pleasure seems to trigger his. He grunts, roots into you, buries his teeth in your neck, bites where he bit you before, over the mole on your neck. The sting makes you clench, and he whimpers, groans, comes with a jerk of his hips.
He slows, still filling you, still pleasuring you, as he lifts his head to look into your eyes.
You stare at each other, breath mingling, warm between you. 
You smile at him. 
He smiles at you. Nudges your nose with his.
“Can we do that again?” you ask.
He laughs, low and surprised. “Yeah,” he says, kissing you softly. “Just tell me, and I’m yours, anytime, anyplace.”
“I’m telling you.” You move your hips, feel his cum drip drown your ass. Feel him gasp at your movement.
“Now?” He’s surprised again.
“Problem?” you grin at him. 
“Fuck no.” He kisses you, hard. Slips out of you. Flips you over, lifts your hips with one big hand, pressing his other between your shoulder blades.
He presses his cock back between your legs, the slide easy and wet, and fucks you until you come again, until he blankets your back with his sweat-slicked, matted-hair chest.
“Was that enough, your highness?” he teases.
“I’m telling you,” you pant, wondering what he’ll do. 
“As you wish,” he murmurs, before flipping you again. Before watching your face as he slowly, leisurely works himself, his cum into you, makes you come again. 
In the morning, the sky through your windows is heavy, dark, gray. You wake slowly. Turn your head, find Sylus’s sleeping face next to yours on the pillow. He’s lying on his stomach. You take in the dark sweep of his lashes, his generous mouth, slightly parted.
You slip out of the bed, use the bathroom. You wander into the living room, gaze at the Christmas tree, its twinkling lights.
It’s Christmas.
Caleb and your grandmother are dead. 
But you’re still alive.
Your body aches from Sylus’s efforts, but it feels good. For once, it feels good to be inside your body. To breathe deeply.
You think of riverstones, sinking deep in the riverbed.
You know that the feelings tied to them will try to rise, clawing to the surface again.
We’ll gather other stones, when your feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.
Your eyes drift to the top of the Christmas tree. It’s empty.
“I thought we should finish it together.” Sylus’s warm arms wrap around you from behind. He leans over your shoulder, kisses your cheek softly. “Do you want to do the honors?”
You smile, wrapping your hands over his forearms around your waist. “You’re taller.”
“Use me as much as you like, kitten.” He turns, grabs a pretty golden glass tree-topper from your kitchen table, hands it to you. He lifts you up onto one shoulder, easily, and you fit it gently over the highest point of the tree. He holds you against him, as he lowers you. You slide along his body, until he sets you gently on your feet again.
You both stand, admiring it for a moment. It’s beautiful, like the rest of the decorations.
You hug him, look up into his face.
“Merry Christmas, Sylus.”
He smiles down at you, ruby eyes twinkling with reflected light from the tree. 
You would have missed this moment, and all the moments like it, if Sylus hadn’t stopped you last night. You shudder, hug him more tightly. 
You know your feelings will return. That no one person can solve a lifetime of wounds. But you promised him that you’d try. That you’d stay. You can only do your best.
You hear your phone vibrating, reluctantly pull away from him, head to your coat in the hallway where you thought you left it last night, but Sylus stops you. He points at your kitchen island. Your phone is lying on the counter. You look at him in confusion, but go to check it.
You’re shocked at how many missed texts you have.
From Tara.
Xavier.
Your eyes widen.
Zayne, who you thought you had blocked, months ago.
Rafayel, who you’re sure you blocked last night.
Each one is a response from a text you never sent. Telling them Merry Christmas. Telling them you love them. Telling them you hope to spend time with them soon.
None of them shame you, call you out on your behavior of the last year. Even Zayne simply suggests that you try a new bakery, that you’ve been in his thoughts, that he’s relieved you felt comfortable enough to reach out. Rafayel sends a bunch of firework emojis, suggests blowing shit up on the beach for New Year’s.
You turn to Sylus.
He looks steadily back at you, silver hair sleep-tousled, wine-bright eyes glowing.
Your eyes feel hot, and you realize you’re crying, the tears fat on your cheeks, dripping down your neck. 
This is the first time you’ve cried since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace bright in the reflected fire.
Sylus walks over to you. Leans down, licks the tears from your cheeks with his warm tongue, one after the other. He kisses you, ignoring your suddenly snotty nose, your morning breath.
“If it’s too much, we can take it slow. We can throw more stones in the river. But please answer your friends. You need them. And you’re a fool, if you can’t see that they need you too, if that makes you feel better about your own need.”
You continue to cry as you wrap your arms around Sylus’s neck. As he gently sways with you, to music that isn’t playing. He hums, and you think it’s Joni Mitchell’s The River, but you can’t be sure. You smile against his chest.
A thought occurs to you.
“Last night, you said there was still time. That you had plans for us, a pretty dress for me. What did we miss?”
Sylus sighs, holds you closer against himself. “Don’t worry about it.”
You stop, look up into his face. “What did you have planned, Sylus? Are you sorry we missed it?”
He smiles at you. “Oh yes, so sorry I got to spend all night fucking you instead of going to a holiday concert featuring the organ.” His voice drips sarcasm. “But we can go tonight, if you’d like to make it up to me.”
You laugh, bury your face back into his chest. “And here I had planned to suck your cock while watching a black and white Christmas film marathon tonight,” you say forlornly. You smile into his chest as he chokes. “Oh well, the concert it is.”
He just laughs, rich and deep, and continues to sway you slowly in your living room.
“Merry Christmas, my heart,” Sylus says against your hair, in your pine scented apartment, as snow begins to fall outside your windows, as your phone continues to vibrate, filled with the love of your friends.
Here you are. Again.
You’re so grateful, to be here, again.
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randomsufff ¡ 5 months ago
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Ok fuck it- I keep seeing the Great Gatsby pop up (thanks Gravity Falls lmao) and recently saw The Great Gatsby on Broadway and I need to spill out my thoughts on this musical
I’ll hold off my grips with it compared to the book till the very end- since I know a lot of argument around this musical is that it’s an adaptation and the adaptors are liable for taking creative liberties. Which- yeah! That’s valid! But I’d argue that in order to adapt something successfully, if you’re gonna make huge (and I mean HUGE) changes to the source material, it’s gotta somewhat follow some reason that makes sense for the characters and/or adds some layer or depth to the story or else you get something like HBOs Velma. But more on that in either an entirely other post or later depending on how long this gets
Read bellow if you want a really fucking long, detailed description of the show and what I think it did right and very, very wrong.
I will say- as a TLDR rn- I thought the show was just…ok. Like- “yeah that show sure was a musical.” kind of ok. The good songs and amazing spectacle of a few of the numbers kinda cancel out the bad pacing and really questionable narrative choices the show made. Also- hearing Eva Noblezada sing live changed my life.
OK- so I’ll start out by saying- I believe we had basically all the original current cast except for Jordan Baker was played by Traci Elaine Lee (who was absolutely phenomenal so I’m not too sad about missing Samantha Pauly)
I really thought the show was ok. Like I don’t hate it vehemently but I don’t love it either. I feel like the only reason it’s so famous is because of its two powerhouse leads (Hot take? Maybe.) Anyways, I don’t know how to go about this so we’ll go list form
1) PACING WAS ATROCIOUS
Again, not even comparing it to the novel- the pacing felt really off and didn’t even make much sense story wise. Like we would rush past certain information and then linger on scenes that didn’t really need to be lingered on? At least to me, I felt like there was other stuff the show should have prioritized showing- CAUSE THATS THE THING WITH THIS SHOW- is that they TELL not SHOW a LOT of information- so it kinda just feels like you’re being tossed plot without experiencing it.
For example, literally as soon as the show starts, Nick and party goers just throw all the information about Gatsbys party and being mysterious at the beginning by telling us and not showing, like he never shown to be cryptically hanging around in the first like 20 minutes of the show (at least that I remember- there was a lot happening in the opening number 😭) . Which sucks because they did this REALLY COOL thing right before the show started where Gatsby was standing there and was immediately gone as soon as a screen passed. LIKE YOU COULDN’T HAVE THAT HAPPEN AGAIN WHEN THEYRE ACTUALLY TALKING ABOUT HIM???
(Also- recently saw a rehearsal (?) video where Gatsby like actually opened the opening song “Roaring On”, and that would have been great if they kept that! Because looking back, I felt like Gatsby had the least amount of stage time. Which probably I sn’t actually true, but it really felt like it. Like where is the main guy??? His first appearance (after his little disappearing act) is like, 20 minutes into the show. Idk for something that’s called “The Great Gatsby” he sure wasn’t on stage a lot. )
Then a couple scene later, Gatsby reveals to Nick- a man he JUST MET FACE TO FACE- that he’s in deep love with his married cousin and asks him TO HIS FACE that he wants him to set up a meeting with her. And then they move on. Like???
If you watched the show, maybe this’ll make sence to you, maybe this won’t, but it feel like they rushed past everything in the original source material, and only expanded and talked at length the aspects they wrote in.
Also the ending was so. Incredibly. Rushed. Like we don’t even get to see Daisys reaction to killing/hitting Myrtle. As soon as the fight at the Plaza ends everything else happens in like 15 minutes. Are you kidding me. WE DONT GET TO SEE DAISY ACTUALLY HIT MYRTLE. They did the ol’ “Bright lights get shined at the audience as character pretends to get hit” but that’s it! Literally THE REASON why Gatsby is killed and we don’t get to see it or their reactions in the moment. They just… tell us what happened instead of showing it to us. (“Daisy tried to swerve to the next lane but there was a car coming- and then… she just peeled off. She’s packing now…” YOU COULDN’T SHOW THIS TO US???) No idea of how Daisy or Gatsby reacted immediately after, only the next day. No rambled and frightened dialogue of their game plan, no glimpse into Daisys psyche where it’s shown she’s not going to choose Gatsby after all. Nothing.
Oh! And guess how long Gatsbys funeral was? Like a minute long. Just Nick sitting next to a casket in the background while party goers, Jordan and Wolfsheim dismiss Gatsby with a throwaway line. Like bro… that’s your main lead character… shouldn’t you give him, idk , at least more than a minute on stage when he dies? And like yeah I get that that’s the point that he’s forgotten, but I thought it was going to be more prominent than that! Give me Nick standing solemnly next to a casket thats dead center on a completely empty stage while he narrates how no one showed up. How despite the riches and infamy, no one, not even Jays own father (cause literally no one was by the casket on stage but Nick) showed up for his funeral. Instead of weirdly dismissing it like it’s not important?
2) NICK AND JORDENS “RELATIONSHIP”
Nah this actually pisses me off because there’s literally no point in this being so highlighted when it literally goes fucking nowhere.
So their relationship arc goes like this: Jorden says relationships sucks because she wants to be an independent woman in the 20s. Nicks like, I am not looking for a relationship but if we were in one I’d let you do all those things. They flirt, almost kiss, flirt more, do kiss, Nick says “let’s get married /j” Jorden says “yeah let’s get married /srs”, they get ENGAGED, they fight after discussing if they inadvertently caused Myrtle’s death (Jorden intentionally let Myrtle know where they were going that night), break up, and never speak to each other the rest of the show.
HELLO? What the actual fuck was the point of this then? If you wanted to expand Jorden to be the independent, feminist, girlboss *cough lesbian cough* that she is, just let her stay single?? She doesn’t need to be with Nick if you want her to be a part of the main cast.
The main problem I have with this is that the musical put wayyyy too much emphasis on it. And it’s so funny because there’s this big, dramatic, movie-esc pause Nick does after he says “I don’t want to marry you”, and sorry to the people who genuinely gasped, but be fr, are we surprised??? Jordan has been saying from literally her first line that men/marriage sucks, and that she would never do that willingly- then when she get married to a guy she knows for, at most? 1-2 weeks (idk how long the musical take place over), I’m supposed to take that relationship seriously????
In fact, I felt like their relationship often overshadowed Gatsby and Daisys, which shouldn’t happen, because the whole fucking shows about Gatsby.
For example, they steamrolled Gatsby and Daisys reunion with a budding Jordan and Nick plotline, for some reason??? Like they literally show Gatsby and Daisy seeing each other, have them say a few sentences wistfully reminiscing their first meeting, then have them go inside the house while their silhouettes are shown talking while the audience stays with Nick and Jorden OUTSIDE as they joke and almost kiss each other. HUH??? How are you going to literally push your years-long, slow burn yearning MAIN ROMANCE reunion to the side for a budding relationship that came out of nowhere and frankly dosent need to exist? And since we’re not going book accurate, you can actually SHOW how Gatsby and Daisy fall back into each others orbit, how their conversation went. But no.
It got so bad that I honestly can’t tell if one of the themes of this musical is something about marriage because of how much they pushed the “married/ people in a relationship” dynamic. Like what are you trying to tell me? All marriages are doomed??? I don’t even know (mayhaps just me being aroace)
What grips me the most is that they don’t even get any closure. Like they literally never speak to each other after that night Myrtle is killed. (Mostly cause the show ends literally 5 minutes later). The whole show they put these two together, build up their romance, show them having cute and funny moments together… all for what? For nothing?
AND I DID LIKE THEM. They were a cute couple, and their chemistry and jokes together were funny and charming. Their dynamic was interesting too, with Jordan wearing the pants, so to speak, and insisting she maintain her freedom while in marriage/ a relationship which wasn’t heard of in the 20s. But for all that to end because Jorden didn’t want to tell the cops Gatsby and Daisy possible ran her over/they’re partially responsible??? Like they INVESTED. SO. MUCH. in this relationship (to the point where they got ENGAGED???) that it feels so stupid and dumb for it to end like “wow you’re heartless :c I don’t want to marry you anymore :ccc” “well too bad, L, you’re guilty too asshole. Bye.”
AND what really grinds my gears is that if they cut this whole shit out, or at least made it more in the background, it would give more time to flesh out the few other problems I have with this show
3) SONG… EFFICIENCY (?)
Ok last point that’s not as much of a complaint as the others, but it was still something that bothered me. Some of the songs just say nothing/ repeat stuff we already know. Mainly thinking of (and sorry to people who like these songs- I’m not saying they’re bad! They’re just not a lot of info there) “For Her”, “Go”, or “Shady”
Like “For Her”, he’s just saying “I did [list of things involved with his fame/money] for her” for 4 minutes and you don’t even know who “her” is until like, the last line. Like this could have been a perfect opportunity to deep dive into Gastbys upbringing/ past, but the most the musical goes into Gatsby’s past is that he was in the war. Like you don’t get the sense that this man worked his way literally from the ground up for this woman. It’s just so repetitive that, even though it was Jeremy Jordon, I was getting bored halfway through.
AGAIN, this is not slandering Jeremy Jordan (JJ stans please spare me), you could have the most amazing Broadway singer sing with the best technique, but if it’s a dull, repetitive song, PERSONALLY, I’d be bored. They could have just combined this with another song, or as I suggested, add more purpose to the song and maybe put it later in the musical.
Similarly, “Go” (and, AGAIN, love Jeremy and Eva) was super repetitive and could have just been reduced to dialogue.
And “Shady”, though also a really good song, frankly could have been cut out. For some reason the musical really wanted Wolfsheim to be a main antagonist/prominent character and gave him this song- but there’s nothing in it that wasn’t already implied in the first Act and it really has nothing to do with any of the other characters, other then a vague “Jay and Daisy” gotta keep their affair secret (which… yeah I think we know that, but also to compare that to… hiding dead bodies and minding your own business- it’s???? Idk what they were going for)
(Tbh- I conversed with my dad who also mainly wanted to see the show for Jermey Jordan and Eva Noblezada and he said that none of JJ songs were that memorable, which I kinda agree with. He’s a great singer, a very talented man, but the songs he was made to sing in this show were not it. Just nothing of substance or catchiness. Which SUCKS. Because how are you going to get someone like Jeremy Jordan and not have him sing an absolute banger? But weirdly, none of his songs (maybe except “Only Tea” which I really liked) stood out which I’m so disappointed about.)
—————————
Ok that’s all just as it’s own thing (mostly) NOW MY FUCKING PROBLEMS WITH IT COMPARED TO THE BOOK
1.B) NICK AND GATSBY’S FRIENDSHIP
THIS IS THE BIGGEST ONE- Nick and Gatsby friendship is so fucking integral to the original, and it feels like it didn’t even exist in the musical.
Like regardless on whether you ship them or see them as friends- Nick was Jays only fucking friend. He was the ONLY ONE who truly cared about him and went to his funeral when no one else did. In the book, Nick did So. Much. just because he wanted to for Gatsby. Gatsby had to ask Jorden to ask Nick to set up his tea meeting, he attempts to charm and lavish him in trips, and even tries to pay the man to get him to agree. But Nick refuses and is even offended that Gatsby would pay him money for such a thing and immediately accepts the night he finds out. And they actually hung out! Like a lot! At least before Jay asks him for the tea request. And though it could been because he wanted to make it easier for Nick to say yes, they were friendly with each other, and felt like actual pals. Nick genuinely was worried about Gatsby at the end, and even tried to warn him about what he was attempting to do multiple times.
In the musical that bond is just… not there. They rush past meeting each other, they never hang out one on one, and any interaction between them seemed slightly aggressive or politely concerned, like one would be to a stranger, which they technically are!!! The only reason he agrees to Gatsbys plan is basically petty revenge against Tom for punching Myrtle and being an asshole to Daisy/ in general. (Which- I feel like a move thats so out of character for Book!Nick cause he also dislikes Daisy.) Like Nick never learns Gatsbys backstory here (I don’t think he ever tells it, not even to the audience).
The “ you can’t repeat the past” line seemed more aggressively exasperated in delivery then the more soft concern for a close friend I initially read it as. And the “you’re worth more then whole rotten crowd put together” line didn’t really hit as hard because they don’t feel like close friends and nowhere in the show has Nick expresses this pedestal he puts Gatsby on like in the book.
Literally the only times they’re together alone is their initial meeting, and setting up for tea at Nicks. Every other time either Gatsby is with Daisy or Nicks with Jorden. They could have at least put together a cool ass montage of them hanging together, using those moving panels, going through diffrent activities as Jay introduces himself with his Oxford and army line, instead of dumping it all on him on their literal first meeting in his study.
(Also noted that they made it so Gastby owns the property Nick lives on and is renting it out for the man. Idk why they did this- to make it so Nick is indebted to Gatsby??? Also Gatsby vaguely threatens/ says something with a condescending/threatening aura (???) before Nick leaves after Jay ASKS A MAN .5 SECONDS AFTER MEETING HIM FOR THE FIRST TIME FACE TO FACE for the tea set up. Like there was a moment where he held onto Nicks hand as they shake goodbye, held his eye and said a line (I forgor) and kinda stood there staring him down before Nick awkwardly left. LIKE WHAT WAS THAT???? WHO ARE YOU???? WHY??? Literally doing everything to make sure no one can ship them)
2.B) THEY STRAIGHT-IFIED MY BOY.
NICK WHAT DID THEY DO TO YOU. It felt like they wanted to take away any whiff of an implication that this man is gay. Like literally no build up to Jay and Nicks friendship, no meaningful scenes between the two, going head first and completely committing to Jordan, AND THE MR MCKEE SCENE BEING LIKE THAT.
AND MR MCKEE, IM SO, SO SORRY WHAT THEY’VE DONE TO YOU. They made him to be some predator who harasses Nick the whole party scene. And this could have been so. easy. to fit into the queer lens if the actor who plays Nick (Noah J Ricketts, fucking what a talented man) acted interested in Mr.McKee but was actively restraining himself and trying not to engage in order to save face in front of Tom and Co. (Please, please, please- making a prayer circle and manifesting that one of the later actors does this down the line) But noooooo, Nick is shown to be mildly uncomfortable while McKee follows him around (in an unfortunately a banger of a song) EVEN THOUGH IN THE BOOK NICK ACTIVELY ENGAGES WITH HIM IN HOMOEROTIC DIALOGUE AND EVEN GOES TO BED WITHBNANJSBSJB
3.B) Jordan’s Purpose
Already touch this before but what the hell was the point of Jordan here. I love the “cool independent woman in the 20s” angle they were going for, but then why the hell would you immediately shackle her to a romantic relationship with Nick when that goes against literally everything she stands for. And I’m not saying she can’t get in relationships, but the speed in which SHE of ALL PEOPLE, was like “Yes I want to get married to you for real” make me…
Sure it was said in the novel that Nick and Jorden were together, but he was always flighty about her; saying he was attracted to her but also hated some of her qualities (dishonesty and heartlessness). It wasn’t the main focus like it was here (I can’t even remember much of their relationship in the book tbh) and they didn’t invest so much in it as they did in the musical that it didn’t feel out of nowhere or too much of a big deal when they broke up. Like it fr felt like the musical held up a “Gasp Now” sign when Nick said he doesn’t want to get married to her cause they wanted that moment to hit so hard for some reason???
AND. There was an ACTUAL PURPOSE to Jordan relationship with Nick in the book (a representation of the wealth he was attracted to then repulsed by [*cough* also contributing the “Nick is Queer” lens *cough*]) they… kinda? did it in the musical? And it would have been boosted by Nicks new naivety in the musical, but it falls short because they never speak again, or really explain Jordan’s value on wealth and herself is why it went wrong other then a “you’re heartless” line that feels out of nowhere. (Idk maybe I was too focused on how pointless that relationship felt that I failed to noticed if Nick had a Big RevelationTM here on Wealth and Jordan)
4.B) Character Differences
Some of them are great, like there’s more dimensions to some, but some character choices, I’m like- that goes against everything they’re supposed to represent in the book.
Like I found it so weird how willing Daisy was to run away with Gatsby in the musical when in the book it was more obvious, at least I read it so, that she was holding back a bit and was never going to run with Gatsby that far. Like wdym Gatsby could have had it all if he just ran with Daisy then, WDYM HE SAID NO BECAUSE OF HIS PRIDE???? HUH? WHERE did this priority of PRIDE come from???? When Daisy’s RIGHT. THERE. Like she was sobbing, begging him to run with her. In what universe would Gatsby turn that down???
Like many people say, this seems like it’s supposed to be a love story between Gatsby and Daisy, but in the book it’s pretty obvious how Daisy isn’t as committed to Gatsby then she is Tom cause of their Old vs New money.
And Myrtle? Why did she suddenly turn back to George? I felt like the only reason why that happened is cause the creators wanted shock and tragedy factor. Like “aw she finally found peace in where she is but oops now she’s dead”
And it would have been good if they actually showed why she thought this beyond the 3 minute song, cause that’s not enough time for someone who only chased after money to do a 180. Like, sure she figured Tom would just move on from her (YES EVERYONE CHEERED, GREAT CHARACTER MOMENT) but George isn’t shown to be that great either in his last moments with her. I mean he locked her in the house? Bathroom? and was pretty violent towards her. Sure we learn earlier that he’s doing a lot for her but we never SEE it. He sings to US the audience about his dream to move them out and live a nice life but not to HER which could have been a cute point of connection but nooooooo.
They also made Nick like, kinda naive. Like he really likes Daisy and Jorden and I guess Gastby (though it’s not shown) compared to his counterpart who know how money corrupts and kinda hates everyone (even Gatsby at points). Any I feel like they could have done well with making him naive to that fact, to really make this a tragedy (like Hadestown esc) but they fell short somehow. I think it’s cause the ending was so rushed. Like there wasn’t enough time to show the consequences of everyone’s actions and how hurt and changed he is. It all flys by in like 7 minutes.
—————————
Ok now we’re done being cynical- here are the good things I liked
1.C) The woman are 3-Dimensional yay/ Nicks also here
Myrtle’s song (Second-Hand Suit) is phenomenal. Great way to introduce more character and backstory to someone who originally had none.
Also, again, loved Jordan’s independence angle (if only they WENT SOMEWHERE WITH IT) and I lowkey loved the “well Tom cheats why can’t you” line and Daisy’s whole attitude as she one ups Tom in the dinner table scene. Also Daisy was already kinda complex in the book, but it really shows how turmoiled she is here and that’s interesting,
And despite how I kinda ragged on it, I really did like Nicks personality throughout the musical. He was sooo humorous in a way he wasn’t in the book. Also, thinking about it, his nativity is an interesting spin on his character that I really would have liked if it was executed properly.
2.C) The songs fucking slap
I can’t lie, most of these songs are bangers. I have half of the songs on loop. Not to mention the actors who sing them are absolutely incredible. I won’t lie, I was mostly interested in this musical cause of Jeremey and Eva; and Eva, holy shit, is an absolute powerhouse to witness live. I was So. Surprised by how effortlessly she sang notes and how clear and crisp they were (“Absolute Rose” was… idk what it was about that song, but I’m obsessed with how she sang that song, [except the “open” part? Idk it grates me for some reason???] even though it’s not my favorite song) Like she truly embodies Daisy Fay and it was incredible to see that in person.
However, the rest of the cast was so incredible too, ESPECIALLY MYRTLE (Chilina Kennedy). Holy Fuck is that woman amazing at singing. Her two songs she sang absolutely ate, like I’m obsessed with her voice. Wolfsheim (Eric Anderson) and George (Paul Whitty) also had amazing voices.
Also NICK??! Holy shit, I’m so sorry you’re not in like any promotional stuff cause you fucking killed it. The way I’m obsessed with how he sings “If only I’d knew then, that I would never be the same” in “Roaring On” and how he sings “The Met” is amazing
3.C) Visuals- kinda
Some of the visuals were ok tbh- kinda boring- but the ones that went big, WENT BIG. Of course “New Money”, “Roaring On” and “The Met” are the ones that stand out the most in my mind. “New Money” and “Roaring On” are exactly what you probably think it is, big dance numbers with sparks and huge lights. But I loved “The Met” cause the furniture slid around and literally moved around Nick while people drifted in and out of the room. It was just great to watch visually.
4.C) THE ENDING NUMBER HOLY SHIT
I. Love. Love. LOVE. How they brought back the opening number, and the theme of party goers going on from party to party to show how unimportant Gatsby was to the world, and how everyone moved on.
Like, Nick stood in the center of the stage, reciting the end of the book, in tears and voice cracking, as the ensemble in the back slowly get revealed and are just having a grand ol time looking for the next party. Just- chills. It was amazing conceptually and they pulled it off so well.
If the musical got nothing else in terms of structure going for it- at least they got the last minute right cause omg, I love when media has opposing moods in the same scene, and they did so well here.
—————————
Overall, yeah. Not horrible but I don’t love it. The lack in plot and nonsense relationships and complete disregard of the book didn’t totally ruin the musical cause I had a good time and liked the songs and such but I would not go back and re watch it.
I think of you know nothing about the book or anything about The Great Gatsby other then there’s a guy named Gatsby and he’s great and you just want a nice sounding show, you’ll probably like this, but people who are burdened by the knowledge of the book will be hung up on a lot of things I mentioned here.
Always, long ass post, congrats to anyone who actually read this real informal review. I haven’t gone into how this is a pretty bad adaptation, but I’ll have to do that in another post (if people want to see that) and another time cause this took my literal hours to type out.
(Tbh I might just do the adaptation essay anyways, cause I’ve written at least 4 papers on adaptation in media [and how Groundhog Day the musicals the best Movie to Musicals adaptation] and I love that shit)
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canonical-transformation ¡ 9 months ago
Text
Let's just assume that v5.2 is giving us a highly desirable 5★ Pyro character who is at least Raiden levels of versatile, and maybe Furina or Nahida levels of "changes what teams are viable". (I'll be using female pronouns but let's also assume it's not a Himeko expy. Expectation management etc.) Let's also assume no new reactions / buffs, etc. Worst of all, let's assume the "Pyro is passion damage" truism holds.
4 potential Pyro kits that I hope we don't get (and 2 I'm okay with)
1: On-field Pyro DPS
(Why I don't like it: power creep.)
You know the drill. Big numbers, Pyro infusion, low enough ICD (or fast enough attacks) for reasonable XQ+YL reverse vape setups.
Less shield-dependent than HT+Arle, less poise-dependent than Yoimiya and Lyney, faster than Yanfei and Diluc, and, idk, stupidly high multipliers. ATK buff that scales on ATK because why not.
Example:
Press E to enter the Fiery Fire state, gaining a Pyro infusion increasing ATK by 50% of her current ATK.
Talent: after dealing a certain amount of DMG, deal a blast of AoE DMG.
Talent: when in the party in the overworld, if playing on mobile, all enemies move at 50% speed
2: Off-field Pyro DPS
(Why I don't like it: power creep.)
Example:
Press E to summon a Pyronado (20s duration 10s cooldown).
Press Q for a few hits of burst damage (Miko but 2× speed and homing), which simultaneously count as NA CA Skill and Burst DMG.
Talent: Elegy of the End
Talent: Alley Hunter
No ICD on anything.
When crafting Character Talent Materials, 50% chance to receive double the
3: fast weak off-field Pyro application
(Why I don't like it:) Burgeon is a niche, Thoma. I love and respect you but it's a very specific niche.
Example:
Press E to summon the Salon Des Dragons[...], which deals frequent Pyro damage and also coordinated attacks.
Talent: Burning can stack up to 3× damage and remains even after the Pyro or Dendro aura leaves. The Salon's attacks do not deplete Hydro aura. Overloaded pulls enemies in.
When crafting Character Ascension Gemstones, 50% chance to refund a portion of the materials used.
4: ATK buffer
(I.e. power creep)
You know, Pyro!Bennett. Less circle impact and more Navia's deal (or a Nahida sized circle). Swap the healing for damage prevention, perhaps, or follow Furina's footsteps and throw in some all-Element DMG% or Crit DMG% buff.
Green eyes optional.
5: Debuff (Pyro!Mona, Pyro!Lisa)
If Pyro is the "more damage" element and we don't want a Bennett 2.0, how about shredding RES better that Zhongli, or a less front-loaded Mona, or... all of the above?
Apply a debuff however we see fit. Nahida (E), Arlecchino (E), Mona (Q), Hu Tao (Q or E+CA), all have reasonable debuff triggers, as is a passive off-field effect. For wave clearing specifically(*), Yoimiya's target-jumping burst aura would also be pretty reasonable.
(*) after 4.1 (Peaks and Troughs) and 4.4 (Triumphant Frenzy) I think an endurance wave-clearing mode might be a viable endgame mode direction, RIP Nahida.
As for the debuffs, RES shred and/or DEF shred seem fine (the former being a nice boon for transformative reactions). Status curse that lowers enemy level if you want to be fancy :P
6: Off-field chip damage support
Consider our favourite leyline disorders, Smoldering Flames and Tracking Fire Ball, I guess this would... work? Arle+HT already do a little bit in the "DoT" niche but that's not their main deal.
E: Grant party a Curtain of Smolder. While under this effect, gain a Morning Star every 0.8s. If there are 4+ Morning Stars, consume them and launch a fireball at a nearby enemy (prioritising high HP) for stupid amounts of AoE damage. Whenever a party member under the Curtain of Smolder uses a Burst, gain a Morning Star. Whenever a party member deals DMG (max once per character per 1s), gain a Morning Star.
Q: oh yeah also all the enemies are taking ATK scaling Pyro DoT. Yeah it ignores defence. Yeah not removable.
Talent: While in the Curtain of Smolder state, the active character's attacks deal additional poise damage if they're not a Claymore user, additional fixed DMG if they're not a Bow/Catalyst User, and have increased ATK SPD if they're not a Sword/Polearm user.
When forging Mystic Enhancement Ore, 50% chance to receive 1 Primogem
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itskatastrophe-x ¡ 3 years ago
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Finally Home (c!Sapnap x Reader)
I let my twitter followers decide who I wrote a oneshot for, and they wanted c!Sapnap, so here it is :) Written in the span of like... Idk 2 hours?? It’s a soulmate AU where you can feel everything your soulmate feels when you get in a certain distance of them and it gets stronger the closer you get to them. I hope yall like it!!
Word count :  2,701
^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^
There it was again. That burning sensation on the palms of your hands. You didn’t understand where it came from or why it was happening, but it hurt like hell. You wondered if it would ever stop, but you doubted it would. You knew the stories all too well but figured it would never happen to you, and slowly your fears confirmed it as all of your friends got theirs and eventually found their person. A soulmate. The way they talked about how they could feel what their soulmate felt on a physical level. They would feel light brushes against their arms or bumps when the other person would be somewhere busy. All of your friends had found their other halves years ago, explaining that when it happened there was a jolt like electricity in their bodies. After all of your friends had abandoned you, you had given up hope in ever finding your person. So you travelled. For miles and miles and miles, seeing every country, village, and kingdom your empty heart desired. You had lost everyone you loved and couldn’t even find your soulmate. 
Then it happened all too suddenly. If you had to guess, it happened when you got within range of the person, so you kept up your pace and travelled. It was an unpleasant sensation. It felt like fire all over your body. At first it was a small stinging, then the farther you travelled, the closer you got to this person, it grew. You would wake up in the middle of the night screaming because of cuts and wounds your other half would experience. You wished it was something as simple as the things your friends had gone through, but this was a nightmare. You wished you could meet this person once and for all just so you could give them a strong right hook to the jaw, then changed your mind as you remembered that you would also feel it. 
You knew by the things you were going through that this person was crazy and potentially dangerous with the amount of wounds this person was accumulating through the weeks of you travelling, so you did your best to be delicate. Whenever you would feel a new pain, you would prepare healing potions and drink them in hopes that the other person would also feel the effects. Either that or, if it didn’t feel like a gash or deep cut, you would trace your fingers over the spot gently to sooth the other person to let them know you would comfort them. What you couldn’t stand, though, was the feeling of fire dancing around your fingers. You eventually learned to tune it out and numb yourself to it, so it wasn’t nearly as bad as it was when it started, but it was still painful and annoying.
Then it stopped as suddenly as it started. For three whole days. Three. Days. After the first couple hours of the first day you started to worry. It was rare that you got a single second of rest from this crazy asshole, but three days? Part of you hoped he wasn’t dead, but the other part was happy you didn’t have to deal with scratches, bruises, and burning. But you missed it so much that you wished the burning in your palms returned. Nothing stopped you from continuing on though, even though you had no idea if you were going the right way anymore or not. You used the pain as a guide for weeks to lead you closer, but when it stopped, you lost your physical compass. Something in your heart told you that you were still heading towards them though, so you kept on, this time faster and without much sleep. You wanted to make sure this person was ok, and fast. You watched all of your friends leave you, you couldn’t have your literal soulmate leave you as well. 
When the third day ended and you were about to fall asleep, you felt it. The smallest little touch to your cheek you had ever felt. It was out of the blue and you had never felt such a touch come from the other person, so it woke you up instantly. You laid there for a moment, the stroking on your cheek so soft and faint that you wondered if it was even the person at all. Slowly, you lifted your hand to your other cheek and caressed it. The feeling on your other cheek stopped, but the feeling of a hand still stayed there. That’s when you knew it was them. They knew you would feel it, but probably weren’t expecting you to return the feeling to them. The stroking started again, so you stroked your other cheek for them as well. Then it hit you. Why had you never thought of it before? After weeks of knowing you had a soulmate out there, it just now hit you. You sat up from your bed in the little hotel you were staying at and tapped your leg. The feeling on your cheek stopped then you felt the same tap on your leg again. You smiled and pressed your hand down for a second and felt more pressure a couple seconds later. 
Then you started. At first it was a smiley face, then letters one at a time to write to the person. You asked their age first. Then you felt the pressure of the person writing back. “20”. You drew yours back, then they drew a smile to confirm they got it. You asked their name. “Nick” they wrote back. Then you wrote yours. You got as much information as you could from this small communication as possible so you could find him easier. After your small exchange, you got up, got dressed, packed your things and headed towards a location called “Dream SMP”. You had seen it on maps before, but it was so far away that you thought you would never get there. You had already crossed oceans, rivers, and mountains for this man, but now you had a new fire to feel. A fire burning so deep in you that it ignited in your eyes. You used all the money and resources you had to get there. You bought boats and horses for the days leading up to your arrival.
After over a month of travelling, you finally made it to the outside borders of what was known as the DreamSMP. The streets were full and bustling with life. Most people smiled and greeted you as a new member, fully accepting you the second you set foot on the land, others scowled or threw hateful words your way, possibly thinking you wouldn’t hear, or maybe they hoped you would so you would leave. You asked around about this person “Nick” and got an overwhelming response of happy chatter and protests of anger, so you left as politely as you could to search on your own. 
You felt like it would take forever to find this other person if all of the streets and businesses would be this crowded and overwhelming, until you came across one man standing at the edge of a river with his eyes closed and a smile on his face. His fluffy brown hair flipped up in the front and slightly waved in the breeze, the colors he wore matching his vibe completely. You approached him cautiously at first, but felt comforted by the aura he gave off. You cleared your throat quietly, so as not to startle him, and he opened his eyes slowly to greet you, the lightest shade of blue you had ever seen. He gave you a soft smile and waved you over, so you complied. 
For a second, you wondered if this was him, but you took note of his soft, clear looking skin and the lack of electricity as you neared him. When you got next to him, he pointed across the river to a very ornate village sitting on the hills surrounded by flower forests. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” You stared in awe at the mushroom buildings and statue and smiled at him. “I’ve travelled a long way to get here and passed hundreds of kingdoms, but this tops them all,” you replied. He made a noise of agreement and smiled, content with your answer. “Well, tell me, new face, how did you make your way to Kinoko Kingdom, and why are you here?” There was no malice in his voice as he asked and you could tell he was being friendly so you knew you wasn’t being standoffish. “I came to meet my soulmate,” you answered. His eyes went wide and met yours, a look of shock on his face. “Th-that’s you?!” You looked at him, furrowing your brows. How did he know? As if to read your mind, he continued. “I knew he was expecting someone, but, wow… I mean… He’s gonna want to meet you now. He literally hasn’t shut up for weeks about you.” You stammered for a second as he grabbed your hand and started running, barely giving you any reaction time to keep up with him. He was fast and energetic and you liked it. He seemed friendly and bubbly and his touch was comforting. 
He weaved in and out of streets and occasional bystanders watching the two of you with wide eyes and gaping mouths. You took it these people didn’t see many new faces, seeing as they were small in numbers. He didn’t slow down until both of you were panting in front of a giant cherry blossom tree in front of the biggest library you had seen. You could hear a loud voice echoing out of the open hole, acting as a doorway. The man next to you put a hand on your shoulder and you looked over at his grinning face. “I should explain before you get in there… My name is Karl and Sapnap, or Nick, is my fiancĂŠ. Now before you get worried, we’re in an open, poly relationship and he’s talked to me about all of this and I am 100% welcoming you into our little family.” He gave you a warm smile that reached his eyes so you knew he was being sincere. 
A booming shout broke your thoughts and you felt a pain in your toe that almost made you fall over, then loud laughter erupted. You smiled and shook off your foot as Karl motioned you inside, and that’s all you needed to run inside. The space inside was open with books lining the high walls. There was a staircase to your right, a mushroom in the far back, and a balcony above your head. There you saw him. At first he stood there laughing with the other man in front of him, not realizing you were inside, so you stared. You felt something like fire dancing across your skin lightly as you watched him with wide eyes. He was more beautiful than anyone you had ever seen. He had his jet black hair tied into a messy, low bun at the back of his head, a scar across the length of his face that went across the bridge of his nose. He had a light dusting of freckles across his rosy cheeks and the most piercing eyes. The man in front of him caught onto your stare and nudged the man, pointing down at you from their spot on the balcony. When his eyes met yours, a shiver went up your spine and your skin felt hot, like you were now encased in a cocoon of fire. For a moment you both just stared at each other, not being able to move, until you felt a pair of hands push you gently from behind.
That’s all it took to move you. You took off towards the stairs and took them two at a time as he ran to meet you on the landing. You collided into the biggest hug that knocked the wind out of your lungs and almost sent you flying backwards, but he kept you steady. Your eyes welled up for a moment and you laughed into his chest. He smelled like a campfire, fir trees, and old books. He was so warm and your body fit his so perfectly under his arms. You heard footsteps coming up the stairs and a soft touch to your shoulder, a small hum coming from Karl behind you. “Thank god you’re finally here. Sapnap literally would not shut up. He always talked about how soft you were with him when he knew how hard it must have been for you. Weeks. Weeks.” Sapnap reached an arm out to punch Karl, but he dodged easily since Sapnap still hadn’t let you go. You chuckled and closed his eyes as he put his arm back over your shoulder and squeezed you closer to him. 
“I can’t believe you’re real,” he whispered into your hair. He squeezed him and smiled. “You thought I wasn’t?” He sighed and relaxed his shoulders. “I thought you would hate me. I’m so reckless and get hurt all the time. How could anyone want me if they feel what I feel?” You pulled back to look him in the eyes and you gave him the most genuine smile you had ever had on your face. “You’re stupid. Of course I would be here. And I will stay here. I’ll take care of all your bumps, scrapes, and stabs. The pain means nothing so long as I know you’re ok.” His pointed ears turn a bright red and he averts his gaze to the floor, so you bring your hand to his cheek gently. At first he flinches, but soon closes his eyes, sighs, and leans into your hand, his lip slightly quivering from such tenderness. 
“I do have one question, though.” He hums, not opening his eyes. “Why do my palms always burn? Do you just, like, constantly sit around a campfire?” He chuckles and slowly lifts his head, eyes opening to look at you. He pulls back from you slightly, keeping one arm around your waist as he watches his hand, then back to your face to watch your eyes on his hand. In an instant, his hand is surrounded by fire, the burning in your hand starting up. He must have liked the look on your face because he lets out a snort and then starts laughing, all while you stand there in awe at the power he held. “Holy shit… And… And that’s real fire? Just like that?” You look back at him and he gives you a shy smile and a nod of his head as the fire goes out. There was a sparkle in your eyes that he was absolutely enchanted by and he hoped he would get to see that for the rest of his life. You let out a small huff of amazement and smile brightly. “You are the most amazing person I have ever met,” you say quietly as you watch his features soften as he’s left speechless. 
“Oh get a room,” the guy behind Sapnap says, his voice thick with an accent and sarcasm, the sound of a smile in his words. Sapnap looks at the man and points at him, shooting off a mini fire at him. His shirt catches for a second before the man screams and smacks himself to put it out. You laugh as you watch the exchange and Sapnap looks back at you, thinking of how beautiful your laugh sounds. “Well,” Karl starts. “We have a lot to talk about! Ooooooh this is so exciting! We need to know more about you!!” He grabs both of you and pulls you down the stairs and out to the pond next to the tree out front, the sun finally setting over the hills, casting a gorgeous, fiery glow on your soulmate’s features. You couldn’t wait to see what their life was like. To kiss all of his scars and tell him how amazing he was. To run your fingers through his raven feather-looking hair. Oh how you loved this.
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lwt28brave ¡ 3 years ago
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LT2 masterpost
If it was up to me, we would get an autumn or winter EP. Since it’s not up to me at all, here, enjoy this post with everything we know so far of LT2, which is to say, not much at all. Everything here is hypothetical. I’ll be updating every time I see something relevant. A little disclaimer that while this is a masterpost (kinda), it could be read as discourse (duh, it’s also a theory), AND it’s also by me, and you shouldn’t expect me to be serious at this point.
Due to me restraining myself, there’s no reference to any of the times he’s mentioned his guitar skills and him improving but I hope you know I cried every single time.
I’m also linking my old pinned here. It was written before AFHF and around the free merch thing that didn’t lead to much, but I still think I made some good points.
Possible tracks:
Copy of a Copy of a Copy
Change
Faith in the future??
369??
Possible names:
369
Faith in the future
When is the album coming out?
Your guess is as good as mine
Friday 28th of January 2022. Almost two years after Walls. It’s a Friday. It’s a 28th. What else can I say?
Here you can find @want-to-be-loved timelines for every month.
Here you can find @berlinini’s timeline of what Louis has been up to this year (2021).
The rest is under the cut. And here you can find a PDF version where Tumblr can't tell me how many pictures I can add.
2020
He said back on May 2th 2020 he wasn’t writing anything new yet.
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(x)(x)(x)
Interestingly enough, he’s said many times after that that the album’s not ready cause he has no new experiences to drawn from. I won’t call him out because he does it himself.
May 4th. He liked a tweet from DMA’s Johnny Took saying they had to go write together again. Louis has been credited as an influence for them and (kind of) participated in their previous record, so I’m assuming he meant for their music and not his, but you never know.
Nothing(literally nothing??? how did we survive) until 11th of July. We all know what happened that day. We all celebrated it. Nonetheless, that’s not what I’m talking about here.
(x) So, by the beginning of July 2020 he was working on concepts and ideas for the new album. That was fifteen months ago. I know perfection takes time but…
Brief summary of important things that happened from then until the next mention of new music:
Louis left Syco!!!! 10 days later he rescheduled the tour for the first time. He followed Matt Vines on Twitter, probably so we could publicly shame him into doing something. Also, the 10thanniversary. He followed more people I wish he hadn’t.
Then more nothing until September. Not even a single tweet. The first merch drop was on the 28th of August but he just RT’ed the tweet. He first mentioned Free my Meal on the 25th of September. Then on October 1st Walls hit #1 on a lot of countries and Louis was incredibly happy and excited about it ^^
And then, that same day, October 1st, 2020, he dropped this bomb:
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(x)
He also said it was too soon to be sharing new lyrics with us (x)
And, obviously, this tweet which is actually what made me start this whole post. I would hope you know mate.
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(x)
He also told us he was cooking "banger after banger" and that he was incorporating more social themes into his music (x)(x) (I believe any social issue is a political issue but that’s not the point rn).
COPY OF A COPY OF A COPY?!?!
These next paragraphs are brought to you by my mind not remembering things and me not having any links. I’m assuming COACOAC came from those writing sessions that supposedly happened in October. Or in LA but I have no idea if he actually was in LA at any point other than a Daily Mail article putting him there on December which would have been too late, but I do remember that someone said he was in the studio in LA last autumn???? A rumor. Maybe. IDK. Did I mention already all of this is very hypothetical?? Well, this is it. I can’t even remember if this was October or November or what. So, take this with a grain of salt.
I’m also… taking the liberty to assume, if you must, that Copy wasn’t meant to be a Walls reject because it sounds more mature and darker and it has a vastly different tone that Walls songs. I know he’s said that song probably isn’t getting into the album, but I want to have faith (in the future) that I’m getting a studio version. (But also, Louis, if you’re reading this, first of all GET OUT OF MY BLOG second of all, please don’t ever feel pressured again to add a song to the album because we have already heard it before. It’s your art and it should always be under your own terms).
So yeah, I believe that Copy is either one of those four songs (then imagine the other three??!!) or was written around the 1st of October date.
---End of the Intermission---
Then not much important (other than sharing more about Marcus Rashford fight against food poverty and the 2nd merch drop) until he announced the livestream on the 24th of November. (x)
It wasn’t until a few days before the livestream date we even thought again about new music (jk, I know we’re always thinking about new Louis’ music). So, December 9th/10th, 2020. Nine months ago. We got our first taste of new music!
He made sure we knew Copy of a Copy of a Copy isn't a cover! (x) (x)
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(x)
Ok, so that’s it for 2020. (I feel like I’m missing something from September 17th because tweet was deleted but maybe he was still talking about cucumbers. We might never know. Unless I understand how Tumblr tags work). Expected, cause Walls was released in 2020. We needed to let it sit for a while.
2021
Another Summary: Louis third tweet of the year was telling the UK government off. So was the fifth. What a good beginning. On the 26th of January, he said he prefers pancakes over waffles. I hope he meant pancakes other than his own. More importantly, he tweeted the infamous “you lot read into things too much”. Don’t get me started, Tomlinson. Don’t. Then the 31st came around and Walls was one. He tweeted this. How wise. And Project Defenceless happened!!
15th of February!! Who cares about Valentine Day when the next day we got this? ♥
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(x)
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(x)
So…AN EP?? AN EP?? PLEASE RELEASE AN EP.
“I’m sure I will have something out this year but unlikely that will be the album”. Unlikely but not impossible. Also. A single would be good. This is the second time he mentions releasing something in 2021 and he sounds surer about it than the first time around.
He also said that he isn’t sure we will get a studio version of Copy. And that the best bridges from Walls to LT2 are Walls, OTB, KMM and Copy. Can’t wait!
Then we jump to March 6th when he announced he was going to create his own management company. “Sometimes action is needed first to encourage the motivation and belief”. As we can tell he was already manifesting some stuff which will lead us to the numerology stuff/Tesla… kidding. Or not. We might never know.
On the 22nd of March he answered some questions:
He told us music was still his main focus ♥ mwha. (x) I included this tweet to guilt-trip him into giving us music in case he’s reading this even after I told him to leave. ILY.
(x) I’d love to get a visual EP this autumn. Just saying. It sounds like a lovely concept.
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(x)
…next (I will get into it, I promise. I’m just mad).
On the 25th he left for Mexico until April 10th. You could assume it was just for the documentary where we got ten seconds of footage or admit the obvious: LT2 its a Mexican baby!!
On the 26th (so, not so far apart from that first 369) we got the first Faith in the Future mention: (x)
Back then we were innocent people who had no idea what was coming upon us. We still have no idea because what the fuck does he mean with these. Please explain. I have one braincell and I don’t use it enough for this. I’m linking some theories.
On the 30th of March he confirmed he was already working on the documentary. So AFHF was already on the works. Will it take this long for us to get the Veeps numbers? We also got this tweet: "Got a decent chorus idea down" (x).
Same person that got the “something out this year” exclusive. If you know something share with the class. Also. Is this Change? I feel like this could be Change but I also assume he wrote Change after hanging out with his friends or being in Doncaster. But who knows.
(x) And the second mention to 369.
(x) 15th of April. The second "Faith in the future".
On the 19th of April he announced that he had something BIG for us later on the year which turned out to be the Away From Home Festival ♥♥ (x) I love him so much.
Then on the 28th he announced the 369 merch drop (which it’s probably the Walls drop? Except that the TOU and KMM ones were “drop 1 and drop 2” and this was drop 369 which, again, makes no sense) but we still don’t know what 369 means.
Into May’ 21 we go.
He rescheduled tour again. And dropped another bomb (x).
He announced he has signed with BMG as an independent artist by RTing this tweet on May 10th. The article also says that he’s already working on writing and recording LT2. The timing… we don’t know. What this deal involves… we don’t know either. Bear with me here because I have a lot to say about this.
I think the deal is only a distribution one, but that BMG are interested in Louis and what he (us) could bring to the table. They were either present at the festival or watching it, but officially they had no involvement at all with it (everything is credited either to Louis own company, 78 Productions, or Charlie Lightening’s company). That’s the case for both giveaways too; the vinyl one and the tickets for the festival.
I think it would be an unbelievably bad move not to test the waters with BMG now or soon-ish. At least a single, to see how it performs. Due to the circumstances, it’s obvious there’re certain limitations on place but I want to see how they push it, whether the radio play exist this time around and if the song is playlisted and promoted and all that… I would also love to know, since it says he signed with BMG UK, but it also states it’s a global deal, how things are going to go on the US and other countries.
Yes, yes. I know those are all questions and no answers. But I know the same as you, sadly. If any of you know more than you’re letting on… again, share with the class.
Where was I? Yes, on the 25th of May Louis had a great day writing (x). Since the first time he had mentioned he was officially writing to this date there’s almost eight months. And I believe he was writing before October’ 20.
He followed Robert Harvey that day and, on the 28th of May (why is it always the 28th???) he was spotted at the studio for the first time.
June was an interesting month for the fandom ♥. Lots of LHL content which I will love and cherish for the rest of times. On June 4th, June 9th, and June 10th he was spotted at the studio, but I believe he was there more days.
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(x)
This was posted on June 6th and captioned Studio. Charlie also shared it with “Mega tunes being put down, can’t wait for this @louist91 #louistomlinson #LT2” as the caption. This gives me 2019 (Elton-Joint) vibes. I like it. Feels like we’re getting closer to something.
He added the Milano date on the 9th too which I’m mentioning because I’m going alone. Anyone wanna go with me please? I’m nice and I never eat anything before a concert so you can have my food. On other news. It didn’t come home.
During July he was at the studio at least three days too. Probably more. Feels like more with all the fan pictures we got. Or was that June? Anyway, July 1st and 9th we got some videos from Robert Harvey and wearesuperhi, which is who Louis has been working with the most, that we know of. I don’t know for sure they’re from that day. And on July 5th we got an article and lots of pictures of Louis looking really good outside the studio.
On the 12th of July the first fans started getting the free, 369 bucket hat and print. We still don’t know what the purpose was other than to thanks fans. Maybe that was it. I want answers and I still think it relates to a future project (see theories above), but it could also just be a bridge with the Walls breaking.
He didn’t tweet about anything interesting for a while, mostly because he lost his phone (he either throwed it in the air or smashed it who knows). Then on the 29th of July he announced the festival!
I’m glossing over it because there’s already been a lot of talk about it (rightfully) and while it was a wonderful thing, it doesn’t have much to do with LT2.
Let’s talk Change!
On August 3rd he tweeted this about the setlist.
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(x)
And this (x) on the 28th! I can’t stand him.
We didn’t get it, obviously. Because who was going to get that. But we read too much into things. Alright.
On the 16thof August Dave Gibson shared this post tagged #LT2 with the eyes emojis 👀👀👀. I believe this has to do both with Change but also with whatever else came out of that Mexico trip.
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(x) Last relevant tweet related to LT2 is this one.
So, on the 30th of August we got Change and we cried, and we know that Change is going in the new album. He said it. With those exact words. He also said he was “getting a feeling for it”. This has to meant he already has a general idea of the vibe of the new album and what’s going in it!!!!!! (Right? RIGHT?).
Anyway, let’s go back a few weeks because some other things happened on August. He was at the studio a few more times. Or it was suggested that he was there. On the 17th and the 18th. (Why was it so time-pressing to be at the studio instead of rehearsing for the festival? There was no studio at all on the documentary. Which makes sense, but again, then why?).
On the day of the festival we got another mention of Faith in The Future that made me feel part of a cult ngl. The words were flashing on the screen for less than a second. Okay.
And then he tweeted those words again after watching the livestream/documentary on the 4th of September (x). This is what makes me suspect it's either the name of the album or of the single.
On the same day, we got some interesting quotes about LT2 on the documentary.
“Soon I’ll have to think about me second album, which in my head I’ll get the tour out of the way and then I’ll address that. So, I hadn’t really given it much thought, to be honest”.
“When every day is the same is hard to feel creative and it’s hard to have any kind of proper inspiration”.
“As season started to come back, I started writing again and it was great and some of these songs turned out alright”.
And I think this is it. I might be overlooking some important details but that’s what we know and what we don’t know.
So. Conclusions. That’s what you missed on Glee. I do believe the album is, if not mostly done, partially there. And yes, this post is pointless and never-ending but it’s all in here if you need to tell Louis “Hey, you said this, mate”.
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elysianslove ¡ 4 years ago
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hi! how have you been since the hell that ensued after halloween is?
also could you do a batboys college au? like their major and how the reader would meet them and all that jazz? 👉👈
-🐥
hi anon!! i’m not sure what ur talking about @ the halloween stuff hvsdhjs but! here are the batboys hc’s! i’m not very familiar with duke thomas’s character enough to write about him tbh, so he’s not included here :( but if you want me to add him let me know!! i hope you enjoy!!
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dick grayson
out of all the batboys i really didn’t know how to choose a major for him
but
i think he’d do law tbh, specifically criminal law 
his main motivation to become a police officer in bludhaven had been to be able to help people in any way he can 
i forgot if it’s canon or not but he does realize how corrupt it is and he quits but that’s another thing we won’t get into that lmao 
anyways yes let’s just stick with law 
meeting you ! 
he shares one or two courses with you
one that’s really early in the morning 
and one that’s later on in the afternoon 
dick is like a magnetic okay
anywhere he goes people are just attracted to him
like literally he will breathe 
but someone call the ambulance there’s a person that’s passed out bc of how beautiful he is
but this is an 8 am class 😃
so there’s no way ur awake enough to notice him
coincidentally he sits next to you one time
and this is the one time
you decide
yeah lemme just fkn sleep is uni even worth it 
dick definitely notices right away but he doesn’t say anything 
he thinks you look so cute passed out on your desk like this 🥺
when the professor signals the end of the class, he watches as people file out and then he just leans over and nudges you slightly 
you nearly punch him bc he scared you ❤️
he just laughs and goes “class is over” 
you just sigh like the guilt starts to hit you and your heart begins to sink
and he sees your disappointed face and just goes 
“i took a lot notes. i can share them w you?”
lifesaver in every single way dick grayson 😻😻😻
you had another class that you had to run to and you were rushing
he was like “dw i’ll just give them to you whenever i see you next” 
and you 🏃🏻‍♀️ outta there
imagine ur surprise when u enter class at 12 pm and he’s there in all his glory 
after the lecture is over, he walks up to you as you’re packing and asks if you want to go to the coffee shop nearby 
to take his notes of course
and you finally register just how handsome he is 
so obviously you say yes wtf
and the rest is history 😼
he asks you out, properly, pretty early on tbh 
so unfazed lmfao 
now you take naps on his shoulder instead of the desk 💞💞💞
soooo into pda 
kisses u when he first sees you
when you’re parting ways
when he feels like it
straight up cuddles w during lectures i’m not even joking 
it’s disgusting how cute you two are 
gets you coffee for all those 8 am classes u have w him hehe
study dates always turn into karaoke sessions somehow don’t even ask lmao
jason todd
english literature 
this is a collective agreement right? 
right
definitely english literature 
i dont even think he wants to go to uni but he’s going to waste time plus this is bruce’s money 😏🤑
your major doesn’t necessarily have to be english literature as well
but you share one class
and my god 
you two disagree on everything
like every little thing
at this point if he says something and you slightly agree internally you’ll still say some opposing shit 
that’s kinda what draws you to him 
at first you genuinely had nothing against him
but then this kind of rivalry developed for no specific reason 
but it was fun
and he was hot
so seeing him get flustered or angry made him even hotter somehow 
but then
but t h e n
you’re not sure if your professor like ships you or something
so you’re assigned a debate topic on one of the books you’d discussed in class/one of the books you’ve read outside, and within each group are the two sides for and against 
not only were you in the same team as jason, but you were on the same side as him
so you had to work with him
the audacity of the professor omg 
but jason needs this course 
and 
well you don’t but it’s too late to back out now 
you two meet in the campus library after deciding on a book with the other two of your team
and 
honestly??? 
you two work so well together 
like insanely well
during the debate you destroyed the other team 
spoiler alert 
doing so well with jason kinda made you like hot and bothered 
seeing him in his zone
sexy <3 
what i mean to say is
you both end up making out in some storage room lmfao 
or hate sex 😏
professor has a phd in matchmaking 🤔😻
i think you two don’t admit you like each other
bc you’re both stubborn as fuck
but eventually you’re literally on his lap on his couch and it just hits you
and you lean back and go
“wanna go out w me” 
and he just shrugs and goes “sure” and pulls you in for more kissing hehe
he’s not v good at the boyfriend thing tbh
you have to chase him around and be like â€œsir!!! did u forget about me huh!!!”
he doesn’t mean to i promise
he gets all blushy and flustered once he realizes 
only ever into pda if he’s insanely jealous 
will straight up make out w u regardless of where u are or who ur with lmfao 
he’s still getting used to the little intimacies and all 
debates in class are so much more fun now cause he finds it so hot when u get all riled up hehe
that eng lit professor is so happy for you two omg
tim drake
okay i also couldn’t really decide for him
but maybe he’d study something like physics (or maybe computer engineering/computer science) 
idk u have to have a death wish to wanna major in physics so tim’s major it is
i’m not sure how it works for every other uni but my uni requires 6 credits of sciences to graduate 
so let’s say for the sake of this hc u take like just the first level of physics to get 3 credits 
and 
you’re struggling 😃👍🏼
so you like approach your professor with a few questions before the quiz 
but tim is also there
and he kinda makes small talk while you two wait outside the office
and he asks why you’re here
you show him
and he’s like “oh i took this course w the same professor as well, i could help?” 
it’s like an angel had descended from the heavens for you personally 
you take his number and decide to meet up with him after a few hours 
he’s of so much more help than your professor would’ve been, even if ur prof is a really nice and smart person 
and he’s super like
patient with you? 
also he pays for all the coffee and snacks you’re getting after you already get them 
ur like bruh i didnt 
dont pay pls
and he’s like no im loaded let me 😼
swooning <3 
and guess what!! 
you ace the quiz out of some miracle
first thing you do is text him and he congratulates you 
and then
bc ur not blind and tim is so fucking cute
you’re like “can i take u out to thank u” 
tim’s brain stops working but ! 
he does say yes eventually 
he becomes your designated physics tutor + your amazing boyfriend
being with tim is so like
chill
it’s a very relaxed time 
lots of study dates! and cafe dates! all hours of the day whether the sun is up or not 
into pda but to a certain degree 
like yes of course have a kiss pretty baby 
but also it will only be a small peck
any time anyone passes by like common rooms you two will be there snuggling on the couch, one or both of you completely passed out 
damian wayne
business major 100% 
or a bsba econ major, which is basically the business side of economics 
he has to take over his father’s company one day duh 
also i genuinely think damian would excel in this field 
he’s a very keeps to himself kinda guy in uni
like you only ever see him in your common classes and then he just
disappears 
anyways there was this party that everyone was going to, and damian wasn’t planning to
but dick accidentally read some groupchat’s messages and was like are u going
damian went 🏃🏻‍♀️
but dick was like go and try to make friends !!!! 
and dames cant say no to his big bro 🥺 so he goes
stays in a corner on the settings app the entire time
like half an hr in he just leaves and is walking home/back to his dorm when you come like rushing up to him 
you’re zooming 
and then you just latch onto his hand and lean up to press a kiss to his cheek, whispering in his ear “this person’s been following me for like 15 mins just please go along w this” 
he kinda stiffens but when he does notice that there’s a person eyeing you he slips his arm around your waist and just carries on walking
he walks you to your home/dorm and is like
so awkward 
but it’s okay ! ur a people’s person enough for the two of you 
you thank him so much over and over 
and then you’re like 
“can i take you out on a real date?” 
and then he becomes ur real boyfriend hehe
is still super stiff but it’s only bc he’s so hyper aware of how attractive you are
and i’m super positive he doesn’t have that much experience with dating so 
you hold the reigns 
but he’s a great boyfriend all in all tbh 
super attentive, super protective, and so loving 
isn’t into pda especially on college campus but he does like subtle pda
things like linking your pinkies or giving you his hoodie to just parade around campus hehe
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end note; i’m sorry if these feel rushed or anything like. i used to be an avid writer for the batboys, but i just haven’t been feeling it lately. i still love to write from them bc i know these boys so well eeeeppp. anyways feel free to request some more!!
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vampire-the-askerade ¡ 3 years ago
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Do you think Gary can ballroom dance? IDK I just really wanna go out all Disney princess and dance with him in a ballroom. Maybe prince Croissant invited you to some fancy party with the primogen to impress you, but you spend the entire party dancing with Gary
Another night another Camarilla event to attend. Two things made this worse though; the fact that this one was even stuffier than most as it was the annual masquerade(turns out they actually did have those) and, even worse, Sebastian LaCroix of all people was hounding you the whole night. You weren't sure what his angle was, but you didn't want anything to do with it. If you had told yourself when you were a kid that you would be at a Masquerade and were being pursued by a prince similar to Cinderella, you would have thought it was a dream come true. This was turning out to be a nightmare. So, here you were practically hiding in the corner as you waited for enough time to pass so that you could leave without drawing attention.
As you were looking around the section of the large dance hall you had found yourself in, you noticed that there were actually plenty of Nosferatu around too. They didn't tend to show up to many things, especially in large numbers, unless it was a very important occasion. Sadly, there was still plenty of prejudice to go around from the other clans as most of the Nosferatu in attendance were wearing full-face masks instead of the partial ones that others had. "You look like you would rather be getting a face full of sunshine." A gruff voice pulled you from your thoughts. Even though it was muffled by a mask that voice was recognizable in an instant; Gary Golden. You snorted back a slightly bitter laugh, "You got that right. How can you primogen stand to attend these things all the time?" He snickered at your whining. "Well, it does help when you can disappear and leave whenever you want to."
Before the conversation could continue father, Gary saw you crinkle your nose in slight disgust. "Tryin' to avoid someone, Boss?" He gazed over to the area of the hall that you were looking at to see LaCroix also searching through the crowd and trying his best to get out of the conversation that he was in. "Oh, avoiding a certain, important someone!" He teased you causing you to roll your eyes. "Yeah, he's been following me the whole night!" Gary was suddenly hit with some sort of devious idea based on the smile the spread on his face; sure, it was mostly covered, but his eyes gave away everything. The next thing you knew he had taken you by the hand and was leading you somewhere.
"Where are we going?" You asked after a few minutes of being lead around by the steel-like grip on your hand. "Somewhere that he can't follow without breaking about sixty social formalities; a Venture's worst nightmare." He cackled as he continued to lead you across the hall. It suddenly dawned on you that he was leading you to the dance floor, and you subconsciously started to dig your heels into the floor. "Oh, I- uh, I'm not really the good at-" There was a reassuring squeeze on your hand. "Don't worry, kid. All you have to do is follow my lead."
You knew that there was plenty more to ballroom dancing than just following your partner's lead, but there was no more time to question it before he was placing his hand on your waist and swaying the two of you into the crowd of other dancers. You just hoped that you didn't step on his toes too much during this whole ordeal. Thankfully, for you, Gary proved to be skilled enough to make up for your end. In fact, he seemed to be so skilled that many of the other people around couldn't take their eyes off of the two of you as you twisted, turned, and swayed to the music. Gary knew this and while he was usually happier when there weren't too many eyes on him these days he was absolutely living for the attention tonight. Where it was especially enjoyed was from the heated glares that he was getting from LaCroix from across the room, who, unlike many of the other spectators knew exactly who was dancing with you and that it was largely just to spite him.
The person Gary enjoyed getting attention from the most was you. It was to the point where there wasn't even another person in the entire hall except for the two of you. The way he gently gliding you across the room had practically put you in a trance. All you knew was that one minute you were totally lost in his presence that seemed to fill the whole room, but in a comforting sort of way, when the two of you had suddenly stopped away from the crowd. "See, quickest was to the door." Gary snickered as he nodded his head toward the door just about ten feet away. You hadn't even noticed that he had used the dance floor as a means to get across the large dance hall faster than usual. Just barely being about the shake yourself from the spell that he had placed you under just by being himself, you were finally able to shyly mumble out, "You know, I would mind another dance?"
Gary grinned madly under his mask, placed his hand on the small of your back to lead you out the door, and purred, "So would I kid. But, I think a certain prince will have both our heads if we stay here much longer. Let's go somewhere that doesn't have an audience." To you, that suggestion sounded like a perfect idea.
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amandabe11man ¡ 2 years ago
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Random diary(?)-entry and a love-letter to Rammstein
I've just come to a realization this year, with Zeit coming out AND me actually getting to see rammstein live again (but this time at a tour of their own, not â€œjust” at a festival)-- they’ve been with me since I was 11; a constant presence, despite how many more musicians and bands I've also come to like since then. there’s still never been any question: rammstein has always been my very favorite band ever since that day when I first put on my Reise, Reise-cd, not knowing what else to expect apart from â€œamerika”. my mind was blown and I ain’t ever looked back since then. basically, just like my life can be described as “before and after rutger hauer”, it can also be described as â€œbefore and after rammstein”. other interests spark up, but the OG ones are always there; a comfort and something to always fall back on. trusted companions that I don’t even know personally.
so, it’s probably not a coincidence that I've been in extra deep thought recently, since this is the year I'll be turning 30.... which is something my anxious ass definitely doesn’t look forward to. 
if you know me, you know how much the very idea of the future-- of time passing-- scares me. I want things to be as I remember them, I don’t want myself or the ones I love to have to age, I don’t want my surroundings to change-- you get the idea. I don’t have a problem with being an adult anymore, but the 30-mark? that’s the big one, in my mind. the “first big age crises” we’ve heard so much about. and I've had on-and-off age crises’ since I was goddamn 18. so yeah, you can probably tell my mind definitely doesn’t like the implications of now being even older than that. my brain can’t connect the dots, I think, because in so many ways, I still don’t feel like an adult, and I most definitely don’t feel like an OLDER adult... I won’t try to psychoanalyze myself further rn, but it’s important that you know this about me, because of what I'm about to say next:
with all of this year’s thinking... PONDERING, even, I've realized something:  1) being with my colleagues who are 40+ and older has given me some insight into what being an adult can be like. despite our age gaps, we have so much fun, and it’s made me realize that â€œwow. they’re even more adult than me but they’re still having fun. they still have their interests and are still the same individuals they’ve always been. maybe being older won’t be so scary?” and 2) having followed rammstein for so long, seeing all their antics and how they get to live out their creativity has given me that same epiphany as with my coworkers: becoming older doesn’t have to mean anything. just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean you stop having fun with your friends. you can still be childish, silly, live out your dreams and make them happen, and share it with others if you want to! rammstein are all 50+ but does that stop them? HELL no! they seem to be having more fun than ever, in fact. they made it through their earlier difficulties and have grown as a result. in that sense, getting older can be nice too; because your mind grows along with you.  I think (I HOPE) I'm truly starting to accept that past a certain point, age is literally just a number. just because that number gets higher doesn’t automatically mean YOU have to stop being who you are inside, y’know? 
when I saw rammstein last month, it truly hit me that that’s the kind of adult I wanna be too; still in touch with myself and my inner child, my passions etc... seeing them so happy to be on stage together makes me happy too. happy for them, and happy about what the future can be like if I stop being so anxious all the time. time (get it?) will tell, of course. idk how I'll feel when The b-day comes, but I hope my little epiphany here will help me get through it, if I stumble...
thanks for reading lol
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rymndsmth ¡ 4 years ago
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querencia (jang han seo)
🎤 hello and gather around fellow himbo lovers, here is a small fic about our beloved and his life after That guy kicks the bucket. also idk how i managed to turn this into a love story? anyways lmfao, hope y’all enjoy! 
Everything felt so different.
Truthfully, Han Seo never imagined what his life could be like, would be like, without the proverbial ever tightening noose around his neck. One that had been unexpectedly and disappointingly placed on him as a child by the one person that was supposed to remove such things. He was now free of that person, and the fear that stemmed from veering off the path set by them, but wasn’t entirely too certain that he was free of that feeling. 
His muscles couldn’t shake it. The sudden chill to the bone, the anticipation of retaliation from an act that hadn’t yet occurred. Such an act that could never occur anymore given that his brother was dead. He knew this, but his mind had never been good at accepting possibilities that were positive. 
This much was evident in the case of his relationship with Vincenzo. There was no reason why the stoic yet baby faced Mafia member would want to keep him around, at least not any that he could see. So, Han Seo spent the first few weeks asking the question both silently and aloud, will you kill me? Vincenzo had the motive, it’s not exactly like his hands were clean in his previous dealings with Babel, and he most certainly had the means.
It wasn’t until Han Seo was told that because he was trying to make amends, he wouldn’t end up in the Jang family crypt well before his time that he started to feel at ease. Still, for months after that conversation, he still had the nagging feeling that some invisible fist was lurking around every bend. 
Regardless of that, Han Seo decided he would not waste his liberation however short lived it might have been. He made up his mind that he was going to do all the things that he was either too scared or outright forbidden to do before. The first thing on his list was to clean up his business. Luckily for him, the Guillotine file made it easy to weed out the snakes in the grass and allow him to steer Babel in the direction that the core of the business was about. 
The hardest part was going to be restoring the public’s faith in the organization. Cha Young told him as much, and advised him not to agonize over it as there will be new corruption that will grab their attention (and hers). He intended to be the Chairman that such a company deserved, and therefore continued to study no matter how nonsensical and outdated the information seemed. 
The second order of business was moving out of the place that felt more like a prison than a home to one that he liked. The realtor immediately recommended a few luxury places, but he turned them down to their surprise. Maybe it was due to the fact that he had seen what the quest for material wealth had done to his family (or more realistically because he wanted to be closer to newfound hyung  and his girlfriend). 
Either way, the house he settled on had its luxuries, but in a more affordable and quaint neighborhood. Han Seo even went as far as to attempt painting on his own, which went as well as expected for someone that didn’t even know the difference between a brush and a roller. 
Being able to do what he wanted proved to be chaotic at times. There was no one to stop him from going on last minute trips to Jeju just for oranges and a quick dip into the ocean. Or to take away all the sweet and savory snacks that he found at these things called convenience stores. 
He would stay up all night sometimes, not to binge watch all the shows he missed out on, but just to sit in silence. He didn’t know that the quiet could be so nice. That it was a space of tranquility and relaxation rather than one filled with anxiety. Of course, Han Seo more often than not regretted the choice not to sleep and ended up at the cafe a few blocks from his place. 
While obviously no one had better coffee than the one at Babel, he found himself going to the cozy spot with increasing frequency because of her. The first time he saw her, she was deciding on which apple to choose from the basket beside the register. He then noticed that her canvas bag was filled with art supplies, and decided that it was a brilliant idea to draw a conclusion. 
I think the one to the right would make a great subject on paper, he grinned. 
She stared at him in a way that made him contemplate whether to not she was related to Vincenzo hyung before replying flatly:
I’m looking for the tartest one to go with my tea. 
He was left a bumbling mess of flustered sounds and rapidly blinks, not getting the opportunity to insert some retort that undoubtably would’ve put him deeper into the realm of idiot. 
The following morning he went again. No cup of coffee, not even the ridiculously overpriced espresso at Babel, would give him that jolt of electricity he felt under her gaze. And sure enough, she was there. This time her apple sat upon a folded napkin right beside her tea, and in front of them both was her sketchpad. On the page? A picture of the fruit. He couldn’t control the noise of exasperation that left him as he passed her table. On his way out he tossed over his shoulder with a grin so wide it hurt:
Nice drawing. 
Their interactions continued in that same vein. Short, filled with just the right amount of bite. The balance of who had the best and last say constantly shifting, becoming somewhat of a competition. 
You’re outside today, is that weed your subject?
As if there weren’t enough clowns in this neighborhood already.
You buy a lot of lattes for an artist that’s supposed to be starving.
Ironic coming from the gentrifier walking around a working class neighborhood in thousand dollar shoes.  
He had look up what that g word meant after their last exchange.
There was something else he never got to do in his past. Sure, Han Seo had the occasional date or two, but commitment? That was out of the question. It wouldn’t have served his brother well if there was anyone around that would motivate him to step out from his hold. The realization that he never had a serious relationship hadn’t hit him until he started to have inconvenient thoughts during board meetings about stuff like taking a long afternoon stroll, and holding hands with her.
Han Seo could barely focus on the stack of jargon dense reading before him. He sent Vincenzo a text saying that he was coming over with soju, not waiting for a reply before making the short journey to Geumga. Cha Young’s face fell when she answered the door, muttering that she thought he was her delivery, but lit up once she saw he brought along alcohol. After poking around the rice he begged for them to share and sighing loudly for half an hour, Vincenzo ushered him out. He implored him to get a hobby so that these late night visits wouldn’t become a habit.  
He was confused by that. Weren’t studying and running a company hobbies? On his walk back home he spotted a flyer that someone was offering private classes for beginners painting. The nightmare of a time he had trying to get the walls in his kitchen evenly colored popped up in his brain, instantly making him tear off one of the numbers. He didn’t exactly know how learning to paint homes was going to be a practical hobby, but hell, he would have something to show Vincenzo later. 
While he was on one of his impromptu trips to the seaside, Han Seo had his assistant set up the class for him to take when he returned. As a gift for the instructor, he thought it would be nice to bring them an extra bag of oranges. If the session sucked, or if he hated it, at the very least there was going to be something to brighten the mood. 
The day he got back, he even went as far as to tidy up the place on his own and put some fresh flowers around so the air was lightly scented. He practically waited at the door until the alarm sounded to let him know that his instructor arrived. 
Is this a joke? She huffed.
No, I didn’t even know you were the teacher! His protest was adamant. I was on a trip and even brought back Jeju- He paused. Han Seo knew he wasn’t the brightest, but bringing up the oranges seemed like it would upset her given their previous history. 
You brought back what? Her brow raised.
Mmm, good energy! Don’t you feel the vibes from the ocean? He spread his arms wide. 
Han Seo waved her inside hurriedly, trying desperately to get past the awkward exchange. Of all people, he never would’ve thought it would be the neighborhood’s cute sass machine. A small noise of happiness couldn’t be stopped from escaping him as she accepted the invitation. Her eyes scanned the place without restraint, nose wrinkling when she took a look at the kitchen. 
Where are your supplies? A slender finger ran across the surface of his counter. 
Supplies? He thought that was included in the price for the lessons. 
She sighed, placing a sketchbook, brushes, and small pots of paint onto the table. It was now very apparent to him that the advertisement did not mean what he thought it did. Thank goodness he also didn’t decide to open his mouth about that beforehand, it probably would’ve made her smack him with her bag. 
Here, the materials were slid over when he sat. Paint something.
His facial expression surely mirrored what he was thinking. Han Seo had no recollection of ever trying to do this, not even during the course of his way overpriced private school education. She urged him on with a nod, only relaxing into her chair when he flipped open the book and picked up a fine brush. 
There was nothing in particular he wanted to paint. Hell, he didn’t even know if he wanted to paint at all. This was simply something random that came up when he needed it. 
To avoid being chastised, he dipped his brush into the light blue color and started swiping randomly across the blank page. He swapped the brush and added some dark green, then pink, and finished if off with small dots of white. At the end it looked like something a toddler would’ve considered a masterpiece. She eyed it with surprising interest. 
You clearly didn’t know what you wanted to achieve with this, or why you were doing it at all. 
Han Seo was about to interject with a prideful defense before she continued. 
That’s good. It’s better to work with an unbiased mind. Her eyes met his. Your technique is shit though. 
He laughed, like truly laughed. It was a full bellied, unashamedly loud, attack of sonic waves. She seemed to find it amusing, a hint of a smile dancing across her lips. 
Alright, let’s start with how to actually hold a paintbrush. 
There was no telling when their interactions had gone from less than playful banter to warm and friendly (still with a side of joking). Han Seo couldn’t put his finger on it. Did it happen during the second lesson where he mistakenly put paint on her hands, and didn’t settle for no when he said he would wash them off for her? 
Or was it the time he was running late for work, but the barista already had his order prepared because she told them that he was on the way? Perhaps it was the time she had to reschedule their Saturday morning for the evening instead, and all he could think about was trying to replicate the color of her alcohol flushed cheeks onto the page before him. 
Han Seo had never done the whole confession thing before, so he wasn’t sure about how it worked. An unfamiliar kind of anxiety crept up his spine as he poured glasses of wine and organized a fruit plate. Soft music played in the background accompanied by the crackle of the expensive candles he bought specifically for the occasion. Her mouth parted slightly as she took everything in once she arrived for what was supposed to be an ordinary session involving watercolors. 
Wow, got a hot date later or something? Her legs seemed to automatically take her to the table. 
Actually, He brought the glasses over to where she sat. It’s for you. 
Oh…She gasped. A few seconds passed that felt more like minutes before she picked one up and held it high. Cheers then!
Something about it made him feel like he made a mistake. Did he misread their change in demeanor towards one another? Was she truly just being kinder to him because she considered him to only be a friend? Han Seo tried to not let the embarrassment he felt seep into the room, keeping a smile locked and loaded for when she made a witty remark about stuff like him painting in the most inappropriate white button down. 
Don’t you have something to say to me? She quipped, neatly putting her things away after he finished. 
Me? I- no…I... He clenched his fists. Why couldn’t he come out and say it?! This was as good as a chance as he was ever going to get. If he let this opportunity slip, he wasn’t sure if there would be one again. He had to act, he had to-
What sounded like a small growl came from her as she raked her hand through her hair. She pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt, her nose just shy of rubbing against his. 
Jang Han Seo, when are you gonna stop driving me insane? She murmured, labored breaths dancing across his cupid’s bow. 
If only she knew how true and reciprocated that question was to him too. From the moment he couldn’t fight against thoughts about her entering his mind, to the smile she wore when he stepped across his threshold, and the way she said his goddamned name, it was all enough to make him want to combust. To burst out of his skin, transforming into something or someone else entirely. A person that fully accepted that there were no more restraints on their lives, that they was no more fear and no more betrayal. Someone that was completely in control, and free to take what was theirs. And so he did. 
It was painful, almost, the first time he kissed her. The second time even more so. By the third time, coupled with the question of her tongue prodding at his bottom lip, Han Seo had shedded the last of his previous being. He cupped her face, thumbs toying with her curled sideburns as he consumed her. Quiet whimpers made way for desperate cries, shivers were replaced by the searing heat of skin on skin. 
The high he’d chased fruitlessly so many times throughout his life was finally achieved with his arms wrapped tightly around her, their bodies pressed together as she shuddered and sighed his name. He was in disbelief that what he had experienced was real, so he chased it again and again, receiving the same result each time his sweat slicked forehead bowed to meet hers. 
Han Seo would learn that it could be obtained outside of that space they filled with the tangible evidence of their desire. It was also in buying melon flavored ice pops to eat in the park together on sunny days. The look on Vincenzo and Cha Young’s face when he timidly made the introduction. Her expression when she took her first bite of Hee Soo’s tteokbokki. When Mr. Nam and her had an hour long debate on which shade of red made the most realistic fake blood color. The flashing Best Chairman Ever coming from her phone when Babel secured their biggest deal yet without any dirty deals behind the scenes. 
That feeling, one that outshone the other by such a long shot that it was nearly eradicated, had been there all along in the life he’d made. She just helped him see it.  
43 notes ¡ View notes
sevlgi ¡ 4 years ago
Text
believe
requested: no
group: blackpink
pairing: jisoo x fem!reader
genre: fluff
contents: guardian angel!jisoo, near death instances, unlucky reader. [22/33].
warnings: none
synopsis: You’ve never believed in guardian angels, but that just might change when you’re saved from certain death 3 times in one week.
a/n: idk if I’ve ever seen anyone do a similar au... tell me if you have! also i’m actually hella proud of this one lmao
word count: 1.8k
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Do guardian angels exist?
Well, that’s a subjective question, and there really isn’t a yes or no answer... But if yours does, they’re doing the shittiest job of the century.
The amount of times you’ve been hurt in the past, both physically and emotionally, is stupidly high. You’ve always had an aptitude for getting injured, stories of broken bones and gashes making up basically half of your entire life. Your friends and family pride themselves on having a fully loaded arsenal of embarrassing tales, practically making it a rite of passage to visit the hospital with you. And don’t even mention the heartbreaks- those just seem to follow you wherever you go.
When you move to a different city for what must be the 10th time, you vow that it’s going to be different, no matter how obvious it is that it won’t. You vow that there aren’t going to be any incidents that land you in the hospital, nor any relationships that just end in chaos.
Suffice to say, all of that goes haywire on your first day in town.
Without a car to drive you to work or any friends to hitchhike off of, you take the subway, line #224 to Solace Building. There just so happens to be a new girl group song you’re obsessed with, blasting on the highest possible volume in your earbuds, when you’re shoved from the back right into the subway tracks. â€œFu-”
Time slows down as you start to fall, the dusty railways coming too close to your face for comfort before a warm hand wraps around yours, the socket of your arm straining to carry your entire weight as you’re jerked back sharply.
You collide with a warm body, soft curves lessening the impact and delicate, impossibly strong hands steadying you on either side of your waist. By all logic, you should’ve knocked your savior over, should be sprawled on the ground right now with dirty palms and a heat-flushed face. “Are you okay?”
When you step back sharply, you’re met with the sight of the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your life. Her heart-shaped smile and delicate features are framed with cascading brown hair, and she has ethereally flawless porcelain skin. She’s the kind of beautiful that makes the plainest outfit look designer, that could make you believe sea glass to be pure diamond. “Uh. Y-yeah. I’m good.”
“I’m glad,” she chuckles, smiling even wider and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Maybe she doesn’t realize the effect she has on you, humming as she dusts something invisible off your bag. “You should be more careful, Y/N, wouldn’t want someone as pretty as you being killed by a train.”
If it was anyone else, the words would sound creepy, especially with the added factor of the girl knowing your name. â€œHow-- how do you know who I am?”
She juts her lips at the card hanging off your bag, your name written in big, bold letters. â€œNametag. Y/N Y/L/N, employee in Solace Building?”
To hide the heat in your cheeks, you look to the floor and stutter out, â€œWell. Since you know my name, uh, isn’t it fitting that I know yours?”
It’s not nearly as smooth as you’d like it to be-- usually, the natural flirt in you would’ve made an appearance-- but the petite brunette extends a hand, tipped with gentle pink nails. â€œJisoo. Kim Jisoo, if that’s helpful at all.”
Your next words are interrupted by your train arriving; when Jisoo doesn’t follow you on, you turn to look at her with your eyebrow quirked. â€œAre you...?”
“Not my train,” she smiles, shaking her head, even though it’s the only one arriving for hours where she stands. â€œGood to meet you, Y/N. Stay out of trouble!”
It’s an odd way to end a first meeting, but you don’t think much of it as you grab the nearest seat and pull out your phone to search her up. K-I-M J-I-S-O-O, you type, eyes scanning the screen fervently as the train starts.
Plenty of people show up-- after all, Kim Jisoo is not a rare name-- but none of the dozens of profiles you click through are the beautiful girl who saved your life. It’s too late when you look back out the window towards the station, the only thing you see becoming brick wall.
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The next time you almost die, you’re just walking to the coffee shop across from your apartment.
The activity should be safe, considering that not many people in the area own cars. At first, you think you are safe, crossing the silent street with no problem and receiving your usual order just fine; you’re on your way back to your lonely little apartment when you hear the screeching of car tires on the road.
“Watch out!” someone screams, but you’re frozen in the middle of the crosswalk. You forget how there wasn’t a single car in the street when you were crossing as you stare at the grill coming close. The car doesn’t stop or slow down, and you scrunch your eyes shut with your arms raised up, just waiting for the impact.
It never comes. When you hesitantly open your eyes again, you find a familiar figure standing in front of you, the force of her hand having knocked your coffee onto your blouse. The car bumper is pressing into her bare leg, which is miraculously clean of a scratch or bruise, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she turns to grin at you.
“Sorry, I ruined your coffee,” Jisoo frowns, her hand coming up to almost touch the steaming stain on your chest. You stare at her mutely, following obediently when she grabs your wrist and pulls you back to the coffee shop. â€œCan I buy you another one?” she offers, plucking a napkin off a street-side table.
“Kim Jisoo?” you say disbelievingly, not even feeling it as she dabs the coffee away. â€œYou again?”
“Me again,” she confirms, pulling some more napkins out of her purse with a smile on her face. “I hope you’re not disappointed; after all, I just saved you from dying. Again.”
“No, that’s not...” Taking a deep breath, you smile too, wrapping your fingers around her hand to gently brush her off. â€œIt’s okay. I’m glad to see you, actually-- I searched for your profile to thank you, but I couldn’t find anything.”
Jisoo shrugs, opening the door to the coffee shop for you. â€œOh, I’m not really on social media. If you wanted my number, you could’ve just asked.”
You laugh lightly, tossing the crushed cup in your hand into the trash. Of course it’s odd that she isn’t on social media in the 21st century-- with her face, you’d expect Jisoo to be a major influencer. “Then I’ll ask for it. Later.”
“Of course. Order what you want, I owe you one after all that,” she offers, plucking a couple loose 20 dollar bills out of her purse.
Once again, you’re faced with another weird habit of hers, but you order anyway and thank her after she pays. Before you can say anything else, though, she gets a text and frowns at her phone. â€œOh, sorry, I have to go. Catch you next time?”
“Sure,” you answer, forgetting to tell her that she still forgot to give you her number. You stand dumbly on the sidewalk and watch her go, taking a deep breath and looking both ways before you set off towards your apartment for the second time that day.
Maybe next time?
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The third, and hopefully last time, is the absolute weirdest of all. 
You seem to have a thing for being knocked into ditches-- this time, a group of teenagers barrels into you while you’re walking by the side of the only river in your entire city. You open your mouth to tell them off, but before you can, an especially hard shove from an stocky little boy pushes you right into the water.
Luckily, the fall isn’t high, so you don’t hit the water with much force, but the boats cruising along and the recently terrible weather stir the current strong enough to pull you right under. In the icy water, you feel your fingers let go of the phone in your hand, your lungs slowly being crushed by the pressure of your surroundings.
It’s hard to tell how much time passes while you’re in the water. From what your doctors have told you, trauma is difficult to remember clearly for a while, but you vaguely feel hands linking in front of your chest and forearms bracing under your armpits to drag you out of the water.
The heat of the summer sun warms the stone under your back and you can hear whispers sounding around you as you flop onto the floor. Hands push hard on your breastbone, once, twice-
After maybe 30 pushes, fingers pinch your nose, and soft lips meet yours. It feels more like a kiss than CPR, no air really being blown into your mouth, but nonetheless, you feel water leaving your lungs, and you open your eyes in shock, coughing out loud.
To your (somewhat) shock, it’s the same girl hovering over you. Jisoo’s skirt is wet at her knees where she kneels beside you, her hands still hovering over your chest. She must’ve been the one giving CPR, then. Sitting up, you hack violently until most of the water’s out of your lungs, the other girl waving away all of the spectators. â€œHow’re you feeling?” she asks, once you’re alone on the sidewalk.
Your hands move faster than your brain, pulling her forward by the nape of her neck until you kiss again, something about her tasting familiar in a way you can’t quite place. â€œWho are you?” you breathe once you’ve pulled away, searching her warm eyes for an answer.
She smiles again, handing you your miraculously dry phone instead of answering. It should be waterlogged and dead, but nothing seems to make sense when concered with Kim Jisoo. “How about you take me for dinner or something before asking the serious questions? Soup should be good to warm you up.”
Hand clasping in hers, you’re pulled to your feet with strength that doesn’t match her petite stature. You barely remember that you look like an almost-drowned rat, your lips purple with cold and your hair stringy with icy water. â€œSure. Soup. But you need to answer me first.”
She exhales, hitching her bag higher up on her arm. “I’d say I’m your guardian angel, but you wouldn’t believe that, would you?”
“I wouldn’t,” you answer, eyes narrowing as you follow her down the street. “But maybe you can convince me. Over soup.”
219 notes ¡ View notes
vanillann ¡ 4 years ago
Text
the 1994 battle of the performers (luke patterson x f.reader)
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i. love. this. series. (also i hope you like this chapter idk how i feel about it)
word count: 2.3k
the 1994 battle of the performers masterlist
Chapter 2: Spaghetti Night
“Crap!”
My heel hit the leg of the coffee table, my body going numb at the idea of ruining my knee. As I watched myself almost hit the hard ground of the studio, I felt two hands grab my shoulder.
I was bought slowly to the ground by two of the dancers, Florence and Regan, as they made sure I was okay. A few other girls we had recruited of the dance number rushed to my side, each asking was okay. Devon, the male dancer for the team asked a few other girls to step back as he checked my knee.
“Does it hurt?”
“I’m fine, I didn’t even hit the ground,” it wasn’t a lie, that fall didn’t affect my knee badly and after a few minute break, I’d be back to choreographing the team.
“Milo’s was looking-“
A few girls looked over their shoulders when we heard the band walk in through the open doors of the studio.
“What happened?”
Luke almost dropped his glass as he hurried to one side, Reggie to my other quickly.
“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Bobby’s voice echoed over the room but before I could stop him Alex was rushing him out the room.
“My heel hit the coffee table, I’m fine,” I did my best to calm each member of the band, Reggie easily calmed down once I had a quick smile. Alex didn’t say anything as he hovered over me, keeping an eye on Devon as he touched my knee.
“We can get rid of the coffee table”, Luke spoke, watching Devon’s finger ghost over my knee before he spoke up.
“Maybe you shouldn’t do that since you aren’t a doctor.”
“I read about different techniques to massage hurt muscles when I found out about (Y/N) injury,” he spoke back, smiling to me before I pushed his hand away.
“Thank you, Devon, but I’m fine.”
“I got the first aid kit,” Bobby yelled back, holding above his head and pushing through the group.
“I’m fine,” I was exhausted at repeating the words at this point, I just felt and I’d be fine.
“Your heels are bleeding.”
I looked up at Alex, following his line of sight to my heel that hit the coffee table. It wasn’t a lot of blood, I didn’t even notice it, but it was enough to have everyone in the room panic.
“I’ll do it,” Luke ripped the bandaid from Bobby’s hand but I grabbed it from his own.
“I’m not a child, I can take care of myself,” I opened it up and handed the trash to Reggie who held his hand out for it.
“I think practice is over for today,” Alex turned to the members, each one agreeing that I needed a break.
“No! We’ve only been going for like an hour!”
“More like three,” Luke squeezed my shoulder and pointed to the clock on the wall, surely it wasn’t almost five?
“We will meet Monday afternoon,” Regan held her hand out to me, which I happily took. Luke was at my side, his hands ghosting around me but never touching me.
“But-“
“Shhh!” Alex held his finger over my mouth, quickly pulling it away once he realized.
“Sorry I forgot we aren’t that close-“
“It’s fine, we are close enough for you to be honest with me,” I smiled, sincere with him. Alex was nervous about my presence, I could tell how he avoided certain jokes and such. I just wanted him to understand that at this point, they were the closest friends I got.
“Hey, call me later and we can go over different ideas,” Devon pulled me from my thought, smiling as he wrapped one arm around me and brought me to his side.
“Uhm, yeah sure,” I spoke gently, giving his side a squeeze and nodding once he let go.
“Bye guys,” I waved everyone off, each saying it back and leaving down the long driveway of Bobby’s house.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
I looked over my shoulder and Reggie and smiled.
“I’m fine, you all need to stop making a scene,” I went to move to the couch but my leg cramped up, my face morphing into one of discomfort.
“Making a scene, huh?”
I said nothing about Luke’s comment and grabbed his arm instead, each boy in a panic and not knowing if they could touch me or not.
“It’s fine, I don’t bite.”
As soon as I spoke, I felt hands on my let’s and arm, each trying to help the situation but making it incredibly awkward.
“How about I sit on the couch?”
Each agreed, weird shuffling to the couch that was against the wall. Once I made it and I turned around and flopped backward, letting go of Luke’s arm in the process.
I closed my eyes, letting my palm dig at it for a minute before I noticed the burned feeling on my face. As I opened my eyes, each boy watched me with worry.
“I am fine, I’m going to malfunction if I have to say it again!”
I knew it was out of worry, if I wasn’t running off adrenaline I would have been more worried. After the revelation two weeks ago I had been pushing myself, thinking I was the same dancer I was before.
But I wasn't. I felt more and I had to think about moves more often, I wasn’t the same dancer and I thought the more I kept the dancer the more would come back to me.
But that didn’t look to be the case.
“I need to get home,” I muttered, smiling slightly when the cramp went away.
“Are you gonna be okay?”
I nodded, sitting up straighter with no help and pushing off the couch as if nothing happened.
“I’m not in a nursing home for a reason,” I winked at Alex, gaining soft chuckles from the other members.
It was nice, feeling like we were all friends. I couldn’t tell if we were or not. I only ever came over for practice and we didn’t speak about much besides the battle or sometimes about Milo’s, but otherwise, that was the end. But sometimes we’d be sitting around waiting for the other dancers, and it felt light and airy, easy. We could laugh and make little jokes with each other, it just would’ve been nice to be able to call them friends.
They were good guys, I knew that.
“Boys!”
I looked around the boys to see a taller woman, smiling widely at the band. She was gorgeous with tan skin and messy hair. She had wild curls and older band tees that had some holes around the collar.
“Dinner,” the woman, who I was pretty sure was Bobby's mother, held her arm out as if to tell the boys they could exit.
Each jumped with joy, smiling as they all made their way from the studio to the driveway.
“You must be (Y/N), the boys told me about you,” she smiled as I slowly made my way out, not as excited as the boys who were already at the door waiting.
“Nice to meet you,” I smiled, proud to have finally met the woman who’s been letting me dance in her studio.
“Even nicer to meet you,” she took a right, walking to the door of the gorgeous house. I took a left, prepared to hit the sidewalk and make it back to my empty house.
“Where are you going?”
I turned around, watching as Bobby and his mother waved me over, holding the door open for me while Alex, Reggie, and Luke waited inside.
“Oh I can’t Ms-“
“Call me Heather,” she called back, jogging slightly as she left Bobby to hold the door. She jogged till she stood in front of me, guiding my shoulders back to the house.
“Dinner is on us,” she smiled, watching me as I grabbed the railing to the small steps and walked up. Bobby smiled as he gave a joking bow, a smile gracing my lips and Reggie was jumping at the scene.
“It’s a tradition that to be part of the band you have to eat at the Wilson household,” Reggie smiled larger as I actually walked in the house.
“I’m not part of the band,” I corrected, pointed a finger over my shoulder as I admired the high ceilings and the beautiful wooden architect.
“Eh, close enough,” Luke pulled the back of my shirt, silently telling me to follow him. It wouldn’t be hard to find the kitchen by the way the smell cascaded each hall, making the house feel homer than ever.
As I stepped foot into the dining area, I saw Alex finding a plate in a cabinet and setting it at the table.
“Mr. Wilson out of town,” Heather muttered, filling in the small blanket she assumed I had.
“You know what that means!”
Each boy seemed to jump over this news, which was odd. Who wanted their parents out of town?
“Spaghetti night!”
The boys seemed even more excited, taking their seats with giant smiles on their faces. I said nothing, still taking in the family photos of the happy family and the gorgeous china.
“I think we’ve overwhelmed her,” Alex whispered, not quite enough but still light.
“I just didn’t expect this,” I didn’t know how to explain it but it was weird eating a meal at a table with people, I hadn’t done it in so long.
“Well expect it now,” Luke but back, patting the seat between Alex and him, Reggie and Bobby on the other side with a spot for Bobby’s mom.
“Ready!”
I had barely made it to my seat when Luke was pulling me down, smiling widely as Bobby’s mother walked out with a giant bowl of noodles in one hand and sauce in the other.
“Bobby dear, grab the breadsticks,” she called as she placed the bowls in the center of the table. Bobby wasted no time as he hurried to the kitchen for the breadsticks.
“You’ll love this,” Luke smiled, reaching for the silverware in the noodle bowl. I was shocked when he grabbed my plate, placing food on it, instead of his own.
“Heather taught me how to be a gentleman,” Luke spoke as he gave my plate back, sending a wink my way in the process.
I hide my smile with my hand, turning to look the other way to come face to face with Alex.
“You need to try it first, band rule,” he pointed around the table as all eyes waited for me to dive into the food. I decided not to wait, as Luke looked like he was going to cry if he didn’t eat soon, rolling some around on my fork before I brought it to my lips.
The noodles were perfectly done and the sauce absorbed itself perfectly. I could taste a hit of basil and maybe some pepper as the food melted on my tongue. I smiled as I chewed, giving a big thumbs up once I finally swallowed.
“Yes!”
Each boy didn’t waste time, reaching for breadsticks and carrots, laughing about lord knew what as they did so.
“So (Y/N),” Luke turned to me halfway through the night, spaghetti sauce smeared across his chin.
“-How does it feel to officially join Sunset Curve,” he smiled goofily, doing his best not to show he was speaking with food in his mouth.
“I’m not a part of Sunset Curve, remember?”
“Well you’re the official choreographer of Sunset Curve,” he spoke back, picking up a breadstick and smashing it in his mouth.
I only laughed, not worried about it too much. I was on the band until the battle then we’d move on. It’d be nice to be friends with the guys but that didn’t mean we’d still talk.
It would be fun while it lasted.
“I have a mason jar in my mailbox, Milo says you need an official one,” Heather spoke, smiling widely as I did my best to keep my drink down.
“That’s not necessary,” I tried to argue but Alex placed a hand on my shoulder.
“You can’t get out of this one,” he gave me a straight face but as soon as I started laughing he followed behind me.
“I’m sorry,” I laughed along, trying to look back at Alex but every time we did we started laughing again.
“Is there an inside joke I’m not getting?”
Reggie’s words caused Alex and me to laugh harder, trying my best to calm my nerves for the first time that day.
“They are going to rise against us now,” Bobby spoke up, standing from the table dramatically and moving to get something from the kitchen. Alex bumped his shoulder with mine, making my nerves from earlier disappear completely.
The dinner went on with laughs and jokes, which made me feel truly like a member of the band.
“I should really head home,” I spoke as Bobby took my plate to be washed off, placing the napkin that Luke put on my lap as a joke back on the table.
“Let me walk you,” Luke stood up beside me, handing his plate to Reggie who followed Bobby into the kitchen.
“I’m fine.”
“What if you fall?”
I rolled my eyes, waving to Heather who was in the kitchen, thanking her for the nice home-cooked meal.
“I’m not dancing, I can walk perfectly fine,” I said my goodbye’s, Alex giving a quick side hug with his before I walked to the door with Luke trailing after me.
“But-“
“I’m fine,” I spoke for the millionth time that day, smiling over my shoulder and I left the warm house to the cold outdoors.
“Fine, if you fall scream,” Luke crossed his arms, watching me walk down the stairs to the long driveway.
“Will do!”
I have a thumbs up over my shoulder, not daring to look back as I made my way down the driveway to the sideway.
“I mean really yell,” his voice echoed back, making a laugh boil over to the night sky above me.
“I’ll scream bloody murder just for you Patterson!”
ďżźďżźďżź
ďżźthe 1994 battle of the performers taglist:
@gia-kerks @notwonder-woman @poisoned-girl @phantompogues @dovesgrangers
ďżźďżźďżźďżźďżźďżźďżź
ďżź
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grailfinders ¡ 4 years ago
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Fate and Phantasms #142: Ishtar
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Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re making Best Goddess and, according to @hasishtardoneanythingwrong, a servant who has done absolutely nothing very little wrong, Ishtar! 
In this build, Ishtar is a Divine Soul Sorcerer to balance her blasting abilities with her divine nature and a Zeal Cleric to push her explosive capabilities and godhood to the max.
Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!
Next up: The second part of the oldest bromance in human history.
Race and Background
Unfortunately WotC hasn’t figured out how to balance literal god PCs yet, but since Ishtar is a demiservant we can still technically call her a Protector Aasimar, giving her +1 Wisdom, +2 Charisma, Darkvision, Celestial Resistance to radiant and necrotic damage, Healing Hands to heal some hands, and the Light cantrip.
Since she protects Uruk in her own special way, we’ll call her a Goddess Alliance Anarch. This gives you Animal Handling and Religion proficiencies, as well as some bonus spells as you level up!
Ability Scores
As the goddess of love and also blowing up mountains, your Charisma needs to be as high as possible. Follow that up with Dexterity, you can literally fly, that’s pretty fast. After that will be Constitution, you can take a lot of abuse, especially if it’s coming from the writers. Your Wisdom has to be next so we can multiclass, keep that in mind if you’re rolling. Your Strength isn’t amazing, but it’s not like you’re using it anyway. Finally, dump Intelligence. Not gonna dwell on that one, let’s just move on.
Class Levels
1. Sorcerer 1: Honestly I think â€œDivine Soul” is kinda selling yourself short, but we’ll work in the framework we’re given. You can cast Spells now, including your Divine Magic from the cleric spell list, using your Charisma. You’re also Favored by the Gods, giving you the option of adding 2d4 to a failed save or attack roll once per short rest.
For cantrips you get Thunderclap and True Strike for offensive options (I mean you do aim. Even if your target’s a mountain, aiming is important.) You also get Minor Illusion and Friends to manipulate people into doing what you want.  Finally, your stand against the Three Goddess Alliance grants you the cantrips Fire Bolt and Produce Flame to make the battlefield a little bit spicier.
For first level spells, you get Bless from being a divine soul, as well as Compelled Duel, Speak with Animals, and Thunderwave from being an Anarch. For your actually chosen spells, Mage Armor makes your outfit feasible, and Feather Fall will be very helpful once you start flying.
2. Sorcerer 2: Second level sorcerers become a Font of Magic, giving you sorcerer points equal to your sorcerer level. Right now you can turn points into spell slots or vice versa, but it’ll get more interesting later. 
You can also cast Disguise Self, in case you have to, I don’t know, organize a servant-based wacky races kind of event? Idk, whatever.
3. Sorcerer 3: Third level sorcerers get Metamagic, letting you alter your spells to suit your mood by using sorcery points. A Transmuted spell lets you swap out its acid, cold, fire, lightning, poison, or thunder damage for another option on that list. Meanwhile, you can use a Distant spell to double a spell’s range, making your archery much more effective.
You also become a Radiant Soul, spending an action to transform yourself and gaining a flying speed for up to a minute. You can also deal extra radiant damage to a creature you hit with an attack or spell once per turn. You can do this once per long rest. It’s not a long trip, but it’s free.
On top of that, you get second level spells this turn. Distort Value lets you halve or double an object’s apparent value for the duration, perfect for haggling with a certain someone. You also get Beast Sense and Shatter from your Anarch spell list. The former isn’t that in-character, but the latter is a good start to taking down that mountain.
4. Sorcerer 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to round up your Constitution and Charisma, giving you more health, better concentration, and stronger spells. What a glow up!
You can also cast the cantrip Resistance to add 1d4 to a creature’s next save, or use Find Traps to make sneaking into Gilgamesh’s many treasure vaults slightly easier. If it works.
5. Sorcerer 5: You’re a god, so you probably shouldn’t be messing up that often. To help with that, Magical Guidance lets you spend a sorcery point to re-roll a failed skill check. Maybe it’ll help.
You can also cast Fly this level, giving you more frequent flying miles at the cost of your concentration. You can also Conjure Animals if you want to show up that gazelle-loving sister of yours. More on-target, however, is your other Anarch spell, Conjure Barrage. Gosh, it’s almost like you’re an archer or something.
6. Cleric 1: This whole flying around exploding things is great, but I think we can put more pizazz on it. Or, as they say down in Amonkhet, let’s add some Zeal. That’s right, we’re stealing from two MTG planes this build! As a Priest of Zeal, you can attack as a bonus action if you attack as an action a number of times per long rest equal to your wisdom modifier. That sounds kind of useless, but as a Zeal Cleric you also get proficiency with martial weapons, meaning that yes, you can use a bow and arrow. The archer class really is made up of archers!
You can also cast and prepare Spells using your Wisdom, but we got the really good ones in your sorcerer list, so don’t worry too much here. You do get some more cantrips, though! Thaumaturgy lets you throw your godly weight around, Light lets you cast light again using a worse casting modifier, and Guidance gives a creature some helpful advice from their favorite goddess, adding 1d4 to their next check.
You also get some domain spells, but they’re both smites and you’re an archer, so...
7. Cleric 2: The real reason we’re dipping is for your Channel Divinity option, which you can use once per short rest. You could  use it for Turn Undead, forcing a wisdom save against all undead near you (with a dc of 8 + proficiency + wisdom modifier), but the much more fun option is Consuming Fervor. This turns one fire or thunder damage roll into its maximum instead of rolling. That will be very scary later.
8. Sorcerer 6: Sixth level divine souls get Empowered Healing. You might not have any healing spells, but just being around people makes them feel a bit better. This lets you spend a sorcery point to re-roll any dice being used in a healing roll near you once per turn.
Speaking of healing, we’re still not doing that! You can now Bestow Curses onto people. Serves them right, calling you a â€œuseless goddess”. This is one of those creative spells, so have fun with it!
9. Sorcerer 7: Seventh level sorcerers get fourth level spells! Anarchs get Dominate Beast and Stoneskin, and while neither are technically in character the latter could be very useful given your less than stellar AC. Also, literally turning yourself into gemstones is a real power move.
Your spell of choice this level is Ice Storm, letting you pummel a 20′ radius area with plenty of hail (or fiery debris, or just pure force), enough to turn the area into difficult terrain for a round.
10. Sorcerer 8: Use this ASI to grab the Spell Sniper feat, letting your spells ignore most cover, and spells you cast that require an attack roll have two times their normal range. You also learn Eldritch Blast to further flex on those dumb warlocks. They have to sell their soul and waste an invocation to get 300′ range blasts, and here you are with 480′ range and your soul’s intact! Hah!
You can also exude an Aura of Purity now, preventing disease, weakening poison damage, and granting advantage on a ton of status effect saves. 
11. Sorcerer 9: Ninth level sorcerers get fifth level spells, including your final Anarch spell, Destructive Wave. It’s only got a range of thirty feet, but it never hurts to prepare for an ambush. For longer range attacks, Flame Strike will do nicely. We’re still not quite at â€œblasting a mountain to smithereens” level power, but we’re getting there.
12. Sorcerer 10: Tenth level sorcerers can get the most out of their spells by making them Empowered, letting them re-roll a number of dice on their damage roll, up to their charisma modifier.
You can also cast Dancing Lights for a bit of a dramatic flair, or Creation to make gemstones out of thin air. Heck, you could even make a proper Boat of Heaven with this!
13. Sorcerer 11: Another two levels have passed, that means you get another spell level. Sunbeam gives you a reusable sunlight blast, dealing radiant damage and blinding creatures that fail their constitution save. You can use this attack again as your action each turn for up to a minute. Sadly this isn’t affected by either of your range enhancements, but you’ve still got plenty of airspace to work with.
14. Sorcerer 12: If we’re going to blast a mountain apart we’ve got to get serious. Use this ASI to get the Elemental Adept feat, focusing on Thunder damage. Once you take this feat, all dice on thunder damage rolls coming from spells always count as at least a 2, and they ignore thunder resistances.
15. Sorcerer 13: The first step to launching the literal planet Venus at somebody is actually getting the damn thing, and that means we need to leave the atmosphere at a moment’s notice. The closest we can come to that here is Plane Shift. You can also use this on enemy creatures as a melee attack
16. Sorcerer 14: Fourteenth level Divine Souls get an Angelic Form you can transform into as a bonus action. This gives you a flying speed of 30′ that is basically permanent until you’re incapacitated or you just get rid of them on your own. Have fun with those orbital bombardments!
17. Sorcerer 15: Sunburst sounds like a good pick for your eighth level spell. This one actually does get a range boost, which is good because it deals damage in a 60′ radius. Creatures within that radius get a constitution save, and failing that means a lot of radiant damage and being blind until it makes the save on the end of its turn. Sadly, it’s stuck on radiant damage, but it’s still an effective blasting spell.
18. Sorcerer 16: Use your last ASI to max out your Charisma so that whole â€œmaking the save” thing from last level never happens.
19. Sorcerer 17: To make those saves even less likely, our final metamagic option is Heightened Spell, causing one creature’s first save of the spell in question to be made at disadvantage. Basically you’re saying â€œlike you had a choice in the matter”.
Speaking of spells though, we can finally pull Venus through for a charged shot, thanks to the ninth level spell Meteor Swarm. With a max range of 1-2 miles this truly is nuking the planet from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.
Here’s a step by step guide for removing a mountain. 1. Hang out in the Troposphere. 2. Cast Meteor Swarm, swapping out Fire for Thunder damage. 3. Channel Divinity, maxing out the thunder damage for extra fun. 4. Deal 120 Thunder damage that ignores resistances, on top of 20d6 bludgeoning damage. 5. Enjoy your new crater.
20. Sorcerer 18: Your capstone level of sorcerer gives you an Unearthly Recovery. When you’re bloodied, you can spend a bonus action to heal yourself for half your HP, once per long rest. You had enough trouble in the underworld as it is, no point in going back again.
Pros:
As I just mentioned in level 19, you can deal a lot of damage. Like, Sanson level damage, without all the nonsense attached to it. You’ve got big booms, and multiple ways to make those booms hurt even more than they should.
Flying on a spellcaster is just. Really, really good. Especially on one built for range. There’s almost literally nothing they can do to you up here. Like, arrows, maybe, but you can just retaliate with the literal wrath of god. Plus, you’re probably out of counterspell range, so there’s nothing the DM can do to you!
A lot of your spells are focused on damage, but you do still have plenty of variety in your spell list, just in case. And on the off chance you’re fighting someone in a silence bubble, you can just change your thunder spells to acid or something.
Cons:
For most of this build we’re relying on the Flight spell to get off the ground, which eats up your Concentration and has a chance of failure when you take damage. It’s not ideal.
Those Cleric Levels are very useful, but they still push back your spell progression by 2 levels, which means you’ll have even less time with your An Gal Ta Ki Gal Se than you would normally.
You can’t fly everywhere. Caves exist. Buildings exist. I mean you totally can blast holes to get where you need to, just don’t expect to be that popular with whoever owns the building. Also, fighting in cramped areas plays to your biggest weakness: squishiness. Your AC is only 15, and you’ve got barely over 120 HP, which as we just discussed, someone built like you can take out very easily.
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markleesthighs ¡ 4 years ago
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Hotel! AU With Lucas~?? 👉👈
-idk what you meant by hotel, but umm manager lucas makes me think, so like crazy rich!y/n x hotel manager! lucas
[7:27 PM] Your finally got off your long plane ride, landing in Seoul. Your sister was getting married to her longtime boyfriend, which was a wedding the talk of all of Seoul. Your sister was an actress and her boyfriend was a famous director, both winning oscars overseas. You, on the other hand was a world class fashion icon, showing up at multiple fashion weeks and constantly having high class brands beg for your to wear their pieces. It would be no shock that once you stepped off your family’s private jet, there was paparazzi active, asking who you were wearing and what you were planning on wearing to the wedding. Your sisters wedding was in one of the most exclusive and expensive hotels in all of Seoul, and they rented out the entire hotel for its guests. Your limo pulled up to the gates where you stated your name and verified your identification to let the guards open the gates. As you pulled up a handsome man who opened the limo door for you and held your hand. You felt some sort of warmth to his touch and his eyes made your heart melt. You hadn’t felt this way about someone since your ex boyfriend 2 years ago. What were you thinking? Someone like you? Dating someone like him? It would be the end of the world for the both of you. You looked down at his name tag as it read “Lucas” An interesting name you thought.
“Hello I am Lucas, the manager of the hotel, let us help you with your luggage and any accommodations you will need.” He said as he graciously held your purse for you.
“Thank you.”
You walked into the hotel to be greeted with your sister squealing bringing you into a hug. You hugged her fiancĂŠ as you caught up with her while Lucas checked you in.
“Miss y/n, you are checked in for the presidential suite at the top floor, let me also show you to your room and give you the tour.”
“T-thank you”
You sister noticed your stutter, something that generally can back when you were flustered or around someone you liked. She gave you a smirk and winked as you rolled your eyes and glared at her, hoping Lucas didn’t see.
You walked into an elevator with only you and Lucas as it was dead silent. You looked at him looking at his fashion choices, which you generally judged people on. He had Cartier studs, a perfectly fitted Hermès suit, a shiny new Rolex, and shiny Gucci loafers. He had good taste you thought to yourself. As the elevator door opened you tripped on elevator crack with your heel as he caught you hold you firmly and supporting you.
“Are you alright? You must be more careful when stepping off with such beautiful Louboutin shoes, I wouldn’t want to scuff those.”
You were starstruck, he smelled like Versace cologne and it mixed beautifully with your Chanel No. 5 perfume as you saw he also took a liking to your perfume. He helped you stand back up with his arm now supporting you as you both strolled to your room. You noticed that Lucas was still taller than you with your heels on which was rare since most guys wouldn’t dare approach you with your reflective sunglasses and intimidating behavior. Lucas unlocked and opened the door to one of the most luxurious hotel rooms you’ve seen. You’ve traveled and stayed at expensive hotels overseas but nothing compared to this suite. It smelled like fresh cotton and flowers, and everything was perfectly polished and cleaned. You were marveled, you would usually have at least a complaint by now but you were left speachless. Your clothes were already placed in the closet, color coded perfectly. All of your skincare and makeup of beautifully organized on the sink and vanity.
“Is everything up to your standards, miss y/n?.”
“Y-yes...h-how did.”
“We consulted your assistants, butlers, and maids overseas about your standards and wanted to make sure they were followed accordingly.”
You looked over at the vase of violets.
“How did you know violets were my favorite?”
“I didn’t. I always think violets have a calming scent and look, that can make any place feel like home.” He said with a smile.
“If theres anything else we can do for you, you can give us a call on the phones or use the PA systems located around your room. Enjoy your stay. “
As he walked out you took a look around your room, hoping to find a complaint (to see Lucas again) but you had none. You even noticed your bed was folded perfectly so a flap would be open on the side of the bed you slept on. As you sat down you got a call from your sister who was begging you to come down to the hotel’s restaurant to go have dinner with her and her fiancé, to catch up and go over last minute wedding decorations (since you had one of the most detailed eyes in the world). You agreed as you changed into a Dior sundress, Hermès sandals, and a Prada clutch. You opened the elevator to the entrance of the restaurant where your sister was exitedly waving you down at their table.
“It’s so lovely to see you again, I love that dress!”
“Thanks, it’s from Dior’s 2021 spring line.”
“2021?? Darling that’s a year away how did you get your hands on this piece?”
“I didn’t most brands send me their upcoming lines to see if it meet my approval and will curve with current fashion trends.”
“You never fail to amaze me, y/n.”
As you were about to speak a waiter came by and dropped off some warm green tea for you. It was your signature drink, so it wasn’t a long shot, until you took a sip. It was made to your liking. It was seeped from the Da-Hong Pao brand with a teaspoon of Elvish honey. They even got the temperature exactly right, at 175 degrees. You suspected Lucas. He made everything perfect for you, it was nice, but you assumed he did that for all of his guests. You all continued to talk over dinner, creating conversations from cute dogs on Instagram to which way bridesmaids should present themselves at the wedding. After dinner you all transitioned to the grand ballroom, the main stage for the wedding. Your sister was nervously twiddled her fingers as you gazed at the decor. Lucas came in short after following you around taking notes, hanging on your every word.
“These flowers aren’t fresh replace all of them by tomorrow, make sure all of the silverware is perfectly straight next to the plate, turn the centerpieces by 35 degrees so the lights hit them better, the goody bag bags look tacky, replace them with Louis Vultton bags and put in Louis Vultton, Gucci, and Channel accessories, with each bag with different ones so they never match.”
“B-but, y/n, we can’t possibly purchase that in time!”
“Don’t worry sis, Lucas please charge any additional items that I’ve adjusted onto my card.”
“y/n please! You’re our guest!”
“Stop it. What else am I going to blow with all money? It’s worth it for your wedding.”
You handed Lucas your card as he wrote down your information. You continued on your purge to the point where your sister and fiancĂŠ got tired and went up to their room exhausted and they definitely needed some rest. So now it was just you and Lucas in the ballroom, alone.
“Miss, y/n, I know you want everything to be perfect for your sisters wedding, but I think you’re beating a dead horse at this point. “
“I am not!”
“Do you really think moving the chair in by one centimeter it really necessary?”
You sighed as you looked at your sandals.
“No, it’s not.”
“Why are you so punctual about this, miss y/n, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“It’s cause, this, was supposed to be my wedding. I was engaged two years ago, to a man who only wanted me for my money. I had all the wedding planning set until I was informed he was trying to sell my stocks and take everything from my bank account and runaway with some other famous B lister model. So once I heard my sister was getting married, I let her have my wedding plans. So now, I’m being overly punctual, since I know I would be like this on my wedding day.”
“Well, sometimes imperfect things allow the world to let it be perfect in ways you’ve never known. If this were my wedding, I wouldn’t care how lavish or perfect it was, as long as I was marrying someone I loved.”
Lucas’ words resonated into your mind, maybe you needed to let things be imperfect, even for your sister.
“So be it then, I’m done ‘perfecting’ for the night. Afterall, it’s not my wedding.”
As you walked out Lucas called out your name, and asking for your number. You hesitated asking him why and he said to discuss any issues that occur on the day of the wedding so he can contact you and discuss any certain changes. Right, he wasn’t trying to hit on you, why would he want to, he probably has a girlfriend or something right? You gave him your number and you walked into the elevator back to your room. You fantasized what it would be like to date him, going out on lavish dates, not worrying about who was going to pay for the check, and you felt that you would have a fun time with him. You took your shower and came out of the bathroom to see that you’re missing your roller from your skincare routine. You called Lucas up in your robe and wet hair to ask him for your cold Jade roller you used to smoothen and contour your face. He brought it up and gave it to you. But as he left, you grabbed his arm and asked him to roll your face for you, since your maids would do it for you. He chuckled as he submit to your request sitting down on your bed with you as you watched him gently roll your face. His eyes looked so delicate carefully not trying to put too much pressure on your face. You felt your heart beating faster every time you were around him, he was unpredictable to you and he was never intimidated by you either. You had never been able to open up to someone as easily as him.
When he was finished you noticed it started to thunderstorm, which worried you, since you had a secret fear of thunder and lightning. Lucas looked at you and gently caressed your face, making sure everything rolled correctly. But as he was about to get up a loud clash of the lightning struck and you squeaked as you fell into his arms holding on to him tight.
“P-please, d-don’t leave yet...”
Lucas looked at you in sympathy but got up leaving you in the dust. You were disappointed, knowing things like this would happen, even if you did like him. Who would even want to date- But Lucas returned dressed in his comfortable clothes which he received from the cleaning maids on your floor. He quickly came back to your shivering state hearing another clash of thunder. Lucas pulled you into a cuddling embrace in your bed. He also came back with some Airpods and played your favorite music to drown out the noise of the storm. You soon fell asleep on his chest, feeling warm and safe in his arms.
-pt. 2?? wedding day?
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bigskydreaming ¡ 3 years ago
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In a mood and I’m trying not to be, but oof. Not easy at the moment. Real life stresses are kicking my butt and I’m decidedly limited in resources for addressing that at the moment, so might as well get this off my chest, lol. Already lost the usual fifty followers or so I lose every single time I post about stuff the way I did the other day, so what’s some more, y’know?
So earlier today I tried to get my mind off things with some fic, and happened across one I hadn’t read before that promised Jason and Dick talking things out and bonding. Halfway through I sighed and went oh, this is familiar, and skipped to the bottom to check the end notes and comments to see if there was any mention of this next part, but nope. The reason for the sigh was it took me about halfway into the fic to realize that it was blatantly inspired by my post about what if Jason was missing some memories from his death/resurrection and the Pit, like specifically the ski trip they took, stuff like that. Now I’m not so egotistical as to think nobody but me has certain ideas, but its fairly easy for me to recognize when someone is basing something off a post of mine because of specific turns of phrases that I use and like, they hit ten or so bullet points from my post without missing a one. Like, there’s parallel evolution and similar ideas, and then there’s going down a check list, y’know?
And don’t get me wrong....I don’t mind people basing stuff of my posts, being inspired by them, etc. I WANT that. I’m GLAD to have that happen.
The part I mind is the way this all ties back into my interaction with fandom as a whole....and this fandom’s interaction with me. Which I don’t tend to hear NEARLY as much about as I tend to have people giving me shit about my impact on fandom....but ONLY the negative impact.
In the four years or so that I’ve been active in this fandom, I can think of only three people who have given me some kinda shout out for being the basis of one of their fics. Three people. And in that time I’ve come across literal dozens of fics that I am almost certain can trace their way back to popular posts of mine. There’s the post about Jason’s memories and the ski trip for one - this fic isn’t an isolated occurrence, I’ve found a good half a dozen or so I feel fall into the same pattern. There’s fics based off my posts about how fucked up the blame Dick got for Spyral was, with my certainty based on the fact that I know I’m the only fucking person who ever brought up various key phrases like â€œBruce not having an extraction plan for Dick’s highly dangerous undercover op, leaving him stranded when Bruce got/(chose) amnesia.” I made a big deal about that in a few posts because of the fact I NEVER saw that particular element raised in any fics, and a couple months after I started including that bit regularly, I was seeing the words ‘without an extraction plan’ in every other new post Spyral fic. That’s not a coincidence.
There’s been stuff that included bits and phrasings from my post about Dick and Jason being partners who focused on helping kids who had been abused specifically....oh wait, no, my bad. The two fics I’m thinking of there lifted straight up entire lines from that post but just made it about Jason and TIM doing that instead, despite like.....the entire basis of that headcanon stemming from Dick’s juvie origin but whatever. There’s been stuff based on juvie posts of mine, stuff based on posts I’ve made about Mirage, there’s been stuff based on the post about Jason looking into why Dick was undercover as a mob enforcer and then Renegade, there’s been stuff clearly inspired by my headcanons about Jason calling Dick for advice after the Garzonas case. I could go on. There’s a fucking LOT.
I don’t try to give myself too much credit but I’m not unaware of being a loud voice in this fandom and that having an impact. And like I said, I’m not adverse to inspiring people to make their own stuff based off an idea they initially saw me present. That’s fine. People should feel free to do that. My problem is that none of this exists in a vacuum. It exists in a fandom where I regularly get people lecturing me on my presentation, people hyping up how negative I make fandom, my condescension, my anger, my hostility, etc, etc. 
But the thing I never see is any awareness whatsoever that like....dudes, I’m literally just a guy on the internet. And that goes two ways. Yeah, I have an impact on people, but they have one on me too. And I’m tired and frustrated by it being acted like this is a one way street and everyone is just helpless victims of my bullying, while meanwhile SOME OF THE EXACT SAME PEOPLE GIVING ME CRAP FOR MY NEGATIVITY are ACTIVELY adding to their own fics with stuff that I JUST posted about.
And like, I see people vagueblogging about the negativity on their dashes and its impact on fandom right after I have a Dick Grayson rant blow up and get a few hundred notes......but its acted like I DID that to fandom, that’s my negativity and mine alone when its like....y’know, if you’re not following me yourself, and this stuff is still on your dash, you uh....have to be following people who reblog my negative posts for some reason or another. And given that there are obviously reasons you follow THOSE people, maybe instead of worrying about what I’M doing all the time, you can spare a thought or two for the fact that I don’t have any power to make people reblog anything, and for whatever reason, something about my oh so negative post resonated with those people reblogging it onto your dash, which also kinda suggests it wasn’t negative in THEIR eyes, but was actually a kind of validation of thoughts or feelings they already had?
Trust me, there’s no mind control ray at work here. This mood is also brought to you by the cricket sounds that come every time I fucking BEG people to reblog and signal boost posts I make about rape/abuse fandom trends and depictions from my POV as a survivor, specifically. Like I mentioned, I LOSE followers every time I bring that stuff up. It doesn’t benefit me in any way whatsoever, in fact my notes tend to go comparatively radio silent for a good couple weeks after I go off on one of those jaunts, because idk, people don’t want THEIR mutuals and followers to think they agree with some of my oh so controversial stances?
Actually, I say idk, but I do know is the thing, because people actually go on anon and tell me they appreciate me posting stuff like this, and its like.....that....doesn’t actually make me feel good? Because I never expect any single person in particular to reblog me, but when I say crickets after I post on those topics, I mean CRICKETS. I’m lucky if I can get five reblogs on those posts in total, and those are usually all from the same people. It actually kinda sucks knowing that people agree with me and what I have to say there, but they won’t put it on their own blogs because this fandom is so fucking STEEPED in its views, they don’t want to risk their friendships or back-and-forths with certain popular fandom authors by rocking the boat.
Because meanwhile I’m making myself target practice for the people who really would like me to shut up on certain topics but are too cowardly to ever confront me directly about why they dislike what I have to say there, in the vain hope that other people might finally even just START to pass some of that on even for consideration....because I can make waves by myself just by being loud and consistent, but I can’t do shit to actually make CHANGE without other people agreeing in PUBLIC so that fandom is forced to confront the fact that no, certain opinions aren’t just one loud asshole being annoying, there’s an actual viewpoint here that people actually have in greater numbers than we realized and we DON’T have as much of a monopoly on this topic as we thought.
I have anons who give me shit accusing me of driving off certain authors by making this fandom not fun for them anymore, when like, I never even fucking INTERACTED with the authors in question. Some of the names I’m accused of driving off I don’t even KNOW. I’m called an â€˜abusive survivor shaming cunt’ with zero irony or self-awareness that they’re literally doing the exact same thing because they don’t like the stance *I* take as a survivor posting about how â€˜some survivors use dark fic/rape fantasy to cope’ shouldn’t be treated as a monolithic defense of such things if it leads directly into the same kind of survivor shaming other people view criticism of such fic as being in the first place.
I’ve had to unfollow mutuals because I post about how reblogging posts about purity culture is a direct fucking slap into the face to people like me whose stances on fandom culture are directly based on our own personal experiences and the intersection those have with various popular fandom takes.....like you don’t have to agree with all my takes obviously, but if you can’t see how framing a naive pursuit of ideological purity as the only possible reason people object to certain fandom trends when I’m literally standing right here saying no actually, the way these fandom trends impact me is the reason for me saying the things I say when I say â€œhere’s how this fandom trend impacts me”.....like.....c’mon. 
And I’ve had mutuals unfollow me because despite following me because they liked my takes on social justice issues THEY care about, I just â€˜post too much about what’s really just a personal issue’ and has no larger social relevance whatsoever, obviously. LOL. (Oh and this of course has nothing to do with them getting friendly with various popular authors on discord, who happen to be vocal about â€˜disapproving’ of any fic criticism whatsoever. Just FYI, there’s a reason I haven’t followed anyone new or made any new mutuals in like....a year. I have my reasons for being....not quick about that).
I get condescended to constantly about not minding the tags, and then radio silence when I list literal examples of ways in which people haven’t tagged things correctly, tagged things at all, or literally used the tags in an attempt TO trigger people they just don’t like. 
And meanwhile, allllllll of this keeps happening while the general narrative is I’m this loud asshole guy with zero concern about anything but his own personal likes or dislikes and who makes fandom a negative place that’s unwelcoming in general. And with basically zero mention of all the ways in which I’ve contributed to this fandom, the amount of content I’ve made that has DIRECTLY inspired people, and the productive conversations I’ve started which have resulted in people actually changing the way they approach various characters or dynamics in fics.
Its THAT part that bugs me, specifically.
Look, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again now.....I’m not anyone’s victim. Negative fandom interactions are negative fandom interactions. All this complaining I’m doing here - lol, that’s all it is. I’m venting. I’m pissed off and I think its relevant to a greater fandom dynamic or tendencies a lot of people unknowingly or consciously reinforce, and so I’m just fucking SAYING it because while its not something I EXPECT this post will do much to change, if at all, I would still like it to change so any effort towards that end is still better than no effort at all...hence, my posting this rather than bottling it up so at least people have it to consider. 
If you don’t agree with it, if you don’t like that it exists at all, if it ruins your day to have to consider whether or not you or people you know or even like are active participants in what someone else is describing as y’know....fairly day-ruining in its own way? Hit that unfollow, that block, that make new text post button of your own and have your own rant about what a douchebag I am.
Literally all I’m trying to express is like.....fa*ndom’s got a lot to say about the stuff I have to say about fandom, but like....this is a two way interaction. A lot of people make a big deal about MY impact (again, JUST the negative though, lol) but I don’t ever see anyone ever addressing anyone else about hey maybe you could spare a thought or two about YOUR impact for a change as well.
I mean, what if....just maybe...what if.....a lot of my behavior or attitude has a lot to do with how people approach or talk about me BEFORE that display of attitude or certain behavior? Weirdly....I feel like maybe something that could then have a transformative effect on the kind of behavior or attitude people dislike from me....is.....them acknowledging or addressing things they might have done to prompt certain responses from me?
I don’t actually like being whiny or negative or down in general, just to be clear? If I see something I have a problem with or think could use change or improvement, I say so - but I pretty much always put an effort into expressing both WHY and HOW I think possible change could look - because I’m not generally interested in being negative for the sake of just being negative. I just....want things to be better. That’s not an obsession with purity or perfection, btw, I will NEVER understand how people think that survivors of rape and abuse (which include a lot more â€˜antis’ than anyone else seems to want to acknowledge) and the like EVER expects perfection or thinks that the world will ever produce that - lol no I’m actually pretty clear that things being perfect is pointless, I’m just interested in BETTER.
But I mean, I like being goofy and silly and also analytical and contemplative and also creative and spontaneous. I like lots of things. I like lots of moods. I like producing, creating, generating, interacting, engaging, I like a million things more than I like THIS kind of mood, THIS kind of post.
But I’m just not someone who is content to sit and stew in that sort of thing when I know full well that the problem does not actually stem from something broken or flawed inside of me, because I’m also someone who does believe very strongly in periodic bouts of self-reflection and honest self-assessment.....so that I can change things about myself when and where I feel necessary. But this also has the effect of me also being VERY aware of when the problem is not internal, but actually just me having a perfectly valid reaction or emotional response to outside stimulus. Aka fandom’s interaction with me, every bit as much as my interaction with fandom.
So....posts like this. I’ll do my usual rituals, get myself back onto my preferred trains of thought soon enough on my own, because ultimately that is all I can control and just because I make posts like this doesn’t mean I ever EXPECT any specific result - or a result at all - to come from it. 
But, y’know, sue me for being hopeful.
I know. What an ass am I?
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quarantined-with-bucky ¡ 4 years ago
Text
American Boy
Bucky x Reader
Request: So basically buckyxreader where she is a super successful businesswomen and awfully confident but when she’s with bucky she feels insecure as many women want him and she’s insecure of nat. Based on “American Boy” by little mix where bucky is her american boy and the other girl in the song is nat. So like angst with a happy ending (maybe smut if you’re comfortable idk idk).
Words: ~ 9,700
Summary: Dating Bucky can be challenging sometimes -- all the time.
Warnings: Smut, angst
A/N: Sorry this took me so long :( I recently started work so its been hard to write -- but I’m really happy with how this one turned out!! Thank you so much for the request!
And I met him back when I was out in California He was playing in a band and she was dancing on a stage And he says that I'm the one but she's the one that got away And he never knew her real name
Nothing about tonight sounded mildly comfortable. It was going to be six hours in a too cold banquette hall, standing all night in too tall heels, a too tight dress, with your hair scraped back into a too painful bun. From the moment you stepped inside, the flesh on your arms and décolleté erupting into goosebumps – nothing a little alcohol can’t fix, you thought to yourself, snagging a glass of champagne off of the tray from the first waiter you saw.
“Y/N,” Tony called, opening his arms to greet you. His suit was perfectly pressed, a three-piece suit that cost more than twice your monthly rent. You walked up to him, giving him a side hug, checking yourself out in the reflection of his iconic red glasses. “See, I knew you’d come.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, remembering how for the past week you’d declined his numerous invitations to his party. “I hope you know that I’m charging you overtime for this.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” He ushers you away while he continues mingling with his other guests.
Never in a million years had you thought you’d be an A-list guest at one of Tony Stark’s infamous parties. But, as fate would have it, you and Tony had been working together quite a bit in the recent years. What began as a little start-up from your college dorm room, quickly grew into a multinational billion-dollar company. Stark industries contracted your company out to spearhead multiple new projects – including the development of high-tech equipment for the Avengers. You had many ventures, sectors growing from technological advancement, to biometrics, to teams specializing in law, advertising, and operations.
The past few years had been a whirlwind for you. Moving to New York, managing your ever-growing company – up until now your life had been all work and no play. Once you met Tony, you knew that your world would flip upside down. You’d been in Forbes 30-Under-30 list for three years straight. Your life had grown into nothing but interviews, business deals, and fame – and you loved it. You felt like you were on top of the world at this moment in your life; nothing was going to stop your forward momentum from climbing up the ladder.
“Hey,” a smooth voice pulled you out of your fog, a figure popping up next to you.
“Hey, Steve,” you responded, smiling up at the blond man.
“You having a good night?” You’d met Steve a handful of times before through Tony, working with him a few times in the past. You don’t know if you could outright call him your close friend, but Steve was always so kind.
You could should be using tonight as a networking opportunity, but after an extremely stressful week at work, all you wanted to do was crawl into a bubble bath and relax. You couldn’t do that, so you thought you’d at least try to let loose and take it easy tonight, hoping to catch up with friends and enjoy some time partying. “I guess,” you shrugged, taking another sip of champagne.
“That makes two of us,” he replied, taking an equally long sip of his drink. “It’s hard to lay low at Tony’s parties, y’know?”
“Its hard to lay low when you’re Captain America,” you joked, nudging his arm with your elbow. He rolled his eyes again, running a hand through his short blond hair.
Your eyes scanned over the crowd, trying to find something worthwhile to talk to Steve about: maybe about the couples dancing in the center of the room, the large crowd gathered at the bar, the performers that laced their way through the influx of people. Your gaze fell upon a smaller group of people gathered around a table, laughing, telling stories and interrupting each other with more tall tales. You only recognized a couple people in the group; Sam Wilson: tall, well-built, perhaps a little tipsy, chirping away with his witty comments; Natasha Romanoff: a goddess, quiet, watching, observing, black dress so tight on her beautiful figure it looked like it was painted on; Bucky Barnes: the epitome of tall dark and handsome, at the forefront of the conversation, laughing and cussing telling his sensational war story, dark tendrils of hair hanging loosely in front of his face, obstructing the view of his blue eyes.
“Have you met Bucky?” Steve asked, interrupting your thoughts. You shook your head ‘no,’ unable to tear your eyes away from him. His black suit was complemented quite nicely with a fitted black shirt, the top buttons undone, his tanned muscle peaking out. He ran his metallic hand through his long hair – you finally were able to see his eyes, the only color on him, so bright compared to their dark surroundings. And they were looking at you.
Tearing your eyes away from him, you turned your head up to Steve. He was watching Bucky, watching him looking at you; Steve’s head turned between the two of you, almost unable to stop the smile from pulling at his lips. Steve pulled you into the group, making space for you to stand between him and Bucky. As introductions were passed around the group, you felt eyes on you. This time, the set of green eyes.
Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Natasha give you the up and down a few times. Your first reaction was that it wasn’t in a bad or necessarily judgmental way; she was interested in who the outsider was. She was protective, it was instinctual; she would observe said outsider, finding all of her flaws, quirks, secrets, until she was certain she wasn’t a threat. When you were introduced to her, she politely flashed you a smile with her infamous painted red lips and shook your hand.
“(Y/N), this is Bucky,” Steve finished, watching eagerly as the two of you shook hands and exchanged smiles.
“(Y/N),” Bucky whispered, your name tasting sweet on his lips; he tipped his head ever so slightly towards you in greeting.
“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”
Everybody took the hint – that hint being Steve wiggling his eyebrows at everyone – and the group dispersed. You waved goodbye to the like, politely offering goodbyes to everyone. In your peripheral vison, you watched as the red head gave you one final up-and-down, crossing her arms over her busty chest, flitting her eyes to Bucky’s before she strutted off.
…
You hit it off with Bucky instantly, spending the night discussing everything from your future prospects to your relationship status to your past (specifically, your past). He was completely enamored by you. He was obsessed with the fact that people looked up to you; you demanded respect – so much so, in fact, that your success intimidated them; you were unapproachable to those who didn’t have their shit together. After that night, he knew he had to see you again.
And you could not feel more the same way.
It started fairly privately. Despite your constant media attention – being the CEO of a Fortune 500 company had that effect – being Tony Stark’s business partner escalated that. Usually on your commute to and from work, whether that be your corporate office or the Avenger’s tower, there would be a few paparazzi and a couple reporters following you around. They wanted information on you, your ventures, but most importantly: Tony Stark. When you were contracted to work with Stark Industries, you knew this was a possibility – in fact, it was the number one con on your pros & cons list. While you did think it was a decent opportunity for exposure, it surely came back to bite you in the ass.
You didn’t anticipate meeting Bucky Barnes – you surely didn’t anticipate dating him, either. You couldn’t be happier with Bucky; you wouldn’t let the incessant paparazzi and media attention get to you. Surely, you’d figured that dating an actual Avenger would draw some attention to yourself. However, you couldn’t have predicted the magnitude it would have on your daily life. The amount cameramen and reporters that followed you on a daily basis more than doubled.
Now, you’d never considered yourself shy, especially not camera shy – hell, all you were doing was walking from your car to and from different buildings – you could surely handle getting your picture taken. You had to admit, you were put together (and damn hot). You wore tailored suits, the tall heels; your hair and makeup were done perfectly every day.          
It’s not like you hadn’t been on the cover of magazines before; but they were articles, studies, biographies. You posed for the cover of Forbes and Wall Street Journal and Harvard Business Review. Gracing the cover of tabloid magazines, however, was new territory for you. They talked about your style, your makeup, you clothes, your hair – nothing was too surface level for them to delve into. At first, that’s all it was. Noting and pricing your style, People magazine printing a “Who is She?” issue.
Then the comparisons started.
It was a side-by-side of you and Natasha – Black Widow. How could you compete with her?
You were sitting in bed one morning, up early before dawn, checking your phone before you started your morning routine. It was supposed to be like any other Thursday: work, meetings, executive board reviews: productive. But after reading that article, your heart deflated; today would only truly be over once you get to crawl back into your bed at the end of the day and sulk under the covers.
You slowly let out a long breath as you scrolled quickly through the article. “(Y/N) Becomes Black Widow’s Replacement: Is She Good Enough or Will She Get Tangled in the Web?” leave it to Daily Mail to start off with a shitty pun to ruin your mood.
The first picture was a full body shot of you laid next to a similar image of Natasha. She was shorter, sure – but curvier. She had more muscle, obviously – and those legs. Even you wanted to be strangled to death by her thighs. (And you felt like dying at that moment, that’s for sure). Maybe she just wore tighter clothes? You did, in fact, wear well-tailored clothes – you were actually very fashion forward for the business world, taking Fall 2020 by storm. She just got the chance to wear tighter clothes more often.
The second photo was an extremely flattering behind shot. The photographer might as well have taken the camera and pointed it right up your skirt. You’d heard the tabloids comparing the asses of other famous women, surely even the English Royalty had headlines circulating about it. You actually thought you had a good ass – you do – but hers was better. Black fucking Widow and you were supposed to somehow compete?
The last shot was a close up of your faces. You had to admit, they probably could’ve picked a worse picture of you. You weren’t smiling, you weren’t frowning – it was neutral. Your brows maybe slightly narrowed. Natasha, on the other hand, was glaring at the paparazzi. They gave her space, as if they took one step too close, she would murder them (and although she was actually extremely kind to you, they were probably right in that case). Her glare exuded confidence, intimidation. That was the difference between your auras: while your success may have been intimidating to others, it was her essential being that was intimidating – she could kill you just by looking at you.
While some people may not appreciate that fact, the pure daunting atmosphere that surrounded her, there was one person that did: James Buchanan Barnes.
He, himself, had the same ambiance, after all: that is being the don’t fuck with me stare.
Oh, and I don't mean to get so caught up And insecure 'bout all the things you say Oh, and I don't mean to be jealous, it's just careless me Boy, I must drive you mad
“Hey, Bucky,” you greeted, swinging open your front door, pressing a chaste kiss to the lips of the man before you.
He hummed against your lips, caught off guard as you pulled away sooner than expected. “Hey, baby,” he responded, shrugging it off stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “It smells great,” he noted regarding the pasta sauce simmering on the stove. He dipped a metallic pinky finger in the sauce, cheekily smiling at you as he licked his makeshift tasting-spoon. “Tastes great – no surprise.”
You couldn’t help but return his smile, trying to shake off the bad day you’d had, instead turning all focus to your giggle boyfriend before you. He takes two steps forward, engulfing you in his strong arms, rubbing his flesh hand up and down your back in a soothing motion. You rested your cheek against his chest, taking a deep breath in; his earthy scent calmed you down, the heat radiating off of him offering you to a level of relaxation you didn’t know was possible. “Did you have a bad day, baby?” He cooed quietly, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear.
“Yeah,” you breathed, nodding into his chest. “Bad. And busy. And annoying.”
“Annoying?” He repeated, testing the word on his tongue, but not questioning further. “Come on, why don’t we eat because I’m hungry – and I know you’re hungry – and get you to relax.” You smile up at him, giving him a proper kiss this time, unsure if he was just saying that to get dinner going, or if his supersoldier senses could actually tell that you were hungry (because you were).
Dinner went smoothly. It was quiet, moreso than usual. But it was nice. It was calm: a good change of pace from both of your busy schedules. It was tranquil: spending the evening exchanging loving glances and touches across the table, playing footstie under the table, Bucky quite literally licking pasta sauce off your cheek.
As he finished up his third serving (to which you just sip your wine while he gets his fill), you can’t help but break the silence and light conversation with a loaded question: “What’s with you and Natasha?”
You didn’t mean for the question to come out so abrupt or harsh, but it had been eating at your mind all day. You’d found yourself looking at that article during every five-minute break you got. Comparing hair, clothes, smiles, eyes, teeth – everything.
“What’s with us?” He repeated, eyebrows cocked in misunderstanding, palms raised in confusion. He didn’t understand the question.
You sighed heavily, dropping your eyes to the near empty wine glass before you. “I don’t know,” you grumbled, running your hands over your forehead, dropping them behind your head, pulling your hair a bit. “I’ve been seeing these articles about her – about her and me,” you clarified, trailing off, hoping he’d understand the picture. As he remained silent, you sat back against your chair, slouching. “Did you guys date or something?” You immediately bit the inside of your cheek. The question burned coming off your tongue.
His chuckle almost startled you out of your fog; your stomach dropped as you felt knots pull at all your insides. “Babe.” He reaches across the table with open palms, waiting for you to place your hands in his. You hesitated, but eventually complied, his soft smile and kind eyes giving you no other choice. “No. We never had – or did – anything. Never. I promise.”
Okay, well that made you feel better. You let out a breathy sigh (this time of relief) as you gave his hands a gentle squeeze. “Okay,” you repeated. “Okay.” It made you feel a little better, sure, but then why?
He raised his eyebrows once again. “You don’t believe me?”
“No – no, no, no – ” you replied quickly, reaching farther across the table, fingertips grazing his forearms. “I’m just confused. I keep seeing articles comparing me and her,” you stated very slowly, unsure of the right words, unsure of what his innate reaction would be.
“We have a… past,” he responded, slowly; it was calculated.
But in that moment, he knew he miscalculated. “A past?”
No, not like that, he thought. But like what, exactly? How was he supposed to explain it? God, his own life was complicated enough to explain – he hadn’t dared to divulge that deep, in fear of ruining your newly blossoming relationship. He owed you some sort of explanation, though, right? But he was at a loss for words at the worst time possible. “It just goes back to… a long time ago… with… well… ” With no words left to complete his fragment of a sentence, he raised his left hand and wiggled his metallic fingers.
Your lips formed an “oh” shape as you said the same word mentally. Oh, no shit, more like. The Russian spy and the Winter Soldier had intertwined pasts. You felt like an idiot – like the answer was laying right there before you, your eyes glazing right over it. “Bucky, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry but – ”
He cut you off immediately, taking one of your hands into both of his. He looked you straight in the eyes, his own blue irises staring deep into yours. “Don’t apologize, please.” He swallowed hard. “I don’t want that part of my life taking over my life now. You’re not prying – I need to be open with you about it.” You nodded slowly. “I want you to be apart of my life, (Y/N),” he clarified, nearly smiling at you missing the implication of his previous sentence.
You grinned, a goofy wine-infused smile. You leaned across the table, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.
That night, he began telling you about his past; nothing he wasn’t comfortable with discussing was mentioned. You didn’t push him, didn’t ask questions, didn’t offer opinion or advice. The only thing you offered was solace, comfort, and hot tea. You held him in bed, ran your fingers through his hair, rubbed small circles on his muscled back.
He told you about how he trained her, how their connected past drew scrutiny to them in the media. How their ties to Russia, Hydra, and a few not-so politically correct incidents in the past tied them closer together both in eyes of the tabloids and, subsequently, to each other.
You had no questions, no comments. There was nothing for you to say. You weren’t questioning the validity of his past and you didn’t question the fact that he and Natasha were just friends. You were confident in Bucky, confident that he was telling the truth – confident in your relationship.
The two of you fell asleep that night wiping tears off each other’s cheeks; but neither of you had felt more safe – more in love – than at that moment in your lives.
…
“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing down at you – at your figure.
You were turned away from him, trying to busy yourself, acting as though bringing it up again was casual, like it was just a normal question on par with how was your day? It, in fact, was extremely loaded; there couldn’t be more of a loaded question, in Bucky’s opinion (in your own opinion, too). But, dammit, you needed validation – wasn’t that okay?
It was okay.
It was always okay. Bucky understood that. Even he, himself, needed validation in a similar way. However, there were two distinct differences about what he needed vs. what you needed.
1. He never needed validation against someone else.
Bucky was insecure – the fact of the matter was every single person in the world had insecurities, from the brightest minds to the most beautiful models; there isn’t a single person who isn’t immune to outside pressure, societal expectations, internal comparisons. Sometimes Bucky would be insecure of his arm, oftentimes he’d be insecure about his past. He’d wonder about his hair, he’d read articles about himself, comments people posted online. Bucky had a certain confidence about himself, sure. He was intimidating (that was both a good and a bad thing).
But you. You were intimidating, too – you were, in Bucky’s eyes – the baddest bitch; you controlled the business world, dominate magazine headlines, demanded the attention of every man in the room. He loved it. He loved the fact that you were all that and more, and that he got to come home to you. He got to hold you in his arms at night. He got to make love to you.
That’s why he didn’t understand your – what he determined to be – obsession with her. All the time asking him about her. Were you as good as her? Were you better than her? He understood, at first. Natasha was very intimidating – to anyone, even her own team. He didn’t mind showing you extra attention, sprinkling you with more compliments, lovingly laying his hands on the places you didn’t like about yourself. He loved you; he loved complimenting you. Nothing he ever said was a lie, so he had no problem saying them.
But as time went on, you kept asking. About. Her.
2. He believed you when you validated him.
Not only were you asking about Natasha, constantly comparing yourself to her – your body, your brains, your face, even your hair. Again, he had no problem telling you how beautiful you were; it was a service to you that he would trade anything in the world for. He loved to say that to you; complimenting your intelligence, looks, attitude – all of it.
Maybe he wasn’t complimenting you enough anymore? Even so, you had to know the way he felt about you? He tried really hard to validate it as his own fault. Like it was something he had done to cause you to suddenly be so insecure. But all it took was one walk down the bustling street-stands on the New York City’s streets for him to realize. You, after all, had graced the cover of every magazine as of lately. You and Natasha.
He wasn’t so hard on you or himself after that little piece clicked in his head.
But at the end of the day, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering if you never believed him. Did you trust him? Did you love him? Those questions ran through his head at night – as much as he hated it, he couldn’t stop it.
“It’s not how many times, Bucky! It’s – it’s – ” You tripped over your own words.
“What is it, then, (Y/N)? Because I sure as hell can’t figure it out.” In fact, you didn’t know what it was. You couldn’t pinpoint it. You couldn’t put the words together.
You turned around, crossing your arms across your chest, mirroring him. You just stared back it him, biting your lip. There wasn’t anything you could say; just offered him a shrug.
“(Y/N), come on,” he began. “You can’t seriously believe the shit they say.” He was referring to the incessant media coverage. The eyes on you – 24/7 cameras. It eats away at you; it was all you could think about. “You’re too smart for them. What’s this all about, then?”
If there was anyone who could see right through you, it was him. But if there was one thing he needed to know about you, it was that you had too much pride to admit any sort of insecurity to anyone – even your boyfriend of now eight months.
It was in that moment that you wondered if he took a short tone with her the way he had been with you lately. Did she have to ask him such endless questions? Definitely not. She had nothing to worry about. She didn’t care.
That was the difference between the two of you.
You couldn’t do anything but care.
Singing, singing, singing Ooh la la, he breaks my heart I know he thinks about her when he plays guitar And ooh la la, my American boy
You and Bucky sat on the couch, the movie playing in front you now long forgotten. The past few weeks have been stressful for the both of you. You were both dealing with a lot at work; you with new projects and development issues, Bucky with compiling intel that seemly led nowhere. Last night, you’d attended another one of Tony’s parties with Bucky. You thought it was going to be a fun night, seeing all your old friends, catching up with everyone you hadn’t seen in so long. What was supposed to be a casual night of fun drinking and dancing, turned sour very quickly.
It was nice in the beginning, catching up with Sam and Steve; that is, until you caught a glimpse of Bucky from the corner of your eye. He was just meant to get a refill of drinks. All he had to do was weave through the crowd, make it to the bar, and return with the drinks. You felt that it shouldn’t have taken him that long. Maybe you should’ve offered to get them instead.
There he stood, leaning against the bar, a handful of cold drinks sitting in front of him on the tabletop. You watched as he ignored the cups the bartender placed down in front of him a few minutes ago; watched as a drop of precipitation slid down the side of the cold glass, pooling with all the others at the granite bar top.
Beside him, a tall blonde mimicked his movements, leaning against the counter. She spoke to him in a hushed tone, gazing up at him under her long eyelashes. Her perfectly manicured hands grazed up and down his arm, undoubtedly innocently asking about the strong metal underneath his shirt sleeve. You rolled your eyes, nearly scoffing at her fairly blatant attempt at flirting.
You wouldn’t be so pissed off, usually. She was beautiful, sure, but you were confident in your relationship with Bucky. You knew how he felt about you and he knew how strong your feelings were for him. There was no doubt on either end – so why shouldn’t he be able to have a conversation with some woman at a party? He had just grown comfortable enough to talk about his metal arm, finally accepting the gift that the great King T’Challa had gifted him.
So why did this interaction piss you off so much?
Because you knew that if a man had come up to you to chat so innocently with you, he’d be on him in less than one second. And if a man had come up to you to chat while also running his hand up your arm or down your back, Bucky would ensure that man would be leaving this party with nothing but then broken fingers.
But your pride took the best of you, as usual. You rolled your eyes to yourself, carrying on your conversation with Sam and Steve, trying your best not to look over Sam’s shoulder too much, staring past him and at Bucky. You held your empty cup in your hand, almost now more pissed that your new drink was sitting lonely at the bar, when you needed alcohol more than ever in this moment.
All you wanted was to go up there, rip her hand off your boyfriend, and get your damn drink. Instead, you held your tongue all night. When Bucky returned with your drink, you thanked him and took it, gulping it down fairly quickly. When his hand rested on your waist, you simply gave yourself a twist, shrugging his hand off of you. You felt him give you a questioning look, but you simply pretended not to notice, instead keeping your eyes locked on Sam’s as he told his story about what ever he was talking about (you weren’t really paying attention); just smiling and nodding and looking as engaged as possible.
When you and Bucky got home that night, you quickly showered and crawled into bed. Bucky had been trying to talk to you on the car ride home, all night while you got ready for bed. Finally giving you your peace to shower, he decided to try again once he slipped into bed beside him. “What’s going on, (Y/N),” he whispered, turning towards you; but he was met with the sight of your back turned to him.
“Nothing,” you replied, face smooshed int the pillow. “’M just tired.”
His hand found your side, rubbing over your hip bone slightly, as he moved closer to you in bed. His chest pressed up against your back, his breath tickling the back of your neck. “Is that all, baby?” He kept pressing. “Let me make you feel better,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your neck, burying his face in your shoulder.
“No, Buck, stop.” You shrugged him off and lifted your shoulders in protest, pushing his head away. “I’m not in the mood – I just want to go to sleep.”
“Sorry, (Y/N),” he whispered, settling back down in the bed.
You tried to fall asleep that night, you really were tired – exhausted, in fact. But you just couldn’t calm your racing mind enough to fall asleep. You knew Bucky knew it, too. You suspected that he didn’t get much sleep either.
When you finally did get a few hours of rest, you woke up to a note left by Bucky.
Went for an early workout with Steve. Feel better, I’ll call you later.
You gave yourself a whole self-care day. Bath, face mask, manicure – the whole nine yards. You willed yourself to think of anything except Bucky and that girl – Bucky and any girl.
Every girl in the world had eyes for Bucky – why wouldn’t they? He’s absolutely gorgeous: tall, handsome, he’s got the mysterious vibe going on – basically every woman’s walking wet dream. You always gave him the benefit of the doubt when it came to women flirting with him. He was from a different time; he was just being polite. That’s what you told yourself, at least. The more Steve told you stories about him being a charmer – how he always “wooed” women back in the day – the more unsettled you became. Maybe he missed being a flirt, afterall, as he recovered, he slipped back into his old ways, whether that be an old Brooklyn accent, or his charming smile.
But how many times could you just brush it off? Blatantly flirting in front of you – sure it may have been an innocent conversation or an innocent arm touch (you know that’s how he would sell it to you) but hell, he lived in a different time now. So, he just had to get used to the fact that he had to stop letting these girls flirt with him. Was it really so hard to tell them he had a girlfriend?
Unless he thought about it and didn’t want to. He was so touch starved for the past seventy-plus years that who knows? Maybe he did enjoy all the attention – especially all the female attention. Considering the fact he was such a ladies man, maybe this is exactly what he wanted to feel like himself again, winning over all the women. And, god, all the tall women with their perfect faces and gorgeous chests, showing off more skin than they covered. They had the confidence of models, the ferociousness of catwoman – not to mention Black Widow; she was her own breed of gold-like-women.
He didn’t call you until the next day.
That’s how you ended up on your sofa, innocently watching a movie, two boxes of pizza abandoned on your coffee table. Neither of you brought up the night of Tony’s party; instead, you two sought solace in each other’s arms on the plush couch between piles of pillows.
You two ended up making out, his hands wrapping around your waist and up your back, yours winding their way through locks of his long hair. He leaned over you, your back meeting the sofa top and his chest pressing to yours. His pelvis touched yours, grinding lazily against yours. A mess of legs entangled with each other at the opposite end of the couch. His hand slid down your side, squeezing between your bodies to unbutton your jeans, his fingers slipping underneath your panties.
He groaned once his finger slipped between your slit, moaning at the wetness he found there. He pulled his hands up and shimmied your pants off, his own jeans following suit. He didn’t bother even taking them off all the way, instead latching himself on you with his pants and underwear pooling at his ankles.
His hands grabbed your hips, roughly pushing into you while his lips attached themselves to your neck. You gasped, the sudden entry startling to you. Your arms encased his torso, nails digging into his back as he roughly fucked you into the mattress. You hips met his as you tried to rock against him to meet his thrusts. His hands pinned your hips down, jackhammering you into the couch.
You were panting and moaning and screaming. You couldn’t help the noises that were coming out of your mouth. You and Bucky had tried some pretty not-vanilla stuff in the past, and sure, sex was maybe one of the best ways to get your anger out. But Bucky hadn’t ever been this nonattentive to you before. Or this quiet. Usually you couldn’t get him to shut up – between the dirty talk and the praise, you could never get him to shut up; and he loved it. He knew his whispers and all his egging-you on only flustered you more. That was the sex you loved.
This was different. He didn’t say anything; he just grunting to himself as he pounded into you, hips snapping into yours. God, you were going to be bruised tomorrow just from how hard he was holding you down. He wasn’t attentive, nor perceptive to you. He didn’t kiss you, just barred his teeth through heavy breaths.
This must have been all related to the night at Tony’s party. He was probably angry with you after that night – not talking to him at all. Not to mention you didn’t say anything when he clearly knew something was up with you; you definitely owed him an explanation. You couldn’t blame him or being angry. You weren’t so sure this was his best reaction. He was so dangerously quiet.
That’s when you threw your head back against the pillows, biting your lip and squeezing your eyes shut. Was he just fucking you to fuck you? He came quickly and without warning, spilling into you with nothing but another grunt.
He dropped on top of you, pelvis to pelvis, his cock still inside your warm cunt. He dropped his head to your chest, you shirt still left on from earlier. He shut his eyes and wrapped his arms around him. Your fingers found his hair, stroking his chestnut strands as he fell asleep on top of you.
Maybe he was just tired from waking up early? He probably needed to get his aggressions from the day out – not to mention the frustration from you basically ignoring him all day and night. There was a feeling in the back of your head, though, that this sudden change of pace may have been brought on by something else. His eyes were shut the whole time – hell, maybe he was thinking about that blonde girl from the party.
You said it to yourself as a joke – it was a fleeting thought. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it after that. Was he picturing someone else? He wasn’t turned on by you – you didn’t even get a chance to do anything sexy before he was fucking you with your clothes on. He’d probably rather be sleeping with someone else. Someone who made porn star noises and pulled his hair harder and –
God, you were tired of thinking like this.
So I wanna know who's on your phone Making me paranoid, making me bad Making me sad, making me crazy Making me feel like I needed to ask I wanna know if you're at home And if you're at home, baby, are you alone? Are you alone? Answer your phone Oh, baby, no no no
Things went back to normal after that. You weren’t sure what had gotten into him – and you – that day, but it was nothing but a distant memory. You were dating for about a year and a half. From that point, you two had kept everything very lowkey. Extravagant parties were few and far between, dates became even more private – no distractions, nothing to get between the two of you.
“Baby, I’m home,” you called, throwing your purse and keys on the kitchen table. You were hit with the faint smell of dinner, but as you checked the stovetop and oven, you were met with nothing – just the leftovers already cold in the fridge. You worked late tonight – tonight and every other night for the past three weeks. It was only nine, which wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t have to wake up at five tomorrow to get into the office early. Your team was being met with a deadline soon, there were a lot of extra hours being put in to get the project done. You weren’t one to complain because you were the boss. You weren’t going at this alone, you had everyone else working with you helping out. But it was your job to make sure everything got done, and that included being the first one in and the last one out.
Bucky said it never bothered him. He’d go on missions for days – sometimes weeks – at a time. He encouraged you to work hard, he loved your drive and commitment to your company. He motivated you; he knew you had drive and could get things done. He loved being able to support you, too. When Steve first introduced the idea of dating to him, he wasn’t sure he wanted someone who was only obsessed with him: who got their own recognition just by being his girlfriend. He was lucky enough to be your boyfriend.
You took the Tupper wear from the fridge, popping it in the microwave and waiting for your food. You noticed Bucky on the sofa. Kicking your heels off you made your way to the living room, calling out to him again. He sat up, his face donning a large grin as he waved to you, quickly pointing to the cell phone propped up against his ear. You gave him a shy wave back, turning back to the microwave, soon to be beeping with your meal. You ate dinner alone at the kitchen table, nothing but the sound of Bucky’s roaring laughter bouncing off your ear. By the time you finished, you tossed the bowl into the sink, making your way up to your bedroom.
“Ok, yeah, I’ve gotta go – ” Bucky said into the phone, before interrupting himself with a chuckle, laughing at whatever the person on the other end said. “Yes, I have to go. Yeah, no, I’ll call you tomorrow.”
You shut the door before he could get off the couch and flopped straight into bed, groaning. All you wanted to do was fall right asleep, unbothered. That’s when Bucky came in and plopped himself right down on the bed next to you. “Hey, babe,” he greeted you, giving you a light pat on the ass.
“Hey, Buck,” you replied, tucking your arms up underneath your head, propping your head up on your hands. You offered him a tired smile, gazing into his adoring blue eyes. “Who was that on the phone?”
“It was nobody,” he replied, quickly changing the subject. “How was work?”
Well that was extremely unlike him. You already knew all his friends. If it was one of them, he would’ve just said so. But it clearly wasn’t, especially considering how giggly he was on the phone. You just narrowed your eyes at him, breezing right past it. “Good – tiring,” you corrected. “But this contract closes out next week, so hopefully not that many more long days after that.”
“Good to hear, I know you can get it done, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.
…
The next day, you were met with nearly the same sight. Bucky on the couch, but this time, dinner was covered on the stove. “Thanks for cooking, Buck,” you call to him, taking the lid off the pot and serving yourself a plate. He jumped from the couch and came up behind you, hugging you from behind and kissing your neck.
“Anytime, baby.” He pressed another smooch to your neck before stepping back and grabbing a bottle of wine from the counter. He poured up to glasses, situating himself at one end of the table, waiting for you to join him at the other end. Once you do, your phone rings from your purse. You drop your head back with a groan. “You should probably get that,” Bucky offered, reaching for your purse and holding it out to you.
You give him a quiet “thank you,” and answer the call. Not even before you can answer it, he’s pulling out his own phone and texting away on it. You take your call at the table, a quick last-minute question from a colleague. You tried to focus on what he was saying on the other line, but all you could do was stare at Bucky, smiling down at his phone, furiously typing away.
“No problem, Dave. Thanks for taking a look at it, we can finish up tomorrow morning,” you say into the phone, offering a quick goodbye before hanging up and digging into your food, glaring at Bucky from under your eyelashes. He still sat on his phone, laughing to himself. Once he heard your knife slide against the plate, he locked his phone, shoving it back into his pocket and looking up at you, starting another conversation about your day. You quickly changed the subject to him.
You internally rolled your eyes. All you got was talking about your day and whatever girl on the other end got giggly Bucky? Whenever work got busy, your relationship got boring. It may have been partially your fault: short tempered, tired; you put everything into your work and maybe not enough into Bucky. But your jealousy issues got the better of you. Maybe he was just talking to Sam? Or laughing at memes with Steve – they had a lot to catch up on, afterall. But if so, wouldn’t he just say that instead of saying he was talking to “nobody?”
But your paranoia was actually well placed and almost deserving. Bucky still graced the covers of magazines and newspapers. The attention people gave you quickly died down after the one-year mark on your relationship. You didn’t mind, all it was just a little more peace in your day-to-day life. That same attention never did (and never would) die down for him. He still saved the world; more importantly, he was still hot. Meaning the tabloids would continue to try to stir up trouble with him and every woman he knew. They wanted to play matchmaker, constantly shipping him with the other beautiful women he spent time with – whether that be at work or not. Thinking about all that and Bucky’s charismatic personality was almost too much for you.
…
The third night in a row where you’d come home past nine. The first night without dinner. You were met with an empty apartment, no food, no lights, not a single sign of life. You tossed your bag on the table and immediately called for takeout. As you waited for your Chinese food to arrive, you changed into your pajamas, and called Bucky.
No answer.
All you wanted was to lay on the couch and feast with him. If you were going to stuff your face, you wanted it to be with someone who really knew how to eat. After trying again with no answer, you dropped your phone on the coffee table and began flipping through the channels on TV. Not finding anything good to watch, but also deciding you didn’t have the mental capacity to watch something new, you threw on some Friends reruns. Something you could watch without having to pay attention: just what you were in the mood for.
When the doorbell rang, you jumped, almost forgetting you ordered food. You swung open the door, half expecting to find Bucky on the other side, but you were instead met with the delivery boy. You paid the guy and took the food to the living room, feasting on the couch straight from the little takeaway containers. You didn’t do this often, but damn, it was relaxing.
You picked up your phone: no notifications.
There were a few excuses you made up for him as you stuffed your face with noodles. He could be in the middle of training. You knew him and Steve too well, and knew they always had enough supersoldier energy to fit a workout in anywhere and anytime. That, or he could just be busy. Maybe a work thing came up – he does save the world for a living, afterall. He could just be at the tower. It’s not like he officially lived with you. (It was unofficial, though; he did spend nearly every other night sleeping here with you. And if he didn’t, he would at least give you a reason why he wasn’t). But you’re not his mother or his gatekeeper. There was no reason he absolutely had to tell you where he was and that he wasn’t coming over – that was crazy. But it was just…
Unlike him.
Even if he was at the tower, why wouldn’t he answer?
And as you continued onto your dumplings, you quickly began comfort eating, as your mind traveled to the worst reason you could make up.
Afterall, he never told you who he was laughing on the phone with all this time. He couldn’t even stop himself from laughing at his texts – it was blatantly obvious. There’s no way Reddit could be that funny. You scoffed. It probably was some girl – maybe that blonde from the party. You had no idea of knowing who, but you surely couldn’t stop yourself from speculating.
You called again.
Again.
Again.
You just wanted to hear his voice.
You just wanted to know he was okay.
Okay and alone.
American, my American, American boy You know it's my American boy
It wasn’t every day that you thought about Bucky in such a way. Honestly, you didn’t like to think about the other women that he might be friends (or more) with. It was just your own little fucked up indulgence.
Against your best judgement, Bucky convinced you to go to another one of Tony’s parties. “It’s Steve’s birthday party, (Y/N), you have to go!”
So, you did go. And just like the very first time you met Bucky – at one of these parties – you dragged yourself out of bed and got all dressed up to head to the event. You knew even Steve wouldn’t want such a big celebration, so you’d at least have one person to mope around with.
You held on to Bucky the whole night; your arm gripping his metal bicep as the two of you mingled. Bucky liked having you tucked into his side all night, the warmth of your body pressed up against his arm. “Hey, Stevie,” you greeted him, offering a warm hug. “Happy birthday!”
“Thanks, (Y/N),” he replied, hugging you, then Bucky. “Happy Independence Day,” he added.
Bucky’s hand immediately snaked around your waste, pulling your hip against his.
It wasn’t until he left to use the bathroom that you suddenly felt naked. You almost wanted to wrap your arms around yourself in comfort. You felt stupid – you were in a room full of friends, people you knew, that you liked. Yet, every time you were in this setting, you never felt more insecure.
And apparently it showed.
You were joined by none-other than the reason for your insecurity. “(Y/N),” she greeted you with a curt nod.
“Hey, Natasha,” you responded, taking a long sip of your drink. She watched you under lidded eyes, her red lips pursing slightly. She looked great, of course, her royal blue dress hugging her curves tightly, he heels adding extra height the both of you knew she didn’t need. “What’s up?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Enjoying the night?”
Now it was your turn to shrug. “As much as I can, I guess. I’ve been waiting for the fireworks show. It was the best last year.”
She nodded, this time taking a swig of her own drink. “Tony sure does know how to throw a party.”
“Yeah,” you scoffed. “He’s thrown enough of them.”
The two of you stood in silence for a moment; it wasn’t super comfortable for you, but she sure didn’t seem to notice – or care. “You seem a little on edge.”
She wanted you to out yourself. Surely, she was going to pull it out of you somehow. “Not really my scene,” you noted, swirling the ice around in your glass.
“Look, (Y/N),” she began, obviously confirming your suspicion. “There’s never been anything between me and Bucky. In fact – ” she glanced around the room, eyes stopping on a particular man. “ – I’ve got a few skeletons of my own.” You tried to follow her line of sight, but the crowd was too thick in that direction. “He loves you so stop trying to find things wrong with your relationship. He may have been a charming guy back in the day, but you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.” She winked, a small smile building across her plump red lips.
You didn’t even know what to say in that moment. You gawked at her – at Black Widow hyping you up? Was that her way of doing it? Hell, she could tell you that you intimidated every single person in this room, and you’d take it as the biggest compliment ever. To hear about your power from her? Practically an honor.
“Hey,” Bucky spoke up from behind you as he returned. “What’s goin’ on over here?”
“Just girl talk,” Natasha replied before heading off.
Bucky turned to you, confused. “What’s that about?”
You stared at her as she walked away, swaying her hips and heading for the man she mentioned earlier. “I’m not too sure,” you said slowly, mesmerized by her walk.
Bucky’s hand in yours made you turn up towards him, meeting his blue eyes. “Ready to get out of here?” He whispered lowly.
You bit your lip and nodded, setting your glass down and squeezing his hand in both of yours.
Bucky carried you from the front door to the bed; he placed you down on top of the mattress like you were made of glass. He kissed your lips like he was going off to war, but he tasted like he’d just returned.
His hands ran furiously over your back, eventually resting on the zipper and tugging downwards; your hands ran all over his chest, tugging his shirt open, no regard for the buttons. He started peeling your dress off your body as you leaned back on the bed, working on taking off your bra while he discarded the dress on the floor. He followed suit, discarding his clothes before returning to the bed, covering your body with his warm one. His flesh hand cupped your jaw, the other holding his balance on the bed. Your arms wrapped around his neck one hand holding the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you, deepening the kiss, while the other ran through his tangled hair. You interlocked your legs around his waist, pulling yourself upwards to grind on his hard cock.
He moaned into your mouth, grinding back into you, reveling in just the feeling of your wetness gliding against his cock. His hand left your face to grab your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before he pinned your hips to the mattress with his own, humping against you. You whispered against him, pleading: “Bucky, please,” you whispered against his lips.
His mouth skidded down your cheek and past your jawline to suck a sloppy kiss onto your neck. As his face was buried in your shoulder, making his way down to your breast, his hand found its way between your hips, stroking your soaked lips. You hummed and gripped his hair as his finger split the difference, prodding its way into your soaked entrance. As two other fingers joined in, curling inside of your pussy, he licked your nipple, biting the pebbled nub softly. “You’re so wet, baby. Love how you’re always so wet for me.”
“Only for you, James,” you whispered, blissed out, head falling back against the mattress as his thumb found your clit, rubbing small circles under the hood. You felt a jolt up your body, your pussy instinctively clenching against his fingers.
He let out a deep breath, kissing your breast before planting a wet kiss to your lips, fingers not faltering. “I love you, (Y/N),” he murmured against your lips.
You opened your eyes, meeting his staring down at you, glazed over with lust. “I love you, baby,” you breathed, tilting your head up to kiss him again.
He pulled away from you, fingers stilling, long forgotten in the moment. “No, baby – ” he stopped, staring down at you, pleading with you, please understand. “Only you.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat. Tears burning the back of your eyes. You bit your lip, nodding, not trusting your words as a few tears fell from the sides of your eyes, rolling down your skin to the mattress. He kissed you feverishly, teeth chipping against each other’s, lips and tongues sloppily sliding over each other, sharing air.
He pulled his hand away from your thighs, not moving far to line up his dick to your now soaked and desperate pussy. Your breath hitched as he pushed the tip in; all the air Bucky held in his lungs suddenly escaped him. “Fuck, extra tight for me tonight, huh?” You moaned, trying to rock your hips against his, his bodyweight pinning you down. “Eager, baby,” he groaned from the back of his throat.
“Please, baby,” you begged, fisting the sheets, using all your energy to grind against him. “Please.”
Please.
Please.
He complied, snapping his hips down into yours, his big dick stretching your walls. You yelped out, your opening burning as it welcomed his length. His cock curved upwards, hitting deep inside you as he swiftly moved his hips back and forth, quick rhythm never erring. His hand fell to your lower stomach, as he pressed his hand firmly above your public bone. “Mmm, look, baby, I can feel my dick in you,” he whispered, reveling in the feeling as his dick bottomed out inside of you. He felt the tip through the soft flesh of your belly – boy, you felt it, too. Every time he pounded into you felt your head spin. You saw nothing but black, stars blinding your vision at every thrust.
You nearly snaked your hand down to your clit for your final release, but he pulled your hand away, pinning it to the mattress above your head. He sat up on his knees, grabbing your other hand and joining it with the other, holding them both down to the mattress under the grasp on his metal hand. As he returned to leaning over you, sliding his dick back in your pussy, his flesh hand returned to your clit, rubbing in fast circles. You screamed, thighs coming together, snapping tightly against his hips.
That wouldn’t stop him. You weren’t strong enough to hold him in place; he kept fucking you into the mattress, your body shaking wildly as your legs were tied around him. Your back arched off the bed as your pussy throbbed. “Yeah, baby, squeezing my dick with your tight little pussy, huh?” You screamed out and nodded your head wildly, clenching around his cock as the pressure on your clit built up. “Fuck, you’re so good to me – made for me.”
You pulled against his metal arm, body convulsing underneath him. He watched with anticipation, biting his own lip nearly bloody as he pushed you over the edge of your orgasm. You yelped out, gasping for air as your eyes squeezed tight. Your legs shook around him, fingers clawing at his metal plated hand. Bucky could come along just from watching you tremble mid orgasm. But, god, your tight pussy quiver around him surely helped. He fucked you harder, the last few strokes hard and fast. He came with a groan, spilling his hot seed into your soaked cunt.
He whispered curse words to himself as he fucked his dick soft, mixing your own juices together before falling on top of you, pressing his lips to your neck, littering hickeys all over.
As he felt your post orgasm breathing change, he picked his head up, kissing all the way up your neck and jaw until he could look fully down at you. “Hey, baby, no,” he cooed once he caught sight of your watery eyes. “Why are you crying?” He kissed away the tears running down your cheeks.
You smiled at him, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “’M fine, Buck – I just,” you huffed, rolling your teary eyes at yourself, thinking it all suddenly stupid. “I’m sorry – ”
“’s nothing to be sorry for, baby,” he whispered against the shell of your ear.
Your fingers grazed through his hair again, scratching slightly at his scalp. He knew. He knew what you were talking about. He always did – he always understood everything you did or said. “I love you, James.”
“I love you, (Y/N),” he murmured with one final kiss. “Only you.”
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