#and we have this moment of epiphany that we finally found each other. and we both remember it and it was real

[digitaldiseas3]

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[crumblinggothicarchitecture]

Taylor Swift Can't Write- She is not a serious or important writer. She is blatantly normalizing cheating in her music.

Let’s talk about Taylor Swift’s honest attempt at coherent narrative -  

Just to be clear, the songs in question: Betty (2020), August (2020), and Cardigan (2020). 

In these songs, Swift, of her own insistence, makes a clear attempt at drafting together a coherent storyline. I, however, found her work lacking while considering it against the many thousands of other short stories I have read. It lacks any sincerity in giving the moment in which the characters experience self-reflection, or "Epiphany" moment, and growth.

An Epiphany is defined as a sudden spiritual manifestation- and it is this I would posit as something that Swift clearly lacks in her writing. She lacks the spiritual, or emotional, depth to accurately tell a so-called "coming-of-age" type story in which the main requirement is that the character has an "Epiphany" about the nature of life to signify them growing up.

I will explain:  

A short story- which I am analogizing to the multi-song arch from Swift- is typically meant to have an epiphany moment in which the main character finally calcifies the main point or the moral of the story. Without the impact of this moment within a short narrative- there is no arc, no moral, and therefore no real story.

Afterall, what is a story, but a coherent subsistence of writing aimed at identifying some universality of human existence (eg.) a moral, a point, or the main message? If I want to get philosophical about it (and I always do), narrative is the act of creation through which the particulars become implicit to a universal experience. Thus, it is a necessity of storytelling- to include the thematic message- or moral backbone of the work.  

Swift’s three song arc is intrinsically incoherent, so it becomes difficult to pinpoint exactly what each character is thinking or feeling. I would, however, suggest that through lines like “slept next to her, but / I dreamt of you all summer long” (“Betty” 2020), and lines like “I never needed anything more/ whispers of ‘Are you sure?’ / ‘Never have I ever before’” (“August” 2020). Therein builds an internal tension between the three characters, James seems to be lamenting his choices to sleep with August and ditch Betty for the summer; whereas August is honestly expressing the fact that this is her first time, so it becomes obvious this means a lot to her. First, we see James's apologizing to Betty saying that the other girl, essentially means nothing by saying he was dreaming of Betty all summer even while with August. We also get the other perspective of the other girl losing her virginity to James during the same summer in which he is thinking about Betty every night.

Already, all the characters are set up to be dislikable- which is not always to the detriment of storytelling. However, it is to the detriment of her storytelling that at no point Swift makes use of external POV, or internal POV, to show any form of personal growth or condemnation of the intuitively morally corrupt actions of James here. Thus, there is no real story- according to the theory of “short-story” telling I laid out above.  

It is her lack of condemnation towards cheating- and the immature irreverence James treats August with- that solidifies this arc as being a rather poor attempt at coherent narrative. Simply, Swift is either an inept storyteller- or she is blatantly normalizing cheating while also treating “the other woman” like a placeholder. (Clearly, Anti-Feminist rhetoric, btw). It’s especially bad that this storyline reaches no “moral of the story” since it is so obviously August’s first time. 

The closest we get to any kind of meta-narrative commentary on thematic point, from Swift as the external 3rd person POV, is with this line “A friend to all is a friend to none/ Chase two girls, lose the one/ When you are young, they assume you know nothing” (“Cardigan” 2020). Again, her use of POV is rather amateurish- because she returns to internal 1st person POV with use of the word “you” in the latter half of the line- which leads me to believe she really doesn’t know how to inculcate the different POV’s into her writing. She’s an amateur- and there's is nothing inherently wrong with that, however, if we could all stop lauding her as literary genius when she is so clearly not that would be “awesome.” Thanks.  

She continues the rest of the song back into Betty’s 1st person POV. The poignant nature of this line about "losing one girl" doesn’t land because the rest of the song is about how James is returning to Betty. Swift writes, “I knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired/ and you’d be standing in my front porch light/ And I knew you’d come back to me” (“Cardigan” 2020). Beside the fact that this line is internally incoherent held up against the setting of “Betty” which is broad daylight, so James would not actually be in the porch light if the sunlight suffices, it is also quite obviously the culmination in which Betty is taking James's back. If there is any thematic message here- and I can only loosely believe this is an actual message here- Swift is saying that cheating is Okay as long as the girl, you actually respect and want, is willing to forgive you.  

And I’m supposed to enjoy this arc? People are supposed to be impressed with Swift because she came up with this garbage?  

She clearly has no grasp on Narrative coherence, no grasp of utilizing POV switching to make narrative more emotionally impactful, and no grasp on how to embed a good moral of the story into her work. So, she has none of the markings of actual great writer.  

The effect of all this is a subterfuge of lackluster emotional appeals- and a toxic love triangle that never resolves into personal self-reflection or growth. The story devolves into blameless banality with no personality or literary value whatsoever- just a reiteration of self-centered egoism that enables James to act without thought to the feelings of others. This is what Swift propagates as good storytelling? Is this morally sound story telling?  

Let me further drive my point home by dichotomizing this pitiful attempt at narrative coherence with the work of a literary genius, James Joyce.  

Has anyone here ever read “Araby” (1914) by James Joyce? (Sidenote: If you love when Hozier talks about issues of British colonialism in Ireland- you will most likely enjoy James Joyce as well- if you love critique of both organize religion and its sociohistorical ties to colonialism- you'll love Joyce).  

My critique too- ties into Joyce, where he showcases the blissful ignorance, or naivety, of youth in pursuit of love, Swift showcases no such thing. She is often praised for her juvenile writing schema- yet in her most overt attempt at writing a youthful romance she fails to interject the most important aspect of youth- Naivety versus painful realizations. In adulthood, when we all reprise the past, and trace back into our memories, we often speak fondly of the naivety of youth- with a little knowing twinkle in our eyes as young people around us make the same mistakes we did. It’s so beautifully human to reflect like this- and Swift manages to add nothing of this universal human experience into her work, even though it is often said that her only saving grace is the ability to capture “teenage petulance” and the proclivities of youth. In other words, I’m saying she’s not even doing the thing she’s known for well enough. She writes this love story like they’re all a bunch of bitter adults, not kids stepping into thoughts of love for the first time. There’s no simple wonder at love- instead, she writes about cheating and feeling jaded. Ditching people for the summer only to come back to the first girl with an "I'm sorry" and "she meant nothing."  Where is the personal growth in a story like that? In which James gets away with saying "she meant nothing," and August is not shown having any agency or reclamation of self after James essentially uses her. Then, to top it all off, Betty most likely gets back together with James. There is no growth to speak of in any of this- it does not qualify as a "coming of age" story- nor does it particularly qualify as a story at all.

This is like English Creative Writing 101 class- btw. It's strange that Swift does not grasp concepts I've taught to college freshmen before. If the freshmen can handle learning it- surely Swift could also be able to learn and improve the thing she does as a job? Right? No?

 “Araby” is a story of a similar predicate to Swift attempt at narrative. So, I thought it most apt to include here as an example which also employs use of Epiphany in short story telling.  

In quick summation, “Araby” is the story of a young boy who has a rather intense crush on a neighbor girl. He promises this girl that he will go buy her something at the market, and in doing so sets off a sequence of events which leads to his ultimate disillusionment with the ideals of youth and love.

Early on in his character development, we see a boy who has an overly romantic view on life, with lines like “All my senses seemed to desire to veil themselves and, feeling that I was about to slip from them, I pressed the palms of my hands together until they trembled, murmuring: ‘O love! O love!’ many times” (“Araby” Joyce). He is so clearly caught up in the longing for this girl- that he truly forgets reality for a moment. His senses slip from him, and he is fully immersed into the lost revery of his little crush on the neighbor girl. Then, like magic, she speaks to him for the first time the next day. She asks him if he will go to the market, and he responds eagerly- Yes. He promises to buy her something.  

The conflict of the story happens at this point- the young boy meets every obstacle in life preventing him from getting to the market on time. He struggles to find money and then he struggles to find the time in the midst of his other obligations to his family. Joyce is clearly showcasing how our romantic visions of life, of everything going perfectly and romance being easy, can so easily be disrupted by the realities of poverty and the responsibility we all bear for family or others.  

The end of the short story outlines the “moral of the story” in which the young man, now nearly too late for the market and without enough money to actually buy anything, with the last refrain that “Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger” (“Araby” Joyce). Thus, Joyce drives home the "epiphany" moment, or the self-reflective moment of character growth, as it pertains to the fruitless endeavors of youthful vanity in romance. Stating, essentially, that people only dream of overly romantic scenes to bolster their own perception of reality as something that should go perfect for them. Life is not perfect, nor is it ever fair, and nothing happens as fantasy suggests it should- this is the hardest, and often the first, life lesson young people ever face. Anguish and Anger. What a beautiful phrase to remark upon- as this poor young man realizes life is comprised mostly of being “a day late and a buck short.”

This intensity- this moral backbone is what brings the story to life. The way this story enumerates the youthful hope- to the burgeoning adult reality- as something full of anguish -allows readers to bridge empathy towards others as WE all grow up in a difficult world. This is the "Epiphany." This appeal universal human experience, through particular circumstances like that of a young man in early 1900’s Dublin, is what is missing in Swift’s work. She gives us nothing but her own selfish refraction of immoral behavior without any appeal to greater human impulse or discovery.  Her work rings hollow in the face of actually talented writers like Joyce. She lacks the same depth, sophistication, and ability to actually make the story into a narrative arc.

She claims to write about teenage, coming of age-esque, discovery yet lacks any ability to actually showcase, with empathy, the ways in which anguish at their own naïveté presupposes teenage petulance.  

She writes out the most shallow- surface level depiction of some b-plot from a bad fanfiction and wants to pretend that she is a literary genius. Yawn. 

Addendum- I am aware that “Araby” is also a story predicated on ideas of Freedom vs Colonialism. To those of you who know the story well, I hope you don’t mind I choose to focus in on the “coming-of-age" part of the story in order to more clearly connect it to Swift’s work. I am not, however, ignoring the real sociohistorical implications of poverty, colonialist attitudes, and human rights thematic points in the story. I know.  

“Araby” by James Joyce is free at The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dubliners, by James Joyce  

[starsarefire824]

Fic Recs

In honor of things being shitty in the tag right now and everyone in their depression era, I'm offering a few fic recs in these trying times. Hope you discover something new, friends. 🖤

the comforts that make us feel numb by passerine_in_jade.

“No, but really. If I were a girl,” Mike presses on, looking up at Will with red-rimmed eyes through dark lashes. Leaning in. Somehow, fully unaware that this line of questioning has Will's heart climbing up to his throat. “Would you want to kiss me?”

or, Will and Mike get high in the desert.

Well written, almost dreamy quality to it. Author to watch for me! Can't believe I only just discovered their writing.

A Wish For Something More by @waroftheposes

Seven year old Will didn't have a problem with kissing his best friend on a dare. Seventeen year old Will, however, would not do it if someone held his hand over a fire.

Or: Truth or dare at seven and truth or dare at seventeen.

They're silly and sweet and oh so confused. The writing is lovely as well. Great if you're in the mood for fluff.

On the Same Frequency by @oldfashionedmorphine

Ever since his best friend Will Byers was murdered back in 1985, Mike Wheeler wanted nothing more than to leave his hometown of Hawkins, Indiana and never look back—only each and every year he’s forced to make an exception when it comes to the holidays. And when Mike visits for Christmas in 1995, his mom asks him to help clear out some junk in his room and down in the basement before he returns home to Indianapolis. But when he comes across an old trunk containing his Supercom walkie-talkie and ham radio, he discovers something strange that has the potential to change everything…

(or an AU inspired by the movie “Frequency” from 2000)

I'm only just starting this, but Frequency au?? Hell yes.

Fleeting by olliecoddle. @souverian-are-we

Mike liked Will’s art shows, albeit slightly less the higher class they had gotten. Little paintings in the corner of a cafe morphed into white walls and rich spectators poised with champagne and well-mannered criticism. Still, he had been looking forward to it. He wanted to go. But now, walking up to the glass doors, he had to admit he felt jittery.

or, Will's new paintings are a little too personal

This is one of my absolute favorites ever. The writing of course, it's ollie. But the descriptions, the entire buildup of Mike's reaction in the art gallery, the content of the painting? The entire concept is beautiful. And be sure to look up the painting Will's was inspired by. It will tell you everything.

any semblance of touch by anonymous.

“Nothing,” Will says, right into Mike’s ear. “Still feeling good?”

So good. Mike makes sure to not say it aloud this time. “I think,” Mike says slowly, heart pounding, “I need” — Will pulls back just a little, just enough for their noses to bump against each other, clumsy, and Mike bites the bullet — “one more.”

Will is still in Mike’s lap, which is maybe not very platonic of him, and the joint has smoldered its way down to the end, nearly over, all eaten up by the fire. Will swallows thickly, then leans closer, a perfect imitation of their positions from earlier. Mike isn’t sure how long it’s been, but fire has been eating away at him too, this whole time, leaving him on the brink of going up in smoke, slow and burning and so good.“Yeah?” Will murmurs, realization dawning on him, eyes wide. “One more?”

or: Mike’s still new to this whole smoking thing. Will has a few ideas.

Utterly depressing this is anonymous because the writing is phenomenal. So alive and vivid. Not sure where this fic was hiding, but I'm glad I found it. Highlights: Mike’s inner dialogue, the playfulness between them, the lowered inhibitions finally letting them relax into the moment.

nosebleeds from epiphanies (i took full in the face) by wheelersboy @karenchildress.

Hawkins, Montana, June 1988. When Lonnie Byers catches his youngest son in the arms of another boy, he calls in that favor owed to him by rancher Jim Hopper in Lenora: Will must work as an unpaid ranch hand and learn to "man up." Mike Wheeler follows him to the creepy ranch with electrical problems, like any best friend would.

jo's writing is always fantastic. he has such a unique voice and mike's struggle in this just does things for me.

When The Sun Runs Out by olliecoddle @souverian-are-we

On a dreary day in March, 1989 the population of Hawkins, Indiana dropped to four. Will Byers watched as the final family left, the bed of their truck packed to the brim and tied down with a tarp. Furniture stuck out at odd angles, and the corner flap flailed in the breeze as they turned onto the highway. Will followed the vehicle with his eyes until it disappeared as a dot on the long stretch of pavement. Then, he got in his car and went home.

Or, Will is burning out, and Mike is mesmerized by the flame.

This was sexy as hell and all I'm gonna say is tattoos. I really enjoyed this little rougher around the edges, let down by life, closed off Will after being left in Hawkins alone with El, Hopper, and Joyce to wait for the end of the world that never seems to come.

dirty rain by henrycreel

mike wheeler is an average alpha teenage boy working on keeping tight control of his raging hormones in the wake of being seventeen years old, unmated, and a virgin who's never spent his rut with anyone before. when one of his teachers makes an innocent request of him, he finds himself spiraling almost right away. the omega sitting next to him in class is going to be his omega one way or another even if it means employing some traditional and unconventional means to show him who he belongs to.

will byers is an omega with a tendency toward anxiety and outright fear, marked by years of abuse at the hands of his father. high school should be a chance to open a new chapter for himself, but he only truly finds comfort sitting next to mike, an alpha whose presence seems to keep the usual mocking and bullying at bay. but when mike starts to cross the line from friendly classmate into so much more, will has no time to decide if he's ready to move on to a relationship of his own, to finding a mate to settle down with like his big brother already has.

mike is making the decision for both of them.

A solid Omegaverse fic! <3

[hematomes]

Oh it's fine ,I was just really curious about what's up with them ,you don't have to explain if you don't want to :D

I DO WANT TO IM JUST GONNA NEED TO ORGANIZE MY THOUGHTS and struggle with the sources bc i just grabbed bits of lore from other shippers 😭 most of their lore, if im not mistaken, comes from the passerby of wandering cloud relic set. keep in mind im also only referring to the english translation so it could be slightly different in the source material

but basically they were very closely involved with each other in the past. dan heng made matching bracers for both him and blade, as stated in the hand relic:

"A slender yet strong hand once wore the other bracer. That owner, whose sharp spear glinted with a cold light and flourished like shooting stars, once sparred with the unnamed. That owner also once shared company and drinks with the unnamed, the two of them simply gazing at the moon with no words exchanged. However, in the end, it was also this person who stubbornly adhered to their plans with the unnamed, turned the beloved into a monstrosity, and pushed all into an abyss of eternal hatred and remorse."

the owner is dan heng, while the unnamed/beloved is theorized to be blade. im insisting on the theorized part because it could be a third-party; some people mentioned jingliu, who was jing yuan's mentor, but it doesn't exactly correlates as she isn't mentioned anywhere else in the set + i think there's a lightcone mentioning that she went mad after losing her sister? don't take my word for it tho. another interesting thing is that these bracers allowed them to communicate telepathically <3

now the "turned the beloved into a monstrosity" is also important, because it's theorized that dan heng turned blade immortal, which is why he's banned from the entire planet. this comes from blade's intent for revenge/"three must pay the price" cutscene, + the head piece lore of the relic set:

"Epiphany struck him like lightning. The curse of immortality still raged on, and the grudge of past misgivings never died out. HE was now the newborn flower on this once-dead branch."

now there's a moment where blade just wanders aimlessly before he's found by the stellaron hunters, and he's still pretty much out of it and closer to a wild beast than an actual person. however, the body piece says this (as he is with the stellaron hunters):

"In hazy memories of the olden days, he finally made up his mind to gift his bosom friend with his hand-made jade flask, only to realize with a shock that the person he longed for was no longer there."

"bosom friend" is theorized to be dan heng, and blade's intent to give him a hand-made gift to be a response to the aforementioned bracers. it's also interesting to note that "bosom friend" is kind of an outdated term for lovers, or at least someone you have deep feelings for

that's all i can say without diving into leaked information (including story spoilers) but. the way i see it, they're former lovers - and dan heng turned blade immortal against his will, perhaps as a desperate attempt to keep him forever by his side.

a deeper look into the theory/timeline: the vidyadhara race is known to "reincarnate" (like bailu says when we meet her), which is why they're truly immortal in a sense, because their cells rejuvenate completely (as opposed to the foxians for ex) and they actually die. so dan heng could have sealed away his actual dragon self in a way. as it stands, he doesn't remember anything - he just saw blade in a nightmare once, and considering what blade says it's understandable that dan heng is pissing himself.

however i don't believe that blade wants to kill him for good, or that dan heng is actually traumatized/suffering from ptsd. it looks more like guilt, that you can't even explain because you're unable to remember what you did. it's a matter of interpretation for now. i also believe that dan heng will in fact have to "die" to have his dragon unsealed, so.

anyway i really love them. blade isn't out there out of pure hatred but he feels hurt and betrayed (by someone so close to him, too!!!), because he's forced to live and probably so, so tired. dan heng isn't just scared and helpless, but also devoured by a guilt he can't exactly explain. they have such a complicated relationship, and chalking it up as abuser x abused is not only reductive but blatantly wrong. i strongly believe that, once unsealed, dan heng could literally fold blade in half with one hand <3

[babygirl-diaz]

Unspoken Heartache

((Took a break from my TommyBuckEddie fic to write this little angsty thing))

***

Eddie knocked on the door and waited patiently outside for Buck to answer it. When he did, the look on Buck’s face broke Eddie’s heart even more. He looked pissed like he was ready to slam the door right on his face. “What do you want?” 

“Can I come in?” Eddie asked, shifting his weight from one foot to another. 

Buck looked determined not to move but then he let out a breath and stepped aside to let Eddie into his apartment. 

Eddie stopped by the kitchen and looked around like he had never been there, despite being there a thousand times before. 

“What do you want, Eddie? I have things to do,” Buck sounded exasperated. 

Eddie dared to turn around and look at him. “I’m sorry,” he let the words hang in the air. 

Buck’s features visibly softened but then he went stoic again. “For what? Being a homophobe?” 

The accusation hit Eddie in the face like a hard slap. “That’s not- I wasn’t-” He released a shattered breath. “-I wasn’t being a homophobe, Buck.” 

“Oh yeah?” Buck crossed his arms. “Is there another reason you have been acting like an asshole since finding out that Tommy and I are dating?” 

Yes! Eddie wanted to scream. But the truth was that he had just had that certain epiphany and he didn’t know what to make of it. “I was being a jerk because I had something else going on and I took it out on you.” 

“And what would that be?” Buck sounded less than convinced. 

“Marisol and I broke up,” Eddie hung his head dejectedly and looked down at his shoes. 

“Oh.” Buck’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry to hear that. But Eddie, that has nothing to do with Tommy and I.” 

Eddie wanted to tell him it had everything to do with him but refrained again. “I know. That’s why I’m here. I guess, I was just a little jealous. You and Tommy are these two great guys who have found their way to each other and I just- I envy that.” 

Buck finally sighed and stepped closer to Eddie. “That’s how I felt seeing you and Tommy together last week.” 

Eddie put a hand on Buck’s shoulder and took it as a win when Buck didn’t shove it away. “I am here for you, Buck. For both of you,” his voice trembled just a little as he said that and forced out a smile. “I was a jerk but I’ll try to be better. Do better. You’re my best friend and I don’t want to lose you.” 

Buck put a hand on Eddie’s and smiled at him. “You’re not going to lose me. I think you and I are stuck together for life.” 

Eddie’s heart tugged at that and he tried to hold back a sob. “I think we are.” 

“But I want you to know that Tommy and I have something special. He’s this amazing guy who is sweet and gentle-” 

Eddie zoned out on whatever Buck said next but he kept nodding his head. He didn’t want to hear how amazing a guy Tommy was because he knew that already. He also knows how amazing a guy Buck is too and that’s why they deserve each other. They probably even complete each other with the way Buck was smiling and talking about him. 

“Do you wanna stick around? We can have a beer,” Buck suggested, bringing Eddie out of his thoughts. 

“As much as I would love that, I need to get home and relieve Carla of her duties,” Eddie replied. “Raincheck?” 

“Sure,” Buck offered him another smile. 

Without really thinking about it, Eddie pulled Buck in for a hug. He closed his eyes and just took in this moment. He was sure that hugs would become rare now that Buck and Tommy were together, so he wanted to savor the moment. 

Buck let out a soft laugh and hugged him back. “We haven’t hugged like this in years.” 

Eddie pulled away and refused to look at Buck. “I’ll see you around,” He didn’t even stop to hear Buck’s response and left his place like he was rushing out of a burning building, which was ironic. He didn’t know how he even got to his truck but once he was inside, he let out some deep breaths as he held the steering wheel in a tight grip. And then he was driving. His eyes were already fogged up with tears but he didn’t stop. 

Eddie didn’t go home, though, like he told Buck he would. He instead kept driving until he reached the one place where he found some peace. The same place he visited 5 years ago the day Shannon died. He parked and got out of his truck. The sand beneath his sneakers felt like it was pulling him and he wished it would. The sounds of the wave crashing on the shore resembled the turmoil he felt in his own heart. Without caring who saw him, he collapsed on his knees and let out a loud pained sob. And once the floodgates opened, everything inside him twisted in knots and he cried his heart out. He let out loud choked sounds and buried his face in his hands. 

Eddie felt a ghost of a hand on his shoulder and he didn’t need to open his eyes to know who it was. “I love him,” he cried out, leaning back against Shannon’s chest. “I love him and I lost him.” 

Shannon cradled Eddie’s head and whispered, “Shhh… I got you. I got you.” 

“You’re not even real,” he told her, his voice accusatory. 

“But I’m always here for you, nonetheless,” Shannon told him. “Why didn’t you tell him that you loved him?” 

“I couldn’t,” Eddie said in between his sobs. “He’s just so happy with Tommy. I don’t want to ruin that.” 

“You’re going to have to do something,” Shannon told him. “Also, to be fair, I always knew you were into men.” 

Eddie finally looked up at her. Her angelic face came into view and she was smiling like she always was. “How?” 

“Well, I don’t think it matters to you what their gender is. You need to feel a connection here,” she pointed at his heart. “Why do you think it always felt so wrong with Marisol and Ana?” 

“I thought I was just missing you,” Eddie admitted. 

“Nope,” she pursed her lips and shook her head. “It’s because you didn’t feel that connection with them. Not the way you feel it with Buck. Not the way you felt it with me.” 

“I miss you,” Eddie admitted. 

“I know. But I am always here with you,” Shannon shrugged. 

Eddie didn’t realize when he had stopped crying. He looked out at the beach and suddenly something flew out in front of him and his eyebrows furrowed as he picked it up. It was a drawing of two teenage girls with the words “BFFs 4eva!” written on it. 

“Oh thank god! I thought I lost it!” 

Eddie looked up to find a woman, probably in her 30s, standing in front of him. He looked between the drawing in his hand and the woman and realized that it was one of them. “I take it, this belongs to you?” 

“Yeah, I was writing in my journal and the dang thing just flew off!” The woman laughed but then something akin to concern etched across her face. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Eddie replied and realized that he meant it. “Here,” he gave her drawing back. 

“Thank you,” said the woman before walking away. 

“I know what I have to do,” Eddie said looking over his shoulder but there was no one there. But it didn’t matter. Because he knew what he had to do. 

[mads-weasley]

Epiphany Pt. 8: You Are In Love

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

inspo: you are in love: taylor swift

A/N: "dj khalid...anotha one" (@peggyvan)! i also broke this chapter into two because it got so long! this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Summary: (Y/n) and Lewis enjoy their first day in the city of light, taking advantage of every moment they have away from the war.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: none. absolutely none.

MOURMELON-LE-GRAND, FRANCE: DECEMBER 10, 1944

The train’s shrill whistle echoed through the small station as (y/n) and Lewis stepped onto the bustling platform, each carrying their bag. 

“Here,” Nix offered, reaching for her duffle and effortlessly throwing it over his shoulder. 

“Why, thank you,” she replied, a smile playing on her lips. The memory of him helping her on D-Day with her leg bag came to the forefront of her mind, and she snickered under her breath. “You seem to have a knack for helping me with heavy loads.” 

A hint of amusement danced in his eyes as Lew shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, I am a strong man,” he grinned, flexing a bit playfully. “It’s in my job description, you know?”

“Oh shut up,” she exclaimed, giving his shoulder a light, teasing smack. “You’re so full of it!”

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t damage the goods, sweetheart,” he quipped with a mischievous grin. 

Heat spread up (y/n)’s neck at the endearment, and she turned toward the oncoming train to hide her blush. It rolled into the station with a screech, bright sparks flying from the metal tracks, painting an electric scene against the platform’s backdrop.

Amongst the metallic screeches and hissing steam, they boarded the train, finding their way through the narrow corridors in search of an unoccupied seat. As they walked down the aisle, (y/n) couldn’t help but glance at the occupants of the various compartments they passed, catching snippets of conversations in different languages, laughter, and the general hum of excitement that comes with traveling. 

Finally, they found a seat near the window with two empty seats across the aisle. Lew stowed their bags overhead and took a seat by the window, inviting her to sit next to him.

“Here we are,” he said, patting the seat.

She grinned and sat down beside him, the train gently swaying as it began its journey. The landscape outside shifted from the station to the urban sprawl, and soon they were on their way. (Y/n) leaned forward in her seat to look past him and out the window at the changing scenery. 

Taking notice, Nix stood up. “Let’s switch.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, taking her place. “Absolutely.”

As the train hurtled toward Paris, (y/n) sat by the window, captivated by the ever-changing beauty of the French countryside. Fields, quaint villages, and rivers passed like scenes from a dream. The beauty of the landscape was mesmerizing, and she couldn’t help but let out small exclamations of awe.

Lew sat beside her, watching her face light up with the passing scenery. Her eyes were wide with wonder and her lips formed a soft smile. He had seen many beautiful landscapes during his travels when he was younger, and even during the war, but seeing her discover this was something entirely different.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” He asked, nudging her shoulder.

Her gaze shifted to him and she laughed. “I can’t help it. It’s just…breathtaking.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, eyes studying her face. “I know the feeling.”

Lew continued to steal glances at (y/n), marveling at how the dull lighting of the train car seemed to make her eyes shimmer.

“You know what I just thought of?” (Y/n) asked, slapping a hand over her mouth as a giggle escaped her.

Lew raised an eyebrow. ““What?”

“Contraband.”

The couple burst into fits of laughter, disrupting the other nearby passengers, but they didn’t care. They were just two kids having a good time without the worry of stray bullets or mortar rounds coming their way.

Later, as the rhythm of the train lulled them, she snuggled into her seat and ended up dozing off, her head falling to rest gently on his shoulder. Nix couldn’t help but find her peaceful expression and the gentle rise and fall of her breath adorable. He studied her, his eyes trailing down her nose to her slightly parted lips that he wanted to kiss more than anything.

An hour later, the train eased into Gare de Paris-Est, announcing their arrival with a sigh of brakes and a soft hum. Looking down at her, Lew gently shook her. “Hey, (y/n/n), wake up. We’re here.”

She blinked, slowly regaining awareness. “Already?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, helping her sit up straight. “Time flies when you’re napping.”

Stretching her arms, she looked out of the window and her eyes widened in awe as she caught her first glimpse of the famed city. The engine released a loud hiss as it slowed down, and the platform came into view. When the train finally came to a halt, she eagerly stood up.

“We’re here!” She exclaimed, looking at Nix with sparkling eyes.

Lew laughed, grabbing her bag for her. “Ready to see the City of Light?”

“Absolutely!” She replied, stepping off the train.

The platform was a busy scene of hurried travelers chattering in various languages. Even the architecture of the station was a sight to behold, each arch and ornate decoration speaking of Paris’ rich history and culture.

They stepped out of the station, and as the city revealed itself before them, it felt like stepping into a dream. The grand avenues, lined with elegant buildings and trees, seemed to stretch to infinity. (Y/n) stood still, her gaze lifted upward as she took in the life that exuded from each house, shop, and balcony. Christmas trees and decorations also filled the shop windows along the streets.

“Lew…this is amazing,” she breathed, an awestruck smile on her lips.

He smiled, watching her appreciate the city he had grown to love over his many visits. “I know. It’s truly a beauty.”

The street was alive with the vibrant colors of the Parisian cafes, the smell of freshly baked bread from nearby bakeries, and the hum of laughter from people enjoying their day. They strolled through the charming streets, soaking in the lively atmosphere as they made their way to the hotel.

Along the way, they passed a line of dress shops with window displays that were simply breathtaking. In one, (y/n) spotted a beautiful dress and couldn’t help but linger for a moment, her eyes fixed on it. She hadn’t worn a dress in years, and her heart ached to embrace her feminine side again. Lew noticed her interest and made a mental note.

When they arrived at the quaint, elegant hotel, it was nearly three in the afternoon. The hotel had an old-world charm, its outside adorned with blooming flowers and polished windows that reflected the bright sun.

Stepping inside, (y/n) was pleasantly surprised by its interior. The reception had a warm, inviting atmosphere with soft lighting and tasteful colors. There was even a large Christmas tree in the corner, decorated with silver tinsel and popcorn string. 

“Bonsoir,” greeted the friendly receptionist.

“Bonsoir,” Lew replied with a friendly grin. “We have a reservation under the name Nixon.”

The receptionist flipped through a book before him, searching for the name.

“Ah, yes, Captain Nixon,” he nodded. “Welcome to our hotel. Your rooms are ready. Two singles, just across the hall from each other,” he informed them with a thick French accent as he handed each of them a key. “If you’d like one room, we’d be more than-”

“This is perfect, thank you,” Nix said, taking the keys quickly, trying to conceal his rosy cheeks at the man’s comment. Luckily, (y/n) was too engrossed with her surroundings even to notice.

As they headed toward the elevators, (y/n) looked around, impressed by the luxurious decor of the hotel. The walls were adorned with beautiful paintings that were no doubt original. 

‘Dick sure knows how to vacation,’ Lew thought.

“You know,” she mentioned as they waited for the elevator. “This place is even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Lewis nodded in agreement, a pleased expression on his face. “It’s stunning. Sure gives off that classic Paris charm. I’m honestly surprised they didn’t have us staying in some dump.”

(Y/n) began to giggle as the elevator arrived. They stepped inside and ascended to their floor. Once they reached the fourth floor, Lew looked at the posted signs and guided them to their rooms. 

“Here’s your room,” he said, stopping at her door.

“Thanks, Lew,” she smiled, taking the key as he dropped her bag to the floor lightly.

“Anytime. We’ll meet in the lobby in, say, an hour? So,” he checked his watch. “16:15?”

The door unlocked with a click, and she opened it. “Perfect. See you then.”

Nodding, he stepped back, a charming grin on his face.

As (y/n) closed the door and stepped into her room, bringing a hand to her chest to feel her pounding heart. She closed her eyes and leaned against the door with a sigh.

‘That smile will be the death of me,’ she thought.

An hour passed in a blink, and (y/n) freshened up before meeting Lew in the lobby. She checked her reflection in the metal of the elevator door, quickly fixing a stray hair that had fallen out of place. With a ding, the door opened, and she walked into the lobby, her eyes scanning for Lewis’ dark hair in the crowded room.

She stood in the lobby, glancing at her watch nervously: 16:20. Lew was late, and she fidgeted with her dress uniform skirt, trying not to worry. As she waited, a tall man with neatly combed sandy blonde hair approached her with a friendly smile. His icy blue eyes lacked the warmth of the soft browns she was used to.

“Hey there,” he greeted, leaning against a nearby pillar.

“Hi,” she replied with a polite smile, hoping Nix would arrive soon.

“So, you waiting for someone?” He asked, his tone a bit too suggestive.

“Yes,” she replied turning away from him, trying to make it clear she wasn’t interested.

The man persisted, undeterred. “A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t be left waiting alone. How about we grab a drink while you wait?”

She hesitated, searching for a way to decline without being rude. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m expecting a friend any minute now.”

Just as (y/n) was about to subtly excuse herself, the elevator dinged, and Lew stepped out of the elevator. Their gazes met briefly and his eyes narrowed, picking up the discomfort in her expression. 

“Ahh, did you make a friend?” He asked over her shoulder, standing so close she could feel his warmth through her jacket. Lew’s stare was anything but friendly as he extended his hand toward the man. “Captain Lewis Nixon.”

The man’s confidence faltered, sensing the underlying tension. “Jake Bellinger, sir.”

Lew maintained his polite demeanor but made his possessive intent clear. “Thanks for keeping her company, pal.”

Taking (y/n)’s arm gently, he led them toward the exit, leaving Jake Bellinger behind. The man looked on, realizing he had no chance, and decided it was better to retreat than face the fury of an officer. As they stepped outside, Lew breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to have gotten her out of the situation.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he apologized, attempting to lighten the mood. “I ran an errand that took longer than expected.”

“It’s okay,” (y/n) smiled. “Let’s get something to eat! I’m starving, Lew.”

He broke out in chuckles at her enthusiasm. 

“Lead the way, Captain Nixon,” she teased, playfully saluting.

He grinned, offering his arm. “Of course, Corporal.”

The streets buzzed with life as they wandered through the cobblestone paths, taking in the charm of the city. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, and the city lights began to flicker to life.

“I think you’d like this little café my sister loves,” Lew suggested, looking around. “It’s right around here somewhere.”

(Y/n) was already drawn to a cozy café down a street on their left. Its balcony was adorned with string lights, and the dulcet voice of Édith Piaf floated from the open door. Wordlessly, she pulled him toward it. 

“This place is perfect!” (Y/n) gasped, marveling at the ordinary beauty of the small café. 

“Café des Rêves Parisien,” Lew read aloud. 

(Y/n)’s eyes twinkled in the soft lighting. “What does it mean?”

“The Cafe of Parisian Dreams,” he replied, his mind recognizing the café that Blanche never stopped talking about. What were the odds she randomly chose this one? 

Maybe (y/n) was his Parisian dream…there was no maybe about it. She was.

Lew opened the door for her and they were hit with the comforting aroma of coffee and pastries. She found a quaint table by the window that allowed them to observe the lively street. Before she could sit down, he pulled out the chair for her like the proper gentleman he was raised to be.

Picking up the menu on the table, she read one word and laid it back down. “It’s in French,” she snickered. “What are you getting?”

“Coffee, for sure. And probably a chocolate-strawberry pastry. I think you’d like the lemon one they have.”

“Alright. I’ll take your word for it,” she replied. “Wait…you’ve been here before?”

Nix looked around the small restaurant, memories from his teenage years returning to him. “This is Blanche’s café.”

She leaned forward with her eyebrows raised. “No way.”

“Yep,” he smirked, sitting back in his chair. “This is it.”

(Y/n) opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by an older woman with round cheeks arriving at their table. “Bonjour,” she smiled. “Qu'est-ce que tu voudrais?”

As Lew ordered in French, (y/n)’s cheeks heated up. His French was incredibly attractive, and she caught herself staring as he flashed his charming smile at the older woman. The waitress, who seemed to be the heart and soul of the quaint café, grinned at Nixon’s almost perfect French and winked at him before heading to the counter to put in their order. He felt (y/n)’s eyes on him, her presence intoxicating, even without words. The whole atmosphere seemed infused with an unspoken understanding as if Paris itself was urging them on.

“So,” Lewis began, turning his attention back to her. “How are you liking Paris so far?

Her cheeks still held a tinge of red, but she met his gaze with a warm smile. “I love it, and we haven’t even seen much, yet.”

He grinned, feeling a sense of happiness and relief that she was enjoying herself. “I’m glad. And trust me, the pastries here are like pieces of heaven. They’re renowned for them.”

The waitress returned with their order and placed the plates before them. The fresh smell of the pastries made (y/n)’s stomach growl instantly. Lewis’s chocolate strawberry pastry was a chocolate-glazed beauty with a plump, red strawberry sitting atop. Lew picked it up and took a bite.

“This is amazing,” he mumbled with a grin.

(Y/n) laughed, taking a bite of her lemon pastry. “You think that is amazing? Try this!”

She held up the pastry, allowing him to take a bite, and his eyes widened in delight. “That is incredible.”

Between bites and sips of coffee, they continued chatting and time slipped away, lost in the joy of their conversation as laughter and shared stories filled the air. As the evening wore on, he noticed the workers starting to clean up around them and checked his watch. “It’s almost eight,” Lew spoke. “We should head back.”

He reached for his wallet to pay the bill, but the older waitress gently stopped him and spoke rapidly in French, the essence of her words registering clearly.

“It’s on the house,” he translated for (y/n), whose brow furrowed in confusion.

“Why?” She asked, her gaze shifting between him and the waitress.

He turned to the kind woman and replied in her language. “Merci beaucoup. C’est très gentil. Pourquoi?”

The waitress smiled warmly at (y/n) as she replied in French, her words going over the (y/h/c)’s head. 

“Vous me rappelez moi et mon mari quand nous étions jeunes.”

‘You remind me of my husband and I when we were young.’

The waitress winked, leaning closer to him. “Il est rare de trouver quelqu'un qui vous regarde avec autant d'amour qu'elle. Dites-lui ce que vous ressentez.”

‘It's rare to find someone who looks at you with as much love as she does. Tell her how you feel.’

His heart skipped a beat. How did she…? 

Oh, Paris, the city of love, indeed. 

He switched back to English. “She…uh…said it’s because the Americans liberated her city.” 

(Y/n) blinked, absorbing the information, her eyes widening in surprise. “That’s…incredibly generous.”

The waitress waved her off and shooed them gently towards the door, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Heart racing, Lew thanked the woman as they walked out the door into the chilly night. After being in the warm café, the cold air shocked (y/n), and a sharp shiver ran down her spine. She hugged her arms around herself, trying to ward off the chill that clung to her. 

“Here,” Lew murmured, quickly slipping off his dress jacket and gently placing it around her shoulders.

“Better?” He asked, concern etched into his features, his eyes searching hers.

His subtle scent enveloped her, a mixture of cigarettes, whiskey, and earthy notes that she’d grown familiar with during their time together. It was a scent that brought a rush of comfort. (Y/n) nodded, a grateful smile playing on her lips. 

“Thanks,” she whispered, snuggling into the welcoming collar of the jacket. 

Unbeknownst to her, a bit of powdered sugar from her pastry clung to her cheek as a sweet reminder of their time at the café. Lew noticed it and couldn’t help but smile at the adorable sight.

“(Y/n),” he said gently called, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek. “You’ve got a little something here.”

Her eyes widened in surprise as she felt his touch. She blushed and instinctively reached up to her cheek, trying to wipe it away. “Where? Did I get it?”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Let me.”

Lew pulled out a handkerchief and, with the utmost tenderness, wiped the powdered sugar from her cheek. His touch was feather-light, sending a shiver down her spine once again. His eyes never left hers, and in that moment, time seemed to slow down, the world around them fading into the background.

“Got it,” he whispered, his voice a soft caress.

(Y/n) could only nod, her heart racing. There was an intimacy in the simple gesture and she longed for more. 

Breaking from his trance, Lew cleared his throat quietly, and they continued their stroll, the occasional whisper of leaves and distant city sounds creating a soothing backdrop. The atmosphere was charged with a quiet romance.

As they walked arm in arm, a sense of home grew between them. The city lights reflected in their eyes, creating a soft twinkle as they exchanged stories and jokes. Lew found himself captivated by the way her eyes sparkled under the lights, her laughter like music that he never wanted to end. He cherished these simple moments, knowing to not take them for granted.

Time seemed to slow down as they made their way to the hotel, comfortable silence filling the air around them. In the hushed ambiance of the night, as she walked beside Lewis, she could sense it, that unspoken bond, the invisible thread connecting them. It was in the loaded glances they exchanged, in the tender touches that lingered a second longer than they needed to, and in the unspoken words that danced between them.

Although (y/n) knew she loved Lewis, she didn’t truly realize the depth of her feelings toward the man, but in that silent moment, she realized that she was in love, true love. The realization was as beautiful and intricate as the city they wandered through. She was in love, truly and deeply. The realization settled in her heart, filling her with a warmth that surpassed the chilly Parisian night.

As they reached the hotel, their steps slowing, she looked at him and saw the kindness in his eyes, the way he made her laugh, and the way he cared for her. It all added up to something she couldn’t ignore any longer. 

At (y/n)’s door, a sense of both reluctance and excitement filled the air. 

“Thank you for today,” she said, voice soft and sincere.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, a tender smile on his face. “It’s been an amazing day.”

She hesitated, then leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight, Lew.”

“Goodnight,” he whispered, his heart racing as she disappeared into her room.

He couldn’t wait any longer. Tomorrow was the day.

Tag List: @softguarnere @mrsgeorgeluz @flowers-and-fichte @inglourious-imagines @peggyvan @rebeccapearson @hxad-ovxr-hxart @merriell-allesandro-shelton @shakespear-picaso-lovechild @titiglt @stvrkdream @multifandomfanfic @starlordsatellite @blvestxr

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[thewickedbohemian]

Thoughts on a High Potential that snowballed from 0 to 100 really fast and kept reminding me of other favorite shows

on-the-nose needle drop and that felt like me last night

why do I get the feeling her not signing is gonna block her from something

don't take selfies with the badge, then people can fake it

women in bathrooms supporting each other

why's she making the dad sound like the Tracker dad

nicer house than I expected for someone described like that

lost animal can't be good

so is this our infodump or not

not the twist I was expecting

did his breaking protocol correct their protocol whoopsie with the Amber Alert

my mom agrees with Morgan on the grandfather being a suspect

cute moment of class solidarity there

and Morgan passes her sleight-of-hand check

talk about a social worker with a grudge

I think I've seen a SVU or something like this

nvm really pretty social worker just got paid to be a bitch

so that's what Wendell was doing in the office (and same printer found)

and now I'm getting SHMT flashbacks with the judge-bribing

holy shit this escalated quickly and called it on the grandfather

Morgan in a bulletproof vest, truly looking like one of the team

whoa whoa whoa slow down girl

No matter if Mia's guilty or not I kinda think Morgan's half-being-nice half projecting from what she'd do

but one thing Morgan definitely is is running on fumes holy shit that with the neurodivergency (probably ADHD) I'm half-convinced she has is a bad combo

sounds like the victim rubbed off on her

and the lightbulb goes on, almost literally

so Mia's innocent, just a desperate soul and Morgan knows her history

Karadec maybe be a little bit flexible

don't you dare just tell Morgan to stay here and expect to have her listen

DEMAND PROOF OF LIFE!

quite literally follow the money

that looks bad but it's bad and good that the girls aren't there

and Morgan has Jessica Fletcher Epiphany #2

So we and her were wrong about the granddad being a kidnapper, he still deserves to be in jail though, and the real story of whodunnit feels like it's trying to parallel something from Morgan's life

tracking down the baby trackers with a kinda sloppy grid search imho

and so begins a thing we all know where ends if keyn ahora the show lasts that long

and Morgan can finally get some damn sleep

[aihoshiino]

Hi there! I recently found your blog and absolutely love your takes on Ai and OnK in general (I desperately cling on anything Ai related, too much of an Ai simp). I was wondering what do you think on the last line of 15 year lie movie "Sorry, I can't love you", do you think Ai genuinely loved Kamiki or tried to very hard? Because in the end they still broke up but we don't actually know why, I sometimes wonder if Ai would've went back together with Kamiki when she finally learns how to truly love someone (that one question about marriage in the Da Vinci interview made me think about KamiAi a lot). I'm still so torn up between hating Kamiki for killing Ai but also, he just looks so good, I can't blame Ai for falling for him…I'm so sorry for rambling lol

Hello anon!! I'm so sorry you had to wait so long for a response on this lol. But uh, this also means that I have more source text to draw on when answering this question so if you think about it, I'm the chessmaster here???

More seriously, I had chatted about this in a previous post before and my speculation there was that while the two of them did form a genuine bond and may have had serious feelings for each other, Ai simply wasn't in the right emotional space at the time to be able to say a sincere 'I love you' to him. This was neither of their faults - the unfortunate reality was that they were both deeply damaged kids trying to find solace in each other and I think even a perfectly healthy kid without Ai's particular hangups probably has some trouble articulating what the fuck love even is at that age, when you're just starting to experience big, scary adult feelings for the first time, all filtered through hormones and big upheavals in your life.

So I do think Ai did her very best to love Kamiki. It's possible that she did genuinely love him but had similar hangups to the ones that prevented her from expressing her feelings to the twins. It wasn't until literally the last seconds of her life that she was able to recognize her feelings as 'love' after all, so I can really easily see Ai expressing "I can't love you" to Kamiki as an apology and an admission of weakness - she can't give him love because she views herself as a person who cannot sincerely love other people without it being a lie, but she can still care for him, uplift and support him. She can essentially 'perform' love by choice even if it's not something she feels she can give him sincerely. Or at least that's my take on things right now, based on what we know about Ai as a person.

I'm not too sure about how that relationship might have changed or evolved in an Ai Lives AU but it's really fascinating to think about… it's hard to speculate too deeply given how little we know about the circumstances of their breakup and Kamiki's feelings about Ai in the time between that and the murder, but I don't know that Ai would have wanted to return to a relationship with him - she seems pretty firm about not wanting to get back with him when the possibility is floated during their call, but that of course takes place before she has that final moment of epiphany regarding love. So who's to say?

[uptoolateart]

Perfection and Migration really got me thinking about Marinette's behaviour and recalling that I went through something similar, as a teenager.

The thing about a fantasy is that, quite often, we're secretly scared of it coming true, because we don't know what to do with it.

When it's all in our heads, we can control everything. I would get crushes on boys and mentally write scripts for them. But if I actually talked to them...there was no script. They were free to say whatever they wanted, and it might not be what I wanted.

Think of Cat Walker - that was Marinette's ideal, handed to her on a plate, and she didn't like it. Fantasies only really work in our minds.

After watching Derision, I want to add to this.

Back when Ephemeral first aired, there was something about the reveal scene in the alleyway that felt like a euphemism for sharing an intimate moment with someone for the first time. It's the way Adrien said he was happy to wait until she was 'ready'. I know, I know, 'it's a children's show', but I think we all can agree that it's written in a way that conveys more grown-up ideas whilst also being something my six-year-old can watch.

The conversation between Adrien and Marinette at the end of Derision felt similar. Ultimately, she was coming to terms with a repressed memory of abuse - specifically, bullying, but it could have been anything. Upon finally facing that memory, she felt able to commit to moving forward. I was pleased to see her refuse his hand again and say she still wasn't 'ready'...because no one just has an epiphany and magically gets over abuse. As in Ephemeral, Adrien said he would wait for her. 'We have time.'

Marinette seems most afraid of physical touch - unless she's behind a mask, where she can pretend it isn't happening to her. This can be explained by the bullying story they showed us, but it's also a clear sign of trauma suffered from prior abuse.

(As an aside, this is definitely the kind of thing someone at their age could be dealing with...sadly.)

Now let's jump back to what she said about refusing to give her heart to another person unless she truly knows everything about them. In Migration, Luka told Adrien that we all basically wear different hats when we're with different people. It's actually impossible to know everything about a person.

What we're all hoping is that behind the too-good-to-be-true facades of the Adriens in our lives, there's a secret Cat Noir waiting to be found...because he's not too-good; he's just good. But we can't know that for sure.

In Derision, Adrien himself admitted he was scared he might hurt her one day - because sometimes we hurt those we love without even meaning to. Little does Adrien know he already has hurt her. Can anyone say Cat Blanc? I mean, if she really knew everything about him, she'd know that potential lies inside him....

So what can we do? Extend trust. This is why we keep seeing Adrien / Cat Noir say things like, 'Do you trust me?' and always with that hand stretched out for her to take.

He has made so many leaps of faith for her, because that's his nature. He's been abused too, though I don't think physically - but he still wears his heart on his sleeve. That's pretty brave...and rare. He's waiting for her to make a leap of faith for him, in return.

When she does, it will signal personal healing for her - not because she needs a boy in her life to be whole but because we all crave connection of some kind. You can't cut everyone out and be happy.

Neither of them realise it (especially him), but this even involves a leap of faith that Adrien will somehow deal with the Cat Blanc inside him. We saw a hint of this when he nearly cataclysmed Kim. Ladybug stopped him and later told him that's why there are two of them - to be there for each other, even if it means saying, 'Hey, you're crossing a line, here.' She knows it's all in there...but she keeps him from going too far. That's trust in his better nature.

To sum up: Marinette is learning what we all must learn - that life is hard and some people are cruel, and the only thing we can do about it is to keep moving forward. To let our abusers / bullies crush our ability to love and trust is to let them win. Fantasies of perfect scenarios are never satisfying. The surprises of real-life interaction are what keep us growing and evolving. Real people are always better than the ones in our heads, even if there's the risk that they might hurt us.

Please no post-Derision spoilers in the comments. I'm watching in order. Thank you :)

[moonshadowmystique]

When Love Comes Too Late: A Lesson in Embracing What Matters

There’s a moment that keeps replaying in my mind—a moment I can never take back, no matter how much I wish I could. The realization that I loved him didn’t come in a grand, cinematic epiphany. It crept in slowly, with quiet whispers of "what if?" and "why didn’t I see this before?"

We were friends, or so I thought. We laughed together, shared late-night conversations, and leaned on each other through hard times. I always admired how kind he was, how he seemed to understand me in ways no one else did. But I never let my mind wander too far. We were friends, and that’s all it could be—until I realized it wasn’t.

I noticed it when he started to drift away. Maybe it was the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore, or how our conversations became shorter, less frequent. A part of me wondered if he had met someone else, and my chest tightened at the thought. That’s when it hit me. The feeling I couldn’t name before. The pull that was always there. I was in love with him.

But it was too late.

He had already moved on, found someone who saw what I hadn’t, someone who cherished him in ways I now longed to. All those moments we spent together came flooding back—times when he looked at me just a little too long, when he laughed a little too hard at my jokes, when his touch lingered. I saw it all in a different light, but it was a light that had dimmed for him.

I wanted to tell him. I thought maybe I could undo the distance that had grown between us. But what could I say? “I think I loved you all along, and I didn’t realize until you were gone”? It felt too selfish, too unfair. So I stayed quiet, and he stayed gone.

I often wonder if he knew. If, in some small way, he sensed it but got tired of waiting for me to catch up. I wish I had told him sooner. I wish I had let myself see what was right in front of me before it slipped through my fingers.

Now, I live with the bittersweet memory of what could have been. And as much as it hurts, I’ve learned something valuable from it all: love should never be ignored or taken for granted. If you feel it, even in the smallest of ways, don’t wait. Don’t assume there’s time. Because sometimes, when you finally realize the truth, it’s already too late.

And that’s a regret you carry with you, one that lingers long after the chance to make it right has passed.

[chiniece-curlygirlystory]

My Thought Process

I had no idea what I wanted my blog to say. Every thought in my head started feeling like variations of half-baked ideas that others have already explored in greater detail. Would my addition to any particular conversation even be necessary? Do I possess the vocabulary to convey the messages I want to relay efficiently? I found myself obsessing over these questions and decisions I had to make to the point of throwing myself into a severely panicked state, trying to weigh my options as to how I could still pass this course without a mark for this assignment. Unfortunately, passing this course and not creating this blog could not exist in my reality and failure is never a viable option in my book as it would in turn be an extra layer to my anxiety and self-doubt. With this realization, an epiphany of some sort so to speak, I made the connection that I should create a blog surrounding my own experiences, perhaps someone would read it and by any means relate to it. I finally had a start, which is usually the hardest part but then the uncertainty came back “What's so special about your experiences? And why should it be the main focus of your blog?” and I can admit it is an entirely cliche troop to follow. Nothing new or captivating, again fell into my half-baked ideas category. However this time it was different. Instead of falling into my usual cycle of anxiety and defeatism, I turned to a topic I found myself fascinated with at the moment. Ironically enough in typical Gen Z fashion, I learned about it through TikTok, the basic concept of “girlhood”. So here we have the focus of my blog girlhood. Its definition according to Urban Dictionary is 

“The state, shared experience, and mindset of being a girl. Not yet a woman, but the coming-of-age memories/moments each girl experiences as they grow. Girlhood can be shaped by both shared and individual experiences, feelings, and moments in a girl's life..” 

This definition perfectly encapsulates the essence of girlhood that I wish to explore in my blog in combination with my own “girlhood” experiences. 

     Focus on the steps in front of you, not the whole staircase

    -Your favourite Curly Girly 

[flowerismi]

Dark Desires Chapter 2

This is a primarily Itachi x Hinata fanfic. It will also contain some Hinata Harem.

"Hey!"

Hinata said as she met Itachi's eyes in the doorframe of his apartment. And as she reached Itachi she was pulled into a hug by him. He smelled nice. And his chest behind that loose t-shirt felt so good. Hinata blushed vaguely.

"Welcome"

Itachi said as they walked into the apartment. It was a bigger apartment than hers. It had two floors. With an open ceiling of the living room to the top floor. The kitchen and living room were downstairs along with one bigger bathroom and one bedroom. While upstairs had three other bedrooms, a smaller washroom and toilet, and an outdoor terrace.

"It's not as nice as your place, but it has its charm"

Itachi said and smiled at Hinata. She looked up at him with intriguing eyes.

"Not at all! It's really nice!"

Hinata outbursted. Itachi's apartment was older, and the windows were smaller. But it all came down to individuals. What style people preferred. Itachi's apartment was in a much more quiet area. While Hinata's was closer to the center of the city, with much more noise.

"So, I was thinking we could make something together again? If you want to? I found it more fun cooking together with you than doing it alone"

Itachi said smiling his usual soft and gentle smile that Hinata adored. Hinata's eyes lit up with joy. And she nodded excitedly to him.

"Yes! I would love to!"

She replied. And Itachi chuckled back in agreement. They went out and down to a small local shopping mart to figure out what to get. Hinata felt nervous. She kept seeing couples going around, holding hands, kissing each other. Did people think they were a couple as well. Hinata blushed even more.

They finally came back home to Itachi and started cooking spaghetti and meatballs. A simple dish that they both craved. Hinata started cutting vegetables, while Itachi prepared the meat.

"So how has your week been?"

Itachi asked curious. Hinata sighed with a soft smile.

"It's been a long week. The teachers have not been holding back"

Hinata replied and giggled.

"University is a lot different than high school... The responsibility is on you to make sure you can follow the classes"

Hinata continued. Itachi looked over at her talking. He felt himself blush slightly. The evening was perfect. The food turned out well. They shared their thoughts and talked for longer than they expected.

"Should we clean before we watch the movies?"

Hinata asked as she took her plate to the kitchen.

"Yeah, then we don't have to worry about it later"

Itachi answered and started cleaning up the dishes. When they finally finished cleaning they went out and sat down on the sofa. Itachi handed Hinata a blanket and sat down beside her.

"So, this movie has some intense moments, but it's one of my all-time favorites. If it's too much you let me know okay?"

Itachi said as requested. And Hinata nodded back at him in agreement. Hinata wasn't really into mystery movies like this. But she was surprised at how into the movie she got.

"Wha? Isn't that the sister? Why would?... I don't understand it... Wait?..."

Hinata kept mumbling confused. Itachi couldn't help but laugh at her frustration with the plot.

"No! Noooo! It was her all along!?"

Hinata gasp at the point of no return. Widening her eyes and looking at Itachi. Itachi nodded back to her, confirming her comment.

"I can't believe it!"

Hinata said as the credits started rolling. Hinata continued talking about the many points of the movie. Itachi only smiled and laughed at her cute expressions and small epiphany.

"So, what do you think?"

Itachi then asked when Hinata finished her chatting.

"It was really intriguing! I can see why it's one of your favorites."

Hinata said with a smile.

"I'm glad to hear that."

Itachi replied happily.

"So now you get to show me the best of rom-com."

Itachi teased Hinata.

"Yes! I just have to go to the bathroom then I'm ready!"

Hinata said as she got up from the sofa. Itachi nodded and got up as well.

"I'll bring some more snacks, would you like another cup of tea? Or some more soda?"

Itachi asked as he headed for the kitchen.

"Uhm, maybe just a glass of water?"

Hinata requested on her way down the hallway to the bathroom.

"Right away miss"

Itachi replied. And Hinata giggled as she closed the door to the bathroom. She smiled to herself as she looked in the mirror. And giggled quietly as she felt her heart flutter with happiness. She was having such a great time. Feeling much joy spending time with Itachi. It just felt natural being with him. She could just be herself without any worries. Not hold back her thoughts. He seemed interested when she spoke. Listen and asked questions. Hinata remembered Itachi like that. Always so considerate and respectful of others. Hinata loved that about him.

As Hinata finished, she noticed that there wasn't any toilet paper left. She sighed as something just had to go negatively that day now that everything else was so perfect. Luckily she could reach over under the sink when she stretched far enough, and she opened up the sink cabinet. She found the toilet paper stacked on top of each other and pulled out one of them. She was about to close the cabinet again when she saw something. Hinata's eyes widened and her cheeks blushed.

After washing her hands, and drying them. She wanted to look further at the mystery in the cabinet. She knew she shouldn't. It was private. Maybe it wasn't Itachi's. Maybe it was one of his roommates. She sighed, knowing it was a bad idea. But couldn't help herself as she opened the cabinet and looked behind the rolls of toilet paper.

'... Wha... What is this?'

Hinata asked herself, as she pulled up a small book nsfw. She gulped as she saw the condoms, lubricant, and oils. Hinata held the book in her hand. She should put it back, she should leave it alone. But she just couldn't help it. And she took a peak inside the book.

'Yoni... Yoni Massage?'

Hinata read. She had never heard that word before. Looking at another book from the cabinet she saw it was a book about different sex positions and foreplay. What it stimulated and how to best achieve your climax. Hinata held her breath. As she felt become hotter.

'Is this the kind of thing Itachi is into?'

Hinata thought, as a small smile formed on her lips, and she bit her finger in excitement. Feeling her cheeks blush and her heart beat harder. Just the thought made her crotch feel hot and ache with lust.

Hinaya gasped as she realized she had spent a little too long in the bathroom. She put the things back and closed the cabinet door. Quietly sneaking out of the bathroom. Acting as if nothing had happened. She could feel she was still blushing, but she did her best to calm herself down as she reached the couch.

"I thought you might have left me and ran off"

Itachi said teasingly. Smiling to Hinata. Hinata feeling embarrassed looked away.

"Is everything okay?"

Itachi asked, noticing Hinaya was acting a bit differently. But she smiled back at him and shook her head.

"I'm fine my apologies, I just needed to freshen up a bit"

Hinata said apologetically and sat down beside Itachi. They started the movie and continued as before. Hinata couldn't see if Itachi was enjoying the movie or not. He seemed just like his usual self. So perhaps that was a good sign. But Hinata couldn't stop thinking about the things she saw in the cabinet. And as the movie showed an intense kissing scene. Hinata blushed and held her breath. As the room felt hotter than before, and she had to take her shirt off.

"Is it too hot?"

Itachi asked and was about to remove the blanket from them both. But Hinata held it and said it was alright.

"It'll be too cold without it, but too hot with both the blanket and my shirt. And I prefer the blanket"

Hinata said as she tried her best to smile and pretend as if everything was fine. As the movie ended Hinata found herself shedding a tear.

"It's just so cute... I love it."

Hinata said as she dried away the tear. She smiled and looked at Itachi. He was chuckling looking at how emotional Hinata was.

'So adorable...'

Itachi thought looking at her flustered cheeks. Which he thought was from watching the movie.

"So what do you think?"

Hinata asked, holding the blanket up to her shoulders. She looked in anticipation of what Itachi was about to say.

"Well..."

Itachi said. But Hinata could see he was hesitant to answer.

"Itachi, please tell me the truth. You don't have to lie and pretend you liked it if you didn't."

Hinata said and reached out to Itachi. As she placed her hand on his shoulder. Running it down his arm and pulling her hand to herself. His arm muscles felt so incredible. His skin was so soft. But underneath you could feel his hard and rough muscles. Hinata gulped and looked away from him. But she looked back at him as she heard him laughing.

"Well, it's not that I dislike it or anything... But, I don't think it's my genre. I mean I enjoyed watching it with you, and I would again. But maybe not a movie I would watch on my own or with my friends"

Itachi said and brushed his hand over Hinata's head. Feeling her soft hair that smelled like summer flowers and sweet drinks. Hinata on the other hand also felt captivated by Itachi's touch. He had a certain aura surrounding him. Everything around him was just calm and peaceful. It felt so nice and relaxing feeling his touch and being near him. Hinata smiled and closed her eyes feeling his fingers run over her scalp and through her hair.

Then everything stood still for Hinata. He was so close. So sexy in the dime light. So handsome in his loose t-shirt and messy hair. She wanted him to lean in and kiss her. She wanted to feel his chest and body. But Hinata knew Itachi would never make the first move. He never had.

"But Itachi... Don't you love her?"

Hinata had asked Itachi one of the last times she had seen him. Back when she was only 14. And he was 16. Hinata had seen how Itachi had the biggest crush on a classmate of his. And Hinata just couldn't understand why he didn't tell her. The girl would probably feel the same.

"I... I can't... I don't want to force my feeling on her..."

Itachi answered with a smile. Hinata didn't understand it at all. Why did he feel he was forcing his feelings on her?

"Let this be our little secret okay?"

Itachi said to Hinata and held out his pinky. Hinata sighed but promised and held out her pinky as well.

"Itachi..."

Hinata asked. Her voice was serious and sounded almost angry. Itachi widened his eyes shocked. He looked nervously back at Hinata, who was looking down. But she slowly raised her gaze to face him.

"Why didn't you tell her how you felt?"

Hinata asked. Itachi couldn't recall a time he had ever heard Hinata sound so serious. She always had such a sweet and innocent tone of voice. It was almost frightening hearing her like this.

"What? What do you mean?"

Itachi asked not sure what she was talking about. Hinata's face got more intense.

"Why did you feel like you were forcing your feelings on her? I just..."

Hinata continued frustrated. Why was this handsome, sweet, and gentle man feeling so low about himself? But the real reason Hinata was getting so frustrated was because she was the same as him.

Hinata never had the courage to ask out Naruto. She just kept her distance. She didn't want to lose what they already had. Their friendship. But it wasn't enough. Hinata wanted more. Wasn't that selfish of her though.

That's when Naruto finally confessed his feelings to her. Hinata never had to do the hard work of a confession. The pressure of failure. The fear of embarrassment. She was too scared to even try.

Hinata heard Itachi chuckling, smiling with a worried face. He looked down and away from Hinata.

"I... I don't know..."

Itachi said. It made Hinata so angry. Why were they both like this? She hated it. In frustration, Hinata pushed Itachi down on the couch. Itachi widened his eyes in shock. As Hinata had a hand on each side of his face. Looking intensely down at him. Hinata over him with his legs on each side of her. There was silence for a moment between them.

"Hinat-"

Itachi tried to call out to her. But he didn't get to finish her name. Hinata fell and let her lips meet his. She rested her weight on her arms while wrapping her fingers in his hair. She closed her eyes and let the kiss get more intense. Itachi was even more shocked and his eyes stayed open, watching Hinata as she raised her head slightly. Opening her eyes, looking down at him with a frightening and angry look. They were both gasping after the air. As saliva ran down their chins.

"I don't want to force my feeling on you but... You make me feel so good..."

Hinata said. She had never in her wildest dreams imagined she would be able to say that to anyone.

"So just... Let me be selfish for a moment."

Hinata said. Her voice began shaking. And Itachi saw tears forming in her eyes. Dripping down onto his face. Itachi reached up and dried the tears away. Looking at her beautiful face. Her white eyes shimmered with fear of rejection and embarrassment. Itachi smiled softly and pulled Hinata down to meet his lips again. This time he controlled it. And he let his tongue inside her mouth. Feeling her warmth. Playing with her tongue. He sat up slightly and pulled Hinata even closer to him. Their bodies almost reached each other. He let his hand run down her neck. And his mouth followed. Kissing her cheek to her ear. Her soft skin and sweet scent. Biting her ear, being careful of her earrings. He could hear Hinata's breathing, and feel her warm breath against his skin. It made the hair on his neck rise. And he smiled to himself. As it had been so long since he had enjoyed himself like this. He let his kisses go further down to her neck. Licking on her collarbone. He stopped to get a breath. And Hinata opened her eyes. They both looked at each other. Cheeks flustered, and bodies hot.

"Itachi... Can I... We... Can I fuck you?"

Hinaya asked. Itachi froze up instantly. His mind went off the roof. Hinata looked concerned back at him.

"Itachi? Do you want me to stop? I'm sor-"

Hinata said scared that she had taken it too far. But Itachi put his hand over her mouth. Looking back at her with a face red as a tomato.

"H-Hinata..."

Itachi said nervously.

"Don't ever ask if you can fuck me..."

Itachi said with a stern tone in his voice. Hinata got scared for a moment but as Itachi looked deep into her eyes she saw the lust in his eyes.

"Just do it..."

Itachi said. And removed his hand from her mouth. Hinata tried to hide the smile that formed on her lips. She blushed more and tears formed in her eyes again. She had never felt so spontaneous before. She pushed down her weight on Itachi again and kissed him as passionately as she knew how to. It felt so good to be this close to him. She felt Itachi run his hand up and down her back. His other hand held her arm tightly. Hinata started grinding her hips against him. And she felt how his body wanted more. Hinata pulled away from the kiss. As she was about to remove her shirt. But Itachi stopped up.

"Not here"

Itachi said. He sat up and Hinata fell back on the couch. She was startled as Itachi picked her up bridal style.

"I-Itachi, I can walk myself"

Hinata said nervously. Feeling insecure if she was too heavy. But Itachi only smiled at her seduction. He closed the door to his bedroom. And let Hinata fall onto the bed. He grabbed both her legs and pulled her closer to him. Hinata screamed while giggling with laughter. Excited and surprised by his grab on her. Itachi pulled off her socks and moved further up to her skirt. Hinata looked embarrassed up at him with a small smile.

"Everything okay?"

Itachi asked with a caring smile.

"I'm okay... Just insecurities."

Hinata giggled nervously.

"What do you have to be insecure about?"

Itachi asked chuckling.

"I don't know... I just... Am I pretty enough? Is my body weird? What if you don't like me... Am I good enough?"

Hinata said, looking into Itachi's eyes as she said the last line. Itachi widened his eyes. Did she really not see just how beautiful and perfect she was?

"Hinata..."

Itachi said with a hesitant voice. He lifted Hinata's leg and kissed her feet. As he ran his fingers along the soft skin of her calf.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. You are the kindest and most caring human being. If anyone should be nervous it's whoever gets to share a bed with you"

Itachi said. Continuing his kisses down to her ankles.

"I've never been more nervous to be with anyone before than I am right now with you..."

Itachi said. Looking down at Hinata. Her eyes looked so beautiful. Her face filled with love as she smiled flustered from the compliments.

"Thank you... Thank you, Itachi..."

Hinata said as she pulled her leg from Itachi's grasp. She sat up and pulled Itachi down to her by his shirt. As she kissed him with a tear running down her cheek.

"I really want you..."

Hinata said back.

"I want you so bad... You're so handsome... You make me feel so hot inside..."

Hinata said. She just let all her thoughts out. She didn't hold back. Not to him. He started chuckling again. Smiling.

"You have to stop talking like that, or I might not be able to hold myself back"

Itachi said. His cheeks were also flustered. Hinata smiled and pulled her shirt off. Exposing her bra and bare stomach. Itachi gulped, getting more and more excited looking at her. He was about to pull his shirt off as well. But Hinata stopped him. She looked off to the side hesitant.

"Can I... Can I t-take it o-off you?"

Hinata asked nervous and embarrassed. Itachi blushed and smiled.

"Go ahead"

Itachi replied, with a taunting tone in his voice. Hinata felt a gush run through her. Hearing him talk like that. Hinata gulped and turned her attention to Itachi. She was feeling hot. It was so intense. She reached down and pulled the shirt off him. He helped her by raising his arm slightly. Hinata was met by his muscular upper body. She ran her finger down his chest. He felt warm.

"You can touch me if you want to"

Itachi said as he played with her. Hinata blushed more and looked startled up at him.

"I-I..."

Hinata said but stopped. She turned around feeling hot having him so close. But she felt Itachi run his hands from her shoulders down her arms. As he leaned in to kiss her neck. He bit her and chuckled as he left a mark on her. Hinata gasped startled.

"H-hey I-I have school on Monday"

Hinata called out giggling as she felt the mark he had left on her.

"I know... But for tonight, can you just be mine? I'm sorry if I'm selfish..."

Itachi whispered into her ear. Holding onto her arms harder. Hinata couldn't help but sigh.

"Then let's be selfish together... Even if it's just for tonight"

Hinata said. Itachi released his hold on her. And she turned around to face him. They both got out of their pants/skirts and pulled down their underwear nervously. Itachi, now completely naked, Hinata only having her bra on. She gulped as she opened the bra and it fell to the ground with the rest of the clothes. Itachi smirked to himself as he enjoyed the view of her naked body. Hinata was feeling so hot and her blood was running to her crotch.

"Itachi... Can you... Can you touch me?"

Hinata asked. She tried to look at him while she said it. But she ended up hiding her face in her hands. Itachi smiled and chuckled.

"It would be my pleasure."

Itachi said. He walked over and sat down on the bed. Leaning up against the headboard of the bed. He smirked and gestured for Hinata to sit in front of him. She gulped and crawled up on the bed. Sitting in front of him.

"Here, lean down, it's okay"

Itachi said, helping Hinata closer to him. Making her rest up against him. Hinata took a deep breath as she could feel his member pushing against her. She felt Itachi let his hands run down her arms. Pulling her hair away from her body. He let his hands run over her stomach. Making circles. He could hear Hinata's breathing increasing. Her body reacted to his touch.

He let his fingers run up to touch her lower breast. Going further and further until he reached her nipple. It was hard as a rock. She was so turned on right now. She gasped as Itachi pinched her sensitive nipple.

"Nhgn... Oh god..."

Hinata cried out to him. Itachi smiled to himself and moved his other hand down between her legs. Hinata was already wet. Her secretion met his fingers. As he ran his hand over her entrance. Hinata moaned out as he continued stimulating her nipple while playing with her pussy. He ran circular motions over her clit with his thumbs. While stroking her pussy with the rest of his fingers.

Hinata was hypnotized by his hands and their movements. The way he touched her was so different from what she had experienced previously with a partner. He was so delicate. The way he was caressing her body. Using his fingers to stimulate all of the different areas of Hinata's crotch. He moved his fingers to separate Hinata's inner lip folds. Hinata panted out loud as she felt his wet fingers brush over her entrance. Itachi then licked Hinata's neck the best he could sitting behind her. Having her rest up against his naked body. He bit and kissed her simultaneously. And caressed her nipples more softly. He then let his middle finger slide into Hinata. Moving it up to reach her G-spot. Hoping to get the best stimulation for Hinata.

"Arh... It feels so good"

Hinata yelped out with tears in her eyes. He really knew what he was doing. As his finger slid back and forth in her. While pushing up toward her G-spot. Hinata didn't know if she was about to reach her orgasm. But something inside of her was building up and she didn't want Itachi to stop. Itachi felt Hinata grab his arm that was playing with her nipples. She had a tight grip on him as she felt she might not be able to control herself. Itachi moved his second finger into her. Continuing his stimulations of her nipples and clit. He moved faster and slightly harder. As he heard Hinata's breathing getting faster and her body trying to fight the orgasm.

"I... Itachi... Arg... Ahh... Arghhhh!"

Hinata shrieked out as she reached her climax. Itachi got surprised as he noticed Hinata had an ejaculation with her orgasm and her secretion squirted out of her entrance. Hinata smiled in pleasure with closed eyes and furrowed eyebrows. She felt so selfish for asking Itachi for this. But she felt so good at that moment.

"Did it feel good?"

Itachi asked as he pulled his fingers out of her, and felt her body react to him leaving. Hinata nodded and quivered embarrassed. He could hear her fast panting getting slower. She turned her head and body to look at Itachi. Her face was flustered and her cheeks pink. She had the softest smile on her lips. As she fiddled with her hands. Feeling shy. Itachi reached up and gently brushed her cheek with his hand. Feeling Hinata nudging back at his palm with her cheek.

"... I-Itachi... Can I... Can I be at top?"

Hinata asked as she blinked and looked back at Itachi. Itachi smiled tauntingly and slowly pulled his hand away from her again. His eyes filled with excitement and lust. She seemed very hesitant and nervous. Almost as if she was afraid to ask him. Itachi pulled himself up and kissed her. Making her feel his willingness to let her do whatever she wanted. He left Hinata longing for more. As she almost clung to him as he pulled away from her. Ending their kissing. Itachi leaned over to his bedside table and opened one of the lower drawers. He pulled up a condom and ripped it open. Hinata continued blushing as she looked at Itachi. He was about to put it on when Hinata reached for his hand. Itachi looked curious up at her. Her face was as red as a tomato. Almost as if sweat was running down her face.

"C-can I do it f-for you?"

Hinata asked contented. As she felt so embarrassed asking him something like that. But she wanted to do it for him. She wanted to please him first, the way he had done to her.

"... Sure"

Itachi said with a soft smile and gentle eyes. He was so intrigued by her. He never would have taken her for the outgoing type regarding something so intimate as this. But she didn't seem to hold back her requests or curiosity. Which made Itachi glad. It showed how safe and comfortable she felt with him. He had known her for a long time after all. But perhaps she had come out of her shell these past few years. Where Itachi hadn't been in contact with her.

Hinata's eyes lit up and she smiled softly back to Itachi as he handed her the condom. He leaned back and let Hinata do what she wanted. She gulped as she looked down at his member. He was hard, but not fully erected. She slowly reached down and wrapped one of her hands around his member. As she started moving her hand up and down. Itachi widened his eyes surprised. Realizing she probably wanted to play with him all along. He smiled seducing feeling stimulated by her movements. He closed his eyes and enjoyed as she continued rubbing his member up and down. He was beginning to feel how his blood pressured in his member.

"Hinata... Can you... Put it on please"

Itachi called out to Hinata still with his eyes closed. He grabbed the bedframe with one arm and rested the rest of his weight on the bed. Cleansing his fist. Hinata looked shocked at Itachi. It almost seemed as if he was in pain. Hinata stopped what she was doing and quickly did her best to put on the condom. It was her first time doing it. But Itachi opened his eyes as he could feel Hinata struggling. He reached down and helped her get it on right. Before grabbing her face and pulling her to him passionately. He leaned back as he deepened the kiss. Letting his tongue eat her and play with her. Hinata felt Itachi let one of his hands down between her legs. Pulling her harder with his other hand holding the back of her head and her cheek with his thumb.

Itachi felt his finger getting wet as he put them inside Hinata again. Playing around with her. Before pulling out of her again. He stopped the kiss and opened his eyes to look into Hinata's eyes. He slowly grabbed around his member as he guided it up towards Hinata's entrance. Hinata's eyes widened startled as she felt the cold condom against her hot entrance. She gasped. Her breathing was too much so she opened her mouth panting heavily. Hinata could see Itachi was waiting for her. And she slowly started grinding against his member. Moving her hips to feel the length of him. Letting her secretion make the condom wet. She could see the pain on Itachi's face as he moaned out and shot his head back. He felt so good against her. She could feel herself getting hot again. Her nipple was hardening and her breasts aching. She reached down and got Itachi to remove his hand from his member. As she grabbed it and guided it to enter her. Itachi lifted his arms above his head. Resting them on the bed as he felt Hinata take control of him.

"Arh... Nhgn... Argh..."

Hinata started whimpering as she forced herself down onto Itachi's member. She could feel a tear form in her eye. The painful pleasure of feeling him fill her up. She could feel Itachi tense up as he just wanted to be swallowed up by her insides. Hinata kept going until she was sure all of him was inside her. She cried out as she pushed down onto him.

"Nghnn... Oh god..."

Hinata groaned out. Her breathing was hard and heavy. She rested her hands on Itachi's lower abdomen. Sitting still until she was sure she was ready to continue. Itachi looked satisfied up at her with a gentle smile. He felt so good. She was so tight around him. It felt as if he could feel her pulse through his member. As her heart was beating fast and hard. Her pulsing body reacted to getting penetrated by him. He looked up at Hinata. As she sighed and looked down at him with a smile. Hinata started moving her body. Riding him as she let his member slide back and forth inside of her. She was going slow. Still struggling with the intense emotions she was feeling. It was hard, but she kept going. She could hear Itachi's breathing getting faster as well. He seemed to be enjoying himself. As he watched Hinata's breasts bounce with each movement she made. Her hands were on his stomach. Trying to hold her balance.

Hinata then leaned forward and rested her weight on her arms. Her breasts were on Itachi's chest. She moved her hips to thrust harder and harder down on Itachi. With each thrust, she whimpered.

"Arg... Arh... Ah... Nhgn... Agh... Ahh..."

Hinata continued, gasping for air. When suddenly she felt Itachi grab her ass with both his hands. He held her tight and clenched hard.

"Ita-Argh!.. Arg!... Arh!... Ahhh!"

Hinata cried out as Itachi thrust Hinata down onto him with his grasp on her ass. He continued and made Hinata move faster as her movements now were controlled by Itachi. As he continued thrusting himself harder and faster. He could feel he was about to reach his orgasm. But it had to go faster. Much faster. He heard Hinata continuing to cry out with each thrust. And felt her breasts bounce against his chest. Her hard nipples against his soft skin. When finally he reached his climax and he let out a heavy moan as he clenched Hinata's ass cheeks and came inside of her. Only the condom between them.

They both lay down in silence. Only their heavy panting could be heard. Hinata on top of Itachi. She could feel his heart beating in his chest. She smiled happily to herself. As she closed her eyes and smelled how nice Itachi's scent was.

"Hinata... Are you okay?"

Itachi asked as he came back to his senses.

"Yeah..."

Hinata said with a soft tone, the smile on her lips could almost be heard through her voice. She raised her head to look up at Itachi. And Itachi blushed as he saw her beautiful eyes looking so longingly up at him.

"I'm sorry... I think I'm about to fall asleep."

Hinata said with tired eyes. She rested her head against Itachi's chest again. Feeling his soft skin and muscular body. Hearing his heart beating getting slower with each beat. She loved it.

"It's okay... You can sleep."

Itachi said as he stroked the top of her head. Hinata could feel his warm hand on her head. Playing with her hair. She didn't notice much more as she fell asleep.

When Hinata woke up, she could sense that she was naked. She gulped and her face got flustered. As she tried to comprehend the night that she had shared with Itachi. She then felt pressed up against something hard. She turned her head and saw Itachi behind her. His back turned to her. They had been sleeping back to back. Hinata smiled to herself and turned around. She sneaked her arms around him and hugged him tight. As she rested her face against his back. She could feel Itachi wake up. Itachi woke up feeling Hinata's breasts and nipples pressed up against his back. Her breathing was on his neck. And her naked body to his skin.

To be continued...

Next

First

Overview

[jdgo51]

Today's inspiration comes from:

As Long as You Need

by J.S. Park

I’m sorry to say: I have never seen a miracle in all my days as a hospital chaplain.

I get asked, but no. I haven’t seen one. Not in the hospital. Not in eight years there.

Most days are Friday. Friday on a cross. Friday, total chaos. Friday, only loss.

Fridays the hurt is heavy. The surgery doesn’t work. Time of death is called. The disease takes it all.

Jesus said, “I am thirsty.” A jar of wine vinegar was there, so they soaked a sponge in it, put the sponge on a stalk of the hyssop plant, and lifted it to Jesus’ lips. When He had received the drink, Jesus said, “It is finished.” With that, He bowed His head and gave up His spirit. — John 19:28–30

The stone silence of Saturday. The confusion and shock and fear. The only sounds the sobbing. The only sight a sheet. The smell of a million plastic tubes. I want to jump to Sunday. Sunday is sealed, over and over, sealed shut.

Then Simon Peter came along behind him and went straight into the tomb. He saw the strips of linen lying there, as well as the cloth that had been wrapped around Jesus’ head. The cloth was still lying in its place, separate from the linen. Finally the other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went inside. He saw and believed. (They still did not understand from Scripture that Jesus had to rise from the dead.) — John 20:6–9

I’m telling you the truth: I have never seen a resurrection. Only the cold of death, the irreversible.

I wish I could tell you, “And then I came back to faith when...,” and it was as easy as one conversation, one sermon, one Sunday.

My supervisor was right. Every chaplain I’ve met, me included, had their faith-box demolished. We saw too much. We grieved ideas like permanence and eternal memory and divine order. Mostly it was the idea of safety that fell away. In its place, we floated between rooms to these boxless hospital bedsides.

What I no longer believed in was any sort of worldview that had to be held up in order to sustain itself. No doctrine or mindset or self-improvement plan made sense to me in this place. Patients were already burdened with cancer and car accidents; I didn’t need to burden them further with lectures and lessons and forced epiphanies.

We can bear the unbearable is when we bear it alongside each other.

The only thing I had left to believe was not a belief I had to keep, but a belief that kept me. Even if it was one moment of safety, that was what I needed. If I had to hold it up, I let it go. If it held me in that moment, that would have to do.

And the only way I’ve seen that we can bear the unbearable is when we bear it alongside each other.

That sounds like a sappy deal, I know. But even if only for a moment, if you cover somebody with fully open hands rather than clichés or coats of sugar, you can make the grief bearable. I mean it. It really can.

Crucial to the story of Jesus’s resurrection is the story of the survivors too — Mary Magdalene, the woman who found the empty tomb, and the disciples who, together, hid and mourned His death. I consider how the resurrected Jesus returned to His disciples, their futures muddled, each huddled behind locked doors, hiding from hunting, and I am moved by the shape of their joined shoulders. I imagine that even if Sunday had not come, even if the tomb had remained sealed, what these disciples found in the silence of a sealed room was a communion of breath, anxious yet abiding in one another. What they found in the gap between wood and stone were their hands reaching in tender and tangible vicinity.

When I consider what it is to have faith, to clutch the edge of hope in the middle of our suffering, this is how I believe we experience God entering, how I hope to enter too: with hands, feet, eyes, and the heart of the divine in a room at the corner of the universe. Saint John said it like this:

No one has ever seen God, but if we love another, God lives in us and His love is made complete in us. — 1 John 4:12

If we are made for each other, then our separation is a wound, and when we meet, it is grace that enters there and mends us together.

me in grief. There is something valuable, holy, sacred about being seen — and until the moment we enter the final, eternal resurrection Sunday, may we remember that not one of us — seen by the other — is alone.

Adapted with permission from As Long As You Need by J. S. Park, copyright J. S. Pa

[chernayawidow]

This got lost in my notifications ahhhhh!!! But it’s okay because I’ve found it now and LETS GET INTO THIS!! I am SO PUMPED UP YOU HAVE NO IDEA!!!

“Other times, it was getting poker lessons from Loco and Saul while Frank smoked a cigarette.” — I always find it so amusing that these dudes were originally her captors, and now there’s a fondness for each other. The fact that she’s having a positive dream featuring them just makes me giggle 😂

“And you pulled him inside your room by his shirt, just like you had the first time.” — The image of her just pulling along this all powerful Supe into her room makes me smile, because Ben would have to LET her drag him lmao!

“But he forced you to watch him, to watch yourself as he entered you. Your mouth opened on a gasp.” — I can see him 1000% putting a mirror in above their bed…

“You grabbed your phone, frowning in annoyance at the caller ID. Fucking Butcher again.” — Oh for fucksake Butcher, LET A GIRL HAVE A SEX DREAM WOULD YA?

“You later found him sitting on the porch outside in an old wooden chair, smoking a cigar.” — THIS FEELS LIKE SUCH AN OLD MAN MOVE! Just sitting and smoking cigars on the porch! 🤣🤣

“Old man,” you countered. “Out here in the heat with your day slippers.” — HE’S WEARING SLIPPERS TOO? Oh my gosh that’s even better, she should’ve taken a photo of that (and made it her phones wallpaper)! 🤣

“Because we can’t go around assassinating people,” she said. “That’s not what this group is about.” — Annie darlin’, I know you’re late to the group, but that’s kinda exactly what it was about… hunting down evil assholes and absolutely annihilating them. The targets just all used to be Supe’s is all lmaooo!

“But Ben realized that he’d marked you now, in more ways than one.” — You’ve marked her indeed, no takesies backsies!! 🤙

“You smiled a little. Grabbing a napkin, you reached over and wiped it away. Ben let you do it. His lips curved as he watched you while chewing.” — THEY’RE SO DOMESTIC OMGGGGG 😩🫶

“Your father sighed. “Listen. Stan has no intention of meeting with Victoria.”” — Entering once again from stage left, Jon the asshat that should get a good old king hit 💀

“He wanted to ask you what you were planning on doing for dinner (and when, for that matter). But he was pretty sure you’d verbally bite his head off if he mentioned it.” — He’s learning!!

““You’re smarter than that,” Ben added, giving you a more reserved smile.” — I actually love this whole moment, he’s telling her what she needs to hear.

“Your head tilted in slight confusion, but you went to him. He took your hand, and once again guided you into his lap. He settled you across his thighs and soothed a hand over your hair. You grabbed a fistful of his shirt for support, and you sucked in a shaky breath.” — And just like that, I’m tearing up from how cute and sweet Ben is with her 🥺💖

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” he rumbled. “We had a deal didn’t we? Long as I’m around, you’ll be all right.” — AHHHHHHHHHHHH OH MY GOD MY HEART IS HAVING A WHOLESOME OVERLOAD!!! 😩💖💖💖💖

“And with that bone-deep thought, Ben knew that this was different. What he was doing here with you meant something to him. Whether you knew it or not…” — Oh my god is it… is it happening???? IS THE MOMENT HAPPENING????

“You…were his. That was just how it was going to be. He decided this in his mind, after he pressed a kiss above the patch of bruising along your temple. You were his.” — YESSSS HE’S REACHED THE EPIPHANY FINALLY OMGGGGGG!!!!!! And it was even more wholesome and sweet and adorable than I could’ve imagined!!! 😭🫶

“Stan remembered when this version of the suit was commissioned, to replace the dull gray with a pop of military color for marketing purposes.” — I love it when you add tidbits like this, they just fluff it up even more. It’s so simple yet so effective in terms of story telling!

“Stan frowned; this tile had just been replaced.” — THIS MADE ME WHEEZE 🤣 gotta respect his dedication though!

“While a fight brewed in Stan Edgar’s office, you were in the familiar bowels of the tower, back in the Security & Surveillance command center…with your father.” — I can’t imagine Ben was happy about her being alone with stupid ass Jon.

““Soldier Boy is dangerous,” Jon said, breaking your attention from the screen. “However he’s managed to manipulate you into thinking he’s a good guy, there’s no hiding the fact that he can’t control that fucking A-bomb inside him.” — Oh for fucksake Jon, the only manipulator here is you, and at least SB cares about Pookie’s wellbeing!

“Oh, he is dangerous,” you agreed. “He wanted to finish what he started, caving in your skull as well as your chest. If I were you, I’d duck out quick when this is done.” — Correct me if I’m wrong, but I love that this kind of insinuates that she wouldn’t exactly stop Ben from caving in his skull 🤣

“And maybe he didn’t know that you were alone with your father.” — Okay there we go, that explains it!

“All right. Maybe I deserve that,” he said. “But no matter my methods, I’ve always sought the best for you.” — LET ME AT THIS BITCH ASS, HE NEEDS A GOOD OLD LEFT-RIGHT-GOODNIGHT!!

“Seeing the room was clear except for you and Jon, Frank nodded to Loco and stepped further inside.” — Yessss! Our adoptive dad meets the deadbeat piece of shit!! 🥳

““What’s wrong?” Hughie asked. Butcher couldn’t answer him, because on the last cough, a spew of blood coated his hand (and the younger man’s shoes).” — Holy shit! Is this the work of the Temp V?

“It was your voice in his mind. And he remembered you were here too, somewhere in the Tower. He closed his eyes, a strained yell erupting from his throat.” — AWH! I’m so glad that he thought about the whole ‘no collateral’ thing, because regardless of whether it’s his fault or not, Grace wouldn’t give a shit.

OKAY SO THIS CHAPTER WAS HECTIC!! We got Ben wearing slippers and finally realising his feelings, we got Jon being a hypocritical prick, Daddy Frank meeting aforementioned prick, Stan being a cold and calculated queen, Annie being self-righteous and annoying as usual, and VOUGHT TOWER IS FALLING!!! OH MYYYYYY!! I seriously love what you did with this chapter, especially Ben’s protective nature and how he wants to finish off Jon for her that way she’s safe from him forever. He’s been so attentive to her this chapter and it’s so heartwarming to see, I really really need to know his reaction when he finds out she was alone with Jon before Frank and Loco got there! So excited for the next one!!! 🫶🫶🫶🥹💖

Break Me Down - Part 15

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

Word Count: 4,500 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smuttish. Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, peril, and a cliffhanger…

Part 15: The Tower

You dreamed of Medellin. 

Of being back in that mansion on the cliffside, during a Columbian summer. Sometimes it was sipping a vodka cranberry by the pool. 

Other times, it was getting poker lessons from Loco and Saul while Frank smoked a cigarette. Or reading by yourself in the garden, surrounded by yellow flowers, as the salty wind from the nearby waterfall kissed your cheeks and rustled your sundress.

And once, it was getting caught by Ben on your way back to your new, bigger room. Pretending to be coy, fully aware of him following you, feeling his stare on your ass.

Then when you got to the door, you paused and turned in the doorway, boldly meeting his gaze. 

And you pulled him inside your room by his shirt, just like you had the first time. He pawed at your dress, those heavy hands dragging underneath, probing between your thighs.

You held him to you, reveled in the scrape of his beard against your neck, sighed shakily in his ear as he walked you back, your ass bumping into the dresser.

Ben turned you around. You allowed his manhandling as those hands wrapped around you and found your breasts, kneading every curve before he bent you over on the dresser. 

You braced yourself on the hard wood when those nimble fingers of his teased you through your underwear. Soon enough you sucked in a sharp breath, felt the burn of the lace ripping off, sliding from between your already slippery folds. 

But before he gave you what you wanted, what you were begging him for without words, he reached around and took your face in his hand, encouraging you to lift your head. 

Your gaze found his in the mirror, scorching lust and naked desire. And yet, you still wondered what he saw when he looked at you.

You just couldn’t know that he was wondering the same thing. 

But he forced you to watch him, to watch yourself as he entered you. Your mouth opened on a gasp. 

You woke in bed with a jolt as your cell phone rang and vibrated on the nightstand. You pressed a hand to your rapidly beating heart and sighed. 

You didn’t quite remember the dream, but your skin was tingling all the way down to your toes. Not to mention the suspect heat between your legs…

You grabbed your phone, frowning in annoyance at the caller ID. 

Fucking Butcher again. But you answered, and he had unexpected news for you. 

When you eventually hung up with him, you got ready for the day. Ben must’ve already been awake, as his side of the bed was empty when you woke up. You later found him sitting on the porch outside in an old wooden chair, smoking a cigar.

How can he smoke so early in the morning? you thought with a shake of your head. He looked up at you, his lips lifting around his cigar. 

“Morning,” he said, puffing away. 

“You shouldn’t be hanging out here in the open,” you reminded him. 

He shrugged and reached out a hand to you. Sighing, you took it, and he tugged you over to sit in his lap. You waved the smoke out of your face, giving him a look of amusement and disbelief.

“Where the hell did you find a cigar?”

“Had it ordered in,” he said with a smirk. “That French fuck knows his shit.”

You shook your head at him with a small smile. You assumed he meant Frenchie. 

“We gotta go,” you told him. “Butcher just called.”

“Churchill can calm his tits for ten more minutes,” he said. He offered you a puff of his cigar when he caught you eyeing it. “Want to try it out?”

You grimaced, but part of you was curious, as you had never smoked one of these before. You took the cigar and inhaled a bit, and immediately started dying. This was nothing like smoking a joint.

“Shit,” you coughed out smoke. Ben rumbled with laughter, and you playfully hit his arm. 

“Here, take this thing back,” you said, still coughing. He rubbed your back and took the cigar from you. He continued to puff away. 

“Lightweight,” he teased you. 

“Old man,” you countered. “Out here in the heat with your day slippers.”

He glanced down at said slippers with a slight raise of his brows. Then he rolled his eyes. 

“Eh, fuck off.”

“Mhmm,” you said wryly. And you took the cigar from his mouth.

“Hey!”

Ben didn’t appreciate being dragged all the way back to Supe Affairs, just to be told they couldn’t nail down Stan fucking Edgar.

“I got you Neuman. So what’s the damn problem?” he groused. 

“We haven’t been able to find anything concrete to pin him with, legally speaking,” said Hughie. 

You, Ben, Grace, and the rest of the team had gathered in a large conference room near Grace’s office. You sat while Ben stood to your right, his arms crossed grumpily. 

“What the hell does that matter?” Ben said. “We know what he’s guilty of. I’ve been ready and waiting to take out that fucking weasel.”

“He’s got a bit of a point, actually,” Butcher said. Annie raised an incredulous brow at both of them. 

“Because we can’t go around assassinating people,” she said. “That’s not what this group is about.”

“You’re a late comer to this fucking group, to be fair,” Butcher pointed out, crossing his arms as well. M.M. shot Butcher a look that said, really?

“We do have Victoria,” you spoke up. “Even if she isn’t holding anything else back, she can still help us.”

Grace considered you. “Yes. She can get through his network and give him a call, try to set up a time to meet.”

“And what then?” Annie asked, gesturing at Butcher and Ben. “These two assholes vaporize him?”

“We know they cloned Black Noir,” Hughie jumped in. “Along with a lot of other experiments that are so not fucking legal. We just need to find evidence in the lab.”

“And in the meantime, we get ahold of the slippery bastard,” Frenchie added. You nodded in agreement. 

“The sooner he’s behind bars and Vought is dismantled, the sooner I can bring my family out of protective custody,” you said. 

Grace then turned to M.M. “Marvin, what do you think?” 

All eyes turned to the man, who took in the various stares with a resigned sigh. 

“Let’s get this shit over with,” he said.

With a plan made, Grace, M.M., and Butcher went to visit Victoria upstairs in her holding cell. They coached her through her call to Stan. 

Meanwhile, Ben could care less about how the others eyed him with mistrust. (Well, Hughie tried to “buddy buddy” himself by offering up a cup of joe, but Ben mostly ignored that cum-guzzling moron.) 

No, he’d expected that. He noticed more how they treated you, still with polite distance and awkwardness, making glances between him and you. 

“You don’t seem to understand just how much shit I’m in for trying to help you right now,” you’d said to him once. 

Ben understood a bit of what you meant now. 

You later led him out of the conference room and to the cafeteria with your head held high, but he could see that you were hiding it. How people’s stares and whispers were affecting you as the two of you walked down the hall. 

He had plenty of practice with that, letting attention (wanted or otherwise) roll off his back. But Ben realized that he’d marked you now, in more ways than one. 

You later picked at a caesar salad while Ben was busy inhaling his second Italian sub. He subtly watched you, wondered what the hell you were thinking. 

Before he might’ve bit the bullet and just asked you, your phone buzzed on the table.

You read the text from Butcher in the group chat:

Stan agreed to meet Neuman. Tomorrow night at her apartment.

“Good,” you breathed in relief. And you showed Ben the text. He nodded around a mouthful of salami and provolone. Though he had a bit of mustard at the corner of his mouth.  

You smiled a little. Grabbing a napkin, you reached over and wiped it away. Ben let you do it. His lips curved as he watched you while chewing.

“Okay, let’s meet up with them after this. There’s going to be a lot to set up,” you started to say. But your phone trilled once again in your hand, this time a call from an unknown number. Frowning, you answered the call.

“Hello?”

“He knows you’ve got her.”

Your expression slackened at whose voice was on the line. Ben noticed, and it actually made him pause on taking another bite of his sandwich. 

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” you said tersely. 

Your father sighed. “Listen. Stan has no intention of meeting with Victoria.”

You reluctantly perked up at that. Ben raised an expectant brow at you. Your lips pursed; you really wanted to hang up on principle, but you knew you couldn’t. You held up a finger at Ben that said, wait. 

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

“Exactly what I said. He knows you have her. He knows you’re trying to trap him,” said Jon.

You sighed, rubbing at the ache starting to form between your eyes. But then your hand fell back to the table. Your expression hardened.

“Did you order the fucking hit on me?” you asked. 

“Sweetheart—”

You closed your eyes. 

“No. No. You don’t get to sweetheart me after you broke my fucking ribs,” you snapped. “Did you know?” 

Ben’s frown darkened as he finally realized who you were talking to. His hand curled into a fist on the table. 

“…No, I didn’t know,” Jon replied. “Why do you think I’m calling you now?”

“I really don’t know,” you said. “Why the hell are you trying to help me? Isn’t this a conflict of interest?”

You heard a heavy sigh on the line, and you waited. Your patience was starting to thin. You could also see Ben’s mood darkening now that he knew you were talking to your father. You angled yourself slightly, so he couldn’t reach over and grab the phone from you. (You saw his fingers twitching.) 

“He crossed the line sending Black Noir after you and your sister…and your mother,” Jon said. “I can help you on this.”

“There’s no world in which I’d ever trust you again,” you said flatly. 

“You’ve just gotta think here,” said Jon. “Do you want Stan Edgar or not?”

Your lips pursed. But you listened to what he had to say.

When you eventually hung up, Ben walked with you back up the stairs to the conference room. He watched you explain to Butcher and the rest of the team what your father had said, and what he’d proposed as a solution to the problem of Stan Edgar. 

Stan was due to come into the office at Vought Tower for a meeting with presidential candidate, Robert Singer. With Jon’s help, they could squeeze through a gap in security and intercept Stan before the meeting. The idea was to arrest him, but if Black Noir made an appearance, then that was Soldier Boy’s cue. 

And all bets would be off then. 

After Ben sat through the more boring logistics, he was relieved when the meeting finally dispersed, with the goal of meeting back here bright and early tomorrow. 

Even back at the safe house, you were antsy, pacing back and forth across the living room. Ben had changed out of his supe suit into some jeans and a shirt, and he now watched you from the kitchen with a beer. 

He wanted to ask you what you were planning on doing for dinner (and when, for that matter). But he was pretty sure you’d verbally bite his head off if he mentioned it. 

Not that he was afraid of that, by any means…but he’d just rather not get into it with you right now. Not when things had been going good for the past few days. 

So he went into the living room to sit on the couch. He was about to turn on the TV, before you sat down heavily in the lounge chair beside the couch. Your face looked so pensive, so troubled as you rested your chin in your hand, that Ben let out a breath. 

He set down his beer on the coffee table. Then he sat back and crossed his arms, glancing over at you. 

“If we’re going to do this, you need to get your head on straight,” Ben said. 

You looked over at him, not willing to admit you were upset (and that he was right), but unable to lie either. 

“Let me figure out dinner,” you said instead. You got up, but Ben’s voice stopped you.

“When you see him, don’t give him an opening,” he said. You turned to meet his eyes, and you knew full well who he meant by him. 

“You’re smarter than that,” Ben added, giving you a more reserved smile. 

You crossed your arms. Emotion rose high in your throat, and it threatened to choke you as your eyes started to burn. 

“Am I?” you asked. 

Ben’s attempt at a smile faded at the sight of your burgeoning tears. He sighed deeply, and he held out a hand to you. 

“Come ‘ere.”

Your head tilted in slight confusion, but you went to him. He took your hand, and once again guided you into his lap. He settled you across his thighs and soothed a hand over your hair. You grabbed a fistful of his shirt for support, and you sucked in a shaky breath. 

“Bet you wish I’d knocked him a bit harder against the fucking wall,” he quipped. 

You uttered a laugh at his dark humor, wiping at your eyes. “Heh. Maybe. It’d certainly make my life less complicated.”

You sighed and rested against his chest, leaning your head on his shoulder. A smile raised your lips when his arm slid around your waist and held you. His thumb soothed back and forth across your thigh. 

And it was then you knew that he really did care about you. 

You turned into him, and hid your face into his neck when your tears burned anew. This time for a different reason, as you realized what this meant to you. How this man had broken through your defenses and slipped his way under your skin.

You had a suspicious feeling that he was there to stay, no matter what happened after this mission was over.

“Want me to finish the job?” Ben offered, barely even half joking. 

“Ben, please,” you implored into his skin. You shook your head, and your fist curled tighter into his shirt. “Just…”

Ben hesitated, but he held you more securely. He soothed a hand up and down your back. 

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” he rumbled. “We had a deal didn’t we? Long as I’m around, you’ll be all right.”

You nodded with a sniffle, and Ben felt your tears against his skin.

His hands really itched to finish the job he started with your father—and rip out his throat next time. Matter of fact, as soon as he saw that limp-dick piece of shit, it was on sight.  

And with that bone-deep thought, Ben knew that this was different. What he was doing here with you meant something to him. Whether you knew it or not…

(And you will, he thought.)

You…were his. That was just how it was going to be. 

He decided this in his mind, after he pressed a kiss above the patch of bruising along your temple.   

You were his. 

The following morning, Stan straightened the blazer of his navy suit as he got off the elevator. 

His office lied at the top floor of Vought Tower, and it was newly renovated after the battle that took place last week. His bodyguard opened the glass door for him before he stepped through. 

He reached his new desk and sat down at the plush leather office chair, took up a freshly brewed mug of coffee (cream, no sugar), and enjoyed a satisfying sip. 

Then his bodyguard was pulled away from the front of his door, thrown down the hall. Stan raised his head, but didn’t startle as the door was wrenched open. 

“What the fuck! Not yet—” Starlight’s voice in the hall. But the next guest in his office was a different former employee.  

Soldier Boy stepped through in his familiar green suit. 

Stan remembered when this version of the suit was commissioned, to replace the dull gray with a pop of military color for marketing purposes.

“Good morning,” Stan greeted, raising his mug. “Care for a cup? Perhaps a donut.”

“Still fucking smarmy,” Ben said. He stood in front of the man’s desk, flexing his half-gloved fingers. He glanced up at the walls of this office, this tower in the sky. “We’ve been doing this dance for a long time, you and I.”

“And yet, on entirely different tempos,” Stan replied. “How can I help you, Soldier Boy?”

Ben raised a finger. 

“See, that’s what I can’t fucking stand. A goddamn hypocrite,” he said. “When you came to me in ’84, you said partnering with the military on that Nicaragua mission would call back to my unveiling in ’44. Forty years of service in the making.” 

And forty more that would be stolen from him.

Ben’s hand clenched into a fist. “My mistake was believing you.” 

“And my mistake was replacing you with more of the same,” said Stan, with his usual bland stoicism. “For all that you’d claim otherwise, you and Homelander shared more than just chromosomes.”

Stan stood from his chair, but was discreet in pressing a small button under his desk. 

“In all this posturing, I see an insecure child, yearning for attention,” he continued with a mild shrug. “Your strength is…nothing but a mask for how truly empty you are.”    

Ben’s jaw tightened, but he resisted losing his temper. He knew that would only goad this little prick on. He watched as Stan rounded his desk, pulling his hands behind his back.

“The cold truth is, you sold your humanity so that someone in the world would deign to love you. And if not, to fear you,” he said simply. “I sell it to win.” 

Ben’s senses prickled just in time to raise his shield against a metal spike aimed at his head. It ricocheted and speared into the ground. 

Stan frowned; this tile had just been replaced. But he stepped to the side as Black Noir burst into the office and went for Soldier Boy. He carefully avoided the fight as his bodyguards came to pull him out of the fray. 

Stan’s eyes only widened when the first two guards were shot dead by Billy Butcher and his team. 

While a fight brewed in Stan Edgar’s office, you were in the familiar bowels of the tower, back in the Security & Surveillance command center…with your father. 

The two of you had taken control of the room, dismissing the on-site personnel, and now were in the process of evacuating the tower. At this point, who knew what could happen in the fight between Ben and Black Noir. You weren’t willing to abet any collateral damage, even here. 

Out of several monitors on the big screen, you kept one eye on the fight in Stan’s office. You and Jon noticed a breach in the hall.

“Butcher, you should be on your way out already,” Jon told him through the communicator in his ear. “The secondary team is also on its way up.”

“Right.” 

You watched with a measure of concern. Butcher seemed to be waning against a common security guard. He’d needed M.M. to grab the guy from behind and hurl him into Stan’s desk. Stan himself was plastered against the far corner of the wall, letting his security attempt to subdue Butcher and the rest of your friends. 

Your eyes moved to Black Noir. He’d also brought the same gun from last time—the one that had disrupted Ben’s powers. He was evading well enough so far…

“Soldier Boy is dangerous,” Jon said, breaking your attention from the screen. “However he’s managed to manipulate you into thinking he’s a good guy, there’s no hiding the fact that he can’t control that fucking A-bomb inside him.”

Your lips pursed in annoyance. 

“Oh, he is dangerous,” you agreed. “He wanted to finish what he started, caving in your skull as well as your chest. If I were you, I’d duck out quick when this is done.” 

Jon didn’t answer, but when you glanced at him, you saw the way he stilled, his jaw tensing. 

“Aren’t you glad I dropped him off at the lobby?” you quipped. Then you pressed a button on the control board and overrode the overhead speaker in the Administration office, where you saw people still milling about. 

“Evacuation was not a request,” you said into the speaker. “Put down the fucking chai tea latte and exit through the stairwell to the garage please.”

Jon turned to you while sitting in his chair. 

“After this is over, you’d be smart to start fresh…I could help you.”

You met him with a flat glare. “Now that’s just plain delusional.”

You had half a mind to get Ben on the comm to let Jon know exactly what he’d be in for if he tried to take you anywhere, but you didn’t want to distract Ben right now.

And maybe he didn’t know that you were alone with your father. 

Meanwhile, Jon’s mouth firmed into a line. A tendril of wariness (and maybe fear) laced down your spine. Your hand slowly moved to your belt…but he merely inclined his head. 

“All right. Maybe I deserve that,” he said. “But no matter my methods, I’ve always sought the best for you.”

“The best for—” You paused with a sharp sigh. And you steeled yourself before you replied. “I don’t know what fucked up fantasy world you’re living in, Jon. But after I left, I could finally see it clearly. You are the reason I hated myself.”

Jon didn’t show the true depths of his reaction. That wasn’t his way, but his steely eyes hardened as they held yours for a long moment. Then, he turned back to the screens. 

You released a subtle breath, though your hand stayed resting on your belt. 

Only Ben and Grace knew the truth about the injuries you’d sustained after being picked up at Vought. This time, you weren’t without a weapon. You had a gun on one hip and a taser on the other.

Ben had only agreed to your role in the mission because you’d called for backup. They should’ve been here by now, actually. In fact, they were supposed to meet you in the lobby, before you met up with your father.

Maybe they got stuck in traffic, you thought. You’d been checking your phone for the past ten minutes. 

But then a silent text came in: your backup team had just arrived. In fact, they strolled into the command center in full tactical gear, with guns drawn. Seeing the room was clear except for you and Jon, Frank nodded to Loco and stepped further inside.

“Hey, welcome to the party,” you said, greeting both men with a grateful smile. Jon glanced at you, then the men with a frown.

“Who the fuck are these two?” he asked. 

“My reinforcements,” you replied tartly. You felt better with them here as your spine untightened a bit. 

Frank nodded at you and remained standing to watch the door, while Loco grabbed a chair at your side. You gave him the lowdown of the control settings on the dashboard in front of you. 

“Oh shit,” Loco said when he glanced up at the screen. You followed suit, and a gasp fell from your mouth. 

Ben managed to unmask Black Noir. 

The helmet hung from Ben’s gloved hand. It was Earving all right, but it also wasn’t. His eyes, normally a dark brown, were misted over with gray and almost lifeless. 

“Noir, destabilize him,” Stan commanded from his cowering corner. The supe seemed to hear him, and only that order.

Ben realized now what these fuckers had done. Not only did they create this Noir clone with Homelander scraps, but they’d made the perfect soldier. One that only took orders. 

Butcher noticed too, with widening eyes. Fucking hell.

But he had to brace a hand against the wall as a hacking cough rose unbidden from his chest, worsening the roiling pain in his stomach and the ache behind his eyes. Hughie grabbed his arm to support him, and his face was picture-perfect concern.

“What’s wrong?” Hughie asked. Butcher couldn’t answer him, because on the last cough, a spew of blood coated his hand (and the younger man’s shoes). Hughie’s eyes widened. 

“What the fuck’s going on with you?” he exclaimed. Butcher just grabbed his arm and pulled him a few feet over, so they wouldn’t get caught in the blast of Noir’s energy gun. 

Ben was grappling with him. He focused on summoning the nuclear power collecting in his chest. All he needed was one clear hit, and he’d be able to end this motherfucker for good. 

But before he could fully charge up, Black Noir aimed a well-placed kick to his sternum, sending him back a few feet. It gave Noir the opening he needed to shoot Ben right in the chest with his energy gun. 

An electrifying blue met pulsing red, and swallowed it up. It took Ben along with it. Luckily his shield was clipped onto his back, so it didn’t get eaten up in the initial blast.

Now, he fairly crackled with red and blue fractals, which coursed together into a violet haze. He felt dizzy and wrong, knowing that all this power had to come out. But if that happened, he knew he couldn’t contain it. He didn’t know what would happen. 

Part of him knew it would solve his problem, killing Noir, Stan, Butcher, and the rest of those assholes in one powerful swoop. 

No collateral damage. 

It was your voice in his mind. And he remembered you were here too, somewhere in the Tower. He closed his eyes, a strained yell erupting from his throat.

He couldn’t stop it. The sheer force brought him to his knees before he could angle it up into the sky. Instead, it released into the ground below. 

The nuclear blast tore through concrete like a drill, and it didn’t stop until it reached the very foundations of the tower, deep into the earth.

Afterwards, everything was still. Ben could only stare into the chasm below him while he caught his breath. 

Until the ground, the walls, everything began to tremor and shake. 

“Oh shit,” said M.M. 

During the blast, he’d held onto the far wall with Annie, Kimiko, and Frenchie. But now, he grabbed Annie’s arm to pull her up. The shaking grew worse with every second. 

“What the hell was that?” you commed in. No one could answer you yet, but at least it let Ben and the rest of them know that you were alive.

Annie reached out to Hughie, who grabbed onto her hand in relief. He also helped Butcher straighten, putting his arm across Hughie’s shoulders. Butcher glanced up at Black Noir, who was heading towards Stan. Meanwhile, Ben was stumbling to his feet. 

“It’s gonna come down like the fucking Eye of Sauron!” Hughie shouted. 

Butcher shared a grim look with M.M. “Like the bloody Twin Towers.”

AN: 🫨 The Tower's falling! But how'd you like Ben contemplating getting his hands on Jon? 😏

We're heading into the real action here, folks!

Next Time:

You pressed a shaking finger to the comm in your ear. 

“Ben, where are you?” you asked. Maybe he heard the tremor in your voice, because you certainly read the concern in his.

“You’re not on the second floor. Where are you?”

You closed your eyes for a beat. “On the first floor. The garage is blocked and Noir has us bottlenecked.”

“I’m almost there. Just stay put,” Ben said. His tone was firm, and it reassured you. You nodded, despite the fact that he couldn’t see you. 

“Yeah, not going anywhere in a hurry,” you whispered.

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[certifiedskywalker]

How to Make Small Talk in Five Simple Steps - Bucky Barnes

When people meet, they often use small talk as a means to negotiate and define the start of a new relationship. When you and Bucky meet, you both struggle to find the right words.

WARNING: talk of therapy, references to trauma and anxiety, and mild cursing

I. Show genuine interest.

“You’re new.”

“Excuse me?”

You shifted in your seat and eyed the man sitting across from you in the waiting room. His piercing cerulean eyes were squinted in your direction, right where he aimed his question. Despite the puppy-like confusion apparent in the way his head was cocked to the side, there was an edge to the mystery man. Perhaps it came from his clothes.

The jacket he wore was pitch black, a leather-like material that squeaked against the back of his chair when he moved. It looked brand new. Not to mention the matching gloves. His hands, joined together and resting on his abdomen, were covered in thick, dark fabric. There was not an inch of skin exposed, save for his face.

Though judging by the permanent scowl etched on his lips as he stared at you in wait for your reply, perhaps the man’s harsh edge ran deeper.

“The waiting room never has had more than like four people in it at a time,” you explained. “Until this week, until you, I waited by myself. So, you’re new.”

“Great powers of observation,” he quipped, though his tone lacked any lightness typical of teasing.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his gloved hands against the tops of his thighs. He looked towards the twin pair of doors that fed into Dr. Raynor’s and Dr. Briam’s respective offices. You smiled to yourself at the sight: a big man, an otherwise scary man was nervous for therapy. You could sympathize as, not too long ago, you had been in his place.

“Was it an intervention? A work note? An epiphany?”

At your questions, the man fixed his gaze on you again. “What?”

“What brought you to the services of Raynor and Briam?”

“Do you always ask this many questions?” While his voice was without a cutting coldness, his question wounded you. You overstepped your bounds. Time to wage a retreat.

“Sorry,” you murmured as you curled up and in your seat.

You looked away from the man in the hopes of distracting yourself from the searing shame. Quickly, your attention found the colorful pile of untouched magazines set out on a nearby side table. Despite your apology, you could still feel the sharpness of his eyes on you.

When you grew back the nerve and snuck a glance back at him, the man’s gaze was still fixed on you. Alarms rang in your ears as you turned to face him from across the waiting room once more. For a long moment, you just gawked at each other, waited for the other to speak.

Finally, the tension broke and, simultaneously, you both said, “sorry.”

A breathy laugh slipped past your lips, tilted and light. “Talking isn’t one of my strong suits.”

“Not mine either, not anymore,” the man sighed. However faint, there were slight, upward pullings at the corners of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but close. Close enough that you felt a hopeful realization bloom in your chest. How handsome he would look with a real smile.

You met his eyes and asked, “can...can we just start over?”

“Yeah, yeah we can.”

“Great,” you reached out your right hand towards him, across the vastness of the waiting room like an olive branch. “I’m Y/N.”

He glanced from your hand to your eyes and back again before he hesitantly extended his left. The tips of your fingers brushed and you saw the man’s body tense. After a moment passed, he joined your hands. His grip was strong and tight and, despite the glove, cold.

“Hi, Y/N.” Against your will, a fuller smile played on your lips, satisfied by how smooth your name sounded in his mouth. “I’m Bucky.”

II. Ask open-ended questions.

“How would you describe yourself?”

“What?”

“How would you describe yourself?” You echoed, a little louder than the first time.

“What do you mean?”

With a groan, you stood from your seat and strode over to where Bucky sat across from you. You settled in the seat beside him and held the magazine you were reading out to him. Empathetically, you pointed at the first question of the lifestyle quiz you found. Bucky squinted at the small typography and scoffed.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s a quiz in a magazine,” you pointed out, “it’s not supposed to make sense.”

“But am I a ‘curious cat stalking along a window sill’ or a ‘peaceful breeze blowing through a seashell windchime’? What...what does that even mean?” Bucky glanced from the page to you with furrowed brows.

“Which one speaks to you?”

“I don’t know. Is there a dejected crocodile or something?”

You laughed at his question, at the imagery of a saddened gator, and fought to catch your breath. When you finally were able to fill your lungs and meet Bucky’s gaze, you saw that he was serious. His blue eyes were fixed on you with a stillness that startled you. Curiosity struck you, just as it did the first day you saw him.

“A crocodile? Why a crocodile?” Your eyes flicked over Bucky’s face, trying to read his reaction to your query. He met your gaze before he pulled back and sighed.

“I saw some in Africa when I...I lived there. They seemed hostile.”

“You’re hostile?” You raised a brow at him as you asked. You made a mental note to ask him about his stint in Africa later.

Bucky met your eyes and replied, “when provoked. When I don’t have a choice.”

“Well that’s not dark or ominous,” you jeered. When he didn’t make a quip back at you, you pressed your lips into a thin line. “You’re here for anger issues then?”

A heavy sigh rolled through Bucky’s chest. He looked away, up towards the windows of the waiting room that were put far too high along the grey wall, too high to reach. Then, all at once, he was far away, lost in thoughts and feelings you were not privy to, despite longing to be. There was something about Bucky that was still a mystery to you and carried the same spark of newness that endeared you to him.

“There were times where I lost control,” he admitted as he looked back at you. “I’m trying to make amends.”

“Sounds like it was an intervention that brought you here.” You silently hoped that your teasing would lessen the sudden tension that grew between you.

“It wasn’t an intervention,” he replied, his eyes drifting back up towards the window.

You frowned at his distant expression. It hit you, in that moment, that Bucky was still a stranger. His truth, his truths, were still hidden to you. You wanted to ask him so many questions but you knew better than to venture too far. The first exchange you had with Bucky taught you that.

So, instead, you turned in the chair beside him and held out the magazine so you both could read through the next few quiz questions. You had to start somewhere.

“I’m putting you down as a ‘curious cat’,” you said, “you seem like a cat guy. Aloof.”

Following your statement, a hum of amusement reached your ears. You glanced at Bucky and saw that the softest of smiles rested on his lips. Pleased with yourself, you looked back to the magazine and read off the next question.

“Alright so, ‘Reach back to your inner-child and ask yourself: what do you want to be when you grow up’, Bucky?”

“Is ‘just okay’ an option? Or ‘happy’?”

III. Never get too personal.

“You’re late.”

“I had an errand,” Bucky replied as he fell into the seat beside you. His seat.

“An errand? What are you, fifty?”

“I wish.”

“What? You want to be older?” You eyed Bucky warily.

“Youn-” he met your gaze and saw the confusion in your face. “Nevermind.”

“You’re a strange one, Bucky...Bucky...what’s your last name?”

“Nunya,” he replied, without missing a beat; but you knew this joke. You raised a brow at him and released a long, unamused sigh through your nose.

“Nunya business?”

“Damn right.”

There was a bitter, closed-lip smile on Bucky’s face as he spoke. Despite the expression, his eyes did not linger long on you. At the angle you sat at, you thought you saw his slightly upturned mouth fall, too easily, into a frown. You assumed that it was because you ruined his extremely outdated joke.

Gently, you bumped your shoulder against his. “We gotta get you new material.”

“Or what? People will think I’m fifty?”

He met your gaze with a bored look on his face. In spite of your best efforts to reply with a quick, witty retort, you found yourself immersed in Bucky’s presence. His cerulean eyes never left yours and you felt your resolve begin to melt. Your eyes flicked across his face, to his scruff-covered jaw and soft pink lips. It took all of your strength to meet Bucky’s eyes again and form a somewhat full sentence.

“Not looking as good as you do.”

You meant to fire it back, make it sting despite your words being more of a compliment than an insult. But the words were soft, a murmur that contained too much of your heart, and betrayed your true thoughts. You felt that truth and quickly averted your gaze to the too-high windows. Bucky let out a pleased huff.

“Careful. That almost sounded like flattery, Y/N...Y/N...what’s your last name?”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, yeah, I get it. None of my business.”

A strained silence fell over the two of you. The dulled ticking of the waiting room clock soaked in the empty space that your voices once filled. Part of you feared that Bucky could hear the pounding of your heart. You were all too aware of the steady, thundering thumping in your chest.

In an attempt to muffle or overshadow the wild beating of your heart, you asked, “have you been given therapy homework yet?”

“Sort of,” Bucky replied, “kind of. It’s more self-assigned.”

“You’re an overachiever, then, huh?”

Your teasing, the distance your humor put you at, restored a level of comfort. In it, you felt confident enough to meet Bucky’s eyes. As you turned, your gaze trailed up his chest, skimmed along the cozy-looking material of his grey shirt. A striking glimpse of metal caught your attention, but Bucky’s voice coaxed your eyes to his.

“I wouldn’t call myself that,” he sighed, and he raised his hands. “I’m pretty average.”

“I doubt that,” you scoffed as you shook your head.

“Really?”

You turned your head to meet Bucky’s eyes and, again, you felt the thumping in your chest hasten. “Really.”

“Bold of you to assume. You don’t even know my last name.”

“Yet,” you pressed, “you’ll spill it to me one of these days. You may look good, but you also look like you need the therapy. We’ll be seeing each other often.”

A stunted laugh slipped out of Bucky’s mouth. He rarely laughed. If you could get half a smile out of him you were pleased. So, when a chuckle did slip, you savored the sound.

You let yourself watch him, how his head tilted back slightly when he looked up to the windows of the waiting room. It was then you saw the glint of a metal chain around his neck. You traced the shining material with your gaze until you saw the two dog tags that rested against his chest. The lapel of his jacket nearly obscured them, but you managed to read one in full.

James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes. Sargent. Camp Lehigh. DOB: 1917.

Based on the year, the date of birth, it had to be a relative, a grandfather, or an uncle, with the same name. As well as the same nickname? However strange it was, you knew Bucky’s last name: Barnes. Yet, you would wait for him to tell you himself. He would, one day.

IV. Practice active listening.

He was quiet, more so than usual.

When you walked into the waiting room, Bucky was already there, sat in his seat. When you greeted him, he didn’t respond. He only nodded and leaned heavily against the back of his chair. It didn’t take long for you to note the dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes and the more prominent lines of his face. The evidence of his lack of sleep was clear.

“You alright?”

“No.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s what Raynor is for. But I’m here if you change your mind,” and, added as an afterthought, “if you need me.”

Bucky didn’t say a word. His gaze remained fixed on the wall ahead, the black greyness that stood like stone across from you. Worry struck your chest with a sudden ache. It didn’t help that his silence stung. All-day you looked forward to seeing Bucky, but he was so far away.

Even when you looked at him, Bucky seemed small. Almost as if he were sat a few seats down rather than in the one right beside yours. You raked your eyes over his form, desperate for any sign that he was present, in the moment with you. As you drank him in, Bucky remained unmoved and as out of reach as the waiting room windows.

Aside from the exhaustion clear on his face, he held himself as he normally did. There was a slight slouch in his shoulders, that would disappear when he stood, and his arms rested against the supports the chair provided. Your eyes graced over his chest. Beneath his standard dark jacket, he wore a charcoal grey shirt and, if you looked long enough, you thought you saw his dog tags sticking out against the fabric. He kept them hidden, except for the last time you saw him.

Aside from his tired appearance, Bucky looked the same. Had it been just a rough night? Or did something happen? Outside of the waiting room, you knew little to nothing about Bucky. You considered Googling him, just to see what would pop up. Maybe he had an Instagram or a Facebook you could stalk; though the thought of seeing him with his arm slung over some old lover made your stomach churn. It was better to keep the Internet’s knowledge about Bucky Barnes a secret despite how desperately you wanted to know more.

The temptation to ask him, prod him to get some sort of answer, or answers, was strong. To combat it, you picked up a copy of Sports Illustrated. Not your first choice, but you needed to ease the itch of curiosity. Plus, the post-Blip world was a wild one, even for professional sports teams.

Feigning interest in the politics of football proved more difficult than you first imagined. Like the rest of the world, the realm of sports was floundering with its struggle to manage newly returned players and the teams they scraped together during their five-year absence. You began to wonder which half Bucky found himself with. Had he disappeared or had he remained? You still were unsure as to which was better.

It was part of why you used the therapy services Dr. Briam provided. Was that why Bucky met with Dr. Raynor? Just as your mind started to wander through every possibility, your quiet companion shifted in his seat. You looked over to him only to find his eyes were fixed on you.

“Nightmares,” he murmured. Your brows furrowed and you felt a frown form on your lips.

“Do you want to talk about them?”

Bucky hesitated and you saw the glimmer of a maybe in his eyes before he replied with another curt, “no.”

“Okay. I’m sorry you have to deal with that.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, Bucky’s eyes flicked down to the carpeted floor below his booted feet. You looked at the same spot but saw nothing. Slowly, you returned your gaze to Bucky, studied how his left arm rested near your right one. He was closer now, and you wanted to keep him that way.

Carefully, almost as if you were reaching out to a wounded animal, you extended your right hand. Your fingertips brushed against his left forearm and Bucky flinched. At his movement, you paused, looked to his face for permission. His eyes were stilled fixed on the floor and you could almost hear him slipping so far away again, crashing into the untamable waves his nightmares left in their wake.

To anchor him, you grabbed his hand. You didn’t squeeze, fearing it would be too much. You simply held his left hand in your right and silently marveled at how cool it felt beneath the material of his glove. A moment passed and Bucky didn’t react. You took a deep breath and resigned yourself back to the uninteresting issue of Sports Illustrated in your free hand.

A minute of silent reading went by when you felt his grip tighten around your hand. You didn’t dare to say a word. You only listened to the shuddering relief of his next breath.

V. Put your phone away.

“What was that?”

“My phone.”

“Really? I thought it was a lightbulb,” you rolled your eyes. “I’m aware it’s a phone.”

“How could I forget your great powers of observation.” Playing into your mild offense, Bucky feigned a frightfully embarrassed slap to his forehead.

“Funny,” you grumbled, “but it looked like you had a shit ton of missed calls.”

“Were you spying on me?”

You raised your hands in defense. “You pulled the phone out and the appallingly long list of uncleared notifications disgusted me.”

“I can’t figure out how to clear them.”

“You just swipe and then there’s a little ‘Clear’ button you press.” Bucky frowned and reached back into his jacket pocket. He pulled out his phone and held it out to you. Dumbfounded by this action, you glanced up from the dark screen and back to Bucky’s eyes. He gestured to the device and nodded.

“Can you show me?”

“Uh, I, yeah. Yeah, I can. Can you um-”

“Oh,” Bucky pulled his phone back to him and typed in the passcode to unlock it. When he handed it back to you, you were met with a horribly unorganized home screen and a messaging app icon with over a hundred missed texts. You glanced up from the phone and to Bucky, ready to teasingly chastise him for the state of his device.

But, when you moved to look him in the eyes, you nearly knocked your head against his. He was leaning over, close to your shoulder, prepared to study your message-clearing technique. Though, when your eyes fell to him, his attention was refocused on you. In that instant, a rush of warmth overwhelmed your senses.

He was so close you could smell the leather of his jacket and whatever generic brand soap he used in the shower. You could also feel his breath dance along the skin of your face and neck. It stirred goosebumps to life and sent a shiver down your spine. In an effort to suppress the tremble that threatened to overtake you, you turned your eyes back to his phone.

“So, all you need to do is drag down the top screen and,” you quickly walked him through the steps of clearing his message notifications. A lot were from someone named Sam, who asked how Bucky was, where he was, and if he was attending a memorial service or not. Before you saw too much, you handed Bucky his phone back.

“That’s it?” He mirrored your movements and old messages began to disappear off his screen.

“Yup,” you breathed, “just like that.”

“Alright, but then how do I add a new contact?”

“You really don’t know how to do that? How old are you?” You held out your hand and he wordlessly placed his phone back in your grasp. “You just click on ‘Contacts’ and hit ‘Add New Contact’ and put in their information.”

“You should put yours in.”

Another rush of heat washed over and through you as you looked up at Bucky. There was a startling seriousness in his face, lessened only by the hints of a smile on his lips. Your mouth opened but no words came out. At least, not at first.

“What?”

“Your number, you should give me your number. If you want.”

“Y-Yeah.” In a numbed, almost mechanical manner, you entered your contact information before you handed back his phone. “There I am.”

“There you are,” Bucky echoed softly. He barely met your eyes but he didn’t seem unnerved, at least not as shaken as you felt. He was perfectly and horribly unfazed by the implications of his words. Or maybe you were reading into it. So much of Bucky was still a mystery to you. He still hadn’t told you his last name!

But you knew of his nightmares. You didn’t know the names of the ghosts that haunted him, but you knew they existed and that they scared him. It didn’t scare you. You had your own skeletons, and you held in your heart some strange longing to know his.

As if hoping to sneak a glance at them, you gazed up at Bucky. His eyes found yours in an instant and you wondered if he was ready and willing to talk to you about his nightmares. Or maybe he was finally going to tell you his last name. Or just tell you something about him.

Just as his pink lips parted, the door to Dr. Raynor’s office opened with a click. The small, otherwise unnoticed sound, snapped the tension that budded between you and Bucky.

In turn, you and Bucky, looked over to find Dr. Raynor. She poked her head out from behind the door, just as she had many times before. Her dark-framed glasses were perched on the bridge of her nose as she eyed Bucky, sending him a silent, eerie greeting. She looked as frightening and hawk-like as ever.

“Ready for you,” she deadpanned.

Bucky nodded and stood from his chair. You watched him walk over towards Dr. Raynor’s door. It nearly broke your heart when he didn’t look back at you, though you weren’t quite sure why.

VI. Longing.

You wiped at your eyes as you strode out of Dr. Briam’s office. Knowing full well that Bucky wasn’t in the waiting room, as his sessions with Dr. Raynor started earlier than yours with Briam, you charged towards the door. The next two clients that sat in the plush chairs eyed you and the tears streaming down your cheeks as you passed by.

You were long past caring about what anyone else thought. Hell, you barely noticed their thrown gazes as you pushed open the door to the office building and stomped out into the daylight. Once you were stood on the top stair, you took a deep breath. You felt your lung swell and, as you held in the air for a few more seconds, you imagined your every anxiety being pushed out with your long exhale.

Dr. Briam’s technique helped as you felt your shoulders sink with a sudden, but not total, loss of tension. Tears still slipped down your cheeks as you made your way down the stairs. You wiped at them as you started your journey home. Home, yes, there you could curl up and disappear for a few hours. That was what you needed.

Everything and everyone else was too much. Well, nearly everyone else.

Still walking at a fast pace, you barely noticed the blur of dark clothes that stepped towards you. That was until you felt someone grab your upper arm. You nearly shrieked and prepared to make a scene when you looked up. A pair of cerulean blue eyes found your gaze and almost instantly eased your panic.

“Bucky! You scared the shit out of me!”

He let go of your arm and raised his hands. “Sorry.”

“Why are you lingering?” You asked, fixing your slightly disheveled clothes. Relatively satisfied with your handiwork, you focused back on Bucky. His eyes had never left your figure. “Bucky?”

“I...you seemed quiet today and I didn’t ask about it. So, I just wanted to make sure that you were alright but,” he reached out a brushed a tear from your cheek, “you’re not.”

“Is anyone really ever alright?” You forced a smile to your lips, an expression that Bucky mirrored sympathetically before he frowned. “I’m fine. You can go, you’re probably busy.”

You thought bitterly of the mystery person, Sam.

“At least let me walk you home.”

“Well, aren’t you the gentleman,” you joked, silently hoping that it would deter him. Yet, Bucky lingered and looked at you as seriously as ever. “Okay.”

Quickly, Bucky fell into step at your side as you maneuvered through writhing throngs of people on their way to and from. Every so often, your hand knocked against his gloved one and made your insides twist. The twisting turned to aching on the occasions where Bucky held your elbow and guided you around a particularly messy bunch of commuters.

“You walked this way for each session?”

“Each session,” you replied, looking up at Bucky. “Why?”

“Jus’ seems really busy.”

“It’s not always this bad. Plus, there’s a nice little park down over, oh! Right here.”

You stopped and gestured to a small fountain surrounded by benches. Manicured green knolls of grass and scattered, flowering trees surrounded the little park, which was empty compared to the streets. You glanced at Bucky and nudged his shoulder with yours.

“Sit with me?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded and he let you guide him over to one of the benches. With a huff, you sat down and he followed suit. The wooden planks of the bench creaked under his added weight and, as if ushered by the sound, Bucky leaned closer to you.

You watched him as he took in your new surroundings. It looked as if he were surveying the area for any threats that could be hiding in the shadows. Perhaps that was why Bucky was such an enrapturing mystery to you: he always looked ready for a fight. Like his dejected crocodile, he was just waiting to be provoked. You were ready to do just that after weeks of tiptoeing around him.

“You never told me,” you said softly. Your voice coaxed Bucky’s eyes to yours.

“Told you what?”

“Why you came to Dr. Raynor.”

Bucky frowned and after a long pause he sighed. “A court order.”

“A court order? That’s…impressive? I don’t know the context, so, I can’t, and won’t, judge.”

Bucky let out a breathy, almost nervous-sounding chuckle as his gaze fell to the pavement. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. I think if you did, you would judge.”

You furrowed your brows and waited for Bucky to look back at you. When he did, you felt your breath catch. In the sunlight, his eyes seemed brighter. Though, the heaviness of his knitted brow stole away their shine. He really believed you would judge him, after everything?

“Try me.”

“Y/N-”

“I want to know.” Bucky frowned but you pressed on. “I want to know you, Bucky.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’re kidding, right? You’re...interesting. Equally annoying and mysterious. It helps that you’re,” you sighed, “you’re good-looking too.”

A smile, the biggest you had ever seen Bucky put spread along his lips. His gaze fell to the sidewalk bashfully before he met your eyes once more. You thought back to the day you met and found yourself breaking out into a grin. He did look handsome when he really smiled.

“I’m nothing compared to you,” Bucky replied. “Talkin’ about both good-looking and annoying.”

“Then you know I won’t stop pestering you until you start to share,” you shifted towards him. “I want to know who you are, Bucky.”

His eyes flickered down from yours to your lips and back again. “What if I don’t really know myself?”

“Then start with what you do know.” You held out both of your hands towards him. Bucky glanced down at your open palms. When he met your gaze you saw a glint of fear that quickly melted into, what you could only describe as, relief.

Wordlessly, Bucky lifted his hands and began to peel off his gloves. First was his right. The sight of fingers made you strangely giddy. You had never seen the skin of his hands before. Then, he moved to his left and, finger by finger, he pulled the glove off. Sleek, shining, and metal, Bucky’s left hand was exposed.

You inhaled sharply at the sight but did not flinch away. Instead, you met Bucky’s eyes again and nodded. Carefully, he grabbed both of your hands in his. The contrast of his warm flesh and the cool, steel-like material sent a shock down your spine. You studied your joined hands before you looked back up at Bucky. A trembling breath rattled in his chest.

“I am James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes. I’m from Brooklyn and I used to be the Winter Soldier.”

[eulcgizeme]

"It's not about you, its never been about you," Sullivan said, some weight falling off of him at the revelation of the blame he wrongfully assigned her.

But then again, even that was wrong. The trouble was that none of it had belonged to Sawyer— the music, the comfort, the memory. The band had been all that was left not just of Stevie, but what claim Sullivan still had over his best friend. He lost him over and over again to those who believed they owned him. He wasn't family as much as he stuck around, as much as the two were devoted to each other. This was all he had left to Stevie, what had been untouched by tragedy, and it was nearly gone.

"Until everything was," He spoke softly, ache in his throat against the change.

The contrast to his outburst from before pulled him from his own body, and as he stood still against her, Sullivan hadn't noted until now how empty he'd felt since that day. That had been the only way he'd taken the break between him and Sawyer and felt nothing at all, the reason why nothing mattered but what he didn't have.

Sullivan shook his head, epiphany hardly bringing any relief to what he'd done over the past two years. He'd fallen with Stevie that night, part of him never leaving that wreckage. Everything had been in his name since then, even the destruction he sought after. He could feel the walls he'd built break, but in his threat to take everything from everyone from the days were Stevie's voice could still be heard, something else had finally stood around him. Some shadow was casted, an isolation he was ready to consume if need be. He couldn't help but find comfort in it. Yet, there was one flaw in it's design and Sawyer seemed to challenge it before him in that moment.

"You don't get it, Sawyer, and you never will. This is what we made together, this band and the music, and it was the reason we were friends and the reason we were so close. It's ours, the band's and Stevie's. It's all I have left," Sullivan mumbled. "It's so far removed from the three of us. All of that died with him, but we still had the music. I don't want you to replace him, or change any of this. I'm not trying to heal— I'm trying to keep what's left of him, this version of him, alive."

But in doing so, his frustrations had found their outlet. Every demon of thought had collected along the guitar strings reserved for the sound of Shelved Saints, and they played every thought against Sawyer. Even the songs he hadn't written for her had become tributes, whether it was specific to how he didn't feel, how he once did, or how he was now.

"But now, with you here, everything is about you. I keep things from you so they're still mine, and I play his songs with the intention to spite you with whatever the words are," He admitted, head hung between his shoulders and he turned away from her. "We're ruining what's left of him, or at least I am because of how I feel about you." @stayliquid

Times like these were the reason she had been able to make music at all. The scars and bruises left on her soul transformed into words to put on sheets of paper, bringing them to life night after night. It was the only thing that made the trials of life worth it, despite the pain he caused her.

"There's nothing more to see here." He heels clicked against the floor as her arms raised to shoo at the crew that still stood there, silenced by his words to her. Her mind raced; thoughts a maze in her own mind breaking to find the right direction to rectify his anger. Every moment with Sullivan after Stevie's death was new territory for her to migrate.

Once he hall emptied, she took a breath. Building up her facade, her hands fisting to stop the shaking. "I'm still here. I'm still the closest thing you have left to him but we also had something separate from him once, right? Something that was ours. If you would stop looking at me as trying to replace him entirely and start looking at me like I'm here to help us both heal maybe you would stop being so angry."

Her methods were far from perfect and the managers weren't helping, but she was finding it harder to breathe knowing he had just kicked her out of his life for good. Hands sought to wrap around his arm, sliding closer to loop them both around his one, hugging herself against him. @eulcgizeme