#i will uh. go look at that and figure it out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

httpwintersoldier · 3 days ago

Text

『 sweet little thing p.1 | b. barnes x reader 』

pairing: bucky barnes x afab!reader words: it's real long okay, it even has parts summary: what happens when the guy you have a crush on happens to have a dad, who is older, hotter and rougher? 『 part 2 』

fluff ; angst ; smut

When you saw Andy he was simply... phenomenal. His eyes were big and blue, and the way their corners creased when he smiled was simply too much to bear.

You made it a point to become close to him - you swore up and down that your classmate would fall in love with you if he spent just enough time around you.

So you pretended to be dumb, and, because Andy was one of the top students in the university, it was only logical to ask him for help and form a study group.

It was all going well and dandy - you two hung out together nearly every day, studied and partied, and eventually went from colleagues, to friends, to very close friends.

Your plan was working perfectly... until one day. Until that one awful, magical day in which he invited you to study at his house.

Your whole body was trembling and the butterflies in your stomach wouldn't sit still as you drove to Andy's place, but the smile plastered on your face would let anyone know that, despite the nervousness, you were thrilled.

You took a deep breath and opened the car door, shutting it behind you before skipping over to the house's front porch and ringing the doorbell.

Silence. Nothing. Not a "I'm coming", not a "one second!", not even a single footstep. You checked your phone to make sure you were on the right address and that you had gotten the date correct before ringing the doorbell again, while anxiously biting your lip.

Suddenly, you heard heavy footsteps coming from the inside, and the white wooden door swung open.

"Who the f- oh, who are you?" The man's voice was rigid at first, but it softened and quieted as his eyes landed on your figure, in a little skirt and books tucked against your chest.

Your eyes widened in surprise. That man couldn't be anyone other than Andy's dad. His eyes were just as blue, and his voice was just the right amount of soft and rough as well. But there was something about him... Something that made your heart pound out of your chest. Maybe it was the short beard, the sweat dripping down his forehead, or the way his shirt hugged his biceps, but you were feeling something just about everywhere.

Andy was good looking guy but that... that was a gorgeous man.

"S-sorry sir, I'm Y/N. I'm Andy's friend he uh- we were supposed to study today."

"Were you now?" He grabbed the rag that was tucked away on the waist of his jeans and wiped his forehead "I'm sorry darlin' but the little shit hasn't come back yet, feel free to come in and wait for him though." The man said, stepping away from the door and giving you space to walk inside.

His tone wasn't rigid, but there was definitely an aura around him that demanded respect and that imposed authority. The nickname sent a shiver down your spine, but you smiled nevertheless.

"I wouldn't want to impose, I can come back later, Sir!" You shyly replied, as it was clear that the man was working and he had no idea he was about to receive visitors.

"Aren't you a sweet little thing, I wish all of Andy's friends were like you. It's no trouble, really. It's the least I can do for you in this situation." He said with a chuckle.

You smiled and walked into the house and right past the man, hoping he missed the blush that crept up on your face and the nervousness that made your legs shake.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Barnes!"

The man nodded in response and pointed you to the living room before disappearing somewhere in the house.

Minutes passed by and the clock on the wall ticked as you were left by yourself for who knows how long. You had plenty of time to look around, although there was not much to look at - the house was barely decorated, only a few framed pictures here and there, everything else was the strictly necessary furniture. The living room was but a couch, a reclining chair, a nice plasma TV and a coffee table with circular stains (from the lack of coasters, no doubt). Andy had once mentioned that his parents were no longer together, and that was obvious from the looks of the house - it was clearly a man-cave.

An hour had passed by when Andy's dad emerged from the back of the house once more, his forehead shining with sweat as he wiped his greasy hands on a rag.

He lifted his head and the man's eyebrows furrowed as his eyes met yours.

"Where is Andy?" He simply asked, in a monotone voice.

You swallowed thickly, almost nervously, as if you had done something wrong.

"I... I'm not sure, Sir. He hasn't answered my texts."

The male sighed and his features softened - you couldn't tell if he was annoyed that a stranger was still in his house or if he was irritated that his son had invited someone over and left them alone.

He opened his mouth to say something else but, as if on cue, Andy burst in the door.

"Hey dad there's a car in the- oh hey Y/N, what are you doing here?" The boy asked when his eyes landed on your figure sitting on the couch.

"We had agreed to study today." You said, holding up the books you had brought with yourself.

"No, we had agreed to study on Tuesday."

His dad walked over to him and smacked him on the head - it wasn't hard enough to hurt, but it was rough enough for Andy to understand he was being reprimanded.

"Which is today, dipshit. And where's your phone?"

Andy's eyes widened and he facepalmed.

"Aw man, is it!? I'm so sorry, Y/N!" Andy knelt in front of you, staring at you with those steel blue eyes "I will make it up to you, I promise."

But suddenly, those turquoise orbs that you came to love so much, did not have the same effect on you, as you had somehow found a more beautiful pair to stare into.

You had spent the week getting flashbacks of the small exchanges you had had with Andy's dad - the way his muscles flexed at every little movement, the way his hair fell over his face ever so slightly, and his piercing blue eyes, that gave such a rugged man an almost angelic look.

You felt guilty for the amount of thoughts you had about the man, especially when you were constantly hanging around Andy, but you couldn't help the effect he had on you, it was like poison slowly taking over your body.

"Why don't you come over for dinner, Y/N? I'm cooking tonight and I still owe you an apology for the other day." Andy invited, as you walked to your class.

You bit your lip - free homecooked food was not something you wanted to decline, but you wondered if stepping back into that house was wise, as more interactions with "Mr. Barnes" would bring your infatuation to a new level, you were sure.

"Come on! If you decline free food it means you were never really angry at me."

You rolled your eyes and eventually agreed, convincing yourself that it was nothing but a stupid schoolgirl crush that would eventually go away.

You were nervous throughout the rest of the day, for no reason at all. You didn't even know if Mr. Barnes would be home, you didn't even know if you were going to interact with him, but for some reason that beautiful gaze of his was burned into your mind.

Andy didn't find your silence too weird, as he just thought you were still angry at him - and he hoped that that night's dinner would bring your friendship back to normal.

After classes were done, you stopped by your place so you could shower and change clothes after a whole day of sweating. You stood in front of your closet, towel wrapped around your body as you wondered what you should wear, your eyes landed on a miniskirt. Usually you'd wear something sexy to catch the eyes of a certain boy, but this time you knew you'd be wearing it to catch someone else's attention. It felt wrong, it made you feel somewhat guilty, for some reason, and yet you still picked up the skirt and put it on.

Andy must've been busy with the cooking, because when you rang the doorbell it was Mr. Barnes who opened it for you. It hard to contain the smile (and the attraction you felt for him) as his eyes traveled down your body and landed on the little skirt you wore.

This time he wasn't as sweaty and dirty (to your slight displeasure), he wore a dark pair of jeans and a light shirt, with its sleeves rolled up until his elbow.

"Hello, Sir." You greeted politely.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards and he stepped away from the door, granting you passage.

"Hello, darlin'. You can just call me James." He said as you entered the house.

You can just call him James. You didn't know how to feel about that, there was a certain appeal in calling him "Sir", as if you were recognizing that he was somehow superior to you, more worthy of respect and authority.

"Of course S- James." You said, nonetheless, correcting yourself immediately.

"Andy's right down there in the kitchen." James said with a smirk.

You thanked him and followed the direction in which he had pointed to, and you found Andy, and a mess of onion and potato peels around him, as well as chunky and uneven cut carrots and a poorly de-boned chicken.

As you watched the boy struggle, you felt a presence behind you - James Barnes. You looked up at him, to find him staring at his son with a mix of confusion and disgust on his face.

"Hey, buddy, the chicken is already dead." He mocked.

Andy looked over his shoulder to find the two of you staring at him, and he looked... stressed, to say the least. It was clear that he didn't know how to cook whatever he was trying to cook, that the only reason why he asked you over was to impress you, and he had failed.

His dad laughed and walked over to him, patting his shoulder.

"Go wash up kid, I can finish up."

Andy looked like he had just seen his guardian angel, he thanked his dad and glanced at you.

"I'll be right back just- I'm going to take a shower." The boy ran past you and you couldn't help but giggle at the disheveled state of the ever-composed Andy Barnes.

However, when he left, you were painfully aware that you were once more left alone with the man you had been picturing in your mind the whole week.

"Do you need help, James?" The name rolled off your tongue with such ease, it felt natural, and for some reason it aroused you, as if calling him by his name expressed some sort of closeness.

The man glanced at you, and then at the counter - you could see the conflict in his eyes.

"You're a guest, don't worry about it."

You had been invited by his son, and the last thing he wanted was to have someone invited over to do housework, but you couldn't stand back and relax while he looked so overwhelmed. So, you rolled up your sleeves and began pooling together all of the peels and unusable parts that were laying on the counter.

"It's no problem, really." You told him with a smile as you carried the stuff you had collected to the trash.

Unbeknownst to you, the male's eyes fell to your legs as you walked away, and he muttered a small "fuck" under his breath as you bent over the trash. Your skirt rode up dangerously, and he had to force his gaze away from your figure. Obviously your outfit hadn't gone unnoticed by the man...

There wasn't much of an exchange between the two of you before Andy came down the stairs running, hair still slightly damp. The man focused on finishing dinner and you set the table, to pass time and fill in the awkwardness.

"Sorry! Sorry for leaving you with him again." The boy said as he came into the room.

"I will ground you." The man retorted, playfully.

You giggled at the joke and glanced at how mesmerizing Mr. Barnes looked, even from the back.

"Sorry Sarge!" Andy said and you cocked your head to the side.

James turned around to put the food on the table, and Andy took it as an opportunity to hook his finger around the chain around his neck, bringing the dog tag that was hidden under his shirt forward - you didn't miss the way it flashed some of the male's naked chest.

"He was an army brat and then joined the army and became a Sergeant. I wanted to join too but dad didn't let me." Andy explained, as you all began taking your seats around the table.

A soldier... That would explain the brooding and the serious expression, and it would further explain the way his presence alone demanded respect and exuded authority. It somehow made him even more desirable, if that was even possible.

"What would you even do there, Andy? You couldn't chop a carrot, never mind shoot a gun." You joked.

Andy's face grew red with embarrassment and his dad left out a hearty laugh.

You couldn't stop the smile from spreading on your face, for some reason you felt proud for making the male laugh. Andy protested your joke, but you didn't listen, as your eyes were glued to the dog tag, trying to read it.

"James B. Barnes..." You said to yourself, as you thought about what the "B" stood for.

"Bucky."

You eyes snapped up and you met the male's gaze, it was piercing and there was a mixture of emotions to them, they were curious and had a glint of playfulness, like a big dog staring at the newly arrived kitten.

"S-sorry?" You asked, not gathering what he meant.

"The 'B', it stands for Buchanan, or Bucky for short."

You blushed deeply, and you could feel the heat on your face as apparently you had said his name quite loud.

The glances you exchanged throughout the dinner were brief, and both of you wondered if there was something more to them, but, due to the fact that he was you dad's friend, the two of you just dismissed it as fragments of their imagination.

The dinner had been disastrous. Well, it had gone wonderfully, which was terrible, because your head was filled with constant images of your supposed crush's father.

Your head was spinning constantly, and your (romantic) interest on Andy had been reduced to basically nothing. You couldn't stop thinking of his eyes, his smile, his gaze, his muscles, his... everything. And the thoughts only got dirtier and dirtier as the clock ticked, each hour making your mind delve deeper into your perverted fantasies.

You refused to touch yourself to image of your close friend's father, it was wrong, but one day the images in your mind seemed too real, you were so desperate you could swear you almost felt his rough hand softly exploring your inner thighs, travelling upwards and upwards. You flipped the covers off of yourself and put on a pair of shorts as you headed out for some air.

You walked with no destination, but you remembered there was a convenience store nearby, and you decided to stop by - maybe a late night snack and a late night walk would make you sleepy enough to fall right asleep once you headed back, but oh how wrong you were.

You greeted the cranky cashier as you walked in and made your way around the store, looking for something that would catch your eye, but, to your surprise, you found a different kind of snack hidden in the back.

Standing in front of the beer cases was none other than James Buchanan Barnes, with one hand on his hip as he brushed his hair back with the other hand. His jeans were riding terribly low, and when he lifted his arm to fix the rebel strands of hair, he revealed the waistband of his underwear, like the ribbon of a gift you desperately wanted to unwrap.

He lived nearby, and you wondered if you had crossed paths before and you just hadn't noticed him, or if it was the universe toying with you.

You realized you had been standing there, staring like a creep, and he had probably noticed someone was in the same aisle, so you decided turned on your heels and walked towards the cookie aisle.

You had spend a couple minutes biting your lip and admiring all of the different flavours, before deciding on the Oreos at the very top of the high shelf.

Just as you struggled, standing on your tippy toes and reaching for the item, someone came behind you and grabbed a pack. Their hand was on your waist, and their chest directly behind you. You turned around, coming face to face with none other than Bucky, the man you were trying to hard to avoid. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you wanted nothing more than to grab the hand that had grabbed your waist and place it lower on your body.

You breathed in deeply, inhaling his manly musk, a faint smell of fresh laundry and deodorant, nothing too strong like most guys in your college whom you could smell a mile away.

"Hey darlin', what're you doing out here so late?" He asked as he took a step back and handed you your snack.

"Hi! I couldn't sleep, it's uh... it's too hot." It wasn't entirely false, but he didn't need to know where that heat resided, or who was the cause for it.

Your fingers brushed against his as you took the Oreos from him, and adrenaline shot through your body. Every single one of his touches left a fire in your body, one that he started and only he could put out.

"Yeah? Me either." There was a certain sadness in his tone, but he quickly changed the subject. "Are you here all by yourself?"

"Uh, yeah, I am."

Bucky's eyebrows furrowed together and he seemed to be deep in thought for a second. He had it in his nature to take care of everyone around him, and the situation simply didn't seem right in his mind.

"Let me drive you home, it's getting real late and it's dark out there."

You desperately wanted to take the offer, but you couldn't - not only did you not want to be a bother, you also didn't want your forget-about-Bucky walk to turn into a more-Bucky-content walk.

"Thank you, Mr. B- James, it's okay, really."

"Are you sure?" Bucky asked, feeling uneasy.

He had no authority over you, but it didn't feel correct to let a young woman walk alone in the middle of the night.

"Yeah, no worries James, thank you for the offer."

"Have yourself a good night then, darlin'." He said, with a small smile.

"You too, sir!"

You mentally cursed yourself for calling him "sir" again as you turned around and made your way to the cashier - old habits die hard.

As you left the store, you glanced back to steal another look at Bucky's ethereal appearance, and you wondered if you should have just given in and let him take you home.

"Hey there, wanna do something fun, princess?" A voice snapped you out of your fantasies, and, when you realized, three guys had surrounded you.

They weren't huge or muscled by any means, but they were tripled in number, so you felt a little uneasy in their presence.

"Come on baby, why don't we take you home, huh?" The tallest one of the trio asked, stepping forward.

"I'm- I'm good, thanks."

"Don't look so scared, we don't bite." He got closer to you, so that he could whisper "Not unless you want us to."

As you stood there, frozen in fear, the crew shared a collective laugh. The laughing stopped rather quickly, and their faces morphed from entertained and amused, to serious ones. You didn't understand what was happening, but as you took one step back, you bumped into someone's chest. You looked up to find none other than Bucky. His eyes were devoid of that twinkle and glisten that you fantasized about, they were dark and clouded by rage.

He said nothing before taking your arm and pulling you to stand behind him.

"I wanna do something fun. I think I know just how much fun the four of us can have." The male said, walking towards them until he was face to face with the guy that had whispered in your ear.

There were three guys versus just one Bucky, but their three scrawny figures stood no chance against a man like James Barnes.

"Ay, let's- let's bounce y'all." One of them said, in the back, pulling his friends back by the forearm.

"Yeah, I think it'd be best if you three 'bounced'." Bucky mocked, never letting go of the eye contact.

Once they were out of sight, the man turned around to face you, placing his hands on your arms.

"Are you okay? Darlin'?" One of his hands slid up your body as he grabbed your chin and tipped it upwards, so his worried eyes could look into your shocked, fearful ones.

"F-fuck..." You finally said, brushing your hair back in frustration.

You could finally breathe, and you felt like Bucky had just rescued you from the claws of a wolf.

"Thank you s- James. Thank you so much." You muttered, and Bucky breathed out in relief. "I shouldn't have-"

"Hey, none of that. You were living your life and what happened isn't your fault. Let's get you home, okay?" The man said, cutting you off and preventing you from potentially blaming what happened on any of your actions, which made you smile shyly and nod along to his question.

You followed Bucky to his truck. He offered you his hand so you could get on the seat as it was quite high, and his eyes shamelessly trailed down your body once more. The man had to turn his head to the side until you had climbed onto the seat.

Aside from giving him directions to your place, the trip was rather quiet.

"Are you okay?" Bucky asked, as he took one of your hands and placed his free hand on your hip while helping you out of his truck once you had arrived to your house.

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks for... that, back there."

"No need to worry darlin'. You uh- text me, or call me, if you're ever in trouble. Andy told me your parents live away from the university, so hit me up if you ever need anything."

Andy had told him... You wondered if Bucky asked or if the son had simply volunteered that information. Nonetheless you took the card he extended you - it was a business card with Bucky's Garage written on it, and his phone number under it.

You blushed intensely and your mind became foggy for a second, as you acknowledged that the man had just handed you his number.

"Thank you. I will, James."

After that encounter, you didn't see Bucky for over a week. The frequency with which he visited your mind, however, increased by the hour. It seemed like the saying "out of sight, out of mind" had no real meaning when it came to dirty thoughts involving James Barnes.

Nine days after the fact, Andy asked you and a couple other people over to watch basketball. It was a small group of four boys, including Andy, and two girls, you and a really sweet girl whom you had grown closer to, since you hung out together often because of the guys.

You knew Bucky would be there, which made choosing an outfit much more difficult. Should you dress normally!? Should you try to tease him further? Would you want to continue feeding this silly fantasy of yours?

Your eyes skimmed the closet, eventually landing on a cheerleading outfit - it was a small skirt and a long sleeved crop top, both with a colour scheme that matched your town's basketball team's. You had bought it for halloween once, for an undead cheerleader look, and you were seriously considering it.

Your mind raced with several contradicting thoughts, but you eventually picked it up and tried it on.

"Should I? Maybe it's too much... I mean, they will be wearing team jerseys, so it wouldn't be too farfetched to wear this. Or would it?" You were talking to yourself like a crazy person as you looked at your reflection in the mirror.

Eventually, you decided to text the other girl who was invited, in hopes of getting some honest feedback, before asking what she was thinking of taking as an outfit. You snapped two photos, one from the front, and one from your back, so she could properly see the length (or lack thereof) of your skirt.

You: is this too slutty to take to his house or does it look good? (2 attachments)

You put your phone down but it vibrated again as soon as it touched the mattress.

"I don't think the text was for me, darlin', but for the record, it looks good."

"minors do not interact" banner credit: @cafekitsune

#bucky barnes #bucky smut #bucky fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #bukcy barnes x reader #marvel smut #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #winter soldier #bucky #bucky fanfic #bucky reader insert

303 notes · View notes

muniimyg · 1 day ago

Text

*ੈ εつ‧₊˚° ♡ ༘ ctrl+alt+delete // jjk ༘ ♡ °˚₊‧ εつ ੈ*

19 // next // series m.list

note: oh wHAT DO YOU KNOW ABT MEET CUTES??? huashjdkfasjf.... ignore my mistakes ,, i am sick ! goodnight pretty pussy kimi friends <3

friday night.

jimin’s voice rings through the chaos of the small, but somehow always too crowded, apartment. it’s filled with people yet jimin’s squeaky yapping is the loudest thing in jungkook’s ear.

“stop freaking out!” jimin cries, dodging around taehyung, who’s already got a hand to his forehead like he’s holding back a migraine. “bro, you look fine.”

“but what if this is the wrong shirt?” jungkook whines, his brows knit together, tugging at the hem of the plain black tee he’s been second-guessing for the last hour and a half.

taehyung groans, dramatic as ever. “what if i hit you right now?”

“what if you go kill yourself—”

before jungkook can finish, the sound of liquid splashing against fabric cuts him off. the liquor spreads fast and drips down his shirt.

jungkook takes a deep breath in.

“oops,” jimin says, not even trying to hide the grin as his tequila splatters all over jungkook’s chest. “now you have to change. you’re welcome.”

“you—!” jungkook starts, eyes narrowing like he’s about to lunge.

“do it,” taehyung interrupts, his grin lazy, sharp, and mean in a way that only jungkook’s closest friends can manage. “before ___ walks in and sees you covered in alcohol. how’s that for a first impression, mr. perfect?”

jungkook shoots both of them a glare, muttering curses under his breath as he storms off toward his room, the familiar bubble of frustration fizzing in his chest.

god.

tonight, out of all nights; he’s spiraling. really—because how could they not see how serious this all is?

you’re coming over.

you.

st4rg1rlyni3.

… and since this is your first time meeting… he has to get it right. he has to at least look good. presentable. maybe even… handsome.

once jungkook reaches his room, he pulls open his closet door with more force than necessary. the shirts hang neatly—too neatly—because he reorganized them this morning, just in case you’d... what? wander in here and look inside his closet?

he groans at himself, grabbing the first thing that doesn’t make him want to scream, a striped blue button-up he swore he wouldn’t wear tonight.

as he shrugs the shirt over his shoulders, he’s halfway through tugging it down—arms trapped in the fabric, mid-struggle—when his door creaks open.

his heart stalls. freezes, really, like his whole body is buffering.

because it’s you.

you’re standing there, hand still on the doorknob, looking as though you hadn’t expected to walk in on this exact moment—but you’re also clearly trying to hold back a laugh.

“oh.” your voice comes out light, amused. you glance down at your phone for a second before back up at him, a brow raising. “taehyung said the bathroom was—hmmm. okay. i get it.”

jungkook is acutely aware of every awkward detail: his hair sticking up from all his stressed-out fidgeting, the half-buttoned shirt that’s probably wrinkled by now, the way his mouth is hanging slightly open because he still hasn’t figured out what to say.

“um...” it’s the best he can manage, voice a little cracked.

your smile grows, softening the edges of the moment.

“nice shirt.”

he stares at you, feels his cheeks flush a little hotter. because of course you’d show up looking this good, all easy confidence and effortless charm, while he’s here feeling like a walking disaster. your hair is curled in such an effortless way that truly scratches his brain. you’re wearing a baby pink dress that tugs your curves perfectly.

truth be told, he was just talking shit about the colour pink.

seeing it on you?

yeah. it’s his favourite colour now too—

that’s when jungkook realizes he’s been silent for a minute too long. you’re looking at him like you’re waiting for a response.

“thanks,” he finally blurts, so fast it sounds like one word. then he clears his throat, scrambling to add, “just—uh, just picked it.”

your gaze lingers on him, a smile tipping into something dangerously close to teasing.

“what’s… with the awkwardness? am i prettier than you expected?”

his breath hitches, and you swear you catch the faintest blush coloring his cheeks. but jungkook recovers quickly, his lips curling into a crooked grin.

“the issue was never if you were pretty. you are pretty. there’s no denying that,” he admits, his voice steady yet soft. “it’s your attitude.”

your brow arches, feigning offense.

“what attitude? i just got here.”

“that one,” he says, gesturing vaguely as if you radiate something he can’t quite put into words.

you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “oh, so we’re acting like we didn’t just celebrate seven days of talking with cake? like you aren’t completely obsessed with me—”

“okay, miss disliker.”

“mr. vlog dedicator.”

“weren’t you mad at me a few days ago for muting when i peed?”

“yeah. i can admit to that. if i made peeing videos, you’d watch them, right? can you admit to that?”

jungkook bites down on his bottom lip, a nervous habit you’ve started to notice, and inhales sharply through his nose. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and for a moment, his gaze drops to the floor like he’s trying to gather himself.

the air stills.

“sorry,” he finally breathes, his voice low and almost unsure. “seeing you in person… god, i don’t know how to act right now. i’m sorry, baby.”

his words settle over you, warm and sweet, sinking into the spaces you didn’t know were waiting to be filled. your stomach tightens, flipping over itself, and you’re suddenly too aware of the way his voice dips when he calls you baby.

jungkook finishes buttoning up his shirt, his fingers fumbling slightly on the last button, and then he extends his hand toward you.

“nice to meet you—”

but before he can finish, you reach out, wrapping your arms around his neck instead.

his entire body tenses for a split second, caught off guard before he melts into the embrace. his arms come around you, pulling you close, holding you tight.

you rest your chin on his shoulder, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. his cologne—something woodsy with just a hint of spice—wraps around you, grounding you in the intimacy of the moment.

why does this feel so right?

your hands flex against his back, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath your fingertips. it’s overwhelming��how natural this feels, how easy it is to lean into him like this.

he exhales against your hair, his breath warm and steady now, and you can feel the tension draining from his body. you pull back slightly, your arms still looped around his neck, and meet his gaze. there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—uncertainty, maybe, or hesitation—but it’s quickly swallowed by a softness that tugs at your chest.

his hands slide down to rest on your waist, grounding you in place. “hi.”

you blink, your stomach flipping again as his words settle in. he’s staring at you like you’re the only person in the room, and it’s almost too much to bear.

“hi.”

“i’m really nervous, to be honest. jimin and tae have been eating up my anxiety and i’m… i’ve embrassed myself in front of you already so what the hell?” he says, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly. “you’ve been in my head. and now… now you’re here, and i don’t know what to do with myself.”

you smile softly, trying to keep things light despite the way your heart is racing.

“excited much?”

he laughs, the sound warm and a little breathless. “only a little.”

you don’t know who moves first, but somehow, you find yourself leaning in, his forehead pressing gently against yours. his eyes flutter shut, and for a moment, the world outside fades into nothingness.

“you smell nice,” he murmurs, his lips so close to yours that you can feel the ghost of his breath.

“so do you.”

he chuckles, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “this feels too perfect,” he whispers, almost like he’s afraid saying it out loud will break the spell.

your stomach flips again, and you’re suddenly so aware of everything—his hands on your waist, the warmth radiating off his body, the way his lips hover just a breath away from yours.

“then don’t ruin it,” you tease, your smile growing.

he grins, leaning back just enough to meet your eyes, and for a moment, you’re both caught in the weight of everything unsaid.

“not a chance,” he says, his voice steady now.

you believe him.

the night feels like a dream.

not the kind you forget the second you wake up, but the kind you spend the rest of the day reliving, hoping to hold onto every detail.

jungkook’s mind is filled with you.

every time he looks at you, touches you, or hears you—he can’t help but feel like his heart is beating outside of his chest. it’s so strange and love has never felt this way—so intense and real�� so fast.

you’re witty in a way that makes his chest ache, sharp without being mean, playful but never overbearing. he can’t remember the last time someone teased him, really teased him, without making him feel small. you make it fun—safe, even.

and god, you’re beautiful.

not in the way he thought before, through screens and pictures, but in a way that’s... more. the kind of beauty that makes him feel like he should thank someone—maybe you, maybe the universe—for the chance to be here, breathing the same air as you.

he notices the way hobi smirks when he catches jungkook staring at you too long. the way taehyung elbows him whenever you laugh at one of his dumb jokes. the way jimin whispers “she likes you, idiot” every time you brush past him, your shoulder grazing his.

it’s obvious.

to everyone.

and apparently, to you too, because you’ve joined in.

you’re teasing him just as much as his friends, your words sharp and deliberate in a way that keeps him on his toes. it’s almost unbearable, the way you make him feel like a little kid with a crush, heart pounding and cheeks burning every time you look his way.

and then, in the middle of it all, he snaps.

not in a bad way, but in the way you’d snap a rubber band to bring yourself back to reality. he steps closer, his hand finding your waist, his fingers curling just slightly.

“can i show you something?”

your brows lift, curiosity flickering across your face. you nod.

“sure.”

jungkook leads you to his room, the chaos of the party fading behind you. his fingers brush yours as he walks ahead, close enough to touch but not quite. it’s deliberate, like he’s trying to keep his cool but failing miserably.

once you're in his room, he gestures towards his balcony.

you two step out and it's this set up of a cozy and quiet escape. there are string lights wrapped around the railing, a single blanket draped over the chair, and the view—god, the view is stunning.

the city stretches out like it’s alive, blinking lights and faint noises making it feel infinite.

“i fought for this room,” jungkook brags, leaning against the doorframe. “tae wanted it, but i beat him in an arm wrestling match.”

you laugh softly, stepping out onto the balcony.

“it’s worth the fight.”

“it is.”

he doesn’t mean the room, though.

you settle into the blanket he hands you, the conversation flowing into something softer, deeper.

“it's been a few hours already but... it’s still so weird seeing you in person,” he admits, his voice quieter now, like he’s letting himself be vulnerable. “i feel like... i’ve known you my entire life. it feels...”

“different?” you offer, your gaze steady on him.

he nods, his lips curving into a small smile. “in a good way."

“in a good way." you echo.

with that, you two settle in to each others presence. looking out at the view and laughing at each others lame jokes. for two sociable people, you two sure love your space from everyone... perhaps, it's because you're with the one.

as the conversation drifts, eventually, jungkook asks, “so... the anon thing. have you figured out who it is yet?”

you shrug, pulling the blanket tighter around you.

“no, not really. hobi told me to take it slow. to focus on myself for now.”

“what does that mean for... you know.” his voice drops, suddenly shy. “your content.”

another shrug.

“i’m not sure. i don’t know if i want to keep going, but... i don’t think i have any other options.”

he frowns, leaning forward. “what do you mean by that?”

you hesitate, your fingers tracing the edge of the blanket. “i don’t really know what i am these days, to be honest with you.”

that's the plain truth.

you haven't really admitted it to anyone... honestly? hardly to yourself... but for some reason, it just came out. for a moment you think; maybe this is dangerous. trusting someone so fast and feeling how natural it is to say the hard things...

then, there’s a beat of silence before he speaks.

“that’s okay.” jungkook voice is steady, sure. “not knowing is okay. being you is enough.”

you blink, startled by the simplicity of his words.

they hit harder than you expected, settling somewhere deep. it’s strange, feeling so understood by someone you’ve only just met.

the moment is broken by the buzz of jungkook’s phone. he checks it, lips quirking into a smile.

“jimin says everyone went to the pool.”

he stands, holding out a hand. “come on.”

jungkook leads you to the rooftop pool.

the rooftop is alive with soft laughter and the sound of water splashing, but all of it fades when you step out hand-in-hand with jungkook.

every set of eyes shifts to where your fingers are intertwined, lingering just a second too long before darting to his face, then back to yours. you feel your cheeks heat up, suddenly shy… but you two don’t let go. instead, you hold his hand even tighter.

instinctively, you move slightly behind him, but jungkook isn’t having it.

he pulls you forward gently, his hand sliding to your waist, keeping you anchored there.

for fucks sake… the prettiest girl at the party is with him. why would he hide this? why wouldn’t he boast?

“do you guys swim often?” you ask, trying to deflect from the weight of their teasing stares.

jungkook shrugs, playing it cool. “only when i wanna vlog and get your attention.”

you laugh, shaking your head. “right… because you just hate it when people only like you for your body?”

he nods, lips twitching into a grin. “exactly. oh, you so get me—”

“hate to break it to you,” taehyung interrupts, draping an arm around jungkook’s neck, “but posting thirst traps isn’t exactly original content.”

“what does that make me?” you quip, arching a brow.

taehyung shrugs, also playing it cool. “jungkook said he’d beat me up if I ever click your links.”

you snort, covering your mouth to hide your laugh.

“oh, come on,” taehyung continues, pulling at the hem of jungkook’s shirt, threatening to lift it. “jungkooookieee… go for a swim and do the whole romantic wet hair look. she’ll love it.”

“shut up—”

“no, seriously! right, ___?” taehyung calls over his shoulder, his grin mischievous. “you’ll love it, right?”

before you can answer, jimin comes barreling in, teaming up with taehyung to ambush jungkook. they shove him into the pool, their laughter echoing as jungkook resurfaces, glaring at them.

you step to the edge, watching as the three of them wrestle and splash around in the water. hobi appears beside you, crossing his arms with a knowing smile.

“this is gonna get worse before it gets better,” he teases, nudging you lightly.

you kneel by the pool, your gaze following jungkook as he swims to where you’re crouched. his wet hair clings to his forehead, and there’s a boyish charm in the way he grins up at you.

he’s breathtaking like this.

wet hair curling just enough to look messy, droplets sliding down the sharp line of his jaw, catching faint glimmers of the rooftop lights. his shirt clings to him, fabric plastered to every dip and ridge of his body, leaving nothing to the imagination—not that it matters. you’ve spent enough time watching him online to know every detail by heart, but this is different.

you swallow hard, a little lightheaded.

“help me up,” he says, holding his hand out.

“no.”

his grin falters. “what? why not—”

“you’re gonna pull me in.”

“no, i won’t.”

“yes, you are.”

“how do you know?”

“i know you.”

jungkook tilts his head, his grin returning as he leans his arms on the pool edge. “oh? you think you’ve got me figured out, huh?”

you smirk. “don’t i?”

“you don’t,” he challenges, wiggling his fingers. “come on. trust me.”

against your better judgment, you give him your hand. the second his fingers close around yours, you know you’ve made a mistake.

“jungkook, don’t—”

but it’s too late.

he tugs you in, and the cold water shocks you, stealing the air from your lungs. you bob to the surface, pushing your hair out of your face, only to see him laughing like a kid who just got away with a prank.

you splash him. “you’re the worst!”

“am i?” he teases, swimming closer.

you’re still laughing when he scoops you up under the water, holding you bridal style. he hums, grinning down at you. “saved you.”

“you pulled me in.”

“okay, fine. i pulled you in.”

“you give in easily.” you tease, splashing water to his face. jungkook squints, taking the splash. before you can say anything else, he defends himself with a few words that make your stomach turn again.

“how am i supposed to argue with a pretty girl like you?”

back in his room, jungkook has a hoodie and a pair of sweats laid out for you. he’s drying off with a towel when you step out of his bathroom, his clothes hanging loose on you.

he pauses mid-motion, the towel draped over his shoulder as his eyes take you in. “you look better in my clothes than i do,” he teases, his voice dipping just slightly.

“gross.”

he grins, leaning against the dresser. “i’m serious. i might have to start hiding my hoodies.”

“please. you’d hand them over without a fight.”

“not true.”

you roll your eyes, stepping closer. without a word, you take the towel from his shoulder and start drying his hair. he freezes for a moment, caught off guard, before leaning into your touch.

your fingers work through his damp hair, your eyes inadvertently drifting to his lips. the air between you feels heavier now, thick with something unsaid. jungkook tilts his head slightly, his gaze dropping to your mouth before flicking back up to your eyes.

he leans in—so close, you can feel his breath on your skin—and then stops himself, pulling back just enough to create a sliver of space.

“i... i’m gonna wait,” he says, his voice low, almost a whisper.

“for?”

jungkook exhales, dragging a hand through his half-dry hair, the strands falling back into a soft, messy tangle that makes your stomach flip. the towel around his neck shifts as he fidgets with it, like it’s the only thing grounding him right now.

“i don’t know,” he murmurs, voice quiet, like the words aren’t fully formed yet. “i want to show you i’m patient. i want to show you that i’m a good man. i am... so...” his eyes flicker to yours, holding your gaze for a beat too long, raw and unguarded. “let’s go? i’ll drive you home and hold your hand the entire way.”

you tilt your head, biting back a smile.

“you’re really not going to kiss me right now?”

his lips twitch into a soft laugh, dimples pressing into his cheeks as his shoulders relax.

“i just want you to know that you’re perfect for me,” he says, his tone so sincere it makes your breath catch. “i want to be perfect for you... and it’s hard when i’m losing my patience. if i kiss you right now…” he hesitates, his voice dipping lower, “i won’t stop.”

you lean forward, close enough to catch the faintest scent of his cologne mingling with chlorine.

“okay, i get it. you wanna be a good boy. fine by me…” you whisper, your lips brushing the air between you. “you’re right. maybe you shouldn’t kiss me tonight—as a matter of fact—don’t.”

his brows lift, the corner of his mouth curving into a grin that feels dangerously addictive.

“really?”

“yeah.” your smile widens as you lean just a little closer, your nose nearly grazing his. “i like making people wait.”

his grin deepens, the heat in his gaze undeniable.

“yeah?”

“yeah. i like it because it usually leads to begging.”

and then, before he can respond, you close the distance—not to his lips, but to his cheek, pressing the softest kiss there. when you pull back, jungkook's stunned expression is almost too satisfying.

almost.

#bts smau #jungkook fic #jungkook scenario #jk meet cute

357 notes · View notes

actinidiafruit · 2 days ago

Text

Okay so i just recently watched the lighthouse again and a lot of things are becoming more clear to me.

Contains spoilers so uh, if you haven't watched (pls do), then don't read.

There's so many things to talk about and this post will probably come across as a crazy man's ramblings, but so be it.

Tom's role is interesting to say the least. Like, at first you kinda just think that he's being a dick for the sake of being a dick and he's just doing that classic old man shit. But then you get these little glimpses.

This is just my interpretation, but the way he mentions how his former second went crazy and was hallucinating mermaids and shit. It kinds plants the seeds into (for the sake of clarity I'll just call him Winslow) Winslow's head. And during their sober run together (before the bird + storm incidents), they're acting relatively normal. Of course Tom gives Winslow a hard time, but that's just him being Tom. Abusing his power as the elder a bit. But the way he morphs in the later half of the movie (especially now that they're both abusing alcohol). You see his intentions more clearly. The way he gaslights Winslow, tries to turn things on him, the way he wrote bad things about him in the log book(?). He's a mean old guy. But why? I still can't figure out why he's done this. Why he killed his former second (which he totally did, even if he didn't spill his beans about it). Is he protective of the light? Is that it? God knows.

And te way the mermaid is presented is... it makes you think. In my first two watches, I didn't understand why or why. But I think now it's a symbol for Winslow's sexuality (at least in some scenes). The way he'd use the charm in the shed. The way he had that hallucination on the rocks. The time he caught Tom having a private moment in the lighthouse and then hallucinated tentacles. Towards the end, when he's beating Tom on the floor and Winslow hallucinates him turning into some sort of sea king type creature.

Of course something must've happened between the two. That one scene where they're drunkenly holding each other, swaying, then go to kiss before breaking out into a fight. The whole master/dog thing. There's a lot of Winslow reflected in Tom. And of course he'd eventually spill his beans, want to be intimate, etc. They've been alone together for god knows how long. It's a very human thing to want to reach out and connect.

It's just so indicative of the human condition and the way that we connect. I feel like I need to watch this movie another 20 times before I fully get it, but my eyes were opened to quite a bit.

And the scene where Winslow looks into the light and laughs/screams. It gives me this sense of triumph (he finally got to see the Forbidden thing!) but also bittersweet. The laughter is triump, the bittersweet screaming is Winslow coming to grips with the fact that it's just a light. There was no point to why Tom guarded it like he did. It's like Winslow finally realises that he let himself be led to madness by some old, lying idiot and can't help but scream at his foolishness. The pointlessness of it all. And maybe that's why he lets himself fall down the stairs and ultimately die. His sins cannot be undone (done-bun can't be undone), so therefore he rots, being eaten by the very things that kickstarted his whole downfall.

Finally, just ugh. The cinematography. The unreliable narrator aspect. The way it's so open ended to interpretation. This movie has so much to give, I just wish my friends liked it even a little lol.

updated this list btw

RULES:

at least one of the pair MUST be over 50

20 year MINIMUM age gap OR they BOTH have to be over 50

has to be conceivably reciprocal (s.exually, no necessarily romantically)

#the lighthouse #ephraim winslow #thomas wake #thomas howard #discussing my thoughts on this

2K notes · View notes

r-aindr0p · 2 days ago

Note

you spoke about glomas ruggie and that took my mind to glomas jamil in my head, lmao. mmm, i see him as another vampire hunter, but not as an active member of the church... besides naga, pls that no😭 do you see jamil as any other creature to fight?

Alright so ! I finally organized the characters + roles etc...

You already know the main guys of the au so they're not in this mess of scribbles :') I don't have precise dynamics fixed but I want to keep the Vampirook/Rollo the main focus (it's my main brainrot of the moment after all) Might idk... put all the names in a hat and randomly pick two out and figure it out Three more vampires because they're the main menace (supposedly) I wanted Riddle to be a vampire because go ham lil man !! Hell yeah !! Sebek as a vampire made sense too he naturally has feral creature energy (usually hangs with either malleus and silver or riddle) And of course Idia, absolutely eating rats because he can't possibly imagine himself approach anyone to feed, nuh-uh. Pathetic and even more creature than he already is... (There's a weird man offering potions to him though, but in exchange of money. So he does snatch some coins here and there sometimes.) Made Malleus a devil because I wanted to keep the horns (a hornless malleus might as well be bald at this point) He does his things by himself and joins the other mieschief makers when it looks fun :)) Jamil is a vouivre (not really a snake or dragon, not really a wyvern either, semi aquatic creature) He used to guard a huge treasure vault belonging to a powerful and rich family but fuck that shit he's out. Now living his life by himself in peace (or he thought). The ruby is the only thing he kept from his past and is very attached to it. (some might try to snatch it though, yknow... could be sold for a lot of money...) Chose to make Silver the incubus because look at those mesmerizing eyes and that aura... He does feed by sleeping with others.... literally. You'll sleep the worst nap of your life while he peacefully snoozes using you as a pillow. And you will wake up even more tired, needing at least a week to recover. (insomniacs are not deemed nutritious) And Azul ahh Azul, he's a thorn in your side and a helpful asset at the same time. Strangely always here when you have troubles to be solved... Need a potion ? The location of a creature perhaps ? Substitutes foods ? Spell parchment ? Maybe you're finally down to sign a pact with him ? :))) The man is too annoying to be fully acknowledged by anyone but infuriatingly too handy to be taken out. Church guys !!! Epel mainly joined the hunting squad to be able to wield weapons and be cool as heck. Morning star is his favorite weapon though. Sells baked goods at the end of the morning masses, it works pretty well ! Deuce is the newest member and is being taught the basics by Ruggie and Epel, he's also helping around the church in general and is doing his best !!! (he spilled the red wine on the white altar cloth) Ruggie has been here for a while now. Being a hunter pays well and he actually helps around a lot and prepares meals for those in need. And yeah yeah stealing is bad but when evil creatures are full of riches it's alright to snatch a bit of it, right ??

#Twisted wonderland #croissant de lune #the dlc #many of the guys here I have never drawn in non chibi before omg I'll need to train a bit with the new faces #I'll need to clean up some outfits too like making Azul's corset in a way I can easily remember #Mal is a devil but with a bit of a krampus look I guess #might give lash exensions to Azul too so he can fully slay #pointy ears for all the creechurs because I just really love drawing them #sebek has yellow eyes btw

197 notes · View notes

redflagshipwriter · 15 hours ago

Text

SNITCHES THE CAT SEQUEL pt1 and masterpost

Part Two/Part Three/ Part Four/ Part Five

Part One

“This you?”

Danny pushed the newspaper down without looking at it, revealing Sam’s shitty grin. “That lost cat is not me, no.” He rolled his eyes. They had been showing him lost pet ads ever since he got back from Gotham. “Isn’t that joke getting old, guys?” He kicked his way further into a slouch in the booth as Tucker came back with refilled drinks.

Tucker laughed, and then there was a silence. “Danny? Are you sure this isn’t you, man?” He sounded uncertain.

He felt his jaw twitch and he had to tell his friend off. “Is it that funny that there’s a sad kid out there? Honestly, guys-” Danny opened his eyes fully to roll them and then saw the lost pet ad being brandished in his face. He blinked at it. His brain did a full reboot and he reached out to take the paper.

It looked like him, sleeping on the cushion in the batcave. Had they gotten that photo from the security footage? “It’s me.” His voice came out way too high.

Danny pulled the paper over in disbelief and realized that it was a two page ad. “Oh wow,” he said faintly. There he was, leaping across the kitchen. And there, that must have been taken by Damian when he fell asleep on the bed. There was a cat toy partially in the frame.

Sam’s snorting laughter cut off. “Uh.” She kicked him lightly under the table. “Is.. Is that little kid going to be okay?” She asked in a small voice. She sounded like she felt bad for poking fun.

Danny felt guilty. He stared at the evidence that Robin was missing his cat terribly and felt like the biggest jackass possible. “Should I go back?” he wondered. He squirmed, pulling a foot up onto the bench to perch on. “I mean… How long does a cat live? A few years?”

“Try about twenty,” Tucker said flatly. “I feel bad too, man, but you can’t defer admission that long.”

“Though Snitches was clearly not a little kitten, so you could really just give it a couple years,” Sam mused. Both boys stared at her. She blinked. “Not that I’m suggesting you do that!” She waved her hands at them. “The longer you stay with him, the harder he’s going to take it when his pet ‘dies’,” she said with finger quotes. “You did the right thing by leaving as soon as you could.”

“Maybe we could answer it, do a photoshoot, tell him that Danny was your cat or something and he’s come home,” Tucker mused. “He’d be sad that he couldn’t have the cat, but surely it would be better than worrying the cat died, right?”

“What are you losers talking about?” Star said, giving their booth a wide berth. “You’re not hurting cats now, are you, weirdos?” She eyed them like they were gross. “It would figure.”

“Fuck off,” Sam said pleasantly. All three of them gave Star a rude gesture in unison, just like they had practiced. “That shit’s uncalled for.”

Star sniffled and turned away on her heel, cheer skirt flouncing behind her. A few moments later she clearly reached her table because the sounds of popular kid conversation got a lot louder.

“She should be a reporter,” Sam said darkly. “I would love for her to get sued for slander.” She snapped open her clutch and began applying even more black eyeliner, as if that would differentiate her from the other girls in the restaurant.

Tucker groaned and pulled his hat down over his eyes in despair. “That’s gonna be a bad rumor,” he complained.

Danny couldn’t find it in him to care as much as he usually would. He was still stuck on the fact that Damian had put an ad in the Illinois Times. “Do you think he realized that Snitches got on a highway bus to Illinois?” he hissed, now aware that other people might be listening in. “How would he know that?”

Sam frowned. Tucker lifted his head and pulled out his phone to search. “That’s a good question,” he said to himself. He hit buttons rapidly. “Uh, same ad is in…” He trailed off. “Hold up, hold up, lemme search this backwards…” Whatever he saw had him raise his eyebrows high, look at Danny in disbelief, and then shake his head slightly. “You must be a really good cat. I'm kind of jealous.”

“What?” Danny hissed. “Just tell me.”

“Hey, hey, paws off.” Tucker moved his device further away. “Uh, this poor kid- well.” He paused. “Poor is the wrong word. He’s put ads in newspapers all the way up to Ontario and down to… Well, in Mexico at least.”

Danny and Sam stared at him in disbelief. “You’re fucking with us,” Sam said after a long moment.

Tucker silently shook his head. “There’s a nationwide Greg’s list ad,” he said grimly. “20 dollars an hour to print and staple missing cat photos to telephone poles. And a private detective’s agency on the case, asking for witnesses to come forward.”

Danny put his head in his hands. “I have to go back,” he said, haunted by the responsibility. “I can’t let him be this sad.”

“Danny, no.” Tucker said. Sam nodded her agreement.

“…Yeah, that’s crazy,” he said unconvincingly. He gave a fake laugh. “He’ll get over it.” Danny stared into his drink, watching bubbles. Robin was not going to get over it. That kid loved hard.

“I could use 20 dollars an hour,” Tucker said in a thoughtful tone.

“No,” Sam said flatly.

Tucker shrugged, smiling slightly. “I wonder how much I’d get for bringing you back.” He shrugged theatrically. “You could send me to college, man! Don’t you want me to go to college?”

“No…” Danny said weakly. “I… Is that fraud?” Still. Money would be nice.

“Guys, no.” Sam knocked them both in the head with the pile of napkins. “You can’t do that to this little kid. He’s clearly not well.”

“Exactly,” Tucker argued passionately. “Imagine how happy he would be to get his cat back! We could reunite him with his pet!”

It was tempting. He felt, like, so bad about how sad Robin was. The little guy had been so proud of his pet. Danny could spare a few years to make a little kid happy, right? It was kind of greedy otherwise.

Danny stared at the bubbles in his drink again, really thinking it over. “I think I would have to fight crime with him,” he said dully. “That’s a minus.”

“Danny?” Sam rapped the table with her fingers. He looked up to see her pointed eyebrow raise. “What are you talking about?”

He hunched his shoulders up. “Nothing, nothing,” he lied hastily. He forgot they didn’t know. He couldn’t dox someone’s crime fighting identity, though, it would be really unfair.

“You could buy me a house,” Tucker wheedled. Sam hit him.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #snitches the cat au

215 notes · View notes

bambi-kinos · 2 days ago

Text

Sorry for taking so long on this post, I've been writing it in my head for weeks trying to figure out how to phrase everything. But umm I think Paul was in a bath tub when he was taking certain photos of John.

So the book itself is divided into sections based on location. There's a London section, a Paris section, then they go to New York and then on to Miami, etc. The London section is really interesting and the photos are very revealing IMO. I definitely recommend getting your hands on a physical copy, your local library may have it. This is something you should experience physically because uh. There's a lot of John in here. To me at least it's very obvious how deeply in love Paul was with John.

So imagine for a minute that you're Paul McCartney, and you're in London, England with your best mate.

The way that journalists are treating this set of photos makes me feel a little insane because so many of them are saying "this is John and Paul backstage!" Y'all, this is not John and Paul backstage. This is John and Paul in their hotel room. Alone.

First off let's look at this:

Here's John shaving the stubble off his face. Sunglasses still on; John had prescription sunglasses so if he's wearing these then his contacts are not in. Look at the background of this photo:

John's in the way here but that is a set of curtains in a hotel room! You can tell from the horizontal bar on top, those are to hold the black out curtains. And another thing: I think these are John and Paul's suitcases sitting on top of a wardrobe. Not entirely sure about that though since the image is so grainy.

At this point John has taken off his sunglasses, he's brushing his teeth and has washed his face. Again, look at the background:

This is a medicine cabinet, a storage feature in bathrooms to keep toiletries safe from the humidity caused by a bath and/or shower. I don't know how common these are anymore:

What I find interesting about this sequence of photos is that John first pulls a funny face for Paul:

But then something grabs his attention:

Spits out the toothpaste:

And then off John nyooms...making soft eyes at Paul no less.

Pay close attention to the background on this photo! We're seeing the hotel window from another angle, the horizontal strip at the top is the tell:

I outlined the horizontal strip on the curtain and then drew lines on the dips in the fabric so you can compare it to the OG photo:

Paul is utilizing an interesting run-and-gun style of camera shooting here, he's got John tilted and at an angle that puts John over Paul. Unconsciously signaling something? Let's move on...

According to this strip...

...this is the next photo in the sequence:

Again calling attention to more interesting details here:

John's tie is missing and his shirt is undone. And that looks like a towel in his hands. He's turning in for the night.

2. John is standing in front of a reinforced door which are common in hotels but are not common in dressing rooms:

3. This photo is itself a reflection of John's face that Paul has taken in a mirror, maybe a vanity mirror. Someone in the McLen discord server said it was too small to be a vanity mirror and I'm inclined to agree, so maybe it's a compact or hand mirror propped up on the sink.

So what does this mean? I think that John and Paul were getting ready for bed, someone knocked on the door, and John went to answer it. You'd think Paul would but for some reason he didn't. Oh and another thing...check out the four jackets in the mirror:

They're definitely hanging from something so John and Paul were looking out for the suits that night.

Next in the sequence, John is back at the sink washing up. Check out the hotel window curtain being reflected in the mirror there!

Then something kind of odd happens...John is seen coming back and re-entering the shot again? Through out Eye of the Storm Paul emphasizes a lot of duality with John, including a shot where John reflects on his own sculpted face. Paul was very interested in John doing performing the act of reflection on his own face:

But here's the really interesting bit and what makes me think Paul was naked in a bathtub when he took these last two photos:

Y'all, that's the fluffy fringe of a towel! You can tell that the threads are hanging down from it! These are very different from the clean lines of the curtain or the medicine cabinet or even the lines of their suit jackets! Paul was sitting in or on the edge of the bath tub when he took these photos of John! He wrapped a towel around his camera to protect it from getting wet! Cameras are generally made for right handed people so when Paul had his finger on the button on the right hand side. That means Paul keeping his finger on that button pushed the edge of the protective towel over the lens!

So I submit to you Paul McCartney's Eye of the Storm, where he submitted a film strip where he was staying in a hotel room with John and was most likely nude and bathing when he took John's photographs! Someone knocked on the door to get their attention while Paul was naked so John answered the door for them, while Paul followed him a little. John was enjoying having Paul right there for him too:

PLEASE get Eye of the Storm, it's such a great book and there's so much in it. Paul lets the pictures speak for themselves and wow they have one hell of a story to tell!

@perasperaadastratoday

#mclennon #eye of the storm #the beatles #paul mccartney #john lennon #long post #photo post #my meta #beatles meta

189 notes · View notes

nomie-11 · 2 days ago

Text

Chase After You - Part 2

masterlist! | part 1 | part 3

synopsis: vi is committed to making you believe in her as a soulmate, but you are having troubling believing in your own limits as her soulmate

pairings: vi x reader, lowkey ellie x dina

After your unexpected (and mortifying) first meeting, you texted Vi just so she could have your number—not because you secretly wanted to hear from her—but just in case. You didn’t expect Vi to follow through on her declaration to get to know you. You thought she’d chalk you up as a lost cause after you bolted like a spooked animal. But instead, she texted you.

Every day.

Relentlessly.

And then she started texting you about meeting up, going out for dinner, hitting the gym together, all of these things that you weren’t sure you really wanted to do with her. And then she offered coffee after rotations, fitting herself perfectly into your existing rotation.

You weren’t sure why you agreed. Maybe it was the way Vi’s eyes lit up when you said “fine,” or the near instant relief you felt when your headaches faded around her. Either way, you regretted it almost instantly.

By the time the next Tuesday rolled around, you were second guessing everything. Caitlyn, however, wasn’t letting you back out.

“I don’t understand why you’re so nervous,” she said, leaning on the doorway as you grabbed your work bag. “It’s just coffee. You’ve already met her. Plus, she’s been texting you all week like you’re her new best friend.”

“She’s not my best friend,” you muttered, zipping up your bag with more force than necessary. “And I’m not nervous.”

Caitlyn gave you a pointed look. “You’ve changed your shirt three times.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just coffee, right? Not a date.”

“Exactly,” Caitlyn agreed, though her smirk said otherwise. “But if it were a date, you’d totally nail it.”

You groaned, grabbing your jacket. “Goodbye, Caitlyn.”

She waved you off. “Have fun with your soulmate!”

You ignored her as you left, though her words played on a loop in your mind all the way to the coffee shop.

Vi was already waiting when you arrived, sitting at a corner table with two mugs in front of her. She looked up the moment the door chimed, grinning as if she’d been waiting for this all day.

“Hey!” she called, waving you over. “Thought I’d grab you something—hope you like caramel macchiatos?”

You hesitated, standing awkwardly by the table. “Uh, yeah. How’d you know?”

She nudged the chair across from herewith her foot, her grin widening. “Good guess, huh. Sit, relax. You look like you just ran a marathon.”

You muttered something under your breath but sat down anyway, wrapping your hands around the warm mug. Vi’s presence was… unnervingly comfortable, like you’d known her longer than a week.

“So,” she said, leaning forward with her chin resting on her hand, “how was your rotation?”

“It was fine,” you replied, trying to sound neutral. “Busy.”

Vi nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Must be intense, though. I mean, clinicals and lectures? How do you even have time for… you know, a life?”

You shrugged, not sure how to answer. “I have three friends, so not much of a life.”

Her smile softened, and for a moment, she just looked at you, like she was piecing something together. Then she leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest, the muscles in her shoulder pulling tight. “Okay, so here’s the deal: coffee, twice a week. My treat. We’ll call it stress relief.”

You blinked. “What?”

“After your rotations,” she clarified. “We meet here, twice a week. No pressure, no soulmate talk, just… getting to know each other.”

You stared at her, unsure if you wanted to laugh or roll your eyes. “Why are you so insistent on this?”

Vi shrugged, her grin returning. “Because you’re worth the effort. And I think you’ll figure that out eventually.”

————————————

The first time Vi suggested ice skating, you thought she was joking. When she dragged you to the rink on your next ‘coffee date,’ you were certain it was a terrible idea.

“I don’t know how to skate,” you protested as she handed you a pair of rentals.

“That’s the fun part,” Vi said, already lacing hers up. “I’ll teach you.”

The first ten minutes were a disaster. You clung to the wall like your life depended on it, glaring at Vi every time she tried to coax you toward the center of the rink.

“You’re doing great!” She called, skating backward in front of you with infuriating ease.

“I hate this,” you muttered, taking a shaky step.

“You don’t hate it,” she said with a laugh. “You’re just mad you’re not good at it yet.”

You glared at her, but her teasing grin was impossible to stay mad at. Slowly, she coaxed you away from the wall, her hands steadying yours as she guided you across the ice.

You cling to Vi like she was a lifeline, your legs wobbling uncontrollably beneath you. Every time you felt even a hint of balance the ice seemed to betray you, and you found yourself clutching her arms tighter.

“Okay, okay,” you hissed, squeezed your eyes shut as your skates slipped again. “I’m going to die, and it’s going to be your fault.”

Vi laughed, the sound warm and genuine, echoing in the cold air. “You’re not going to die, Y/n. I’ve got you. Just trust me.”

That was the problem. You did trust her—too much, maybe. Every time her hands steadied you, everytime she smiled and said, “You’re doing great,” you felt the knot in your chest loosen just a little. And that was terrifying.

You stumbled again, and Vi caught you easily, her arms wrapping around your waist to keep you upright. “See?” She said, her voice soft. “Not so bad when you’ve got someone to hold on to.”

You stared at her, your heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with skating. the pink of her hair stood out against the pale blue lights of the link, and her eyes were so full of warmth and patience that it made your stomach twist. She looked at you like you were someone worth catching.

And that started you more than anything.

“Are you okay?” Vi asked, tilting her head as she noticed your silence.

You forced a laugh, hoping it sounded natural. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… trying not to snap my ankle.”

Vi smirked, her hands still warm on your waist. “Don’t worry. If you fall, I’ll catch you.”

You wanted to tell her that the falling wasn’t the part that scared you. It was the way she made you feel safe, the way she looked at you like you mattered. It was the way your soulmate bond tugged at your heart every time she smiled, like it was pulling toward something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

But instead, you tightened your grip on her hands and said, “Okay, but if I fall, we’re both going down.”

Vi grinned, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Deal. But only if you promise to let go of me and try on your own for a little longer.”

You groaned but nodded, letting her guide you across the ice again. This time, you didn’t fight the way your body leaned into hers, and for a few minutes, you almost forgot why this was supposed to scare you.

Almost.

——————————————

The rink was cold, loud, and way too busy for your liking when you walked through the doors for the second time. Vi had texted you the night before, practically begging you to come to her game, and just imagining her face when you showed up was enough to get you to come.

Vi had said for you to come early so she could meet you by the rink before she had to stretch and warm up so she could introduce you to some people.

Going to the game—not so scary. Meeting Vi’s friends? Terrifying.

By the time you arrived, your nerves were frayed. The rink was packed with players warming up, families gathering in the stands, and the faint smell of popcorn wafting through the air. You scanned the crowd, trying to spot Vi, your anxiety building with every second.

Then, you heard her.

“Y/n!”

Vi’s voice cut through the noise like a beacon, and you turned to see her weaving through the crowd, half-dressed in her hockey gear. Her helmet dangled from her hand, her skate guards clinking as she walked toward you. She had that same easy grin that she normally does, the one that somehow made you feel both at ease and completely overwhelmed.

“You made it!” she said, her voice warm with excitement. Before you could respond, she gently grabbed your wrist and tugged you toward a group near the benches. “Come on, there’s people I want you to meet.”

You barely had time to protest before you were standing in front of two women and a baby. One of them, a tall brunette with a mischievous glint in her eye, was also half-dressed in hockey gear and holding a squirming baby on her hip. The other, a slightly shorter woman with strong facial features and kind eyes, offered you a small, polite smile.

“This is Ellie,” Vi said, gesturing toward the taller woman. “She’s one of my best friends, and a total menace on the ice.”

Ellie snorted, shifting the baby to her other hip. “Nice to meet you, Y/n. Don’t listen to her—she’d just mad I’m better at slap shots.”

Vi rolled her eyes. “Anyway, this is Dina—Ellie’s soulmate.”

Dina laughed softly, reaching out to shake your hand. “Nice to finally put a face to the name. Vi’s been talking about you nonstop.”

Your face heated instantly. “Oh, um… nice to meet you, too.”

“And this,” Vi added, pointing to the baby, “is J.J. He’s kind of the star of the show.”

J.J. babbled happily, reaching for your necklace. You couldn’t help but smile as his tiny fingers grabbed onto it, tugging gently.

Oh my god, that is the cutest damn baby I’ve ever seen.

“You want to hold him?” Dina asked, tilting her head.

You hesitated, but Vi nudged your arm gently, catching the way your eyes lit up when J.J. aimlessly waved his hands in your face. “He won’t bite, I promise.”

With a nervous nod, you carefully took J.J. from Ellie, his weight settling gently onto your arms and chest. He looked up at you with wide, curious eyes, and despite yourself, you felt a smile tugging at your lips.

“There you go,” Dina said, her tone encouraging. “You’ve got the magic touch. He loves you.”

Vi watched you with a softness you weren’t used to, her gaze lingering as you shifted J.J. to your hip to make him more comfortable.

“You’re a total natural,” she said, her voice quieter than usual.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the loud whistle of the referee cut through the air, signaling the last warning before it was match time.

“That’s our cue,” Vi said, stepping closer to you. “Dina and J.J.’ll keep you company during the game. You’ll be fine.”

You nodded, your throat suddenly dry. Vi’s hand brushed yours briefly before she grabbed her helmet and jogged off toward the ice, her pink hair bright against the deep blue and gold of her jersey.

Dina must have noticed your nerves, because she gave you a reassuring smile. “Come on, let’s grab a spot. J.J. and I are pros at cheering for these two.”

Ellie laughed, pressing a kiss to Dina’s jaw before follow off after Vi, leaving you and Dina to make your way to the stands.

You settled into a seat with Dina and J.J. at your side, the baby happily gnawing on a teething ring while Dina explained the basics of the ame. You nodded along, half-listening, but your attention was on Vi. She was easy to spot—her pink hair stood out even with her helmet on, and her confident stride on the ice was impossible to miss.

When the game started, you quickly realized why Vi had been so insistent on inviting you. She was good. She was incredible. She was hot. Watching her skate was like watching someone entirely in their own element. She moved with a precision and intensity that was mesmerizing, weaving through players like they weren’t even there, her stick handling the puck with ease.

“Wow,” you murmured, leaning forward as she darted past three defenders and fired a shot straight into the net. The crowd erupted, and Dina gently covered J.J.’s ears to give a loud cheer.

“She’s pretty amazing, huh?” Dina said, her tone knowing.

You nodded, not even bothering to deny it. “Yeah. She it.”

For a moment, you forgot about the crowd, the noise, and the tug of your soulmate bond that always lingered when Vi was near. You just watched her, completely in awe of how effortless she made it look.

Then it happened—as she angled for the puck near the center of the rink, a player from the opposing team with a solid twenty pounds on Vi barreled into her at full speed, shoulder-checking her with enough force to send her sprawling to the ice.

The moment she hit the ground, pain exploded across your shoulder, sharp and searing. You gasped, clutching at your arm instinctively, the sensation so vivid it made your vision blur.

Dina turned to you, her expression concerned. “Y/n? Are you okay?”

You couldn’t answer. The pain was too much, and it was everywhere—radiating from your shoulder to your chest and back. Panic clawed at your throat as you struggled to breathe, your mind spinning with her pain.

“Y/n?” Dina’s voice was louder now, edged with worry.

“I—I have to go,” you stammered, standing abruptly. The movement sent another jolt of pain through your shoulder, but you ignored it, clutching the armrest for balance. “I’m sorry—I can’t—”

Before Dina could respond, you bolted, the sound of the crowd fading behind you as you rushed toward the exit. Your vision blurred with tears, your chest tight as you pushed through the doors and into the cold night air.

You had to get away.

—-------------------------------

The cafe smelled like freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon as you sank into your usual seat across from Vi. You were both quiet today—a rare occurrence. Your post-rotation coffee ritual had grown into something steady and comforting over the past few weeks. Twice a week, like clockwork, Vi would be waiting for you.

But today, there was a tension that clung to the air like static electricity.

“So,” Vi finally broke the silence, fiddling with the paper sleeve on her cup. “Another big game next weekend.”

You nodded absently, staring down at your drink. “Against Noxus Central University, right? I heard they’re brutal.”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice carrying a faint edge. “Real bruises. Should be fun, though.”

Your stomach twisted, but you forced a neutral tone. “Fun, huh?”

Vi raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, taking a sip of your coffee.

She didn’t buy it. “Come on, Y/n. Spill.”

You hesitated, the words clawing at the back of your throat. “It’s just… you always come out of those games looking like you’ve been through a war zone. I mean—last weekend was brutal. I thought you broke your shoulder, and I’m the one who has to feel it.”

Her eyes widened, and her hand froze mid-fidget, “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” You set down the cup harder than you meant to. “I don’t know what crazy pain tolerance you have, but it felt like I was hit by a freight train. It’s a lot, Vi.”

Her jaw tightened. “You think I don’t feel bad about that? I don’t want you to hurt because of me.”

“Then maybe you should stop putting yourself in situations where it happens!” The words tumbled out louder than you intended, and you winced at your own tone.

Vi’s expression darkened, her easy going demeanor vanishing. “Are you seriously asking me to stop playing hockey?”

“I’m asking you to think about what it’s doing to me!”

She leaned forward, her voice dropping into something sharper. “And what about me, huh? Hockey’s my life, Y/n. It’s not just a game; it's who I am.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” You snapped, the words cutting like a knife even as you said them.

Vi recoiled, her blue eyes narrowing. “Wow. So that’s what you think of me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but a familiar voice cut in. “Alright, what’s going on here?”

You looked up to see Ellie approaching, her gaze bouncing between you and Vi. SHe stopped next to Vi’s chair, crossing her arms. “You guys never argue like this.”

“I’m not the one making unreasonable demands,” Vi muttered glaring at her coffee.

“Unreasonable?” you shot back, your voice rising. “I’m not asking for much, Vi. Just for you to stop throwing yourself in the path of a warm machine. Do you know what it's like to feel like your body isn’t your own because your soulmate tosses herself around recklessly.”

Ellie’s eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t intervene. Not yet.

Vi’s face twisted with frustration. “And do you know what it’s like to feel like you’re constantly apologizing for just existing? For doing what I love? I can’t just stop being me, Y/n. Hockey’s my first love.”

“Maybe I don’t want a soulmate then!” The words erupted before you could stop them, and the moment they left your mouth, the room seemed to freeze.

Vi’s expression crumbled, and Ellie’s sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the suffocating silence that followed.

“Y/n,” Vi said softly, her voice cracking just enough for you to hear. “You don’t mean that. I thought we were past that.”

You wanted to take it back, you wanted to take it back so badly, but the floodgates had opened. “I don’t believe in soulmates, Vi. I don’t and I never have. And Honestly? This—us—it’s just proving why I was right. It’s not fair. None of this is fair.”

Ellie stepped closer, her voice low but firm. “Y/n, you’re upset. Maybe take a second before you say something you can’t take back.”

“I already said it,” you whispered, your chest tight. “And it’s true.”

Vi stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “You don’t believe in soulmates? After all I’ve done to try to prove to you that this could work?”

You stood too, unable to stay still under the weight of her gaze. “You think this is easy for me? It’s not! I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove I’m enough, and now I’m supposed to be enough for you? Someone who’s fearless and— and perfect, and doesn’t need me slowing her down?”

“Slowing me down!?” Vi’s voice rose, incredulous. “You think that’s how I see you? God, Y/n, you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I’m more than just… what I do.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m the only one compromising?” Your voice cracked, and you hated how vulnerable you sounded.

“I’m not asking you to change who you are,” she said, her tone softer but no less urgent. “I’m just asking you to please, give this a chance. Stop being so defensive.”

“And I’m asking you to understand that I can’t keep waking up in pain every time you decide to throw yourself into a fight on the ice!”

Ellie stepped between you, her hands up. “Okay, let’s all take a breath here—”

“No,” Vi said, her voice breaking. “If she doesn’t want this, then fine.”

“Vi—” Ellie tried, but Vi was already grabbing her jacket.

“Stop, Ellie,” Vi said, shaking her head as she turned to leave. “Come on.”

You stood frozen, tears stinging your eyes as she walked out the door, Ellie close on her heels.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Caitlyn appeared moments later, a confused expression on her face. “Where did everyone go?”

You just shook your head, unable to speak through the lump in your throat.

Fuck.

this is the second part in a three part series! read part 1 here! reader part 3 here!

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

#vi x fem reader #arcane vi x reader #vi arcane #vi x you #vi x reader #vi x y/n #arcane x reader #arcane #arcane s2 #arcane season 2 #piltover's gayest

181 notes · View notes

lightseoul · 5 hours ago

Text

a/n. i really don't know where i'm going with this, y'all. but getting to role-play as a therapist and explore bakugou's psyche has been lots of fun, so bear with me. please let me know what you think and/or would want to see! maybe that'll give me an idea lol. (1.1k)

navigation. part 1, part 2, (you are here)

“n-no.”

at that, the woman’s eyebrows shoot up, disappearing underneath her fringe. “no?”

“you heard me,” bakugou spits instinctively, immediately regretting how hostile that sounded not even a second later. “i mean, no, i didn’t.”

his therapist, apparently unfazed by his show of aggression—she must’ve gotten used to it by now, although he still feels bad when he gets testy—only jots something down in her clipboard before looking back up at him, an inexplicable expression etched across her features.

“do you have any ideas, then, why, for the first time in seemingly forever, you’re fixating on a particular social encounter?”

bakugou barely manages to bite back a scowl.

he hates it—this part. the part where his psychologist obviously has theories as to why he’s acting a certain way or how he’s actually feeling but chooses to ask him instead, in an attempt to draw it out of him.

as if talking about difficult shit in the first place isn’t already painful enough.

and isn’t that what he’s paying her to do? give him answers? why’d he have to be the one to wrack his brain for uncomfortable answers to uncomfortable questions?

“do you?” he then challenges, emboldened by that train of thought just now.

“yes,” she responds truthfully and without missing a beat it somewhat surprises him. “but as i’ve explained to you before, i think it’ll be helpful for you if we try a more active approach on your end so that any insights gleaned from our discussions become more personalized and stick with you longer.”

well, then. fuck.

the lady’s got a point.

“so,” she continues when he doesn’t reply, annoyingly aware her little spiel got to him, “any ideas? working hypotheses?”

“uh,” he starts begrudgingly, eyes roving over the bookshelves lining the room’s walls as he struggles to come up with another angle. then it dawns on him, and he looks directly at the woman. “i didn’t expect to see someone in here, and when i did, it caught me off guard.”

“that may be because most of our clients opt for virtual consultations rather than face-to-face ones.”

“yeah,” he piles on quickly, admittedly thankful for the validation, and for the fact. the absolute last thing he needs is to bump into some extras before and after therapy. “that must be why.”

“but how does that explain your, and i quote, ‘dumb as shit reaction’?”

bakugou instantly feels himself flame. he clears his throat, “i told you, didn’t i? it caught me off guard. how the fuck did you expect me to react?”

that must’ve been a reasonable point, thank the fuck, because the woman pauses in thought before nodding slowly. “i suppose you’re right.”

he narrowly bites back an of course, i am.

but then she’s spouting off again.

“although it’s interesting to me how your immediate reaction was to say hi, when that’s not really…how should i say, your style, based on our prior sessions and your personality test results.”

a pause.

bakugou scrambles for a bulletproof rebuttal. he comes up short.

the lady cocks her head to the side, curious. “how often would you say you mull over social blunders?”

never, he thinks to himself. because they never happen.

“i figured as much,” comes her unexpected reply, and only then does it dawn on him that he said the last bit out loud.

“can we talk about something else?” he finds himself suddenly asking, totally over this entire conversation. he can worry about being a loser and pathetically begging for an out some other time. right now, he just needs a break.

“actually, you’re in luck,” she checks her smartwatch, “the session’s just about to end.”

at that, his shoulders almost instantly sag in relief, which makes the woman laugh. he shoots her a half-hearted glare.

they spend the next few minutes summarizing what has been discussed, as well as the arrangements for the following weeks, with bakugou eventually throwing his bag over his shoulders and bidding her a mumbled goodbye. he tosses her a nod over his shoulder as he crosses the threshold of her office, mind already drifting to what he’s going to cook himself for dinner.

and that, for a typical session, he’s walking out relatively unscathed.

but then he does the stupid thing of looking up from where he was studying his trainers when a door creaks open, and he freezes.

because standing a few feet away from him, right beside the entrance to the restroom, is you, equally frozen.

he doesn’t know how much time passes with him just staring at you like a motherfucking idiot, and you, strangely enough, peering at him back, but it’s you who eventually takes a hammer to the silence.

“h-hi,” you offer, voice soft and quiet, just like how he vaguely remembers it from two weeks ago.

“hey,” comes his gruff reply, which would’ve been immediately followed by a wince at how rough his tone was just now had he not stopped himself in the nick of time.

at least he didn’t stutter.

“…b-bakugou, right?” you ask after a moment of neither of you saying anything, confirming his earlier suspicions.

“right.”

you nod, a polite yet somehow stilted smile on your face, and suddenly he’s mentally slapping himself. since when was he fucking bound to one-word sentences?

he decides then and there that this shit won’t do.

in an attempt to convince himself that no, this is just a weird outlier of an encounter for him, and that no, he’s not a fucking idiot like dunce face, and that yes, he is and is being perfectly fucking normal, he resolves to ask you for your name.

and he was just about to do that—he swears he was—when someone from the other side of the door calls out a name, and you whip to face their direction, breaking eye contact.

“yes, doc!” you holler back, and he watches you as you hesitate in place for a second, before turning to face him with an awkward smile.

“nice meeting you, bakugou-san.”

and then you’re off and shutting the door behind you.

he stands there for what feels like a few minutes, just blinking at the door in front of him, what must be your name echoing—again and again—up to the far recesses of his mind.

then: fuck.

he may or may not have just lied to his therapist.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra @qyuin | @kalulakunundrum @cheezemanz @gold24fish @lunaryasha

93 notes · View notes

plumbottompie · 2 days ago

Text

"What day is it?" you snap as she comes in. Your affini looks at you.

"Petal, you seem upset. I think you need some class-Es." She extends a vine, with a large flower on it. You barely even register the suggestion before you're pressing your face into the flower, and breathing deeply, inhaling the scent and holding it.

After three deep breaths, you pull away. "Thank you, Miss," you say, which is the proper response to her giving you a dose of xenodrugs. "Uh, what day is it, Miss?"

"I don't really see why you would need to know, cutie, after all, you spend every day more or less the same way, don't you?" She pats you on the head.

"Yeah but... uh..." you trail off, distracted by the hand on you. "Did you just give me class-As just now? I feel really sensitive."

"Sometimes class-Es can make people feel more sensitive. It's easier to focus on enjoying sensation when you're relaxed, after all."

You lean into her hand. "Focus... on enjoying..." you mumble, as you process her words. It still feels too strong to just be psychological, but she would never tell an outright lie. "Uh, Miss? I... how long have I been here?"

"I don't know, sweetie, you were standing here when I got back, but you could have been waiting here for hours. Do you need me to check the hab's tapes?"

"Yeah... I mean, no, that's not what I meant. Has it been more than a month since my wardship started?"

"You were only assigned for me for a one month wardship, and you're still here, aren't you petal?" You blink, feeling stupid. She's right, of course. Why are you even thinking about this?

"B-but... my boobs...?" What are you talking about? Oh, you remember! "I read they can't grow this big in only a month."

"I see, that's very interesting. Let me examine you more closely." Your clothes fall away, removed by vines that immediately start caressing you. Your knees go weak in a matter of seconds, and you happily collapse, letting her hold you up. "Your boobs are getting nice and big, aren't they?"

"Yes Mistress." You only call her that during sex, which this really wasn't supposed to be, she was just looking at you, but you're so turned on the word slips out on it's own. You expect her to be upset at you for turning this into something sexual, but a vine snakes into your ass, and at the same time, she leans down and kisses you, her tongue vine sliding down her throat, before she pulls away.

"Good girl," she says, and you realize that instead of being upset, she rewarded you. You smile, happy to know that you've pleased your Mistress. "Do you think your tits are too big?" she asks, squeezing them.

"No, MIstress. I want them even bigger. I just..." you just what? It's so hard to think, so hard not to just focus on enjoying your Mistress's vines. "I just need to know if I'm an independent."

A vine teases down your breasts and to your rock hard clit. It's a little over two inches now, even though it was bigger than average before your wardship. "An independent terran is considered an affini's equal. Tell me, petal, do you feel like my equal?"

"No, Mistress." Her vines pull away from your tits, clit, and ass, and she looks at you, observing you closely.

"Do you want me to treat you like my equal? I can, of course."

You shake your head so hard it makes you dizzy. "No! No, Mistress, I don't want that!"

"Good girl. You're going to be ready very soon, aren't you? Now, I think you need some class-Zs, and then to forget this whole day, don't you?"

You open your mouth, but the only response that comes out is "May I cum, Mistress?"

"No, not today, you've been a little naughty." The flower covers your face again, and you breathe deeply. You feel as your body stops trembling, your mind starts to slow, your eyelids droop, even your clit goes soft. "And next time you figure it out, kneel while you wait for me."

You dimly wonder what you figured out, before you go to sleep. When you wake, you'll discover that your tablet will no longer show you the timeline of class-Gs, but it's not like you're unsatisfied with them. After all, look at how much you've changed in only a month.

You were assigned to an affini for a one month wardship, and she helped you realize you were a trans woman and put you class-Gs. Now, looking in the mirror, you realize that from your research, the changes you've experienced should have taken at least three months.

You check your tablet to see what the date is, but it's not showing the date or time anywhere. Even if it was, you can't remember what day your wardship started. If you're right, your wardship ended a while ago, and she just... kept you? Didn't tell you that you were allowed to leave?

You consider trying the door out of the hab, and seeing if you can just walk out, but she'd be worried if she came back and you were gone, and besides, you're pretty mad. You'll wait for her to come home, and confront her about it. Maybe give her a chance to come clean, if it's true, or explain it to you, if you're wrong.

#hdg #human domestication guide

237 notes · View notes

thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 3 days ago

Note

I'd love to know how the cover date with A-Town actress Ash Lewis and Tom went down. What did they talk about? Were they friends by the end, do they stay in contact? Did they and their partners meet up before or after? What does Ash think about her role and meeting the inspiration for it?

[For those of you just tuning in: A-Town is the shitty postwar sitcom inspired by the life of Jake Berenson, to the eternal annoyance of Jake Berenson. Ash Lewis plays the main character's older sister Daisy, a dumb blond lacrosse player controlled by a yeerk named Zeptron 420.]

This whole thing felt like going to senior prom.

Not that I’d ever actually been to senior prom. There'd been a show of sending me, Essa 412 giving Mom and Dad the runaround even to the point of getting the yeerk inside Vi Alden to show up in a dress. 30 seconds out the door, the formalwear had been swapped out for jeans and dracon rifles; our bodies had spent the night clearing wildlife out of a build site in the hopes of giving the “andalite bandits” nowhere to hide before the new community center opened up.

But I’d seen enough movies to know that this was how prom was supposed to work: A limo out front, a flower in my hand, a terrifyingly beautiful woman standing at the end of my parents' driveway.

Ashleigh Lewandowska wore a shimmering strapless gown in a color somewhere between gold and silver and lilac and rose, depending on how it caught the light. The silky fabric could only have been custom-sewn for her body, from the perfect way it hugged her curves and cut high enough in front to show one knee before trailing down in the back to an inch above the ground. Jessica Rabbit come to life, and then melded with Jessica Alba.

"Hi," I said, smiling awkwardly. “You look amazing." I handed her my sprig of lilies, feeling like I was putting a Pokemon sticker on a bottle of champagne.

“You clean up pretty nicely yourself,” she said.

I glanced down at my own attire. We’d gone for a deep purple button-down and a charcoal gray suit, but skipped the tie and cuff links. Allegedly this was the fashion right now. “Thanks,” I said. “I should hope so, since my cousin spent the last week using me as her personal Ken doll.”

She laughed. “Welcome to Hollywood.” She stuck out a hand, silvery bracelets jangling. “Call me Ash.”

I shook gently. “Tom. Nice to finally meet in person.”

There was a blinding flash; I flinched in surprise, but Ash turned automatically toward the light.

“Wow,” I said loudly. “After all your whining about paparazzi, you go and join them.”

Jake stepped up next to me, stuffing the disposable camera into his hoodie pocket. “It’s not paparazzi-ing if I don’t publish the photos,” he said. He stuck out his own hand. “I’m Jake. Big fan.”

Ash laughed, taking his hand. “Ash. And I’m a big fan of yours. Besides...” She looked over at me. “Aren’t photos the whole point of the evening?”

“Yeah.” I smoothed down my jacket, even though I had Rachel’s assurances it hung perfectly. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Shall we, then?” Ash gestured to the limo.

“Uh.” I lunged to open the door for her, although I could tell from her laugh that that wasn’t what she’d meant.

Ash slid into the limo, scooting down the seat so I could perch next to her.

“Have him home before nine,” Jake called after us, “and don’t drink the jungle juice!”

I flipped him off before pulling the door closed behind me.

In cool interior of the limo’s passenger compartment, Ash’s presence was even more overwhelming. She was stunningly beautiful with her delicate updo of blond curls, her full figure accentuated by the dress’s curves, her flawlessly smooth skin. But there was an untouchability, a faint unnaturalness, about her beauty. It was less like being on a hot date, more like being in the presence of an alien goddess.

Maybe it was just that I knew for a fact she had no interest in men. Lack of attraction was always going to be a turn-off.

“So.” She shifted to sit across from me, leaning forward to brace both hands on her knees. “Some ground rules.”

“Yeah. I’m listening.”

She shook her head. “I mean we both set ground rules. This is improv, but improv never means anything-goes.”

“Improv?”

“An improvisational performance. We have the outlines of what we’re doing, and we’re making it up as we go.”

“Ah.” The car lurched as the driver pulled away, causing me to slide sideways on the seat when I didn’t catch myself in time. Ash put out a hand as if to steady me, but pulled back when she saw I was good.

“Sorry.” She shrugged. “No seatbelts in limos.”

“All right, I’ll start there.” I shifted in my seat. “My reaction time is complete crap. I assume you’ve done a fair bit of reading about zombies for the role?”

She twitched a little at zombies. “I’m not claiming to be an expert.”

“Sure. What you should know is that that much of the stereotype is true, at least for me. I’m slow to respond to pretty much anything sudden, and one way that shows up is I’m terrible with facial expressions.” I gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m going to do my best to sell this, but you’re going to be carrying most of the weight.”

“Ah, so you’re a bad actor.” Ash nodded with mock solemnity. “That, I can work with.”

“Cool. Just think of me as your extremely well-dressed cardboard cutout,” I said.

She laughed again. “Okay. And I’ll keep in mind that I shouldn’t necessarily check on your face to see if you’re interested in something.”

“Yeah.” I made an open-palm gesture to her. “‘preciate it.”

“For me...” She held up a perfectly manicured finger. “No touching of boobs, hips, or butts—”

“God no!” I blurted. “Uh, no offense, but...”

“Goes both ways, good, got it.” She held up a second finger. “Closed-mouth kissing on the cheek or maybe the neck is okay with me, if and only if it’s okay with you.”

I thought about it. “Let me ask Bonnie?”

“Totally. And for the record, I already ran all this by Sierra.”

“Cool.”

I tapped out a text as Ash rummaged in the giant handbag that sat next to her minuscule purse on the seat, finding her own phone.

“Bonnie’s fine with that,” I said when I got a reply. “But I’ve been told not to fall in love with you, and also called a ‘narcissist’ three times in four texts.”

Ash gave a tinkling little laugh, one hand coming up to cover her mouth. “I’ll have to meet this Bonnie.”

I glanced up at her. “Totally incognito double date, next weekend at Shake Shack?”

“Let me text Sierra,” she said.

Sierra was in, it transpired. And we hammered out most of the rest of the rules: arms around the shoulder or waist were okay, sitting in laps a no-no. Splitting a dessert was fine, putting two straws in one drink a little too far. Holding hands was encouraged. We’d tell anyone who asked that we were friends, and if pressed to elaborate would say we were friends getting dinner together. We’d tell the truth about our names, and the fact that we’d met through Ash’s research for A-Town.

I was allowed to make jokes about dating my double, but strongly discouraged from expressing an opinion about A-Town or about Ash’s character Daisy. If all else failed, I should claim I had never seen the show but I’d heard a lot about it and was planning to check it out in the future. If anyone planted the suggestion that we were at dinner because I was helping Ash with her research, I was to encourage the idea without confirming it.

Also, whenever possible, I’d be letting Ash do all the talking.

“You ready?” Ash asked.

I glanced out the window, surprised to discover the limo had pulled up at the curb. She was easy to talk to, for a superhero princess in an outfit that cost more than my car.

“Will there be photographers right away?” I asked.

She nodded. “Probably. This place publishes its guest lists, which is part of why I made the reservation here, but it also keeps in business through requiring a level of respect from the hangers-on.”

“Cool.” I smoothed my hands over my pants. I was so glad we’d cut off my hair down to its usual buzz; trying to mess around with the loose poof of curls I wore it in at college would’ve given me too many opportunities to fidget. Same reason I'd left the glasses at home.

“Hey.” Ash put her hand gently on mine. “Thanks for doing this.”

I smiled up at her. “What, pretending that I’m in any way desirable enough to attract a Hollywood A-lister? Yeah, the impact on my reputation is gonna be a real hardship.”

“‘A-lister’ is definitely overstating it. And you know what I mean.”

I did, of course. Ash was aspiring for fame, anyway, and she’d attracted a good few offers for small film parts through her work playing fake-me on A-Town. But if she had any hope of a film career, no one could know about her quiet long-term relationship with another woman. There couldn’t even be rumors. Not in that direction, anyway.

There were rumors already, as it stood. Which is why Marco had texted us both to set up this little pantomime.

We were here to make a new batch of gossip. Through manufacturing a story too odd, too delicious, too ridiculous for the press to pass up: the actor who played a fake version of Jake Berenson’s sibling on TV, entering into a fling with Jake Berenson’s real-life actual sibling. In reality Ash’s character was only loosely inspired by yours truly, there having been no actual research involved in the construction of Daisy A or Zeptron 420. But the fact that Ash played me on television was going to be too delightfully ironic for most tabloids to pass up.

“Good to go?” Ash asked.

I nodded. “Just like we practiced.”

“Something like that.”

She leaned to the far side of the car and swung the door open. I expected her to get out right away, but she made a whole production of swinging one leg out the door and planting her foot on the ground. She left it there for a few seconds before she curled a hand around the door frame and slowly pulled herself out of the car, posture careful and head high.

“It’s Ash Lewis!” Someone called from outside. And then there was an explosion of overlapping sound.

Ash turned, making eye contact where I still sat. She winked.

Swallowing, I scooted over. She put out her hand, and I took it.

My own exit from the car wasn’t nearly as graceful, but Ash made sure we were gazing at each other the entire time. The lightning-strikes of flashes were already going off around us, people with everything from cell phones to full news cameras crowding forward at a barely-respectful distance. Now I understood why she’d taken her time — it gave the bush-lurkers time to realize just who was climbing out of the latest stretch limo amidst an entire fleet of them.

“Ash, any comment on the rumors of a film contract?” someone shouted.

“Hey Ash, who’s—”

“Ash, smile for us!”

“Ash, who are you wearing?”

“Over here, Ash—”

“—your new beau?”

“I love you, Daisy!”

I suppressed a wince at that one. Hopefully she didn’t mind no one being able to tell the difference between her and her character. Hopefully it wasn’t like when people —

“Visser Seventeen?” a voice broke through.

Now I did wince. I’d stopped dead on the edge of the sidewalk, expression frozen. I didn’t know if I could...

“Tom Berenson,” Ash said loudly, and the crowd fell silent for the sound bite. “We’re going for dinner, it’s a Balenciaga, can’t say about the film, and I love you all too!”

With that, she slid an arm around my waist and started steering me toward the door.

I smiled. I waved. I tried not to look like too much of a fool.

Several people yelled questions to me. A few yelled questions about me to Ash. A few, apparently, addressed their questions to the dearly departed spirit of Essa 412. Ash fielded the entire gauntlet, half-shielding me with her body as needed.

“Thanks,” I muttered, as we approached the host stand.

Ash nodded. “Think it’ll rain?”

That was another one we’d done in the car — either of us could drop the phrase blue skies at any time to mean get me the hell out of here.

“It just might, yeah,” I said. Giving the all-clear.

“Ash Lewis and Tom Berenson.” This time Ash spoke much louder, probably so the mics could pick it up.

The host ran his finger down the list, nodding. “Here we are. Right this way, ma’am. Sir.”

We followed him out of the hard-bright spotlight outside, stepping into a velvet-muffled interior like sliding underwater.

“Oh,” I whispered. There were dozens of little round tables, each tucked away into semi-enclosed nooks around the edge of the room. “This isn’t bad at all.”

Ash tapped the side of her nose. “Don’t worry, plenty of eyes and ears in here too.”

Ah. So a fair percent of the other diners would be reporters or hangers-on. Made sense.

But it was still far less overstimulating than the cacophony outside. Our table was draped in a white linen cloth, the enclosing walls in burgundy velvet. No one was going to hear us unless we raised our voices, and the only photographs possible would be low-lit and far away.

“So,” I said to Ash, after pulling out her chair and helping her sit. “Come here often?”

She laughed, head tossed so that her curls cascaded attractively. Exaggerated, but warm. “This is my first time with a date, anyway.”

“I’m honored.”

I was running a mental check: elbows off table, legs uncrossed, posture straight. Eyes on my date, even when I heard a click of a muffled shutter somewhere off to my right.

“Ms. Lewis.” A different guy in a tuxedo had materialized where the host had been a second ago. “What a pleasure to have you back.”

“Good to be back,” Ash said, smiling up at him.

“Will you be starting with some wine tonight?” he asked.

“The usual. And we’ll take a few of those menus as well.” Apparently, she had to request menus.

“Naturally.” He held them out on top of a freaking tray. Ash took one without comment.

“Uh, thanks,” I said, lifting the leather portfolio. Feeling like a kid getting sticky fingerprints on my mom’s paperwork. Wondering why I hadn’t done the math before now that generating trashy gossip would be so highfalutin.

The waiter bowed — I’m not kidding, he actually bowed — and glided away.

“We’re getting wine?” I asked in an undertone.

Ash lifted her head. “You are over twenty-one, right?”

I nodded. “Are you?”

She smirked, tapping a finger against her lips. Got it, never ask a Hollywood dame her age — lies were a survival tactic. And she did play the sixteen-year-old version of me on TV. Wouldn’t do to imply she might be a day over nineteen.

Opening the menu, I skimmed down the column of French- and Italian-labeled food things. And then I stopped, my eyes skipping to the right, and read that column instead.

“Are these...” I leaned in closer, squinting at the tiny font. No sign of any decimal points, but I could see a few commas. “Are these prices in dollars?” I hissed.

Ash brought her hand up to her mouth, not quickly enough to hide her smile.

I flushed.

“It’s already paid for, Tom.” She reached across the table to put two fingers on my wrist.

“No, I...”

We’d agreed she’d be picking up the tab, but still. What the fuck could they have possibly done to that pigeon to make it worth twelve hundred fucking dollars? It was a pigeon. They were free for anyone with sharp eyes and fast talons, all over the friggin city.

“I didn’t realize the schmoozing and boozing part of this could be so pricey,” I said at last.

“You said no major food allergies?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Just pineapple.”

She folded her menu so that she could look across the table, making eye contact. “Do you trust me?”

I considered, rather than giving her a knee-jerk answer. Trust her with my life? Not exactly. Trust her with this?

“Sure.” I smiled. “Go wild.”

She did, in fluent French, when the waiter returned. My life was really in her hands now.

“All right,” she said, turning back to me. “It’s going to be a while, so go ahead and give me something.”

“Something...?”

“You’re coaching me on my acting, remember?” She grinned. “So, lay it all out.”

I laughed, glancing away across the restaurant. “Oh, you don’t want that. I’m not an actor. Or anything close.”

“No high school plays?” She was smirking now. “Middle school pageants? Elementary school musicals?”

“Not a one.”

“Look, just...” She tossed her hair again. It was sort of terrifying to watch. “Tell me one thing the show gets wrong.”

I raised my eyebrows. “What, just one?”

She laughed. “Artistic license aside. What about the performances would you change if you could?”

“Seriously, all that comes to mind is hiring a better lion-actor,” I said. “Which I assume is off the table.”

“Oh god, that friggin lion.” She groaned, just exaggerated enough you could still believe in it.

“Wait.” I leaned across the table, looking hard at her. “They put you guys on set with a live lion?”

Ash shook her head so hard her earrings rattled. “No, no!”

“Good, because I was about to have to call, I don’t know, OSHA or—”

“You’re sweet, but there's no need.”

“I mean, after Siegfried and Roy, that would’ve just been..." I gave an exaggerated wince.

“Yes, exactly.”

I leaned back in my seat, heart rate slowing. Seriously. As a guy who’d been mauled by a tiger before — and that’d been a tiger who was motivated to keep me alive — I really would’ve gone to the SPCA with a complaint if some off-prime show had been letting its actors in the same room as giant cats for attention.

“The lion's on the same set as the humans, but never at the same time.” Ash sipped her drink, using the motion to glance around and then lean in closer to me. “The trainers bring him in, toss a few of his toys on the floor, and let him do whatever he feels like until he inevitably gets bored and drops down for a nap. Then they send him away, and the producers write the scene around the footage they managed to get.”

There was another click from somewhere to our left, but thankfully no flash. For good measure I reached across the table, and let Ash put her hand overtop mine.

"Anyway, tell me something else," she said. "What do you think of Daisy? Or Zeptron, for that matter?"

I turned my head half-away from the room, speaking in an undertone. "I thought I wasn't supposed to know too much about A-Town?"

Ash shook her head. "Just don't answer any reporters' questions about it. Otherwise we should be fine."

"Okay." I blew out a breath. "I mean, I love your work. Zeptron is, I'm sure I don't have to tell you, the best part of the show. I assume you've seen the fan sites and know that already."

"According to the fan sites," Ash said, "Trina's the best part of the show. Followed by Gina, followed by Zeptron. Not that anyone's counting."

"And Bonnie says I'm a narcissist," I said.

"Maybe she's right. We all need friends to keep us humble."

Just a hair of emphasis, on the word friends. Got it. No talking about Bonnie where the microphones could hear, or at least no acknowledging who she was to me. "Okay, you want feedback?" I said. "On how to more realistically be fake-me onscreen?"

"I do," Ash said. "That's why we're here."

I considered the question. Obviously if I'd been casting myself I wouldn't have gone for a pouty-lipped blond chick, but that was beside the point. "Okay, fine," I said.

"Uh-huh?"

"The..." I raised a hand to my ear, poking at it with the end of my finger. "What's with the going like this all the time?"

Ash laughed, definitely a real laugh this time. I was imitating a gesture that she made three, five, sometimes ten times an episode.

"What," I said, laughing myself, "is Zeptron worried she's about to fall out? Is that what it's supposed to be? Like a..." I mimed catching an object that was about to fall out of my own ear.

"Yes." Ash giggled. "Yes, I'm adding that to the show notes. Zeptron is constantly on the verge of falling out, and that's why the..." She did a much better job than me, of course, of getting across the subtly ominous way that we constantly saw Zeptron patting at Daisy's ear.

"Seriously, though. Why?"

"Pizza effect, as we say in the biz." She raised both hands, pressing them to her ears like worried they were about to fall off. "If someone's pizza delivery arrives midway through the episode, you have to be able to answer the door, pay the driver, sit back on the couch, and pick up the episode without having missed anything important. And that's not even taking into effect the people who stop channel-surfing and start watching midway through an episode."

"So..."

"So we have to get across the idea that 'Daisy'" — she made air quotes around the name, and I kind of loved her for it — "isn't just the world's meanest teenager for some reason. We need the audience to catch onto the fact that Daisy isn't Daisy. And we need to remind them of that fact as often as possible, in case they ordered a pizza before starting the episode."

"Huh. So you..." Again I did the ear-poking gesture. "Okay, fine, that makes sense." And I did approve of the goal of distinguishing Daisy from Zeptron. Otherwise you ended up known as Visser Seventeen for the rest of your fucking life.

"Yeah. Like I said. We don't want the audience assuming Brandon's sister hates him for no reason."

"Fine, fine, I'll let you guys have the ear-poking thing."

"What else?" she asked.

I blew out a breath. This was not my wheelhouse, at all, and to be honest I had never watched an entire episode of A-Town from start to finish. Mostly I absorbed factoids about it from Jake's ranting. "Uh, my cousin Jordan says that Trina should stop going back and forth between Liam and J.J., and just date them both. But that doesn't apply to Zeptron."

Ash gave another real laugh. "Oh, I wish," she said. "But yeah, that'd be a note for the writing room. I'm just a humble actor."

The food arrived then, on six different plates. Which was fortunate, because each one had just a tiny spray of food amidst vast empty space barely broken by sauce. I hoped we were allowed to eat the garnish as well. Ash served us, thankfully, using tiny metal tongs to set portions of everything onto two dessert-sized plates.

"Sorry," I said, after I'd swallowed my first bite of... I don't know, maybe a grape leaf and some kind of soft meat? It was pretty good, to be honest, but not $700 good. "I'm not much use."

Ash smiled softly, patting her lips with her napkin. How she was managing to get food into her mouth without smearing her lipstick was one of life's great mysteries. "That's not true," she said.

Again, she got her meaning across with just a hint of extra emphasis on certain sounds, a tiny tilt of one eyebrow: I was being useful by being here, no actual insider information necessary. Couldn't have told you how she'd conveyed it, only that she did. Actors, man.

"Thanks." I took a drink, and tried not to feel like a galumphing idiot because there was no graceful way for a normie like me to eat on camera. "Is there anything else specific you want to know about— about Daisy?" I'd almost said about me, but well. Eyes and ears everywhere.

"Let's be honest," Ash said. "I don't play Daisy, at least not 99% of the time. I play Zeptron 420 pretending to be Daisy."

And if she kept saying shit like that, I really was going to fall in love with her. "You know what?" I pulled my napkin off my lap and dropped it on the table, pushing back my chair as if to indicate I was leaving. "We're done, I can't add anything, you already understand the role better than anyone else on the planet, I cannot possibly hope to gild this lily."

"You're too kind." Ash smiled, but she also nudged my napkin back toward me with a fingertip.

Got it. Couldn't make any gestures that could be misinterpreted by the camera. Whoops. Dropping the napkin back in my lap, I scooted my chair closer to her and leaned in close to look her in the eye. "Seriously, though," I said, in a low whisper. "It gives me a lot of confidence in the show to hear you say that."

"Okay, here's a question." Ash took another bite of... I don't know, some kind of tiny fresh fruit cubes and some kind of fish? I hadn't dared try that one yet. "If you were Daisy, living Daisy's life. How would you feel about having Brandon as a little brother?"

What immediately came to mind is what it'd feel like to have D-cups as soft and round as hers, right there on my chest, and a push-up bra to put them in. Almost certainly not what she'd actually been wondering about.

"Brandon," I said, trying to refocus. "Okay, so. I'm not Daisy, but. From my point of view, he's... really annoying, to be honest."

Ash sighed. "Everyone says that. Poor Jared."

Jared Kincaid was the actor who played Brandon. And yeah, if I was him then reading those fan sites would be rough. I could only imagine.

Not that I had fan sites. But there were very good reasons I never searched for myself online. Or read my Wikipedia article. Or dived too deep into Animorphs forums. Now if I could only get Jake to follow my example...

"What I mean." I held up a hand in a hear me out gesture. "I can't comment on his acting or writing, but Brandon's... really lackadaisical about the war, you know? And I get that the fictional empire-that-shall-not-be-named isn't nearly as much of a threat as the yeerks were. But he keeps blowing off missions to play lacrosse games, or go on dates. And he claims he's in charge of the team any time he's bossing JJ or Trina around, but he never seems to do anything with that power. It's usually Gina and Liam, or Trina and Crystal, getting back from missions. Brandon just hangs around his house all the time getting grounded by his parents and bickering with Zeptron."

"Bickering with Zeptron is advancing the war effort, if you think about it," Ash said, but she was smirking.

"In that case, he works harder than the rest of the fauximorphs combined. I stand corrected."

"Foe-uh-morphs?"

"Oh, uh." I winced. Hopefully that wasn't actually insider information. "What Jake calls the A-Town team. Originally a Marcoism, I think."

Ash laughed, nodding to herself. "Fauximorphs. Works better than 'teen shapeshifter team we can't name onscreen for copyright reasons,' I'd say."

"Is that the only reason?" I asked.

She tilted her head in a question, earrings sliding against her cheek. She had an ultra-intense way of listening, conveying with everything from the tilt of her eyebrows to her position of her hands that she was hanging on your every word. Like I said, bright future ahead.

"You never say 'yeerk,' or 'Animorph,'" I said. "Characters refer to 'those jerks' a bunch, which I assume is meant to imply something, and obviously you've got alien invaders played by eels, but... it's down to copyright? You know Marco owns the copyright for 'Animorph,' right? And he works for you."

"Mm." Ash made a small gesture, raising the first two fingers of her right hand, a let me think, as she chewed another bite of food. Finally she said, "It's down to taste, I suppose. Because it is ultimately a fictional show."

"Ha!"

That'd come out too loud — I pressed a hand over my mouth — but it got another genuine laugh from Ash. And oh, that untouchable goddess veneer was wearing off faster than I wanted it to. She was acting all too approachable.

She's gay, I reminded myself firmly. And taken. And you have a hot girlfriend at home.

"I just..." I looked down at my plate. "That's what I keep saying. It's not a show about the war, not really. It's a show about a ridiculous version of the war that's not supposed to be realistic, and everyone knows that. Jake keeps taking it too seriously, you know?"

"I would hope not," Ash said. "And we aren't trying to depict real yeerks. That'd be pretty disrespectful, don't you think?"

The whole show was disrespectful as fuck — Jake and I agreed on that much — but even without the cameras, I wouldn't have said that to Ash. Disrespectful wasn't the worst thing in the world. It beat valorizing the Animorphs for the purpose of holding them up in contrast to everything allegedly wrong with the current generation, which was the most common alternative I'd encountered.

"What about you?" I offered instead. "What do you think Daisy thinks of Brandon?"

"Oh, man." She blew out a breath. "I think she's sad, mostly. She probably misses hanging out with him, and it has to upset her how much Zeptron bullies him. I also think she's proud of him being such a good lacrosse player, like maybe she used to look forward to them being on high school lacrosse teams together before—"

"Okay, okay!" My hand was clenched around my fork; I forced my fingers open. "Okay."

"It's nice filming in California, where the weather usually cooperates," she said. Checking in again.

"It does rain here sometimes," I said. And then, "You're very good. You know that? Whatever they're paying you, it isn't enough."

"Mmmm, can I quote you on that next time I'm talking to my agent?" She smiled with her lips, but her gaze was searching mine.

"Oh, please do." I did my best to smile reassuringly. And then, because I sucked at nonverbal communication. "I asked the question, dude. You answered. But go ahead, hit me with another one."

There was a click to our right, another camera shutter going off. Knowing my luck, I'd managed to get food in my teeth or bunch up my pants at a weird angle.

"How do you feel about Zeptron and JJ's romance?" Ash lobbed a lowball at me.

"She should've stuck with her banana slug boyfriend," I said. "Would Daisy want to date JJ, in your opinion?"

Ash tilted her head, then shook it. "He's too young for her. And she's secretly all punk and alternative, if you've seen any of the episodes with her cameos. JJ's kind of a poser, you know?"

"Plus, he cheats on all his girlfriends."

"Exactly."

"How's Marco feel about JJ, anyway?" I asked. There were obvious differences, from the Italian actor and buzz cut to the inexplicable decision to have him use duck as his battle morph, but he was Brandon's best friend, the team's comic relief, the only one with an immigrant mom, and the one with the most girlfriends. That, and his mom was either a homicidal sadist or else being controlled by a yeerk that bore a suspicious resemblance to Visser One.

"Have you ever," Ash said, "and I mean ever, gotten a straight answer out of Marco about anything?"

"Oh, hell no," I said immediately. "I think Jake can — that's his superpower. But me? No way, Jose."

"Yes, he's very good at this kind of thing." She didn't mean acting, of course. Or at least, not the kind that one did on TV.

"Scarily good, some would say," I muttered.

"Oh?"

"Okay, you—" I lowered my voice. "You remember Tennantgate, right?"

Ash nodded, of course, even though she was frowning in confusion. William Roger Tennant, America's most beloved hippie, caught on camera trying to strangle a dog. The most-played news clip of the year, at least in California.

"What if I told you," I said quietly, "that Tennant was...?" I made that yeerk-falling-out-of-ear gesture again, to get her to laugh. "And that it just so happens Marco Alvarez's stepmom owns a white toy poodle?"

Ash choked on a sip of water, putting a hand to her chest in surprise. I exerted heroic effort not to follow the direction of that hand too closely. "But how?" she whispered, when she'd recovered. "How would you even engineer something like that? They'd have to know exactly where he'd be when, how he'd react, that it'd happen exactly as the cameras turned on..."

I held up both hands in an open-palm shrug. "You've got me. Like you said, he's very good."

"It's funny." Ash glanced around to see if anyone was within earshot. I leaned in close to her, and she leaned across the table to meet me. With her lips an inch from my cheek — she didn't touch my ear, we'd covered that — she whispered, "I asked Marco on this date first. He said no. Said that actually, he's thinking of... you know. Telling people."

I sat back, looking at her. Hopefully that little moment had looked plenty intimate for the cameras. She'd even managed a blush, how I had no idea. The red wine, maybe.

And then it hit me. Coming out. Marco was thinking of coming out. "I..." I took a breath. "I hope... Whatever happens, it works for him."

Because he wasn't untouchable, not really, but he was about as close as you could get. Elton John famous. Anderson Cooper, Ellen Degeneres, Rachel Maddow famous. Famous enough that losing all sponsorships and acting gigs, getting dragged through the mud and spat on by former fans, wouldn't be enough to ruin his life or his legacy. Famous enough to pave the way for other boys who dated boys, for people like Ash to maybe someday not have to lie.

It was the difference between Arnold Schwarzenegger taking a four-by-four to the face, and Carrie Fisher taking that same four-by-four. The blow was coming no matter what, and it'd hurt like hell when it did. The only question was if it'd leave you enough marbles to straighten up and keep swinging.

Ash smiled weakly, and this time it looked genuine. "And you know what I hope."

Yeah. Because if the four-by-four hit Marco, maybe it'd only be a two-by-four by the time it got to her.

"Ash, I..."

You know why I agreed to come on this date? I lied earlier, about not reading my Wikipedia entry. I did, just once, not that long after it was posted. The first two sentences were about Jake. The rest was about Essa 412.

For more information, Wikipedia suggested, I'd want to read the entry for Visser Seventeen.

Seemed kind of pathetic, when you thought about it. I'd agreed to this little farce to be slightly more famous, for something I'd done for once. Ash...

She was lying, right now, because she had to. Because there was no choice. Not if she wanted to live in peace, wanted Sierra to live in peace. She couldn't come here on a date, not a real one, not to any restaurant anywhere someone might have a camera. Her hand was resting on mine, and she couldn't do that with the person she actually wanted. Sure, a century ago Bonnie and I would've been illegal in California, if her parents had been allowed in at all, but a hell of a lot had changed since then. There was no comparison.

It made me feel small and shabby, to have it all laid out like that.

"I..." There was nothing I could say. Not in public, and not when this wasn't my fight. "I hope you go on more dates here," I said at last.

"And I..." Now Ash's smile was definitely fake again, even to the point of being a little sarcastic. "Hope you're with me when I do."

I winked at her. That was unlikely, since we'd agreed we would be at most photographed walking around together one more time before slow-fading into tabloid mystery. But for now... "Dessert?" I said.

"Dessert," she agreed.

#animorphs #a-town #tom berenson #long post #animorphs ficlet #eleutherophobia

87 notes · View notes