#it needn't be hard! it can just be seeking out what you like!

[meadowlarkx]

every day i see good and fun posts and like them to rb later and by the time later arrives reblogs have been turned off :(

[argetcross]

Astarion looks over Wyll's contract, a missing BG3 scene

[The camp in Baldur's Gate. Nighttime has fallen and everyone is in their tents. To Wyll's surprise, Astarion saunters over.]

Astarion: The Blade of Frontiers. Come on already. Hand it over.

Wyll: Hello to you too, Astarion. I assume you don't mean hand over this bowl of stew because, as you can see, Gale outdid himself and it's quite gone.

Astarion: Not the stew, your contract. Since it's clear from that escapade in the towers that someone should take a look at that Infernal scrap of paper.

Wyll: Oh. Oh!

Astarion: It wasn't my idea, you know. Our fearless leader wants me to take a look, since, for some reason, being raised on the suckling tit of Baldur's Gate high society has made you both terrible at reading basic contract law. And if that gods-damned cambion shows her face again demanding more addendums, you ought to be prepared.

Wyll: Yes, well. You make a fair point. Mizora's been getting the drop on me for a long time now. Once, just once, I'd like to turn the tables on her.

Narrator: Normally infernal contracts are hard to get a hold of. What devil would allow you to look twice at your soul signed away? But a tip from Karlach and a sizable donation to a local diabolist wins you a plain text copy of what signed away your soul seven long years ago.

Astarion: ...and you'll want to be careful of this clause in particular. There's two ways to interpret the word and I trust you know devils well enough now to always pick the disagreeable version.

Narrator: The parchment containing a version of your infernal contract is now dripping with so much red ink that it looks as if it was bleeding. Seems like the vampire was as good at understanding law as he was breaking it.

Wyll: Color me impressed, Astarion. And here I thought you got your magisterial position the way most do in this city, through bribery.

Astarion: Oh, I most certainly did. And infernal law is hardly my expertise, but you don't have to be an expert to see how this contract was a terrible idea. Really, what were you thinking, agreeing to this?

Wyll: You heard the story. Tiamat, the Cult of the Dragon, no matter what else came after, that, I won't regret that.

Astarion: Oh yes, you saved the city from Keres's loony cousins. Raising the god of dragons from the Hells, just so they could juice up their magical bloodline in eternal draconic servitude. Pfah, and I thought vampires were obsessed with blood.

Wyll: Wait. What? Those cultists were part of her family?

Astarion: Ah. She didn't tell you, did she? ...Well, before you start begging for her forgiveness, I have it on good authority they were quite evil and corrupt. So really, you probably did her a favor! Saved her some trouble of pruning her own family tree. She probably would have cried the whole way though and honestly, that takes all the fun out of killing your own family members.

Wyll: ...I see. That's quite a lot to take in. I suppose I ought to talk to her later about it. But you know, Astarion, I was wrong about you.

Astarion: Hmm? Are you going to tell me you're just now realizing how smart and handsome I am?

Wyll: You're a good man. I know you were worried for me in your own way. Even if, for some reason, it galls you to admit it.

Astarion: And I told you, I was simply sent by my meddlesome darling. Practically ordered. You know how high handed she can get sometimes. All my bad influence, I'm sure, ha-ha!

Wyll: Alright, I won't push the point. But you know, you needn't hide behind the others. After all, Keres had already told me to seek you out myself and I quote, "I can tell he wants to help, but he'll be happier if you ask him yourself, instead of me butting my nose in again."

Astarion: Ah, well, that is— You know, we'll make a liar of you yet. Because I do believe that counts as "pushing the point".

Wyll: Fair enough. But truly. Thank you, Astarion.

[xaviermattthews]

It was never a hard task to convince Bowie and Dayne to get on stage and play alongside them -- not when they had been doing it for almost half their lives now -- but X's only groomzilla moment in the short run up to the day had been in the practicing for that very moment.

( And only because he didn't feel like his Californian drummer and his Massachusettsan guitarist were feeling the country classic the way he wanted them to. )

That worry needn't have been one then, not when Dayne started plucking right on cue when the word Jackson left Van's mouth, elongating the intro slightly so X could do an appropriate amount of enthusiastic hollering for the way she commanded the stage and enraptured their guests.

"You tell 'em what else we been talking 'bout, baby," X says into his mic as Bowie comes in with the drums perfectly, those familiar with the song more than aware of what he's alluding to and he can already see the Texans on their feet when his Uncle Ernest led his mother's wife Deb onto the dance floor to show everyone else how a Texas two step was done as X started singing.

"We got married in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout," He winks in Van's direction as he removes the mic from the stand as the lyrics leaving him circle back and he hears it echoed back to him in that familiar twang that would always feel like home no matter how long it's been since he's been back to Texas, "We've been talking 'bout Jackson ever since the fire went out."

Ever the showman, X embodies the married playboy that he would never be that existed within the reality of the song in his own way, departing the stage as he seeks out the only woman present who he thinks might have wanted a dance with him that day as much as his wife.

"I'm going to Jackson, I'm gonna mess around."

His mother's hand is in his the moment he offers it, her sat alone had been a deliberate request to his uncle just before they had taken the stage, his late father's brother all too happy to oblige him.

Some of his earliest memories -- and his happiest ones too -- had been Johnny Cash tunes playing in their Houston kitchen on a Saturday morning when his pancakes were always just a little overdone because Darren had insisted on taking Addie for a spin like their kitchen floor was one meant for dancing instead.

Jackson was always in the Saturday rotation because it had been his dad's favorite.

Addie remembered the steps as well as X remembered Darren's and he knew he didn't have to worry about any toes being stepped on when he holds his hand up so she could give one of those signature spins while his head turns back towards his wife on stage, a grin on his face like he's throwing her back a challenge, "Yeah, I'm going to Jackson, look out Jackson town."

@vanessagable

"You don't need to know which April," Van tells him in a light voice and a gentle pat to his chest that implies that he doesn't need to worry his pretty little head about it.

She'd always had a hard time walking away from something that was just right and the dress had fit her like a glove when she had impulsively tried it on. She'd had a feeling that it would be good to keep on hand -- for a groom who could never keep his hands off her.

"I'll let ya have wife for forever, but I'd just still like to be baby sometimes," she tells him with a smile -- the word one of her favorites when it's leaving his lips because she knows it's just about her.

(Or, at the moment, a reference to things that they want in the future.)

Her gaze is captured by the ring on his finger as he brings it to eye level to rest on his chest, the very vision of it bringing another grin to her face that stays there as he croons to her about how time can be a torture but also something that heals.

(Just over an hour of being his wife had quickly erased all the damage of being someone else's for ten years.)

"You better be saving your voice, husband, you've got a performance coming up."

***

"We wanna hear all of your voices belting tunes real soon but you're gonna have to do us an indulgence first," Van announces to the guests on the microphone of the makeshift stage of their backyard, allowing X and the other band members the chance to collect their instruments and make sure they were turned right.

"One of the first conversations Xavier had when we met was about how we were both raised on country music. Though his had a bit of 'everything's bigger in Texas' sound while my taste came right out of the swamps. But we've been doing some talking about what we wanted the first song we sang as man and wife to be and we decided that it should be for y'all and it should be a taste of where we started out. So now that I've got my very own 'man in black' --" Van chuckles into the mic, looking over at X in his suit as Dayne starts the opening riff.

"We'll be singing 'Jackson' for you fine people tonight."

@xaviermattthews

[relmint]

Hello! wanted to ask you something, so I have realized that in jttw, Wukong always turns to Guanyin when he needs help and she also comforts him when he feels sad, and it seems that Wukong trusts her and respects her a lot, it is like a relationship between a younger brother and an older sister. (correct me if I'm wrong, sorry I'm just getting started and it's a lot of things) but shouldn't Wukong be mad that she was the one who gave tripitaka the circlet in the first place? Does Wukong know this? why does he trust her if she was the one who gave tripitaka the circlet in the first place? Pd: I love your art! <3 have a good day

Before I start, I would like to say that I have not finished reading the book myself, so some of my interpretations may seem off :0 For folks who are more knowledgeable than me, feel free to add on and share what you think as well! Now, let’s begin!

Yup! I also see them as having a younger bro and older sis bond :0 Also Wukong did grow mad when he learned it was Guan Yin who taught Tripitaka the magic! 

From Anthony C. Yu's translation, page 320, Chapter 14:

"I wouldn't dare strike you," said Pilgrim, "but let me ask you something. Who taught you this magic?" "It was an old woman," said Tripitaka, "who imparted it to me a few moments ago." Growing very angry, Pilgrim said, "You needn't say anything more! The old woman had to be that Guanshiyin! Why did she want me to suffer like this? I'm going to South Sea to beat her up!"

Wukong also chewed Guan Yin out for her tricks the next time they met on page 327, Chapter 15:

The Bodhisattva and the Guardian soon arrived at the Serpent Coil Mountain. They stopped the hallowed clouds in midair and saw Pilgrim Sun down below, shouting abuses at the bank of the stream. The Bodhisattva asked the Guardian to fetch him. Lowering his clouds, the Guardian went past Tripitaka and headed

straight for the edge of the stream, saying to Pilgrim, “The Bodhisattva has arrived.” When Pilgrim heard this, he jumped quickly into the air and yelled at her: “You, so-called Teacher of the Seven Buddhas and the Founder of the Faith of Mercy! Why did you have to use your tricks to harm me?”

“You impudent stableman, ignorant red-buttocks!” said the Bodhisattva. “I went to considerable effort to find a scripture pilgrim, whom I carefully instructed to save your life. Instead of thanking me, you are finding fault with me!” “You saved me all right!” said Pilgrim. “If you truly wanted to deliver me, you should have allowed me to have a little fun with no strings attached. When you met me the other day above the ocean, you could have chastened me with a few words, telling me to serve the Tang Monk with diligence, and that would have been enough. Why did you have to give him a flower cap, and have him deceive me into wearing it so that I would suffer? Now the fillet has taken root on old Monkey’s head. And you even taught him this so-called ‘Tight-Fillet Spell,’ which he recites again and again, causing endless pain in my head! You haven’t harmed me, indeed!” The Bodhisattva laughed and said, “O, Monkey! You are neither attentive to admonition nor willing to seek the fruit of truth. If you are not restrained like this, you’ll probably mock the authority of Heaven again without regard for good or ill. If you create troubles as you did before, who will be able to control you? It’s only through this bit of adversity that you will be willing to enter our gate of Yoga.” 

“All right,” said Pilgrim, “I’ll consider the matter my hard luck. But why did you take that condemned dragon and send him here so that he could become a spirit and swallow my master’s horse? It’s your fault, you know, if you allow an evildoer to perpetrate his villainies some more!”

As you can see, Sun Wukong and the Bodhisattva were not off to a great start. Guan Yin gave Sun Wukong the fillet to ensure he kept his promise of bringing the Tang Monk to India, attaining enlightenment in the process. From my point of view, the purpose of the journey was not only to introduce Buddhism to China but for the pilgrims to redeem themselves as well. It's basically like community service lmao. In the beginning, Sun Wukong was not very committed to maintaining his deal with the Bodhisattva, running away when Tripitaka scolded him for killing the 6 robbers. Sun Wukong does come back after having tea with his bestie the Dragon King, and to ensure Sun Wukong won't change his mind Guan Yin decided to give Tripitaka the fillet. In the beginning, you could justify why the fillet was needed. You can't deny that Sun Wukong was a dangerous warlord, managing to outmatch the might of Heaven itself (Absolute king, he wrecked those guys in Heaven <3). It seems reasonable how the Bodhisattva would think of the fillet as a necessary item to keep Sun Wukong in check. Sun Wukong, along with being overpowered, is seen to be impulsive and rash. That makes for a dangerous combination. But as the story progresses, you can see how Tripitaka overuses the fillet (Tripitaka sucks at being a teacher). I think the Bodhisattva was not aware of this. Or at least, not aware that Tripitaka used the fillet to such a degree. She is not omniscient, as proven by how Sun Wukong has to go to her to fill her in on all the tea. 

I think I have to also mention corporal punishment. Corporal punishment is a common thing in a lot of countries back then, especially in East Asia! This way of disciplining was the norm. It was universally accepted, so there was a big chance people didn’t really think of the fillet as such a big deal. Confucianism is deeply embedded in Chinese culture, and it puts great importance on filial piety and good behavior. Teachers and parents are granted a lot of authority in this philosophy. If it’s for the sake of discipline, then corporal punishment is justified (obviously this is a damaging and flawed way of thinking but that’s just how it was in ancient times. Luckily, values are changing and people are becoming more aware!). Unfortunately, Sun Wukong and a lot of others r probably not aware that this was actual abuse. ….I think I digressed and I am sorry if I did but back to Wukong and Guan Yin! The way I see their relationship, it’s…complicated. In the beginning, their relationship was def strained. Wukong was mad at Guan Yin for the fillet. As for Guan Yin’s feelings towards the monkey, I think she genuinely wanted Wukong to succeed. She def disapproved of Sun Wukong’s rambunctious nature, but time and time again we see her offer her assistance throughout the pilgrim’s journey. Because of this she probably grew fond of the monkey, and Sun Wukong to her. I mean, she lets Sun Wukong crash at her place and allows him to vent his feelings to her. She is also stern whenever Sun Wukong’s resolve for the journey falters. She wants Wukong to stay on track. I think she genuinely wants Wukong to attain his merit, achieve enlightenment, and succeed. Isn’t that why she became a Bodhisattva? To help people? But this is just my interpretation! Also out of pure fun and brain rot, I want to share this song that reminds me of Sun Wukong and Guan Yin <3 

Also, I just wanna say one of my fav interactions between them is when they worked together to save Tripitaka from Black Wind Demon! I loved their light bickering <33 I personally think Chapter 17 was when Wukong and Guan Yin’s relationship became better and they started opening up to one another :> Also aahh thank you so much for liking my art! Sorry for the long ramble XD I hope you have a cool day anon! 

[myuni-moon]

[event requests are now closed]

warnings: yandere content, yandere cult stuff, mentions of violence

the cards have given you the answers you seek, and everything has been set in motion. here are the themes present in your reading.

Xiao

[XVII - The Star] ; How do they react around your ex/s?

his reaction on your ex depends if he has knowledge about them. unlike the archons, who can somewhat observe you in your world, he has no such privileges. let's say he learns of your ex through a passing remark or a carefully placed comment about how they hurt you or something along those lines. he doesn't react negatively, only continuing to do what you ask but with more fervor since you needn't on such unimportant things. if by chance, your ex get's isekai'd into their world, xiao is ready to put them out of their misery the moment they step foot into liyue. he wouldn't even tell you of their existence; don't trifle yourself with unnecessary people, your grace. just let him take care of it.

Albedo

[XVII - The Star] ; How do they react around your ex/s?

albedo does not care for such people (if he can call them that). he'd rather just dedicate his time for you like the good worshipper he is. but oh, you have a request? you want your ex... gone? well, he's the reason you're even in their world, surely getting that ex yours as well wouldn't be so hard. he does what you ask of him, methodically and with great focus. when your ex eventually emerges from whatever contraption or device he's used to get them into teyvat, he begins with his next task. maybe your ex would like to help with his newest experiment up in dragonspine? you'll surely be happy to find out that the garbage you call your ex is finally contributing something to society.

Baal

[XVII - The Star] ; How do they react around your ex/s?

just knowing you dislike someone is enough for her to dislike them too. as an archon and prior to your transmigration, she could somewhat see into your world and tap into much of your electronic devices. at some point, baal saw how you broke up with your ex, and it greatly angers her. how can scum like that think of hurting you like that! they will surely pay for their sins. if your ex ever makes it to inazuma or if baal finds a way to fuck them over in the other world, she'll make sure they won't escape from her wrath. she'll ruin their life and ingrain it into their heads just how sorry they should be for their mistakes and transgressions. and don't worry your pretty little head over it. just enjoy yourself to your hearts content in her domain. she'll be back soon~

[bellarkeselection]

Mind Resisted

Request from @sessa23 The reader tries learning to resist mind control and goes to Charles and asks if he can use his powers (very first X-Men request)

Tags - just ask to be added

@makeshift-prime

@rosie-posie08

Being able to resist someone reading your mind was hard when you had only one Telepath around you. The school he'd created is fairly new so there aren't many students yet. Charles and I quickly became best friends when he first opened the school, so I trust him more than anyone. Slowly raising my hand I knocked on his office stepping inside seeing him sitting at his desk with paperwork scattered about in front of him. "Y/n, what can I do for you?" A smile on his face as he spoke.

"Charles I uh - I need your help - with my powers." He uses the joystick on his chair to move forward to be in front of me staring up. "What is it this time love. The mind resistance or the dragon fire?" He questioned taking my right hand in his freehand. I'd been gifted with not only the ability to create fire like a dragon could but also the ability to block a Telepath from controlling my mind, without using a helmet like Erik does.

Raising my freehand hand I tap my temple and he simply nods as I eyeball a fire extinguisher in the corner of the room. "I had one brought in after our last training session. You needn't worry about it. So how do you want me to help with your mind situation?" He rolls backwards a little being able to look at me directly. "Try and control my mind, Charles." I blurt out seeing him bite his lip in worry. The last time he tried it caused me pain because I was trying to hard to block him out.

Placing two fingers to his temple he stares deeply into my eyes. A lump gets stuck in my throat with my heart rate increasing. Please work this time. If Charles can't help someone like me then what happens when there's someone stronger that seeks his help. Charles clears his throat lowering his hand but showing a straight face making me concerned. "It didn't work did it?" He shakes his head parting his lips in shock eyeing me up and down.

"Oh it worked. I couldn't see anything. Except something else I found has peaked my interest." Playing with the end of my shirt I croaked out in nervousness. "What is that Professor?" What on earth could it be. He takes both my hands in his lightly smiling. "Y/n my friend, I have misunderstood your mutations all along up until this point. Well, at least one of them. You're mind works like mine does with an extra power locked inside." I trailed off still in confusion. "Charles, I'm not following you..."

He raises his right hand tapping his temple finally giving me the answer. "You're a Telepath that can read other people's minds freely but if they try you can block them out." I sighed in relief finally getting an answer from my best friend. "So, what do we do now?" He brushes some hair that fell in his blue eyes filled with hope. "Y/n my dear friend we'll do what we've been doing. Training until we master our abilities. As your best friend I promise I'll teach you everything I know." Bending down to be his level I gently throw my arms around his neck and his go around my waist hearing me mumble into his hair. "You're a great friend, Charles thank you."

Comment and reblog 😊

[madeofthreads]

Glenn's reading comment earned a middle finger but little argument. It was just their banter. Low blows chased with some form of 'fuck you', this one being non-verbal. Besides, there was some truth in what his brother said. Leif could read... common words. The fancy talk from scholars? Well, he only needed to find 'beasts', 'myth' or 'dragon' scrawled somewhere, how hard could that be?

Then he was offered up a bag. He hesitated to take it. "I best keep close by your side through the village, then we can make a show about me going to the river to wash your sweat stained linens. No one will question what's in the bag then, and no one is going to seek me out in such a mood." It sounded almost childish but Leif believed it would work. Some of their arguments certainly leaned on the side of immaturity.

Perhaps he was thinking too much. Perhaps their plan needn't be so planned. Leif knew that egg was worth far more than its weight in gold, and he knew the nature of desperate starving people. Even the kindest souls that had known them since birth would consider stealing the dragon's egg to ease their own suffering.

"Glenn?" he uttered, when he secured the egg inside the bundle of furs, a hand protectively holding the suddenly weighed-down bag where it hung around his hip. "Thanks."

It was as simple as that. Leif nodded to his brother and walked out their front door. Right. He just had to act normal. His hand hesitantly released the bag, allowing it to sway at his side. He couldn't act as though he were clutching riches.

Normal? Normal... well, he supposed he was a bit of a frigid bastard, not the same warm attitude as his brother. Leif's strides into town became more confident. He didn't spare his brother a glance, barely spared anyone a glance. It felt like all eyes were on him in that moment but people were just going about their day.

What a smartass his brother was. But Leif probably was right... Glenn hadn't seen that nest for himself, it sounded logical, though. A giant dragon would simply crush their egg otherwise.

Same with the Ebbe-problem. As soon as that bastard would hear there was a felled dragon, he'd want all of the 'riches' that came with it. And most likely not for the common folk's betterment... no. That would all go to Ebbe's own power and treasures.

And of course there was the plan now...

Looking a little insulted at first because Glenn had no idea where this was going, he then perched up at it. This could actually work!

Folding his hands and then cracking his knuckles all confident, Glenn smirked wide: "Creating a long and distracting colourful conversation? No problem for me. Now you just have to prove you can actually read."

Passing by Leif, Glenn grabbed one of the bags they had and stuffed furs into it, offering it up for Leif to put the dragon egg inside.

"You take it with you, I guess? We can't just leave it laying around here... I am not the only Ironhand warrior who can do anything they like."

If they had to keep that secret, it was better to be kept close for now.

Glenn himself was already grabbing the shield that marked him as one of Ebbe's to fasten to his back.

"We better go now, when the sun isn't completely gone and we look even more suspicious."

And... they had to find out quick. It had only been a mere touch, but Glenn wouldn't want them to find the egg cold next to the fireplace in the morning, missing that small flutter of life.

[funkymbtifiction]

G'day Charity. I've been thinking about loops as a way to confirm type. Is there always a strong conflict between middle functions?

I would say initially (while learning to use that function), but then there's harmony and balance, because it evens everything out. A F becomes less easily insulted and more logical, a T becomes more in touch with their emotions, a S develops longer term thinking, an N finds grounding to balance out their ideas.

Would it be correct to understand healthy types as resisting their tertiary development because it conflicts with auxiliary function which is more natural to them?

A healthy person is a well-rounded person without an imbalance -- so they need to integrate all their functions as best they can (obviously, the inferior one is always going to be weak). Extroverts can have more trouble developing their second function than their third, because of a tendency to loop in attention-seeking ways; they often have to learn to introspect; introverts have no choice but to develop an extroverted function.

And then maybe looping is considered a form of 'giving in' to tertiary control for unhealthy types.

Looping is indeed a way to 'avoid' and skips over an important function (thinkers become too emotional or attention-seeking, feelers become too cold or direct).

For example, I'm toying with being an ENTP because I can relate to being somewhat resentful of a constant pull towards Fe when all I want to do is highlight inconsistencies, especially in what other people say. But since i am hyper-aware of what will cause conflict and what won't have the support of the consensus, I don't express it but it ultimately frustrates what i think is my Ti. Do other types have a similar problem? 

A 9, huh? Well, you are ahead of other ENTPs if you care about what people feel, because people will like and respond to you better. Some ENTPs have to learn the hard way to care about how they make other people feel. There are nice ways to highlight inconsistencies -- you needn't sacrifice accuracy just to keep everyone happy if you can find polite ways to point out problems.

Yes, other types struggle between their middle functions. I am in almost a constant quandary between what I know is objectively useful (Te) and what I want to do (Fi). Fi usually wins out, except when I bear down on Te to get things done that have to be done.

[starsuh]

do re mi | myg

featuring. min yoongi x reader | 3.2k

summary. while teaching you how to play piano, min yoongi realizes that his dumbass might have feelings for you after all.

genre. fluff | f2l | roommate!au | mutual pining

warnings. a quarter-life crisis and a soft make-out scene at the end

Amongst Min Yoongi's many talents, his sixth sense of knowing when something was bothering you was the one that most oft caught you off guard. Whether it was the intensity in which you slammed a door shut, or the way in which you didn't choose to annoy the fuck out him like you did every other day of the week; he would notice each time. It was only clockwork that he tentatively wrapped his arm around your shoulders when you had collapsed against the couch with perceptible chagrin.

"What's up?" he asked, a simple question that often entailed a more than complicated answer. Peering down at your tightened features, he awkwardly patted your shoulder as if to make known that silence would be just as valid of a reply.

You ran your hands through your face. "I don't know,” you said. If you did, you would've told him, just as you told him everything. Though the pair of you had began as merely two people who happened to be roommates because there were no other affordable options, spending months watching Netflix with another person tends to lead to friendship — even best-friendship, though neither of you had established such a title. It was the kind of friendship that needn't clarification, rather it was just another unequivocal fact amongst many.

After kicking off your shoes (Yoongi would scold you for that in a less emotionally-turbulent time), you pulled your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them in a ball-like manner. "It's really fucking lame but I’m just realizing some things,” he nodded, prompting you to continue. "I'm scared of the future, I think. I mean, everyone is, but when our prof was talking about internships and shit earlier I kind of freaked out then decided that hiding in the bathroom was the best option.”

In his gaze was a reassurance so intent that you had to look away lest you become ensnared in it. He oft had that effect, increasingly so throughout the past few weeks. "What about it?"

Your eyes fluttered closed as you took a deep breath. “I think I know what I want to do, but then I see other people, people like you, who are so passionate about their place on Earth that to not do that thing would be a fate worse than death. Like, I love the path that I’m on but there’s always a voice that’s telling me I’m gonna fuck something up and regret everything.” You played with the loose threads of your top, pulling at the offending stitching. You laughed. “This is so stupid. I guess I’m just realizing that I might not be cut out for it.”

His sudden silence filled the room so heavily that you began to wonder if you shouldn’t have said anything at all. Gears turned behind the messy black mop atop his head that hung over his eyes; a face similar to the one he makes when contemplating a new track he had produced, seeking for each of its flaws and corresponding solutions.

It was so sudden when he reached down to grab your hand that you almost jumped. An inch away from falling onto his chest with the sudden upwards tug, you steeled yourself. "I'll show you something," he said to which you replied with a questioning stare. "It'll just be a sec, c'mon."

You allowed him to drag you to his bedroom, though not without glaring at the back of his head and whining. "Your room smells like Cheetos and day-old boxers."

He rolled his eyes. "I cleaned it this morning, so shut up."

He pushed the door closed with his hip, never once letting go of your hand until he unceremoniously shoved you towards the left end of the keyboard bench. You wiped the accumulated hand sweat against the rough fabric of your jeans, both thankful yet forlorn that he had let go. His was a comfort rarely given and you craved his affection the way one did with a cat that ignored those around it.

He reached down to plug the extension into the socket. "Can I play you something?"

You blinked, unsure if the nervous tone laced in the question was figment or reality. “What?”

He gave you a blank stare though it didn’t distract you from the way his hands fidgeted in his lap. “I said, can I play you something? Something I wrote?”

Impatient, he didn’t give you a second glance or a moment to reply before his hands flew across the board, pulling melodies out of the nooks and crannies of its black and white keys. Through every note, he told you of emotion, of love, of heartbreak and melancholy. You don't think you had ever understood what music was until then. It was more than his expertise, though he was quite the expert; it was the way his eyes closed at certain shrills and the way his shoulders hunched at others, the way he slammed harder into the keys and at other parts softer. He played like a poet. A writer. And you refused to be someone who didn't appreciate it for what it was: a story told to you.

The slight smirk gracing his soft features told you that he found amusing the way your mouth gaped open in shock. You’d only ever heard the distant echoes of his sound from behind closed doors as you walked past.

Yoongi had never played for you before, was even shocked that he was able to now, knowing that your mere presence in close proximity provided quite the distraction.

When he stopped, the air almost rang in its silence, as if you had forgotten what the world sounded like without his music in it. The hush blanket laid across the room felt bare and vulnerable. You understood now more than ever why he locked himself within the confines of his space in all hours of the day. If you could live in his symphonies, you would.

"Wow.” Because what else could be said? "That was... Yoongi, you're amazing."

His smirk remained, though as more of a mask to hide softer feelings behind. "Must've been if you're complimenting me for once.”

"Because you already have a ginormous ego."

He began playing once more. This time, a slow and deceptively simple melody. The chords were arrows tightly strung that flew through the air in wisps of smoke. To you, its warmth was paralleled to the feeling of his own beside you, his arm occasionally brushing yours as he reached to play a few lower keys.

"I think you're taking it too seriously," he said. "The future, I mean."

Your brows furrowed. "I kind of have to, dude."

He rolled his eyes but kept playing, occasionally glancing at you as he did so. "What I mean is," he pressed softly against the keys in the left end of the piano, their tenor notes filling your ears. "You need to calm down. Like this," the already soft melody slowed. "You know what you want, don't you? Why are you hesitating?"

You stilled, the feeling of being both caught and scolded grounding you in time. Your eyes focused on his hands to avoid the feeling of his analyzing gaze on the side of your face. “There are things I want to accomplish but there’s also things I want to have,” you groaned in exasperation. “I don’t know if I should choose the former or the latter but they’re so entangled that I can’t even tell which is which anymore.”

"Some things are only difficult if you think they're difficult." He looked down at the keys. "Like playing the piano, everyone knows that learning it is hard but something like this-" he played three chords in succession. "-sounds simple, right?" He continued to play those same chords until they blended together in a single melodious breeze. "But when I was a kid, learning piano was the bane of my twelve year old existence. I hated it so much because my impatient ass wanted to be good without trying. So, in true dumbass fashion, I quit taking lessons after two weeks."

You tilted your head towards him. “How did you learn then?"

“Well, I realized I was being a huge pussy and went back." Shaking his head before the glaze of the memory could wash over, he nodded towards you. Grabbing your hand, he placed them over the keys. “Can I teach you a chord?”

Your heart spiked in one fell swoop. “What? And embarrass myself in front of the music god himself?"

He laughed and it lit up his eyes brighter than the screen of his laptop that he had forgotten to shut off, still on the League of Legends home screen. “I told you, it's only hard if you think it is."

Too flustered to argue, you could only watch as he directed your fingers towards the correct keys until three were stretched towards their respective positions. C Major. You wondered if he could hear the rapid pace of your heart through the vibrations on your skin from where his larger hand rested atop your own. You could only pray to any god who would listen that he didn’t.

Among the numerous feelings that bubbled beneath your chest, the sudden pinch of ice that struck your nerves as he lifted his palm away from yours was one that you were the most unsure of. Filing that thought away for later, you focused on the most important task at hand: avoiding looking like an idiot in front of Min Yoongi.

Before you could retreat, your hands pressed down.

A sudden burst of sound filled the silence that you hadn't realized had grown so deafening. Your eyes widened as if you hadn't expected the chord to occur despite Yoongi's administrations, like trying to guess a passcode and getting it correct in a miraculous feat of luck. The now fading sound was not like anything you were expecting, though you knew even monkeys could do what you had just done. It was an actual piece of the puzzle that was music rather than the CD case or paper bag that had come with it.

Likened to an excited pup, you looked towards him for praise or assurance that you had done it right only to catch his already grinning countenance at your widened eyes.

For the next half hour he taught you two other basic chords, never failing to correct you in such a patient manner that your heart rose and fell with each glance and soft appraisal.

"But sometimes," he grinned. "Sometimes you need to stop thinking."

Your brows furrowed, though you didn’t need more than a few seconds to understand his cryptic wording before you yelped, almost flying off your seat at the abrupt disruption of the peace.

He began smashing his hands against the piano, creating the worst orchestra your ears had ever had the pleasure to hear. Overcoming the shock, both of yours laughs bubbled out, drowned by the keyboard speakers. Without a second thought, you joined, key smashing against the lower end. Together, you created an ear-grating masterpiece of cacophonous noise and piercing melody, yet it was still one of the most beautiful things you’d ever heard.

Yoongi began cheering your name like the greatest hypeman in existence as you gave the most effortful performance of your life, hands pressing against the first keys you saw to the last. You didn't know what you were doing but it didn't matter, not when he was smiling with his gums on full display as you went with your gut for the first time in years. Yoongi, the boy whose hands crafted magic, whose words changed you, whose music moved you. Yoongi, who looked at you and saw past your forced pretensions and society-enforced perceptions.

You laughed until your lungs ached for air, having not even realized that your whole body leant against his as you tried to catch your breath.

"Oh my god, I think my ears are broken," you covered them, finally dragging your hands away from the keys.

His grin widened. “You're a quick learner."

“Is this the part where I say that it's because you're a good teacher?"

“Only if you're polite, which we know you aren't." He hadn't stopped smiling and you had never felt prouder of any accomplishment in your entire life. “Was I able to distract you?"

You laughed, bringing your hands back to your lap to fiddle with them. He's seen you wear the same ramen-stained hoodie three days in a row with hair just as ratty yet you had never more felt exposed. “I’d say yes but I think I’ve exceeded my Yoongi compliment limit for the day."

"And here I was thinking that that compliment limit was zero."

"Hey," you playfully knocked against his shoulder. "I always say your breakfast is good."

He knocked against you back, his eyes turnt to half-moons. "That's because you want to brainwash me into cooking for you everyday with half-assed compliments."

"Or maybe," you lightly leaned against his hoodie-covered shoulder. "It's because I like eating breakfast with you."

He paused, and a grin that could only be described as shy graced his features. He tapped against the keyboard but didn't press hard enough to allow a sound to be let out.

"I trust you," he said in the silence. "That you can follow your heart. Even if that sounds corny as fuck, I really believe it."

You smiled, something you've been doing more and more often with him around. "I'll try," you said, watching as he contemplated his next words with a bite of his bottom lip. Giving him time, you glanced back at the piano. "Is it really that simple?" You pressed on a key.

He finally looked up. "I think so," he played the key beside the one you had just pressed, the side of it touching yours. "Even if it doesn't sound right to other people, who's to say that random key smashing isn't music? When you think you're supposed to play a certain way, that's when you hesitate. Even when you fuck up a piece," he pressed another key. "Regretting it doesn't stop the echo."

He began to play another soft melody, leaving you just as entranced as you were the first time he did.

“I’m a hypocrite, though,” he closed his eyes, lightly scoffing. “Giving you advice that I can’t even take.”

Your voice came out in a whisper. “Why?”

“Because...” He took a deep breath, hands leaving the keyboard as he fully turned to you. “I like you," he said it like it were a fact you should've already known. “I... I like you. A lot. I can't remember when you stopped being my annoying roommate who'd hog the fridge space and became the annoying roommate who I couldn't stop writing songs about. Before I could even realize and stop myself, today’s me kept looking forward to tomorrow’s you. I’d be a hypocrite to tell you to stop hesitating about the things in your life while I spent every second of every day wondering whether I should tell you my feelings and ruin our friendship.”

For if there was anything Yoongi knew more than most was that love was fucking stupid. It caused people to be irrational, selfless, and weak-hearted, yet why did he want to forget the stupidity that came with it whenever you walked into the kitchen for breakfast, hair messy and shirt tousled?

Love was fucking stupid. But maybe he could be an idiot if it meant that you'd be stupid for him too.

“I know you don't feel the same way but I just needed to tell-" you kissed him before he could finish what was sure to be a sentence so ridiculous that even the most astute of linguists would be left baffled. He was Min Yoongi. The boy who spent all day locked in his room making music and playing games with his friends. The roommate who'd wake up early just to cook you breakfast. The friend who knew you better than you knew yourself. The man who you'd found yourself falling for with every gummy smile. Yoongi. It had always been Yoongi.

And he was kissing you back.

His lips were as warm as the hands that carefully wrapped around your hips, gently pulling you closer to him. He kissed the way he played, soft and thoughtful.

Pulling away, he whispered your name slowly, prolonging each letter as if to savor them. Never before had your name ever felt so wonderful a one. His forehead pressed against yours, eyes flickering between yours in disbelief. The hand around your waist tightened as if in fear that at any moment you might say that you hadn't meant to give him what had to be the best moment of his life -- that you had actually accidentally fallen on him and he had simply been mistaken.

"You're an idiot," you laughed. "I've liked you since the first time you've cooked me breakfast if the heart eyes I gave you each time weren't already a dead giveaway."

He shuffled in his seat. "You have low standards then," he said. "Or are in desperate search for a house-husband."

You smiled, your nose brushing against his. "Maybe, a bit of both."

He leaned away from you, eyes lit up in a euphoria that didn't hinder from his nervous cadence. "Actually, that song I played for you? Earlier?” You’d never seen him blush before. “I, maybe, composed it thinking of you.”

"A personal chef, jester, and composer? I think I'm winning."

His nose crinkled. "You know you can still back out, right?"

"You're acting as if I'd even want to."

"Stupid songs like that... I suck at love yet I still want to give you everything," he whispered, voice hoarse. "But my everything will still only amount to that."

"If that's your everything,” your hands interlocked with his. “Then your everything is more than enough."

"I like you," he murmured the confession between your lips as if it were clandestine, the urge to say it a million times more bubbling up from his chest. Though stronger than his urge to say it was his urge to hear you say it back.

Your lips met his completely. Perfectly. "I like you, too."

Pulling away once more you couldn't help but laugh at the reddened color of his cheeks and ears. Cutting away at the awkward and still unsure tension, he inched backwards with a startlingly loud clap of his hands. "Now that that's settled, can we go back to making out? This corny shit is so awkward."

"I can't believe I like you," you groaned but kissed him back anyway.

While there was nothing in your life that you could be sure of, you knew that the man whose smile could light up the entire city of Seoul would be there for you for every step, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 28

First time reader click here

TWs/SUMMARY: Hulk interaction Hulk interaction Hulk interaction. Plot is thickening. Feelings. Operation Baby Thief! A wild Coulson appears. Lokireader besties <3 There's just a lot going on.

Bruce hulked out within minutes of my confession.

As I stood in the middle of the common room, partially hidden behind Loki and scrunching the fabric of my hoodie, I had no choice but to observe the reactions of various Avengers to the fact someone might have... Predictably, Sam, Tony and Stephen looked like kicked puppies. I trusted Loki to handle that part. Steve, Bucky and Natasha had murder on their mind and Thor, Pietro just stared at me, aghast.

I noticed the tinge of green before anybody else, perhaps, because I'd been used to automatically seek comfort from Bruce. My interactions with Hulk, however brief and few and in-between, were positive. As much as they could be with a someone's alter-ego that possessed the emotional intelligence of a twelve year old. So I could safely say that what startled me was the noise of Bruce transforming and not the Hulk himself.

The Hulk growled, zeroing in on me - I remembered of Loki, who stood frozen, and their mutual disregard. The decision was prompt - I stepped out from behind the Asgardian, waving shyly at the large green creature. He was LARGE. Like, I could comfortably sit on one of his shoulders.

"Hey, Hulk. I'm alright, don't worry big guy," I took unhurried steps towards the agitated creature. He seemed to be satisfied with my statement, giving me another once over and growling quietly in the back of his throat. An idea struck me: "Wanna get out of here? The gym has more space, we can sit and talk there."

The stares I was getting were downright incredulous. Here I was, an average human being, fearlessly making my way over to the destruction machine that was the Hulk. I knew he wouldn't hurt me - on purpose.

"No," He growled. "We find bad man. Then Hulk smash." The green creature raised, I had to admit, valid points.

"It's going to be pretty boring though. We have to sort through the security footage, then probably traffic cams, then hold Steve back from going in there in Terminator mode..." I listed off all the logical steps of the investigation until I reached the Hulk. My neck was going to get a crick in it from tilting it so I could see his face. "I'd rather..." I didn't get to finish my sentence as I was suddenly picked up. One large hand gently cradled me to Hulk's chest, akin to a kitten, the other hand landing right under my butt.

I heard a collective exhale from the team, acutely aware of the way they were eyeing me and Hulk.

"Boring," The green creature agreed. His face briefly contorted in what I perceived to be an intense thought process. "Necessary." The word had to come from Bruce; it slipped out with difficulty off the Hulk's tongue, stiff.

"Not you too, big guy," I giggled-slash-groaned, giving a playful slap to the hand wrapped around me. "Fine. Let's get this over with." I looked around in search of a spot for Hulk to park his butt somewhere. The ceiling was barely tall enough for him to comfortably stand.

I needn't have worried as he simply sat down cross-legged right where he stood, still holding me to his chest. "Now," He announced, looking expectantly at Tony.

The engineer chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Yeah, you're right, big guy. Let's find this sonuvabitch." Tense snorts and sounds of agreement filled the room, drowning out the noise of Tony tapping on his keyboard and communicating with Friday.

I poked Hulk in one green, large finger. "Maybe I could sit on your shoulder?"

He nodded, letting me crawl all over his green, hard chest and arms to sit on the large expanse of his left shoulder. It was comfortable as far as shoulders go; inwardly, I squeed like a mad woman. I was friends with the Hulk and I was sitting on his shoulder! Lost in my fangirling, I absentmindedly began messing with his dark hair, only noticing it when satisfied rumbling started coming from his chest. The Hulk was... Purring?

"Puny Banner upset," Hulk declared shortly after the team found the man who drugged me and started tracking his movements. It wasn't someone who'd been invited to the party, which meant there was a serious security breach - it was all hands on deck kind of situation.

"Yeah, I can understand that. I'm pretty upset too, the hangover I got was terrible, I threw up in Loki's apartment," I said, frowning. "And my boys are going to mope now," I rolled my eyes.

"Banner says he will talk with them," Hulk replied, placing hand over my legs. "Hulk will help Banner."

I couldn't help it, I snorted. "Gonna smash some common sense into them?" He grinned at me, too mischievous for someone who was described to be a mindless destruction machine. "I think they're beyond that."

"I can hear you two talking shit about me and I do not appreciate it," Tony piped up suddenly, shooting us a hurt look. To be fair, his shoulders looked considerably less tense and the cloud over his face had dissipated by a little bit. Me and Hulk managed to erase at least some of the guilt away. I think. Stephen, however, still remained frowning and closed-off.

"You're stupid, Tony." Hulk answered, sounding a little bit smug. I gaped at the exchange together with Natasha and Steve. It seemed like Hulk's sense of... Humor was a novelty.

"Hey, don't pick on my dumbass white boys," I chastised the green... Man, side-eyeing him. "Only I can pick on them. If someone else does it, I'mma throw hands if I have to."

"Puny," Hulk replied petulantly, poking me with a finger, making me sway in my spot. I rolled my eyes fondly, settling in to mess with his hair again for the sake of having something to do with my hands. The brief exchange helped to get my overactive brain off the case but the tranquility didn't last very long.

Natasha and Bucky left to interrogate the guards responsible for the security breach, Loki shooting me an apologetic look and following the two. I smiled back, knowing the Asgardian wasn't fully comfortable being around the Hulk due to his previous experiences with the big guy.

"Wait, hold on. That guy. I know that guy." As an array of faces appeared on the large screen, a familiar pair of mismatched eyes stared at me from it. Hulk tensed under me and the team turned towards me expectantly as I shrunk slightly under their combined gaze. "The one with anisocoria - with the weird eyes. He works at a coffee shop near my school, actually he only started working recently, few months ago. He tried to flirt with me but Peter said he felt weird about the guy so I stopped going to that café." I explained the situation as eloquently as I could, seeing Clint's eyes widen at my story.

"Are you sure?" Stephen Strange raised an eyebrow. "Because that man is a mercenary that we have been looking for months."

I felt my heart skip a beat. "A what now?" My ears were ringing. Hulk growled quietly under me, evidently sensing my distress.

"A hired man," Clint typed on his phone rapidly. "Mostly sells not-so-harmless trinkets on the black market. Hydra, AIM, you name it. Anything for the highest bidder." Clint muttered. "I'm calling Peter, maybe he can tell us something more. This is an Avengers level threat." The Hawk's jaw was firm and his face was hard.

"Already on it," Tony looked shaken. I understood him - someone like that had invaded his tower, his home. Hell, I myself felt like someone had spit right in my soul. It was my home, too, to some extent.

"Let me down please, Tony needs a hug," I whispered to the Hulk, who begrudgingly did as I requested. I padded over to Tony, wrapping myself around him, burying my face in the crook of his neck. He always was my comfort; expensive cologne and motor oil filled my senses as my arms clutched at his chest from behind. I didn't expect reprocitation - Tony wasn't the one for emotional vulnerability.

"He could have gotten you," He whispered, almost inaudibly, fingers shaking where they typed rapid-fire commands.

"Bold of you to assume I would have gone down without a fight," I answered as calmly as I could. "He is either dumb, or reckless or has nothing to lose. Planning a coup in the middle of your tower..."

"Or he's showing us that he can just do that," Clint supplied unhelpfully. "The guard who let him in just has been found dead and his family is missing. Natasha texted, she's calling in SHIELD. This is now Operation Baby Thief."

I couldn't help the snort that escaped my lips. "Baby Thief, really?"

"Nobody's stealing Princess," Tony barked, finally turning his head and pressing a sloppy kiss to my cheek. "Not if I have to do anything with it."

"I will make sure the pathetic mortal scum never walks," Thor finally piped up, voice low. In the distance, the harsh noise of thunder and pouring rain echoed through the city.

I frowned but withdrew from Tony, finally feeling well enough to do something. My hands itched to help and as appealing as snuggling with Hulk appeared, my brain had gone straight into overdrive. "Should we take a blood sample to find out what he dosed me with? It's not Roofies, and the hangover is too shitty for it to be anything like Ecstasy." I mused out loud, pacing in the small space between the Hulk and the nearest wall.

"That is a sensible idea," Doctor Strange piped up, giving me an appreciative look. "We'll wait for Romanoff," One angry look at his own scarred, shaking hands, Stephen went back to the book he was reading. He needed a hug, too, I decided.

"Puny Banner will do it," Hulk suddenly announced, reaching out for me.

I obliged, giving the green giant a hug. "Maybe we can go play in Central Park once it's warmer, whatcha think?" I looked up at him, brain just so full of different things. Ideas bounced off one another like ping pong balls.

The Hulk grinned and... Well, I didn't see the transformation, my eyes shut themselves as soon as I felt the flesh under my palms begin to shrink and expand. It wasn't that I was afraid, rather, the feeling was so bizarre that my racing brain had to automatically shut down in fears of being overstimulated.

"Hi," Bruce supplied meekly, an adorable blush staining his cheeks. I didn't resist the urge to kiss and hold him close, and we stood there with him holding up his pants with one hand and clutching my hoodie with the other until Tony cleared his throat.

"You good, Brucie-bear?" The engineer gave a distracted smile towards us, not taking his eyes off the keyboard.

"Yes, Tones," The scientist replied easily, adding with a frown: "I'm glad me and Hulk finally agree on something." With that, he departed in the search of normal pants and the tools needed to acquire my blood sample.

I gave it without much fuss, waving to Bucky, Natasha and Loki that had returned with a middle-aged, balding man in tow. The shared look of amusement between Steve and Bucky and the man's starry-eyed look towards the Captain let me deduce it was one Agent Coulson, the very same man Tony couldn't stop telling stories about, the one with the Captain America trading cards.

So, mayhaps, me taking place in Stephen's lap while Bruce filled up three whole vials full of my blood wasn't exactly the smartest way to go about it. Tony found it amusing, Steve was shaking his head in fond annoyance and Stephen himself struggled to maintain his indifference, yet, the blush betrayed him.

"Agent, what brings you to our humble abode?" Tony snorted, seeing the man raise an eyebrow at the display of affection.

"Operation Baby Thief," Coulson replied with a sigh. "I see the Baby is secure. Keep it that way." Oh, the man was cheeky. I liked him already.

"The Baby has a Tony, a Sorcerer Supreme and a Hulk," I retorted haughtily. "And a functional brain. Fuck that guy."

"Indeed," Coulson snorted. "Tell me, what do you know about the Hamptons incident?"

I blanched, immediately tensing. Bruce withdrew the needle and pressed a bandage over the wound, running gentle fingers over my arm. Everybody must've noticed my surprise, turning to me with their faces full of expectation. Stephen's touch was calming, slightly trembling at the nape of my neck.

"Not much, to be honest. I was about thirteen when it happened and my mother tried to hide it from me," I chewed on my lip, looking away. "What I managed to find out is that there was a robbery that resulted in two deaths, my father being one of the suspects because he was high as hell on coke and he was found sleeping in the same room as the open gun safe," I recalled the memories of mother angrily screaming at dad, calling her law firm colleagues late at night. "I don't need a law degree to know the evidence was flimsy. Dad got a drug charge, his buddies got the same and both the killer and the gun were never found." I exhaled loudly, tapping my foot on the floor, supressing the need to pace.

Coulson nodded, opening a thin manila folder and producing an image of a small, wooden box with carvings that looked like runes on it. "Have you seen this object?"

I felt my blood run cold, my vision swam. "Yes," I swallowed dryly. "That's my end-of-the-world box. I buried it in my grandparents' backyard two years ago."

"End of the world?" Coulson asked, alarmed. "Did you open it?"

"No," I shook my head negative. "I found it in my room at one point and every time I looked at it, it felt... Wrong. Like it was a glitch in a computer game. I couldn't sleep, so I stuck it in my closet and that gave me terrible nightmares and sleep paralysis. I took it with me when I went to visit Gramps and buried it three feet deep under the cherry tree." My hands were shaking once again; I had forgotten about the box but my body remembered the primal, untameable terror that I experienced in it's proximity. At fourteen years old, I just thought I had an overactive imagination or something, too many horror movies, hormonal storms.

"That is a magical artifact," Stephen's voice was quiet and concerned. "A very dangerous, destructive at that. How long were you in it's presence?"

"About nine months, give or take."

"And you didn't open it once, not even a little bit?" Tony had caught on the trend, almost a hysterical edge to his voice.

"No, and I think I know why," I looked to the side. "I saw Wanda on the TV, and, like, magic was confirmed to be real, so I guess I was sure whatever is in there, it wasn't good. During that time, my parents told me I was sleepwalking but I can't remember any of it. I might have wanted to get that box to someone of your... Specialty," I briefly messed with the sleeve of Stephen's shirt, exhaling loudly when his hand grasped mine and held it with care. "I think that box messed with my head... Because I swear that I had no recollection of it until you brought it up," I realized suddenly, my eyes shooting up in blind panic. What else have I forgotten?!

"That is astonishing," Loki's baritone exclaimed. "Nine months is a long time to resist the pull of such a strong artifact." My best friend stated with a great deal of respect.

People in the room started talking all at once. Stephen and Tony declared I needed to get checked out by a professional - Tony meaning s doctor and Stephen meaning a healer of the magical kind; Bruce scooted over and pulled my frozen body in a solid hug; Steve and Bucky planned out to get the box from my grandparents' house, debating whether to take Loki or Thor with them; the SHIELD part of the team discussing the intel and further plans to catch the rogue mercenary.

The door opened quietly.

"Hi everybody, hello Mr. Stark," Peter was disheveled, his ratty backpack in one hand and an enormous sandwich in another. "Got here as fast as I could. What's up?"

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