#like some fully intricate movie set or something that would feel completely like stepping into another world/time.

[icewindandboringhorror]

If you became super rich and could design your own house, but could only add THREE unnecessary/random/expensive home additions (like how people will have bowling alleys, movie theatres, closets with museums of shoes, car display rooms, spa rooms, wine cellars, etc. in their mansions) - what three would you choose?

[anyoneseenadam]

azriel x reader mates

slow dancing plzz that would be so cute

Pairing: azriel x reader (acotar)

Warnings: mentions of scars but asides from that just pure studio ghibli inspired fluff

A/n: I had this idea agessss ago and then forgot abt it but this anon reminded me!! I used Home!Az for this but you don’t need to read the series to understand it I don’t think, it’s just for world building and stuff. I’m also linking the song I imagined for it :)) hope you enjoy!!!! (Also I’m too tired to proof read so sorry if it’s shit)

——————————————————————————

You woke up to Azriel pressing kisses into your neck, his hands softly trailing along your body, so gently as if you were made of glass. You had been with him for almost a year now, the rings glinting on your hands when they caught the light, and the scars on your back no longer a weight. Instead something you showed freely, as a symbol of your strength.

You cracked open an eye and watch as Azriel lifted his head with a soft smile, a scarred hand coming to caress your face.

“Happy birthday flower,” he whispered and you giggled, kissing him deeply, no longer surprised at how easily the smile came onto your face.

“Mmm morning handsome,” you said, pushing up on your forearms as Az arranged the pillows behind you for you to lean against. He settled beside you before passing you a steaming mug of black coffee, picking up his own as he kissed your shoulder, the tip of one of the scars, your neck, cheek, and then finally mouth. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and you snuggled into his side, sipping your coffee and sighing in content at the taste.

“Why are you up so early?” You asked, head tilting to look at him, swathed in shadows and with the light stubble you had come to find out grew back pretty much every third day. He ran a hand over his chin before answering.

“Had a couple things to prepare,”

“What are you preparing for?” You asked and he looked at you, horrified.

“Your birthday of course,”

“Oh yeah, whoops,”

“How did you already forget?” He asked frowning slightly, this was the first birthday he got to celebrate with you and he was determined to make it special but you didn’t seem to fully remember it was a celebration.

“It’s like 8am leave me alone,” you elbowed him in the stomach and he laughed.

“Actually it’s half seven but I’m on strict orders to have you at the town house by eight,” you frowned and he kissed you gently, taking your mug from your hands and putting it on the bedside table.

“But that gives me at least twenty minutes to make you fall apart.” He smirked wolfishly as he settled between your legs.

—

It was half eight by the time you arrived at the town house, legs slightly aching and Azriel smug as a thief.

After a slight telling off from Rhys, filled with warm expressions and then a five minute hug from Cassian followed by a ten minute hug from Mor, you were sat around the table. The plates in the middle were filled with pancakes and fruit, mugs of steaming coffee and glasses of fresh juice. There were flowers in the middle of the table and blue and gold balloons designed in an arch. You had cried when you saw it and had another long hug, this one from Feyre, Azriel and Rhys dragging you apart.

After you had eaten, head already slightly lighter from the champagne Mor had lovingly filled your glass with, you sat around the living room as you opened your presents.

You cried much more than you probably should have, overly emotional because of the kind family you had found.

Feyre had gifted you a long, sage green dress that you swore you recognised, she winked at Azriel as you opened it and you furrowed your eyebrows, wondering what they were up too.

You were given books, weapons, expensive jewellery from Amren (who decided you needed more than the crystals you kept around your neck) and enough drink to last you a lifetime, or maybe a week or two from the way Cassian was eyeing it up.

When you were finished opening your presents, none from Azriel who had sparkling eyes as he watched you, his family as in love with you as he was.

“I’m presuming you two are heading off now, what time will you be back do you think?” Rhys asked, waving his hand to dispose of the wrapping paper that was piled around you.

“We are?” You turned to face Azriel and he grinned at you.

“We are, but we’ve to get changed first. You should wear that dress,” he nodded to the green one in your lap and you smiled at Feyre.

“That’s a good idea, am I getting told where we’re going?” You asked and he just shook his head, standing as you laughed and went to hug your friends goodbye.

“We’ll probably be back around 7.” Azriel told Rhys.

“Okay well enjoy!” You finished hugging Nesta as Azriel wrapped an arm around your waist, winnowing you back to your home.

“Go get changed, you won’t need a jacket, I’ll meet you gear in half an hour,” he kissed you lightly before shoving you off in the direction of your room gently, and you giggled, excited to find out what he was planning.

—

Thirty minutes later you were stood in your new dress, your hair down and some simple brown pumps on. You saw Azriel walk towards you, holding a picnic basket in one hand as you gaped at him.

“You look so good, holy fuck!” You exclaimed, he was wearing his usual black trousers but had a loose, white shirt tucked into them, and upon further inspection an earring with a dangling emerald hanging from one ear, his face freshly shaven. “Since when have you had your ears pierced?” You asked and he laughed.

“Since yesterday, never trust Cassian with delicate things,” he joked and you furrowed your eyebrows, still confused what he was doing. “Have you got your phone?” He asked and you nodded, your phone, speaker and Polaroid camera tucked carefully into a bag you had slung over your shoulder.

“Perfect, let’s go,” he grabbed your hand and before you could ask where he was taking you he had winnowed the two of you away.

You took in your surroundings, tears forming in your eyes as you realised what was going on.

You were stood in a green pasture, the sun whinging brightly above you, a stream flowing past you and the ground completely covered in flowers. You turned to Azriel as you took in his outfit.

“I do listen when we watch movies,” he said as you let out a choked sob, “Now (y/n), may I have this dance,” he held out his hand as he took your phone from his bag, playing the theme from howls moving castle as you nodded, taking his hand as it came through the speaker you had brought.

He kept his wings flared behind him as he twirled you around, the dance fast but intimate, you felt like you were flying as he twirled you around, your dress floating in the breeze as he spun you gently. He lifted you above him at one point as you moved together, watching you with so much love before dipping you as the song ended, kissing you deeply.

When the song ended he wrapped his arms around your waist as your linked around his neck, swaying you slowly to the song. You could feel his heart beat against your own chest, interlinking you fingers and allowing the flowers that were surrounding you to grow and bloom.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his mouth as he grinned, kissing you gently.

“Happy birthday baby,”

He stepped back to the picnic basket and lay out the blanket and food, helping you sit down as you leaned against him, taking a Polaroid of the two of you and hiding it in the basket to let it develop while Azriel stared in wonder at the technology.

“Let me give you your presents.” He said in between feeding you chocolate strawberries and you turned to him with wide eyes.

“There’s more?!”

“Of course baby, gotta treat my best girl,” he pulled a selection of neatly wrapped boxes from another bad he had brought and you smiled as you bit into a bit of baklava.

You opened a set of of deep blue lingerie first, gasping at the intricate material and looking up to see him watching you with a devilish smirk. The you found a collection of books from his world he thought you would love, more candles and crystals.

The final box wasn’t wrapped like the rest however, instead it was a plain cardboard box that said ‘from pepper’ in black writing on the top and you gasped.

“You didn’t!” Your eyes were wide as he laughed.

“Open it!” He demanded and you felt your heart pound as you carefully opened the box, pulling out another glass box which contained Tony Starks arc reactor, the words “proof that Tony stark has a heart” engraved in as your eyes watered.

“I had it made after we finished endgame,” he explained as you leapt on him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Thank you, for everything,” you whispered into his neck and he kissed your head. Holding you tightly for the rest of the afternoon, red wine flavoured kisses on sun kissed skin. The two of you lay in each other’s arms, Azriel taking you apart slowly under the sun, then flying you over the hills as you squealed, gripping close to him as he dipped and twirled.

When it was finally time to retire for the day he held you closely, the picnic basket clutched in one hand as you balanced your gifts in your arms, kissing you deeply and winnowing the two of you home. You placed your gifts down gently on the bed as he wrapped his arms around your waist, his chin resting gently upon your shoulder as he kissed your neck. You turned in his arms, facing him and kissed him again.

“I love you, more than anything,” you whispered against his mouth.

“I love you more,” you giggled at him as you pulled away, ready to spent the night with your new family, your beloved mate holding you close.

[cali-holland]

Forever and Ever, Ch. 6: Surprises, Sweets, and Sapphires

Tom Holland X Osterfield!Reader, Wedding Series

When Tom comes back from filming, the next stages of wedding planning continue: cake tasting, Tom’s suit fitting, and a special lunch with Nikki

Warnings: some sexual themes/references

Word Count: 3600

Series Masterlist

Masterlist   Tom Holland Masterlist

“Lucky I'm in love with my best friend

Lucky to have been where I have been

Lucky to be coming home again

Lucky we're in love in every way

Lucky to have stayed where we have stayed

Lucky to be coming home someday”

Lucky, Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat

A/N: Special thank you to @duskholland​ for proofreading this and for listening to me talk about this chapter for the past like three months whoops

~~~

You threw the front door open, gasping for air as you came to a sudden halt. Proudly, you announced, “I won!”

Less than a second later, Harrison came sprinting up behind you. “You cheated.”

“Nope.” You shook your head, making your way to the kitchen for some water.

“You shoved me into a hedge. You cheated.” He repeated, proceeding to take off the scattered leaves that had clung to his running clothes. 

You rolled your eyes at him and took a large drink from your water bottle. Your morning run with Harrison would be nothing without a little competition, a.k.a. racing each other for the last couple hundred meters and shoving each other out of the way to win. You still had a bruise on your knee from when he tripped you last week.

“Y/N had a solid five-second lead,” Harry stated from where he sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone and enjoying a cup of tea.

Taking notice of Harry in the room, you casually made your way into the living room. You wandered to the far side of the room, checking behind the couch, doing your best to act casually about what you were looking for… or rather who you were looking for.

“Missing something?” Harry asked, eyeing you with a teasing smirk on his face.

“He’s not here.” Harrison laughed from the kitchen, “You know Tom flies in tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but I know how you all get the day before Tom’s scheduled to arrive.” You said, narrowing your eyes at Harry to see if he showed any sign that his brother may in fact be here already.

Tom has surprised you by coming back early four times over the course of your relationship. And every time, it was a scheme crafted and executed by himself, Harry, and Harrison— sometimes Sam, Tuwaine, Nikki, and Dom even pitched in. 

The first time it happened was definitely the most notable.

It was just another Friday night for you, and you were spending it by watching Say Anything with Harrison (it was your turn to choose a movie). You weren’t really focused on the movie- you’d seen it a thousand times; you were distracted thinking of Tom. It had been over four weeks since you’d seen him in person, and, since you’ve only been dating a few short months, it felt like an eternity. You weren’t sure how you could ever grow accustomed to it, but you knew it would be worth it once you were in his arms again. Your heart soared just thinking about holding the love of your life again tomorrow. You were so in your own head that you didn’t hear the front door quietly open and close.

“Haz?” You turned to your brother, your back turned from the entryway.

“Yeah?” He asked. You looked down at your hands nervously, oblivious to how Harrison was watching Tom tiptoe behind the couch, staying out of your eye line, while Harry got out his phone, filming it. Harry gave Tom the go ahead, and just as he was about to surprise you, you spoke up again.

“I love Tom.” You blurted out, feeling your heart race in anticipation as you finally said what you’ve been holding back for weeks. All eyes fell on you, though you were only aware of Harrison’s. Tom was frozen in his half-crouch, trying to comprehend what he just heard. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. Is it too soon to tell him tomo-”

You were cut off by a loud clanging behind you. Your eyes immediately landed on Tom, who was quite literally on the other side of the couch from you; you didn’t even process that it was Harry dropping his phone that caught your attention in the first place.

“Tom, I-” You started, but he cut you off, leaning over the couch to kiss you as if Harrison and Harry weren’t even there.

He pulled back, a smile on his face, “I love you, too.”

And then, the second time, Tom surprised you at the pub and you choked on a beer in shock. The time after that, Nikki coincidentally had an extra place setting at the Holland family dinner that you and Harrison were invited to. The last time, you were getting in your car to go on a grocery run with Harry when Tom jumped up from the back seat.

It was safe to say you were still on edge, knowing it could happen at any moment… if it did happen, that is. You just had a feeling that something was up, even though Harry, Harrison, and Tuwaine seemed to act like it was a normal day. In fact, none of them even left the house, unless you counted your morning run with Harrison.

As you got ready for bed later that night, you frowned a little at the empty sheets before you. All day, you’d hoped Tom would be home early; at least, you just had to sleep one more time alone before he was back. You slipped on one of Tom’s sweatshirts as your sleepshirt for the night and crawled into the cold bed. You checked the door one last time, just to make sure, before turning off your bedside lamp and putting your phone on the nightstand. Snuggling down in bed with your back to the door, you closed your eyes and tried to sleep.

After a few minutes of lying motionless in the dark, you gave up on trying to sleep for now. Grabbing your phone, you blinked sleepily as you turned down the brightness and unlocked it. You went straight for your photos app, knowing exactly which video you wanted to watch. You scrolled back three years to find the video of Tom surprising you for the first time, the very first time you both said: “I love you”. You quietly said the words aloud to yourself, hoping that maybe he could hear it, wherever he was in the world. 

“I love you, too.” You heard a whisper from the doorway. Your light flicked on, and you hurried out of your bed and into Tom’s arms. He held you tightly, not wanting to let go of you ever again.

“I missed you so much.” Tom murmured.

You pulled back slightly to look him in the eyes again, your hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I missed you, too.” You leaned in and kissed him, pouring every bit of relief to have him back into the kiss. You broke the kiss, just to mumble against his lips, “So much,” before kissing him again.

After a moment of being completely enraptured in each other’s embrace again, he stepped back, a sheepish look on his face, “Can we continue this in a moment? I really have to piss.”

“Ever the romantic.” You teased. As you climbed into bed again, Tom laughed and fully brought his luggage into the room, since he had dropped it to embrace you in the doorway. He left it all in the corner (and you made a note that tomorrow would be laundry day) before he disappeared to the bathroom. He came back a couple of moments later and went to grab out some pajama pants to change into.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You asked him with a small smirk, but his back was turned to you so he didn’t catch the look on your face.

“Getting pajamas, love.” He laughed. You let out a small sigh before taking off his sweatshirt that was wrapped around you.

“Your fiance is waiting.” You stated, throwing the sweatshirt at him as he turned around to face you.

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we?”

~~~

“We need a pool.” You could hear Harry say from the kitchen as you and Tom made your way downstairs the next morning.

“No, indoor gym- that’s the way to go.” Harrison insisted.

“What are you two on about?” Tom asked, his hand leaving yours to pour two cups of tea, one for you and one for him, while you popped some bread in the toaster for the two of you.

“Renovations for the house.” Your brother said, “I think we could use an indoor gym a lot more than a pool.”

“You know, actually, we need soundproof walls.” Harry joked, making Tom’s face turn red.

“I’m the one right next to them.” Harrison let out a groan, throwing his head back dramatically.

“You should both know by now to stay clear of the house when I come home.” Tom shrugged, and you nodded in agreement.

“Tuwaine learned after the first time.” You stated, taking a sip of your tea.

“Fucking animals.” Harrison muttered, shaking his head, before finishing off his tea. He cleared his breakfast spot and left the room without another word.

“So, when do you two get to do the wedding cake testing and can I come?” Harry asked cheekily.

“No.” You and Tom said simultaneously. With a grumble about you two being ‘no fun’, he left you both alone in the kitchen.

Sitting down to eat your very fancy breakfast of toast with nutella, Tom looked a little lost in thought. You waited a moment for him to speak up, but when he just munched on his toast quietly, you asked, “Is everything alright?”

“When do we get to do the cake tasting?” Tom asked, completely serious in his question.

“We can call some bakeries today and see what’s open this week?” You offered, and he nodded in agreement, taking a bite of his breakfast. Leaning in next to Tom, you pulled your phone out and began to look through Pinterest under the wedding cakes tag.

“I like that one.” He pointed out a beautiful three-tiered cake with delicate roses angled around the cake.

“The roses are a nice touch.” You hummed in agreement, adding the picture to a saved album. You paused your scrolling on another cake, a simpler two-tier with leaves intricately placed on the sides, “How about this one?”

“I like the roses more, but add it to the album for ideas.” He admitted, and you did just that.

“It just looks smoother. Maybe we can do both? Roses and a smooth finish.” You suggested, and Tom nodded.

“Sounds perfect.”

By some stroke of luck (or Tom name dropping himself while pretending to be his assistant), you two managed to get a cake tasting appointment in just a few days, which lined up perfectly to be just hours before Tom’s suit fitting. With a few decorative cake ideas already in mind, you both felt decently prepared about this next step in wedding planning.

“Are you absolutely positive you don’t need me to come?” Harrison asked. He was practically itching to put on his shoes and leave with you and Tom right now. “I’m the best man. I should be there.” 

“I’m the photographer. Who will capture this moment if I’m not there?” Harry questioned, and Tom furrowed his eyebrows at his younger brother.

“Mum’s coming.” Tom stated as if it was obvious.

“You invited mum and not me?” A sense of betrayal shone in Harry’s eyes.

“You’ll just have to wait for the wedding if you want cake.” He laughed, opening the front door. 

As you and Tom stepped outside hand in hand, you heard Tuwaine shout behind you both, “Bring the leftovers to your fitting!”

“We’ll never hear the end of this.” Tom muttered when you two were in the safety of his car.

“They’ll live.” You joked. Holding onto his hand loosely as he pulled the car away from the house. “Do I get to see what your suit looks like?”

“Not unless I get to see your dress early.” He laughed. As he stopped at a light, he brought your hand up to his lips to kiss you delicately.

“That’s bad luck.”

“And who says it’s not bad luck the other way around?” He raised his eyebrows at you, laughing softly. “You’re going to look like a princess in that dress, and you're going to make me cry at the altar, darling.”

“Happy tears, hopefully.” You teased lightly, even though you both knew he was being absolutely serious.

Tom just sent a smile your way, continuing the drive, before adding, “I really am the luckiest man to be marrying you.”

“You’re such a sap.” You said lovingly, making him laugh. “But I really am the luckiest girl. I can’t wait for our forever to start.”

“Forever and ever.”

When you two arrived, Nikki was already there. The three of you went through the process of ordering which cakes you’d like to try and speaking with the head baker about styles and designs. As you all sipped on champagne and waited for the baker to return with the cakes, Nikki spoke up.

“I never thought my Tom would grow up to have pink roses on his wedding cake.”

“What’s that mean?” Tom asked through a laugh, trying to hide how his ears tinted pink.

“I remember you going on and on about how you wanted a red and blue wedding cake.” She knew exactly what she was doing, and you could tell by Tom’s face that he had hoped she’d forgotten that childhood detail.

“I was seven. Of course I wanted a Spider-Man cake.” Tom insisted, his hand finding yours underneath the table. Whether he was doing it out of nerves or embarrassment, you weren’t entirely sure, but you intertwined your fingers with his and squeezed his hand reassuringly. It took you a moment to realize that all he really wanted was to hold you in any way possible.

“You were eleven.” Nikki corrected.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do pink roses then. Red’s always been more of your color.” You teased your fiance, and he looked at you, playfully unimpressed.

“Time to redo the wedding. We need it to be red and blue.” Tom joked, taking a sip of his champagne.

The baker came back with a tray of assorted cakes, a bright, yet nervous smile on her face. You could tell that she wanted to impress prospecting clients, but the way she eyed Tom was a dead giveaway that she knew exactly who he was. She set down the pieces of cake on the table, explaining each one- chocolate with cappuccino mousse, pink champagne with vanilla buttercream, lemon cake with a limoncello buttercream, and a classic fruitcake, extra boozy.

“I’ve never been a fan of fruitcake.” Tom admitted as the baker left the three of you alone.

“It’s traditional.” You reasoned, “Besides, it can be the top tier so it’s the smallest.”

As you took a bite of the fruitcake, which had to be the best and booziest fruitcake you’ve ever tasted, Tom turned to his mother, “What kind of cake did you and dad have at your wedding?”

“What kind do you think?” Nikki laughed, taking a bite of her fruitcake piece.

Tom shuddered, and you playfully rolled your eyes at him. Holding out a forkful of your fruitcake to him, you teased, “Come on, you big baby, just try it. It’s incredible.”

Without any objections, he did as told. You watched as he bit back a smile at the taste. “It’s not the worst thing ever.”

“Uhuh, that’s what I thought.” You nodded, helping yourself to some of the chocolate cake. The second it hit your tongue, you knew you wanted it as a part of the actual wedding cake. It was the perfect balance of chocolate and espresso flavors, and you just wanted more of it.

“Shit, that’s a good cake.” Tom said beside you, having just had a bite of the chocolate as well. He barely got the words out before he went for another bite. With a mouthful of chocolate cake, he turned to you, “We have to get this one.”

“Definitely.” You agreed.

If you thought the chocolate cake was perfection, the pink champagne one was a slice of heaven. The lemon one, while it was the best lemon cake you had ever eaten, just couldn’t compare. 

And, as quickly as you all had tried (more like, eaten) the cakes, you had decided on the flavors: chocolate as the bottom-most tier, pink champagne in the middle, and a small fruit cake tier perched on top. Thanks to your saved images on the Hollosterfield Webbing Pinterest board, you both knew a three-tiered, smooth white cake with pink flowers trickling down the side was how you wanted your wedding cake to be designed. 

After everything was finalized with the baker, the three of you exited the bakery and made your way to the cars outside. Aloud, Tom pondered, “I wonder if they’ll let us come back and sample some flavors again. We didn’t get to try the red velvet.”

“We’ll end up with a million wedding cakes if we sample any more.” You teased, and he just shrugged.

“That doesn’t sound like a problem.”

“Are you off to your suit fitting?” Nikki asked Tom, when the three of you came to a stop in front of Tom’s car and Nikki’s. He nodded in response.

“I’ve got to drop Y/N off at home, and then I’ll meet the boys at the tailors. They’re probably already there waiting for me.” He admitted sheepishly, making Nikki shake her head.

“I can drive you home, Y/N.” She offered. “And we can stop for lunch, too.”

“I’d love-” You began, but Tom cut you off.

“Mum, are you trying to steal my fiancee?” There was a small, overdramatic pout on his lips, and you rolled your eyes playfully at his antics.

“Oh no, you’ve uncovered my master plan.” Nikki said, sarcastically.

Laughing, you turned to Tom and he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his embrace. You leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Go get yourself a hot ass suit.”

“A hot ass suit? So I can’t get a vomit green suit?” He joked.

“Preferably no vomit green.” You stated, and Tom leaned in to give you a chaste kiss.

“I’ll see you at home.” He whispered to you, giving you one last peck on the lips before he stepped away from you to go to his car.

“Don’t miss me too much.” You blew him a kiss, and he overdramatically pretended to catch it. He was a dork, but he was your dork- and in a few months, he’d officially be your dork forever.

Just over an hour later, you and Nikki had finished eating your lunch, but you found yourselves still enjoying your chat away from the others; it was a rare occasion that it was ever just the two of you.

“Thank you for this, Nikki.” You told her with a smile.

“You don’t have to thank me. You’re family, now.” She reassured you. She paused for a moment, “I wanted to give you something.”

“Oh, Nikki-“ You started, but your voice got caught in your throat as she slid a small, dark blue velvet box across the table. Slowly, under her anxious and watchful eyes, you opened it. On a soft white cushion inside sat a pair of sapphire stud earrings, encased by small, beautiful diamonds. You were at a loss for words as you gazed at the brilliant jewelry before you.

“When Dom proposed to me, my engagement ring had two sapphires— my birthstone, and, when we got married and I got my wedding ring, I stopped wearing it. Then, Tom proposed to you, and I had the ring’s sapphires remade into earrings. I told myself I’d give the sapphires to my daughter, and you’re my daughter now, so that it’s only right that you have them.” She explained. When you finally managed to tear your eyes away from the earrings to look at her, you saw the proud, yet nervous smile on her face and the slight buildup of tears in her eyes.

“Thank you,” was all you could manage to say. You reached over the table and held her hand, giving it a squeeze of reassurance, to silently tell her how much it meant to you because both of you knew you the tear gates would open if you spoke another word.

That night, as Tom got ready for bed, you couldn’t help yourself from looking at the earrings again, eyeing how the glittered in the dim light from your nightstand. Tom wandered into the room, his sweats hanging low on his waist.

“I’m exhausted. Who knew eating cake and taking measurements would be so tiring?” He yawned, getting into the bed beside you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, ready to cuddle as he fell asleep, when he noticed the box in your hand. “What’s that?”

“Your mum gave them to me. The sapphires were used in her engagement ring.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke, both of you knowing the weight of the words. You felt Tom’s fingers shift to find your hands, his finger ghosting over your own engagement ring. “She said they were meant for her daughter and that I-“

You stopped yourself short, knowing he could fill in rest. Ever so sweetly, Tom placed a chaste kiss to your lips, and his hand cupped the side of your face as he pulled away. “You’re a Holland now.”

~~~

Tag List: @viagracex @theamazingtomholland @Hellomoveonby @heyitsshrez @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart @joyleenl @t-o-m-hollands @lonikje @sleepybesson @bvttercupbby @hollandsamor @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @gorrillaglue23 @petersoftboyparker @musicalkeys @duskholland @biebsmylife95 @dummiesshort @perspectiveparker @miraclesoflove​ @ethereal-beauty-p @rebekkah4766​

Tom Holland Tag List: @quaksonhehe @tomkindholland​ @tomthetease​ @agustdowney​

Series Tag List: @thefallenbibliophilequote @wassup-peoples @thevelvetseries @greatpizzascissorstaco @tomhollandsotherpinkytoe @asonofpeter @millennial-teenybopper​

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

merry christmas, ya filthy animal

Hi guys! This is my contribution for @hockeynetwork holiday gift exchange, it’s 2.5k of sweet Tito fluff for @dreamypeaches and I hope you all like it. As always, I read all the tags and love love hearing your feedback, so hop into my inbox and reblog if you like it! 

word count: 2.5k+

Everyone has a favorite movie. Some go for a childhood classic like Cinderella, some find an indie documentary from a film class in college, some inherit their parents’ love for the Princess Bride or Casablanca. Not you. For you, there was no movie that could hold a candle to Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. You had watched it for the first time maybe around 7 or 8 years old, and had been hooked ever since, and even Donald Trump’s five-second cameo couldn’t taint the love you had for it. But your favorite part, other than the large cheese pizza and stretch limousine, was the end. The Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, Kevin and his mom finally reuniting after she moved heaven and earth to get back to her son by Christmas. 

It wasn’t your first Christmas in New York City, but it was the first one where it really felt like it was your city, like you belonged to it. And it was your first Christmas with Tito. You had started dating earlier in the year, just as the team was starting to make the big push for playoffs and two months or so before he left to Montréal for the summer. It was strange while he was there, not just because he was hundreds of miles away and in a whole different country, but because the two of you had only been exclusive for a few months and were set to be separated for three. You flew up for Canada Day and met his parents, and he came back for a week in August, but the interim was filled with more FaceTime calls and lonely nights than either of you would care to admit. 

But summer was long over, the leaves had fallen from all the London planes, and the temperature had started to drop below freezing even in the day. The cold weather wasn’t always great; you didn’t love having to scrape the ice off of your windshield or trudge through the slush when it was too early for the snow to stick to the ground, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. One thing that winter changed was date plans. Unless you hit it at just the right time, coffee in the morning was more prone to freeze your fingers off than warm you up, having dinner outside — normally one of your favorite things to do together — was all-but banned after November, and you could only walk around Central Park so many times. And it wasn’t for lack of trying; you knew for a fact that Anthony had spent hours on plane rides trying to figure out what was open, flipping in between Google and the weather app. He was making an effort, though, and that’s what mattered. 

Which is why you weren’t particularly surprised when he showed up at your apartment door on Christmas Eve, twelve hours after he asked you if you had plans that night. You didn’t and it wasn’t a game day, so he told you to dress warm and be ready by 8. You were waiting by the door five minutes early. He greeted you with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, closing the door behind you. “Did you already eat? I know it’s pretty late already but I think I saw a few food trucks by where we’re going if you’re still hungry.”

You nodded your head. “Anthony. It’s 8 at night. ‘Course I’ve already eaten.”

He ducked his head in embarrassment, the slightest pink appearing on his cheeks. “Should have figured.”

“It’s fine,” you said, slipping your hand into his and smiling. “You going to tell me where we’re going, though?”

“Wouldn’t be a surprise if I did,” he said. 

You should have known by the duffel bag in the backseat what his plans were, but some thirty minutes later and he was pulling into a parking lot off of West 49th, shouldering the bag and looking over to you with a grin. “What’s a Christmas in New York without ice skating at Rockefeller Center?” 

You rolled your eyes, trying desperately to keep in a laugh. “You don’t think it’s a bit unfair? You’re paid buckets of money to balance on knife shoes and the last time I went ice skating was,” you tried to remember, “two years ago? Three?” 

Tito shrugged, taking your hand as you walked out the door of the parking lot. “What’s life without a little risk?” Whether the Harry Potter quote was intentional or not, you weren’t sure. 

“Fair,” you conceded. “You’ll have to look out for me, though.” He promised he would, handing his card over to the cashier, who in turn passed you your skates. Anthony led you over to a bench, grabbing a bag of roasted chestnuts from a street vendor before sitting down. You ate a few before tying your skates, swinging one up on his thigh for inspection. “Do these past muster, inspector?”

Anthony took one look at them before undoing your knot, adjusting your foot in his lap while rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “You didn’t tie them tight enough, you could break an ankle in these, babe, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?” You shook your head; he pulled you up to a standing position, leading you over to the gate to get onto the ice. “Don’t feel bad if you’ve got to hang onto the side for a little bit, it doesn’t look like the zamboni’s been over it in awhile so the ice is probably pretty chippy.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “I’m not completely hopeless, Anthony. I’m no professional,” you half-slipped while taking your first step onto the ice, clinging to the railing, “clearly, but I’m an adult and I can handle myself.” 

He held his hands up in surrender, gliding backwards on the ice before stopping. “I know you can.” The two of you skated for about an hour before taking a break, sipping cups of piping hot apple cider while sitting on a bench off to the side of the rink. “There’s always that one person who feels the need to go in the center and show off, huh?” Tito mused, glancing towards center ice, where a woman was indeed in the middle of a spin so quick and intricate you had no clue how she didn’t throw up from the sheer centrifugal force of it all. 

“Says the professional hockey player,” you quipped. 

“I’d go insane if I tried to do anything like that,” Anthony responded, drinking the last of his cider before dropping the cup into the recycling bin. “Just about the only thing hockey players and figure skaters have in common is our ability to skate in a straight line.”

You laughed, squeezing his arm. “Have a little more faith in yourself than that, Anthony.” 

“Mhm,” he said, noncommittally like he didn’t quite believe you. “You ready to get going, or do you think you’ve got more in you?” 

You looked down at your watch; it was 9:30; the rink didn’t close for another hour and plenty of people were still milling about. “I think I’ve got a little gas left in the tank.” 

Sounds good,” he said, taking your hand and doing an extremely admirable job of not laughing at your attempts to hobble over to the ice on your skates. “One of these days I’m going to get you to go backwards,” he said as he stepped on, gliding back easily before coming to a quick stop. 

“I’ve just stopped having to hold onto your hands like a five-year-old, Beau,” you said, rolling your eyes as you took a moment to find your balance on the slippery ice. In your defense, he had been right about the lack of resurfacing on the ice; the skate attendant said the zamboni only came around once a day, shortly before opening, and the lack of smooth ice couldn’t have done you any favors. But you were determined to prove yourself, to show him and everyone else in Rockefeller Center that you were a fully grown and capable adult who could skate for a few feet without needing assistance. Which you did, for approximately two minutes, trailing ten or fifteen feet behind Anthony as he skated backwards, executing poorly-attempted jumps and spins for no reason other than your amusement. You were doing fine, until the toe pick of your skate caught in a chip in the ice and you tumbled down, down to the ice before Anthony could skate over and catch you,. Down, trying to break your fall with your hands. Pain radiated up your left wrist, the cold of the ice already beginning to melt into your jeans. 

“Oh my God,” Anthony said, kneeling in front of you as several passers-by looked over in concern. “You okay? That looked like a pretty bad fall.” 

You nodded, trying to push yourself up to a standing position, but the second you put pressure on your hand, you let out a sharp shriek. “Fuck,” you said, moving to rub your wrist. Not a good idea; the pain only got worse when you touched it. 

His brow only furrowed more. “If you put your wrist out to break the fall, you could have broken it or something. We should go to the hospital.”

You shook your head. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Tito,” you said as the two of you skated off the ice, your wrist hanging limply by your side as you bent down to try and untie the skate laces. He looked up at your face, seeing you biting your lip with tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as you tried to pull them. 

“Hurts to pull?” You knew it was no use trying to lie to him, so you nodded. He pushed the sleeve of your jacket up as gently as he could after untying your skates, handling your hand and wrist with as little pressure as he could. “Not exactly how I thought I’d be kneeling in front of you,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. You knew he had only said it to distract you, try to get your mind off of the inordinate amounts of pain you were in, but the words still made your heart skip a beat. His fingers moved feather-light over your skin, keeping an eye on your facial expressions as he felt. “Hurts to close your hand?” You tried; you nodded. “Hurts to turn your wrist?” A second nod. “Has it gotten worse or better since you fell?”

“Worse,” you managed to squeak out. 

He bit his tongue in concentration. “Shit. Yeah, we should go to the hospital.” You knew it was no use to argue, even as you weakly kept telling him it was probably just a sprain that would heal on its own as he herded you into the car, looking up the waiting times of Manhattan emergency rooms. “The ER wait at Lenox Hill is twenty minutes, it’s like two miles away,” he said, puting the car into reverse and backing out of the parking lot. Of course, two miles in New York City on Christmas Eve really meant fifteen minutes, and by the time he parked at the hospital and you were walking into the ER, it was just past 11. And of course, an ER wait time of “twenty minutes” the day before Christmas meant that, as a relatively low-priority case, you weren’t seen for well over forty. “I feel terrible about this,” Anthony said, slumping back in the chair to the side as you sat on the exam table. 

“Not your fault,” you said emphatically. “Could have happened to anyone. Literally anyone, Tito,” you looked over at him; he still looked guilty. “It could have just as easily been you, if you’d hit the chip at the wrong angle or there was some kind of slippery patch you weren’t expecting. And,” you added as he opened his mouth, “you were too far away to catch me.” Your expression softened. “I know you would have if you could have, but I’m sure it’s not hurt too bad and I don’t want you to keep beating yourself up over it. I’ll be okay.” 

The nurse practitioner chose that moment to poke her head through the curtain, calling your name. You nodded. She flipped open your chart. “I’m Emily, I’ll be taking care of you tonight. It says here you’ve got a wrist injury?” You nodded, explaining what had happened. She pulled a pair of gloves on, fingers moving over your wrist. “With what I’m seeing and how you’re rating your pain, I think we’re probably looking at a bad sprain or a break, but we’ll have to get an X-ray to confirm.” Fifteen minutes later, you were in and out of the radiology suite, and Emily was looking at the images on a tablet. She leaned over the table, pointing to the images on the screen. “Okay, so what you’ve got is called a Colles’ fracture, it’s a break in the radius and they’re actually super common, by far the most common type of wrist break we see. Yours isn’t too bad, so I’d say it can come off in six weeks or so.” She left for a minute to get the casting supplies. Ten minutes later, your entire lower arm was covered in cotton and fiberglass wrap tape. You wiggled your fingers towards your boyfriend. “I think purple’s really my color, don’t you?” you said, nodding towards your cast. 

You saw him crack a smile, his first since the accident. “It’s beautiful, babe.” Fifteen minutes and more than your fair share of paperwork later, you had handed over your insurance information and gotten the okay to leave, with strict instructions to keep the cast dry and call if you had any problems. 

“I think this definitely wins as the most interesting date I’ve ever been on,” you said as the two of you crossed the parking lot. 

“I’ll have you agree with you on that one,” Anthony replied. “I’m glad it wasn’t anything more serious, though. I would have felt even worse.”

You nodded. “You and me both.” Anthony looked down at his watch as he held your good hand, smiling when he saw the time. “What is it?” you asked curiously. 

“Guess there was too much going on in there to keep track of time. It’s 1:37 AM.” 

The painkillers they had given you had kept the pain in your wrist to a dull ache, but all was forgotten as you realized what it meant, what it being past midnight meant, and you couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across your face. “It’s Christmas?” you said, almost like a question. Nothing could extinguish your love for the holiday: not the freezing cold air nipping at your nose or the apple cider that was so hot it burnt your tongue or the fact that you went out for a night with your boyfriend and came back with a broken wrist. You had him, and that was enough. 

Tito laughed, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lips as he unlocked the car. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

[imagine-the-fanfics]

Honesty -- Part 2

Characters: Goro Majima x Reader X Daigo Dojima

Warnings: Abuse (verbal), cheating, softcore (brief), toxic relationship traits

Inspiration: Prompt – “I stay awake constantly. I’m always awake. Always. I’m scared that if I fall asleep, I’ll see your face, and I can’t do it. I just can’t.”; “i hate u, i love u (feat. Olivia o’Brien)” by gnash; “Invincible” by Crossfade; “Everything Stays (feat. Olivia Olson)” by Adventure Time

A/n: I don’t know what to add. I feel like I’m not having a lot to add to fics lately.

Months had passed since you saw Majima last. His existence haunted yours; every so often he would randomly pop into your mind, memories the two of you shared playing back like a movie. It was at its worst when you dreamt about him, only to wake up next to Daigo.

The relationship was toxic, that was undeniable. There was nothing good that came from it, and it was better that it die and be left behind.

The love was consuming, that, too, was undeniable. You had never loved anyone as fiercely as you loved him, and you fully believed you would never feel that deep of a love for anyone else.

When your relationship with Daigo went public, your life changed. Majima was forced back into your life, and it was painful. Every time you saw him was a stab to your gut. He always had this blank look in his eyes, the fire that had drawn you in was barely an ember now. He was still the Mad Dog, but the mask slipped more than it stuck these days. You’d heard that he was seen around town spending his money on women and whiskey; rarely spending more than a handful of nights with each of them, and those nights were never in succession.

A year passed since your break up with Majima, and your engagement was formally announced.

Your engagement party was the worst of those moments. Daigo had picked your dress, just like how he picked everything in your life now. Once you agreed to marry him, he had started being more controlling. If you went anywhere, you went with guards. If you wanted to go shopping for clothes, Daigo had final say over what you bought. If you went out to eat, he ordered for you. You knew walking into this that you would likely end up in a loveless marriage, but you hadn’t expected to end up feeling like property and absolutely fucking miserable.

So there you stood, in a black halter dress with a cut out window creating a pseudo sweetheart neckline. The halter straps emerged from the side of your dress, connecting where your collarbones met, leaving you and your cleavage very exposed. You overheard someone joke about how your breasts looked ready to jump out and join the party, but Daigo paid it no mind. The bodice was so tight you had a hard time breathing, but skirt was a floor-length A-line with a slit in the side starting at your hip. Diamonds decorated your neck, your wrists, your ears, your feet— the wealth of your fiancé displayed on you like an intricate mannequin.

You stood next to your fiancé, smiling and thanking people as they gave the two of you wishes of congratulations. Some of them had gifts, but they were directed to a table where they could be placed. So many people came and went that the endless parade blurred into one single stream. So many new faces to memorize, even more returning faces you scrambled to remember. There were easily a thousand people here, if not more. You were here to greet all of them.

The Majima’s depression was written in his blank stare, the bags under his eyes, the smell of whiskey on his breath. He’d watched you from afar, greeting everyone while at Daigo’s side and it made him sick. He slammed the rest of his whiskey before getting in line.

Your heart broke when Majima came to offer his congratulations. He was clearly well on his way to being drunk, and he looked like he was completely dead inside. Still, you kept the façade of a happy bride-to-be, smiling and thanking him. You could feel Daigo’s eyes on you, watching for any hint of an emotional connection to Majima, and you were more than happy to deny it. Still, you couldn’t help but watch as Majima left.

After the greeting was dinner. You and Majima couldn’t help but make eye contact, and each time it became harder and harder to keep the façade together. You managed to choke down the food you’d been served with a smile on your face. Once dinner was finished, you asked Daigo for permission to step outside. He waved you away and you stepped out onto the balcony, looking at the bustling street below.

You hadn’t expected to see Majima already standing there, leaning against the railing with a cigarette in his fingers. You watched him take a drag, and you kept watching him after. There was so much inside you that you wanted to say, that you had to say. Instead, you turned to go inside. The peace of mind you had come here to find was nonexistent.

“You don’t have to leave,” Majima said before you could take another step. You turned your head and torso to look at him. “Not on my account at least. You’re Dojima’s woman now, you don’t have to worry about me trying anything.” The fake accent you had loved was gone.

You looked inside for a moment and then towards the railing of the balcony, continuing your path to the railing. You leaned against it next to Majima.

“Mind sharing?” You asked, looking at his cigarette.

“Since when do you smoke?” Majima asked with a raised eyebrow but a tone of concern. Still, he obliged, handing you a cigarette, letting you put it to your lips before lighting it. He watched you and frowned. “You used to get on my ass about my smoking. Sayin’ I was going to die of cancer. Now you’re smoking?”

“Reminds me of you,” you admitted absentmindedly. When you realized what you said you coughed. You saw Majima staring at you with a slack jaw. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t. Don’t want your fiancé to hear, after all,” Majima said with disgust.

“Tell me about it,” you grumbled. “I can’t even pick out my damn clothes anymore.”

“I was wondering about that dress,” Majima said, looking at you. “Doesn’t seem like you at all.”

“Because it’s not, but Daigo wanted to show off his trophy, I guess.” You took a drag from your cigarette, exhaling out just a slice of your frustration. “I don’t hate him, but I’m getting there. I resent him. Looking at him makes me sick. And fucking him? I—” You looked at Majima and saw the pained grimace on his face as he returned his gaze to the street below. “Sorry.”

Silence settled over you as the two of you stood there in silence.

“I stay awake constantly,” Majima admitted. “I’m always awake. Always. I’m scared that if I fall asleep, I’ll see your face, and I can’t do it. I just can’t, Y/n.” He took a drag, a tear rolling down his cheek as he regained his composure. “Watching my boss dangle you in front of me like a toy I can’t have pisses me off. You’re not a toy. I know I treated you like shit, but you’re a human being; you’re not a doll to dress up and show off to your friends.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you said nothing. Another drag, another exhale. Silence settles in again. The two of you listen in to the traffic below.

“You haunt me,” you admitted quietly. “It comes in waves. Sometimes it’s just a spec of a memory; sometimes it’s all-consuming.” You flicked your ash and let it fall from the balcony to the world below. “I’ll dream of you and wake up next to Daigo and… It’s devastating. I see you everywhere, in everything. Daigo put on a movie with zombies and I couldn’t help but wonder if you’d like this one. I see a couple fighting on the street and I get nostalgic. Nostalgic, can you fucking believe that?” Another drag. “You can’t sleep, but I can’t seem to exist.”

More silence. You finished your cigarette, putting it out on the railing and flicking it out onto the street below before leaving Majima on the balcony to be alone with his thoughts.

It wasn’t long after that that the dancing started. Majima stared at you as you danced with Daigo and others, watching you with a mix of devastation, love, and anger. He didn’t say anything – he wasn’t dumb enough to do that – but he sipped his whiskey. The whiskey didn’t dull the edge of the pain he was feeling. The whiskey did nothing but make those emotions stronger. Seeing him broke your heart one piece at a time, and when it was completely shattered into dust you excused yourself, leaving the rented ballroom and sobbed in the hall. Thank God that you could afford the best setting spray for your makeup.

Seconds after you started crying Majima was taking your hand and leading you to an elevator. “No one can see you cry or the façade is off and Dojima is made a fool.” Thankfully, it didn’t appear anyone had seen you leave. When you were on the elevator, he hit the button for his room’s floor. The door closed and the elevator started to rise. “I’m taking you to my room. You can cry in peace there, but if you take too long people are going to question where you are.”

You watched him, but he just stared at the buttons. Your crying stopped, he looked at you, and the next thing you knew he had against the wall of the elevator, his lips on yours. You put one hand on his chest, the other resting on his neck as the two kissed like it was oxygen after the two of you had nearly drowned in the sorrow of the other’s absence. You didn’t care when he slid your skirt to the side, one hand against the flesh of your hip, the other tangled up in your hair as he slid a leg between your legs. It gave you something to rub against, and you rocked your hips on his thigh, the sweet friction making you 

The elevator was still going. You had no idea how long you had left in this moment, but you didn’t care. This was much needed bliss. Toxic as the two of you were for each other, the love you shared for each other would never die, no matter how desperate the two of you were to leave it in the past.

The elevator dinged; the door opened up. Majima immediately backed off at the sound, running a gloved finger against his bottom lip. Your skirt fell to its intended place and you were left panting. He took your hand in his and led you to his room, taking his hand back as he flipped his wallet open, removing his keycard to open the door. The whole process was second, but it felt like eternity.

[narrans]

One Shot | September Prompts

TWENTY-TWO | Canvas

The air was frigid. It had stopped actively snowing days ago, but the aftermath remained. There was nearly a foot of snow in the yard and along the roads beyond the Shelter’s doors. Icicles hung like frozen wind chimes along the gutters of the house. Every breath released a personalized cloud.

Hickory loved the snow. She loved the cold. It reminded her of winters with her family in the Old House. It was a glorious home. There were at least a dozen rooms that were unused for a large part of the year. There were massive pipes in the basement which heated the house and, unbeknownst to the human, the borrower’s home. The Old House belonged to an elderly couple with dozens of grandchildren. Every winter season, the entire human family would come into town and stay in the Old House. There were scattered treats and goodies from the children, leaving plenty of borrowings. There were a few close calls, as there usually were in the borrowing profession, but they had always managed to get away.

Hickory missed those winters snuggled among her sisters crocheting and sewing thicker and warmer blankets and garments so they could play in the snow. There were times when Hickory would just sit by the exit to the outside world and just watch the snow fall. With her borrower eyes, she could see the intricate designs in the snowflakes before they melted in her hands. She heard the humans say something about no two snowflakes being exactly the same, but how would they know with their clumsy hands and squinting eyes? There were many things humans said that Hickory did not understand, and the statement about snowflakes was one of them. Even now as she crouched in the branches of the hedges in the backyard staring at the snow frozen to the evergreen bristles, she could have sworn two of them were identical.

She couldn’t think about that now. Now, she had to focus. Her prey was nearby. Hickory spent time in the outside world hunting with her father and brother. In the chaos that ensued on the borrower doomsday, Hickory did not know what happened to her father and brother. She pushed the thought from her mind as quickly as it came. She couldn’t think about the way she would rustle her brother’s hair to annoy him when she brought back more kills than him. She couldn’t think about the smell of her father’s leather vest which he rarely removed. She could hear the skittering and crunching snow of a small creature. Based on experience, it was a mouse. Hickory smiled slyly. Her position above in the branches gave her the perfect vantage point. Both offensive and defensive.

She pulled her scarf and hood over her head, deepening her breath to calm her mind. She pulled out a bow she carved from wood last summer and nocked a toothpick arrow which she sharpened and added feathers to. She inhaled and held the nock until she could see the rodent a few feet away from her position. Hickory could only hear the beat of her heart as she drew back. Pause. She waited until the creature’s eyes turned outward to the snow before releasing. At least it saw something pretty before it died. The climb was quick, and the cleaning of the field mouse was thankfully uneventful. She left it hanging for a short while as she stared out at the winter wonderland before her. The tip of her nose dripped more than a leaky faucet and her fingers and toes were growing more numb with every moment of inactivity. It was time to go. After securing the cleaned mouse to her back, Hickory set off back toward the house.

The path was a clear one from the hedges to the fence row. Thankfully, the fence ran close to the house to a pathway she carved the night after the snow. From there, Hickory forced her freezing limbs to climb to the gutter drainpipe where she had set up a pulley system. She stepped onto the nail and gripped the rope tight before she yanked downward with all her might. Just as her feet left the ground, she leapt as high as she could and watched the world zoom around her. Within seconds, Hickory had reached the top gutter of the house, two stories up. The slick surface nearly made her loose her footing a few times, but she secured the rope with several well-done knots before shifting one of the roof tiles to the side and slipping into the house.

The heat blasted Hickory’s face, sending a frigid tingle through her body. The cold, apparently, was more intense than Hickory thought. Her body began to itch and tingle as it thawed. Every inch now felt suffocated with heat. Hickory began removing her hood and scarf as she walked along the beams of the attic. It was a nice place. Secluded. Rarely disturbed by humans and borrowers alike. Dark and light. Warm and cool. The ultimate home other than the basement. Well… almost the ultimate home. [NO!] Hickory trudged forward across the beams to her canvas tent near the edge of the roof.

The tent itself was only big enough for one, maybe two, borrowers. It was constructed from an old, cut canvas Hickory found and stitched together some time ago. It was fashioned into a loose tepee structure and was filled to the brim with the softest fragments of clothing she could find. She also acquired a full-sized match box which she turned into a crate for various borrowings she came across on her outings. Eyes fully adjusted, she struck a match she kept nearby and lit a low wick candle. Hickory knew the dangers of having an open flame, but she needed to cook the mouse meat and the light would be nice. Her battery powered lamp was running out of juice.

With mechanical speed, Hickory set up her spits and carved strips of meat to hang over the flame. Everything was perfectly timed from rotating the spits to each cut of meat. She knew the meat would most likely get crispy, but she didn’t want to cook outside when it was so cold. It was a hassle to set up a safe grill, even when it was outside. This would be fine. After the meat was cut, she cleaned the mouse pelt and used part of an unwound shoelace from her storage box to tie the stretched skin to a frame.

Satisfied with her work, Hickory shed her wet garments down to her undergarments and slipped into the tepee where her in-home bed clothing lay in a crumpled heap. She changed quickly and then spent time setting out her wet garments to dry along the base of the candle holder. The slightly charred meat was ready. Dinner in bed was a good way to end the day. She tugged the scraps of cloth over her shoulder and chewed the tough cut of meat she selected and stared at the flickering flame. Other than the occasional crackle, there was utter silence. Hickory didn’t mind silence, but she certainly didn’t care for it.

She was used to hearing the conversations of passing borrowers from inside the shelter. She enjoyed hearing Roman and Remus banter back and forth before discussing some issue or another with Thomas. She liked sitting in the vents during movie night and listening in to conversations. Even if she didn’t contribute to the conversation, she liked being a part of it. It still kept her mind occupied. Complete silence left her alone to fill the space with conversations she wished she could hear again. The debates between her parents about the borrowing schedule and who would go out when. The sweet teasing when her sisters couldn’t decide what borrowing bag went with their patchwork skirts. Her brother’s singing in the spaces between the halls. His voice ringing out against the tiled bathroom when the humans weren’t home because the sound was better and her voice singing along with his. Hickory curled in on herself. It was in these silent moments she thought of them – her family.

Hickory glanced outside of her canvas tent. Not a soul in sight. Not even the elusive cryptid borrower who was rumored to wander alone all throughout the house. She was alone. Completely and utterly alone. She thought of going to visit someone, which would be the first time she talked to anyone since she walked away from Ali that night. It wasn’t as though she didn’t have friends or others she could talk to other than her human counterpart. It was silly that she was feeling bad for a human after everything that had happened to her kind and her family. Why should she care? Why couldn’t she shake this pit eating at her insides? Hickory suddenly realized she had lost count of the days she was gone. Hickory rubbed her arms with her cupped hands as though trying to warm them or shake a chill.

Hickory’s thoughts fixated, much to her dismay, on Ali. The look on her face after Hickory shouted at her. The sadness in her brow. The frustration and hurt in her eyes just before she left. The way her voice trembled as she fought every instinct to collapse into tears. The longer she thought about it, the more that pit Hickory felt developed a name – guilt and regret. Hickory had to admit the things she said were intentional. She was angry and frustrated. She wanted something to be done about the children and saw Ali as the only hurdle. Yet, as much as she attempted to bring out every wrong thing Ali had done to justify Hickory’s actions, there was some counterpoint demonstrating Ali’s good intentions. Hickory finally admitted something to herself, something she knew all along but tried to distance herself from since the moment she met her. Hickory missed Ali.

She missed their conversations late into the night about the most ridiculous subjects. Hickory missed Ali’s awkward attempts at explaining certain human behaviors and items humans created. She missed the way Ali read aloud to her, using different voices for the characters to add to the story. She missed the way Ali would listen endlessly to Hickory’s day and the adventures she remembered from the Old House. She missed Ali’s laugh and her intuitive smile.

But what could she do about it now? Hickory’s eyes stung with the threat of tears. Ali had forgiven Hickory for practically everything she had done. From the compiled list of cuts and stabs to the frantic scares and pranks Hickory had pulled, Hickory could rely on the fact that Ali would forgive her; but never before had Hickory cut Ali this deep. The intentional wound Hickory dealt that night could have been the final nail in the coffin. What was Ali thinking of her now? Was she even thinking about her? Did she care?

It took a few more hours of solitude to solidify Hickory’s resolve. She had to go back. Hiding wasn’t going to solve anything and Hickory concluded that there was no sense prolonging the inevitable. If Ali was still mad and didn’t want to see her again, she would have to live with it. If Ali was willing to forgive her, this gnawing guilt would be gone, and things could go back to the way they were. At least, Hickory hoped things could go back to normal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was her day off, finally. Ali had spent the past week and a half pulling double shifts from her shift as an EMT and assisting the newly formed borrower families in attaining supplies and adjusting to their new lives. Many families stepped forward and graciously opened their hearts and homes to the children. A few families managed to find their children, but that number, sadly, was not higher. Ali had only heard earlier that day that Patton and Virgil had adopted two of the kids, one teenager and one much younger. Ali hoped they were adjusting well, as she hoped for all of the other families.

The little girl, Vi or Violet as she eventually learned, had regained consciousness, but was still very weak and adjusting to her new life. She hadn’t spoken but was willing to communicate with head nods and shakes on how she was feeling. Axel hadn’t left her side once since that time. For now, they were staying with Perci. It was a temporary arrangement as Perci was more solitary, but she was willing to help where she could. Also, Perci was one of the borrowers who was willing to bring Violet by Ali’s room so she could check and see how her wound was progressing since Perci had limited experience with potential infections. Thankfully, Violet didn’t seem to mind the fact Ali was human.

Ali slept in, well past the morning, for the first time in a while before spending the rest of the afternoon reading quietly to herself. She was rereading a personal favorite as a means to relax. The house, chilled by the winter and snow, was perfectly still. Numerous blankets were piled onto Ali’s bed, providing the perfect amount of warmth.

She had just made it to the halfway point when she heard the familiar click of the electrical cover open and close. She averted her eyes instinctively and stared instead at the canopy above her head. The gossamer curtains shimmered in the ambient lighting in the room provided by the nightstand light and Christmas lights. It wasn’t until she heard her name that her blood chilled in her veins and her body tensed nervously.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hickory knew she was nervous. She could tell by the slight tingle in her fingers and the shiver in her spine that lingered even as she climbed down from the attic. She hadn’t been nervous about being seen by a human in a long time, and she knew why she was nervous now. One step after the other made a rhythmic tapping sound against the floor. She ducked under some wires and climbed a few stray nails to avoid some of the venting pipes. The wood beam lined walls and insulation absorbed the sounds of the chilled house. Still, a few stray laughs caught her attention from up ahead. It seemed like one of the families from the corner apartments had some new children. [They must be the children. That happened already?] Hickory couldn’t think about that now.

She trudged forward and scurried up the last set of ladders until she reached that same familiar corridor leading to Ali’s room. Now that she stood at the doorway, face cast in shadow except for the warm glow slipping through the electrical cover holes. The light rested just over her eyes, making her squint. This much light in the room meant the side lamp next to the bed was on and that Ali was indeed in the room. Before she could hesitate, Hickory pushed open the cover with the familiar click and stepped out onto the desk. She closed it behind her.

She didn’t remember when her knees became so unsteady or when her heart began beating so harshly against her chest. Hickory could see Ali behind the gossamer curtain which draped over the edges of her bed forming an elegant canopy. Breath unsteady, Hickory willed herself to the edge of the desk as she pushed past the nervousness in her core. Curses. Could she do this? Ali wasn’t even looking in her direction. Was that already a sign? Nerves fraying as she tried to talk herself into leaving, what last bit of self-control Hickory still possessed called out.

“Ali?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ali wasn’t sure if she had imagined it, but she had to look. She had to be sure. Ali turned over slowly to spot a familiar silhouetted figure standing on the desk. It was Hickory. Ali watched as Hickory, seemingly hyping herself up, walked briskly from the desk along the edge of the wall and the bridge to her nightstand, only slowing once she had passed the bedside lamp. The brisk pace, which conveyed determination and resolve, quickly melted into a timid hesitancy. Hickory’s shoulders were tense, just like Ali’s shoulders. Hickory wasn’t making eye contact, despite Ali’s attempts at catching those mischievous orbs for some sort of insight into Hickory’s thoughts. Ali slowly crossed her legs underneath of her as she faced Hickory, who now seemed to be trembling slightly.

For a week and a half, Ali had neither seen nor heard from her tiny companion. She had been worried for her safety and reluctant to press her luck by seeking her out. She was apprehensive as to what Hickory might do on her own. Ali was also concerned and deeply saddened that she may not see Hickory again. She was elated that Hickory was standing there in front of her and in once piece, unharmed. Yet, mixed into that elation, was a numbing shock. All of these emotions pent up over the past week seemed suddenly blurred and void. Now, when it mattered most, Ali wasn’t sure how she should be feeling. Based on her silence, Hickory didn’t seem sure how to proceed either.

Even though she was unsure, Hickory beat Ali to the punch. “I… I didn’t mean… I just… wanted to say… I’m sorry.” Hickory’s words were not stammered, but rather seemed to be pieced together on the fly, like she couldn’t get her own thoughts and emotions in order. She maintained eye-contact with the edge of the bedside table, as if looking at Ali would bring down a bolt of lightening to smite her.

“I said what I said because I was… angry… and confused… and frustrated. I know… you and the others were doing everything you could. That doesn’t excuse what I said to you, especially in front of the others. It was mean and cruel and I know I don’t…” [Deserve it. I don’t deserve your kindness. You’ve been nothing but kind and this is how I’ve repaid you.] Hickory couldn’t bring herself to sputter out her internal thoughts fast enough. All this time, Hickory tried speaking clearly, yet her voice had gone unused and sounded hoarse and raspy. She tried clearing her throat, but that only made her feel more anxious at how Ali was perceiving her actions. “I crossed a line. A lot of them actually. I know I don’t… deserve it. But…”

Hickory, even in her peripheral, could see Ali’s eyebrows raise for just a moment, as if to say, ‘you think?’. Hickory winced, her shoulders pinching in toward her chest. An intense tingling rippled through her lungs and her chest, a sure sign she was going to get choked up if she didn’t hurry. Hickory glanced up into Ali’s eyes. They were illuminated by the ambient lighting, yet lacked their signature brightness. Ali’s features were set in a mixture of neutrality and patience. Hickory found it hard to swallow her nervousness, but managed to choke out one last thing before realizing if she pressed herself further, she would probably start crying.

“But… I want to come home.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ali felt herself inhale slowly, the breath hitching like a silent stutter in her lungs. She could detect no deceit in Hickory’s voice. It took a lot for Hickory to say what she did. She wasn’t into sharing too many of her true feelings after all. It took a lot of courage to come from relative safety and admit you made a creature hundreds of times bigger than yourself upset. It was a big move, no pun intended, for Hickory to come. Hickory admitted that what she said was wrong and that she was sorry. Hickory hadn’t stayed away. She came. She was here. She was alive. After everything that happened in their shared past, Hickory was asking to return. All of these things were as good of a sign as any that this moment mattered more than ever. It was the tipping point.

Ali, trapped in her thoughts for what felt like an hour, smiled meekly and nodded slowly.

“Okay.” Ali hadn’t realized her own throat had constricted with emotion during Hickory’s apology. “You’re home.” Hickory half sobbed, half laughed as she exhaled and wrapped her arms around herself in a comforting hug.

“But…” Ali continued, which froze Hickory in her moment of relief. Ali paused as she bit her lower lip. She knew she had to be careful and proceeded as such. “There are some things that I want to say. You don’t have to say anything, but I do want you to listen and hear me out until the end. Okay?” Hickory seemed unsure. She seemed to be teetering on the edge of running into the embrace of sadness or leaping from elation. Instead, she nodded almost imperceptibly. Ali braced herself with a single breath before continuing, speaking slowly and clearly.

“I’m not mad, or angry, or frustrated. Not anymore. Admittedly when you said those things to me, I was very angry and upset. I shouldn’t have walked away the way I did, and I apologize for that, but I didn’t know what else to do.” Ali looked to Hickory who, once again, was staring at the most interesting bedside table edge she had ever seen, refusing to meet Ali’s eyes.

“What you said to me was… cruel… and deliberate. It was meant to hurt me, and it did. I get it. You were scared and frustrated and angry, I know. I was too. I still am.” Ali felt the weight on her chest lifting, though her heart pulsed with pain with every beat. “Still, I don’t think I deserved being hurt like that.” Hickory nodded absent-mindedly. She seemed to be absorbing everything well enough, honouring Ali’s request of hearing her out until she finished. Ali continued to keep her voice even and calm.

“What you said about me not knowing what you’ve been through. You’re right. You are absolutely right. I don’t know every little thing you’ve been through. I don’t know exactly how you feel. That doesn’t mean that I can’t sympathize with you. It doesn’t mean that I can’t try to understand your perspective. But you know what?” Ali was beginning to find it difficult to keep her voice from quaking. “That also means that you don’t know how I feel. You don’t know every little thing about me. We’ve shared a lot with each other, Hickory, but there are things we keep for ourselves – and that’s okay – but that doesn’t mean we shut the other person out because we don’t have an exact scenario to match the other’s pain.”

Tears gathered in the corners of Ali’s eyes, mirroring Hickory’s reddening eyes.

“I know we didn’t meet under the greatest of circumstances, but since that day I have tried everything I could to see the world through your eyes. I’ve tried to help and listen the best that I could. Sometimes, I had to learn the hard way. I certainly have enough souvenirs to prove it.” Hickory glanced to Ali’s hands, noticing for the first time that her right hand was covered in band-aids and scabs from where Hickory had assaulted her hand with her pin. Hickory looked away guiltily, knowing that the current damage to Ali’s hand was only a small fraction of what Hickory inflicted on her human companion. “I know that you didn’t want to keep going after I found you, and maybe you think I took your choice from you. I don’t know. Maybe I did. All I know is this Hickory – I wouldn’t change my decisions for a second.”

Hickory’s attention snapped to Ali’s eyes. Ali had stopped her that day – or, to be better put – Ali had helped her realize that, for whatever reason, she wanted to live.  

“Hickory, I wouldn’t change any of my choices because they’ve made both of us into who we are, right here and now. We’ve both done a lot of growing up in a short amount of time. I know I couldn’t have done that without you. I’d take it all again in a heartbeat because I care about you, and that’s not going to change – ever.” Ali and Hickory held their gaze, each seeming to feel those darkened thoughts and feelings which they locked away and kept contained breaking free, releasing those unnamable feelings and re-forging a way back to one another.

“I don’t think it’s fair to pin all of these feelings of anger and frustration for all of humankind on me. I’m not perfect, but I cannot accept the blame for every single thing the humans have done.” stated Ali softly. “But you know what? You can’t accept that blame either.” Hickory felt herself stiffen and glanced away.

“It’s not on you that the borrowers were discovered. You’re not to blame for the doomsday that happened. It’s not your fault that your family was found; and it’s certainly not your fault for what happened to them.” Hickory felt herself scowl and bristle at Ali’s words. She half-glared at Ali. Something about what she was saying was getting to her, making her heartbeat faster and her breathing shallow. “It’s that scum of the earth that did those things. Why are you blaming yourself for what someone else did? It’s not your fault.” Ali fell quiet while Hickory processed what she was feeling. Hickory poorly stifled a moist sniff and wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve.

“I know,” she muttered, keeping her eyes averted.

“No… no you don’t. Hickory, it’s not your fault.” Said Ali firmly. Well, firm for Ali anyway. Hickory watched Ali’s hand hesitantly inching toward the bedside table.

“I know,” Hickory said, replying in the same tone.

“It’s not your fault.” Somehow hearing it out loud, saying it out loud, was sinking into Hickory’s subconscious. Was this what she had been feeling all this time? Had she been feeling responsible? Responsible for what the humans did to her? To her family? Saying, out loud, that it wasn’t her fault cracked that final lock to those unnamable emotions. Cheeks warm and eyes burning, Hickory realized tears were lining her face. She tried hiding it by covering her face with her arm. When that didn’t work, she covered her face with her hands. Ali’s expression changed from careful neutrality to a pensive smile. Ali’s hand was mere inches from the edge of the bedside table.

“It’s not your fault,” said Ali gently. Ali was right. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t the fault of anyone in the Shelter. The outside world was just as messed up as it always had been; so why was she wasting time blaming herself? Hickory sobbed into her hands. She felt a slight tapping by the edge of the table. It was Ali’s finger, showing her that she was there – showing her she was always there. Hickory lost the fight with herself and ran forward. Ali’s hand raised just as Hickory came smashing into it. Hickory wrapped her right arm in the notch between Ali’s thumb and index finger and pressed her face against the edge of Ali’s palm as she sobbed. She felt Ali’s fingers gently close around her, barely brushing against her shoulders while her thumb rubbed her side comfortingly. Hickory’s vision may have been blurred from the warm, salty tears pouring down her face, but even she could see that Ali had begun crying too. Ali was nowhere near sobbing her eyes out, but at least Hickory wouldn’t be the only one with red, puffy eyes.

Hickory felt Ali’s hand rotate slightly, allowing Hickory to lay along Ali’s palm. She didn’t fight it and allowed Ali to lift her from the table to just below Ali’s left shoulder. Hickory turned and grasped the fabric of Ali’s shirt. Ali did not remove her hand, keeping it gently placed around her frame so she wouldn’t fall. It was the closest to a “forgive me” hug they could achieve given their height differences.

“Ali, I’m so sorry!” wailed Hickory, her voice coming out as a wet, muffled mess since her face was still pressed into Ali’s shirt. “Do… do y… you forgive me?” Hickory felt Ali’s shoulders shake in a disbelieving laugh.

“I forgave you the moment you said it,” she muttered. “I was so scared, Hickory. I thought I’d never see you again. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

For a time, the two could only choke out random murmurs and half-hearted sobs. It was a long and arduous road, but nothing worth having comes easily. They realized that now. The air cleared. The moments passed. Now, the baggage between them was scattered to the wind.

After they calmed their breathing, Ali tilted her palm and pulled it away about a foot away. Hickory sat contentedly on the edge and continued to wipe her eyes on the cleaner parts of her clothing.

“So? What now?” sniffed Hickory with a thoughtful smirk. Ali mirrored the smile.

“Well… I think,” she started as she wiped her eyes with her unoccupied left hand. “We start with a clean slate.” Hickory rolled her eyes and brought one leg over the other, crossing them.

“Why is it called a clean slate? Who uses slates anymore? We’re not ancient dead people,” remarked Hickory snarkily. Ali chuckled breathily, bringing a rush of warmth to Hickory. She hadn’t realized how much she missed Ali’s smile and laugh. “Think about it! A slate is a big, ugly rock you carve into. You can’t just get rid of that. That’s too much work.”

“No, we’re not. And that’s definitely true. I guess… It’s just an expression. Did you have something else you’d like to call it?” Hickory thought for a moment.

“How about a blank canvas? Canvas is a lot easier to paint over. Plus, painting is more fun than rocks.” Ali thought for a moment but nodded in agreement.

“Okay. We’ll be a blank canvas.”

“Does this mean we have to re-introduce ourselves?” asked Hickory. Ali shook her head.

“No, we get to keep that on our canvas.”

“Darn it,” Hickory cursed slightly, a mischievous smile flashing over her lips. Ali’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I wanted to introduce myself as Little Hickey. Then, you could introduce me as your Little Hickey.” Ali’s jaw dropped as she stared to the ceiling for some unspoken guidance before she covered her eyes with her left hand. Her shoulders shook violently as she suppressed her urge to burst out laughing.

“I’m not doing that,” said Ali in playful defiance.

“Fiinnnee!” whined Hickory. They stared at each other for a moment. “So, what do we do with our blank canvas now?” It was Ali’s turn to think for a moment.

“Well, how about we get ourselves cleaned up, maybe with separate bubble baths? Then I’m off for the evening so we can just sit and watch movies or read. If you want to that is.” Hickory nodded. She had gone one too many days without bathing and watching movies for hours sounded nice. Ali set Hickory onto her shelf so she could fetch some clean clothes while Ali ran a sink full and a tub full of warm water, placing the necessary precautions and washcloths in place for Hickory. Ali returned after a minute to see Hickory waiting patiently. Though emotions were still raw, the tension from before their canvas was cleaned had dissipated. It would take time, but things were better now. At the very least, they were on the right track – finally. Ali held out her hand and Hickory leapt on, carefully walking along Ali’s arm to her rightful place on Ali’s right shoulder.

Ali grabbed her shower basket and headed into the bathroom, securing the door behind them. Hickory knew they were both still raw. She knew there were still things that may have been left unsaid or untouched, but the subconscious resentment toward Ali and the other humans seemed to have vanished, another shadow leaving to never darken her mind again. Hickory mauled each and everything Ali said as she scrubbed away a week’s worth of grime. After they bathed in silence, they took turns dressing, averting their eyes out of politeness, and headed back to Ali’s room. Something stirred in Hickory. She stood on Ali’s shoulder just as they were about to settle back into Ali’s bed.

“Hey Ali.” Before Ali could turn her head toward her right shoulder, Hickory stood and tugged on Ali’s ear. She winced.

“Ow, what was that for? What did I do?” she asked pointedly. Hickory folded her arms and stared at Ali sassily even though she knew Ali couldn’t quite see her from her perspective.

“That was for picking me up without asking when we first met,” stated Hickory. Ali sighed and shook her head.

“Fine. That’s fair. But that’s the only one you get.”

“Hey Ali.” Ali flinched at the sound of her name and tilted her head to the side. “Come ‘ere.” Ali was suspicious but leaned her head back over to Hickory. This time, however, Hickory rushed forward and planted a quick kiss on Ali’s cheek. It was like having a light feather brush over her cheek. It was soft and so subtle Ali almost didn’t realize it had happened. “That’s for everything you’ve done for me since then.” Ali stood stunned for several moments, absorbing the moment, before sighing.

“Did you just, ‘How to Train Your Dragon,’ me?” she asked. Hickory rolled her eyes and sat down on Ali’s shoulder, gripping her shirt collar firmly.

“Just hush and let’s pick out a movie!”

They spent the rest of the evening in silence as they watched film after film. At some point, Hickory and Ali fell asleep, each lulled by the other’s breathing and unable to keep their weary eyes open. It had been a rough afternoon. It had been a rough week if they were being completely honest. Now their friendship, re-forged, was stronger than ever – and Heaven help anyone who tried to separate them.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Forty-Seven G [Part 1 of 3]

"U r flying aboard the Seduction 747 And this plane is fully equipped with anything your body desires

If 4 any reason there is a loss in cabin pressure I will automatically drop down 2 apply more

2 activate the flow of excitement Extinguish all clothing materials and pull my body close 2 yours Place my lips over your mouth and kiss, kiss

Normally, in the event there is overexcitement Your seat cushion may be used as a flotation device…"

Prince – "International Lover"

Summary:  Erik Killmonger takes a break from M.I.T. to fly to a friend's wedding and gives a flight attendant working on her birthday a lovely gift. Mature Content. Basically, smut y’all. Enjoy.  

Fa'aana Brown greeted each passenger on board the Boeing 777 with a practiced charm and a wide smile of her pearly whites. She had stepped in for the lead flight attendant, Lucy, who had to take care of a surly passenger who insisted that his first-class accommodations were not to his liking because he wanted a window seat instead of the aisle seat he had already paid for.

Thankfully their international flight to the Leonardo da Vinci–Fiumicino Airport wasn't crowded. It was the offseason in Rome, so many of the flight attendants would be able to rest on this leg of their trip. Fa'aana would be in charge of the galley in the rear section of the plane, and when she glanced at her watch, she saw they would actually leave the gate relatively early by the looks of the dwindling number of passengers coming down the ramp.

"Whew, problem solved, our Mr. Clayton has been satisfied," Lucy said, tucking a loose strand of her chemically-treated blonde hair behind her ear.

"Did you move him?"

"No, just set him up with some bourbon and cookies. He just wanted to be catered to." "I bet it was that southern accent of yours too."

Lucy smirked.

"A Charleston, South Carolina belle here at your service Mr. Clayton," Lucy said in a breathy voice and batting her false eye-lashes.

"Work it, honey," Fa'aana said handing the speakerphone to Lucy so she could make final announcements before take-off.

"See ya later," Lucy said as Fa'aana made her final cabin check from the mid-section to the back, closing overhead bins and assisting passengers with bags that didn't fit under their seats.

Her temporary work husband Mark, a soft-spoken flight attendant from Spain, was in the galley filling up their snack carts and checking supplies for the ten-hour flight.

"Looks like a cake-walk," Mark said glancing out and peeping the less than full cabin.

Fa'aana checked the pre-heat timer of the convection oven as it waited to be used for the in-flight meal of penne pasta and meatballs.

"Let's hope so. Lucy put out a little fire with a man in first class. Other than that, we are looking good," she said.

Fa'aana did a final check to make sure things were secure before take-off in the galley when she noticed a last-minute passenger making his way toward the back.

Something about his swagger down the left side of the aisle made her know he was American. He was Black and a part of her always got excited when she saw Black people on international flights. So many of her friends back in Atlanta complained about working so hard and not being able to afford overseas travel. Staycations were the theme in her clique, so seeing another Black person going out of the country was exciting for her. It was part of the reason why she became a flight attendant, even though her workload didn't really allow that dream of fun/leisure world travel to come to fruition as much over the past two years. She did her best to encourage others to get out of America. She even wrote a little travel blog that got quite a few hits. She aimed her tips toward single Black women trying to make the globe-trotting lifestyle worth their time and coins.

Round black sunglasses, form-fitting black woven Nike tracksuit, and expensive track kicks. Nice dark mustache, a soul patch, and a light scruffy beard. Fresh cornrows with intricate braid patterns decorated the top of his head, with the sides shaved low. His head bent down to check his ticket and when he found his seat, he opened the overhead bin to toss in a small duffle bag. He pulled a small black computer bag from his back and sat down, tucking the bag under the seat in front of him.

Fa'aana walked down to his seat when she noticed that the straps to his duffle bag were sticking out from under the overhead bin. She opened the bin and tucked in his straps. When she glanced down, his dark lenses were looking up at her and she saw his lips. Up close.

Lord have mercy.

His lips were so lush and full. And his braids smelled so good, fresh coconut oil…

"Thanks, Ma," he said.

"Welcome aboard," she said.

He took off his dark glasses and stared at her chest. She was about to feel offended but then he glanced back up at her face.

"Is that a Polynesian name?" he asked. She realized he was looking at her name tag.

He had a regional accent she was trying to place.

"Yes, it is. Samoan."

"You Samoan?"

"My father is half. Other half Black. Mother Black too."

She thought she looked obviously Black. She was darker than he was by a shade and her hair texture was thick like her Mama's and shrunk up tight when she washed it. Her shoulder-length curls were slicked up with aloe gel and knotted on top of her head for work. He nodded staring at her face. His eyes were kind of intense. She felt like he was studying her.

He tried pronouncing her name and she laughed. So did the passenger sitting at the window seat. The middle seat was empty.

"I sound like a dolphin saying it, huh?" His smile revealed dimples in his cheeks.

Her fingers went to her lips to keep herself from laughing at him again.

"How do you say it?" he asked.

"We pronounce all the vowels like this…"

She said it for him and his eyes watched her lips. She felt her stomach flutter and she was beginning to feel warm.

"Pretty," he said, "Fuh-ah-nuh…"

"Close enough," she said as he tried several passes to catch the right way.

In her periphery, she saw Mark waving to her from the back.

"Enjoy your flight," she said heading toward the galley once again.

Mark pulled her to the side.

"Is he famous?" he asked.

"What?"

"Is he a singer? Rapper? Actor?"

"I don't know—"

"He has that look. He carries himself like a celebrity. Dark glasses and all…"

"Lots of people wear dark glasses on long flights, Mark. Red eyes from being tired."

Mavis, an older Black flight attendant who could run circles around the entire crew burst into the back carrying a small plastic bag of trash.

"Ooh, y'all see that cutie in forty-seven G?" she said putting the trash away.

"Does he look like someone famous?" Mark asked.

Mavis patted her short cut wig and looked at them both.

"Not really, but man, he got it going on. Body all tight…lips all—"

"Okay, okay, let's focus on the job at hand you guys," Fa'aana said.

The pre-flight video played on every individual passenger screen and Fa'aana was happy to feel the plane backing away from the gate. Once they had reached cruising altitude, she could start the drink and snack cart run and then relax for a bit before the dinner run.

Buckled up into her galley seat she could see down the aisle and saw the arm of the man in forty-seven G lying on the outer armrest.

A young white woman sitting across from him in the middle row was talking to him with animated energy, and he was holding an earbud in his hand while listening to her. The woman leaned across her armrest and Forty-Seven G stuck his earbud back in and turned away from her. The woman looked shocked and eased back into her seat.

Fa'aana chuckled wondering what transpired to make him ignore the woman so abruptly.

She thought of him trying to say her name. Most people would slaughter it and then try to pronounce it the way they wanted to say it, making it easy for them. Or, they just nicknamed her "Ana". But as her Daddy used to tell her, if people can pronounce fucking Schwarzenegger or Tchaikovsky, they could pronounce her name correctly too. And Mr. Forty-Seven G did his best to get it right. God bless him.

Cruising Altitude.

She unfastened her seat in the galley and began the careful push of the metal snack/drink cart down the aisle. Mark worked the left side of the plane and part of the middle and she worked the right and the other half of the middle. Most of the passengers wanted the free wine and peanuts, and because their section wasn't completely full, they were moving right along.

When Fa'aana made it to forty-seven F, she was able to see the tight-lipped white woman who tried to holler at forty-seven G. The woman looked to be in her early twenties with overly caked make-up, and hair teased to look like a wavy cascade of light brown curls.

"Cookies, peanuts?" Fa'aana asked giving the woman a pleasant look.

"Peanuts, and can I have a white wine?"

Fa'aana handed the woman two bags of salted peanuts and poured wine into a plastic white cup.

When she turned toward forty-seven G, she asked the window seat passenger what he wanted first and the older white man sitting there dismissed her with a smile and a wave of his hand. He was focused on his movie.

"And you?" she said.

"Kentucky Straight on the rocks," he said holding his earbud from his left ear.

She smirked.

"What?" he said smiling at her flashing those dimples again.

"Nothing. I'll have to get that from the back, so give me a minute to finish and I'll bring it right back. Snack?"

His eyes felt like they raked across her whole body even though they just stayed glued to her face. She felt a shiver ghost her neck as she glanced at his lips again.

"Lemme get summa them cookies."

She reached into her cart and pulled out two packages of cinnamon cookies and handed it to him with a couple of napkins. His fingers brushed against hers and then he let down his service tray in front of him.

"Where are you from?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Oakland," he said.

"I was trying to place your accent." "Erik," he said holding out his hand. She shook it.

"Nice to meet you, Erik. Be right back."

She moved down the aisle and completed her run, and as she moved back to the galley, she had the sensation that he was watching her. She didn't look behind her.

She checked the liquor cabinet and pulled out the whiskey he wanted. She poured him an extra serving over the ice and tried to figure out why she was feeling a certain way about this dude. He looked young, but his demeanor seemed older to her. In seven hours, she would be turning twenty-six years old. She planned on celebrating when she returned to Atlanta. She felt like she looked her age, but forty-seven G…no Erik, his name was Erik,…he could be early twenties or maybe younger.

She wasn't into younger dudes. She also wasn't really into guys her own age because they were so un-focused to her. She liked older men, at least six to seven years older. In fact, a nice thirty-year-old city planner was waiting to take her out for her birthday when she returned home from the Italy turn-around.

She walked carefully back to Erik's seat and handed him his drink with more napkins.

He took a sip right away.

"Hmmm, not bad. Thank you, Fa'aana," he said.

Whew, chile. She felt her clit thump when he said her name the right way in a seductive tone. It shocked her and she just stood there feeling like he knew what happened inside her panties.

"Enjoy," she said scurrying away from him.

What the hell?

She stood in the back of the galley and wiped her forehead.

"You alright?" Mark asked turning on the convection oven.

"Yes. Just feeling a little warm."

"Really, it's a bit chilly out there. I passed out a few extra blankets."

"It's just me."

"You're not getting sick are you?"

"No."

"Drink plenty of water."

"I will."

The dinner run was smooth and when she served Erik his in-flight meal, he was gracious but focused on a movie he was watching. Clean-up was a breeze and once several rounds of free wine went out along with some black coffee, passengers began to batten down the hatches for sleep. Lights were lowered and Fa'aana snacked a bit before snagging a row of seats to herself in the last middle back row. She sat on the right aisle side so she could keep an eye on the floor. Mark stayed watch hidden in the galley seat and Mavis took no shame finding a row for herself on the far-left side a few rows up from Fa'aana.

Killing time, she started playing a trivia game on the video screen. She was kicking ass playing with seven other passengers. Passenger forty-seven G was hanging neck and neck with her.

Wait. That was Erik.

She stuck her head out and leaned over to look up his way and she could see him pressing buttons on his screen fast. He turned his head to look back, and she ducked back in her seat so he couldn't see her.

After thirty minutes when she won three games out of five, she switched over to a card game of solitaire.

"Nah, go back to the trivia screen."

She was startled to see Erik standing next to her row.

"I was wondering who was sitting back here in fifty-seven F messing up my scores," he said, a sly smile on his lips.

"Busted," she said.

"You're good."

"I've been known to keep a ton of useless trivia in my head. It just comes out in my favor on here."

His eyes were relaxed and he seemed to hold his liquor well after two glasses of wine after his dinner.

"You mind if I sit back here with you and play another round? I want to see if you're cheating or not."

"Cheating? Brain power, Sir."

"Alright, Ma. Let's see then. Scoot over."

She thought about it for a moment.

"You still on the clock?" he asked.

"Yes—"

"Most people are sleep. Just a quick game. Your boss comes through I'll say you were helping me with my screen."

It was tempting.

"One quick game," she said scooting her petite frame over in order to allow his much taller and well-built one to squeeze in next to her.

They both went to the trivia game screen. There was only one other person playing with them.

"Oh, so that's how you pick your answers so fast, you keep your finger on the screen the whole time," he said.

He followed suit, and soon they were matching scores. He beat her for two rounds, but she cleaned up on the last one.

"You want another drink or anything?" she asked.

"Another whiskey would be nice, thanks," he said.

She stood up and scooted past him, straightening her skirt when she reached the aisle. He watched her hand smooth the back. She had a little booty that poked out a bit, but she didn't think it was that obvious, but the way he was looking at her made her self-aware.

She stepped into the galley and poured him another big drink. Mark was asleep. She had to keep her eyes open just in case a passenger needed anything.

"Here," she said handing him the drink along with another packet of cookies.

"Look at you taking care of me," he said winking at her.

It felt odd to be sitting next to him while he drank.

He must've read her mind.

"Here, have a sip," he said handing his cup to her.

"Umm…"

"You can use the straw, I didn't. I'm healthy as hell, just so you know," he said.

"That would not be a good look for me while I'm working. Plus, that drink is really strong."

"It is. You hooked me up though. Not even one sip?"

His eyes had a puppy dog look to them and he tilted his head staring at her.

What could it hurt? It would be her birthday soon enough.

She took his cup and had a tiny sip.

"Stop playing, girl," he said.

His voice sounded raspy. His scruffy beard and mustache really started to look sexy to her. She normally liked men to have neat facial hair, but Erik's looked free and easy- Black hipster chic. She wanted to rub her cheek against it…

Her face felt warm again and she took a bigger sip of his drink.

"There you go. Good, huh?"

The heat hit her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut and gasped. He laughed.

"Amateur," he teased. She started coughing and he reached over and rubbed her back, "My bad, you okay, Ma?"

She held a hand up to her chest and he kept rubbing his hand up and down her back until he was touching her neck.

"You can finish that all by yourself," she said.

He removed his hand from her neck and sipped down his drink.

They talked for a bit and she found herself warming up to him. He was easy to talk to. He was going to a friend's wedding in Rome and would be flying back to Massachusetts afterward. He was in his second year of grad school at M.I.T. and damn it to hell, he was only twenty-one.

"Don't think I'm rude for thinking this…I know you're part Samoan, but they some big ass people. But you, you're so petite—"

"I'm supposed to be buff like Dwayne Johnson or something?" she said rolling her eyes.

"I mean, I've met a lot of Polynesian folks in Cali, and they ain't tiny like you—"

"Tiny?"

"Petite, petite! Short?"

She gave him side eye. And then took his cup of whiskey and took another big sip.

"I'm five foot four."

"I'm six one. You little."

"Pfftt."

She eyed him a bit.

"You want to hear a terrible joke?" she asked feeling a bit loose with him.

"Go 'head."

"I hope you're not easily offended."

"I'm not."

"What do get when you mix Samoans with…."

She trailed off.

"What?"

"Does the N-word bother you?"

"Nah, I use it from time to time. Not in mixed white company usually. But we good."

"Okay. Because if I try to tell this another way, it won't come out right."

"Tell it straight."

"Okay, what do you get when you mix Samoans with….okay why are you looking at me like that?" she said and started laughing.

He had his index finger up against his face like he was judging her. He laughed with her.

"Tell your joke, girl. C'mon…"

"What—"

She started snorting and laughing, the whiskey hitting her and making her goofy.

"Forget it," he said smiling at her and taking his cup from her hand, "You can't handle this Miss Lightweight."

He started up another trivia game and she leaned in toward him.

"What do you get when you mix Samoans and niggas?"

"What?" His eyes had a twinkle in them.

"Some more niggas."

"Your parents hear you tell that joke?"

"My Mama was the one who told my Daddy."

"I'm offended."

His eyes became real serious looking. She stopped laughing.

"I'm sorry. That was unprofessional-"

He burst out laughing.

"I'm just fuckin' witchu!"

"Oh my God. I thought you were really upset."

"You had the look of unemployment on your face!"

They both cracked up.

"You're really pretty when you laugh. Your whole body gets into it."

"Thanks—"

"But that snortin' has got to go!"

"Shut up!" She slapped his shoulder and found herself intrigued by him. He was twenty-one, totally not her age bracket at all, but somehow, he acted…grown? Mature? Acted like someone she could be interested in?

"I was going to watch this foreign flick. Would you like to watch it with me?" he asked.

"Let me go do a quick round first?" she asked. He nodded and finished off his whiskey.

She went to the lavatory to relieve herself of the liquor and then she checked in with Mark who was still snoozing in the galley. Several rows from their seats were empty or only had one occupant, and most were asleep. Nice.

She returned to their row. Erik's hand reached up and turned on one of the reading lights above him.

"This will help keep you awake in case someone calls for you," he said.

He pulled out one of the free earphones that they passed out to passengers earlier.

"We can share this. One ear for the movie, the other free to hear a call for whatever."

"You think of everything," she said.

He was so easy.

A complete stranger, but in less than four hours they had shared a drink together, a crude joke, and now she was kicking off her work heels and curling up on a seat to watch a Korean gangster drama.

The movie was fucking intense.

Even though it was edited for public consumption, Fa'aana found it to be filled with graphic violence and so much…sex. Implied sex really. She was glad they were in the last back rows alone; she would feel embarrassed if other people saw what was on the screen.

Erik took up a lot of space in the middle seat.

"You mind if I lift this up?" he asked.

She looked down at his hand. He wanted to pull up the middle armrest.

"Go ahead," she said without thinking, and he lifted it up opening up the only barrier between them. He stretched his legs and widened his thighs. His right thigh brushed against hers.

"Sorry," he said.

"S'okay," she answered.

She glanced at her watch.

"W'sup?" he asked. "Huh?"

"You keep looking at your watch. You gotta be somewhere?"

"Funny. Um, my birthday is about to drop in…oh, snap, my birthday is here already."

"For real? You're working on your birthday?"

"I'll celebrate it when I get back to Atlanta. I have a birthday dinner date at a fancy restaurant."

"With your boyfriend?"

Erik's eyes looked playful.

"Sort of-"

"Sort of?"

He smiled at her.

"We've been dating for a minute."

"Is he your man though?"

Her lips got tight. No, Hugh was not her man. She was hoping he would be, but thus far they just ate out for meals and had sex at her apartment when she was in town.

Erik's eyes grew soft-looking.

"Happy Birthday, Fa'aana.., hold up—"

He reached into his left pocket.

"I couldn't finish this at dinner, but it can come in handy now."

It was a Godiva chocolate brownie still wrapped inside the plastic. The dinner dessert.

"Hold on," he said.

He pulled out some pocket wetnaps, opened them and cleaned his hands. A rich lemony smell filled her nostrils. Unwrapping the brownie, he placed it on one of the drink napkins she gave him.

"I don't have a candle, but you can pretend to blow one out," he said.

"That's really sweet, Erik."

"Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you…."

He sang quietly to her and when he finished, he held the brownie up to her mouth. She puckered up her lips and pretended to blow out a candle. When she did, he turned off the overhead reading light.

She could still see him in the glow of their video screens. She took a bite of the brownie and he took a piece too. He broke the remainder in half and fed her a piece then popped the rest in his mouth. She felt a few crumbs tumble from her lips and he reached over and wiped the rest away.

His thumb touched her bottom lip and she felt a tingle from his touch. He traced her lips with the tip of his thumb and she felt her jaw go lax, her mouth parting. Erik inserted part of his thumb in her mouth and she wrapped her lips around it, her tongue licking him. She heard him groan and he pulled her face toward him removing his thumb from between her lips.

"Can I kiss you, Fa'aana?"

"Please," she panted.

No armrest between them he pulled her in tight and his juicy lips took hers. When his tongue licked the seam of her lips, she opened up to him and took him in her mouth.

What are you doing?

She was on the job. She was supposed to be on post waiting to serve passengers who may wake up and want water, or coffee. Here she was with this fine young thing making out like she was trying to be a mile-high club patron.

Her hands went up to touch his hair and his left hand rested on her thigh inching its way up her uniform skirt…

"Hey, wait," she said breaking away from him. She rubbed her cheeks against his facial hair.

She heard a rumble in his chest and an irritated groan escape his lips.

"Too fast?" he asked staring at her eyes with a dreamy look on his sexy ass face.

"Let's just watch the movie."

"You sure?" he said, licking his lips and staring at her.

"That would be best. Safe."

"Okay, Birthday Girl."

He sat back in his seat and he rewound the movie to the last part they watched. Of course, it was a sex scene. A long one too. They stuck the earbuds on.

She folded her arms across her waist.

"You cold?" he asked.

He handed her one of the flimsy blankets and turned down the air above them. She spread the blanket over her legs.

"Lay on me if you want. I stay hot," he said.

She gave him a smirk.

"No, for real. My ex said I'm like a furnace sometimes," he said.

She allowed her left arm and leg to lean against him, and goodness, he was really warm. A nice cozy warm.

They continued watching the movie, and in the scene, a beautiful woman beckoned to her lover, a gangster she had betrayed throughout the movie, and they were lying in bed having passionate sex. The man was squirming in the scene like he was having convulsions.

"Shit that good, homie?" Erik said.

She giggled.

"He actin' like that thang yanks," he said.

"Oh my God, Erik—"

"What? Look at him. Damn…let me find pussy that good."

She found the crude talk exciting. She pressed into his arm a little more.

"You comfortable?" he asked looking down at her.

He lifted his arm and put it around her shoulder. She wanted to curl up and fall asleep on him. He smelled so good, a mixture of coconut oil and some subtle scent like a smoky clove scent. She rested her head against his chest and shifted the earplug to her other ear.

The movie turned into a chase scene and actually kept them both riveted despite having to read the subtitles. It was hard to concentrate because Erik was rubbing on her arm.

There was movement a few rows up and Erik removed his arm from her and she felt a grimace paint her face. God forbid a passenger would want her to work right now. She felt wrong for thinking that because of course she was on the clock, but it felt so nice…so right lying up against him.

She stuck her head out to look for anyone needing assistance, but it was just a passenger about five rows up shifting in their sleep. She opted to stay alert and not lay on Erik. She pressed up into her seat but kept her thigh next to Erik's. He rested his arm and hand on his thigh and part of hers. When she didn't move away from his touch, his hand crept over and rested totally on her thigh. Her breathing became a little heavier even though his hand was on top of the blanket.

"Here comes ole girl again…oh snap. Now she's with the head dude? Nah, she's triflin'…" he said.

She could only focus on Erik's warm hand stroking her thigh in small movements.

"This woman is putting it on these niggas and yoking them up," he said. He started chuckling. His eyes glanced over at her. "Damn, Ma."

"What?" she whispered.

His eyes trapped hers in his.

"You look sexy as hell right now. This movie got you excited?"

She shook her head.

"What got you lookin' like that?"

He already knew it was him. She could tell. He was toying with her. His touch hypnotizing her body. He pulled his earplug from his ear and hers.

"Let me give you a little Birthday present," he said.

"What kind of present?"

"Take your stockings off."

"Why?"

"You know why."

She hesitated. They had reached the point of no return.

"You don't have to if you don't want to. We can still just chill, or I can go back to my seat…"

She didn't want that.

Shit. Why not? It was her birthday. She would never see this man again. Enjoy him. Take whatever he wanted to give. She reached between her legs and pulled down her stockings and shimmied out of them. She balled them up and stuck them inside the pocket of the seat in front of her.

"You have to keep quiet," he said lifting up the blanket and placing part of it over his lap, "Pull your skirt up."

She gave thanks and praise that she had shaved her legs and trimmed up her chocha before she came to work. She wiggled a bit under the blanket fixing her skirt for him. Her eyes fell to his right hand and his thick fingers. The veins in his hand were up and she felt a whimper leave her parted lips.

His hand moved under the blanket and she felt the heat from his skin as his fingers found her damp panties.

"Damn, you're wet already. You been waiting for this, huh?" he whispered. He slid her panties to the side and her vulva slickened his fingers. She could hear his breathing become heavy. Three of his fingers pressed into her mound, easily finding her swollen clit and gifting it with tight slow circles. She widened her legs for him.

"Look at you being a wet slut for me," he said.

She slammed her right hand into her mouth to help herself keep quiet.

"Don't let your boss hear you," he said.

She could hear him panting.

"Can I play in your pussy?" he asked.

"Yes."

He moved his hand from under the blanket and lifted her up easily, placing her sideways on his lap.

"Hold your legs open," he said.

His left arm supported her back and she without a shameless bone in her body let her knees bend and her legs spread for him.

He dragged his fingers up and down her dripping slit, her panties twisted to the side.

"I bet you got a tight pussy," he hummed into her ear.

She whimpered and squirmed a bit in his lap.

"Shhh, be quiet, take these fingers," he said.

She felt him at her entrance, spreading her folds wide open, and then the sudden pressure of three fingers sinking into her slowly.

"Tight as fuck…damn," he gasped keeping his voice low and close to her ear.

She could feel the hard bulge of his erection under her ass, but she could barely focus on that when her walls were being tapped by his thick digits with expert precision. He pulled his fingers out and licked them, then placed them back inside of her.

"You a tasty bitch—"

"Fuck—" she hissed trying to swallow the word. Jesus, what if Mark or Mavis came looking for her? And God forbid one of the other passengers woke up and walked to the rear lavatories to take a piss.

His fingers found her swollen clit again and the mewling coming from her made him rotate his hips so that she could feel the girth of his shaft. He was a big boy for sure. He reached over into the seat and picked up the blanket that was once on her lap. He balled up a small part of it and shoved it in her mouth. She bit onto it as he slipped his fingers back inside of her, the in and out movement simulating a righteous birthday fucking.

"Shit, Ma. I wish I had a condom with me right now. I'd fuck you outta this plane."

She was breathing in hard through her nose and exhaling into the cloth shoved in her mouth. The sound of his fingers working her pussy was loud and obscene to her ears. People had to be able to hear all the squelching noises his fingers were causing her sopping folds to make. Her face felt tight and her eyes were rolling back. How could this be happening? A fine man walks onto a plane and hours later he's fingering her like he loves her?

Most men she had been with took a while to know her body well enough to make her pussy fall apart like that. Erik made her pussy jump the moment he said her name right, and now he had her ready to follow him anywhere. If this is what his fingers could do, what the fuck could his tongue and dick do to her?

Goddamn, he was hitting her clit with his fingers.

"My big dick would fuck this pussy up. Your boyfriend in Atlanta wouldn't be able to feel your pussy when I was done with it," he said.

She squeezed her eyes shut. He was slapping her vulva now and pinching her labia. She arched her back and it was like he could read her mind again. He spit on his fingers and rubbed them around her clit once more, pressing down as he rubbed so that he was covering part of her mound. His timing was impeccable because she came hard and fast and he watched her face as she did.

"Happy Birthday, Baby," he said as she collapsed on his lap, sweaty, wet between the legs, and feeling beyond satisfied.

[Part 2]  [Part 3]

Author’s Note:

Thank you for reading/sharing/spending your time here.

Be sure to check out “Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Vol 1 & 2. Book series details Erik’s Mom & Daddy N’Jobu meeting, hooking up, fucking (a lot), having Erik, raising his lil ass in Oakland, and creating the man you see in this story and others you can find HERE.

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

To Keep You Safe

Title: I don't wanna be the one to have the sun's blood on my hands

Chapter: 19/?

Author: hopeless_romantic_spoonie

Summary: Life as the assistant to Tony Stark was busy, but boring. All of that changed when I touched something I shouldn't have and woke up with strange new abilities. If I thought that trying to figure out my new place in life as an Avenger was tough, I had no idea what was in store for me once I ran into the frustrating God of Mischief, Loki.

Rating: E 

Notes: Friendly reminder that this is un-Beta’d, so please excuse any typos or grammatical errors I no doubt missed during revisions!

Also on Ao3 here :)

Warnings for this chapter: Graphic depictions of violence, brief mention of previous torture, blood, language

~~~

“Loki Odinson was under the control of an outside force and coerced into his misdeeds in the 2012 Invasion of New York. After the incident, he served time for his crimes in solitary confinement on his homeworld of Asgard. He has since returned with his brother, King Thor Odinson of Asgard, to make amends for his previous actions. He has assisted the Avengers on several missions to better the safety of our fellow man. His presence here is fully supported by myself and the rest of the Avengers. He is not a threat to us.”

Tony was a natural at press conferences. Even when reading a pre-prepared speech, which he would hopefully stick to this time, he seemed completely at ease with the stressful situation and stiff legalese. Only those closest to him would notice the tension he held in his shoulders or the worry he hid behind his glasses. Loki was going to be a hard sell, and by proxy, so would I.

I had stood on the sidelines for countless press conferences and events acting as his assistant. I was comfortable in that role; my job consisted of just waiting to step in if it went south or if an urgent matter came up that I needed to get Tony out of there to handle. I was much less confident in my current position. I was the subject, or at least a good part of it, to be discussed in front of a hundred reporters who would then publish or broadcast it to millions of people. All eyes were on me and the Asgardian by my side, scrutinizing our every twitch and breath. A wrong move would not end up in just my firing from the company, but with the very real possibility of my arrest. It wasn’t a relaxed atmosphere, to be sure.

Loki, on the other hand, looked as poised and calm as ever. It was easy to picture him as he would’ve been on Asgard, standing dutifully to the side as Odin rambled on and on about some issue that he would most definitely handle differently. There wasn’t a crack in his apathetic gaze as he stared out at the crowd, looking as if he belonged there in his dark gray three-piece suit. Tall and proud and wholly above the proceedings, I felt very small in comparison.

“Many of you have seen her before, but the newest member of the Avengers is my former assistant, Jennifer Thompson. She has been a huge asset to the team since she joined several months ago. We have nothing but positive things to say about her and her abilities.”

All of the heads and cameras in the room swiveled to direct their attention to me. I wanted to shrink away into the shadows beneath their intense scrutiny. I settled for dropping my eyes to the floor. Loki shifted on his feet enough to brush his arm against mine, and I flicked my gaze over to him. He lifted his chin slightly higher and took a deep breath in through his nose, directing his eyes to settle just above the reporters present. I took the hint and fixed my neutral gaze just beyond the onlookers. With my hands clasped behind my back and my chin lifted proudly, I could almost pull off looking as stately as him. Almost. My quickened breathing and ashen face had to give my nerves away.

“Now, I know that you’re all here because of the incident that occurred last night. Loki and Ms. Thompson had been out on a mission for us when they were attacked by terrorists. They handled the situation as best as any of us could have, without any civilian casualties. Rest assured that we are working on finding and eliminating this terrorist cell permanently. In the meantime, we ask for your patience and continued support. Thank you.”

Of course, his clear-cut dismissal and retreat from the podium didn’t stop the barrage of questions hurled in our direction.

“Are Loki and Ms. Thompson dating?”

“Who were the terrorists?”

“How can we know that he’s changed?”

~~~

“I’m not wearing heels, Nat,” I refused, scowling at the black strappy stilettos of death she held out for me. “Besides, you won’t be able to see them in this dress.”

I wasn’t wrong. My black floor-length gown completely hid my bare feet as I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Thankfully Pepper had listened when I asked for some sort of sleeve to hide the scar on my shoulder, but chose to ignore the request for a dress with a back as well. The intricate lace that began above the deep-V of opaque fabric at my chest continued up to the collar at my neck and down both arms, but it didn’t extend to the very open and low back. The dimples at the base of my spine were visible, for goodness sake. If anyone tried to touch any part of my back tonight they would just get a handful of my skin. Awesome.

The tangled web of scars stretching across my middle and upper back were out for all to see, as Nat had insisted that the dress was meant to highlight them for a reason--to show the world what I’d faced and overcome--but it just sounded like I was some freak put out on display. She insisted that leaving my long hair down would be a waste of such a beautiful gown; the elegant bun pinned to my head with far too many bobby pins was much more fitting, in her opinion. I didn’t argue, but maybe I should have. It would only give the people who were coming just to see Loki and me in public another thing to speculate about, but it wasn’t a battle worth fighting. Whenever Nat was in control of my styling I just let her go to town. She knew what she was doing, and my nerves were pulling my thoughts in too many directions to even begin to formulate a decent argument.

“C’mon, Jen! Grow a pair and wear the damn heels. It won’t kill you and it’ll make your ass look great,” she replied, tossing the shoes at my feet so she could strap into her own slinky stilettos.

I ignored her, going to my closet to select and step into a simple pair of black flats instead. “My ass already looks great,” I countered, painted plum lips pulling into a smirk.

“His ego is rubbing off on you.” She rolled her kohl-rimmed eyes, checking herself out in the mirror before heading to the door. “C’mon Princess, we don’t have all night.”

I rolled my eyes and followed her out, my snappy comeback dying on my lips as I got an eyeful in my escort for the evening waiting outside of my room. All of the air rushed out of my lungs. Loki had no right to make a tuxedo look that good. I stopped dead in my tracks, ogling him appreciatively before he took notice of me. Leaning against the wall with his hands shoved into his pockets and his head dropped to stare at his shined black leather shoes, he could have walked out of a movie. His slightly curly hair was tucked back behind his ears to accentuate his sculpted cheekbones and chiseled jaw, and his emerald green bowtie brought out his penetrating gaze when finally looked up upon our entrance. My heart stuttered in my chest as our eyes met; he was the most stunning man I had ever laid eyes on, and he was all mine.

I blushed under the heat of his perusal as he languorously traced every curve of my body in the tight dress with his penetrating gaze. He sauntered over to offer me his arm with a leering smile. “You are ravishing, love,” he whispered into my ear, lightly setting his hand over mine when I slipped it into the crook of his arm.

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Asgardian,” I replied warmly as he led us downstairs. Nat had made everyone wait for us--perfection couldn’t be rushed--but she claimed they wouldn’t mind when they saw what they had been waiting for. From Loki’s darkened eyes and wolfish grin, I’d have to agree with her on that one.

Our entrance was welcomed with a wolf whistle from Sam which triggered another deep blush to bloom on my fair skin. Loki tensed up, either from jealousy or possessiveness, and I stroked the inside of his arm with my thumb to soothe him. That side of him was never going to go away, no matter how much I proved my loyalty to him. Truthfully, the less civilized part of me enjoyed his desire to keep me for his own. I hazarded a look around the room, which immediately made me feel inadequate. It was a little intimidating to be reminded that the people you lived and worked with could all pass for models and movie stars.

Thor, immaculately dressed in his own tux, came forward and clapped Loki on the shoulder. “Well done, brother,” he said loudly in that resounding voice of his that echoed around the large reception area. I couldn’t help but smile at the implied compliment and received a wink for my efforts. While the eldest Odinson wasn’t my type--I couldn’t believe that I had thought he was at one point--I could understand the easy, confident appeal that he had as he chatted idly with the man holding me securely to him. Loki also seemed to appreciate the hearty endorsement, as he stood a bit taller and cast a proud smile in my direction.

“Natasha, Sam, Steve, and Thor, you’re in the first car. Jen and Loki, you’re in the second car with Tony and myself. Wanda and Vision, you’re with Bruce in the last car. We’re late, so let’s get a move on,” Pepper called, walking in from outside and pointing everybody in the right direction. Tony was apparently already in the car, as he was nowhere to be found.

Loki and I followed Pepper, climbing into the black SUV assigned to us and settling in the back row. Tony was, as I guessed, sitting in the row in front of us fiddling with something on his phone. He didn’t even move at our entrance, and only briefly looked up to kiss Pepper on the side of her head when she sat next to him and told the driver to head away from the Compound.

Several minutes into the ride, Pepper turned around as best as she could in the seat so she could face us. “I have to tell you this even though you probably know it, but you both need to be on your best behavior tonight. Nobody really knew you as Tony’s assistant, Jen, and they’re going to want to get under your skin. Loki, Thor assured me that you have been to many events like this on Asgard and that you would know how to act properly?” She paused, waiting for Loki’s quick nod of agreement before continuing, “You both need to consider how you want to present yourselves. Jen, you know how it goes. You saw the spotlight that fell on us after we went public. Just,” she looked pointedly at Loki before meeting my thoughtful hazel eyes, “think about how you want it to go, okay?” She offered us a sympathetic smile before turning around, going back to whatever work she had to do on her smartphone.

“What is she referring to?” Loki asked quietly, probably not wanting to be overheard by the couple diligently working away just in front of us.

I shook my head and tried to muster up a reassuring smile but I could tell by the frustration written on his face that it wasn’t successful. “I don’t know. Probably nothing important.”

His steady gaze turned to steel and he leaned toward me slowly. “Do not lie to the God of Lies, little one. It never works out well.”

I suddenly became very interested in a piece of lace detailing on my sleeve, picking at it with my nails to avoid looking at him. That didn’t work for too long, as he delicately grasped my chin with his long fingers and lifted so I was forced to look at him.

“Tell me what she meant,” he ordered, his low voice brokering no room for argument.

I knew exactly what she was implying, and I also knew that he wasn’t going to take it well. But if I didn’t tell him, his irritation was going to get the best of him and that wasn’t what we needed right before spending several hours playing nice in front of people desperate to see us crack. “Besides what happened last week, I’m relatively unknown to the public. I have a small reputation as Tony’s assistant, standing in the background while he conducted business. There press and paparazzi are going to be there, digging for whatever they can find to publish in the tabloids and trashy magazines. Which wouldn’t be so bad, but…” I stopped, tugging my chin free from his hand so I could direct my quiet words at his chest. “If I present myself as your partner, it,” I sighed heavily, “it won’t look the best for me. She was reminding me that appearing in public with you, as your partner, is going to make your reputation rub off on mine. It’s going to make it all much more difficult.”

He visibly stiffened, shifting farther away from me in the seat as he regarded me with a feigned air of cold indifference. His spindly fingers laced together on his lap. “Ahh, I see. Is that what you want? To no longer be tied to me and my negative past deeds?”

“No!” I said loudly, earning a quick concerned glance from Tony and Pepper. I smiled awkwardly until they gave up on their curiosity and turned around. “No. I’m not going to abandon you just because tonight is going to suck. This will, however, be our moment to publically come out as a couple. So, we need to decide if we want the world to know about us or not. We will be closely observed either way. What do youwant?” I asked, my stomach threatening to come up through my throat at the sudden onset of nerves raging inside of me. I couldn’t stop my hands from wringing together in my lap if someone paid me.

“I am proud to have you by my side,” he replied, the hurt he managed to hide from his stony expression creeping into his otherwise clear voice. “But it is your decision on whether or not you feel the same.”

“We will be the most hated people there…” I cautioned. He needed to be prepared for what we were about to face, whether we did it together or not.

“I have spent the majority of my life as the most despised person in mixed company. Their opinions do not matter to me.” He frowned. Vulnerability reflected in his eyes for a brief moment before he turned to the window. “It would, however, make this ordeal much more bearable if I did not have to face the criticism alone.”

Really fucked that one up. Good job. I slouched backwards, deflating as I stared out my window. I didn’t know whether I was more upset at Pepper for bringing it up or at myself for even making the suggestion that we might go it alone. I knew about his deeply rooted trust and abandonment issues and I had just played into them handily. Words weren’t going to make it any better. He was the God of Lies. He knew that words meant little compared to actions. The only option I had was to show him that I wanted to stand by his side through it all.

Because that’s what I wanted, right? I couldn’t imagine facing all of this alone, and I certainly didn’t want him to have to do it either. He, more so than anyone tonight, was going to be watched like a hawk at this event. He hadn’t yet proved to them that he wasn’t the same man that they had last seen. I couldn’t throw him to the wolves like that. We made each other stronger in all situations, and this was more nerve-wracking than any mission for the Avengers. We’d both be much calmer if we could lean on the other in our weaker moments.

The car pulled up outside of the venue for the night, an impossibly large museum, and stopped right next to the red-carpeted stairs. Through the heavily tinted windows dozens of paparazzi lay in wait to get pictures of the Avengers and other celebrities as they made their way into the charity gala. And, by some twist of fate, I had been lumped into that group.

Pepper and Tony exited first to a chorus of shouts and cheers. Loki, ever the gentlemen when it concerned me, gracefully withdrew from the car before turning to offer his hand to assist me. Apprehension settled in faint lines on his fair skin as he waited, illuminated from behind by the flashing bulbs of tabloid reporters waiting to get the perfect shot of our entrance. With a grateful smile, I took his hand, carefully easing myself out of the car. Loki’s stricken face studied me, waiting for my next move to indicate how we would go about the evening.

I released him to smooth down my dress with shaking hands and his face fell instantly, but only briefly; his mask of apathy slipping over his face with practiced ease. He began to walk away, adjusting his suit jacket stiffly, and I just barely managed to snag his wrist before he made it too far. He turned on his heel to see what I needed and my heart panged in my chest at the hint of betrayal shining in his eyes.

My hand drifted down his wrist to lace my fingers with his and pull him into my side. “You can’t leave me alone with these sharks. It’s not very Prince-like of you,” I teased with a hopeful grin.

A relieved smile spread across his face, showing his teeth and wrinkling around his eyes. Bright flashes from the cameras pointed at us blinded me as he left a lingering kiss on my forehead. His pleased hum vibrated through my skull. The tension left his body with heavy exhale of relief. “Please excuse my poor manners. It will not happen again.” He brushed another kiss on the back of my hand before straightening up to face the screaming paparazzi head-on.

“-you two together or-”

“-side of what happened last-”

“-she a good la-”

“-Tony not good enough so you had to move up-”

“-with an Asgardian Prince like?”

“-do we know this isn’t just another trick-”

Loki’s head tilted slightly to the side as he fought to catch each sleazy and lowball question. With a quick wave at the yelling silhouettes behind the flashing cameras, I tugged him along the walkway. Now wasn’t the time to give them any attention that wasn’t necessary, and I told him so.

“A number of those questions were out of line,” he muttered, shooting a glare back in their direction while I guided him inside of the building.

“They want to get a rise out of us; it sells their shitty magazines. Don’t stoop to their level,” I replied, leading him down the cordoned-off pathway. My sure steps ground to a halt just outside of the hall where the gala was actually taking place. A lead ball had fallen into my stomach and my heart thundered in my chest.

Loki took in my anxious face and pulled me off to the side, allowing the small crowd of people we had been blocking to continue inside unhindered. He stooped down until all I could see was his face. “Do not tell me that you are afraid to go into that room filled with harmless mortals?”

I laughed weakly. “I’m not afraid of the other mortals. I just don’t want to go in there, big difference.”

He rolled his eyes at my bluff. He straightened up and pressed his hands over the front of my shoulders so that I dropped them back to mirror his impeccable posture. Before taking my hand once again, he nudged my chin upwards with his calloused fingers. “If they will not give you the respect that you deserve, take it from them. Show them the fierce woman that I know you to be.”

Bolstered by his confident assurances, I followed him into the crowded room. I fixated on his thumb rubbing against the thin skin of my knuckles. I forced myself to not focus on the hush that fell over the space as soon as we entered or the eyes that watched our every move as we made our way over to the bar. I didn’t pay attention to the hushed utterances of our names as I downed a glass of red wine and then clutched onto my second. I was one-hundred percent not paying attention to them at all.

Right.

The only saving grace, besides Loki’s continued quiet presence at my side, turned out to be his brother. We had managed to find an area along the wall where I could keep an eye on everyone and stay out of the way, hoping not to be bothered. Thor had other ideas, as he strolled over to us with a beaming smile and held out his hand to me.

“Right now you are both a terrifying sight, ghostly in black as you stare people down. Come, dance with me, my lady,” he offered, directing the words to me but his attention on Loki.

“He has a point,” I conceded, also looking up to the imposing man at my side. He definitely had the tall, dark, and handsome thing going on, but in a much more menacing manner than the saying usually implied.

To his credit, he extinguished the small flicker of doubt that reflected in his eyes down enough for him to nod at us both. “They do seem to have taken to you, brother. Go on, then.”

Loki took my proffered half-full glass of wine and I stood on my toes to quickly kiss his cheek before I took Thor’s hand. He was determined to make our revelry known, as if all eyes weren’t on us anyway, by stationing us at the center of the dance floor. The live band hired for the event played a catchy, upbeat tune. Thor put one hand on my back, shockingly warm compared to Loki’s, and took my other hand, swinging us around to the beat. It was impossible not to give in to his infectious joy as he danced, looking more carefree than I’d seen him in ages. It took only a few turns and ridiculous dance moves from Thor before I was laughing so hard that my face ached. He wasn’t ever really that uptight around the Compound, but it wasn’t every day that the King of Asgard let loose so completely.

After my dance with Thor was over, Tony smoothly cut in. He made sure to be respectable with his hand resting on the middle of my back, avoiding my scars, the other holding mine lightly.

“Rock of Ages doesn’t look too happy over there,” he said, glancing behind me.

I peeked over my shoulder to see Loki standing where I had left him, arms crossed as he carefully monitored us. The high arch of his brow dared Tony to try anything untoward. I turned back to Tony with a shake of my head. “He gets a little…”

“Possessive? Jealous? Dramatic?” Tony offered with a smirk.

“Concerned,” I supplied, silently agreeing with Tony’s offering. “I don’t mind it.”

Loki couldn’t help it, though. Everything good in his life had been ripped from him, and while we hadn’t discussed it, I knew that Thor had reminded him of the grim fact that my days with him were numbered. The hazards of my position in the Avengers only added another layer of danger to my life. If I were him, if I had suffered as much as he had over those that he cared about, I’d keep me as close as possible, too.

A tall black man dressed in a monochromatic black suit approached his, a wide smile that didn’t reach his eyes plastered on his face as he held out his hand for Tony to shake, which he accepted after releasing me. His eye--for he had an eyepatch covering the scarred socket of the other--only glanced at me before settling back on Tony. “Mr. Stark, so glad to have you come with the rest of your team! I haven’t been introduced to the newest member,” he said jovially, clapping Tony on the upper arm briefly before turning to fully face me.

“Ah, of course. Nick Fury, this is Jennifer Thompson, my former assistant and newest member of the Avengers. Jen, Fury is the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the man that I’ve been speaking to about our current situation with Hydra.” Tony made the introductions politely, but the tightness around his mouth hinted at a tension that he couldn’t disclose in mixed company.

“Pleasure to finally meet you.” His large hand grasped mine for a strong handshake just teetering on painful.

I pulled it away as soon as possible, discreetly folding my hands together in front of me so as to deter any further physical interaction. “The pleasure is all mine, Director Fury.”

“Would you care to dance?” he asked without a smile. The emotion behind his offer was completely opposite to Thor’s earlier. While the golden god had been jovial and bright when he offered, Fury leveled me with a calculating stare that did nothing to hide the evaluation he was bestowing upon me.

I didn’t see how I had a choice in the matter. Not when it came to someone in a position to drastically help us or hurt us, as he saw fit. I plastered a smile on my face that didn’t reach my eyes and settled my hand into his. “Sure!”

If nothing else, I was grateful that Fury followed Tony and Thor’s lead and placed his hand just beneath my ribs on the bare skin of my back, and that his rigid arm held us at a reasonable distance away from one another. All I had to do was get through this dance and then I was heading back to my partner so he could scare off any more threatening men who just felt off in some odd way that I couldn’t pinpoint.

“You have caused quite a ruckus, young lady,” he commented, looking down his nose at me as he led us in slow circles around the dance floor.

“It wasn’t intentional,” I pointed out, doing my best to keep my voice calm and polite. It was working, so far.

“We at S.H.I.E.L.D. have been very curious about what makes you so special that Hydra would want you so badly.”

Exasperation creeped out of where I had poorly tucked it away, “If you ever find out, let me know.”

He turned me out of his arms and then back into him again, pulling me close enough that our chests touched lightly with each breath. I stiffened, but without making a scene I was stuck until the dance was over. “It is odd, if I may say so, that you were just an assistant for Tony and now you’re a member of the Avengers.”

My blood ran cold at the unspoken accusation beneath his words. “What exactly are you trying to say, Fury?”

He dropped his hands from me and shoved them into his pockets with a shrug of his shoulders that didn’t match his icy tone. “Only that it is peculiar for a nobody such as yourself to be thrust into this world, join the Avengers, cosy up with a villain like Loki, and become a target for Hydra all in the span of less than a year.”

I flexed my fingers by my side, and an empty champagne glass flew into my waiting hand without my consciously calling on it. His eye widened as he watched my fingers tighten around it before he smoothed a knowing smirk back onto his face. “Strike a nerve?” he asked, looking far too pleased with himself.

“No,” I tilted my head to the side and stared up at him with barely-restrained anger, “but I could strike one of yours.”

He leaned forward until I could feel his breath on my face, eyes flicking down to the glassware clenched in my fist. “Do it,” he challenged. “Prove to them that you’re the villain I know you are.”

My blood boiled and I was highly cognizant of the power that coursed beneath my skin. He straightened up to fully tower over me with a pleased grin. I clenched my jaw, fighting against my desire to drag him into an abandoned room and make him regret this unsettling conversation when a hand wrapped around my waist and turned me away from Fury.

I jerked my head up, ready to give whoever was holding me a piece of my mind when I realized it was Loki who was quickly leading me away. He brought me to a more crowded area of the dance floor, erasing the lingering feeling of Fury’s hand on my back with his own cool touch, his other pulling the glass from my hand to make it disappear before moving my now empty hand to perch upon his shoulder. Satisfied with how I was positioned, his hand ghosted up my back and the other curled around mine away from our bodies. “They’re watching every move you make,” he cautioned me softly, tracing his concerned gaze over my frowning face.

He guided me around the room in a slow, elegant waltz. It was all I could do to keep up with his graceful movements without stepping on his toes. Thankfully he had enough experience to compensate for my lack of dancing experience. We had both proven our prowess at grinding on each other at the club, but here, he shined. Like this, he was regal, graceful, powerful as he commanded the floor. Warmth filled his eyes as he stared down at me with the barest hint of a kind smile. With his hand cupping my shoulder blade and the other holding mine firmly, I was swept away into the measured rise and fall of our bodies. Somehow, staring into his eyes, trusting him to lead me in the unfamiliar steps, breathing the same air as him in front of so many people, this felt more intimate than any dance we had shared amongst sweaty bodies and thumping bass.

“And how is this any different than them watching me put Fury in his place?” I asked petulantly.

He chuckled and shook his head lightly. “Because that will surely not convince them of your nauseatingly good-natured personality, which I need to use to further my positive reputation among those who wish to see me locked away in prison for all eternity.”

I smacked his shoulder with a laugh.

The mirth fell from his features. His eyes warmed once again with sincerity, and I would’ve sworn up and down that my heart skipped a beat. He spun me away from him fluidly, only to pull me back into his arms with a quick tug on my hand. When I twirled back against him he kept still. His free hand tucked a bit of hair that had fallen from my bun behind my ear, and it curled around the side of my neck to caress my jaw. “In all honesty, I was going mad watching you in the arms of other men. You are the most exquisite woman in attendance tonight. Your impeccable waltz with a dashing prince?” He bent down to leave a tender kiss on my parted lips. “Let that be fodder for the pathetic press.”

How was I supposed to respond to something like that? Thank you for loving me so completely? My fingers rubbed at the smooth fabric of his tuxedo jacket, and after opening and closing my mouth several times hoping that a response would tumble out, all I could manage was, “My Loki.”

Pride raised his chin minutely and the most breathtaking smile tugged on his lips. A pleasant glow flooded through my body and I knew that I had to look like some lovestruck fool beaming up at him, but I didn’t care. The answering adoration shining in his eyes was all that I needed. The clicks of cameras were barely audible over the live band as he gathered me back into his arms to resume the dance.

The intensity of his words lingered in my mind, providing a welcome distraction from the unpleasant conversation with Fury, but not a lengthy one. At the song’s end, he brought us to a stop in the center of the now-deserted dance floor. He maintained eye contact with me as he brought my hand to his lips, brushing a delicate kiss there before bowing at his waist before me. Was he for real? I lowered my chin to my chest in response, curtsying seemed a little too much, and when I lifted my head I caught Fury watching us from behind Loki’s shoulder. He stood out like a sore thumb--analytical and alarming-- among the rest of the crowd that had stopped their mingling and dancing to watch the spectacle of the newest Avengers sweeping across the floor.

I squeezed Loki’s hand and closed the distance between us as another song began, opting for the more comfortable dancing position of high schoolers at prom everywhere, draping one arm around his neck and shifting back and forth on our feet. “I have a bad feeling about him.”

“Did he threaten you?” he questioned darkly after he slowly turned us around to see who I had been referring to.

“I don’t think so. I’m not sure,” I replied hesitantly, inching closer to him so that I could rest my forehead in the crook of his neck. I just wanted to soak up the comfort of his presence for a moment of peace, even if it was just a single moment.

He shifted my hand to his chest so that he could place both of his on my back, stroking the scarred skin with his thumbs as he held me close. I tensed up at the contact on my sensitive marred flesh. He swept his hands up to cover the majority of the scars, his touch gentle but unyielding. “They are part of you. They show your strength.”

“That’s what Nat said,” I muttered, lost in thought. I closed my eyes and willed the sway of our bodies and the beat of his heart to banish the crawling of my skin from the talk with Fury. Surely if Tony had been working with him to track down Hydra he couldn’t be all bad? Maybe he was like the rest of the onlookers and was trying to see what made me tick. He was the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and he would want to know more about me as such. He had to protect the people from any threats, and I wasn’t out of the woods on that front yet. Plus, my abilities were still not well known, and the public was itching for more information about me.

They were already getting plenty of details on my relationship with Loki, if him rescuing me from that conversation, leading me in a stunning beautiful waltz, and cradling me close to his body as we swayed back and forth were any indication. He wasn’t known for public displays of affection; he had a reputation as a stone-cold badass to uphold. But Fury wouldn’t care about that, except for what it meant concerning Loki’s alleged redemption and my role in it.

My train of thought was derailed when Loki stopped swaying and dug his fingertips into my skin roughly. I opened my eyes and craned my neck to look up at him. The rage and alarm that burned in his eyes as he stared at something behind me set my heart racing in my chest.

“Go find Thor and stay with him,” he commanded, storming off quickly towards the exit.

I was never one to follow directions to the letter. I looked around the room, spotting the big muscled man talking to someone pleasantly and holding a beer. Not wanting to waste time closing the distance between us I reached out, curling my fingers toward me so that the beer left his hand and flew into mine, dodging people and sloshing a bit of the fizzy liquid onto the floor on the way. He looked up in alarm and traced its path to see me watching him urgently. I set the drink on the tray of a passing waiter and jerked my head in the direction that Loki had gone before walking as quickly as I could after him. Best not to make a scene, even if we were stealing the limelight for most of the evening.

Thor caught up with me before I’d even reached the exit. “What is wrong?”

I didn’t slow down. If he wanted to have this conversation he was going to have to speed walk and talk with me. I only barely caught sight of the heel of Loki’s shoe as he turned the corner. Damn, he’s fast. “Loki told me to find you and stay with you. So that’s what I’m doing.”

“I do not believe this is what he had in mind,” he reasoned. His hand encircled my wrist to stop me from rushing after Loki.

I whirled around to face him. “Whatever he is chasing is obviously dangerous if he wants to keep me away from it. Now, do you want to leave him to face it alone or do you want to come with me to see what it is? I will go through you to get to him if I have to,” I threatened, flexing my hands just enough so that the metal supports around the windows behind us creaked in response. He may be almost a foot taller than me, a god with the power to smite me down where I stood, and a man I was beginning to call a friend once again, but I would fight him tooth and nail to get outside to stand by Loki’s side in whatever he had gone off to confront. “I’m not leaving him.”

Indecision warred on his face, his blue eye flicking between me and the exit to the building several times. The choice was made for him, however, when a great roar followed by a flash of green light came from outside, lighting up the large room through the windows.

“Loki!” he bellowed, sprinting outside.

I did my best to follow, but my legs were restricted by my long, tight dress. Frustrated, I snagged a glass from a woman as she walked by and smashed it on the floor. I used one of the shards to cut a slit on both sides of the dress, ignoring the cuts it left on my hand as I ripped at the slits until they reached my knees.

It was such a pretty dress, too.

Not what’s important right now. Focus, idiot.

Now free to move, I bolted outside, my eyes straining to find Loki. I barely heard Tony fly up behind me; the jets of his suit were a mere whisper against the blood rushing in my ears as I searched the darkness.

There. He was kneeling over the body of a man, his leathers covered in blood and growing dirtier with each powerful blow of his fist that he slammed into the man’s face. Thor was at his side in an instant, wrapping an arm around him and tossing him off and away from the man. He put his arms around Loki’s chest when he lurched to his feet to go back to his brutal task.

“Unhand me, brother!”

Trusting Thor to keep Loki contained, I ran over to the still figure on the ground, falling to my knees by his side. His face was an unrecognizable mess of blood and tissue that made me gag. I was forced to look away to compose myself. My watery eyes fell upon the cane the man held limply: thin, black, with the Hydra symbol along the side. A muffled groan came from the man below me, blood bubbling from his mouth as he tried to speak.

Kneeling on a cold concrete floor. Flashes of never-ending pain as a cane whipped across my back again and again. This man ordering my torture as he held it at his side.

Malfoy.

I snatched the cane from his slack hand, bringing it behind me and then bringing it down against the side of his head with it with all of my might. A feral cry between a sob and a scream tore through my painted lips. The sickening sound of wood meeting pulverized flesh would forever haunt me. But it wasn’t enough. I snapped the cane in half over my thigh, and with another agonized cry, shoved both jagged ends into his chest.

I didn’t realize I was crying until I felt warm arms wrap around me. A tiny part of my brain told me not to attack Thor as he pulled me away from the grisly scene. Loki stood in front of me, wiping away my tears with his thumbs as he cradled my face in tender blood-stained hands.

“It’s over, love. It’s over,” he soothed, gently drawing me away from Thor to cradle my head against his chest. The blood on his leather armor seeped into my thin dress and raised goosebumps on my skin in conjunction with his cool touch, but I didn’t want to pull away. His presence was a balm on the overwhelming emotions swirling within me.

“Guys, now’s not the time,” Tony warned, landing heavily next to us. I looked up from where I had been staring blankly at Loki’s chest to take in the gathering crowd of people watching us with horrified expressions. Even worse were the photographers pushing their way through as they did their best to get a picture of the dead man and his murderers.

Shit.

“Can you conceal this?” I questioned quietly, leaving his arms to stand in between the crowd and the corpse behind me. As if that was going to help anything.

“They have already seen it,” he answered, staring down the throng coming closer with a wary expression in his eyes.

“You two get her out of here,” Tony instructed, flying forward to stop the incoming crowd before it could get any closer.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught the rest of the gala guests spilling out of the building, including the rest of the Avengers. Oncoming sirens sounded through the roar of the shocked crowd as news of what we had done traveled through them. I stayed silent as I fought to remain present. Even when forced to face the reality of having killed a man in cold blood, it was a better alternative than to descend into painful memories that Malfoy’s reappearance attempted to trigger.

Loki’s right. It’s over.

White-hot fire tore across my bicep. My shocked cry pierced my ears and the world moved in slow motion as my heart rate kicked up a notch in my chest. I looked down to see blood pouring down my arm, staining my alabaster skin red beneath the black lace. Arms wrapped around me, cushioning my head against wet leather as we tumbled to the frigid ground. Screams and gunshots sounded into the night. I tilted my head to see who had pushed me down, only to meet Loki’s narrowed eyes with my own.

The pulsing pain in my arm brought me back to reality, and Loki knelt over me, daggers materializing in his hands as he quickly took in the chaotic situation. Bullets whizzed passed us; the few that hit their mark bounced off of his armor uselessly. He needed protection. My searching eyes landed on the marble facade of the museum. It was difficult sprawled on the ground, but I grunted and arched my back with the effort of ripping a piece of thick stone from the wall, following the natural fissures of the rock to lessen the strain on my powers. I directed it in front of the largest concentration of civilians to deter any wayward bullets as they fled the scene. My flexed arm held it in place while I traced the bullets back to their source, barely able to make out dozens of men coming toward us from the shadows, the Hydra symbol barely visible on their bullet-proof vests.

“For fuck’s sake!” I yelled, getting to my knees beside Loki. It wouldn’t do to try to fight this fight prone beneath him.

“Get the civilians out of here!” Steve yelled, jumping into the fray.

After that, I was forced to focus on myself as another bullet lodged itself in the meat of my thigh. I let out a shriek of pain, pulling the marble previously used as a shield for long-gone bystanders over to protect myself and Loki. Peering from behind it, I could make out even more Hydra men approaching; the glint of their weapons caught the incoming blue and red emergency lights.

With a low groan, I strained all of the muscles in my body and ripped a deep hole in the earth beneath a small group of men advancing on Wanda and Vision. I didn’t watch as they fell into it, moving onto the next batch, but I heard their screams suddenly cut off as I closed the hole back up.

They wouldn’t be shooting at me or anyone I loved anymore.

Nat shouted out somewhere behind me, and I could only hope that she was okay as a man charged me from the darkness to my left. A green-lit dagger pierced his chest courtesy of Loki who was standing to my right. There was no time to thank him as several men ambushed us at once.

Loki’s savage grunts sounded in my ears as he went to work dispatching two men at the same time, the whirl of his cloak moving quickly in the night. I reacted on instinct to the first man who charged me, reaching out and clutching his gun in my bleeding fist just as it fired. I barely registered the burn it left on my hand and the bullet that barely missed my ear as I willed the metal to distort and meld together beneath my touch. I used the now-useless hunk of metal to hit the man in the temple, knocking him out cold.

My brain shut down and I became a machine. Each punch, kick, and use of my powers was done without thought. I sent men falling into deep chasms that I ripped into the ground, crushed them beneath broken hunks of marble, and pinned them beneath thick tree roots under my command and twisted bits of metal rent from police cars and nearby benches. The scent of iron filled my flared nostrils and screams of pain and gunshots rang in my ears. Each flare of agony throughout my body was ignored because if I gave any of it even a second of my attention, it could very well be the very last thought I had.

Above it all, I picked up on the piercing wail of a child. I searched for the cause frantically. There! Passed Wanda, who was throwing a man away from her in a wave of red light, was a little boy, crying as he huddled behind a bush. Casting one glance around to pinpoint where the majority of the Hydra agents were, I sprinted away, my hands twisting in the air as I willed the bush to grow and wrap around him. Seconds felt like an eternity until I was sliding to the ground before him, tearing up my knees and shins on small rocks and twigs. The branches parted for my grasping hands so I could pull the boy ensconced within free. He hung onto me desperately, burying his face in my neck as he sobbed. I curled my torso around his as best I could, remaining crouched as I pressed my back into the building and looked around for whoever he belonged to.

“It’s okay. You’re safe, just close your eyes. You’re safe with me,” I chanted into his ear, my hands protecting his head and supporting his bottom.

Finally, I spotted a frantic man shouting around the edge of the building. Nobody without a severe hero complex would risk such danger unless they had a damn good reason. Taking a chance that my instincts were right, I ran along the edge of the wall until I got to him.

He ripped the tiny child from my arms to hold him to his chest. “Timmy! Thank goodness!” he sobbed, meeting my eyes in a quick show of gratitude before dashing off into the night.

That issue resolved, I needed to find Loki. I scoured the battlefield lit up in a constant strobe of blue and red emergency lights, and white lightning for my dashing god in black and green. When I finally found him, battling gracefully against two men, it was just in time to watch a third man dash up behind him.

He drew a large knife from his thigh, quickly reached around Loki, and impaled it into his stomach.

Loki ripped the knife from his body and shoved it into the neck of the man in front of him with a feral snarl, letting loose a torrent of blood from them both. And then he fell to his knees, one hand clutching at the hole in his abdomen while the other threw the remaining two men back with a burst of green light.

I barely registered that the anguished scream that echoed throughout the night came from my own raw throat. My arms shot out to my sides, sending a shockwave through the ground that expanded out from me in a fast-moving circle. It knocked down all who were still standing as it reached them. When the wave came to Loki I threw my hand out, using its momentum to rip the ground beneath his knees away from the rest of the soil and hover in the air. I pulled my arms into my chest, sending the circle of thick soil--and the man on top of it--soaring to my side. My hands rose above my head and a wall of dirt as high as my waist shot up around us, shielding us from harm.

Loki struggled to stand, but he was too weak and fell back against the dirt wall with a pained cough. He trembled as he fought against blood loss and pain. “It seems… that I-I am injured,” he said, trying to smile but failing as his lips twisted to release a shaky gasp.

I dropped to my knees at his side, gathering his hands and holding them over his wound. Were they always this cold or had he already lost too much blood?

“You’re okay, you’re okay. It’s fine, you’re okay,” I stammered, tears thick in my throat and clouding my vision as my hands pressed against his to try to stem the bleeding.

“Battle suits you, l-litte one,” he choked out, a drop of blood spilling out of his mouth to roll down his chin. “What a shame-”

“Nope, cut that shit out. I’ve got you. I’m not allowing you to die, remember? Just hold your annoying ass on,” I commanded, refusing to let him say anything that even remotely resembled a goodbye. He wasn’t dying. I wouldn’t let him. He could stop bullets and one blade was what finally got to him? Unacceptable.

I fought the fear clawing at my chest, standing up from behind my barricade. I allowed myself one last moment of weakness to glance at Loki slumped against the barrier, breathing shallowly with his eyes closed, his brow furrowed.

Anger unlike anything I'd ever known slammed into me, setting fire to my blood and causing an electric green light to glow in my eyes and over my clenched bloodied fists.

It was easy enough to summon a jagged piece of metal from a broken street sign. Easier still to send that makeshift dagger through the neck of the nearest man. And then the one nearest to him. And again and again. I moved in an intricate dance above Loki until the only men left were fighting my fellow Avengers. Once I helped dispose of the last man Thor had been fighting--conductive metal plus lightning does quite a bit of damage--I screamed his name into the night, bringing the God of Thunder running to my side.

“No. No-no-no-no,” Thor cried, sliding one hand behind Loki’s neck and placing the other hand over his, applying pressure to the large wound in his midsection.

With one last burst of energy, I knocked down the wall of dirt that I had constructed so that the others could easily see us. Tears slid down my dirty and bloody face and sobs tore at my throat as I knelt back down beside Thor who was clutching Loki to his chest. My right hand tangled in his raven hair and my left pressed over Thor’s in what felt like a futile gesture.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t do anything besides stare down at the ashen face of my love.

Please, please, not him.

[legendary]

The New Frontier of Gaming

A Conversation with Cyan’s Rand Miller

Rand Miller has been on the frontline of innovation in video gaming since the 1980s. Founding Cyan in 1987, he and his brother, Robyn, set the stage for a full-on revolution in the computer gaming space. Six years later, Cyan released Myst, which soared past every boundary of what could previously be possible in computer gaming, taking full advantage of the CD-ROM’s massive storage capacities (at the time). Over 15 million sold units later, Myst held the honor of being the best-selling PC game ever for almost a full decade and Cyan became recognized as a video gaming icon, known as game-changers for their innovation in both the franchise and their other subsequent endeavors. Today, it was announced that Cyan is continuing their tradition of pushing the envelope into the next frontier: console-based virtual reality. In partnership with Legendary VR, Cyan is releasing to console to their critically-acclaimed game, Obduction, with exclusive all-new content for Playstation 4 and PS VR. Legendary Backstory got the opportunity to talk to Rand Miller about this exciting next step for Cyan, his thoughts on virtual reality, and the future of the interactive gaming medium. See the full interview below!

Q: Talk a little bit about your time before Cyan. Where did your passion for game design come from and how did you develop it into what Cyan has become? What games inspired you growing up?

RM: I had my first encounter with a computer game in 5th or 6th grade, and it was like magic - like I now had access to magic. The game was simple (a text based lunar landing game), but it set me on a path. I wrote my first game shortly thereafter, and I’ve been creating games ever since. The inspiration for the games have always been related to what media I am consuming. After watching the Starsky and Hutch TV series I wrote a game about driving a Ford Torino with a bomb in the trunk. After reading the book, The Swarm, I wrote a game called Swarms about saving the US from an attack of hybrid bees. After playing D&D I designed an adventure that I could take others through.

Q: Myst, in many ways, was a revolution in the computer gaming space, igniting the CD-ROM as a legitimate gaming platform. What was it in the early 1990s that drew you towards CD-ROM vs. the popular consoles coming out at the time?

RM: My brother Robyn and I had been building worlds for children (The Manhole, Cosmic Osmo, Spelunx). In many ways, we practiced our craft with those early children’s games - testing the water, and seeing what was possible. When the opportunity to build Myst came around, we decided that CD-ROM’s massive storage capabilities (at the time) would allow us to build an adventure large enough to not require starting over. The player would have so much to explore that they could be entertained for hours without the need to build in “friction” that make them start over. It was the size of this new technology that allowed us to provide an adventure that had a slower pace, puzzle based friction, and a rich storyline - and we tried to design the game around the new medium.

Q: Give a brief rundown of what the story of Obduction is for the fans who don’t know. What does the idea of it being a “spiritual sequel” to the Myst/Riven saga mean to you?

RM: For us, the spiritual sequel aspect of Obduction means that it’s not the same story as Myst, but it reaches back and embraces the idea of being thrust into a situation that is completely foreign and perplexing. There is something so appealing to that original Myst feeling of being dropped into the middle of a story and gradually uncovering the details of what went on in this strange world - and realizing that you are now part of the story. Obduction re-creates that feeling better than any Myst sequel can, because it’s new. A strange alien artifact whisks the player away to some crazy alien world that has chunks of Earth scattered around. It’s perplexing, evocative, and mesmerizing - we love that feeling!

Q: Cyan has built an incredibly loyal and passionate fan base over the years and Obduction feels like a true celebration of the fans, as it was kicked off via a very successful Kickstarter campaign. What was it like to bring the fans together and make them part of the process to create a new game?

RM: Having the fans be part of the Obduction creation was a special gift - we’ve described it as having 20,000 additional cheerleaders who stood with us as we created the experience. We’ve always felt a strong obligation to provide wonderful experiences, but crowd-funding seems like it removed a layer of abstraction and allowed the fans to see a bit more of the process - cheering us on and supporting us along the way.

Q:What was your first experience with virtual reality? What was it about Obduction itself or the current VR landscape to make you think that the time was now right to adapt one of Cyan’s games into VR?

RM: I was able to try VR many years ago when it required a file cabinet-sized computer, was pretty grainy, and used a tether as thick as a boa constrictor. It was really intriguing back then, but it seemed so far off. Then when I tried the recent iterations - it blew my mind. There was suddenly a sweet spot that had been hit - of course VR was now within reach of the masses, but there was also a visual quality that passed some kind of threshold, and the hand controls added an almost tangible intuitiveness to interacting in these worlds. All of those things are what we have always been excited by.

Q: What challenges did designing the game for VR present to you compared to your past games? Did anything surprise you?

RM: Performance is always a challenge with VR - especially with our focus on rich visuals. VR requires two high-res screens to be refreshed at a high rate - there is a lot of horsepower driving things. Because our games are visually stunning and not twitch/reaction based, we felt like we could push the quality of the visual bar higher - even if it meant a slightly reduced frame rate. We pushed hard in that direction - and managed to keep the frame rate high enough to provide a comfortable experience for everyone. One thing that surprised us was just how much VR provides a sense of scale. Objects and spaces that we built, that looked fine on a flat screen, would suddenly seem too large or small in VR. Because you’re fully immersed in the 3D VR worlds you are able to gauge the size of things like never before. It’s that intense immersion that provides such a sense of presence.

Q: Do you have any favorite easter eggs hidden in the game?

RM: We have a crazy Russian control panel at one point that is a bit of a red herring. In fact, it’s used to enter into an “easter egg” mode where some of our Kickstarter backers were able to add their own “eggs” to the game. But the number that is used to enter easter egg mode is a fun little easter egg itself - it’s actually a phone number from the British TV series The IT Crowd, - a 20 digit emergency phone number that has a song to help people remember it.

Q: What are you most excited about in the present VR gaming space and what are you most excited about for the future of VR games?

RM: The present space is exciting as a transitional phase - game creators (including us) are starting out by moving what they’ve done on 2D screens into the VR space. But with every product that comes out, VR starts to take on more and more of a life of its own. The exciting aspect of the future of VR is the fact that it’s so wide open to be defined - the things we’ll see as the medium begins to mature on its own will be mind blowing.

Q: One of the hallmarks of Cyan’s games as well as Legendary’s properties across multiple mediums is a love and passion for world-building. Cyan’s worlds have always been expansive and intricate and leave fans wanting to discover more, a tradition that continues with Obduction. Where does your approach to world building come from and how are you able to approach each new game to do the story world justice?

RM: We love rich worlds - games, movies, books, TV - doesn’t matter. Those rich worlds are what help us believe. The details we put into our games are meant to give it authenticity and credibility, so that even tiny aspects support the storyline and draw the player in. We don’t just put a skin on a game-play mechanism - we weave the story, the environment, and the friction in ways that feel valid and real - that support each other. Good, convincing, world-based entertainment should always feel like the story is so much bigger - that the experience you're having now (whether game, movie, book, TV) is just a small window into that much larger story world.

Q: In the way that CD-ROM was a new frontier for gaming in the early 1990s, what do you see as the next evolution or frontier in gaming? Is it virtual reality as it exists now or is it something the public hasn’t seen yet?

RM: I feel very much with VR like I felt with CD-ROM. It’s a technology that at first we adapt our old experiences to - but then learn what new tricks the new technology can bring to the table and begin to take full advantage of it. I’m not sure how the hardware will evolve, but VR has crossed some kind of magical threshold that convinces our brains, more than ever, that we’re actually living these experiences. That’s powerful!

Q: What’s next for Cyan? Are you looking to continue pushing more into the VR space in the future?

RM: We’re aiming to create more and more VR experiences. We are so excited by the possibilities that we already have almost a dozen ideas at various stages - with different degrees of interaction and storytelling, but all of which are meant to transport players to whole new words. Exciting times!

Obduction launches today on the PlayStation® Store on PS4™ with a PS VR update coming soon. The PS4™ purchase of Obduction includes the PS VR update. Obduction PS4™ demo is playable in the PlayStation® kiosks at GameStops, Best Buys and Walmarts worldwide, and will be playable with the Cyan dev team at PAX West in the PAX IndieMegabooth, September 1-4, at the Washington State Convention Center in Seattle. Stay tuned for more updates at www.obduction.com.

[catbrainswriting]

[shizaya] selfish

word count: 4.8k

summary:  Shizuo wants a dog. Izaya just wants Shizuo to be happy.

ao3 mirror.

“I want a dog,” Shizuo declares one day, with the same cadence one would declare that they want a particular food for lunch.  He is sprawled casually on one of Izaya’s expensive leather sofas, arm thrown over the back while he watches the television which is, apparently, playing a show about dog shelters.

It has been on for about three quarters of an hour; Izaya cannot see the television from where is sat at his desk, so he relies on the audio.  An elderly but smooth-voiced presenter is explaining how such places operate, speech occasionally halting in favour of what Izaya guesses to be scenes of the dogs in the shelter, barking and yapping and growling.  The sounds make Izaya grimace; he had spent the time since the show began attempting to devote his attention to his work, with little success, but now that Shizuo has spoken he knows that he cannot rightfully ignore him.  Not without pissing him off, at least.

“Why?” he asks casually, like he has no strong feelings one way or the other about the concept of dog ownership, despite that being about as far from the truth as possible.  He glances up just in time to catch Shizuo shrug, eyes still on the screen.  It is getting to be late and the light from the windows behind Izaya is slowly dying, but neither of them have bothered to turn on the ceiling lights so the television cuts through the dimness to dance blues and yellows across Shizuo’s features.  He is relatively blank-faced, but his eyes are gentle where they are glued to the screen; it would be a nice scene if it wasn't for the loud barks every few seconds making Izaya’s heart freeze.

“Dunno,” Shizuo replies, oblivious, “Might be nice, I guess.  We could adopt one - an older one, so we wouldn't have to worry about training it.  If that's your first concern.”

Izaya has plenty of concerns, training is low on the list.  He had, in fact, been slightly less daunted by the idea of a puppy.  A puppy could not, logically, hurt him, and watching something small grow into something large is far less scary than simply being thrown in at the deep end, but of course Shizuo is ruining all of that without even intending to.  In fact, he’s probably trying to be helpful - he knows Izaya isn't overly keen on the idea of getting a dog, but he likely presumes it’s just a matter of cleanliness and routine.  If only it were that simple.

“It's still impractical,” Izaya says.  He can't even use the excuse that they aren't allowed, because there isn't really anything that his apartment building prevents them from doing.  If they're willing to look past barely-concealed firearms and yakuza members loitering about, they're certainly willing to look past a dog.  So Izaya searches for reasons, which isn't too difficult - it truly is impractical.  “We don't have a garden, for starters.”

“There's parks,” Shizuo responds easily, “We could take it for walks every day.”

“And who would do that?”

“You? You go out all day anyway, and get up stupidly early.  You could take the dog out with you then come drop it back.”

Shizuo sounds genuinely enthusiastic, like he's making actual plans even though he manages to keep most of the childlike joy from his face, and Izaya can't help but feel as if he's being somehow selfish in his unwillingness.

  “That's a lot of responsibility to put in my hands over something that you want,” he says.  The words sound too harsh, especially in response to Shizuo’s soft enthusiasm, but it's instinctual for him to push the blame and guilt away from himself, make it out as if Shizuo’s making unfair demands, at least outwardly.  He can overthink it and hate himself sometime when Shizuo isn't around to pick up on it.  He's gotten frustratingly good at that.

“Plus, it would completely ruin my ability to blend in,” he continues, which isn't a lie.  An ‘attractive’ young guy with a cute dog may be useful in gaining the trust of teenage girls, but it would hardly have the same effect on the thugs and gangsters he is often set on the trail of.  “If I suddenly saw somebody I needed to follow, or Shiki-san requested my services, what would I do then? Tell him, ‘Oh, I'm sorry, just give me a moment to pop my dog back home! Then I'll be right on that urgent and highly dangerous job you've got for me!’ I don't think he’d be pleased with that.  And what if I was attacked? The dog could, and most likely would, be hurt or killed.”

Shizuo seems to consider this.  Concern creases his brow, and Izaya can't tell if it's concern for him or for their imaginary dog.

“It's too much of a risk,” Izaya concludes, voice somewhat softer than the tone he had adopted to shoot Shizuo’s ideas down as something like guilt settles slowly and unpleasantly in his stomach.  Shizuo nods slowly after a moment of silence, and Izaya can tell that he's upset even if his face remains mostly impartial.  Shizuo truly does have a soft spot for animals; he often tells Izaya of the strays he runs into in Ikebukuro, the dogs in the park that he takes the time to pet and feed.  Izaya had scolded him the first few times and immediately demanded he showered, but soon came to the conclusion that the genuine joy on Shizuo’s face was too rare a sight to attempt to ruin.  But, of course, he had managed to ruin Shizuo’s happiness anyway and is painfully aware that the defeated look in his boyfriend’s eyes is entirely his fault.  

Izaya turns off both of his monitors, closes his laptop, and rises slowly.  He descends the steps leading to the sofas and television, but remains where he is to watch the screen, out of Shizuo’s line of sight.  Shizuo’s attention has returned to the show and there is no clear indication whether he is even aware Izaya has moved (maybe he's mad, and is ignoring Izaya on purpose?), but from the angle he is at Izaya can just barely see the look on his face.  His eyes are gentle once again, happily watching the dogs on screen run about and play, but Izaya flinches with every noise, every flash of teeth sending a jolt of anxiety - not panic, of course not panic - down his spine.  He is aware of the irony that lies in him being able to watch (and enjoy) the most violent of horror movies and action films - hell, he can even calmly watch such terrors in real life - without so much as blinking, but that's different.  He can tell what these people, real or fictional, are thinking and feeling - can tell why Person A wants to kill Person B, and why Person C doesn't want that to happen.  With dogs - with all animals - there is no such intricate thought process, no expressions, no clear body language, just violence with no room for bargaining or discretion.

Shizuo is still paying him no mind even as the show draws to a close and the credits roll over even more footage of the dogs, running about and playing in large open gardens.  At least there is music playing - a soft, jovial tune, rather than the growls and barks Izaya can see their mouths shaping, baring their awful yellow teeth.  At the end of the credits, a note appears on the screen thanking the featured dog shelter - some place on the other side of the country.

“Hey,” Shizuo says, and for a moment Izaya is sure he is going to request they visit it, “What if we just went to a shelter?”

“Hm?” Izaya quirks an eyebrow, trying to appear casual even if Shizuo isn't looking at him.  It's at least better than Shizuo requesting they go to the featured shelter specifically, but still certainly not something that he wants to do.  At all.  

“We don't have to actually get a dog, but….I dunno.  I like dogs.  It'd be nice to just hang out with ‘em.”

Shizuo’s voice gets somewhat quieter towards the end, like he's fully expecting Izaya to shoot him down again, and it makes something heavy and unpleasant curl in Izaya’s stomach.  He sinks his teeth into his lower lip.  This is a terrible idea.  This is a terrible idea.  For a multitude of reasons, including but not limited to Shizuo’s complete and utter lack of self-control, and Izaya’s phobia (except not a phobia, because phobia means ‘irrational’ and Izaya’s fear - not fear, anxiety , fuck - is anything but), but Shizuo’s got that earnest look in his eyes again and Izaya cannot bring himself to ruin it.  

As if to mask his hesitation, Izaya moves around the sofa to sit beside Shizuo.  Immediately, Shizuo is shifting to pull Izaya into laying in his arms, pulled back just far enough to be able to meet his eyes.  Anxiety soothed, at least somewhat, Izaya tells himself that it can't be that bad.  No matter his instinctual reactions to the dogs on the television.  It’s been years since Izaya’s even really seen a dog - he doesn't frequent many places that encourage or allow them other than the streets and parks, and even then he tries to avoid the few he catches a glimpse of - but surely his fear has lessened since middle school.  He isn't a child anymore, he has real things to worry about now - including actual people trying to kill him, not just mindless animals - so, for all he knows, maybe his fear will disappear completely once he's surrounded by the stupid furry beasts.  He'd managed to tame one stupid beast, after all, hadn’t he?

“We could make it a date?” Shizuo offers softly, almost shyly, and after a single moment’s hesitation Izaya is pressing close into Shizuo’s chest to hide the look on his face and signing his own death warrant.

--

Izaya finds himself stood in the foyer of the nearest animal shelter early in the afternoon a week later, infinitely thankful that Shizuo had not elected to hold his hand at any point lest he become aware of Izaya’s almost violent trembling, which had only gotten worse the closer they had gotten to their destination.  Tom had apparently recommended the place after Shizuo had asked and Tom had looked it up, but Izaya knows little to nothing about it.  The shelter is quite clean, at the very least, but there are muddy paw prints (which Izaya had carefully avoided in his expensive boots) littered across the linoleum floor and the distinct smell of wet dog hanging stifling in the air.  Shizuo does not seem bothered by either of these facts as he greets the young woman at the desk and explains that they're just here to play with the dogs for a little while, if that's okay.

“Are you thinking of adopting a puppy sometime soon?” she asks, smiling sweetly and sounding genuinely enthusiastic.  Izaya manages to catch himself before he glowers at her; Shizuo is happy, and Izaya does not need to ruin it by externalising his own discomfort.  Even if he can feel his breathing stutter slightly as he inhales.

“Maybe,” Shizuo responds, still somewhat awkward as always in the face of friendly interaction with strangers, “We, uh...we’re living in an apartment, right now.  So maybe it's a plan for the future.  But we’d probably get an older dog, y’know?”

The woman’s smile widens.  “I think that would be a great idea! Most young couples come in here looking for puppies.”

Izaya’s breathing almost stops at the word “couples”.  It's absurd, because that's what he and Shizuo are , a couple, and while he's willing to admit that much to himself it's a completely different thing for a stranger to say it, to assume just by looking at them.  

“But I suppose it's different for them, trying to start a family and all that,” the woman chuckles, “You two are roommates, huh?”

Izaya’s shoulders drop in immense relief, which he hopes goes unnoticed by Shizuo and the woman, but his heart is racing even faster than it had been when they’d first walked in.  He inhales deeply, with even more difficulty than before, and wills to just get this over with.

Shizuo speaks to the woman for only a few minutes more, before she is leading them through a door and then a hallway, opening a few baby gates on the way with practiced ease and stepping around the thoroughly-chewed toys strewn throughout the building.  It's more eerie to Izaya than it perhaps should be, like broken children’s toys in an abandoned house, but he keeps his face completely neutral - not that Shizuo is paying him any mind at all.  Conversation has resumed between his boyfriend and the woman, more relaxed than it had been at first, and the two of them walk a pace in front of him as the door to his doom looms ever closer.  It looks innocuous enough, plain white wood with “Dog Room 2 / Outside” engraved on a metal sign beside it, but Izaya’s anxiety builds up nonetheless.  He can hear the muffled shuffling just beyond it, not right up against the door but close enough.  A handwritten sign in scrawled kanji, sellotaped to the middle of the door, commands that it be kept shut at all times.  

“The pens are all open,” the woman explains, smiling brightly, “But I expect that most of the dogs are outside.  You can just go straight through, if you’d like - there should be someone out there.”

Shizuo nods and thanks her with a certain note of excitement in his voice, and then she's walking back down the hallway and leaving them alone.  Izaya is tempted to grab Shizuo’s hand, but he knows that’s stupid, and that Shizuo will definitely feel him shaking if he does.  Instead, he nods towards the door and hopes that Shizuo doesn't look directly at him.

“Go on, then,” he says, shocked at his own composure, and Shizuo quickly obeys without even properly glancing his way.  The door clicks shut behind them once they've both stepped through, and the smell of dog hits Izaya like a wall.  At least the woman had been right in her assumption that all of them would be outside, the only things in the room are the empty pens occupied by blankets and half-eaten bowls of dry food, but the presence that hangs with them is enough to send Izaya’s heart racing.

Shut up, you're fine.  You're safe.  They can't hurt you.  Shizuo is here.  He won't let anything hurt you.

But Shizuo doesn't even know .  How is he meant to protect Izaya against something that he sees as the total opposite of a threat? He’ll probably just laugh if Izaya says anything, not that he would even dream of doing so, or be that terrible mixture of annoyed and disappointed that he always is when Izaya pushes him just a little too far, or ruins something special or important.  Besides, Shizuo is happy - smiling, excited - and fuck , Izaya thinks to himself, do not fuck this up for him .  

Shizuo leads the way eagerly across the room, towards the half-open door to what is presumably a garden for the dogs to play in, and Izaya glances warily at the empty beds as he follows.   You're fine.  Shut up.  You're fine.  But he can feel his thoughts begin to grow less and less rational, simultaneously slowing down and speeding up tenfold.  The usual constant stream of vague uneasiness - assessing his environment and the people around him, comparing names and faces and conversations and compiling it all - loses focus, and instead his mind is overrun by one main sense of danger .  He’s glancing back behind him as he walks, thinking over the layout of the building, considering escape routes, and is halfway through considering whether he would be able to outrun a standard adult dog when he suddenly stops in his tracks.  Shizuo pushes the door open casually, and cannot even take a step outside before the dogs from outside begin to flock to the new stranger, barking and jumping up and down to try and assess him.  Suddenly, Izaya finds himself unable to breathe.  The noise is worse, more panic-inducing, than gunfire, and the moment the beasts set their sights on him all logical thought leaves his mind.  One of the dogs bounds towards him, teeth bared, and then he’s running.

All of his consideration of escape routes is forgotten as he flees, throwing open the door to the hallway and staring down it in blind terror.  The door in front of him leads to the reception, there will be people there, so he takes the door to his right and slams it behind him when he hears the dogs following him through the open doorways.  Trembling violently, he blinks at the room he is in; it's a storage cupboard of sorts, the size of perhaps a small bedroom and filled with boxes and cages piled high.  Now that he has fled, and is still being hunted, his next instinct is to hide.  He clambers over the boxes in his way, too panicked to find a way around them, until he is pressed up into the far corner staring wide-eyed at the door.  It is silent for several moments, only disturbed by his choked, rapid breathing, but then the door handle moves and in another jolt of panic Izaya is dropping to the ground and curling up as small as possible, hidden amongst the clutter.

“Oi, flea,” Shizuo’s voice calls, sounding somewhat irritated but mostly confused as the door clicks shut behind him, “The fuck was that?”  

He steps into the room, and Izaya hears the harsh noise of him violently kicking what he assumes to be a cage out of his way.  “Where are you?”

His heavy footsteps draw closer, stumbling as he makes his way through the small but overcrowded room, and Izaya’s mind reaches a conflict between Shizuo is safe and Shizuo is angry .  Cornered, and too terrified to fight, he presses his face into his knees and curls up tighter as if he can disappear if he just wills it hard enough.  Shizuo’s footsteps stop.

“...’Zaya?”

There is a beat of silence, a shuffle of clothing, and Izaya opens his eyes to catch a glimpse of Shizuo kneeling on the floor in front of him, hand half-outstretched.  

“You’re--you’re crying.”

Izaya blinks, stares at the slightly darker patches surrounding the rips on the knees of his jeans, then suddenly draws a harsh, shuddering breath that doesn't at all reach his lungs.  He’s hyperventilating again now, but he doesn't know what to do, feels guilty and cornered and Shizuo is just looking at him, hand still hovering uselessly in midair.

It is about a minute more until Shizuo reaches forward like he's trying to touch an injured bird and settles an uneasy hand on Izaya’s shin.  This has the opposite effect than was likely intended, and suddenly Izaya’s crying even harder but his breathing is coming ever so slightly easier.  He wants to crawl into Shizuo’s arms like a child, but this just makes the guilt bubbling up in his throat choke him once again.  

“I’m sorry,” he gasps out, too sudden and harsh in the silence even though he's been repeating it over and over in his head ever since he’d come to the realisation that he’d probably already succeeded in ruining Shizuo’s joy, “I’m okay, I’m fine.  I’m sorry.”

He meets Shizuo’s eyes for a single second - they're wide and confused, but he can see the single sliver of anger in them and that's enough to cancel out everything else in his mind.  He's aware of the hot, ugly tears dripping down his cheeks, gathering at his chin, and he must look like an embarrassing mess , shaking and sobbing and causing a scene even if there's no one to hear or see them.  He wants to calm down, wants to stop being like this so that Shizuo can just go out and have fun without having to concern himself with Izaya’s bullshit, but he still can't get any air in his lungs as he desperately mutters apologies and he hates it.  

The dogs are suddenly barking again in the next room over, scratching at the wall separating them, and Izaya scrambles as if it's possible for him to get any further away, eyes wide with terror.  “Stop,” he whispers to no one in particular, perhaps begging the dogs themselves to mercy him.

“Shit.”  Shizuo shuffles closer, heedless of Izaya lashing out weakly to try and ward him off, until he can wrap his arms around his boyfriend and pull him into his chest.  Surrounded by Shizuo’s scent, and the warmth of his jacket, Izaya’s breathing steadies slightly and then he's giving up any warped sense of pride to wrap his arms tightly around Shizuo’s shoulders and hide himself in the crook of his neck.  

“You’re scared of dogs,” Shizuo says quietly after several moments, and of course the idiot’s only just caught on, but at least Izaya doesn't have to admit it out loud.  

“I’m sorry,” he says very quietly, reluctant to say the words now with a very slightly clearer head, and suddenly Shizuo is leaning back and staring him in the face, hands holding his shoulders with such care that Izaya is struck with the urge to lash out again.  His eyes are wide with something between horror and concern, as they very often are when another thing about Izaya comes to light.

“I’m not--fuck, ‘Zaya, I’m not mad .  Well, I am.  Kind of.  But not...not at you .”

Perhaps Izaya should take offence at being talked to like a child, but with his shoulders still shaking under Shizuo’s hold he finds himself tentatively submitting to the comfort.  Shizuo stares at him for a moment longer with his eyes melting into something sad and empathetic, before he is pulling Izaya close again and slowly rubbing a hand up and down his back.  Izaya presses his head into the juncture of his boyfriend’s neck and shoulder and breathes, pretending he can't feel his eyes begin to sting again.  

“What are you sorry for?”

The question is asked so softly that at first Izaya is not completely sure he has heard it.  For a second, he hears his mother’s voice echoing in his mind: ‘What are you sorry for ?’ The memory is enough to send a jolt of guilty, childish panic through him, the way he always used to feel when his mother got angry.  His apologies and excuses were never good enough.  Sometimes, when he was much younger, he wondered if that was why his parents left all the time.  Because he couldn't be good.

“I’m being selfish.”

Because he was selfish .  

That was his parents’ favourite thing to call him.  Whenever he asked why they left, said that he missed them or that he was lonely and afraid.  Stop being so selfish, Izaya.  This isn't all about you, Izaya.  

We’re playing with Mairu and Kururi, now, Izaya.  You’re much too old to be acting like this.  

Much too old to be acting like this.

Izaya shifts, tries to wriggle his way out of Shizuo’s grip in a sudden burst of desperate shame, but Shizuo merely tightens his grip and turns them around so that he is sat against the wall with Izaya is leaning against his chest.  He has gotten frustratingly good at understanding when Izaya means the things he does and says, and when he doesn't, and it drives Izaya mad to be seen through so easily.  Shizuo lets the silence hang for the time it takes Izaya to calm down again; he knows to leave distance between his questions, lest Izaya clam up completely.

“Why d’you think you’re being selfish?” Shizuo’s voice rumbles where Izaya’s ear is pressed to his chest, just above his heart.  Izaya does not want to talk about it, so he begins to focus on the rhythm of Shizuo’s heartbeat.

“Oi,” Shizuo says, softer this time, “Answer me.  Please.  I hate it when you're upset about stuff I don't get.”

Izaya is silent for a minute.  “It isn't something you need to worry about, Shizu-chan.  Besides, I’m sure that poor secretary is wondering where we’ve gotten to--”

“Don't try and brush this off.”

Izaya laughs - barely a sharp exhale, and an inhale that shudders as if he's about to cry again.  

“Why not?” he asks lightly, “That’s what I’ve been doing my whole life.”

“That should be proof enough that maybe it's a shitty thing to do.”

“Everything I do is shitty, Shizu-chan.  We’ve established this.”

It's likely a low blow, to bring up their past full of insults and hatred, and Izaya can feel the way Shizuo tenses behind him.  For a moment, he is positive that Shizuo will grow angry, huff or yell “whatever” and give up on him like he probably should.  Izaya is good at pushing Shizuo’s buttons to make him back off whenever he gets too close to something painful, but again, Shizuo is adapting.  Slowly, the tension leaves his body and he's dropping his head forward so his nose just brushes against Izaya’s hair.

“I want to know why you did this,” he says softly, in a way that makes it sound like he's just stating his desires rather than expecting Izaya to cater to them.  Izaya gives a somewhat pained, and utterly false, smile, which goes unseen.

“Because it made you happy,” he replies.  The honesty feels heavy, unpleasant, and for once he doesn't want to consider the meaning behind his words.  He just wants to say them and let them be heard.

“It doesn't make me happy to see you upset.”

“Not that,” Izaya manages to huff something almost close to a laugh, even though he's sure that Shizuo isn't trying to make a joke, but the pause until he continues is long.  “You said you wanted a dog.  So...so, who am I to say no? I said no, but then you looked so miserable.”

Shizuo remains silent, waits for him to continue.  Izaya can feel tears gathering and hates himself for it.

“I didn't want to be selfish.”

“This isn't all about me, y’know?” Shizuo says, “Relationships are all about compromise.  They're about trying to find...a balance, or something.  A way to make both people happy.  Any relationship - any kind of relationship - that’s all about just one of the people is bullshit.  And if the person that's getting all of the focus is calling you selfish for wanting any fraction of what they get--”

Shizuo stops suddenly, and Izaya can feel the way he's beginning to tense again, hands curling into fists against the fabric of Izaya’s jacket.  He breathes, leans further forward and presses his nose against Izaya’s hair, pulls a hand back up to rest over his shoulder and pull him closer.

“If they're doing that to you...if they did that to you.  Then fuck them.  Okay? Fuck ‘em.  ‘Zaya.  Fuck.   Please .  You've gotta understand that this isn't a one-sided thing.  This isn't like that.  I want you to tell me when you're upset about something, or when you don't want something that I want.  A ‘no’ always overrules a ‘yes’.  You're not being selfish for not wanting something, especially not if you're fucking scared.”

Izaya doesn't know what to say, finds himself unable to get any words past the sudden lump in his throat even if he did know, but he does feel the tears spill over and begin to flood down to his chin, and then Shizuo is pulling him impossibly closer and pressing a kiss to his temple.  A pause, and then a kiss just under his eye, on his cheek, covering the tear tracks until Shizuo meets his lips.  It's wet and tastes like salt, and only serves in making Izaya cry harder, but it also makes the horrible something that settled in his stomach go away, makes him forget the sound of his parents’ voices and the sound of glass shattering against the wall.  It's all still there, in the back of his mind, and it will come back again and again and again on many days after this one, but the knowledge that Shizuo will be there even in the worst moments makes it all feel slightly less daunting.

“I love you,” Shizuo whispers, meeting Izaya’s gaze and smiling.  Izaya still cannot say the words back, cannot even imagine a time when he will - just the same as he cannot ever imagine a time when he can tell Shizuo all the things that he deserves to know - but he can begin to allow himself to believe them - at least a little bit.

[bwprowl]

We’ll start this week looking at new entries in ongoing action figure lines from both the east and west. After that, there’s a lineup of pre-orders for things that, uniquely, aren’t anything I’m personally interested in, but may be of note to other people. And finally I finish building a long-awaited (and timely) Super Sentai model kit and take a look at that! Please come on in for a quick Tuesday Night Toys!

New Stuff: Hiiro of another story

Kamen Rider Ex-Aid’s LVUR line of transforming action figures is still going alongside the tv show promoting it, and it’s spawned a new set of exclusives. These are focused on secondary hero Kamen Rider Brave, and include various forms he takes in movies and tie-in specials. There’s the Galaxian-based armor from the Namco collaboration, his apparently villainous ‘True Brave’ counterpart, and probably of most interest to me (since I’ve uh, actually seen the special it appears in) the Safari Gamer armor from the mini-movie where he fights Ouja! These look like a pretty nice collection, and even being exclusive, you can pre-order them for a rather reasonable price!

Hey, remember the Star Wars Elite series? Yeah, me neither. These were the Disney-store-exclusive die-cast Force Awakens figures that were a bit bigger and less posable than the Black Series figures. Well it’s getting a wave of new entries for the first time in a while, including a new version of Finn with the lightsaber, a Squad Leader Stormtrooper, and I suspect most importantly to most folks, the Riot Control Stormtrooper. Yeah, that guy. He’s actually got his baton in the proper ‘extended’ form. If the shield is removable, he’ll be one more up on the lackluster Black Series version that was released way back when the movie first came out.

Wishlist: Jessie’s Girl

Following on Saber in the expanded Armor Girls Project line is a mech-partnered version of Nitroplus’s dubious mascot, Super Sonico (meaning that’s two so far already who trace their lineage back to porn games in one way or another). I’m not a fan of Sonico, myself, but it’s still hard for me not to at least check out the cool reinvention of her design with transforming robo-bike armor. Love the look of the bike too, it’s very distinctive, and gives way to equally unique mecha bits. If nothing else, this line keeps working at trying to have something for everyone.

Not to be a prude, but that seems like wildly impractical clothing for motorcycle riding

Interestingly getting the Figuarts ZERO treatment is fashion icon Rilakkuma. The adorable bear-bro gets a smoothly sculpted pseudo-statue that actually includes posable arms and head, along with some accessories (like whatever the heck a Kiiroitori is). Co-star Korilakkuma is getting a similar figure, and due to the small size and simplicity, they’ll each set you back for less than the typical Figuarts ZERO.

I’m probably not gonna watch this Frame Arms Girl show. Despite my enthusiasm for Kotobukiya’s model kits and accessories (they make some very cool-lookin’ stuff) the unfortunately-acronymed new series still isn’t my speed, the Frame Arms Girls being one of the elements of the line I’m least interested in, and the show itself seemingly very standard and predictable with none of the enthusiasm or commitment to outlandishness the way similar series like Gundam Build Fighters had. But hey, I’ll still at least acknowledge any show that glorifies building model kits and/or playing with toys, and we even get this neat statue of main modeler Ao out of the deal. Come on, it’s a toy of a girl holding a smaller toy of a girl. That’s exactly the sort of manic metaplastic I enjoy seeing.

Yo dawg

On Desk: Zordon, Zord Off

I ended up seeing that new Power Rangers movie over the weekend, and it surprised me with how good it turned out to be! This isn’t the place for a movie review, but suffice to say it did what it needed to do in an entertaining way that refreshed my enthusiasm for anything ‘Power Rangers’ to levels they haven’t been in decades. With that in mind, I was well in the headspace to finish building the Super Mini-Pla DaiZyuJin, Bandai’s slick posable, fully-transformable desk-sized take on the Sentai Mecha that would become the original Megazord!

This thing does live up to its descriptor of a ‘Super’ Mini-Pla. It only clocks in a little bigger than the concurrent regular kits being produced for the current Kyuranger season, but all its parts have more components, more moving parts, more details going on. Select pieces, like the combined mecha’s face or the triceratops’s horn, come nicely pre-painted for you right on the sprue, and the plastic quality even feels a step up. They’re still packaged like candy toys (complete with those surprisingly tasty tart candies), but the overall feel is much closer to a proper gunpla than the regular kits.

Getting ‘em all put together is, like those other kits or easier gunpla, a snap. There’s stickers for pretty much all of the extra details (which is good, since DaiZyuJin has a lot of intricate labels that would be no fun to paint) and they seem to be of extremely nice quality overall; they don’t stick out super-obviously as labels once you have them on, save maybe for the one that goes on top of the T. rex’s head. I might still go and paint some bits in later anyway. But at any rate, once the models have all been assembled, you have five nicely solid small-size figures of the separate mecha. These actually all mostly just retain the levels of functionality of their older, full-size toys. The saber-toothed tiger and tyrannosaurus aren’t much more posable than their old versions. They still all look very nice though, and let’s be honest, their individual play value isn’t the *real* reason you’re here.

Combining the models does have some of the tricks I’ve gotten used to with other Mini-Pla, including stuff like extra fold out joints and popping the foot components apart to reattach them using new joints for ankle movement. There are also some shortcuts they had to take, even on a premium model job like this. Instead of folding down into an opening panel on the chest, the T. rex head now just pops off of the top of the combined head, and it and its neck-mask-thing stash somewhat inelegantly behind a panel that just pops out of the chest. In the end it looks fine and still stores everything just as well, but it’s still a reminder that this is only a *really good* kit of the robot and not an end-all/be-all like that ruinous SoC release out later this month.

I’m friggin’ useless!

Once you’ve gotten everything together, and enjoyed the endlessly goofy intermediate dino-tank mode, you can stand the whole unit up into the combined DaiZyuJin! It comes in a little bigger and beefier than the Super Robot Chogokin from a few years back, and if it isn’t as posable or doesn’t look as nice as that once, then you remember that this one can do the combining/transforming thing AND it’s still quite posable! Bandai’s model-kit commitment to posable Sentai mecha is in full effect here. The arms alone have tons of universal jointing, and even wrists due to how they peg in. There’s knee joints done in a clever way that gives them plenty of range of motion and doesn’t interfere with how the T. rex legs transform, and it’s even got come limited waist articulation (more if you’re willing to unpeg the tail from the back). It’s pretty astounding after all these years to fiddle the classic dinosaur robots into their combined form and wind up with something that feels like a proper action figure after all. And this size is perfect for fiddlin’ with.

Admittedly, the need to transform AND be posable means there are some compromises in the design and proportions of this model a bit. Notably, the arms seem a bit small compared to the rest of the robot. They’re still plenty posable and work fine on the toy, and from some angles I even quite like the ‘beefier’ look it lends the rest of the robot around the chest area, but it’s still something to be aware of, design-wise.

Overall though, if you have any appreciation for Super Sentai or Power Rangers, it is extremely easy to recommend this set. It finally delivers on the long sought-after grail of a fully-transformable-and-posable version of this mecha design, and it does it at a tenth of the price and with way less the shelf-space footprint of the SoC version. Definitely worth tracking down. I can’t wait for Dragon Caesar.

Have a fun, wonderful night everyone! I’ll see you again soon!

[ithesarcasticslytherin]

Object Permanence

Hey @nvrfullyawake, here’s the story I promised!

Figured I’d give horror a try. It’s nothing new or extraordinary, just playing with details and creating a sense of tension :)

Ella watched as the landscape and occasionally an old building hurtled by. She stared out the window and felt her head loll and eyes droop. With the iron gray skies overhead and a never-ending stretch of green in front, Ella watched as the only thing changing was the size of the hills. Before she could even properly register that something was wrong through her bored stupor, it had already torn by. She jolted up, turning sharply in her seat to try and confirm what she saw.

A sudden change from the Irish countryside, she had seen a castle a few hundred yards away from the tracks atop a hill. That wasn’t her concern as Ireland was dotted with castles. Her concern was the field of corpses that lay outside of it. Should she call someone? Ella immediately shooed that thought away, knowing she would be written off almost immediately. She herself figured it might have been a nightmare working itself into the real world. She was dozing off after all. Nodding, convinced that was the explanation for the horrific image, she pulled her hood back on and rested her head against the window.

The image of the blood-soaked earth was fused into her mind as she attempted to get some sleep. Ella sighed, opening her eyes in defeat, feeling suddenly fearful. She avoided looking out the window as best as she could. The breakneck speed of the train began to drop as it shuddered and, eventually, stopped. Ella looked around and the nausea she felt intensified as there was no platform to stop at. A ticket collector came to her, looked down at his papers and said, “Miss Iverson?” Ella nodded, eyes enormous and eyebrows vanished behind her bangs. The ticket conductor gestured for her to get up and follow.

She slung her backpack over her shoulder and followed the man skeptically. She figured the passengers would be irritated as their commute was interrupted. But they paid her no heed. In fact, the few people who were on the train rocked slightly, as if the train was still moving. She looked out the window to see the landscape moving rapidly, as if they’d never stopped. To add to her confusion, she was able to walk without any stumbling.

The ticket collector opened the door and a furious burst of air ripped through the small space between cars. Again, both of them stood completely motionless. It was as if the stationary train was set against a moving backdrop with a fan blowing, like a movie set. The ticket collector casually gestured his head toward the door. Ella looked outside to the hillside roaring by and shouted over the loud noise, “Are you serious!?” He raised an eyebrow, impatience settling in over his tired face.

She began to feel vertigo. Her brain knew she was supposed to be moving about a bit, swaying along with the jerky rhythm of the cars. Ella turned back to the ticket collector to see she wasn’t standing directly across from the man anymore, but significantly closer to the door. In fact, she was on the bottom step, watching the now stationary ground beneath her feet. The inconsistencies made her head hurt and she jumped off of the train before it decided to start moving again. As soon as Ella’s feet touched the ground, she heard a deafening roar behind her and she sprung forward to hit dirt. She turned just in time to see the last few cars of the train tear by.

At this point, Ella was sure she was having a nightmare. She looked up to see that the mysterious castle was still only a few hundred yards away. Tired of the confusion and not willing to question the inconsistencies any further, she hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder and walked up towards the looming building, taking note of the lack of bodies littering the grass. The castle was even more eerie up close: the large windows that once consisted of stained glass now open to the elements save for the jagged edges left behind, a gaping chasm where the enormous wooden door used to be, and some sections of the stone wall carrying long scratches inflicted by swords. The uninvited guest hesitantly walked through the entrance and immediately felt as if she had just broken in to someone’s home. The hairs on the back of Ella’s neck stood up as a palpable chill cut through the air and the early morning sun seemed to shy away from the interior of the castle, creating a feeling of walking in an unlit room at dusk. She took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lower light and continued exploring. What else was there to do? Her ride to work decided she didn’t deserve it.

I’m a good, upstanding member of society. I deserve better than this. Her inner monologue continued as Ella passed the wide stone staircase, tapestries, and paintings. She walked into a dining room the size of her entire floor of apartments back home. Chairs were pulled out and intricate, bone white teacups were still on the covered dining table. Rotting food was on the table as if a family had just sat down for their afternoon snack and abandoned their opulent home suddenly. There were even ancient looking toys scattered on the floor, including a porcelain doll with its left cheek shattered and ice blue eyes staring up at the ceiling. Ella’s eyes darted upwards to see a beautiful chandelier hanging above her, the shine from the crystals dulled by the layers of dust and cobwebs. She looked back to the doll, fully expecting the now brown eyes to be fixed rigidly on her. To her relief, they continued to face upwards. She then noticed that the crack on the cheek was missing.

The teacups were gone. In their place sat white Styrofoam cups. Eyebrow cocked, she walked slowly over to the table to see the food was fresh. A strong, surprisingly inviting smell of freshly brewed coffee met her nose. Ella took a few steps back before turning around and walking briskly out of the kitchen. By this time, the low light of dusk transitioned to almost pitch black. She pulled out her phone and used it for light, straining her ears in hopes of hearing another train coming by. Instead of hearing the sounds of a train, she heard a very faint hum from upstairs. It was not the sound of a human humming, but the gentle whir of a small fan – something so familiar, but so bizarre and out of place in her current surroundings. Ella weighed her options: explore the possible electronic device making the sound or stay in the ever-changing dining room from hell. She turned around to realize a small flame was now flickering in the candle in the center of the chandelier, casting eerie shadows across the stone walls. Laughing disbelievingly to herself and muttering a few expletives, she opted to explore the source of the sound.

When Ella reached the top of the wide staircase, the small whirring sound was gone. She scanned the hallway in front of her, feeling slightly sick. A thought had settled into the back of her subconscious and now refused to rid itself from her brain: she was a bug crawling further and further towards the center of the spider’s web. The absence of the miniscule whirring made Ella realize just how quiet her surroundings actually were. She could hear every beat of her heart and shuddering breath as her anxiety kicked into overdrive. A vicious cycle was beginning where her quickening heartbeat unnerved her further and further, until another sound cut through the abnormal silence. Ella opened her eyes to realize she was on her knees. She gently uncurled her fingers and massaged her scalp, the roots of her hair angry at the abuse. After taking a deep, stabilizing breath, Ella took a moment to assess the new noise. Rustling?

It sounded like it was coming from a few doors down to the right. With a burst of courage and curiosity, she pushed the slightly ajar wooden door open through the creaks and groans of the old hinges. The sounds of protests from the metal hinges were enough to mask the rustling sound. When Ella walked into a room illuminated by the artificial glow of computer light, the sound was replaced by the whirring.

The room was smaller than one would expect in a castle of this magnitude. The bed was humble and covered in dark blue sheets. Beside the bed was a small nightstand, complete with a phone on the charger and a glass of water. Ella’s eyes widened. Across from her was a small window with white curtains decorated with midnight blue, black, green, and silver swirls. Her heart began to race again. A dresser sat next to the window with a laptop sitting on it, the screen on but completely white. The laptop sat alongside a hairbrush, contact solution, deodorant, perfumes, glasses, books, and makeup. A keyboard sat in the corner, untouched for weeks with a purple chair-turned-laundry-hamper sitting in front of it. Ella’s stomach dropped as wave after wave of recognition crashed. She used the door’s ancient handle to steady herself as she looked at her bedroom.

Ella’s eyes shot open and she stumbled out of her dark blue sheets with an ungraceful thud. The sweat that had collected on her body and clothes immediately began cooling as the air not warmed by the blanket touched them. She fumbled with her phone to see the white numbers read 6:41. Four minutes before her alarm would ring. Ella sighed deeply, looking around her room illuminated by the light of the early morning before standing up and tossing her hair into a messy ponytail. She walked to her sleeping laptop, shook the mouse, and turned on a playlist of calming music before she started her morning routine. She grabbed her backpack and phone after putting the finishing touches on the wing of her left eye’s eyeliner. Switching the laptop off, she played the same playlist of calming music on her phone and popped in her earbuds. As soon as the dresser and window were out of her periphery, they aged considerably. After she passed the bed, it transitioned into a four poster bed with curtains drawn towards the back wall, dusty deep red blankets, and moth-eaten pillows. Ella turned up the volume and looked down at her phone to change songs and pulled the heavy, wooden door shut despite the old metal’s creaks of protest.