#once i put a certain amount of time into something i usually commit to finishing it

[im-still-watching-anime]

one piece is crazy fr like what do you mean you’re following up Everyone’s Dead™️ with Objectifying Women: The Arc™️

[saphirered]

Hiii

I was wondering if you could write something about percy and his scars? Maybe a hurt/comfort with the reader?

I imagine Ripley did a number on him and I feel like it’s and angsty prompt that never gets used

Thank you if you do!

Love ur fics :D

Hello, Anon! Hope this turned to your liking! 😘

Percy is not a man who lacks confidence. Elegance and eloquence are the ways he holds near his heart and mind like a scholar might their life’s work. They are his armour and shield as much as they are his weapon. He knows how dangerous those skills may be with some amount of charm and while he may not have a silver tongue like some of his companions he certainly does not lack persuasiveness in his ways. His charm might be more tailored to the high society where his noble birth does half the job for him and his pretty face the rest, or so you’d told him. You’d also told him in certain situations he might be better off keeping his mouth shut altogether. Of course you’d joked but he’d quipped back sarcastically claiming you seemed to have no issue hanging onto his every word. Your counter could only have been described to be a blatant flirt; he could be reading you the ledgers of Whitestone’s castle staff and you’d be enamoured. Oh the satisfaction in your eyes when he refused to admit his cheeks flushed. You just have him wrapped around your finger don’t you? 

This simply proves a fact; you like him and he likes you. You’ve not been shy about it. He’s not been either. You’ve shared some moments that might just bring you to be closer than regular friends. Sure he confides in his friends sometimes, when he has to and can’t avoid it but to you, it doesn’t take much to coax him into talking to the point the others send you to deal with him when he’s in one of his moods. He’d do nearly anything for you, whatever you ask. He wouldn't go to the lengths he’d go for you for just anyone else. He lets you in when he keeps others at arm’s length. When you embrace him the cold dead winter in his heart eases and knows some sun once more to the point he longs for it. And of course while it’s a bit of a secret you may or may not have shared some things Percy would never engage in with ‘just friends’. This thing between you two it has been evolving. 

When you heard about his sleepless nights where rest would not come to him and he’d push himself to the limits to where his body decides it would take no more, you’d scolded him many times. You’d become a bit of a night’s watch over helping him settle and guiding him to sleep. Despite all odds, it worked. You brought rest to his life. A nighttime routine would start with a cup of herbal tea; your own personal recipe. You’d simply talk, enjoy each other’s company. By the time the cup is finished Percy usually feels his mind rest enough where he will not stare at the ceiling of his bedroom until dawn but he’d taken you up on your offer to stay with him until he fell asleep. He thought it ridiculous at first but you’d simply take a seat near the window and watch the stars. He found himself able to focus on you, commit that image to memory and now when you’re not there, that image soothes him to the world of dreams. You’d fallen asleep in that chair more times than he can count. 

Things have changed since then. You do not sit in that chair that much anymore. Instead you sit with your back against the headboard, a book open in your lap and a hand loosely clasped in his. Percy notes that it must be somewhat in the middle of the night. He woke up but doesn’t feel exhausted, though he would not refuse more sleep. He puts on his glasses. Then he sees you, and first thought goes to what discomfort you’ll be in if you awake like this come morning. That’s concern for something so trivial. Were you anyone else he might have claimed action and consequence and deemed it just that but the mere thought of you possibly in discomfort, let alone on his behalf, he wishes to avoid that. He carefully pulls his hand from yours. You stir a little. Then he takes the book, closes it and puts it on the nightstand. He slides one arm under your shoulders and the other your knees, slowly allowing you to slide down without hurting yourself. Your eyes open sleepily when you’re about half way down. Percy cringes when you mutter incoherently, though it’s somewhat akin to the sound of his name. 

“It’s alright. You can stay here. Go back to sleep.” He whispers but you rub your eyes and blink a few times until you focus on him proper. 

“Are you going to sleep too?” You ask and the sound of your voice makes him fight the urge to shiver. When he doesn’t answer you chalk it up to him do anything but sleep. He didn’t expect you to be this quick in drowsiness. You grasp onto the front of his shirt and pull him down. He catches himself because your mind did not seem to process the fact he’d land half on top of you. “I swear if you do not go sleep I will tie you-“ You had tightened the grip on the neckline of his shirt and gave a light tug but you suddenly fall silent. You frown, let go of the fabric and slide into a sitting position. He follows suit confused. 

“What’s wrong?” Percy suspects the worst. What did you see? What did you hear? Are there intruders? Is something coming? Are you hurt? You shake your head. 

“Percy, what are those?” You’re not even sure how to formulate that question. 

“What?” He’s confused. You go to reach for his shirt, and pull to lift it. “I think now is hardly the time-“ And then he feels your fingers trace one of the raised marks on his skin. Oh. Percy takes in a deep breath. You hadn’t seen them before. They’d been covered previously. Or at least most of them were. It’s not like you didn’t know he’d have some reminders of the life he lives or lived for that matter. You’d seen some when he rolled up his sleeves; the tiny burns and cuts and scrapes from his works and adventures. But what you might have seen just now, those are the ones that sometimes still make him cringe when looking in the mirror, not because of what they look like but the memories associated with them. He’s gotten better but sometimes he still has nightmares after a glance. 

You trail along a jagged scar on the left side of his abdomen. It’s faded but even in the low light you notice the distressed veins around the healed injury. It did not heal well. Percy, out of reflect pulls your wrist into a tight grip. He lets go as fast as you felt his fingers squeeze tightly and you find guilt in his eyes when you retract you hand subconsciously hold it close to your chest. He opens his mouth to apologise but you just twist onto your knees and throw your arms around his neck. You whisper to him; apologies, words of comfort, anything you can think of in a desperate attempt to pull him from whatever dark corner of his mind he might have slipped into. You know he didn’t when you feel his arms wrap around you and rub along your back. You remain like that for a couple of minutes until Percy pulls back. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you-“ He starts but doesn’t look into your eyes. “I should have warned you earlier. I can leave you to your thoughts should you prefer.” You lift his chin, make him look at you and show him with your mere presence you are not going anywhere unless he tells you to. You’re not running. You’re not abandoning him. You’re here for him. 

“Percy, they’re scars. Not a second head that demands the blood of tiny animals. I just- I just got caught off guard. I knew what you went through was-“ You look for the right word to describe what he endured but can’t find the right one. “I just never thought the reminders would be this present.” 

“I tend to ignore their presence when it suits me.”

“Do they hurt?” 

“No.” He shakes his head. “Not anymore.” In all honesty for some of them the nervous damage was enough to leave him deprived of sensation to the area altogether, and leave a numb phantom feeling at best. They haven’t hurt in a very long time. What pain there may be is mostly of the mind and not body. Though, some injuries come quite useful. They act up when the weather changes. Tension fades from him and he’s reminded he’s only had two hours of sleep. You even less most likely. 

“Do they bother you?” Percy lays back down, allowing himself to lay on his back but instead of staring at the ceiling like he so often has in solitude, he turns his head enough to look at you. 

“Sometimes.” He admits and offer a pitied smile and nod, like you’re coming to terms with his suffering and it hurts you. It’s a scary thing to mean so much to another person but he thinks he’s okay with that, given he feels the same about you. 

“When they do, tell me. If you want.” You’re about to take your previous place against the headboard and reach for the book over him on his nightstand where he had put it. He stops you. 

“I will.” He speaks genuinely and you know it. “Now please, don’t kill your back. Lay down. Get some rest.” It’s rare to see Percy this soft but it’s definitely not unwelcome. You don’t reply but follow orders and lay down on your side facing him. Out of habit Percy reaches out to take your hand and hold it to his chest. You snuggle a little closer, take off his glasses and reach over to discard them atop the book he prevented you from getting. His eyes have trouble focussing on you but he can still comprehend the silent message you relay; go to sleep. He sighs, tugs your entwined hands slightly. You accept the invitation until you’re pressed against his side. He closes his eyes and slowly lets sleep overtake him. Percy could feel the pushing and pressing of those dark memories but they gain no ground, not even when he feels himself slip into unconsciousness. He’s constantly aware you’re right there with him, even in the darkness of his dreams, they do not turn to nightmares. 

[innytoes]

"I'm a nice person but I'm about to start throwing rocks at people.” Feels like a very Flynn to say.

Julie never expected Flynn to get into teaching. Honestly, they'd always dreamed of being on stage together, touring as Double Trouble. Except their styles of writing clashed so much it never really worked out, and then Julie got a ghost band turned human band turned international sensation. So yeah, while Flynn did make some cool remixes for the bonus track of their album, she decided her future lied elsewhere.

"It's basically the same thing," she'd joked once when they'd been hanging out in Julie's mom's studio, like the Old Days, even though that couch definitely wasn't as kind on 30-something's backs. "You have an audience. I have an audience. But if mine gets lippy, I can send them to time out."

Luke's head had popped up from his song book, but Julie pointed a warning finger at him. "No."

"Aw."

"Besides, I've realised I can achieve my ultimate childhood dream," Flynn had said.

"Become queen of the moon?" Julie asked.

"My other childhood dream: become Ms Frizzle."

And she had. Flynn had awesome, over the top outfits for just about every subject she taught, and Julie loved every selfie she sent while they were on tour. The guys had even turned it into a guessing game, trying to figure out what today's lesson was about.

Between the amazing fashion and the fact that she knew Actual Rock Star Julie Molina, Flynn was clearly the coolest teacher in school. Especially when she got Julie and The Phantoms to play at the school Christmas Charity Drive. The kids loved it. The band loved it. The teachers loved it.

The problem were the parents. Or, certain types of parents.

Julie had lost Alex to a bunch of earnest middle schoolers, Reggie to the Bake Sale, and Luke to a bunch of children who thought an electric guitar was the coolest thing. She'd been making small-talk with the lovely kindergarten teacher when Flynn flopped against the stage beside her, shoving an entire cupcake into her mouth in one go, handing the other one to Julie.

The kindergarten teacher gave them a smile, obviously used to Flynn's antics, and wandered off.

"You okay?" she said as Flynn thankfully at least chewed instead of just washing the whole thing down with soda like some kind of carbonated drink loving cobra. She patiently waited for Flynn to be finished, wincing at the sound nearby of Luke letting one of the kids try out what playing with an amp was like.

"I'm a nice person," Flynn said. "But I'm about to start throwing rocks at people."

"That bad?"

"One of the PTA moms asked me why I couldn't get Trevor Wilson instead," Flynn said. "And then tried to get me to talk to you about playing her kid's birthday party."

"Wow," Julie said.

"Fuck Debra McManning."

That name sounded vaguely familiar. The way it rolled off Flynn's tongue, she was pretty sure she cursed that woman's name a lot. "Wait, wasn't that the lady who complained you put her son in time out because he bit like three kids?"

"Yes," Flynn said, smiling a smile with gritted teeth. "And I'm not allowed to leave this room until we get the amount we need for the fundraiser, and if she talks to me again I am throwing hands. Or rocks. Or knives."

Julie knew that look. It happened right before Flynn did something they usually both regretted (because of course Julie wouldn't let her do the stupid thing alone.)

"Band huddle!" she called, decisively. Three heads popped up from various places in the gym, and her boys made their way to her.

"What's up, boss?" Luke asked, only pouting a little at being pulled away from his favourite thing: talking to people about music who were just as feral as he was. In this case, eight-year-olds who loved loud noises.

"We need to donate..."

"Five hundred twenty-seven dollars," Flynn said.

"Five hundred twenty-seven dollars," Julie repeated. "So Flynn doesn't commit manslaughter."

"Oh it won't be manslaughter," Flynn said. "It will definitely be premeditated."

"I need to taste at least five more things from the bake sale," Reggie said. "But I can start tipping well."

"Get me one of those giant cookies," Luke said, and Reggie shot him a thumbs up.

"There's an art auction in the corner, some kid drew a raccoon furry on a skateboard," Alex said. "I'm getting it for Willie. Think two hundred dollars will help me win it?"

"I'm going to get my nails painted at the booth over there," Julie said. "I'm sure their artistic vision will be worth more than they're asking."

They all looked at Luke expectantly, and he blinked, before grabbing the dinosaur wallet from the chain on his pants and giving Flynn a hundred dollars.

"Or that," Alex sighed.

"Or that," Flynn agreed. "Thank you."

"Of course," Julie said, giving her a hug. "You can't be Ms Frizzle if you're in jail."

[skiesofaquaria]

Fear & Hunger: Finished!

23.6 hours and 30% of the wiki later and alas, here we are Fear and Hunger was kinda intimidating at first, but most of it came down the to publicity of it. I don't think I could call it "cruel" or "brutal", it just has a different gameplay loop than the games most usually play. Hell, I don't wanna speak too soon but it really feels like Dark Souls all over again, except in this case F&H is good. What I'm saying is that if you make YouTube essays you should die

To make it simple: the game's core philosophy is "bash your head against a ball until it cracks before your heads does". Death does not matter much as runs (to Le'garde) aren't supposed to last more than half an hour, and each death does not reward you with any items or permanent progression stuff but knowledge, which sounds corny as shit and I hate agreeing with youtubers but it's true. Died to a certain enemy? Avoid them next time. Fell down a toilet and had to commit suicide? Don't!. Pulled off a sword from some rubble and got crushed by debree? Avoid it or try something else! Slowly but surely you start developing your own route, you can get to places that took you an hour in mere minutes, you know what areas to visit and which aren't worth it, which items you want, and most importantly: How to cheese every encounter and every moment of the game

On a lore level I still don't think I'm qualified to talk, I've read as many books as possible but I still have some doubts here and there. What I can say however is that, as a sucker of Lovecraftian horror, the way the dungeon works, look, and feels was, put simply, my shit, same thing applies to most inhabitants of the dungeon as well

And that's the real golden detail of Fear & Hunger, the "feel". I hate words because I really don't know how to describe a "feel" other than by just, idk shove an electric rod in my brain and analyze the neuron connections to see what I mean. To put it as best as I can: The mechanics of the game really feel "fitting" to the atmosphere. Even when you're overpowered you still don't have fights guaranteed, you can always lose a limb or fail a cointoss and guess what no amount of Eastern Sword crits are gonna save you now. The dungeons feel heavy and dark, every new enemy is a terrifying learning experience, a question of "is he just a normal grunt or does he-" and the Lizardman raises his shield and now D'arce killer herself like an idiot; and once again, it's your knowledge that will defeat the dungeons, not your Strength stat

There's only one moment where I feel the game was bullshit and that was the room right before the very final boss, there's a mage there that constantly casts hurting and tears your limbs, and there's a good chance you won't find him in time before both your arms and legs are gone, so yea that's a good 15 minutes of progress lost to pretty much a quicktime event where you have to guess the inputs, now you need another 15 minutes of walking and avoiding stuff just for another chance of finding that fucker. It's less than 1% of the game but when everything else felt near perfect it really annoyed me that it was at the very last moment where something had to go wrong

But other than that, game's good, gave me a type of brainrot I haven't felt in a long long while. Would recommend if you thought Saya from Saya no Uta was cute (this post was written in a notepad and proofread exactly 0 times)

[norangeyyy]

Late Night HCs

Bucci Gang Edition

TW: nothing too extreme, just a little bit of hurt/comfort stuff sprinkled right here and there.

Bruno Bucciarati

► Bucciarati typically doesn't stay up late at night, he has work and would squeeze all the amount of sleep he can get on his free time.

► Unless he has a lot of things in mind.

► It doesn't matter whether it's a work-related problem, his past, a random thought, or just generally his worries about his future. It will keep him up.

► He'll definitely need someone to be an outlet but if no one's available, he'll just stare at the night sky and distract himself with the moving clouds or finish some of his work until he's too tired to think of anything.

► If you happen to be in the same situation and same place that night though, then make sure that you take care of the trust he has for you when he was at most vulnerable and he will do same with you.

► I personally headcannon Bucciarati to be the type to like those kind of conversations since i highly doubt that he has been so vulnerable in front of anyone besides Abbachio ever since he joined the mafia.

► And even then, he's mostly the one who lifts the spirits up and not the other way around since he's the leader.

► So expect to hear things and words you wouldn't expect to come from the Bucciarati you see everyday come spilling out of his mouth, it'll be a lot.

► Pat his back or better yet, give him a hug and brush his hair while doing so. He needs it a lot since he hasn't really got one after his family fell apart.

► "I feel so much better now, thank you. I'll make sure not to forget about this night. "

Leone Abbachio

► The night owl of the gang.

► Staying up until 3AM is nothing new to this man, hell, he could even go on a whole day without sleep if he has a lot of things that's bothering him.

► He's the opposite of Bucciarati, he prefers to shoulder his intrusive thoughts alone. It'd take some great amount of effort and trust to make him talk and let it out.

► What he does during those times is either using his stand to replay certain memories that could either worsen his guilt or put him at ease, or just drink until he passes out but most of the time, he does both.

► He could also be listening to some music while he does so but if he's feeling guilty for making Bucciarati concerned about his frequent drinking, then he'll just listen to music and hope that he'll fall asleep and not just keep his eyes closed until the sun rises.

► It works, kind of, but even without alcohol driving him to sleep, he'll always be tired. His sleeping schedule is seriously messed up because he never really cared about it in the first place.

► Would sometimes go out for a walk. Leone is fond of the city's peacefulness when everyone is asleep, with the only thing keeping him accompany is the cold air and the dim light of the lampposts.

► Secretly still has his police uniform and would occasionally take it out just to stare at it or talk to it in a not-so-kind of way as he sees his younger self in it.

► Gets dragged in whatever shit Narancia and the others are up to if he gets spotted. Mostly it's just for a movie night behind Bucciarati's back but Abbachio knows better and expects the unexpected when it comes to the gang.

► Knows what everyone does in late night if they're still up and has seen a lot of ungodly sights.

► Whether it be seeing a sleepy Mista and the pistols chanting a weird prayer to a bowl of cereals or Fugo being dragged out of his room by Narancia, Leone knows it.

Pannacotta Fugo

► Just like Bucciarati, Fugo rarely stays up late at night and if he does, it's usually just because he's busy.

► Fugo has hobbies like painting and reading, everyone in the gang knows that. It's just that he gets carried way too far sometimes and loses track of time.

► Who could blame him though when the book he's reading is just too interesting or the painting he's currently working on is almost done, right?

► On extremely rare occasions where something unpleasant enough to keep Fugo up at night happens, he'll bundle himself in his fluffy blanket like a butterfly in its cocoon.

► He always does this back when he's still living with his parents, it makes him feel safe from anything that's haunting him.

► And if it's neither his hobbies or problems that's keeping him up, he'll just hear Narancia whispering outside his door or Mista throwing pebbles at his window.

► For the first few times the duo did this, Fugo was still able to resist until he just can't anymore knowing that they wouldn't leave him alone all night.

► "Well, this isn't so bad. "

► He says as he enthusiastically tosses a popcorn into his mouth with his eyes glued all over the lit screen of the TV.

► Movie nights, along with sneaking out to go the nearest convenience store, became a common thing between the Torture Dance Trio™ ever since then.

Narancia Ghirga

► The type to wake up in the middle of the night and think "Hmm... Everyone's asleep, let's commit robbery tonight!"

► Fugo's sleep paralysis demon.

► Would literally not hesitate to steal chocolate bars with Mista and probably does 3AM challenges with him too.

► Never runs out of ideas to keep himself up at night and is the one who comes up with everything but what he does still depends on his mood.

► If Narancia's feeling a little too lazy then he'll just sleep and most of the time, with music keeping him accompany. But unlike Abbachio, he purposely doesn't wear headphones just to annoy Fugo whose room is right next to his.

► If he's feeling like it, he'll straight up just invite the others to watch a movie or play videogames even though Bruno has already made it clear not to use the TV after 11PM.

► But just as he likes staying up at night doing crazy things with the boys, he also uses his energy left and free time to self-study, as surprising that may sound.

► He may hate reading but he takes advantage of the fact that his brain is much active at night and he doesn't want to depend on Fugo too much. After all, he dreams on going back to school and he's more than willing to be capable enough to do so alone and pass without the other teen's help.

► Will cuddle anything that's near him while he studies but if you give him a plushie, it'll be instantly his favorite and he would definitely use it as a study buddy.

Guido Mista

► Alright, let's be honest here, this dude wouldn't even stay up if it weren't for his bros.

► 5 seconds lying on the bed and he's already knocked out for a good 10 hours if there's no work he has to do for the day. Make it 8 at weekdays thanks to his mafia-related responsibilities.

► He sleeps like a log so only a combination of shaking him up awake with Fugo and Narancia can make him rise from what seems like a two year coma but is really just a normal tuesday night.

► Will pretty much join Narancia at anything he does but since his last three brain cells are obviously still as half asleep as him, he won't be able to remember that much the next day.

► And once he's out of the room and is already sitting on the couch with the guys, Mista's the type to fall asleep halfway through the movie.

► You can't blame him though, it's 12AM and it seems that Fugo got to choose what movie they'll watch since Narancia already got to choose the other night.

► Unless they're playing videogames or are going out then he won't be acting like a slow ass PVZ zombie with a fried brain. Actually, he'll be hella active if that's the case.

► Active at grabbing every snack each second, that is.

► Actually, it's the pistols who does that but oh well, it's not like Mista's innocent too.

► "I swear it's not me who ate all of our groceries for this month! Right, guys?! It's the pistols! "

► And that, everyone, is how Guido blew their little rendezvous without even trying.

Giorno Giovanna

► There's not much to be said about this boy since just like Mista, Giorno goes to bed early as he makes sure he still gets the proper amount of sleep.

► He already has a lot of things to deal with at day so of course, by the end of it, he'll be exhausted.

► Nights before exams are excluded because although he may seem like he skips class sometimes, Giorno still knows his priorities.

► Only when he became the head of the mafia did he really started to lose sleep as great power comes with great responsibilities.

► It took a LONG time for Giorno to adjust to a lot of things cause come on, he maybe resilient but he's still a 15 year old teen.

► Not only does he have towers after towers of work but i like to imagine that he still continued his education and used some of the things he learns in class in the mafia, specifically in classes like history or geography class since as a boss, he has to know every nook and cranny of Italy.

► Not to mention that emergencies happen and he always has to be ready to give out orders, even if it means being woken up at 1AM.

► God, help this child because all the things mentioned above are just an understatement of what happens on the first few months of being in charge of Passione.

► "So this is why Diavolo looks like he's about to explode whenever something goes wrong huh. "

[the12thnightproject]

Even if Tempest

A semi-spoiler gush/mini review about a game that no one else seems to be playing. Which is kind of the story of my life. Either I find something long after people have stopped regularly playing... or before anyone else has picked it up. Or nobody else likes?

Basically the overall plot of EiT is that the MC (Anastasia, but as per usual you can change that) has spent the last eight years of her life held prisoner in the attic due to her wicked stepmother and evil stepsister and abusive father. Cue the entry of a handsome prince who rescues her, proposes... and then everything goes horribly wrong and she ends up being burned as a witch (none of this is a real spoiler - it's part of the game description/trailer).

Then MC is given the power of the "Fatal Rewind" which allows her to go back to whatever point she chooses in her life and re-do things. Her goal is to get revenge on those who have wronged her but also her mission (given to her by a cute being who also gives her the rewind power) is to locate the "Witch of Ruin" who happens to be causing havoc in the country.

When MC reboots herself the first time, she returns to the point before she was imprisoned in the attic, and her little 10 year old self runs away from home, and joins up as a cadet to become part of the Winged corps (basically knights who ride giant birds called Garudas). Over the next eight years, she trains in archery and fighting, and she is a total badass and I love her. MC is amazing.

So, that's more or less where the routes begin.

Structure:

The structure of the game is unusual in that you are only able to play the routes in a prescribed order: Crius or Tyril (you do get a choice which to play first of those two, but I think Crius's route is a better intro into the world), then Zenn, then Lucien. None of the endings of these routes (except for the last one) are happy.

Prepare for angst.

And sad.

Big sad sometimes.

Because in between routes (and sometimes within routes) MC plays her "fatal rewind" card, and tries again to get her revenge and also defeat the witch. Or save the life of someone who dies within the route. Once you successfully finish all four routes (without getting a dead, bad, or tragic end), you then get to play through the happy endings, and then there's a summary epilogue.

Additional game play:

Within each of these routes, there is a trial of sorts, which depending on the route, MC is either a suspect, an inquisitor, or the murderer. ... it... will make more sense when you play it. Well. By the second time you get to a trial, it will make more sense. You get a chance to investigate the suspects pre-tiral, but you've only got a certain amount of time to do that, and there are more suspects than time, so you will have to choose carefully.

Save your data often.

Emotional Arc:

Did I mention the MC is awesome? She grows and learns lessons throughout the story, both philosophical lessons, and life lessons. There are musings on "whose responsibility is your happiness?" "Is it better to live for yourself or for others?" "What is the cost of revenge?" And the all important, "Yes, it totally is appropriate to ask for help."

Oh, and the insanity:

This game throws pretty much everything into the soup ... there's the aforementioned witch; a killer clown; a handsome prince; an evil prince; the stepmother; giant birds; a terrible illness; murders; death; rebirth; an isekai'd basketball player (or maybe it was rugby... the game was not clear), priests who have committed abuse; stalkers; a mysterious lost tribe; a ninja; an assassin ... and yet even though some of this stuff was never really answered (the killer clown... what? who? why?), it still was totally compelling.

Maya!:

MC has a best friend, faithful maid named Maya who is there for her through everything ... which means that Maya gets put through the same kind of hell that MC does (and sometimes worse). Maya is great. I wish Maya got a LI too. Maya deserves .... hmm.... fanfic. (Must ponder that - especially since Maya and one of the LI's, Tyril, are a hoot together.)

Oh and of course... the LIs... all of whom were great, three of whom I fell for in different ways... and the fourth... is a good guy too.

Crius Castlerock:

Crius is the commander of the winged forces, so he's a little older than MC. He's got a reputation as a flirt, is always there to try to help everyone else's problems, and will sacrifice himself for others. (Basically, a Shingen Takeda type).

Tyril Lister:

Tyril is an inquisitor, has an unlikely friendship with Crius (and Zenn), is harsh, sarcastic, has a ton of secrets, definitely a tsundere, and is a fan of torture devices. The dialogue in the Tyril/MC route is nicely quippy, and once MC gets to know Tyril, she realizes he's got a soft, sweet, gooey center.

It's... um deep down.

Zenn:

Zenn is a bit standoffish at first, he hangs back, and he's got really good reasons for at first distrusting MC. But once he's in, he's all in. He's always got her back, and appears to have brother zoned her (for... reasons). Oh and he's built. Look at the six pack in the above CG. He looks like Motonari, behaves a little like Hideyoshi, and has Mitsuhide's VA (I found it kind of surreal, because I was rereading Mitsuhide's route at the same time as Zenn's). Zenn's route is definitely a ride.

Lucien:

Prince Lucien is the childhood friend of MC. When she disappeared, he was devastated and has never stopped trying to find her. He's a sweetheart, definitely a cinnamon roll (a running gag is that he'll often tear up, but then exclaim it's just because he has weak tear ducts). Lucien is a sweetheart, but the childhood friends to lovers trope just isn't one of my favorites. But you get to know Lucien a lot better than the other LIs, partially because when you get to his route, the first half is in his POV (for ... plot reasons).

Warnings:

This game is pretty bloody and dark. When the Witch appears in the town, he picks one person and gives them the ability to kill whoever they want, without fear and remorse. It's interesting and terrifying to have routes where characters you know and love are freed from moral restraint. In some routes there are also additional murders /death threats.

The deaths happen off camera, more or less (your screen will suddenly turn red), but they are described, and additionally, you will encounter characters with blood on their hands and faces. I didn't think it was especially gory (it's no Red Wedding) but there are certainly descriptions of violence.

The inter-route endings are sad. Not all of the LIs, or friends of MC survive (but you'll have the knowledge that MC is going to rewind time to prevent it next time).

It's angsty. MC goes through a lot.

In spite of that, I found the game extremely compelling. The crazysauce plot, and emotional arc, and the fun dialogue are all plusses in my mind, and made up for the violence and angst.

[robininthelabyrinth]

CQL-Verse: Wen Ning did a whole lot of risky stuff saving JC and the bodies at Lotus Pier. What if NMJ hears and gets talked into helping protect him and the Wen remnants by the Jiang bros, because even if he's a wen, he still 1. whole ass poisoned wen chao 2. straight up commited treason and was punished for it to protect sect heirs and 3. is extremely baby brotherable. you can fit so much h/c into this bad boy

ao3

Untamed

1

Wen Qing was angry about the trials, but Wen Ning thought they made a reasonable amount of sense.

After all, how was the rest of the cultivation world supposed to know what they did in the war without a proper trial? It was only reasonable for them to make certain assumptions about them based on their surname, the same way everyone assumed that those surnamed Jin were rich, those surnamed Lan were beautiful, those surnamed Jiang were bold to the point of arrogance…

The Nie were supposedly known for their tempers, but Wen Ning hadn’t seen much evidence of that so far.

In fairness, his only experiences with a Nie were, firstly, with Nie Huaisang at the Cloud Recesses, which he was fairly sure didn’t count, and now, during the trial, with Nie Mingjue.

Nie Mingjue laughed the entire trial.

“You poisoned the wine,” he sniggered. “At their own celebratory feast…! And then you just went straight to Yiling, where your sister was in charge. And it still took him how long to find you?”

“Weeks,” Wen Ning meekly admitted.  

“Can we go back to the bit where you saved Wei-xiong from the giant dog beast using stolen needles?” Nie Huaisang asked.

“No, we cannot,” Nie Mingjue’s deputy – a somewhat long-suffering looking man that they all called Meng Yao – said. “He’s already gone over it four times, Huaisang.”

“But –”

“No.”

“Spoilsport! Look at how much fun da-ge’s having; it’s not fair.”

“He’s the sect leader. If he wants to hoot like a shrieking monkey, he’s entitled to it.”

“I’m not hooting,” Nie Mingjue protested. “I am recognizing talent.”

“Talent.”

“Exactly. Talent.”

“At…what, exactly?”

“Causing trouble,” Nie Huaisang volunteered. “I recognize it from Wei-xiong, I could spot it anywhere.”

“Could we possibly proceed with the trial?” Meng Yao asked, obviously deciding not to continue with that discussion. “We have six more to finish today. Can I assume that given the evidence of Wen-gongzi’s subversive activities and his subsequent imprisonment throughout much of the Sunshot Campaign, he is absolved of all crimes and allowed to go free?”

“You spoilsport,” Nie Mingjue said, rolling his eyes at him. “Yes, I think so. Wen Qionglin, you are free to go your own way – though if you wish to stay here in Qinghe as a guest cultivator, we would be glad to have you for however long you wish.”

Wen Ning thought that sounded all right.

2

The Nie sect were known for their tempers, and justly so, but Wen Ning quickly figured out that he didn’t need to be afraid of Nie Mingjue’s occasional outbursts (quickly roused, quickly doused) or Nie Huaisang’s temper tantrums (petty) and occasional grudge-holding (rarer but much more dangerous).

No, Wen Ning figured out very quickly in his first weeks that the one to be afraid of was clearly Meng Yao.

Wen Ning had been weak and sickly his whole life in a sect that valued strength above all; he had survived hiding behind his sister, but she couldn’t always be there for him, no matter how she tried. He’d soon learned that surviving on his own meant being quiet and obedient, never making trouble or drawing attention to himself, and it also meant being extremely attuned to the minute expressions that might signal the difference between Wen Chao being angry enough to throwing a teacup at his head and being angry enough to order him to be taken outside and beaten until unconscious.

The same skills helped him in the Nie sect, where people were very often angry. Wen Ning could tell the difference between Nie Mingjue raging to let out steam (moderately common and generally innocuous, easily ignored) and being actually upset (typically only dangerous to the furniture, which was a nice change, but more worrisome in the sense that he might go and do something stupid afterwards), and he could tell that Nie Huaisang’s true anger, so rarely triggered, tended more towards the cold and hidden (definitely a sign he was going to do something, but unfortunately for everyone involved it’d invariably be far more malicious - enough to make you long for stupid).

He could tell that Meng Yao was, despite all his smiles, very often angry.

Like Nie Mingjue, Meng Yao’s temper was easily roused to the point of fury; like Nie Huaisang, his anger lasted a long time and usually called for some malicious action before it could be properly assuaged.

“Senior Meng,” Wen Ning tentatively said one day when his curiosity got to be too much for him. “Could I ask a rude question?”

Meng Yao’s temper, hidden deep in his eyes, flared at once, preemptively, and Wen Ning shivered and looked down at the ground. He had known what he was risking, but he hoped that asking permission in advance might allow him to get the question out with minimal reprisals – cold meals for a few days, perhaps, or being assigned to the training yard only when the most sadistic training-master was supervising, but only for a week or so.

“Of course, Wen-gongzi,” Meng Yao said, and he sounded nice and pleasant and like no question could possibly be rude enough to cause him any disturbance. It was a little frightening how good he was at that. “I can’t imagine what you would want to know that would be rude.”

“Are you related?” Wen Ning blurted out. “To Sect Leader Nie, I mean – his family –”

Meng Yao stared at him. His mouth was slightly hanging open.

“…it’s a stupid question,” Wen Ning concluded, feeling ashamed. Of course Meng Yao had been promoted entirely on merit; it was only his imagination getting away from him. “I’m sorry. I’ll go –”

“No, wait,” Meng Yao croaked. “Related – to the Nie sect – forgive me. How did you reach that conclusion?”

“I mean, you’re obviously treated as part of the main family,” Wen Ning pointed out. There were plenty of Nie cousins that weren’t treated anywhere near as well; both Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang were not only protective but almost possessive over Meng Yao’s time and dignity - surely by now everyone knew that the surest way to get them each angry in their own ways was to slight Meng Yao. “You wear Nie braids like them – you wear clothing like them – you have a temper like them –”

Meng Yao started laughing.

“…did I miss something?”

3

“I’m surprised you didn’t go to the Lotus Pier after you’d been absolved,” Nie Huaisang said, tapping the weiqi piece on the board a few times before making a move. “Given your fondness for Wei-xiong and all that.”

“Wei-gongzi’s very nice,” Wen Ning said vaguely, staring down at the board. He’d played a lot of weiqi in his life – including against Wen Ruohan when the man had still been remotely sane, mostly because he’d been the only one stuck back at the palace with him more often than not – but playing against Nie Huaisang required all of his attention. The first time he looked away, he’d get lured into a trap. “Very kind.”

“And yet you stay here,” Nie Huaisang prompted. “In Qinghe, with us, when even your sister picked the Lotus Pier.”

Wen Ning had never been without his sister this long before. He knew that she still expected him to come to the Lotus Pier. She hadn’t expected him to last the week without her; she’d said as much when she first went, huffing at him for being ridiculous – a Wen as a guest cultivator in the Nie sect, of all places? – and telling him, in between reminders to take his medicine on time, that she’d prepare a place for him there so that he would be comfortable when he arrived.

Her letters, in the weeks and now months since that time, had never overtly asked when he was going to finally get around to moving there, and had recently developed an almost quizzical tone, as if she’d finally realized that he wasn’t.

“I like it here,” Wen Ning said, and moved his piece.

Nie Huaisang moved his own almost immediately in response, which meant that Wen Ning had made a horrible mistake that played straight into Nie Huaisang’s hands. Not an uncommon occurrence. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “We like having you here, too.”

Surprised, Wen Ning looked up.

Nie Huaisang was smiling at him – he smiled nearly as often as Meng Yao, but unlike Meng Yao, he never smiled if he didn’t want to, so his smiles were actually sincerely meant each and every time. He had a wide range of smiles: nervous smiles, cheerful smiles, devious smiles…

Wen Ning was good at reading expressions, but he had to admit he’d never had to work as hard at it as he did with Nie Huaisang.

“We’re a very nice sect, really,” Nie Huaisang said, and even seemed to believe it. “We’re always open to people who are like us. The only thing we can’t tolerate is injustice and betrayal; as long as you stick with us and put us first, you’re ours, and we’re yours.”

That sounded nice, Wen Ning thought, and moved a piece blindly. “You think I’m like you? My sister doesn’t think so.”

“I think you fit in very nicely,” Nie Huaisang said, and his smile had teeth to it. He moved quickly, again. “You’re angry and resentful, but you don’t let it get in the way of what you want - just like us. Your sister probably doesn’t think that about you, either, but then again, that’s why she’s in the Jiang sect, with their heads in the air, dreaming of the impossible. I bet she never even noticed that you had a temper.”

She hadn’t. Wen Ning had been her baby brother and nothing else for a long time; he never had to defend himself as long as she was around. 

He’d never had the chance to defend himself.

(He didn’t resent her for that. He didn’t. She was his big sister, his favorite person, and he loved her so much that he didn’t mind the way that all her fussing sometimes made the world feel cramped and small, as if he were being forced into a place that he’d long since outgrown.)

“Do I have a temper?” he asked, and moved another piece.

“Oh, yes,” Nie Huaisang said. “You’re like me – slow to boil – and like Meng Yao, hiding it behind your eyes. You’re even a bit like da-ge: you don’t need to be the one get the frustration out as long as something deals with it, but if nothing does, it nags at you and wears at you, like a thorn stuck in your flesh, until you can’t be silent any longer. Until you have to do something, or else you’ll explode.”

That sounded about right, Wen Ning thought. He’d never really had a chance to explode in the Wen sect, out of fear of what they’d do to his sister if he did, and he’d been sick with it – he’d limited himself to little rebellions, nameless pranks, right up until he met Wei Wuxian, who was kind to him, and couldn’t stop himself from helping him. He sometimes thought, in the days he’d spent in the dungeons, that if he died he’d come back as a fierce corpse, soul-calming rituals or no, and he’d might even enjoy it if only for the opportunity to finally vent his feelings – to finally pay back every single injustice that he’d ever seen, each one marked down in his heart in an indelible list of regrets.

Maybe Nie Huaisang was right. 

Maybe that was why he stayed here, in the Nie sect, the sect of do not tolerate evil instead of the Lan sect’s chivalry and righteousness or the Jiang sect’s attempt the impossible.

Maybe he wanted to fight back for once. To have a temper, to have rage, to be something more than Wen Qing’s shy, stuttering shadow.

“I like it here,” he said again, but if his words were the same then the flavor was different: he meant it this time.  

He understood, this time, what he meant by it.

Nie Huaisang smiled at him and moved another piece. Winning the game, Wen Ning noticed.

“Good,” he said. “Now move over – sit in front of the mirror. I’ll show you how to do your hair right.”

“Really?”

“Really. Also, Da-ge’s been practically champing at the bit to teach you saber, and Meng Yao has been making grandiose plans about redoing the way we recruit and train doctors with you leading the charge, so if you’re not up for either of those, now’s the time to say something.”

Wen Ning settled down in front of the mirror.

“No,” he said. “Those sound good to me.”

[imherongraystairstrash]

I know you write about relationships in TLH and TID that are rarely/seldom touched on in the books or extras, but I wanted to know if you would consider a Christopher and Thomas Lightwood fic. Maybe the first time they are both in the lab and Thomas experiences the first of the many explosions which Kit unintentionally created. You could follow it up with another scene: Thomas pointing out to Christopher what had led up to the explosion (a misidentified component or measurement).

Of course! I absolutely adore the Lightwood cousins! I put a tiny bit of all of them in this fic, but it's mostly focused of Thomas and Kit :)

Thomas and Kit:

Thomas’ sisters have been giggling for what felt like days. Not only giggling, but they kept pestering him, asking about what men fancied the most in women.

Oh, Tommy, do men like shorter hair or longer hair?

Do men prefer a woman who speaks softly or says what’s on her mind?

Thomas would always say the same thing: I don’t know.

Because, really, he didn’t. He’d never thought of women in that way, though the angel knew he’d tried. He simply couldn’t. His mind told him to like one thing, but his heart said otherwise. It was frustrating. And very confusing.

“Why can’t you just be yourselves?” Thomas said. “Who cares what the men think?”

They giggled again, which made Thomas furrow his eyebrows.

“Don’t you understand, Tom? You have to lure them in by attracting their attention, and then, once you have them wrapped around your finger—”

“Then, you can show your true colors.” Barbara finished.

“That’s a terrible idea.” Thomas said. “You’re just wasting your time.”

They both shook their heads in perfect synchronization.

“He’s too young.” Eugenia said.

“And innocent.” Barbara replied.

Thomas rolled his eyes as they giggled again, and began discussing possible bachelors.

Thomas could only tolerate two minutes before he felt suffocated and stood up, frustrated.

“Wait, we still need you.” Eugenia said.

“Where are you going, Tommy?” Barbara asked.

“Out.” He snapped, taking his coat from the hanger and tugging it on. He let the door close behind him, ignoring his urge to slam it, and quickly made his way down the steps of his house.

The cold air bit into his skin and made its way to his neck and down his back. He silently cursed his sisters for making him leave in such a rush that he forgot to take his scarf.

Thomas walked down the streets of London, letting movement cool his head.

He was tired of the world. Angry at it. The way his sisters embraced it and tried their very best to be a part of it. The way it would force him to live his life differently, with someone he could never truly love.

He wished it would disappear, leave him alone, and yet it was always there, floating over his head like a shadow.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and briskly crossed the street.

Most days, Thomas missed Idris; walking barefoot through the forest and simply being outside in the clean, rich air. In Idris, if he wanted to be alone, he could. He could lay on the grass and fill his lungs with it’s wonderful scent, or climb a tree and hum melodies of his own creation. Of course, he liked the fact that in London, he could be with his friends, but there are some things even friends can’t quite help with. His friends could calm his mind the way the soft breeze that ruffled his hair or singing of birds could.

Thomas didn’t realize where he was going until he was standing in front of his Aunt and Uncle’s house.

He knocked on the door, and when nobody answered, he shrugged and opened it.

He made his way through the house, poking his head in certain rooms, trying to find one of the residents. It was usually quiet today. He looked into the parlor and found Cecily with her back to him. She was swaying back and forth, her hair falling from it’s bun.

“Hello, Aunt Cecy.” Thomas said.

Cecily turned, and smiled when she saw him. Her eyes had bags under them, as she and Uncle Gabriel were very tired these days, the reason for which was soundly snoozing in Cecily’s arms. Thomas’ new baby cousin, Alexander (whom Kit had informed Thomas was very loud) apparently has lungs of steel. Cecily had said she looked like a raccoon these days, but Thomas thought she still looked as pretty as always. “Oh, hello Thomas. Have you come to see Christopher?” She asked, rearranging Alex’s blanket.

Thomas nodded, “is he here?”

“In his room. He’s been awfully quiet today.” She said, simply. Then she furrowed her eyebrows, as if realizing what she’d just said.

“Do make sure he's not partaking in something foolish while you’re there, Thomas, would you?”

“Yes, Aunt.” Thomas said, making his way up the stairs.

He hadn’t wanted to come any closer to his baby cousin, for fear that he’d wake him, and Aunt Cecy would have to put him to sleep again.

Thomas waved at Uncle Gabriel as he passed him in the study, as he walked down the hall. Gabriel waved back half-heartedly, as if the life had been sucked out of him.

When Thomas opened the door to Christopher’s room, he found him bent over the table in his room.

“You’re going to hurt your back if you stand like that.” Thomas said as a way of greeting.

His cousin looked up immediately.

“Shut the door,” he hissed.

Surprised and confused, Thomas did so, and Kit straightened.

“What ho! How wonderful that you are here, Tom. I was working on something fascinating.”

“Is it related to science in any way, because last time you tried something like it, you blew up one of Henry’s walls.”

“That was because I made a simple mistake.” Kit said, with a wave of his hand. “This time it’s different.”

Thomas wasn’t very convinced. He noted Kit’s askew cravat, his tousled hair, his glasses that sat crooked on his nose and his wide-eyed gaze and concluded that his cousin has officially lost his head.

“Why did you look like I’d committed the largest sin on the planet when I left the door open?” Thomas said, deciding to change the subject.

Kit scowled. “Alexander.”

Thomas blinked. “You’ll have to be a little bit more specific than that.”

“Any small amount of noise and Alexander will cry for hours.” Christopher said, scrawling something on a paper. “At least this way I don’t have to hear the racket so much.”

“Oh,” Thomas said.

“I don’t know why Mum and Dad even wanted another baby. They’re demonic creatures.”

“I thought you liked Alex.”

“When he didn’t cry so much.” Kit said, rather darkly.

Thomas had never seen his cousin so…gothic? Not only was he strangely gothic, but he has also thrown himself into science experiments, which didn’t settle well with Thomas. It was as if he were a mad scientist and Thomas, who’d read Frankenstein, didn’t think those two words were ever a good combination.

He cast an uneasy glance at Kit, who was biting his bottom lip as he combined two solutions.

“Kit, what are you even trying to accomplish?”

“Oh, erm, actually, I don’t know. I’m just observing what will happen if you combine— Oh, that’s not good,” Kit said.

“What’s not good?” Thomas asked, just as a large explosion answered the question for him.

“What the Hell was that?!” They heard Gabriel’s frantic voice call from the hall, just as Alexander began wailing and Cecily let out a noise that started out as frustration, then became something halfway between confusion and worry. Christopher, covered in soot, simply stared, dumbfounded, at the place where the vial had once been.

“Erm…” Thomas said, unsure of how to answer the question his uncle asked.

Not that it mattered, as Gabriel burst into the room a few seconds later. Much like his son, he blinked and just stared at the explosion site for the moment it took Cecily to come inside with a red faced Alexander in her arms. The latter was rubbing at his puffy eyes with his small fists, clearly not happy to have been woken up from his nap in such a way.

“Christopher Gideon Gabriel Lightwood, what in the name of Raziel have you done?” Cecily said, not hysterically, like most parents might ask, but more so weary, as though she wasn’t entirely surprised by the fact that there was an explosion in her residence on a Sunday morning.

Kit shrugged, still staring at the explosion site.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Thomas said, “but are these chemicals toxic? Shouldn’t we be evacuating?”

And for the first time in Thomas’ life, he saw his Uncle Gabriel and Aunt Cecily exchange a wide-eyed expression before Cecily ordered them all out of the room and briskly led them down the hallway.

She knocked on Anna’s door as they passed it. “Cariad, make haste, we’re evacuating the house.”

“Why?” Anna asked in a bored and strangely breathless voice, as if she were dancing.

“Your brother caused an explosion. Did you really not hear it?” Gabriel said.

“Oh, that’s what that was?”

“Yes, now come outside before you start glowing in the dark from the toxic fumes.” Cecily said firmly.

Anna groaned. “Alright. Let me get dre— I mean, I’ll be right down.”

Cecily sighed and continued down the hall.

…

Thomas waited outside with the Lightwoods, Anna climbing out of her window a short while later, not bothering to straighten her simple dress as she landed. If either Gabriel and Cecily were by any means surprised by Anna’s exit, neither remarked upon it. Nor did they mind that Anna was barefoot or that her wavy hair was unbound, waving in the wind like an ebony banner.

Gabriel and Cecily were simple folk, in that sense. They didn’t waste time trying to make their children conform to society, they just let them roam free.

Well, except for now, as they were scolding Kit, Cecily forbade him from any sort of experimentation within their house. They may differ from parents in many ways, but they were still parents, regardless.

Anna slumped down beside Thomas, watching the house.

“Another day, another dollar in the Lightwood residence.” Anna said mournfully.

Thomas just stared blankly ahead.

“One of these days, Tom, I’m going to get my own flat.”

Thomas nodded.

“And you can have my room here.” Anna said.

Thomas snorted. “Your room is pink. Very pink.”

Anna pressed her lips together. “Believe me, I’m aware.”

When Kit was done being scolded, he came over to them. Anna patted the grass next to where she was sitting and Kit plopped down beside her.

“How angry are they?” Anna asked.

Kit just frowned.

“At least they’re not disappointed.” Anna said, ruffling his hair.

Kit just pressed his lips together, identical to the way his sister had done shortly before. Anna and Kit looked very alike, despite their coloring. They always denied it, of course, just as Thomas always denies it when others say that he looks like his sisters.

“Well, you two are a dull bunch.” Anna said, getting up. “If neither of you are going to talk, I might as well leave.”

They watched her go to her father, most likely making a joke as she walked and despite everything that happened, Gabriel chuckled.

Kit scooted closer to Thomas, who put a hand on his cousin’s back.

“Maybe next time, you should study the chemicals better.” Thomas said, “see how they react to other chemicals. I don’t think spontaneity is something scientists encourage.”

Kit looked up.

“And maybe don’t do it in your room?” Thomas said.

Christopher nodded.

Thomas looked straight ahead, and they sat in a comfortable silence.

“Do you really hate Alex?” Thomas asked after a while.

“Not really.” Kit said. “He is just vexing sometimes.”

Thomas huffed a laugh. “I feel the same about Genia and Babs sometimes, if that makes you feel better.”

“I still like Alex, though.”

Thomas hummed. “Yes, I still love my sisters too.”

Thomas leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes. He may not be in Idris, but at least he still had his family. He may be different and the rest of the world might shun him, but at least his parents would still love him.

At least he was alive, and though sometimes it wasn’t always perfect, life was still good.

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[ultraimaginez]

My Love Is Not A Joke - [Mammon x Reader]

Fandom: Obey Me! Ship: Mammon x gn! reader Word Count: 1.9k Rating: T A/N: just thinkin about the amount of effort it would take to convince mammon you actually like him and you’re not just being an ass to him like everyone else made me feel a lot of thiiiings and then this was born lol.

Mammon lives in a liminal space between fear and a love so fierce it threatens to consume him. It’s a hell of his own making-- too cowardly to tell you how he really feels and too devoted to let you go. 

And so you are forced to exist in this hellish space with him. Each time you try to get close he pushes you away, afraid he’ll be the butt of just another joke. Each time you try to give him space he pulls you back in, terrified you might leave him. It’s an exhausting game of tug of war between his ego and his heart and, frankly, you’re sick of being the god damn rope.

Eventually you reach your breaking point. 

You are lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying another days worth of back and forths between you and a certain white haired demon boy. This has become as much a part of your night time routine as putting on pajamas or brushing your teeth. Every flush of his cheeks-- be it in anger or embarrassment or affection-- every dumb argument, or sweet sentiment, or stupid joke. They all play like a never ending feedback loop in your mind. But tonight a thought strikes you as you roll over to finally try and get some sleep-- as long as Mammon is engaged in this endless war against himself you’ll be stuck in it right along side him. He’s never going to give himself peace. He’ll fight until there’s nothing left of himself. So if the two of you are going to get out of this mess it comes down to you.

It’s a scary thought, the idea you might have to be vulnerable and make the first actual move. Scary enough that you try and let it go. Maybe you can just sleep on it and think about it more in the morning.

But now you can’t think of anything else. The thought begins to ruminate in your brain and there’s no way you can sleep at this point. You stay awake all night wondering if there’s any other solution. Any other way out of this mess. It turns out you also exist in the liminal space between fear and love. The idea of telling Mammon how you feel is paralyzing. And so you go to school the next day not having slept at all.

This pattern continues for nearly a week. Each night you stare at your ceiling going round and round in circles. And maybe Mammon can take this awful tug of war but you certainly can’t. You don’t have millennia to stay away pondering this shit. You’re a mortal and you’re being driven in-fucking-sane. So finally, on the seventh night of nearly no god damn sleep, you fling off your covers and irritably begin stomping down the hall. 

You ignore Beel who is hip deep inside the refrigerator cleaning it out of whatever the hell is left inside. You passively wave to Levi when he sticks his head out of his room to ask you to play games and mumble some lame excuse. You’re on a mission to resolve this once and for all and nothing will stop you.

You make a beeline to your destination and once you reach Mammon���s door you begin to pound on it aggressively. 

A familiar voice rings out from inside. “Jeez, cool it, Lucifer. I told you, I’m working on it. I’ll have all these late assignments done by tomorrow just gimme some time.”

“It’s me.”

There’s a pause and you can’t practically hear the gears turning in Mammon’s head as he registers who is speaking.

“Oh well why the hell didn’t ya just say so? Come in.”

You open the door to his room and find Mammon sprawled out in one of the arm chairs in the center of his room. His feet are propped up on the table and his leather jacket is flung over the couch opposite of him, leaving him in his normal jeans and black shirt. You can tell he’s been running his fingers through his white hair in frustration as it’s mused and messier than normal and his brows are knit in concentration as he looks down at his notebooks. 

“Stupid Lucifer. Makin’ me do all this damn work in one night. It’s not fair.” He says, tossing the books onto the table as you shut the door behind you and approach him. 

You have a rebuttal about how it’s not exactly ‘unfair’ since all of that work had been assigned weeks ago, but it dies on your lips when he looks up at you. You can feel you heart jump into your throat as your eyes meet, the normal façade of the student mode dropped here where he is comfortable and alone. People often attribute fastidiousness with appearance with Asmo, but Mammon is usually just as put together. Seeing him so relaxed is special, it’s something you know he reserves for only people close to him. 

Your not sure how long you stand there at the edge of his chair looking down at him but it must be longer than normal because the sound of Mammon clearing his throat pulls your attention. “Eh? Do I have something on my face? You’re staring and it’s weirding me out.” His cheeks are pink and he looks absolutely anywhere but your face. “Anyway, what the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night? Couldn’t wait to see me until tomorrow, huh?”

Well.. It’s now or never. You’ve plucked up enough courage to make it this far so you might as well commit.

“Mammon, I like you. A lot. And I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable but I just... do. So. Yeah... Do with that what you will.”

If you weren’t borderline unhinged from the complete lack of sleep and frayed nerves and being so vulnerable, you would find the way his eyes quadrupled in size fucking hilarious. 

“Wha? What do you mean? Is this some sort of dumb prank.” You can see him looking past you at the door. He’s searching for his brothers, searching for a camera, searching for the evidence that this is all some elaborate joke at his expense. You can already hear the derisive laughter he’s waiting for playing in his head. ‘Stupid, Mammon.’ ‘How could you think they would ever like you?’ ‘Got you good, huh?’ ‘Actually thought that they might like you? You’re even dumber than we thought-’

You cut off whatever string of insults he’s playing in his own hand by gently touching his face, cupping his cheek with your hand. 

“It’s not a joke, Mammon. I like you. And I understand if you don’t feel the same way but... I need you to know that.”

It’s clear that the moment you touch his skin his internalized war rises into a crescendo. It breaks you open to see his eyes soften with a vulnerability you’ve never seen before, blue gold shimmering with an emotion you can’t quite place but sends your heart hammering harder than it ever has before... and then immediately they harden again. “Do you have a fever or something?! Jeez, leave it to a human to get sick right when I’m supposed to be doing something else. I don’t always have time to be-”

He begins to rise from the chair and it’s clear he wants to run, wants to hide, wants to lick his wounds before they can even form. You can tell he’s already written this off as another joke at his expense. If you let him get away from you right now you’ll lose that look you found in his eyes just moments ago for good.

You push down on his shoulders, seating him in the chair again, and then wordlessly climb on top of him, pinning him beneath your weight. Surely he could pick you up and yeet you across the entire god damn room if he wanted to, but the action seems to break the string of negative self talk long enough for you to actually speak to him. 

“Mammon.” You grab his face between your hands and force him to look at you. His expression is wild-- scared and hopeful and completely unguarded. “I. Like. You. And it’s not some joke. If you don’t feel the same way just tell me. But if you do-”

You don’t get to finish the rest of the sentence.

Mammon kisses you like you are oxygen and he’s on the verge of drowning. One hand shoots up to the back of your neck, pulling you close, tangling his long tanned fingers in your hair. The other comes to rest on your thigh. It’s all you can do to twine your own fingers through his soft white hair and pull him closer as he rocks into your body. You feel tears begin to well in the corner of your eyes as a surge of emotion races through you. You’ve never felt so much for one person in all your life. It’s enough to make you feel like you’re being crushed under the weight of it all. 

At some point you physically can’t keep kissing him because you’re afraid you might actually suffocate. You pull back to take in a breath but he continues to hold you close, keeping his hands in your hair, lips still only inches from your own. You look at him, his eyes are more gold than blue now and you feel like you might catch fire if you look at him too long. You let out a breathy “Oh...” 

Apparently he’s decided you’ve had enough time to breath and he’s on you again, pulling you close and making desperate little noises every time you part lips even briefly. You wonder if maybe you can die from catching on fire internally because every part of you feels like it’s engulfed in flames.

Eventually you manage to part again, long enough to put a hand on his chest and keep him from chasing your lips. You’re breathing heavily, trying to suck in air but finding it hard to do so when Mammon is looking at you like he’s just waiting for the chance to devour you again. 

“So..” your voice comes out an octave higher than normal and your face turns scarlet, clearing your throat so you can try to speak somewhat normal. “Uh.. I take it... we’re on the same page then? Y’know... about... stuff...?” You’re not exactly eloquent but Mammon just kissed you to the point of ceasing brain function so, really, who can blame you? 

There’s a beat of silence, and then Mammon speaks, voice deeper, quieter, and more serious than you’ve ever heard it before. “Don’t leave, okay?” 

You’re not really sure what he’s referring to. Leave this chair? Leave the Devildom? Leave him? But he’s raw and real and so fucking perfect staring up at you perfectly kissed like that and the answer comes to you without thinking. 

“Never. I’m never leaving. I’m here for as long as you want me.” 

Suddenly both of his arms are around your waist, drawing you close. Your face is pushed into his neck and his into yours. You breathe in the smell of his aftershave and shampoo and you’ve never felt more at home. Your hearts are pressed up against one another and you know you’ve never felt more right than in this moment. 

The last thing you hear him whisper as you drift off to sleep for the first time in nearly a week is a whispered. “Always... I’m always going to want you, silly human.”

[wienerbarnes]

Witch Bitch

Pairing: Bucky x Witch!Reader

Word Count: 3,943

Warnings: witch stuff, burning at the stake 😳

A/N: this is heavily inspired by american horror story: coven bc i recently watched and ive been binging all of it lately but its not necessary to know anything about ahs lol i kinda just used their fancy magical terminology and concepts bc they were cool🤪 

MAIN MASTERLIST

The best time of the day was breakfast. It was the time when Bucky, Sam, and Sharon were most often together. Sometimes training overlapped and they missed lunch. Sometimes missions ran long or friends were in town and they missed dinner. But the morning? They were all early birds, all awake by seven. They took that shared characteristic and shared breakfast together whenever they could. Bucky usually took care of the coffee, Sam usually took care of the eggs and bacon, and Sharon usually took care of the bagels, toasting them to perfection before slathering on a layer of cream cheese.

It was a moment of peace in their day. Quiet before the noise of the gym or the conference room or the jets or the private trainings or the interviews with prospective agents or anything else they do on a daily basis. It was a time for three friends to just sit and eat and enjoy each other's company as though they are just that: three friends. Not super soldiers or captains or special agents. Just people being normal. Normal doesn’t last long, though. It never does for them.

Bucky’s on dish washing duty this morning while Sam and Sharon chat idly behind him, waiting for him to finish so they can all leave together. A soft voice interrupts them, though, making the three of them stop what they’re doing because no one has access to this floor except for the people that live here - meaning them three.

“Who’s in charge here?” You ask.

“Who the hell are you?! How did you get up here?!” Sharon asks, ignoring your question.

You were in a long, flowy black skirt, slit cut in the left side exposing your leg, and a long-sleeve black shirt, tucked beneath the waistband. Think black boots cover your feet and a black hat sits on your head to complete your look. Bucky almost doesn’t notice the folded black umbrella underneath your arm as his eyes trail down the multiple chains and necklaces around your neck, falling between your breasts.

“I’ve been trying to find someone to help me but the people in this building are not very helpful. I figured I’d find who’s in charge myself, something that you all don’t seem to want to help me with, either.” You explain.

“The only way to even enter this building is through strict appointment and background checks, and no one’s even allowed past the nineteenth floor.” Sam explains.

“Why are you entertaining this? I’m getting her out of here.” Sharon says, moving to walk towards you to take you out of the building herself.

As she nears closer and closer, you wave your hand lazily, without taking your eyes off Bucky, the only one who hasn’t said anything this whole time, and Sharon collapses on the floor soundlessly.

“Jesus!”

“What did you do!”

Both Bucky and Sam panic as they rush to Sharon’s body on the floor. They frantically run their hands over her body, looking for the point of injury that made her collapse the way she did, but they find nothing. No holes, no blood; she didn’t even make a sound.

“She’s not breathing and she doesn’t have a pulse, what the fuck did you do to her?!” Sam yells at you.

You roll your eyes, “Okay, you got me. I don’t need help finding who’s in charge, I already know it’s you. I still do need your help, though.”

You’re ignored as the two men hover over their friend, unsure of what to do or what even happened to her.

“Oh, alright, move.” You order them, stepping over Sharon’s body.

You stand before her, lifting your hands to hover over her body before closing your eyes and letting out a deep and long exhale. Bucky and Sam watch as it takes only about seven seconds for their friend to suddenly gasp for air, jumping back to life. The boys crowd her once more, checking her eyes, her pulse, everything to convince themselves that she’s actually alive like that, and if she was even dead in the first place.

Sam finally looks back up at you from the ground, as though he just remembered that you’re there, “What are you?”

You smirk in response, ready to finally get what you came here for.

…

“So, you’re a witch?” Sam asks, the four of them now occupying a private conference room for some privacy.

“A witch who killed me.” Sharon adds.

“And a witch that brought you right back.” You reply, leaning back on your chair, leg crossed over your knee, slit exposing your thigh. Bucky’s eye twitch to look at your bare skin for a second before returning to meet your eyes.

“So… what do you do?” Bucky asks.

You smile at his innocent curiosity, “All witches don’t have one universal power. Some are clairvoyant, some do voodoo, some dabble in pyrokinesis, divination, transmutation, descendum,” You glance over to Sharon, who’s still pouting at you, “Resurrection.”

“And can you do all of those?” Bucky asks.

“Almost all of them, but I’m not here to talk about me.”

“Why are you here?” Sharon asks.

“You guys hunt the Nazi’s, right?” You ask, aiming your question towards Sam, knowing he’s the Captain in charge.

“Hydra, yes.” He confirms.

“Well, your Nazi’s somehow got a hold of my magic. And they are playing with very dangerous fire,” You begin.

Bucky interrupts, “We’re all for taking down Hydra, but, don’t you think you’re a little more… powerful than us?” He asks.

“Bucky!” Sharon slaps his arm, as though she’s shocked that he would ever admit such a thing.

“I am. But I’m not that powerful, either. Not anymore, at least. A group of those Hydra invaded the coven my sisters and I were at. I was the only one that escaped.” You tell them.

“Did Hydra take them?” Sam asks.

“No, they killed them.” You respond, growing irritated as the subject grows touchier and touchier.

“Can’t you just bring them back like you did me?��� Sharon inquires.

“No! I can’t. Like I said, I’m not that powerful anymore. Maybe I’d be able to bring back a house full of dead girls when it was me and twelve others but it’s just me now. I wouldn’t come all the way over here if I had other options.”

Silence grows over the group as they process what you’ve gone through. Surviving through the massacre of your fellow witches and not being powerful enough to find the people that did it on your own. You’re vulnerable.

“So what can we do?” Sam asks, ready to join forces with you.

“Help me locate the men who did this so I can handle the magic part.” You tell him.

“What magic do they have?”

“Although witches control most of the magic, sometimes it can be taken on in… physical forms. Specifically blood. The blood they retrieved was from a witch that was skilled in Vitali Vitalis.”

“The alive within the living.” Bucky translates.

“There are two worlds: the living and the dead,” You begin to explain, “Vitali Vitalis keeps the balance between these two things and it’s one of the most difficult powers for a witch to master. Oftentimes it’s used to give parts of your own life, health, and energy to someone who needs it. But it can also allow you to take life from someone and give it to yourself.”

“Like immortality?” Sam questions.

“Not quite. Any witch can be killed with a knife or bullet. This kind of magic keeps you from dying of age. I’ve only ever known one witch who mastered it.”

“What happened to her?”

“She used it for evil, like this. Took the souls of hundreds in order to allow herself to live for almost three centuries. Until she was killed, of course.” You finish, a small smile on your lips knowing that she got what she deserved.

“What, you burn her at the stake?” Sharon jokes.

“Yes, actually. We did.” You tell her matter-of-factly, becoming more and more irritated at the fact that she doesn’t seem to take this is as seriously as you are.

Bucky interrupts, sensing the rising tension between the two girls, “So when we find these guys, you’re going to burn them at the stake, too?” He asks.

“Yes,” You say, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “The consequence of using magic like this for evil is death by fire. I hope you all don’t think the rules will change on account of these men being Nazi’s?”

“Well, we just have a different way of doing things -” Sam begin to defend

“Yes, I’m aware. The countless destruction caused by you and other militaries, the millions of innocent lives lost yearly, not only in the constant war and irresponsible handling of your nuclear and alien weaponry, but by incorrect prosecution. Not to mention the billions of dollars spent on your ridiculous prison systems that don’t work when actual bad people escape and the death penalty practices in certain states. I just figured my way was easier. And cheaper.” You reply.

Silence crowds over the four of them once more as they think over all their options.

“I’m in.” Bucky speaks first.

“Me, too. Even if I don’t like you.” Sharon follows.

“Feeling’s mutual, dear.” You smile at her.

The three of them look to Sam, waiting for his commitment as well.

“Alright. Let’s get to work.”

Plans were made, theories of location were thought of, and plans to execute the mission were put into place, all of which included you. A temporary room was given to you when the information of your lack of a place to stay was brought to light. Only for the duration of this mission, is what Sam told you, but you can spot the amount of love and light in his heart from miles away.

It was later that night, and you’ve since cleansed the room, going as far as to place a protective spell on the entire floor. You’ve lost too much already, and you’re not about to risk anything.

A knock at the door sounds and the visitor you’d been expecting has finally arrived. You walk towards the door, still in your clothes from earlier but now you’ve removed your shoes, and open the door to reveal Bucky.

“I was waiting for you.” You tell him.

“How’d you know I’d come?” He asks, stepping through the door when you step aside, silently gesturing to him to enter.

“I can hear your thoughts. You've been debating whether or not to come see me for the past thirty minutes. Your mind is very loud.”

“Tell me about it.” He mumbles to himself, thinking about the countless nightmares, voices, and all the other reminders of just how loud his mind was.

“You can ask all your questions, you know. I won’t take any offence. You’re just curious.” You tell him, settling on your bed, hoping he’ll join you and stop hovering near the door.

Luckily he takes the hint and takes a seat across from you.

“I’ve never met a witch before. A real one, I mean. Like, someone born a witch. Like Salem witches -”

“I understand.” You chuckle lightly.

“You don’t seem… afraid of me. Or, hesitant, rather.” You tell him, thinking about how he’s received your presence here compared to his colleagues.

“I was wary when you killed my friend, but… you just need some help, is all. I’m sorry, by the way, I’m not sure if I said it before, but, I’m sorry for what happened to your friends.” He tells you.

He’s very polite. But you supposed that’s not abnormal considering he got his manners from the 1920’s. You like it, though. You give him an appreciative smile before giving him the okay to ask you whatever he wanted.

“So you said that witches can master multiple powers but have one specialty; is yours resurrection?”

“Yes; it was the first power I ever exhibited when I was a teenager. I was about fourteen or fifteen. My next mastered skill is descendum and then clairvoyance, where I was in my twenties, or so.” You tell him as he looks at you with pure fascination in his eyes.

“What is - what is descendum?”

You pause, “The power to descend your soul down into the afterlife - to hell. And return alive.”

His eyes widened, not even knowing that was something someone can do; not even knowing that hell existed in the first place, “So, you’ve been to hell?”

“Yes. I’ve also been able to retrieve people from hell, their soul. A variation of my power of resurrection, I suppose.” You explain, not being too fond of that power; descending to hell.

Bucky sits in silence for a few minutes, and you let him. You can hear the question lingering around in his head; what he’s thinking. But you let him build up his own courage to ask it. You know he’s only scared of the answer; the answer you know he’s not going to like.

“What is hell like?” He whispers.

“It doesn’t matter what my hell is like. Everyone has their own personal hell they experience when they die.” You tell him.

Confusion clouds his features as he registers your answer.

“Is there… Is there no heaven?”

You smirk, “It’s nice that you’ve remained religious after all this time.”

“Yes, there's heaven. But only for the purest and most innocent of souls. And rarely do people escape life without sin. Everyone has evil in them.” You tell him, knowing it’s a harsh truth that no one wants to hear.

The people Bucky’s killed, the crime he’s committed, the families he’s hurt; it all passes through his mind. Everyone has evil in them.

“What was your hell like?”

“I’m not telling you that.” You tell him quickly.

Bucky ponders what his own hell will be like, after seeing the way you’re clearly shaken up about your own. The fall from the train. The man in a lab coat sawing off the rest of his arm. The needles poking through his skin in the middle of some facility. The chair.

He doesn’t realize that he’s looked away from you until he snaps his thoughts back to the present and sees he’s looking down into his lap. He glances up to see your face, your soft features and kind eyes staring at him. He glances from your eyes to your lips and back up again before clearing his throat, not realizing how close he got to you during his time here sitting on your bed.

“You know, I, uh, I should go. Thank you for, uh, answering my questions, but we head out pretty - pretty early tomorrow, so,” He trails off, standing and patting down his shirt to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in a nervous habit.

He makes his way towards the door and his hand touches the knob when he hears your voice, “Hey, Bucky?” He turns slightly to face you again, a hum to indicate for you to continue.

“Thank you for coming to see me. And thank you for all the kindness you’ve shown me. You’re a very good person.” You tell him sincerely.

He gives you a nod of you’re welcome before exiting.

He’s not sure if you told him that because you truly mean it, or if it’s because of the state of anxiety and existential crises you’ve put him in now that he’s going to be thinking about his personal hell, but he appreciates it, nonetheless.

He thinks you’re a pretty good person, yourself.

…

The mission goes off without a hitch. The combined skill of the Avengers’ stealth, spyware, and experience along with your magic and witchery makes for an easy capture of the men who killed your witch sisters and stole your magic.

It’s not long before the facility they were at was shut down and cleared out, arresting any officers and rescuing any prisoners or hostages, and the five men specifically responsible for the destruction of your coven are in separate custody. What’s left of the blood is returned to you, as well.

That’s where the group of you stand now, a decision to be made about the criminals you’ve captured. To be put in the maximum security prison floating in the ocean, or to be put to death by fire.

“I don’t believe in being the executioner of people.” Sam tries to convince.

You can’t help but let a laugh escape you, “Do you know who you work for?! Do you know who you are?!” You remind him.

“Those guys can’t escape the Raft.” He tries, referring to prison in the middle of the ocean you’ve heard about.

“You did.” You respond, knowing about when Steve Rogers took him out of that prison, along with other superheros.

You see Bucky and Sharon look between the two of you, torn between how these Hydra criminals should receive their fate. Staring into the hot depths of flames or rotting alone in a cell? Both seem to be too merciful, in Bucky’s opinion.

“This isn’t just running the facility or experiments, Sam. This is different. They were using dark magic to commit crimes. Maybe they should face the consequences of a dark-magic-punishment.” Sharon offers.

You don’t have time to be shocked at Sharon agreeing with you and picking your side before Bucky agrees and Sam is outnumbered. He stares at you and gives a single nod, allowing you to do this your way.

You smile, a silent thank you for giving you the closure and opportunity to serve justice to those who did you harm. “Off to Massachusetts, then.” You tell them, and Sam takes his seat in the pilot's chair, Bucky accompanying him in the front of the jet.

You take a seat, making yourself comfortable for the flight to Salem and you feel a body take the seat next to you. You glance up to see Sharon looking at you, but you notice she has something in her hand, offering it to you.

You look down to see a small plastic bag of fruit gummies. But not just any fruit gummies, you realize. Halloween themed fruit gummies. The pictures on the outside show the various options inside: witch’s hat, a broom stick, a melting pot, a vial, and a magic wand. Hilarious.

You take the gummies, though, accepting her attempt at a truce.

It’s not long before you and your temporary teammates find themselves standing before a large, empty field, multiple wooden stakes standing about fifteen feet tall scattered about with plenty of space in between.

You lead the walk to a group of them standing tall in line, so the men can be burned at the same time, as opposed to one by one. A group of large, burly agents lug the Hydra operatives along, behind you and the rest of the team.

Bucky hangs around your left, as to not be in the way of the black umbrella held in your right hand, and Sam and Sharon trail behind you. You can sense their uneasiness and tune out their worried thoughts. Everyone’s first burning is always an experience; they’ll get over it.

Bucky doesn’t seem worried, though. In fact, you can’t hear his thoughts this time around. But he still stands tall and straight, walking with confidence, so you make a safe assumption that he’s okay.

None of the men’s cuffs or shackles are removed, but thick rope is tied on top of it, around the wrist and looped around the waist, tying them to the stake. The cuffs are special grade - high tech Avengers vibranium - and they can be retrieved later once the fire burns out.

“Any last words?” You ask, more for tradition than whether or not you actually care.

They look scared, obviously not expecting their fate to look anything like this. You remember seeing Bucky tackle one of them in the facility, prying his mouth open to rip out a tooth, or what looked like a tooth, like a dog caught eating something it wasn’t supposed to. A cyanide pill.

Silence comes from them, except for one of them, “Hail Hydra!” He yells, as if that cowardly and pathetic phrase would change anything.

With a raise of your hand, seemingly with no effort, you wave it and the stakes all begin to rise up in flames. There’s nothing to spark, no twigs, no gasoline, nothing, and Bucky watches as the flames rise, growing stronger as they engulf the five men. They begin to scream, and Bucky looks over at you, as if to confirm you didn’t bring gasoline or something with you, and he sees a smile slowly grow on your lips.

They haven’t stopped screaming; they’re still alive when you turn and begin to walk back the way everyone came. Bucky follows, and eventually Sam and Sharon do, too, the other agents staying behind until the end to retrieve the cuffs and shackles that will survive the fire.

“So, now what?” Sharon asks, the air quieter as the screams have slowly stopped in the distance.

I can’t imagine what kind of paperwork follows this, “Back to the tower.” Sam responds.

“The coven’s only a short walk from here.” You say, not needing to elaborate much more. The men have been caught and brought to justice, but you still have a broken, battered, and beaten down coven to fix.

A friend of yours was meant to go by and retrieve the… bodies. Which you’re grateful for. But magic won’t help you fix the walls, the floors, mop the blood, or find other witches in need of an escape and a place to improve and master their powers. You have a lot of work to do.

As the view of the jet gets closer, you prepare to bid your goodbyes to the Avengers, your thank you’s as well. Regardless of your attitude towards them before, you couldn’t have done this without them.

A metal hand engulfs yours, pulling you back a bit as Sam and Sharon continue on.

“Do you need any help?” Bucky’s warm and gentle voice floods your ears, hand still in yours.

“You guys have been more than enough help, now, really.” You try to tell him, but he has none of it.

“You may be tough, but you can’t fix up that house by yourself,” He tells you, “I can be pretty handy, fixed up a few things back in my day.” A soft smile grows on his face.

You glance over his shoulder as Sam and Sharon wait by the entrance of the jet, “Don’t you have to go back?”

“They won’t miss me.” He tells you, not even looking back to confirm with his teammates, hand dropping to run it through his hair.

You giggle at him, before giving him a shy nod in answer to his offer to help you fix up your big house.

“I’m going to hang out here for a few days.” He yells over his shoulder.

“We figured.” Sam calls out, and Sharon throws you a wave as they board the jet, the opening close after them.

“Lead the way?” Bucky offers you, taking your hand once more, interlocking the fingers this time.

And so the two of you are off, one of your hands still clutching the umbrella, holding it above your head, and the other hand interlaced with the one of a handsome and kind super soldier. This wasn’t the way Bucky expected the last two days to transpire, but he’s glad they led to holding the hand of a very pretty witch.

[akatsuki-shin]

Review: 默读 Mò Dú (Silent Reading)

Notes:

(Very) long post ahead

Contains spoiler

This is my personal review and does not represent the entire audience, you are free to agree or not agree with what I’ve written here

Feel free to reply/send me a message if there are things you want to discuss

Using the Donghua poster because it fits the overall story more than the Audio Drama cover. :'))

Summary:

Yan City is a bright, bustling metropolis filled with all sorts of wonders, all sorts of people. From the richest occupying the city's most prestigious residential areas to the poorest huddling together in rundown slums, from the most fortunate blessed with a life of comfort to the wretched deemed to struggle until their last breath, from the virtuous walking in the path of light to the wicked lurking under the cover of darkness.

There is as much good as there is evil, and days gone by, people coming and going along with the passage of time.

Since their first meeting during a certain case seven years ago, Captain of the City Bureau's Crime Investigation Unit Luo Wenzhou thought he would never see eye to eye with Fei Du, son of a well-known conglomerate who inherited his father's position and wealth after the latter fell into comatose due to a near-fatal accident three years ago.

Words as sharp as knives dyed their bitter exchanges, even their personality was like the heaven and earth; the bold, blunt, and straightforward Luo Wenzhou - and the astute, secretive Fei Du, with his beautiful peach blossom eyes and a smile that is not quite a smile seducing countless people, his very presence seems as if it was covered under layers and layers of deceit.

Every single time they meet, they would always part on bad terms. Yet Luo Wenzhou would never have thought that a seemingly ordinary murder case of an ordinary deliveryman would lead him into the mystery of multiple long forgotten unsolved cases, turning over the Yan City and the City Bureau itself upside down, making him question his faith to those he respected and trust - and along with it, opening a door to the truth of Fei Du's past never once known to others.

STORY: 9/10

At first glance, the overall plot of Silent Reading seems neither extravagant nor exceptional. It's just one of those police drama where the main leads had to wrestle in a battle of wits with the villains looming around them, struggling to outsmart each other and eventually, bringing justice to those who deserve it.

But that is exactly what is so good about it. Silent reading could take all of those cliche and packed them into one nerve-wrecking, enticing journey from start to finish, complete with both intense and amusing interactions, and just the right amount of romance that does not disturb the flow of the main story.

And it actually does have its own uniqueness.

In most police dramas I've ever seen, the enemy is usually either a corrupt high-ranking official committing some hideous criminal acts by abusing their authority, or an individual/group with some very extreme values or obsession. Silent Reading, however, have both of those two most general types of villains in the story and what's more? It pits them against each other, pulling around and forcing the main leads to wreck their brains, slowly unravel the tangled mess until the truth finally comes to light.

The action and suspense, the atmosphere, the analysis, everything was almost impeccable to the point of perfection.

I have to especially give my kudos to how the author (Priest) structured the mystery in such a way, connecting one dots to the other from beginning to end. During the first few cases, I thought the resolution of the case didn't feel very solid, as if there are still some details that have yet to be properly elaborated. Yet halfway through, I realize that there is actually a bigger plot that encompass everything, tying all loose ends together.

And here, I would also like to highlight my two most favorite scene.

The first one is in Chapter 114-115 when Luo Wenzhou finally peeled of Fei Du's defense and for the first time exposed his true feelings, making Fei Du faced and spoke what he truly felt for Luo Wenzhou - that he really, actually did care for him. Their entire interactions and development up to this scene fits so well with these two main characters. There was no nonsense, no sappy crying and needless drama. Luo Wenzhou was as blunt as he was desperate and Fei Du, for once, admitted to the truth straight out with his own mouth.

The second one is in Chapter 157. In this case, one of Fei Du's most trusted men and an extremely important witness (that would later become their ally) were being chased and surrounded by thugs hired by their enemy. At this point of the story, the City Bureau was already in turmoil. Luo Wenzhou was suspended, nobody knows who they could or could not trust. Yet still, his subordinates all set out swiftly under his command and followed him to save the two witnesses, appearing at the most critical time.

It was actually a typical scene that exist in many police action drama, but given the development of the story, the well-built character relationship and interactions, I think it is Luo Wenzhou's coolest scene in the entire story and it makes me admire him a lot as the main lead and a leader figure.

One thing that does not quite sit well with me is Fan Siyuan's obsessiveness towards the late Gu Zhao. His motive for the crime was clear and I understand that he was using Gu Zhao's case as an example of injustice. But his extreme emotions whenever Gu Zhao was mentioned seems strange, even baseless. It makes me think whether he considers Gu Zhao as his own family or he was maybe madly in love with Gu Zhao, whereas in the entire story, unless I'm missing something, I have only ever known that Gu Zhao was Fan Siyuan's student - nothing more, nothing less.

CHARACTERS: 9/10

Silent Reading has a balanced, yet still very much appealing casts, from the major characters to the minor ones. Even the suspects and witnesses each had their own distinguishing features that didn't make them look like they were just there as canon fodders.

The composition of Luo Wenzhou's team itself is ideal; they've got the dependable leader, the smart advisor, the best friend and trustworthy right-hand man, the genius nerd, and the dependable aide.

I especially like Tao Ran (and I think most readers would agree with me). While he looks like the typical good guy type, he really, truly is a very good person. It's hard not to find him lovable. His relationship with Chang Ning was as cliche as it could get, but hey, as long as he's happy. Dude deserve it after everything he's done.

As for the two main leads, they are probably one of the most interesting couple I've found in the past few years.

Individually, Luo Wenzhou is the type of character I always like. He is confident to the point of having a narcissistic streak, but all of those are based on real talents and experiences. He speaks bluntly, but he cares for others through his action. He does not sugarcoat things and speaks the truth for what it is. Everything about him simply screams "reliable" as a leader (and a significant other to a certain someone). He deserves all of the respect and loyalty his subordinates gave to him.

Fei Du at first looks like a complex character whose real self is hidden beneath countless coats of pretense, but at the core, he is just a pitiful young man who does not know how to value himself, does not know how to love and be loved due to the abuse he suffered during childhood in the hands of his sadistic father. Despite his composure, his intelligence, his capability, he is almost like a lost little child, wandering in the darkness, going wherever the flow would take him until Luo Wenzhou pulled him out of that abyss. It is nothing less than commendable that he could restrain himself from succumbing into his father's manipulation, even if he has to correct himself through such extreme means for a long time.

And I'm glad that now he has someone who gives him the love he has long since been bereft of.

With Luo Wenzhou, Fei Du finally has a color in his life, someone to make happy memories with, and someone who genuinely love him for who he is. Likewise, with Fei Du, not only Luo Wenzhou got someone he could genuinely care for, he also finally has a place where he could relax, taking off the strong front he'd been putting before others all day long.

It was just so fulfilling to see two characters growing from "cat and dog" into inseparable lovers. They weren't sickeningly sweet, but just two people who are content with each other and would be each other's strength. I was especially happy when I saw how Fei Du changed his phone's ring tone into the one Luo Wenzhou in the extra chapter.

Now that I've finished reading this story, these two straight up went to the top of my all-time most favorite pairing list. But of course, this is just a personal opinion. Luo Wenzhou and Fei Du simply hits all of my favorite tropes, that's why. 😂

If I really have to point out one mini flaw, I suppose it's that the main villains aren't as appealing as the rest of the casts. They were practically overshadowed, even by some minor characters that only appeared for a short while.

TECHNICAL ASPECTS: 9/10

Just some very minor complaints:

1). When the story first introduced Fei Du in the beginning, it felt kind of abrupt. The narration had only been addressing him with his physical appearance, but suddenly they changed it into "Fei Du" with barely any proper start.

2). The international conference in Yan City (Chapter 2) was supposed to be a background information of the general setting of the first case, yet it was not properly mentioned at the start - rather, one sort paragraph about said conference was simply being slipped in the middle just for the sake to be there.

3). The switching of scenes between characters in the 3rd person POV are sometimes too quick with no signs of incoming transitions beforehand like taking shortcuts.

And by that, I mean that other than those three issues above, everything else was nothing less than perfect.

OVERALL SCORE: 9/10

A realistic story with perfectly balanced action, mystery, suspense, and romance - with a dash of comedy sprinkled at the right time and place.

Reading the novel from start to finish was nothing less than enjoyable. Whenever there needed to be a flashback or explanation, it didn't feel like info dump being thrown in all of a sudden.

I would like to point out a bit about the Zhou Conglomerate Case in Book 3.

Personally speaking, I think this is the most realistic case out of the others, and by that, I don't mean the crazy rich family drama.

The other cases in the books are something that to me feels "faraway"; murders, child trafficking, psychopath, organized criminal gangs. Yet in Book 3, due to the nature of the case, it was posted publicly for all to see, and damn if it didn't bring out the most annoying thing I actually hate in real life.

Clout-chasing media, meddlesome netizens commenting without thinking on the Internet, spreading personal information of the involved individuals without consent, handing down judgment based on rumors and personal opinions even if they have nothing to do with it (and know nothing about it), crashing the website due to mere curiosity, further hindering the police working on the case from doing their job.

They weren't thinking about those actually involved in the case, especially the victim. They don't care, or maybe don't even think that their meddlesome acts could cost a human's life because they see everything as mere passing entertainment. And if something were to happen because of their meddling, the most they would say is, of course, as quoted from Chapter 72:

"I didn't do it on purpose"

"I wasn't doing it to you"

"I didn't expect this to be the outcome"

"From a certain point of view, I'm a victim, too"

Even if I was just reading a fiction, at that moment I truly wished I could shut down the Internet for a bit. 😂

Anyway, amazing story. I might re-read everything from the start again when I have some free time.

[cagestark]

The Rest it Kills

About this: ballerina!peter and mobster!tony. Starker. Physical and emotional between established quentin beck/peter parker. 

THIS IS UNFINISHED. Anyone is welcome to continue it. 

-

“FRIDAY, baby? Do you have the shot?”

-

It’s a celebration, which does nothing to explain why the room gets quiet as soon as Tony enters it. Around the table are four of his best and brightest, the handful of underlings that were instrumental in helping Tony execute his vision of how to repay Adrian Toomes for encroaching upon his weapons market. For a job well done, he’d invited them up to the penthouse to have at his expensive collection of spirits. 

He’d left them alone for only a half hour to make a few calls, but now upon his return they were shifty eyed and babbling about something inconsequential, a sure sign that they had hastily changed the subject. 

“Alright,” Tony says, pouring himself a glass of scotch. “Out with it. I’m a paranoid bastard at best. At worst?—well. Ask Toomes.” 

“It’s nothing bad, Tony,” Rogers says. If the fact that Rogers hadn’t told a lie his entire life didn’t put Tony at ease, then his clear eyes and voice did. Rogers was his number two, and they got on thick as thieves. He’s about as likely to lie to Tony as the sun is not to rise.

“Then I’m not angry,” Tony says, taking the empty seat. “But now I’m curious. Which is worse?” 

“Angry,” Wilson says in that deadpan way that Tony just adores. 

“Come on, don’t leave me in suspense,” Tony says, finishing his scotch with a single gulp. He pours himself another. 

It’s Romanov who—doesn’t break, per say. Tony isn’t convinced that there’s anything that could break Natasha, though if they were on opposite sides, he might have a few places he’d be willing to start. She must weigh the pros and cons and decide that letting Tony in on their little secret is the best move. Whether it’s best for her, for them, or for someone else, Tony can’t say. 

She shifts and pulls out a piece of paper folded in half and tosses it across the table. Barnes and Rogers groan. 

“Nat, you rat,” Barnes says. 

“Wow,” she says, eyes glittering. “That rhymed, Bucky. It was beautiful.” 

“What the fuck is this?” Tony wonders out loud as he unfolds the paper. It turns out to be nothing extraordinary. It’s a program for the New York City Ballet. The ballet is something new by Ratmansky, with principal dancers MAXIMOFF/PARKER. “Ballet? Taking up a new hobby, Barnes?” 

“I thought I’d look great in the tights,” is all Barnes says. A deflection if Tony’s ever heard one. 

“Their boy toy is the lead,” Romanov admits (to fresh groaning from around the table). 

Tony’s eyebrows raise. “Boy toy? All three of you?” 

“We are in the process of wooing him, so to speak,” Wilson admits, taking a swig from the bottle in front of him. “Barnes and Rogers might be willing to tag team him, but I want him all for myself.” 

Rogers’s eyes flash, cold steel in the overhead lights. “Watch the way you’re talking about Peter. He’s not a piece of meat to be shared.” 

“This is a goddamn episode of the Bachelor,” Tony laughs. “Which one is Peter: Maximoff or Parker?” 

“Parker,” all four chime together. 

“I feel like a father whose kids are going out on their first date. Are you buying him flowers? Are you opening the car door for him? Are you being safe?” Tony jests. He leans back in his chair feeling the warm thrum of the scotch in his stomach, glancing from one besotted man to the next.

“All that and more,” Barnes says. Then, with more than a little bitterness: “It’s the way he deserves to be treated.” 

Tony lifts his brows. Natasha slides him the deck of cards so that he can shuffle. He’ll lose, especially once he’s as drunk as he hopes to be, but there’s no amount of money he could lose to them that wouldn’t amount to pocket change in his book. Consider it their bonus. As he deals, he asks, “Trouble in paradise?”

“You could say that,” Wilson mutters. “He’s not exactly on the market.”

“Never took you for a homewrecker, Rogers. Barnes maybe—“

“Hardly a home to wreck,” Barnes admits. “Not a happy one, at least. Pete’s boyfriend is a perverted, abusive low life.”

Tony goes stiff. The buzzing in his gut transfers to his brain, raw as the sizzle of electricity. In his mind, he sees himself as a young boy sitting cross-legged by the vanity in his mother’s room watching her apply creams and powders to disguise Howard’s abuse. All the heinous crimes Tony commits, that one is not among them. He doesn’t prey on the weak. It’s the only promise to his mother that he’s never broken. 

“So, take care of him,” Tony says lowly. “Do you or do you not have certain skills and the balls to use them? You could kill this boyfriend and have it look like a hundred different accidents. What’s the problem here? Do you need daddy’s permission or something? Well, here, I’m giving it.”

Rogers scowls darkly at his hand. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Wouldn’t I? Regale me, then! Because it sounds to me like I’m sitting around the table with a bunch of pussies.”

“Peter asked us not to,” Barnes says. 

Tony blinks. “Is—is that it? Good God. Definitely a bunch of pussies. Kill the bastard anyway. If you can’t stomach it; if you don’t want your boy toy mad at you, give me a name and I’ll do it. It can be done before we’re four rounds into poker, for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s not like we don’t have the stomach for it,” Wilson says. He’s the newest of their crew, but Tony appreciates his fearlessness, the open, unabashed expression he gives Tony when calling him out on perceived bullshit. “It’s about respect, man. We respect Peter’s wishes, and he trusts us because of it.”

The form of respect Tony is most acquainted with is fear. This softness he sees in his men right now translates to nothing short of weakness. Tony has never lived in a fairytale: the world is hard, and it makes hard people. 

The rest, it kills. 

“It’s complicated,” Rogers says to soothe Tony’s hackles. “If you knew the kid, you’d understand I think.”

“Now you’ve gone and done it,” Barnes mutters. There’s movement underneath the table: one person kicking another, everyone jolting to get their legs out of the way. Barnes looks like he’s sucked on a lemon, or taken a shot of Nat’s imported whiskey. “Now he’s gonna go see Pete for himself and none of us will have a chance.” 

-

As it is, Tony doesn’t have to lift a finger to meet Peter because Peter comes to him. 

-

Tony knows the benefit of giving his men a nice long leash. 

He doesn’t have to. With them living in the Tower, it’s within his rights to keep surveillance on all of them; except he knows that distrust breeds distrust. Wilson, Romanov, Rogers, and Barnes have earned his trust. For that reason alone, he removed the wiretaps and cameras in their rooms upon their arrivals. 

But it’s still his home, and he watches it. Closely. Tony has just poured his third glass of scotch when FRIDAY alerts him that there’s an unauthorized presence in the Tower.

“Unescorted?” Tony asks. His blood thrums—this is the most exciting thing to happen all day. 

“Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes are the ones who granted him entrance using Mr. Roger’s passcode, and they appear to be returning to Mr. Rogers apartment, judging by the floor number selected in the private elevator.” 

Tony rolls his eyes, relaxing back in his chair. “A fuck, baby?” 

Tony has asked them not to entertain guests at the Tower without his authorization, but Tony was young once. He knew the thrill of breaking rules, how good forbidden, casual sex could feel. He wouldn’t put it past Rogers and Barnes to have grown bored, considering they’ve been dicking each other down since they were teens. Just thinking about twenty years of monogamy has his cock shriveling. If they’re just bringing home someone to bend between them and spitroast, Tony’s not going to bother abandoning his scotch. 

“Judging by the young man’s level of inebriation, I would hope not.” 

Groaning, Tony sets his scotch aside. He gives it a mournful glance while he steps into a pair of jeans and straps up. “I’m coming back for you, baby,” he whispers. “Wait for me. Take no other lover. Fuck, I hate wasting my humor on an empty room.” 

“I’m here, boss,” FRI offers. 

Tony rolls his eyes.

-

When he knocks on Steve’s (Steve and Bucky’s apartment, considering how much time Bucky spends there) at fifteen minutes ‘til midnight on a Thursday, he would usually expect a bleary-eyed blonde to crack the door open, a dark apartment the backdrop behind him. Instead, the door opens and light floods out into the hallway. Steve is dressed in his pajamas, that is to say that he’s wearing only a pair of pajama pants that cling to his hipbones for dear fucking life. 

“FRI said there’s someone in my building and they’re drunker than I am. Don’t you know that’s a crime?” Tony asks, leaning against the doorframe. The cock of his hip emphasizes where his gun rests, but Steve’s eyes don’t even flicker to it. 

Nonplussed, Steve just steps aside to give Tony room to enter. 

Slumped on the sofa, bundled underneath a large blanket is a young man. Handsome, his face is a testament to masculinity: cut jaw, straight nose, flat brows and thin lips. The only hint of estrogen is the clear, smooth skin that looks like he’s never grown facial hair in his life. Right away, Tony places his bets that he knows who this kid is.

Peter Parker is resplendent, large brown eyes that blink sluggishly, dragging all over Tony’s figure like his eyes can’t decide where to rest. Sitting up, the blanket falls away and reveals his naked chest which Tony eyes with appreciation. He has the optimal figure for a ballerino, obvious strength that is lean and not bulky. 

One of the thin lips is split, bruise blooming like the most tender flower beside his mouth. The wound opens when the kid’s mouth falls open. 

“Ohmygod,” he slurs, elbows shaking from lack of strength. He collapses back onto the comfortable couch. “Tony Stark is here.”

Were he not so sobered by the kid’s appearance, the bruises and blood and the red-rimmed eyes and raw mouth, he might be charmed. Bucky appears dressed no more than Steve and Tony, a glass of water in his hand. He helps Peter sit up and coaxes him to drink from the glass. Every other sip, Peter gets distracted, gaping from naked chest to naked chest. At one point, he falls asleep propped up on Bucky’s shoulder. 

“He’s not drunk,” Tony says, standing back with Steve while they watch Bucky try to coax the kid into consciousness. “Drugged?” 

Steve hums. A muscle in his jaw jumps from how he’s grinding it. “It’s not the first time. Beck and Peter have different tastes in the bedroom. Peter has mentioned before that sometimes after their date nights, he wakes up sore.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. And you haven’t killed this guy, yet?” 

Steve looks downright tortured. He does it well; Tony’s always thought of him as a bit of a melodramatic. “Peter would never see us again if we did. We have to decide between being around to support and protect him or not being around at all.” 

“If Beck was dead,” Tony says coldly. “There’d be nothing to protect him from.” 

“James,” Peter groans, losing and finding purpose again during the middle of the word. “Tony Stark is here!” 

“In the flesh, kid,” Tony says, stepping forward. Peter’s eyes trace down Tony’s chest, tracing the matting of scars over his sternum before dipping over his abs (nowhere near as pronounced as Barnes or Rogers’s, but Tony does alright). The kid licks his lips. He can’t help but preen a little, winking at Bucky who is rolling his eyes. “

The curiosity has been planted like a seed deep inside Tony’s mind. It sprouts, soaking up thoughts until it’s the only thing he can think about, Peter Parker, principal dancer, owner of three of his best-men’s hearts. 

It leads Tony here, to the best seats money can’t even buy at the Lincoln Center in Manhattan, dressed in his best tuxedo, dark eyes focused on the curtain that glows gold. His heart pounds when it withdraws on a dark, empty stage, though he hardly knows why. 

By the end, he has a better idea. 

There’s no hiding a single sharp line or sensual curve in the outfits they wear onstage, the pale tights and leotards. There is nothing soft about him save for his curls, but still he leaps and lands silent on his canvas-clad feet. The dance is obviously based around Maximoff’s character with Peter there as her supporting love interest, but even when the red-head bewitches the audience with her fouettés, Tony can’t take his eyes off of Peter’s figure, bowed at the edge of the stage and watching her with the sweetest supplication. When it is time for his own variation, he leaps and bows with a boneless grace that does more than take Tony’s breath away. It makes him hard. It makes him think about those long, strong legs wrapped around his waist while he gives the boy his cock. It makes him think about peeling those tights off and wrapping them around the dainty, pale wrists. It’s a good thing no one can see his erection behind the wall of his box seat when they all stand to give their ovation. 

Peter bows and flushes, hand in hand with Maximoff before standing behind her sweetly while the entire place howls for her. 

Tony thinks that maybe he’s starting to understand. 

-

No one bothers him where he leans against the wall beside Peter’s dressing room door. Whether it is his reputation or his thunderous expression, he knows not, but he’s grateful for the lack of distractions while he eavesdrops on the conversation taking place inside the dressing room between Peter and a man Peter calls Quent. 

—work harder in the gym. Have you been tracking your calories on the app we downloaded together? 

Yes, Quent, Peter mumbles, barely audible through the walls. 

All of them? 

I said yes.

Don’t get defensive, babe. I had three different audience members come to talk to me about your figure tonight. It pisses me off too! If you’re ready to leave the industry—

You know I’m not.

Quentin sighs, the long-suffering sigh of an argument that has been often visited. I know. This is your dream. Poor baby. It must be so tough, loving a job that hurts you so much. But I’m so proud of you for pushing through, Peter, you know that, right? I just wish you were a little more grateful to me for trying to keep you on the right track. You treat me like the bad guy.

Peter doesn’t respond. 

Is there anything you need before I go? How’s your back feeling? Your lifts looked a little strained towards the end.

Feels okay. I’ve got everything I need back at my apartment. I’ll go home and put my feet up. 

You deserve it. Just don’t forget to use that app okay? There’s a rustle, a struggle, maybe Peter trying to pull away. But Tony’s always had an overactive imagination. Hey. Don’t be like that. I love you. 

You too.

Peter. Say it right. 

Tony slips away from the door before Quentin can come out. From his place around the corner, Tony still has decent vantage to put eyes on this man for himself. Average height, average weight. Fit enough—for a civilian. Tony’s hands positively ache for a gun. Though he’s carrying, he’s no fool. Now isn’t the time, nor the place.

Once he’s sure the man is gone and not returning, Tony makes his way back to the door. It’s time to meet this young talent from Queens (yeah, Tony read the brochure) for himself. But when Tony goes to lift his hand to knock, the door swings open.

Peter blinks in surprise. He’s dressed in gray leggings that look soft as cashmere, a NYDC hoodie on, sneakers on his feet. Spilling from the sneakers’ tops are black fuzzy socks, meant to keep his toes warm from the cold New York weather. 

He’s limping. 

And gaping. It never gets old, seeing the way his reputation precedes him. He loves the way the crowds part for him on the street, loves the way waiters and waitresses stammer and struggle to serve him, the way eyes grow wide like Tony is a god in the flesh. 

Tony extends a hand. “I’m Tony Stark. It’s a pleasure to meet you; you’re a very talented dancer.” 

“Hi,” Peter breathes, taking Tony’s hand. Tony grips gently, feeling like he’s liable to break bones, the kid’s so fucking delicate. And cold. But Tony knows the saying: cold hands, warm heart. He wonders what that makes him. Peter works to regain himself, saying, “Trust me, I know who you are. It’s so nice to meet you. Thank you—they didn’t tell me that anyone important was going to be in the audience.” 

“They who?” Tony asks. “Your managers, or my men?” 

Peter swallows, face draining of blood. As much as Tony likes these games, they aren’t as enjoyable when the worm on his hook is as pretty and polite as Peter is. He puts on his most charming (softest) smile and makes sure to ask, gesturing to the messy dressing room behind him, may I come in?

Nodding, Peter opens the door wider. They both ignore how he was clearly on his way out, a backpack in his hands. He sits it down carefully by the vanity where he applied his stage makeup and seats himself on the chair, nudging his shoes off. When he stretches the arches of his feet, he winces. Tony gives him a moment to settle, stepping around the tiny room and taking in the smells and sights. On one wall is a picture of Peter and Quentin, arms around each other, beaming. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, voice quiet. Tony glances over at him. “Are your—men in trouble?” 

“No,” Tony admits. “If they were, I certainly wouldn’t be here watching ballet; I’d be...busy.” 

Peter sags in relief. The way his shoulders hunch throw his collar bones into sharp prominence where they peek out from the neck of his sweatshirt. “Oh thank God. They’re so nice, Mr. Stark, and I promise they don’t tell me anything about their—your work. James still insists that he works for some guy named Potts in New Jersey. Who’s Tony Stank, he asked me when I brought you up.” 

Tony lets his lips twitch. “James’s middle name is Buchanan. Some call him Bucky. Tell him I said: now we’re even.” 

Peter grins and it’s radiant. Tony feels an unsteadiness in his gut, like missing a step on the stairs or hearing a gunshot go off when he’s not been the one to pull the trigger. There’s just the gentlest stirring of jealousy when Peter mouths the name, Bucky, testing the way it tastes and wrinkling his nose in laughter. 

“I can’t wait to see the look on his face,” Peter says. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.” 

Now might be the time to offer to let the kid use his given name but—Tony’s kind of into it. A few more instances of Mr. Stark rolling off that polished tongue might have Tony hardening in his tux. “Take a picture for me,” Tony suggests, sitting down on the cozy loveseat that is opposite of Peter’s vanity. 

“You said—you enjoyed the show?” Peter asks, demure. The sleeves of his sweatshirt pass his wrists and most of his palms, turning his hands into adorable little sweater-paws. When he reaches up to bite at a nail, the sleeve slips down past his tiny wrist. Tony could surely wrap an entire hand around that wrist and have more to spare. 

“It was incredible,” Tony admits. “I don’t usually have the attention span to sit through longer shows, but I was hooked from curtain rise to curtain fall, kid.” 

Peter flushes, not so much in embarrassment as he does from the pleasure of being complimented. The flush of the drunk, though it seems Peter’s poison of choice is praise. Tony can’t help but want to spread him out on the sheets in his bedroom and say the sweetest, filthiest things to see if he can get the kid hard with just his voice. “I’m so glad. There hasn’t been as much press; new shows are always a little slow to take off. Wanda really is something special, though. She spent a season overseas and came back with so much more grace and growth—” 

“Did she do well tonight?” Tony asks, unbuttoning the top button on his jacket to reveal the trim waist and vest beneath. He realizes what he’s doing just as the words are coming out of his mouth. Tony is flirting with Peter, and his flirtation is a force of nature. “I barely noticed her. Couldn’t take my eyes off of you, kid. How the hell you manage to dance that way, I can’t fathom.” 

Now the flush hints at being flustered. He soaks in the way Peter’s face darkens, the way he hides behind one of his hands as the praise makes his posture go soft and waxy. His voice is remarkably even when he says, “Lots and lots of practice.” 

“Your hard work pays off. I was captivated. I could tell that my men were the same.” 

That topic sobers Peter, who sits up straighter. His pretty face twists, the question mark clear, the confusion too genuine for Tony to take it disrespectfully. On the contrary, Tony finds his forthrightness attractive when he asks, “Why did you come tonight, Mr. Stark?” 

“I came to see what it was about you that has my men so enthralled,” Tony admits. With the kind of power he has comes the freedom to be honest, even painfully, brutally  honest, because repercussions are either minimal or nonexistent. 

“Did you figure it out?” Peter asks. Tony can’t help but feel like the kid is asking him for the both of them: what is it so special about me? Yes, this boy is fragile. That can’t be overlooked. But inside of him there’s still a spark of spirit ready to alight at any moment, grateful for any tinder that it’s given. He’s not Maria Stark. Not yet. 

“Yes,” Tony says, standing. He rebuttons his jacket. “And I’d like very much to get to know you better, if you’re agreeable.” 

“Me?” Peter’s head cocks, squinting up at Tony like he’s trying to see through him, to see what is really being said. “Why?”

Tony is used to letting his baser instincts guide him. He fucks who he wants, goes where he wants, says what he wants, and he owes no one alive an explanation for it. Many people have stopped asking Tony questions like why? Certainly none of Toomes’s men asked Tony why when he was torturing them forty-eight hours ago. 

“Because I want to,” Tony says. He reaches down and picks up Peter’s backpack, putting it over his shoulder, the canvas bag downright gauche against his Givenchy tuxedo. “So what do you say, kid? You look dead on your feet, but would you like to be dead on your feet somewhere more private?” 

Peter takes a long moment to think about it before tucking his toes into his shoes. 

-

He belongs there amongst the backdrop of Tony’s penthouse. Peter glances around with all the coltish wonder of a newborn, running his fingers across the genuine leather of the sofa, leaning forward to look at the smart-glass table that Tony likes to prop his feet up on at night. Upon entering, Tony removes his tuxedo jacket and takes Peter’s hastily-removed sweatshirt. He appreciates the four inches of skin that appear when his shirt rides up, sticking to his outerwear. 

He doesn’t appreciate the yellowing bruises dotting the kid’s biceps. Fingertips, he knows. His mother wore them round her neck like pearls. 

“Is it okay if I take my shoes off?” Peter asks. He limped from the theater to the car, from the car to the elevator, and from the elevator to the couch where he collapsed with a sigh of relief. When Tony encourages him to, Peter nudges off his comfortable shoes and brings one foot up into his lap where he firmly presses his knuckles into the sole. 

Peter asks for a drink. Tony gives him access to his wine, and the kid chooses for himself: a red, Chateau Margaux that smells of rose petals and hints at citrus and turns Peter’s cheeks pink. He doesn’t ask for a second glass, and Tony doesn’t offer it; the last thing he wants is the kid to think that Tony invited him here to take advantage of him.

“Tell me,” Tony asks, watching with rapt attention the faces Peter makes, like he’s dancing on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain. “Tell me how you met my men. They aren’t exactly patrons of the arts.” 

Peter’s face smoothes and he smiles. “It was Natalie, actually. She comes to shows every so often; I think her and one of the instructors know each other. Sometimes, she sponsors promising dancers.” 

Romanov. Her and this instructor must truly know each other for her to be using a cover name around them. He files all this away in the darkest parts of his mind, should she ever become a problem someday. Tony has places reserved in his brain for all of his closest allies; already, he is making one for Peter too. Trust is earned but ever ephemeral. 

“So Nat introduced you?” 

“Yes. She sponsored me for a while, so we got to know each other pretty well. Once I mixed up my days and showed up at her condo when I wasn’t supposed to, and I met the others. Sometimes they would come to shows or send me gifts backstage.” Peter frowns. “I asked them to stop though because—Quent would just throw them all away.” 

“Quentin Beck.” 

“How’d you know?” 

Tony just smiles and changes the subject. “You must know that the three of my men are half in love with you.” 

Peter groans, pressing both his palms flat to his heated cheeks. “I had a feeling they were...interested. I hope they don’t feel that I’ve led them on, Mr. Stark. Nothing untoward happens at all when we’re together; sometimes I, I meet Steve and James for dinner, or other times Sam comes over to my apartment and we just talk, I promise. They’re so kind and it’s—it’s nice to have people to talk to.” 

Peter stops talking abruptly, mouth open. He lets it fall closed with a click. When Tony prods him gently, he admits, “The attention is nice, too. It feels good, feeling wanted. Does that make me bad?” 

Tony wonders what kind of miserable asshole would have Peter in his bed at night and not show the kid attention. It takes a special fuck-up to come home to a lover like Peter and not make him feel wanted. “Wanting attention? Not at all, kid. It’s the least of what you deserve.” 

“You sound like them,” Peter says, smiling. “James and Steve and Sam. They’re always doing and saying nice things and telling me that I deserve them.” 

“Good,” says Tony, one side of his mouth curling upwards. “I feel like a proud father; I’ve taught them well. Should you have those elevated?” 

“Sorry?” 

“Your feet. Elevation will keep down the swelling.” Tony places one of the expensive throw pillows on his lap and pats it invitingly. Peter stretches out without anymore prompting, toes flexing as his joints pop before curling in. The kid makes for an indecent picture, all long lines, absolutely nothing hidden by the leggings he wears. 

“I asked them if I could meet you, you know,” Peter admits. He’s red from far more than the wine, now, judging by the way he has one hand pressed over his eyes to shield him from Tony’s gaze. As if it’s possible to. Peter peaks through his fingers. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Mr. Stark, but I’ve had a crush on you for ages.”

A crush. God. Tony doesn’t know what’s more hilarious, the sweet naivete of this boy or how it makes his cold heart flutter. Tony’s eyebrows raise. “Is that so? I’m not exactly crush material for the mentally stable.” 

Peter hums. “When I was a kid, I had a lot of bullies. I started dancing when I was four years old, and not a lot of other boys understood. Sometimes, I used to daydream about you coming to protect me from them. To put them all in their place and then whisk me off to that house you gave a tour of on TV once, the one in Malibu.” 

“Good taste,” Tony says. “You know, I used to do the same thing when I was young. I dreamed about someone coming to protect me and my mother, to take us both away somewhere where no one could ever hurt us.” 

Sitting up on his elbows, Peter fixes Tony with a serious, solemn stare. “Really?” 

“Really.” 

“Is that what happened?” 

“No. I became that someone. What happened to you?” 

“I guess I gave up on the idea,” says Peter.

“Look. Maybe you don’t have your crush on me anymore, but I’m not the kind of man who can look away from innocent human suffering. My men told me about your boyfriend.” Peter sags back onto the couch and puts his face in his hands. He shakes his head from side to side, though no words come out. “This is my offer, kid. Let me take care of the problem. Let me be that knight in shining armor you wanted when you were younger. 

[440mxs-wife]

A Slice of Heaven

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Anthony (OMC) x Reader (former). Other Characters: Charlie, Sam Winchester (mentioned), Kara (OFC)

Word Count: 5880-ish

Warnings: Mentions of Divorce, Jerk Ex, light smut-ish towards the end, mostly fluff though.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You awoke to a faint buzzing sound that only grew louder the more you opened your eyes. "Ugh, make it stop," you groaned aloud. You finally realized that it was your alarm clock going off, and that you had pushed the snooze one too many times. If you didn't get up and shower and now, you weren't going to have enough time.

Fortunately, the coffee pot was on a timer, so by the time you came downstairs, it was already finished brewing. You fixed your coffee in your travel cup, grabbed a blueberry muffin off the counter and put it in a resealable bag. You checked to make sure you had everything you needed, put your purse in your messenger bag then zipped it closed. Just before you went out the front door, you lifted your keys out of the bowl sitting on the shelf.

You pulled the door shut behind you, making sure it was locked. As you turned to your left, you noticed that your neighbor was sitting on his front porch, enjoying a cup of coffee. He was reading a magazine, but as soon as he heard your door being closed he looked up. His emerald eyes shifted in your direction and a smile lit his face.

"Good morning!" he called out, raising his coffee cup in salute. The Golden Retriever pup at his feet raised his head, looked side to side, then laid back down on his front paws.

"Oh, hey! Good morning to you, Dean," you replied, returning his salute with your own coffee cup. You then slipped the strap over your head for your messenger bag so that it was stretched diagonally across your body.

As you descended the steps from your porch, you noticed that Dean was doing the same from his. He met you on the sidewalk in front of your houses and took a sip of his coffee.

"So, off to work, I see. By chance, do you have any big plans for the weekend?" Dean asked.

"Sadly, no. I've been invited to go out for drinks with some of the girls from work, but it all depends on how the day goes. Might be too tired for anything other than pizza and a movie," you remarked.

"Well, if you find yourself with nothing to do and you'd like some company, I'm right next door," he offered.

Your eyes brightened at the possibility of spending time with Dean. "I may just take you up on that, Dean," you replied. You looked down at your watch and noted the time. "Oh my goodness, I need to get going so I'm not late for work," you groaned.

"Wait, I still need to get your phone number! You know, so I can text you or....something," he stumbled.

You giggled. "I don't have time right now, but if you want, you can come by where I work. It's that bakery called 'A Slice of Heaven', down on 7th Avenue," you explained.

"I know where that is, maybe I'll have to stop in and see what you have," Dean remarked.

By this time, you had reached the driver's side of your 1968 Chevy Nova. You gave Dean a wave and a smile before getting into the car and driving off to work.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Since he saw you move in, Dean has made sure he was waiting on his front porch no later than 7:15 a.m. every day. That's because he knew that you usually left for work no later than 7:25 a.m. Seeing you every morning has become the highlight of his day. Even if it's raining out, he peeks out at you from behind his living room curtains. He feels that his day won't go just right unless he gets at least a glimpse of you.

To him, you're an amazing, beautiful woman who drives a badass car, and someone he'd very much like to get to know better. He'd heard some of the neighborhood gossip, but tried not to pay much attention or put any stock in it.

Rumor Control said that you moved here after your divorce from a rich husband. You were living in a modest home in a small, quiet neighborhood and went to work every day to support yourself. That led Dean to believe that you probably got the short end in the divorce settlement.

A Slice of Heaven. That's what you said your bakery was called, and Dean was starting to develop a serious craving for pie. May have to go check things out over there, he thought with a smirk.

If nothing else, it gave him a chance to get your number and put it into his phone for safekeeping. He had no problem finding any excuse to try and get close to you, get to know you better. Anything for you to give him one of your heart-stopping smiles, like the one you gave him before you drove off this morning. Dean went back inside to shower, then to get ready for the day and his important journey to a certain bakery.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I know, I know, I'm sorry I'm just getting here at the last minute. It is only by the grace of the Traffic Light Gods that I managed to get here in the nick of time. I couldn't help it, I stayed up too late  reading. The story was getting to the good part, and you know how much I love to read," you remarked.

"Oh, it's all right, honey. You're here now, so let's get to work. Throw your apron on and help Kara with getting those pies made and in the oven, would you please?" your boss and best friend, Charlie asked.

"You got it, Chief," you grinned as you tied your apron behind you.

A few hours and so many pie crusts and fillings later, Charlie came back to see you in the kitchen. She said there was a handsome customer out front that wanted to place an order, but specifically asked for you. With a puzzled look on your face, you washed your hands and walked towards the front of the shop.

The man leaning down and checking out the display case suddenly stood up. All at once you were staring into the piercing green eyes of your next-door neighbor.

"Dean, how wonderful to see you again! Is there something I can help you with?" you asked.

"Yes, I believe you can. I think I need one slice of everything in this display case. Everything looks so delicious, I can't possibly be expected to choose. Yep, that's what I want. One slice of everything please," he requested.

You giggled at his request, because no one had ever placed a walk-in order like that before. "We can certainly do that, but it will take time to put it together. If you could come back in an hour or so, we could have it ready for you by then," you suggested.

"Perfect, that way we can have some lunch, and by the time I bring you back, it'll be ready. Right?" he asked.

"I would love to go to lunch with you today, but--" you started, but Charlie interjected.

"She just went on lunch break. Here, give me your apron, and I'll put his order together while you're gone. Goooooo," she insisted. She untied your apron and gave you a gentle push towards Dean's outstretched hand.

"Wait, I need my purse or at least my wallet if we're going to lunch," you recalled, turning back towards the kitchen.

"Nuh-uh, nope, no way, this was my idea, therefore it is my treat," Dean replied. With his hands on your shoulders, he steered you back so you were facing the shop's front door once again. "I'll have her back in an hour, boss lady," Dean called over his shoulder. Charlie made a shooing motion with her hands, and the next thing you knew, you and Dean were out the door.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Once outside, you scanned the area for places to go and have lunch, but Dean seemed to already have an idea of where to go. He picked up your hand with his, and guided you towards the little diner that was a few blocks from the bakery. Pausing in front of the door, he asked, "Is this okay?"

"Oh, absolutely, I love this place. Their fries have exactly the right amount of crispy that I love, and they have awesome milkshakes,"  you gushed.

Dean pulled the door open for you to walk in before him. "After you, milady," he gestured with a bow.

"Thank you, kind sir," you giggled as your cheeks grew quite warm, even in the air-conditioned diner. Dean's hand settled on the small of your back, gently ushering you to an open table by the window. A waitress with bright red hair and big doe eyes strode over to your table, pen and order pad in her hand.

"Welcome to The Bluebird Café, what can I start you with to drink?" Emma, your server, asked.

"I'll have a cup of coffee, please," Dean replied.

"And I'll have an Arnold Palmer, please," you asked.

"Excellent, and do you need a few minutes, or are you ready to order?" Emma inquired.

You and Dean looked at each other, both shrugged and grinned. You ordered the turkey club sandwich with fries, while he ordered the bacon cheeseburger with fries. Emma smiled and said she would be back shortly with your drinks.

"So," he started. "You do know that an 'Arnold Palmer' is just an iced tea with a whole lot of lemon in it, right?" Dean teased.

"I know, but it's what I like," you laughed. "This is nice, thank you. I usually don't get much of a chance to take a 'real' lunch break. You know, one where I actually leave the shop. Usually, I'm bringing in leftovers and reheating them in the microwave," you explained.

"Well, that is a tragedy, one I am committed to remedying for you," Dean declared. He leaned back, since Emma had returned with your drink order. As she set his drink on the table, she gave him a big wink, which did not go unnoticed by you. An unfamiliar and unpleasant feeling fluttered in your stomach at her obvious attempts at flirting with Dean.

Dean seemed to pay no attention to her, though. He continued to rattle on about possibly making this a once-a-week event for the two of you. Suddenly he stopped talking and carefully reached across the table for your hand. As soon as he made contact, you jumped as if scalded by boiling hot water.

"I'm sorry, was it something I said?" he asked gently. He pulled his hand back, waiting for you to make the next move.

"No, Dean, I'm sorry. What were you saying about lunch?" you asked, hoping to revisit the subject.

"It's all right, we can talk about this another time," he promised. At that moment, his phone went off, and he rolled his eyes as he fished it out of his pants pocket. If the look on Dean's face was any indication, it said he'd rather not interrupt lunch with you to answer. However, he knew he had to take it.

"Sa-Sammy? Sam. Slow down, bro, what's going on? They what? You're kidding me. No, don't worry, I'll handle it. I'll think of  something and let you know. Bye, bro," Dean grimaced as he  disconnected the call.

By this time, Emma had returned with your lunch order, placing your meals in front of you. Reaching across the table, you took his hand in yours. "Is everything okay? Something I can help with, Dean?" you asked with concern.

Dean let out a small chuckle. "You're so sweet. It's about my parents' 30th anniversary party.  They've decided to go all out for this party, they've rented a ballroom at this hotel, invited a bunch of their friends, black-tie. There'll be dinner, dancing, the works," he explained.

"Sounds fancy," you added.

"Yup. So, we hired this company to make these baked goods for the dessert table, but they had to cancel. Seems they overbooked themselves, and ours was the last order taken, so the first to be cancelled," he grumbled.

"That's terrible! Also, extremely unprofessional," you retorted.

"Anyway, the party is in three months, and now I have to come up with a solution before everyone is booked. Wait a minute," Dean said, his face brightening.

"What?" you asked.

"You work for a bakery, and I've seen firsthand the work you all can do. If the product tastes even half as good as it looks, I think I've found a solution to my problem. What if your shop took the contract?" Dean suggested.

You pondered his idea for a minute. On the one hand, you and your co-workers took great pride in your work. You were confident that your shop could compete with the larger ones. On the other hand, it was a rather daunting task. One that may possibly blow up in your face if it didn't go well. "How about we ask Charlie when we get back? Let her decide if we can handle a job of that scale, not to mention prestige," you replied.

"Oh, sweetheart, if you can convince her to take the job, I would be forever in your debt," Dean remarked as he dug into his burger.

Your cheeks grew warm at hearing his endearment for you. "That's not necessary, Dean," you said shyly.

He put his burger down and reached for your hand across the table and grasped it in his. "You know, you're awfully pretty when you blush. Sweetheart," he added with a wink.

You felt as if your cheeks were the temperature of glowing hot metal from a sword-maker's forge. "Thank you, Dean," you whispered.

At some point, you had the presence of mind to pick up your sandwich and take your first bite. The warm turkey and crispy bacon against the cool lettuce, tomato and mayo nearly melted in your mouth. Once you and Dean had finished your sandwich and his burger, you took turns stealing fries from each others' plates. It was the most relaxed lunch break you'd taken in a while.

All too soon, it was time for you to return to work. Before you left your table, you made sure to exchange phone numbers with Dean. When you got back to the shop, Dean's pie order was all boxed up and ready to go. You went into the kitchen and asked Charlie to come out to one of the tables, because Dean had something to ask her.

When he was done explaining his dilemma, Charlie was silent for a few minutes. You and Dean passed nervous looks back and forth to each other until Charlie cleared her throat. "I think....I think that we could help you out, Dean. You said the party is in three months?" she  asked. Dean confirmed the date of the party as June 20th, three and a half months away. "You know what? Let's do this!" Charlie exclaimed.

Hugs were exchanged and a preliminary order form for the party was completed. Once that was done, you helped Dean load up his slices of pie in a shopping bag. After he placed the last one in the bag, you put your hand on his arm. "Thank you so much for lunch today. I had a wonderful time with you. Next time, though, it's my treat," you promised.

"Anything you say, as long as there is a next time," he agreed, tapping on the end of your nose. "It's time I should be getting home and start sampling these pies. Maybe I'll share them with my family....then again, maybe not," Dean grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

You laughed at Dean's antics. "I hope you enjoy your purchase, sir. Don't eat too many at once, or you'll get sick, you know! Hope you have a great rest of your day," you replied.

"Until we meet again, sweet lady," Dean said softly. He captured your hand once more and brushed his lips to the back of it. "Ladies," he called to your boss and co-workers as he walked out the door.

As soon as the door was shut, everyone swarmed around you. "Where on earth did you meet him?" Kara and Charlie both asked.

"Girls, he's my next-door neighbor. He's friendly, easy to talk to and has a great sense of humor. Also has a dog, a Golden Retriever," you mentioned.

"And he's good-looking, hot, handsome, all of the above," Kara interjected.

You rolled your eyes, even though you agreed with Kara's assessment. "Can we please get back to work?" you asked with mock exasperation. Reluctantly, everyone returned to their station and the remainder of the day passed without further comment on Dean. Mostly, anyway. Charlie stopped you as you were both closing up the shop for the night.

"Seriously, you need to do something about and with that neighbor of yours. Not everyone is a jerk like your ex, honey," she remarked.

"I know, Char. Right now, I'm having fun being friends with Dean. For now, that is," you hastily added.

"Uh, okay, but the way he was looking at you tells me that he wishes you were having fun as more than friends. He's into you. Taking you to lunch, buying one slice of every kind of pie we have. Giving us this tremendous opportunity to cater his parents' anniversary. Face it, he likes you," she finished.

"We'll see, Charlie. For now, I'm going home to shower, order a pizza then probably fall asleep halfway through some movie. I know, the riveting life I lead," you remarked sarcastically.

You and Charlie walked out to your cars together and gave each other a hug before going your separate ways. You promised to let her know if anything more developed between you and Dean. "Don't get your hopes up, Char," you warned, even though you secretly wished for another opportunity to get together with your neighbor.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As predicted, you didn't go out for drinks with your friends from work. You breathed a sigh of relief when you parked your car in front of your house. "Home at last," you announced to yourself. Once inside the house, you deposited your keys in the bowl on the shelf next to the door.

You walked into your room and began peeling off your clothes to get ready for your shower. The hot water coursing over your body soothed your aching muscles from a hard day's work. You dried yourself off and put on your pink plaid pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt. From your phone, you accessed the app for the pizza place and ordered your dinner. You settled on the couch for some mindless TV program while you waited for your delivery.

About 40 minutes later, your doorbell rang, signaling dinner was served. When you opened your door, you were surprised to see Dean standing there, holding your pizza. "Well, this is certainly a surprise. I didn't know you moonlighted as a pizza delivery man," you teased.

"I'll have you know, I'm a man of many talents and secrets. Sadly, though, pizza delivery is neither of them. I had to kind of hijack this from your actual delivery person. I was hoping we could make good on that deal to get together, since you have no big plans? You know, that we were talking about this morning?" he asked with hope.

You laughed as you opened the door wider for him to come in. "How can I refuse such an offer? Please, come in," you replied, your heart hammering. "Let's bring the pizza into the kitchen and we can fix our plates there. Would you like something to drink?" you asked.

He asked for a beer if you had it, which fortunately, you did. For yourself, you poured a glass of white wine. "A toast," Dean started. "To dinner and a movie with the sweetest woman I know. Cheers," he finished softly, clinking his glass to yours.

"Cheers," you returned softly. At that moment, your phone rang in your pocket. Dean noticed how your smile completely dropped when you noticed the name on the Caller ID. Anthony, your ex-husband. You took a deep breath before answering, "Hello?"

"What took you so long to answer?" Anthony demanded.

"If you must know, I have a guest over for dinner, Anthony, not that it's any of your business. I was deciding whether to pick up or let it go to voicemail. Looks like I made the wrong decision on that. What do you want?" you retorted.

"Whatever. My parents are coming over for dinner next week, and I can't find the silver flatware that they bought us as a wedding present. I've looked all over the house. It's not here, which means you must have taken it with you when you left. I want it back, and I will be over to your house tomorrow to pick it up," he declared.

"Anthony, what on earth makes you think I have any use for something like that? Besides, it's in the storage area under the basement stairs. I put it there after the last time we used it for dinner with your parents. And you are truly unbelievable if you think I'm capable of stealing," you huffed.

"How do I know you wouldn't take it to the pawn shop if--" he shot back but you  interrupted.

"Don't even THINK about finishing that thought, Anthony. I didn't want anything from you in the divorce. I didn't ask for alimony, all I took with me when I left was what I brought with me into the marriage. Well, all but my belief in a forever love. That was something I had to leave behind when you cheated on me with Ashlynn," you remarked, tears silently streaming down your cheeks. "I don't have your precious silver flatware, Anthony. Goodbye and don't ever call me again," you finished as you disconnected the call.

With a shaking hand, you placed your phone on the counter and covered your face with both hands. Silent sobs wracked your body and the next thing you knew, Dean had wrapped his arms around you in a warm  embrace. You leaned into his chest as the tears continued to streak down your face. "I'm so sorry you had to witness that. I can't believe he thought...." you trailed off as you let yourself be comforted by Dean.

"Shh, shh, it's okay. I'm sorry you had to deal for even one minute with your asshat of an ex," Dean replied, to which you gave a small chuckle. When he looked into your eyes, you noticed a kind of softness was in his eyes. He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to your forehead in a lingering kiss. You sighed deeply in contentment and he tightened his embrace just a bit.

"Um....Dean? If it's okay, I'd still like us to hang out, spend time together tonight. Shall we get our pizza and watch our movie? If you still want to, that is," you added.

"I would love nothing more, sweetheart. Let's do that," he agreed.

"I'm going to go splash some cold water on my face, then I'll be in a much better mood. Be back in a few," you promised but not before pressing a shy kiss to his cheek.

Dean stood in your kitchen, a bit stunned. His fingertips brushed the place where your lips had just been, as a broad grin swept across his face. What a woman, he thought.

His thoughts darkened a bit when he thought back on the phone conversation he witnessed. What a colossal jerk you had for an ex-husband. How dare he suggest that you would steal anything from anyone? You are a strong, independent and selfless woman, how dare he betray your trust by cheating on you? Dean knew that if Anthony was in front of him at this moment, he wouldn't be standing long, because Dean would punch him.

Dean's heart nearly broke in two when he heard what you said about not believing in a forever love anymore. He made a vow to himself to do everything he could to restore your faith and belief in love again.

The rest of the evening went a little more smoothly than it did at the beginning. When the movie was over, you walked Dean to the door, where he lingered a little. He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear just before he pressed another soft kiss to your forehead. He said he would call you in the morning about plans for the day, and that he'd  like to see you again. You agreed, and wished him goodnight, a sentiment which he returned.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

On Monday afternoon, Charlie called you to the front about something. You had no idea what it could be, so you washed your hands and went to find her. When you got up front, you saw a vase with a dozen roses of assorted colors in it. "The card's for you, and I think you have some 'splaining to do," she teased.

You opened the card, and as you read it to yourself, your cheeks grew warm, which did not escape anyone's notice. You replaced the card in the envelope and slid it in your pocket without sharing its contents.

Kara spread her arms wide then dropped them to her sides in exasperation. "So? What gives? Are they from 'him'? What did the card say?" she asked.

"First of all, yes, they're from Dean. And 'B', I don't have to tell you what the card said," you replied mysteriously.

"Must have been some weekend if she's not willing to share details," Charlie muttered.

"Wouldn't YOU like to know," you taunted.

"YEAH! Actually, I would like to know!" Charlie shot back, but with a small smile. It was nice to see you happy, something she hadn't seen in you for quite some time. Not since the divorce, anyway. Charlie decided that if Dean was who made you happy, then it didn't matter what the card said. Still curious, though, she thought to herself.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In the months leading up to the anniversary party, you and Dean spent more and more time together. You took turns cooking dinner and hanging out at each other's houses. Most nights you ended up on the porch swing, sitting and talking as people walked by. Those were the times you treasured, when it was just the two of you, sometimes his dog. The walls around your heart, put there because of Anthony, were starting to come down, allowing your trust in Dean to grow.

Dean was careful to take things between you at your pace. As much as he wanted to get closer to you, he wanted more than anything for you to be comfortable being with him. Nights out on the porch started with holding hands and soft kisses. Then it moved to the two of you snuggled together in the cool night air or on the couch during a movie. You learned that Dean gave good foot massages, which felt like heaven after a day on your feet baking pies.

One night after dinner at your place, you were standing at the sink rinsing dishes to be put in the dishwasher. You were too busy singing to yourself and swaying your hips. You failed to notice what was going on behind you in the kitchen.

Dean had come around the corner to enter the kitchen, only to hear you singing and see you dancing. Never had he heard a sweeter sound than the melody of your voice, whether singing, speaking or laughing. He quietly positioned himself so he was in your path, directly behind you. If you pivoted just right, you'd run straight into him, which was exactly what he wanted.

You needed to check if there were any other dirty dishes in the dining room. You turned away from the sink and ran smack dab into Dean, your palms landing flat against his solid chest. As he looked down to you, his eyes held a spark of amusement. You looked closer and caught a fleeting glimpse of what you thought was adoration and maybe even love.

"Careful there, darlin’. Wouldn't want you to fall and hurt yourself. Most accidents happen in the kitchen, or so I've heard," Dean explained softly.

"Well," you said as your tongue darted out to lick your lips. That move was nearly Dean's undoing, though you were unaware of its effect on him. "If I fall, I'm sure you'll be there to catch me. Right?" you asked breathily.

"Sweetheart, I will always be there for you," he promised, brushing your cheeks with his fingertips. "Anthony didn't know what he had when you were together. You deserve to be told every day how loved and cherished you are. You should know what a vibrant, sexy woman you are and how lucky I am that I get to do this." He bent his head towards you and captured your lips with his.

At first, the kiss was soft and tender, as if Dean was testing the boundaries between you. As your mouths moved in tandem, the kisses became more insistent and urgent. You slid your hands up his chest and moved them behind his head. Grinning with mischief, your delicate fingers played with the hairs at the base of his neck.

You could feel his smile as he dropped open-mouthed kisses along your neck, behind your ear, wherever he could reach. You felt the tickle of the vibrations against your skin from his playful growl at your teasing his neck. When the need for oxygen became too great, you broke apart, both breathing heavily.

"Whoa, Dean. That was amazing," you whispered.

"Sugar, you're more than 'amazing', I was going to say 'magical'," Dean replied.

"Dean, really, I'm not--" he silenced your protest by sealing his lips to yours once again. There was just enough of an opening between you for Dean's tongue to sneak through. A fact that he took full advantage of, and when your tongues met, a moan of pleasure escaped from you.

Dean's hands roamed up and down your back as he reached into your hair and gently tugged your head back, exposing your neck. "So beautiful," he murmured against your skin, nipping and ultimately leaving his mark on you for all to see.

Your hands slid around from behind his head to cradle his face so you could attack his lips once again. Just before you dove in to capture his mouth with your own, Dean pulled back a little.

"Is this okay, sweetheart? Or do you want more? We can stop anytime you want," he assured you.

Without a moment's hesitation, "More, I want more with you Dean. Let's go upstairs," you replied as you tugged his hand for him to follow.

Once upstairs in your room, layers of clothing were shed one by one. With no more clothing barriers between you, Dean nudged you backwards until the back of your knees hit the bed. You climbed up onto the mattress, crawling until you reached the middle. Dean soon joined you and leaned down to kiss you.

His hands and mouth took their time in worshiping every inch of your exposed skin, as if committing it to memory. Your mouth and hands were doing the same, mapping every muscle, every scar, every detail of his exquisite bare body.

Never had you been with such a patient lover, one who was more interested in learning what brought you pleasure than chasing his own end. He wanted to know which touch produced which sounds, so he could fulfill your every desire.

For as much as he was learning about you, there was an eagerness on your end to return the favor. You wanted to discover what sounds he would produce with every caress or stroke of your fingers on his skin. That way, you could be sure to replay each move as often as possible.

The silence of your room was punctuated with breathy words of affection and moans of ecstasy from the two of you. Layers of passion were built higher and higher as you both chased your release. Finally, you both tumbled over the edge, one after the other, each whispering declarations of love.

Later, after getting cleaned up, he belatedly realized that neither of you used protection. You assured him that you were clean and had just renewed your birth control, which eased his mind. He wrapped his arm around you so that your head rested on his chest. You could hear his steady heartbeat, which brought out a sigh of contentment from you.

"Hey," he whispered softly, turning to face you. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb caressing it.

"Hey yourself," you grinned. At the serious look on his face, you pulled back a little. "Is everything okay? Oh, god, you don't regret--" he interrupted your spiraling mind with a kiss.

"No, sweetheart, never! You're an incredible woman, and I don't regret one second of what just happened between us. Quite the opposite, actually," he chuckled. "I wanted to ask if you would be my 'plus-one' to my parents' anniversary party," he finished.

Your eyes lit up with excitement. "Really?" you whispered. "You want me to meet your parents? That's such an important occasion," you remarked as the self-doubt kicked in.

"I know. That's why I want the woman I love by my side," he replied.

"You love me?" you asked softly.

"Darlin', I've been in love with you since you moved in. Why do you think I'm out on my porch, every morning, when you leave for work? If I don't catch sight of you, even through the curtains, I don't feel like I'll have a good day. You're a strong, passionate and intelligent woman, with a kind and generous heart. There is everything to love about you," he explained.

"Dean, the past few months we've spent together have been wonderful. I feel so comfortable around you, like I can finally be myself. I can tell you anything, without fear of being judged in any way. You are an amazing man, Dean Winchester. I fell in love with you when we went to lunch at The Bluebird Café. That day and everything between us since has restored my belief in a 'forever love'. I love you, Dean," you finished.

"Guess this means you're going shopping for a dress, huh?" he asked, to which you nodded. "Well, sweetheart, you'd better make sure it looks as good on you as it's going to on my bedroom floor," he smirked.

"Your bedroom floor?" you arched an eyebrow in mock annoyance. "Who's to say we wouldn't come back here after the party? Then it would be my bedroom floor," you pointed out.

"Either one works for me, darlin', as long as it ends with you out of the dress," he grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

"You are so lucky that I love you," you remarked.

"Yes, I am. I love you too," he replied softly, as he placed a slow, luxurious kiss on your lips.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tags: @janicho88, @akshi8278, @magssteenkamp, @swiftlymoniquesblog, @lyarr24, @miss-nerd95, @distefano123, @hobby27, @deanwanddamons, @wayward-mikaelson, @jawritter, @gabrielslittleangel, @jensengirl83, @deangirl93, @ellewritesfix05, @supernatural-jackles, @winchesterprincessbride, @babygurltt

[nagisasstunningpersonality]

TINSITOGS, a retrospective (happy birthday)

(yes I’m like two days too late I know I’m sorry) 

Why hello followers and ass class fandom, nice to see you there. I’m sure MOST people know about this, but in case you don’t, hi. On AO3 I’m better known as livixbobbiex, writer of maybe one of the most infamous Assassination Classroom fics. 

Which I mean like, if you haven’t read it yet you totally should it’s fanlore at this point I promise- 

Shameless plug that I don’t need aside, I felt that, on its first birthday since actual completion, I just wanted to share some things about it. Some tit bits about writing it, fun facts, maybe even some author advice TM. I appreciate that it’ll be super annoying if I do that in the tags, though, so that’ll all be under the cut. If you don’t want to read the whole post, then no matter what, thanks for the support in general! 

I also want to take the opportunity to announce that I’ve reopened my discord, so if you want to talk about my fics with me (and others), you’re more than welcome to join! (the link is here) 

The origin story 

I’ve stated this many times, I think, but TINSITOGS was never supposed to be a serious story. Taking you back, quite a long time, it actually started in a facebook DM with a friend. We used to come up with “head canons” with each other, which were basically just very condensed fanfiction plots over a multitude of text messages. I believe I was trying to cheer her up, and I tried to come up with some kind of plot line. 

At the time, I was fairly fresh to the Ass Class fandom, and I was joking about how there were no teen pregnancy melodrama fanfictions. It wasn’t that I wanted one, I just thought it was strange for a school centric anime with a bunch of ships to NOT have one. And, back then, I only really cared about karmagisa. So I just decided ‘right it’s happening’. The reason I decided to make it ABO was due to ‘it making sense’. Fun fact: it was almost written as AFAB trans Nagisa, but I decided against it as I didn’t rate my ability to handle it well back then. Looking back on it, I’m glad I made that decision. 

Over around two months, writing out the plot of this story took over my life a little bit. I had no idea where I was going with it, but I was having so much fun with the drama that I decided that Karma and Nagisa shouldn’t get together soon at all, and I had a lot of fun teasing my friend with the ‘will they won’t they’. It was only when I got bored that I invented this intense drama plotline to finish it all off. 

That period of time was a lot of fun. And whilst that friendship didn’t end well, I still have a lot to thank her for. She chose Daichi’s name because I had no idea, and she wanted to annoy me because I didn’t like Haikyuu. When I couldn’t decide on his hair colour, the purple was her suggestion because ‘why logic?’ Daichi speaking Korean was because of how much she liked Kpop. She even helped me choose the title of the actual fic, so there’s a lot you can thank her for, honestly. 

After I finished that story, though, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Whenever I daydreamed, I used to think about that damn Daichi Akabane, and how much I wanted to tell his story. I’d even come up with extra stuff to fill in a lot of the gaps, and developed his character in my mind. I decided that I was really desperate to write it down. Usually that worked when I had an idea I wanted to work through. 

I wrote the first chapter in late 2017, and then the next two as well. I just, kept going, and realised that I could go further still. TINSITOGS was never something that was supposed to be shared, but I decided I may as well. After all, that fated ‘teen pregnancy drama’ fic still didn’t exist, and I thought it would be funny to make it happen. 

Yes, as I’ve stated publicly a few times, TINSITOGS was a crack fic. If I wanted attention from it, it was infamy. We even joked about me cursing the fandom if it ever became the most popular fic (whoops?). What I wasn’t expecting was a bunch of people, in a fandom where at the time there were NO ongoing karmagisa fics and it was pretty dead, to really seem to enjoy it. It was enough to have me keep writing it, at least. I still don’t know at what point I actually started taking it seriously, but somehow I did, and the rest is history? 

The reception 

In my wildest dreams, I never thought that I would be the author of one of the most popular fics in the fandom. To this day, the amount of views TINSITOGS has is insanity to me. For the record, across all platforms it’s on today it has 238,000, which is literally a number I can’t even visualise anymore. Almost quarter of a MILLION. To this day on AO3, it’s the most viewed Ass Class fic that’s an ACTUAL ass class fic (the others are multi fandom compilations). So yeah, I achieved the original goal, I guess? 

Now you might be wondering, “omg the karmagisa fandom is fujoshi trash”. And, considering the origins, it is kind of funny. The thing is, though, TINSITOGS was written at incredibly good time. It was written when there were, essentially, very few long form Karma/Nagisa stories. If any other fics did get posted on occasion, they were usually just oneshots. I was also, at that point, writing very fast. A symptom of ADHD is becoming obsessively productive over certain things. Since I was able to get a 3k chapter out every few days/once a week, TINSITOGS was consistently bumped to the top of AO3′s default view. And some of those first few chapters were altered canon, and transcribing the canon dialogue didn’t take very long. The more views it got, the more people would read it out of sheer curiosity. 

I think it also helps that, at least after it started getting some positive feedback (which was honestly after the pre written chapters), I purposely tried to make it ‘not terrible’. I mean, I personally think the first chapter is pretty weak and if it wasn’t somewhat iconic to a lot of people I’d rewrite it. But in general, I purposely tried to make the world of ABO my own, to make it more accessible to those who don’t like that genre, and stay away from the inherently grosser stuff as much as possible. I genuinely do get comments about how I introduced people to the genre as a whole, still not sure if that’s a GOOD thing but hey, it happened. 

TINSITOGS turned into a lot more than just a joke. It turned into my favourite hobby. It turned into a research project (honestly, you would not believe the amount of mummy vlogs and legit scientific articles about child development I consumed). It turned into something that, at least I believe, was widely loved. 

Meaning 

I think it might be wrong to say that I don’t have AN idea of when I started to take the fic super seriously. For me, it was around the time someone commented something along the lines of saying my writing meant a lot to them, that they’d spent all night reading it and had been unable to put it down. 

Not to get too dark here, but I do have a past in writing a very long, somewhat popular fic (it’s still on my fanfic net profile if anyone’s interested, but I don’t recommend it). However, in the latter part of my teenage years, the depression struck. Writing was the love of my life, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it anymore. Maybe I’d be able to muster an idea or even a chapter at the best points of that, but I’d never completely finished any story. Starting to write again was a huge step in my recovery, and one of the reasons I convinced myself that life was worth it was being able to impact someone’s life somehow. Even to this day, I still remember the fics I read when I was, like, thirteen. How much I still remember them, and how much they meant to be at the time. I wanted to be that writer for someone else. To be honest, it was actually Yuri!!! On Ice that got me out of the super bad, but I still never wrote anything of real consequence. TINSITOGS was the first time in a long time I actually committed to something. 

And, to be completely honest, there were a lot of times I was tired of it, and wanted to just quit. But, the thing was, I felt like people depended on me in a way. I got so many comments that were just FILLED with support, telling me how much they looked forward to every update. It wasn’t just empty words, either, a lot of the times these comments would be super engaged with the actual writing. I can’t even describe just how much they meant to me, how much I would look forward to reading everyone’s opinions. And then discord happened, which was a lot of fun. 

TINSITOGS went a lot further than I ever thought it would. There were comments, discussions, fan art, fan FIC (which is honestly incredible to me). Someone even added it to TV Tropes, at one point. Not to mention the Cards Against Humanity deck and quiz It makes me so unbelievably happy that I could inspire that much creativity, but it’s a two way street. It was all of that which inspired me to write, too. 

Writing 

The only real goal I actually had was aiming for around 3000 words per chapter. I had a whole facebook log of plot points as planning, and I was mostly just trying to expand on them into prose. I honestly thought that, at its completion, the entire fic would be around 100k words, if that. Not, at one point, being literally the longest ass class fic on AO3. 

There are a lot of aspects that were directly adapted from the original messages, and I tried to stay faithful to it more so at first, even if I later removed some of the pure crack. But the style was also vaguely similar, with the story being told mostly from Nagisa’s perspective with swaps to Karma when it made sense. All the main plot beats, too, are pretty much identical. The plus to this was I was able to add a lot of really fun foreshadowing, and I feel like it’s a fun reread because of it. 

Honestly though, if there’s a demand to release those OG message logs, I will. Mostly because it’s kind of funny, and interesting to see. Isogai and Nagisa were engaged at one point, even. 

Obviously, it changed somewhat. 3000 was the minimum length, and the time to completion was whenever it felt right. One of my big concerns was about pacing, so it took a lot more fleshing out and maybe ‘filler’ content for some of the main arcs to work. 

There’s parts of TINSITOGS I don’t think aren’t written that well, and some that I’m still super proud of. I think you can definitely tell there’s a gradual shift in style, and I get a lot more comfortable with writing them as characters as it goes along. To be honest, my pride for the fic overall is what it represents. 

It is funny to think about the places it got written in, though. I started it when I worked at McDonalds with no life direction, then it went through my first year of university with me. It’s been written in at least four countries. Aeroplanes, night clubs, long haul buses, a train through the Japanese southern coastline. Even the start of covid. TINSITOGS managed to see a lot. I even turned a scene in (the boat scene during the India chapter with altered names) to my university as a legitimate assignment. 

There were also a few messages I wanted to achieve, once I realised I had the platform to put them across. One of them was, obviously, ‘use protection kids’. It was important to me that I didn’t glamorise it too much, and I think that came across. I also wanted to dispute some of the issues with ABO, and subvert the consent issues as much as I could. An arc I really ‘liked’ writing was how abuse doesn’t always look the same way, and that it can be a drawn out change in behaviour. How the most important part of ‘being a good parent’ isn’t perfection, but genuinely loving and doing the best you can for your kid. How love doesn’t solve everything, and effective communication can take a very long time to learn and build a functional relationship. I mean, there definitely was a lot I tried to put in, and you’re free to interpret it all how you want. But, I like to think some people learnt some of these things, at least. 

Daichi 

Honestly, Daichi developed almost of his own free will. I had a good idea of his appearance, and that he was smart. Writing him from birth until around nine years old (older if you read the sequel fic) pretty much allowed that fluidity. It was really fun to explore a nature vs nurture development, and let his own characteristics speak for themselves. 

He’ll always have a special place in my heart. 

This is the first image I ever made. When I was trying to figure out what Daichi looked like, I honestly just edited Karma’s hair (pretty well, actually? I’m impressed with my past skill). That’s where the ‘he looks just like Karma’ meme kind of came from. 

This was the first image I actually created of Daichi. I THINK it was on rinmaru games mega anime creator or something, but it’s literally not available on the internet anymore as far as I can tell, so I can’t double check. This was in the pre-piccrew days. His eyes are closed because they didn’t have the right tone of goldish/silver.  

His sister, Kaguya, didn’t even exist originally, even though I decided on that ending pretty early on. Actually, she was going to be called ‘Irina’ due to some hijinks. Initially, when Karma found out about Irina’s pregnancy, she was going to get super emotional and mad at him and basically force him to name his first born daughter after her. Karma agreed to shut her up, never intending to have another child, so when the surprise second child later came along they had to live with the pain. However, to be honest I just forgot to write in the actual scene that set it all up, and I decided against adding it anywhere else. The name Kaguya was a very last minute decision, and it was a chance for me to explore some ideas that didn’t fit with Daichi’s character. 

Interestingly too, Daichi and Nao were never intended to be a thing. I only decided that towards the VERY end. Even though the reason I named Nao that was because of a ship I had in a J Drama (Good Morning Call). It just kind of ended up happening because I won myself over with imagining the cute. 

The music 

I used to write with a lot of background music, though not all the time. Particularly towards the start, there was a lot that didn’t really make sense thematically, yet I would write to a lot. 

Here’s a link to the spotify playlist if you want it it’s basically all the ones I noted I’d listened to a lot. Not including the smut ones, though, I have a whole playlist for that. 

Some of the notable ones: 

Five String Serenade - the first scene I wrote of the entire fic, in Chapter 25 New Year Time where they fell asleep cuddling. 

Cosmic Love - when I wrote Nagisa’s love confession scene in hospital (I also wrote this pretty early on) 

Northern Downpour (though it was actually a cover by Emma Blackery) - The chapter after Daichi’s born (30) 

When The Party’s Over -  Confession Time Third Period, Chapter 69. I literally listened to this song on REPEAT when I planned and wrote the kind of ‘break up’ scene, and it’s one of the few parts that made me cry writing. 

Turning Page - I know I said no smut, but this song actually gave me the idea to have the “I love you” in chapter 108 be less on a whim and actually more built up. In the original plan, Karma really did just say it without thinking. I’m glad I changed that.  

Bury Me Low and Numb - pretty much all I listened to when writing the last few chapters, because Evil Nagisa core. So much so that Bury Me Low was in my top 2020 songs rewind. 

As for the title, there’s actually quite a funny story. I had no idea what to call the fic, and when that happens I usually just try and find some song lyrics. I really wanted to use something from ‘October’ by the Broken Bells. Not only because it’s my favourite song (has been for years), but thematically it really worked. The issue was, it worked as the WHOLE song, there were no individual lyrics that captured everything. And, if they did, they didn’t flow very well. And naming the fic ‘October’ would have been weird for a lot of reasons. There Is No Sweeter Innocence That Our Gentle Sin really was just plucked randomly, in a desperate search to find any snappy lyrics from any song that had some kind of meaning. After a bit of discussion, we settled that it kind of worked... if Daichi is innocent and they committed a sin or something. It also wasn’t the most obvious lyric from the song (Take Me To Church if anyone doesn’t know) so I just went with it. It works out, I think, because TINSITOGS turned out to be a pretty good acronym and pronounceable word in its own right. 

The merch  redbubble drama 

It’s a well known fact that I’m not very good at art. However, I decided to try pixel art because it seemed the easiest to not mess up. I made Karma and Nagisa, before deciding to also give Daichi a try. 

This, to this day, is the only good quality art of Daichi that I actually own. The only one I’m actually happy sharing and thinking it doesn’t look terrible. As much as I love people sending me fanart, it’s not ‘my property’, right. 

So, I was kind of joking about TINSITOGS having merchandise. At first I just made two funny quote things, and uploaded it to redbubble. I was never intending to actually make money from this, and I’d agreed to myself that if I did, I would just donate it to charity. I was joking with the quotes, but since I had this artwork I figured I may as well uploaded. Separately, there was also an image that had pixel Daichi next to pixel Nagisa and Karma (which I also created). 

Aside from showing up in a few people’s adverts across the internet, there was no real harm with this. In fact, I didn’t make money anyway. It was just... more the joke of it existing. I did, however, buy myself a Daichi phone case, which is one of my favourite possessions. 

The funny ‘drama’ comes in when they got taken down due to copywrite. Sure, the one with Nagisa and Karma, I understand. But the other three literally had no mention or anything to do with Assassination Classroom, aside from being from a fanfiction. So basically, someone who owns those rights claimed my OC as theirs. Which makes Daichi canon? Whatever the case, I found this hilarious don’t worry. 

How has TINSITOGS changed my life? 

This is quite a strange thing to think about. Because, in a lot of ways, it really hasn’t. As I’m sure a lot of people know, I don’t really consider myself to have any real ‘fame’, despite the impressive numbers. Whenever I tell people in my personal life, they seem to think I’m some sort of internet celebrity, but that’s never been the case for me. I mean, it’s hardly a cultural phenomenon. 

In a lot of ways, I’d much rather befriend someone than have them admire me. Possibly because being someone’s inspiration is kind of weird... I’m just an awkward duck who likes to write after all. I don’t mind it, though. I genuinely find it an honour, even if I don’t necessarily agree. I also want to take this time to say that if anyone ever wants to talk or message me, you’re more than free to do so. I’m usually super casual with people who do that, I promise. 

TINSITOGS was the first story I ever finished in the way I truly wanted to. Start to end, a full narrative. And it took a LOT. There were so many times I almost felt like quitting, or took super long breaks. For me, ADHD queen, actually finishing something was a huge deal. And I know I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t owe it to everyone who read it, and myself, to see it through. You know like, if I were to die tomorrow, at least I’ve left something behind. 

In a lot of ways, it’s changed me for the better. It’s helped me develop my writing styles, and way of thinking. It encouraged me to become more active in the fandom, and develop some important friendships. I always feel like my Tumblr and Fanfiction ‘known’ factor is separate. I think most of my Tumblr following is more to do with my theories/Japanese context research if anything, for example, but I know I wouldn’t be so interested in that if TINSITOGS hadn’t lead me to deeply examine character and really look into analysing source material for clues. I also think there’s just... a lot of myself in it. 

I was 17 years old, when I first came up with the idea. I finished the story when I was 20. Now, at the time of writing, I’m 21. That time has seen some pretty significant changes - just in general life facts and my own personal human development. For me at least, a lot of that was pretty turbulent, and TINSITOGS stands as a time capsule for that, in a way. 

I know I gained a lot of confidence, and it affirmed to me that writing is what I love. Telling stories and sharing them is what I love. 

Conclusion

Do I think TINSITOGS is an outstanding piece of writing, or the best fic ever? No. I really don’t. It’s strange to say because I definitely spent a lot of time on it, but it’s not like I put my full unbridled efforts into the story. I don’t fully plan, use a beta, or even read through on my own. And that’s okay - that’s not what I write fanfiction for. Fanfiction is my place to have fun with characters and stories I like, without the pressures of having to stand on my own complete originality. Yes, I’m fully confident that I can write at a “higher quality”, if I really wanted to. I’m also aware that some authors put their full effort into their fics, and that’s just as valid! 

It feels odd to say this about my own writing, but I honestly think there’s just something in this story. It might not be written in the best prose ever, and the premise might be kind of dumb for a lot of people. But, I think, there’s some part of this fic that managed to grab people. Somehow, at some point, many readers get captured into the emotions and so drawn in that ‘they just have to finish it now!’ Again, I’m not sure myself how I actually achieved that. Of course, that won’t apply to everyone, but I do feel there’s some truth in it. And it makes me happy, to have caused that. 

If TINSITOGS is your favourite fic, or if you genuinely think it’s the best story you’ve read, then thank you. I really appreciate your support, and I’m happy to have been a part of your life, I guess. I know how much fanfics can mean to a person, and that’s why I’m not going to take it down, or edit it at all. And it’s fine too, if you loved the fic for a while and moved on -i t happens. Whatever the case, I’m very honoured to have been able to occupy a moment of your life. Or if you find this fic in 10 years time, even, I still wholly appreciate you. 

This story was incredibly important to me, and thank you for reading if it was ever important to you too. 

You may ask, what now? Well, this is only intended to be a detailed look back for whoever’s interested, and it’s likely the only one I’ll actually do, a year after completion. Of course, if you ever want to ask me anything or just discuss the story, you’re honestly good to contact me in whatever way I have available. 

I’m still writing my ongoing stories, of course, despite taking a small break due to the university work load. I fully intend to complete the stories I’ve already started to tell, at least. After that... I’m not sure if I’ll still write fanfiction. Don’t panic, this isn’t a ‘I’m quitting writing’ thing. I may, however, have bled the Karmagisa genre a bit too dry at that point. Who knows? I am pretty interested in writing something original for once, so maybe that’ll work out. 

For now, at least, thank you to anyone who read this fic. To anyone who commented, liked, or interacted with me over it. To anyone who created or learnt from it. I’m really glad that I got to share this story with you all, and ultimately left some kind of mark, no matter how big or small. 

Happy birthday, TINSITOGS. I had a lot of fun writing you. 

[the-moon-prince]

The Last Of us~Kurapika x Reader ~Chapter II

AN: Hi my lovely fellows!

I offer you the second chapter of my story! This time I made sure to be more careful with the edition!

I wish you a pleasant read, and I hope you’ll enjoy the new chapter of my story. (Third coming soon!) (Chapter I)

Paring: Kurapika Kurta x GN! Reader

Word count: 2 655

TW: None!

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"Kurapika''- then they looked up to him-"I know I'm putting my life on the line. Yet, what I'm about to do is an act of desperation wholly motivated by my concluding. Are you... are you somehow related to the scarlet eyes?" their eyes still avoiding his, with a serious and plain expression on their face. It was sure they weren't joking. Kurapika immediately tensed up and put himself on guard. "I'm sheepish to inquire like this in your private life. But I have my reasons to suppose you are, if you say yes to me, I will believe you. If not, please let me know and we can pretend this dialogue never happened." Kurapika was naturally full of inquiries about this whole story. But continuing with this conversation could lead him to information. Even solve his doubts about (Y/n), that character who puzzled him so greatly. "I am," he answered after some seconds of reflection. (Y/n) nodded in agreement to him and kept stuttering "I have a... I have an offer for a pair of scarlet eyes."- the tone of their voice was worried, and still (Y/n) remained serious. At that moment, they were convinced of being on the right path.-"Please, don't misunderstand me. I am not a flesh collector. I am convinced that these kinds of people are the most repugnant vermin. And I despise them"- These last two sentences were said with particular disgust on (Y/n)'s voice-"I'm certain you're questioning yourself <<Why are they communicating this to me? How do they have this sort of knowledge?>> I-I beg you... let me explain myself. Even if I'm not a flesh collector, I'm after precise body parts and I seek to reclaim them. As a Doctor, It's quite easy to persuade dealers about my supposed appreciation for that kind of item. Furthermore, I'm telling you this because I want to be... believe the scarlet eyes are going to be in a better place with... with you than on a display rack. Seeing body parts being treated like mere dirty material articles... just objects someone can just appropriate... just possess gives rise to my sadness and fury.- as they spoke, (Y/n)'s voice trembled and stuttered and their hands tightened into fists. Even if their face stayed stoic, their voice and hands reflected all the anguish felt. Letting out a heavy suspire- If you're angry and distrust me, I concede. These are delicate subjects and I apologize for my sudden harshness, but I was obligated to clear my uncertainties. It was a part that, for my integrity and morals, I could not ignore. I am deeply grateful to you for letting me telling you this." (Y/n) finally finished and looked down their feet again. Waiting for some kind of response, and feeling ready to endure any kind of repercussion their early action could lead them to. Kurapika knew the person in front of him had not just nothing to win doing this, but they could also get murdered. Not solely by him. Plus, he recognized the sense of anger towards the flesh collectors. Only getting his suspicions bigger. "Your explanation seems coherent. I will believe you. Further, the information highly interests me. I'll collaborate with you."  The voice tone in Kurapika was not an angry one, despite what (Y/n) had anticipated. Rather a gentle feel flooded Kurapika's soul, feeling less alone in the cause he devoted his life. 

In return (Y/n) offered Kurapika their usual tender smile and looked up at him again. With the difference that in their eyes they had a look of closeness and muttered a "Thank you" to follow the conversation- "I have the details of the transaction, but I would prefer to deliver them to you in a more secure area. I invite you for tea if you accept." 

~

A proposition to which Kurapika agreed. To anew prove their reliability, (Y/n) offered to drive Kurapika to their address, a delicate move as that sort of information was notably frail and placed (Y/n) in a state of vulnerability. (Y/n)'s residence was just a small home with limited decoration. On their salon, beside the basic furniture thus consisted of a canapé, two individual loveseats, a carpet and a coffee counter in the center; the only remarkable things in all the place were a fairly small grand piano -second hand probably- and an exhibit shelf with tiny animal figurines in different situations: like two wolves and a cat drinking tea, or a crowd of distinct critters dancing. "A quite childish set to exhibit" was the thought Kurapika had. (Y/n) brew some tea and placed some biscuits on the coffee table. "To gain the scarlet eyes, the merchant convoked me this Thursday at 9:15 p.m. on a private store in the edge of the town. I have to present personally with my hunter license to confirm my identity, also the granted price for the pair of scarlet eyes would be 2 million Jennys. I'm more than willing to pay the fee." (Y/n) affirmed while taking a sip of tea. "As I suppose, you're familiar with the security protocol to access black market stores. What kind of strategy have you in mind if something turns out wrong? Those buying are always dangerous."-Kurapika questioned inclining in front, resting his elbows on his knees. Logically, (Y/n) had a plan conceived for these circumstances. -"In these situations, I take an offensive position. Regarding my nen, I'm a specialist. I'm able to conjure two ribbons, each one with different properties. The first one "Misericordiae'' has enhancement effects and is meant to protect. It concentrates great quantities of aura and grants the band high strength and healing skills. The other ribbon "Divina Poena '' has transmutation traits, it obtains the ability and sharpness of a metallic blade and is aimed to punish. Although, to obtain my I made vows and have several limitations. I can't kill with "Misericordiae", and exclusively use "Divina Poena" against people who have committed atrocities. Plus on my actual form, I can't use both simultaneously. My plan consists of physically containing the opponent with "Misericordiae '' and knock them down, to subsequently use it to shield us and escape. In extreme cases, it could kill them, although I fancy avoiding it."- (Y/n) rigorously explained. It was obvious they previously initiated contact with flesh sellers, and their cleverness was confirmed once more by Kurapika. 

"The plan is plausible and efficient. With that already determined, I will accompany you in the transaction and present myself as your bodyguard."- with that proclamation the project was complete and ready to be performed. (Y/n) provided Kurapika with a folder full of documents informing about the seller and the location. The seller ended up being a notable collector and dealer of singular and luxurious objects in the underworld. They both accorded to meet outside a coffee shop Thursday at 8:30 p.m., and (Y/n) will transport them to the establishment.

~

The said day finally arrived. the plan was thus executed. (Y/n) was very punctual when picking up Kurapika, dressed in their usual good taste, always with some variety of embroidery herbaceous detail. It was not difficult to believe that he was a wealthy fan of human members. Kurapika sat next to (Y/n) in the passenger seat. For most of the trip, no word was said. They were both troubled. Just one exception; before getting out of the car, (Y/n) smiled at Kurapika and said as an encouragement "We are going to procure the scarlet eyes!". Even if their expression seemed the same, the contrast was subtle, and Kurapika recognizes the support in their action. Once through security, they both reached a vast room full of cristal showcases. These exhibiting an enormous amount of costly merchandise. The salesman was waiting for them, and they politely presented each other and engaged in a little courtesy prattle.

 Once (Y / n) confirmed their identity with their hunter license, the man led them to a private room, which he locked, to present the product. The man showed them the scarlet eyes, which were real, proving that it was not a scam. Kurapika and (Y/n) did their best to maintain the facade they came with. To conclude with that all (Y/n) pulled the money cash out of their bag and presented it to the seller. 

"Oh, no no no, child, 2 million Jennys was the first offer I gave you. But now you seem so firm to buy the scarlet eyes I raise the price to 4 million Jennys. They are very precious and rare, you know?"-the man took on a condescending tone, clearly taking advantage of the situation to play dirty. Kurapika couldn't help but feel his blood boil like lava. He was so tired of treating scumbags who treated the Kurta clan like lower living beings. He wasn't alone in this anger. "Misericordiae!" was the thing both men heard before (Y/n) conjured their nen. A white ribbon enveloped the hunter's left hand like jewelry. The ribbon gripped the seller's limbs, torso, and head, lifting him using the roof rafters as pulleys. The ribbons were tightening their grip as the man's face turned into a scared expression, and (Y/n) stopped smiling to return to a solemn expression. At the same time, Kurapika took an attacking position, ready to battle if required. "Do not try to fool us. We tried to do everything pacifically, and yet your actions are unfair. I have more than sufficient reasons to end someone who obtains a profit with human misery. So, you're going to give us the eyes, and we will calmly leave, without anyone getting injured." (Y/n) calmly replied, despite their irritation. 

"Fine, I'll accept the two million! Let me down now." the disgusting man tried to persuade, but (Y/n) wasn't satisfied with the answer "No. You broke the arrangement. You can't go backward now." (Y/n) firmly declared to directly give the pair of scarlet eyes to Kurapika and head to the door, finally realizing the man before getting out of the room. They proceeded to quickly exit the establishment. Already out, (Y/n) dissipated their nen, cleaned the tiny flow of blood that came out of their mouth, and both got inside the car.

~

After the obnoxious experience and once in the car (Y/n) angrily grunted, not leaving their annoyed plain appearance and driven to return into Yorknew. The car stayed silent for a moment, giving each of the passengers' space and calm to dissipate their tension. In the end, despite the trick the man wanted to impose on them, Kurapika retrieved the eyes. Both feeling a bit better (Y/n) mumbled, still bitter "How awful. I despise these kinds of personages, just hideous rubbish. They're as stupid as a broomstick!"- Kurapika couldn't help but let out a tiny chuckle in front of the original expression. (Y/n) turned to see Kurapika, making a small squeak of surprise- "Why are you laughing?" 

The uncommissioned of the person next to him only caused Kurapika more amusement. "Your expression is quite unique!" the blonde man replied. (Y/n) in what appears to be a sudden blow of consciousness also laughed. To playfully add with their smile back "I might have mistranslated my expression. "Why is a broomstick stupid tho? What's the reasoning?" -Kurapika joked again.

"Well, consider it. A broomstick is useless without the brush. It doesn't do anything relevant. Plus the brush doesn't need a stick; the small hand brooms are the evidence. No one needs the broomstick!"

"I suppose you're right."-Kurapika smiled at the silly (Y/n) gave him.

"May I propose you some tea?" (Y/n) continued, to which Kurapika gladly agreed. He was in a nice mood after all. A nice mood in a long time.

~

That was the second time, of many, Kurapika went to (Y/n)'s home. The tea was served along with some sweets on the coffee table in the sitting room. Each one sat in front of the other. At some point, Kurapika interrogated "How did you know I held some connection to the scarlet eyes?".

(Y/n) Slowly shrugged and looked away. "I saw you during Neon's discourse about her collection."- they answered with their tiny smile - "I recognize that expression and feeling of frustration and sorrow. The sentiment is familiar to... to me as well...".

At that moment, Kurapika decided to execute a move that would dissipate his suspicions about (Y/n). "Thank you for your service. You proved yourself as someone reliably, (Y/n). I consider you deserving of an account and promise the scarlet eyes are in good hands."-(Y/n) swiftly looked up to him-  "I'm a survivor of the massacre of the Kurta. The eyes belong to the members of my clan. My people's eyes turn red whenever we feel intense emotions. My confreres were slaughtered and had their eyes stolen."-anger and pain were present in each of his words-"  I seek to retrieve the scarlet eyes from the sickening scum who rob them and carry out my revenge on the ones who brutally destroyed my clan. They were innocent... they didn't deserve to be annihilated."-Kurapika's voice quivered as his companion stayed quiet, hearing carefully.-"The Spiders killed... unjustly my people. I pretend to make them pay. Additionally, I discerned, despite your vigilance, you are highly protective of your eyes." Kurapika finally voiced. (Y/n) slowly got up and sat next to him. "Kurapika... Although, indeed, my eyes are also capable to change; I am not a Kurta. I'm profoundly remorseful if I gave you that hypothesis."-their tone was sad -"Yet I'm also really alike; my people got killed as well for a part of their body. I am an Unilium, or vulgarly known as beast people... please do, do not misunderstand me, I can change my appearance... Even if I can change it, my current form is the real, it's part of me. They killed us for our fur. I survived only because I lived elsewhere than the rest. And I.. I'm also the last one..."

It would be a lie if I'd said Kurapika's hopes of having another Kurta alive didn't crush. He felt foolish, similar to if he wanted to cry. "Kurapika, let me join you." was a response he didn't expect.

"I believe in your cause. What the spiders did will not stay unpunished." -(Y/n) gently spoke to him, as he looked at them. For the first time, they looked Kurapika directly in the eyes. Their (eye color) catlike eyes were wet. And his words were full of support and determination to help. - "How many are there, similar to us? How many have suffered because of them? And how many more will there not be? We begged for help, but no one protected us. Let's protect those who are similar to us. We don't deserve to suffer, none of us did. We will not be giving them the pleasure of giving up. We will not be giving them the pleasure of leaving unpunished.

May evil pay for its crimes." Kurapika felt held for the first time in a very long time. Probably since the Yorknew incident. How much suffering was released at that instant? So much so that he gave up and hugged the person next to him who was caring for him. (Y/n) flinched at the contact. Just before he could cut the embrace, Kurapika felt a pair of trembling and timid arms enveloping him. It reminded him of the hugs that Pairo used to give him.

"I'll be frank, I don't believe in fate. But, random happenings in life culminated in the survival of both of us. We are the last ones. Let's make it worthwhile. The Spiders will pay."

[windywooshes]

Mike x Reader

It was a busy day. The night was fuming with the chatter and buzzing of the guests of the manor. All hurrying and preparing themselves. Acting, repeating, summarising...

As an annual tradition of the Oletus Manor, hunters and survivors joined sides to prepare a play for one another. Maybe it was a rabbit hole to Neverland, escaping the devouring gloominess of the house they inhabited for so long now. A way to cope and bond with one another. A solution to forget the fear and stress from matches and to just concentrate on things which are more pleasing and fun.

It all started with the first celebration from the veterans of the manor and evolved into a yearly event. Thanks to the growing amount of inhabitants, more roles could be given out this time as well. Those who weren't picked, had the joy of helping which seasoned the theatre piece with live and spirit in the first place.

Here you come in, as you were an important part of the beehive. Alongside Violetta, who was a very skilled hobbyist tailor, you produced the costumes and accessoires for the actors, cooperating with Miss Nightingale to design the most fitting and charming pieces you laid your eyes upon.

As you were more experienced with tiny knacks and decorations for the grande piece, you were in charge of the details and small additions to each piece of design, which brings us to the current nerve wrecking problem which snacked on your patience and energy like a patroller.

As it was laid out on the drafts, one of the costumes belonged to a certain someone. And this certain someone had a certain something on a very certain spot which you had the honor to do.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried your best to focus on the swing of the brush to make the desired artwork look as stunning as possible to fit the equally beautiful outfit (and man) in front of you. Yet whenever you tried to set your ink-coated tool down you heard a chuckle of the blonde and once you realised, the color was all smeared over the leg once again, squeezing out a sigh in frustration from your throat. Quickly grabbing the now golden tainted napkin for another time, you started to wipe off the glittering paint from Mike's leg.

It made you happy to see that the manor owner finally saw the potential in the young Acrobat, gifting him more skins and Emotes with each new season. Yet this one especially threw you into the cold water.

Mike patiently sat on the chair while you tried your best not to die from the weird situation you were thrown at. Brush in your dominant hand, shaking, you attempted once again to draw an elegant pattern of a rose on to the outside of his left tight which goes all the way down to his knee. One would tell you off for being too flustered by the nugget legs of the Acrobat as he usually wears skin tight outfits which showed just as much shape and form as his current choice. Yet you never got to see so much leg from this man. It was as if his bare skin was a forbidden apple, not allowed to be seen by the mere peasants of this world and you being one of them, committing a crime of disrespect against the gods.

It was a weird reaction as other survivors and equally hunters, showed off even more than this, yet you were fazed more by a leg than a victorian aristocrat from a bare knuckle could ever be. To underline the obvious, it could have a link to your slight adoration for the blonde. When your eyes landed on the energetic lad, your mind couldn't stop taking every bit of his presence in. Matches were the worst as you'd end up as a flustered mess, shaking and nervous, letting calibrations slip or reducing your kiting time drastically to barely 15 seconds incase you knew that he was watching you from a cipher. So many matches were lost, so many Blackjack games thrown into the dust. All because of one little distraction which was Mike Morton himself.

While you were suffering, Mike was clearly enjoying himself too much. As your head never dared to look up towards him, you couldn't spot the cheeky grin which grew on his lips since you were given your task. Too focused on it. Yet here he was, enjoying every little bit of this fiasco. Playing with your hair, wiggling his legs while you set down for a stroke, standing up to get a drink...it didn't matter, as long as he could cause a bit of a trouble and have you there with him on the spot, he would sparkle like a little firecracker. Chuckling whenever he saw your adorable pouting face next to him while you tried not to make your head explode from all the frustration. His cheeky attitude found a stop when you put the brush down and rushed off to the side to finally get something to drink and snack on.

„Don't overdo it, Morton.“

A hand on his shoulder, broke him out of his trance watching how you were talking to Vera at the tables. Turning around he found old Burke himself, nudging his head before leaving him again. But not with Mike. Quickly jumping from his seat, he followed the inventor, throwing two of his juggle balls in one hand just to keep himself a bit busy.

„I think, I didn't quiet catch that, sir ?“ he said, smiling up at the frowning elder as he came to a stop.

„You shouldn't stress the poor kid out for too longer. Otherwise they'll end up like Guard 10. Not a pretty sight.“ he sighed and rubbed his chin, looking off to the side at the target themselves.

„They are very fond of you, so don't play around with that.“

And like an old wise man, he disappeared all of a sudden- to the food table.

Spotting how you finished your small break and waving a goodbye to the others who joined you, the blonde rushed back to his seat. But with a thought bugging his mind like a mosquito in summer.

„Well then...shall we try again ? This time no knee-head-bumps though.“, you chuckled as you bend your wrists a bit to get them warmed up again before taking up the seemingly impossible task once again. But when you looked up with a small smile grazing your lips, you found Mike looking a bit more uncomfortable than he was before.

„Are you okay ?“

He shook his head and put his hands up, his little sunny side up smile back on the spot where it belonged.

„All good~ don't worry about it, (Y/N).“

Yet once your head ducked down, Mike's ears tinted pinkish due to the high blood flow and heart rate. What if Burke was right ? How would he know about your feelings for him though ? He wasn't even sure about them himself. His head started to fume and before he knew it, he felt a bonk and a head on his lap. A groan of frustration emitting from the bush of hair.

It seemed that Morton started to wiggle his left leg without noticing while lost in thoughts. Much to the dismay of the poor part-time artist who just tried their best to get the job done. Regaining your mind, you noticed that the male stopped his shenanigans and your rather awkward position. Firstly you didn't want to look, yet you were rather nosy to know what Mike's face looks like. If it would hold any reaction in it besides his smily facade. And you were not disappointed. Now not only his ears but nearly his entire face became a reddish hue, especially after he felt your tight grip on his leg which you just tried to put in place for half a minute before.

Seeing THE Mike Morton blush like this, trying to hide his face behind his knuckles, it was satisfying. Not in a mean way but rather in a ‚hah, that's for all that teasing from before‘ way. But you didn't want to blow your facade for now. Clearing your throat you apologised for the small outburst, receiving a choked up ‚hm‘ as a response. Usually you'd end up a flustered mess but oh how the turns have tabled. It was difficult to hold in the laughter. The acrobat tried his best to avoid any eye contact for now but you didn't mind as you still had a small comeback in mind which you want to squeeze into his arms before leaving for your other duties. Now that the man stood still, you also finally managed to finish the golden rose on his leg.

But before he could even take some time to thank you after he cooled himself off, he felt a soft sensation on his tight. Pulling your lips away from his exposed skin you couldn't hold back the grin which krept up your cheeks like predators to their prey.

With one last poke on the nose, you left the man on the chair. A carousel of emotions twirling around his heart as he stumbled through the lobby, on his way to rehearsal.