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#DREAM THINKS HIMSELF VERY SUBTLE AND COY
magnusbae · 1 year
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*gremlin noises* I love your posts you’re a delight to my dash
-TRASH RACOON NOISES BACK-
You're a delight to my heart 🥰💖🌺✨
Why yes I did see your tags about THE THESIS, God knows I sHOULD DO IT. Or more like, here's a thing 😌🌻
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Dreamling 548w Courting? Courting.
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There's that look again.
Hob notices it more and more lately on his friend's face. He looks… Hob has to swallow, for the lack of any other word, his friend looks quite frankly, feral.
The reason however, not so easy to decipher. His Stranger, mysterious as ever, doesn't make it any easier. So Hob watches for it, that look, and files it down mentally until finally... he starts connecting the dots. And then? Well, fuck. Damn if he knows what to do with that.
There's a thrill in realizing that his friend, Morpheus, enjoys those small gestures of, ah, what would Hob call it in order to avoid what it actually is… friendship, that's what he'd call it, for now.
He smiles, so wide it aches at the edges, his eyes wrinkling with the fondness of it.
"May I carry your coat?" he asks, growing bolder in the things he asks and how often, the idea that Morpheus would accept and most likely enjoy it, strips away any hint of hesitancy out of him.
To Hob's pleasure (but no longer surprise), Morpheus accepts, gracious as ever as he shrugs the coat off with an inhuman elegance, it looks like liquid darkness as it slides off of his lithe form.
Hob takes the cloth from his friend, it's heavy, heavier than what it ought to be. It's rich to the touch, putting to shame any egyptian silk he had ever touched.
"…" Morpheus seems to want to say something, lips parting slightly, then shutting with a secretive smile he probably thinks Hob is unable to spot.
If only.
Oh he sees it plainly.
His stranger, his Morpheus, is pleased.
More than. He seems positively puffed up with smugness.
Without his coat, he looks… younger somehow? As if a weight was lifted from his shoulders. He stands straighter, lean strong frame clearly outlined by the soft t-shirt he wears. His skinny jeans truly leaves nothing to the imagination, now that there's no coat to shelter his legs from sight.
When Hob's eyes flick up, he's caught by Morpheus, looking straight into his eyes.
Whoops.
Hob smiles back sheepishly, moving the coat to his left arm.
"Let's have a walk?" he asks "I wish to show you the park, it's amazing in this weather" it's half question, half a declaration. Just enough decisive to get that same reaction. Again.
What an odd creature his stranger is. Pleased by something that one would assume to certaintly irk his royal highness. After all, he despises so deeply for things to be defined out loud, and yet seeming to truly love this...
Hob simply cannot find a word other than courting. As it's courting what he's been unwittingly, and later very deliberately doing.
It's courting without ever daring to say it out loud.
"Yes." Morpheus flutters his eyelashes and looks down, as if modest.
He will drive him mad.
Swallowing heavily, adam's apple shifting, Hob considers if offering an arm is something Morpheus would tolerate. Probably not yet.
"This way" Hob says instead, smiling. "It's a right nice spot" he comments when they're there, by the lake and under a tree "I read here sometimes" he muses out loud.
Morpheus seems pleased enough by the answer.
"What is it that you read, Hob Gadling?"
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another-lost-mc · 6 months
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a/n: this is for a friend that celebrated a birthday this week. I hope it was a good one! 🎉
when it's mc's birthday | the demon brothers
2.6k words | nsfw | gn!reader | fluff and non-explicit smut
cw: my fav bias is showing again. mostly soft!demons. car sex; levi's tail gets its own warning; bathing together and bath tub sex; dream magic and implied dream sex.
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Lucifer plans your birthday with the utmost care. He booked a reservation at your favourite restaurant so that he can treat you to an intimate dinner. He remembered the various items you've pointed out to him in the past while browsing through the Devildom's shopping district. He went back and bought every single one of them, and they're already wrapped and tucked away in the back of his closet for later.
After he walks you home from the restaurant, there's a bottle of Demonus on ice waiting in his room. You share a toast while he watches you open your gifts. You kiss his cheek, eyes shimmery and warm with so much affection, and he can't resist the urge to kiss you properly. A soft, booze-sweetened kiss leads to another kiss, and another, and another after that. He strips your clothes off slowly, like he's unwrapping a gift of his own. He memorizes the sight of your body stretched languidly against his dark sheets. He almost feels selfish for a moment because he wants you so desperately, but the lust simmering in your gaze makes his heart race. He knows how much you want him too, and he's powerless to deny you.
The first time he makes love to you, it's heat and frenzied passion, the build-up of coy anticipation that finally boiled over. He reaches for you throughout the night between quiet conversation and short naps. Each time he pulls your body close to his again, his lips whisper tender confessions against the delicate shell of your ear while he worships your body with his over and over again.
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Mammon isn't very subtle. In the days leading up to your birthday, he asks random questions about things you might like or activities you're interested in. He wants to get a head start and beat his brothers to the punch. His fake nonchalance isn't convincing, but it's still endearing how much he truly cares. Who else should celebrate your birthday if not him? He's your first, and he's not going to let anyone else spoil you more than he does.
He tries to budget his money and curb his spending so he can afford whatever it is you ask for. If that fails, he takes on some less-than-prestigious part-time gigs for extra cash. You could ask him for the world and he'd find a way to scrimp and save and scavenge and steal if he has to so he can give you whatever you want. He doesn’t realize (or doesn't believe) that his company is what makes your birthday really special.
He dresses up nice and polishes his car to a high-shine to match your own stunning smile and natural radiance. It doesn’t matter what you wear because when he tells you how gorgeous you are, he’s so sincere. You outshine all the riches and jewels he used to dream about—now he dreams of you instead.
He takes you on a date that's sweet and light-hearted. He holds your hand and stares at you across the table with a dopey grin on his face when he thinks you're not looking. Once you're alone in his car, that boyish giddiness fades into something greedy and confident. You meet him halfway when he leans over to give you a kiss. When kissing isn't enough for either of you, you push the seat back so he can climb over and settle between your legs. He takes you apart in the cramped front seat of his car until your voice is hoarse and you push him away from sensitivity. The car smells musky with sweat and cum and he doesn't care that you made a bit of a mess on the seat. He palms himself on the drive home, and by the time you get to his room, he's eager to do it all over again in the comfort of his bed.
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Levi isn't sure what to do for your birthday, but you offer to plan a little outing for the two of you. All he has to do is keep you company, right? He braces himself with a mantra he repeats over and over in his head: do it for them, do it for them, do it and LIKE IT because you love them. It ends up being a lot more fun than he expects: a lunch date at one of the cafes you both like followed by a movie you’ve been excited to see. You don’t make fun of his sweaty palm when you hold hands in line to buy movie tickets and overpriced snacks at the concession bar. There's a cute plushie on display where they sell collectible merch. He buys that for you too and shoves it into your arms before you can protest.
He relaxes when you take your seats and the theatre lighting dims as the movie starts. You lean against his shoulder and he's glad you can't see how pink his cheeks are. Partway through the film, he decides he likes the movie, but not as much as he enjoys your warm fingers laced with his.
He jolts suddenly when you pull your hand away and slide your fingers onto his denim-clad thigh instead. Your fingers squeeze with the tiniest bit of pressure and he nearly gasps at the unexpected wave of lust that washes over him. He glances at you in confusion—you're still focused on the screen, but he can see the little smile curling the edge of your mouth. He squirms a little and pretends not to notice your fingers drawing lazy circle-eights across his jeans, inching higher up his leg when he doesn’t stop you. And you're right, he's not going to stop you. You run a fingertip over the growing bulge hardening against the zipper of his jeans, just as you feel his tail slide onto your lap and tease the sensitive skin between your legs.
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Satan decides to take a different approach when he sees how overwhelmed you are by his brothers' plans for your birthday. Sometimes simple is best and what could be more relaxing or romantic than your favourite home-cooked meal? He fusses in the kitchen until everything is cooked exactly to your liking, and the dish he serves you looks as good as it smells. His room is tidied enough so that a small table fits—he doesn’t want the others bothering you if he serves you in the dining room. There are dozens of candles that cast you both in an ethereal glow while you eat together. His room might not offer the rich ambience of Ristorante Six or the electric atmosphere of The Fall, but nothing outshines the romance he creates here, just for you.
Once dinner is finished and he tidies up the mess, he pulls you to your feet and wraps his arms around you in a slow dance. It's more like swaying back and forth together as a classical record plays quietly in the background. Candlelight flickers playfully along the walls of his room, and your face is painted by a mirage of shadow and flame. He eagerly traces those shapes on your skin with his tongue after he lays you on his bed, and by the time you're shaking and falling apart in his arms, you'll know how much he loves you.
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Your birthday is another chance for Asmo to spoil you. Throughout the afternoon, he leads you to each of his favourite boutiques in the Devildom's shopping district. He holds up dozens of clothes against your body and admires how the colours bring out your eyes or compliment your complexion or how luxurious the fabrics are. He pretends that he didn't pick all these out to show you (and buy them for you) in advance.
When he finally takes you to Majolish, his greatest gift is revealing that he personally designed this outfit specially for you. It fits flawlessly and even you think you look amazing. It’s obvious that he poured his love and passion into creating this for you when no one else ever has before. It’s almost overwhelming, the way his smile radiates warmth when he looks at you. His eyes burn with all the ravenous love he feels for you. He loses control of himself and kisses you, pressing you against the changing room wall and sliding his thigh between yours. He doesn't want to stop, but he doesn’t have the time or space to touch you properly here. When he pulls his leg out from between yours, he misses the searing heat of your body against his. Perhaps it’s for the best that he take you home first—he would hate to get stains on your new outfit so soon.
(He originally planned on taking you to The Fall but he changed his mind. He’s not in the mood to share you with anyone else tonight.)
When he takes you home, he leads you straight to his private bathroom and urges you to get undressed while he gets everything ready. He draws a warm bath and the steamy air clings to you both like a second skin. You feel self-conscious about being naked even though he stands before you, waist-deep in the bathwater and just as naked as you are. He takes your hand and pulls you gently into the water with him. He supports your weight when you lean against his chest and his hands start to wander over your body. His fingers leave a soapy trail up and down your spine. He cradles your neck and leans forward, capturing your lips in another kiss because he can't possibly wait anymore.
The kiss reignites both your desperate desires to touch and be touched. He walks you back towards the edge of the tub. When your back touches the cool marble stone, he reaches behind your thighs and lifts you onto the edge; he swallows your half-hearted protest with his lips moving greedily against yours. His mouth moves away from yours, ghosting along the curve of your jaw and down your neck while his fingers gently pry your legs apart. He bends his head low once you’re spread open for him, hot and trembling and all his. His eyes glow bright when you tangle your fingers in his hair, and it’s the last thing you see before he dips his head between your legs.
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It's not surprising that Beel plans to take you out for dinner on your birthday. It's a tricky proposition because it's easy for him to lose control of his hunger when he goes out to eat. He doesn't want his sin to ruin your birthday dinner, so he eats a meal's worth of food beforehand. Having a partially-full stomach means he's not going to be completely distracted by hunger—he wants to focus on you.
He likes taking you to nice restaurants and your birthday is no exception. You put on a new outfit he’s never seen you wear before, but it looks so good on you that he's drooling from the corner of his mouth before you even leave the house. The restaurant is cozy and everything on the menu sounds delicious. Your nose bunches up adorably when you can't decide what to order, and Beel suggests ordering one of everything. He laughs deep in his belly when you glance at him skeptically over the brim of your menu. His eyes are bright with mischief even though you know he's dead-serious. He simply grins at you from across the table and reminds you that he won't let the food wouldn’t go to waste.
It doesn't take long for your food to arrive. Beel enjoys watching you eat while you make little sounds of contentment between bites. He offers you food from his own plate to try. When your plate is empty, he worries you might still be hungry; he's only satisfied when you promise that you're close to bursting and completely full. He leads you out of the restaurant by the hand, and his other hand carries a bag full of leftovers to share with you tomorrow.
When he walks you home, he doesn't want to seem needy or presumptuous even though he's reluctant to end the night so soon. He pauses outside your door and kisses you softly, whispering happy birthday against your lips that still taste sweet from your dessert earlier. He can’t resist swiping his tongue across the seam of your mouth for one more taste, and the kiss deepens when you part your lips for him. You only break the kiss just long enough to open your door and pull him inside your room before slamming the door shut again. Your hands tug impatiently at his waist, and he shivers at the metallic clink of his belt buckle coming undone. He can sense hunger rising inside you again, and when he pushes you gently onto the mattress and covers your body with his own, he realizes your appetite is as insatiable as his own.
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Belphie doesn't mind if the others want to take the initiative and plan your birthday party. He prefers it that way, actually. When his brothers ask for his input, he recommends something casual at the house, nothing too fancy. He wants you to be happy and relaxed and spoiled where you can be comfortable.
He sneaks into town to buy you a gift before the party, of course—something you mentioned to him in passing once that was too expensive for you to justify buying at the time. He and Beel wrap the presents they bought you in their room. Belphie's present looks insignificant compared to the large pile of gifts stacked near your birthday cake. He's not worried, especially when your eyes light up when you open it. You're just as appreciative of his small gift as you are of the others you receive. He knows you so well.
(You keep the contents of his card to yourself: a reminder that he has something special to give you later.)
Sometimes when he takes you to the attic for bed, he falls back against the mattress and waits impatiently for you to crawl on top of him. There's no hint of his lazy smugness tonight though. His hands are gentle but efficient when he strips your clothes away first before taking off his own. He follows you down onto the bed and smothers your body with his. The soft mattress cushions you when he grinds against you, and it squeaks from the force of his thrusts when he rocks inside you too. Your skin is littered with the little marks he sucks and nibbles into your skin. He cleans you with a warm, damp cloth after because your thighs and belly are covered in a sticky mess of you and him. He takes care of you with so much tenderness. You’re already snoring lightly by the time he's finished, and he cuddles against you with a yawn.
Shortly after you fall asleep, you dream of him. It’s a shared illusion between you conjured with the sleepy brand of magic he commands. You writhe against him in your sleep as the embers of lust continue to burn deep inside you. When the dream ends, you both wake up and instinctively reach for each other as the remnants of the dream fades away. He kisses you breathless despite your stale morning breath. You whimper against his mouth and he rolls over until you're underneath him again. After indulging in a night of dreamy, lustful sins, you're both still desperately eager for more.
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read more: obey me masterlist
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ml-nolan · 3 months
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Coffee in bed with Dreamling
You got it! T-rating for this one.
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When his eyes open, Hob is greeted by high ceilings swirling with kaleidoscopic clouds. It takes no time at all for him to remember where he is. Dream has done a lot to make him feel comfortable and safe in The Dreaming.
"Hello, Hob."
That includes making sure to be at his side every time he wakes in this behemoth of a bed. Sometimes Dream takes the time to lie down beside him, with or without clothes, depending on whether he feels like seduction is necessary. It usually isn't with Hob—he's pretty much game at any time. 
Today though, Dream is perched on the side of the bed, close enough to run his fingers through Hob's hair. It's nice that there's sort of a middle ground for physical affection these days. In the beginning it was a bit hot-and-cold, with Dream either demanding to be ravished or fully disappearing for days on end. But the joy of having been friends first is that, eventually, they both missed sharing the simpler, less heated moments. 
"Is there anything you require this morning, Hob Gadling?"
"Hmmm…" This isn't a question he ever waves off. He's never understood why people play coy little games to be polite. He knows that here in The Dreaming, he can pretty much have whatever he wants. Why not take advantage of that? "Don't suppose you could get us a cup of coffee."
Dream snorts of the very idea that there would be something he couldn't provide. It's subtle, but very cute. Not that Hob would dare tell him that (well, not right now, anyway).
"How would you prefer it?"
"Just a regular cup of joe, a little cream, no sugar." 
Hob can't say it's not delightful to be waited on by a king. To be indulged, more like. With the hint of a smile, Dream goes very still, and then there is a cup in his hand. It's gorgeous in an artisanal sort of way, with starbursts of gold leaf where cracks used to be. He hands it to Hob, its temperature cool enough to hold in his hands.
"Where'd you get this one?" Hob says, pushing himself up to sit against the cool wooden headboard. The coffee is perfect—roasted but not burnt, creamy but not too thick.
"From the dream of a cafe owner who lives in a seaside village," Dream says.
"Uh oh. So does that mean I've stolen some poor sod's coffee?"
Dream turns his head ever so slightly, which he always does when Hob says something that he thinks is silly.
"This dreamer is much like you," Dream says, voice colored with affection. "He is resourceful enough to make the best of the unexpected."
Hob sets his cup on the stone window ledge beside the bed. "Uh oh. I'm not going to lose you to him, am I?"
Anyone would clock the smile on Dream's face now. He shakes his head. "You are still singular to me, Hob Gadling. I would have no one else. Besides," his expression drifts slightly, "his existing partner figures heavily in his dreams. I would be loath to interfere."
With a thoughtful sound, Hob scoots closer to Dream, straining up to kiss him. Obligingly, Dream leans into it to meet him halfway, letting his soft, cool lips linger on Hob's. There's a flutter in Hob's stomach, the same way there always is when he wakes up under Dream's attentive gaze.
They break from the kiss. "How long will that coffee stay warm?" Hob jerks his head toward where he'd left the gilded cup on the windowsill.
Dream's eyes flash, darkening from sea green into that clear black sky. He sets a hand on Hob's chest and eases him onto his back.
"As long as is necessary."
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This piece was brought to you by these Soft Prompts. I've got a lot of great ones in the queue, but please feel free to send an ask for Sandman, The Magnus Archives, or Malevolent ships (or any of my OCs)!
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zeroaddzero · 8 months
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Top 10 Horniest Bruce Springsteen songs, ranked
Yes there are more horny Bruce songs. Too many horny songs for one list. I don’t know if his game was good because he knew how to write horny songs, or if his game inspired him to write horny songs. Eiter way, we’ve been blessed musically with a lot of horny songs. Here’s the horny songs I managed to fit into a (very biased) list:
1.  I'm On Fire
THE horny Bruce song. A fever fantasy of a wet dream smushed into one moaning, sweaty mess. Before I was a fan, this (coupled with the below performance) was the song that made me go "OH. I get it now."
Spotify LINK
At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet And a freight train running through the middle of my head Only you can cool my desire
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2.  Pink Cadillac
About as subtle as Lady Gaga’s “Disco Stick.” Even better paired with the BITUSA tour intro (said intro got noticeably more sexual after Bruce got married in 1985).
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They say Eve tempted Adam with an apple But man I an’t goin for that I know it was her pink Cadillac
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3. Fire
Originally written for Elvis, the bass line alone for this #problematic 70s “don't play coy with me” number will make you reconsider feminism for 5 minutes. The 1986 performance is downright NSFW.
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You had a hold on me right from the start A grip so tight I couldn't tear it apart
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4. The Fever
Bruce is king of the “lying in bed thinking of how horny this person makes me” genre, and this is one of his finest examples. At almost 8 minutes, it’s the tantric equivalent to the more concentrated "I’m on Fire". Anybody noticing a “burning” theme here?
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Well now the day grows longer The love just grows stronger, baby And the fever gets so bad at night I got the fever for the girl
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5. Because The Night
Bruce never finished the lyrics, and this song arguably belongs to Patti Smith now. Bruce has even said as much. However, I am biased and enjoy this banger too much to let technicalities get in the way of horny. On the list it goes.
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Because the night belongs to lovers Because the night belongs to lust Because the night belongs to lovers Because the night belongs to us
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6. Red Headed Woman
I'm Going Down may seem raunchy until you realise it's about a bad breakup. For the other thing, we have this entry. Folks, this song is literally about eating pussy. Bruce even introduced it as such during his Ghost of Tom Joad tour. I’ve yet to recover from the whiplash of hearing him say the word “cunnilingus” while performing at his old Catholic high school.
Spotify LINK
Well listen up stud Your life's been wasted 'Til you've been down on your knees and tasted A red headed woman
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7. She's The One
Speculated to have been written about the violinist who played on the album Born To Run, this tune shows our boy is down baaad. Best paired with the excellent "Mona" intro, which is included in the Houston '78 live performance below.
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With her killer graces and her secret places That no boy can fill with her hands on her hips Oh and that smile on her lips Because she knows that it kills me
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8. Part Man, Part Monkey
My Tunnel of Love tour knowledge is woefully lacking despite the tour being his most explicit, and the accompanying album being in my top 3. In the eyes of the public, Bruce was still with his first wife when this video was shot in 1988. Only the band knew he was recently separated, so imagine watching a presumably married man on stage eye-fucking his backup singer. The gossip mill must have been insane after each show.
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Well the night is dark, the moon is full The flowers of romance exert their pull We talk awhile, my fingers slip I'm hard and crackling like a whip
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9. Crush On You
Another genre this Jersey dude excels at is “horny to the point of funny.” Bruce himself has called it "the worst song we ever put on a record" but hey, what does he know.
Spotify LINK
For one kiss, darling I swear everything I would give 'Cause she's a walking talking reason to live
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10. Cover Me
I just realised this is only one of four songs on this list included on an official Springsteen album(if you don't count the outtake compilations.) The video contains the studio audio, but I'm not passing on an excuse to plug more Paris '85 concert footage!
Spotify LINK
Now promise me baby you won't let them find us Hold me in your arms, let's let our love blind us Cover me, shut the door and cover me I'm looking for a lover who will come on in and cover me
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Honourable mentions (song/album):
Rosalita / The Wild, The Innocent & The E Street Shuffle Candy's Room / Darkness on the Edge of Town Ramrod / The River Cindy / The River (outtakes) Ain’t got you / Tunnel of Love The Fuse / The Rising
Let me know if you think I missed any! I won't change the list, but more horny song discourse is always good.
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so stay or leave, part of me always will be (half of my hometown) (lt. bradley “rooster” bradshaw)
a/n: @struggling-with-nsfw​ thank you for letting me yell about this until i could pull it into fruition. i owe you the world. this has been a long time coming and it’s only the beginning. 
summary: On a trip out to small-town Texas, Rooster isn’t sure what he’s going to find. But the girl of his dreams certainly wasn’t on the list. 
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Hangman’s less than thrilled Rooster has taken a liking to his estranged baby sister, but it’s just one night, right?
title comes from kelsea ballerini’s “half of my hometown”
main masterlist | top gun: maverick masterlist | storm warning masterlist | story description | she’s a heart full of rain (red lips like a flame)
warnings: flirting, mentions of kissing, allusions to sex if you can squint hard enough, Hangman’s an entitled ass, every stereotype about Texas you can think of, Phoenix and Bob are together but it’s solely a plot device, the Navy would never let an entire squadron out on leave but i’m taking creative liberties here, 
word count: 2,003
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The noise of the bar is lively, greeting them all the way from down the street.
There are worse ways to be welcomed to Texas. 
He grins giddily, bumping his shoulder with Coyote as they walk towards the bar, the sun setting in the distance, forming a nice orange-y haze over the town. 
When Bob and Phoenix proposed the idea of taking an engagement trip, the team had been severely divided about where to go. 
An international trip would be too hard to swing and the team had tied down the middle between Vegas and New Orleans. So when Hangman suggested a trip out to his family’s ranch in small-town Texas, they’d been caught off-guard. After consideration from the soon-to-be bride and groom, and the fact that everyone was mildly curious to get an unusual peek into Hangman’s life, the tickets had been bought and strings had been pulled (thank God for Ice and Maverick) and they’d been on their merry way. 
Jake leads the crew, pulling the door open as they walk into a very crowded bar, country music blasting through the speakers. There’s a lot to take in, with a majority of the patrons taking part in a line dance and the others watching and cheering. Rooster scans the bar, eyes immediately falling on a girl who’s partaking in the dance, laughing alongside who he assumed to be her friend. Her eyes are sparkling as she moves, her black shorts and an emerald green tank top with a lace fringe showing off every part of her. Her bracelets move with her and he takes in the way her hair follows her, a ribbon made to match her shirt pulling her hair back into a ponytail. Phoenix tugs at his arm and he turns, moving to follow her to the table Hangman has picked out. Once he’s seated, he looks back out into the crowd for her, but in the few minutes he’s looked awaits he’s gone. He sighs as he settles back into his seat. 
He watches as Hangman excuses himself from the table, offering to go get a round for all of them, and makes his way towards the bar, tapping one of the patrons on the shoulder. They clearly know each other, a clue to Hangman’s life given by the way the kid’s shaking Hangman’s hand, a smile lighting up Hangman’s face at the sight of the kid. 
It’s weird to see Hangman in his hometown. His usual subtle Southern accent is stronger, and Hangman had been home for all of about 15 minutes before he was putting on a cowboy hat. They had barely put down their bags in the huge house on the ranch, one Hangman told him the ranch hands sometimes lived in, depending on the season and who was on staff, when Hangman had ushered them all out the door to come out to the bar. He told them there was no bar quite like a Southern bar. 
He wasn’t yet wrong.
The sound of a chair being pulled across the floor catches Rooster’s attention, finding the girl from earlier already slipping down into the chair as the brunette next to her leans up against the back of it. 
The brunette speaks first, as the girl from earlier eyes him with a coy smile. “Say, y’all must be those pilots Jake told us was coming out to visit. I’m Madison, one of the ranch hands. This here’s (Y/N), one of the other ranch hands. In charge of a good portion of the ranch.” You tip your head in greeting at the pilots. He finds himself feeling breathless, unable to look away from you. 
Hangman appears at the table once more, the kid from the bar carrying the other portion of beers for the pilots. They set them down at the table as Madison makes more introductions. “This here’s Tyler, my boyfriend. One of the other ranch hands. We grew up together, our families both worked together.” Hangman offers them a smile as he pulls a chair up, turning it in one fell swoop to straddle it. He rests his arms on the back of it, taking a sip of his beer. 
“Still can’t believe that after all this time, the two of you are still together. Who would’ve thought.” 
“Well, of course you wouldn’t know, you been gone a long time.” You say and Rooster’s gaze flickers back to you. Something unspoken passes between you and Hangman, something that doesn’t go missed by the rest of the team. He files it away to ask Coyote about later, wondering if this is an ex of Hangman’s. Wonder what Hangman’s done to sour this girl’s favor, because he knows it couldn’t have been through fault of her own. Hangman doesn’t say anything, just purses his lips and knocks back another sip of his beer. You brush it off as quickly as it came, turning your full attention back to him. “Say, do you dance?” He chuckles nervously and shakes his head. “Well, you should try anyways. I’ll teach you.” You offer, holding out your hand. He stares at it, throat going tight at the thought of being close to you, dancing with you, being the one to make you laugh-
Phoenix kicks his shin and thank fuck she does, because it startles him back into the present, and he nods, taking your hand. You lift him up with no effort, like your skin isn’t crackling with white-hot electricity at the touch. 
Is it? His is. 
You pull him out to the dance floor, a little ways off to the side, teaching him some of the basic steps, and he follows your lead, picking them up carefully. Your encouragement makes his brain go fuzzy and he feels himself letting out a laugh as he progressively gets better, even managing to slyly twirl you into his arms. You laugh at the position, his arms wrapped securely around you. He swallows, realizing how easy it would be to lean down, to capture your lips, to kiss you silly, right here in front of all these people-
He wants you so badly. 
“Say sailor, you should tell me your name if you’re gonna kiss me.” 
He can feel the blush fighting its way up his neck as he chuckles, ducking his head. “Not a sailor.”
“You work for the Navy, no?”
He nods. “Yeah, but I-”
“Fly the planes, yeah I know. Just teasing you.” He smiles softly, remembering your initial request from earlier. 
“Name’s Bradley.” 
You offer him a smile in return. “Well, Bradley-” And by God, does he love the way your name rolls off your lips. “-you sure do have a few dance skills in you.” You unwrap yourself from him and he lets his arms fall, finding your waist. You tug at the two sides of the Hawaiian shirt he’d chosen to wear out tonight, (a bright red color, decorated with pineapples), tugging yourself so you’re flush to his chest. He swallows, grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly. You notice the movement nonetheless, mirth filling your eyes. “Do I make you nervous, Bradley?” 
He wants to find the words to answer you, whatever that answer may be, but he’s entirely too distracted by the feeling of your chest against his, the way it would be so easy to just move his hands a little lower-
Over the top of your head, he catches Hangman watching him. His face is stony, clouds in his eyes. There’s something unspoken passing between the two of him, a look on Hangman’s face that he can’t quite read. 
Rooster’s eyes flicker back down to yours and before he knows what he’s doing, he takes a half-step backwards, hands on your waist falling. You match his movement, letting him go and taking a full step backwards. 
“Sorry, must’ve- must’ve misread.” You mumble, your own cheeks going red. He wants to open his mouth, to tell you that you’re wrong, but it feels full of cotton, suddenly dry. He feels like a lead weight has settled over him, cold washing over him as one of your friends calls out for you, appearing at your shoulder. You offer him a half-hearted smile as you allow yourself to be tugged to a different corner in the bar. You quickly disappear back into the crowd. He sighs and finds his feet moving back to the his own table, trying not to kick himself for letting you go. Hangman’s still watching him, following him back to their table. Phoenix looks up at him in surprise when he slumps back down into an empty chair. He throws his arms out and groans, letting his head fall onto them, narrowly avoiding the table.
“What happened? That looked like it was going so well.” He doesn’t get a chance to answer before he feels a hand on the back of his shirt, pulling his head off the table. 
“You’d do well to stay away from her Bradshaw.” Hangman whispers in his ear, only loud enough for him to hear, tone ice-cold. Hangman lets his shirt go and his posture once again droops, head hanging low. 
He watches as Hangman disappears back into the crowd of the bar. He continues to watch the crowd carefully, wondering if you’ll make another appearance as he ignores Phoenix’s pestering questions. 
Huh.
-
“Hey!” He calls, before he realizes the words are out of his mouth. You turn, hair following you as you whip your head to face him. You clutch the strap of your bag, offering him a small smile. 
“Hey.” You respond as he stops in front of you.
“Hey, look, I just wanted to say that you didn’t- didn't misread what was going on in there.” You don’t say anything, just wait for him to continue. “You, you do make me nervous. Like really nervous and I just-” You reach a hand out to touch his arm and his brain freezes, going into overload at the touch. 
“Hey, it’s okay, no need to apologize.”
The door of the bar opens behind him, and he can hear the loud laughter from Coyote first, before the usual chatter follows him. The two of you turn and he catches the way Hangman’s looking at him before his brain sees any other member of his team. He quickly turns back around, squeezing his eyes shut. 
“Hey Bradshaw, you coming?” Hangman’s voice is cold, firm, no room for argument. His question isn’t really a question at all. You sigh, which causes Rooster to open his eyes. He looks down at you as your rifle through your purse, pulling out a pen. You uncap it with you teeth, biting down on to the cap, and Rooster briefly wonders what it would be like for you bite down on other things-
You grab his arm before he realizes what you’re doing and then the pen begins to glide over the skin of his forearm. He admired the way the numbers come out, the way you leave you name under it as if he could forget who you are. The feeling of your hand against his skin, taking care with the work, makes his throat tighten up again. You finish, capping the pen back and dropping it into your bag. The girl from early, Madison, rounds the corner, calling for you. You turn back to her, shouting that you’d join them in a minute. You tun back to him, patting his arm. 
A tingle shoots straight up his arm at the touch. 
There his skin goes again, crackling. 
“Well there, now you have my number. Maybe we can connect again while you’re still in town.” All he can do is nod as he watches you walk the few feet away, turning the corner and out of sight. 
Huh. 
He turns back around to face his friends, and comes chest to chest with Hangman. If looks could kill, Rooster’s pretty sure he’d more than six feet under right now. 
Huh. 
316 notes · View notes
engie-ivy · 3 years
Text
Marlene’s little brother has a thing for Sirius, because who doesn't have a thing for Sirius? Marlene is freaking out, and everyone thinks it's just hilarious. Remus would've thought it was hilarious too, had Marlene’s little brother not been very close in age, cute, witty, and oh so bloody charming.
Somewhat longer fic that will be added to my Crush Confessions Series! 3756 words, so not that long. Wolfstar Fluff, of course😎
Muggle Charms
James Potter’s garden party is the event of the summer. Everyone gets together at the Potter estate for a day of listening to music, swimming in the lake (yes, there’s a lake on the grounds of the Potter estate), and playing friendly Quidditch matches. Mrs Potter walks around with all sorts of delicious foods, James and Sirius fly their brooms above the lake and make bets who dares to jump off from the greatest height, Mary and Emmeline are sunbathing and make bets who will need to be healed first.
It had started the summer after first year with just the four Marauders, but every year, their number has grown, and this year is the largest group thus far.
Marlene McKinnon is last to arrive, and, as usual, her arrival doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Everyone, come meet my little brother!” She shouts across the field.
The McKinnons have four children. Marlene’s mother and two of her siblings are Muggles, while the rest have magical abilities. Marlene’s sister is the oldest of the siblings. She’s a Muggle who works as a primary school teacher. Despite growing up with a father who’s a wizard, she has always felt slightly uncomfortable around magic, but she loves her family fiercely and is very protective over her younger siblings. As she’s much older than Marlene, she has always been more like a second mother.
Next comes Marlene’s older brother, who’s wizard, but has finished Hogwarts long ago. He now works in the Sales Department for a company that develops novel potions against levitation- and portkey-sickness. According to Marlene he’s a serious businessman by day, and a giant goofball by night.
Last is Marlene’s younger brother. He’s a Muggle, but where Marlene’s sister likes to pretend magic doesn’t exist, he thinks it mighty fascinating. He and Marlene are incredibly close, writing each other constantly and hanging out as often as they can when Marlene was home from Hogwarts. She has never brought him to James’ garden party, though. He works in the Food Service Industry, and the bright summer days on which James plans his parties are the days on which he most likely has to work. This year, however, he had managed to get the day off.
The first thing Remus thinks is that the McKinnons have good genes. He can’t really tell which of the two siblings is older, which means they must be very close in age. The boy has the same thick, blond hair and bright blue eyes as Marlene, as well as the same freckles from the sun. He’s short for a guy, barely taller than Marlene, but he’s quite muscular, with broad shoulders. All in all, Marlene’s younger brother is a very cute guy.
“Everyone, this is Miles!” Marlene says, when everyone has gathered around. “Let’s see... Here we have James Potter, he’s the host.”
Miles grins at James. “Some house you’ve got here, mate. Thanks for having me!”
James grins back and lifts his beer. “Cheers, mate!”
“James is Lily’s boyfriend,” Marlene says. “You’ve already met Lily-” Miles gives Lily a warm smile “-and of course you know Dorcas.”
“Hullo Dorky.”
“Hiya Miley.”
“And here we have my other girls, Alice Fortescue, Mary McDonald and Emmeline Vance.” Marlene points each of the girls out, and Miles gives them all a friendly nod.
“And these two are the Prewetts, Fabian and Gideon- don’t worry about who’s who, none of us actually knows.”
“Oi!”
“And this is Caradoc Dearborn, and this Benjy Fenwick, so miraculously you’re not the shortest guy here.”
“Marlene!”
“And here we have the rest of the renegades, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black.”
The chance in Miles is instant.
The polite smile he was wearing turns into a coy smile, as he gives Sirius a not-so-subtle once-over, though Remus doesn’t think it was ever meant to be subtle. Miles takes a step forward towards Sirius. “Well, hello there.”
Remus can’t blame him. He would’ve reacted the same had he been in Miles’ position (alright, maybe he would’ve turned into a blushing, stuttering mess and forget his own name if he were suddenly faced with a guy like Sirius, instead of step forward with an enticing smile and flirtatious greeting, but that’s beside the point). Sirius looks bloody amazing. His swimming trunks are clinging to his legs, and his damp hair is hanging over his bare chest, with little droplets dripping down his muscular body.
Sirius grins knowingly at Miles. “Hi.”
Marlene’s head whirls around from Miles to Sirius to Miles and back to Sirius, so fast Remus worries she might get a whiplash.
“No,” she says. “No, nope, uh-uh, absolutely not. Not. Happening. No.”
She steps between her brother and Sirius, facing the latter, and jabbing a finger against his chest. “You are not going to try anything on my little brother, got it?”
Sirius holds up his hands and takes a step back. “I only said hi.”
Marlene looks at him suspiciously, like she suspects Sirius saying hi is some sort of secret seduction technique (which would actually explain a lot).
“C’mon Marls.” Miles moves to stand next to his sister, and throws an arm over her shoulder. He winks at Sirius. “We all just want to have a good time, don’t we?”
Marlene’s face is getting more red by the second. Her fingers are clutching her cardboard plate, causing it to rumple. She’s clenching her jaw, while intently staring at the pair a bit further on the field.
“I can’t bloody believe it,” she hisses. “If Black thinks I’ll let him hook up with my little brother, he has another thing coming!”
Miles had managed to catch Sirius when he went to grab a drink, and they have been chatting apart from the rest of the group for about half an hour now, to Marlene’s great distress, and everyone else’s amusement. Well, everyone else except for Remus, but he thinks he’s been hiding it quite well.
Remus doesn’t know how the guy does it, but Miles somehow manages to stand closer and closer to Sirius. He’s looking up at him through his lashes, with those big blue eyes and that damned smile, sometimes even going as far as to bite his lip. Sirius has definitely been blushing at some point!
While Remus is the only one who can emphasize with Marlene’s distress over the situation, he really doesn’t like how she’s blaming it all on Sirius, while evidently its her brother who’s acting like a little minx.
“Honestly, Marlene,” Lily says, shaking her head. “Didn’t you talk to Miles about there being an incredibly hot, single gay guy present?”
Remus agrees. Marlene should’ve known what would happen when she decided to introduce her brother to Sirius! You cannot bring him here knowing Sirius is looking like he does, and expect him not to react!
Marlene huffs indignantly. “My little brother is a precious angel who’s not interested in such a thing as ‘hot, single men’!”
Lily looks at Miles and Sirius. Miles seems to be laughing at something Sirius said, and touches his upper arm while doing so, letting his hand slide down Sirius’ bicep. Lily turns her head back to Marlene and raises her eyebrow.
Marlene just folds her arms over her chest and pointedly looks away.
Later, when Miles reaches up to brush a strand of hair from Sirius’ face, Marlene’s face has taken on a more purple colour. By this time, she has started angrily chewing on her cardboard plate.
Luckily, everyone’s too busy making fun of Marlene to notice Remus looks like he’s going to be sick.
Normally, a day at the Potter estate flies by, but Remus is positive this day lasts at least three times as long. But Remus has been getting through it. He hopes that after today, he won’t see Miles McKinnon of ever again. Well, he mostly hopes Sirius won’t see Miles McKinnon ever again, he can admit that . To himself, that is.
Currently, he’s sitting down with James, having a butterbeer. Just when he thinks he might make it through these last hours without further additions to his misery, Marlene comes striding their way, Dorcas on her heels.
“Potter,” she says, stopping in front of them and placing her fists on her hips. “You’ve got something I need, and I want it now!”
“Sorry McKinnon,” James says with a smirk. “I’m a one woman man.”
“In your dreams, you wanker,” Marlene snaps. “You’ve got an Invisibility Cloak, no?”
James takes off his glasses and starts polishing them with his robes. “I may or may not possess such a thing.”
Marlene rolls her eyes. “After seven years of going to school with you, I think I can safely say that you do. Well, I need you to use it. Miles asked Black to take him on a tour around the lake.” She scrunches up her nose. “And you have to follow them so you can report back to me whether Black has kept his paws off of my little brother!”
“More the other way around,” Remus mutters, but Marlene hears and glares at him.
“My sweet and innocent little brother would never do such a thing! He simply... wants to see the surroundings and needs Black for directions.”
Dorcas throws her head back and cackles loudly. “The only directions your ‘sweet and innocent little brother’ is interested in, is the fastest way to get into Sirius Black’s pants!”
Marlene directs a deadly glare at her.
Just when Remus thinks at least Dorcas knows what she’s talking about, she continues. “C’mon Marls, Miles can make his own decisions. Let the boys have some fun!”
Let the boys have some fun? That’s not a good idea! That’s the opposite of a good idea! That’s a terrible idea!
“Well,” Remus says, managing to sound surprisingly calm. “We’re on Mr and Mrs Potter’s property, and Miles has only just been introduced to the gang. I mean, he and Sirius barely know each other. I’d say it’d be rather inappropriate if something happens between them here and now. You don’t want Marlene’s brother to give off the wrong impression.”
James sighs. “What if I lend you the Invisibility Cloak, and you can follow them yourself?”
“Oh, no!” Marlene holds up her hands and takes a step back. “There are certain things I don’t ever want to see my little brother do, or hear my little brother say. If I were to... accidentally stumble upon them, I’d either have to Obliviate myself, or be scarred for life.”
Remus snorts. Not so sure about her brother being so innocent after all, is she?
“Well, Padfoot’s my brother!” James argues.
“Remember when I put in a good word for you with Lily, and finally got her to agree to go on a date with you?” Marlene plays her final card, and effectively.
“Fine!” James puts down his butterbeer and gets up. “Remus, let’s go.”
“What? Me? Why?”
“Because you got me into this, Mr ‘it’d be inappropriate’. And besides, I’ll feel like some perverted Peeping Tom spying on them alone.”
“So better to have two Peeping Toms?” Remus argues, but he knows it’s an argument he’s not going to win.
That’s how Remus finds himself in the place he wants to be least of all, crouched down under the Invisibility Cloak with James, and, after casting a quick Silencio over their footsteps, following on Sirius and Miles on their ‘casual, totally not romantic, definitely not a date’ stroll.
“-and once I’ve gained enough experience, I’d like to come back to London and open my own restaurant!” Miles finishes.
“That’s amazing, Miles!” Sirius exclaims. “I’ll definitely frequent!”
“As long as you don’t expect any free food just because you’re so handsome,” Miles teases.
Sirius gasps in pretend-shock. “I would never use my looks for such purposes!”
“Right,” Miles chuckles. “You be careful, Sirius Black. A face like yours is a powerful weapon.”
“Wow,” James whispers admiringly. “He’s good!”
Remus grits his teeth. Of bloody course Miles McKinnon is all charming and smooth, chatting Sirius up.
“What about you?” Miles asks. “What are your plans for the future, now that you’re some kind of strong and powerful wizard?”
“I’m starting my Healer training soon!” Sirius beams, and Remus can’t help but smile at the pride in his voice.
“That’s... like a doctor, right?” Miles asks.
“Yeah,” Sirius replies. “But without the cutting people open.” He shudders. “Definitely no cutting people open.”
“Oi!” Miles protests, bumping his shoulder against Sirius. “Doctors cut people open to save lives, you know. They don’t do it for a laugh.”
“I’m sorry!” Sirius quickly says. “I didn’t mean to offend. It’s actually very impressive what Muggle doctors can do without magic, and the things they’ve come up with! I’m sorry.”
“Hey, it’s alright,” Miles says, glancing at Sirius. “Don’t worry about it.”
Sirius smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. It’s just... I was raised in this really conservative pureblood Wizarding family. I’m always afraid I’ll say something Muggle-phobic without realising.”
“It’s okay, it wasn’t that bad, honestly.”
“Good,” Sirius says, relieved. “I’m just... trying to be better.”
Miles smiles softly at him. “Just the fact that you’re trying already makes you better.”
They walk in comfortable silence for a moment, until Miles speaks again. “That must’ve been hard though, growing up in a family like that. Marlene already mentioned you’re living here now. Is that why?”
Sirius nods. “I ran away from home the summer before. Best decision I’ve ever made.” There’s a tightness in his voice, though, and an emotion in his eyes that makes Remus want to run towards him and pull him into a hug.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Miles says sincerely. Then he gives Sirius a teasing smile. “Though I must say, it’s a good look on you, the whole ‘sexy rebel’-thing.”
Sirius barks a laugh, and the pained expression slides off his face. “Well, I’m glad my issues at least fit my anaesthetic!”
Remus doesn’t know whether he wants to bless Miles McKinnon for being able to turn Sirius’ mood around and make him smile, or whether he wants to curse Miles McKinnon for being able to turn Sirius’ mood around and make him smile.
“I bet you love provoking your family, don’t you?” Miles asks.
“That might just be my most favourite pastime,” Sirius replies sincerely.
Suddenly, Miles stops walking, so Sirius stops as well and turns back to face him.
Miles takes a step towards him. “I bet it would really provoke your family if you were to make out with a boy, a Muggle boy at that.”
Sirius swallows and his face slightly flushes. “That... That’ll definitely do the trick, yeah.”
Miles comes even closer, now almost standing chest-to-chest with Sirius, and he tilts his head up and leans in.
James still looks mighty impressed with Miles’ flirting tactics, while Remus wonders if the sound of his heart shattering might give them away.
Suddenly, Sirius steps back. “Wait, stop. I... I can’t.”
Miles looks disappointed, but not too shocked. “Why not?” He asks. Then he jabs his finger against Sirius’ chest, much like his sister did earlier. “And I swear to god, Sirius Black, if it’s because I’m a Muggle you can stick that wand of yours up your-”
“No, no, no!” Sirius quickly says, whilst letting out a breathless laugh. “It’s not you, really, it’s me.”
Miles gives Sirius a stern look, while placing his fists on his hips, making Remus wonder whether they’re sure Marlene and Miles aren’t twins. “If you’re gonna give me that lame excuse, at least elaborate what it is about ‘not me, but you’ that makes you reject me. I mean, I’m not proposing a marriage here!”
Sirius sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “There’s... someone else. I mean, there’s not really, I don’t have someone else, but I have feelings for someone else. So therefore this-” He gestures between himself and Miles. “Just doesn’t feel right.”
Remus exchanges a look with James, who looks just as stunned as he is by this information.
Miles, though, just folds his arms over his chest and looks at Sirius thoughtfully for a moment. “So, Lupin then?”
Remus freezes. What? Him? Oh no. He’s not sure he can bear to hear Sirius’ denial. ‘Lupin? Remus? No, of course not! What in Godric’s name gave you that idea? Why the hell would I fancy Remus?’
However, Sirius just sighs and looks down at his shoes. “I’m that obvious, huh?”
Remus stares dumbfounded. It’s... true? He feels an eruption of butterflies in his stomach. Well, he always feels some butterflies when he sees Sirius, but now it’s like all those butterflies had babies, and those babies had babies again, creating an immense flutter.
“Nah,” Miles says. “If I had known for sure, I wouldn’t have made a move. I only had a suspicion, but I decided to take a chance anyway. I’m not too surprised by this turn of events, though.”
“It’s really the only reason,” Sirius says. “Because you’re bloody great, you know that? You’re gonna make some guy really happy one day. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”
Miles groans. “ ‘Its not you, it’s me’, ‘anyone would be lucky to have you’. Shall we go before you start telling me we can still be friends?”
Sirius grins. “Normally I’d suggest we at least pretend to have had a good snog, just to see if Marlene’s face can get any more purple, but I don’t want to give Remus the wrong impression. Not that he’d care,” he adds with a mutter.
Miles stops walking again. “What? Are you seri- No, Marlene warned me not to say that. Really?”
Sirius just blinks at him.
Miles shakes his head. “I mean, you asked if you were being obvious, well, you were nothing compared to Lupin. Although, that could just be me. I couldn’t help but notice when he’s looking at me like he wants me to catch fire every time I come near you. Wait. You wizards can actually do that, can’t you?”
Remus huffs. He wouldn’t have actually set Miles on fire! At least he doesn’t think so.
Sirius frowns at Miles. “You must be mistaken. Remus is nothing but pure kindness! He always makes everyone feel welcome! You can’t help but like Remus!”
A warm feeling spreads through Remus’ chest.
Miles just looks at Sirius, shaking his head. “You’re actually in love, aren’t you?”
Sirius blushes and looks away.
“Well,” Miles says. “You should tell him how you feel. He clearly feels the same. Then you can both stop this pining.”
James, who just had to process the shock of one of his best friends fancying another one of his best friends, now has to process the shock of his best friends fancying each other. He’s staring at Remus, and consequently trips over a rock. He does manage to catch is balance, but he lets out a loud yelp.
Miles stares at the empty spot behind them on the path, surprised, but Sirius’ eyes narrow in suspicion. He lifts his wand, and the next moment a gush of wind blows the Invisibility Cloak off of Remus and James.
To his credit, Miles recovers pretty quickly from seeing two people appear seemingly out of nowhere, including the person they were just talking about. He blinks a couple of times, then says “I suppose this works as well.”
Remus and Sirius are just staring at each other.
“Uhm...” James says. “I was sent here by miss McKinnon to escort the younger McKinnon back to the estate.” Because apparently awkward situations make him talk like he’s an eighteen century nobleman. “Off we go, young lad.”
Miles doesn’t protest when James grabs his arm and starts dragging him away, but he does turn around to give Sirius a thumbs up.
“We were sent here by McKinnon,” Remus quickly says, when he and Sirius are alone. “She wanted to know if anything would happen between you and her brother.” Remus takes a deep breath. “And maybe I wanted to know if anything would happen between you and him myself as well,” he says softly.
“Were you jealous?” Sirius asks. It sounds curious, not angry, judgemental or smug, just curious.
Still, Remus can’t help but pout, and he looks away. “Of course I was jealous. Bloody Miles McKinnon, with his big blue eyes, batting those ridiculously long eyelashes at you, and being all cute, and witty, and charming.”
“You know, if you want Miles to snog you instead, you should hurry and you can probably still catch him,” Sirius says irritably.
“No!” Remus quickly says. “No. I just mean, I wish it was me. When he calls you handsome, when he brushes your hair away from your face, when he leans in to kiss you... I wish it was me doing those things.”
“Why don’t you?” Sirius whispers, staring at Remus intently.
“Because!” Remus says desperately. “Because I know how to be your friend, but if I even think about flirting with you, I turn into an awkward, rambling mess.”
The only thing that can possibly be going through Sirius’ mind right now is how the hell he let the sexy, confident, flirtatious boy walk away, to be stuck with the flustered heap of awkwardness that is Remus Lupin.
Remus stares down at his shoes. “I mean, I like you a lot, and also because I feel comfortable around you, I do, but when it comes to flirting, I suddenly get scared that you’ll laugh at me or something. I even think it’d be easier if you weren’t my friend, if we didn’t know each other so well. Then maybe I could-”
Remus stops talking when Sirius gently cups his cheek and tilts his head up. Slowly, ever so slowly, he leans in, giving Remus enough time to pull away had he wanted to. Which, for the record, he absolutely doesn’t. Sirius presses their lips together. And it’s...
Well, it’s not awkward at all.
It’s fireworks, and symphonies, and the sun breaking through the clouds. It’s a sense of belonging, and knowing all is right with the world, and a feeling of coming home.
Both boys are a little out of breath when they pull back, more because of the intense emotions than because the kiss had been that passionate.
“See?” Sirius smiles at Remus. “If I want you to stop rambling, I can always just... interrupt.”
“Rude,” Remus mutters, before pulling Sirius back into another kiss.
255 notes · View notes
mysoftboybensolo · 3 years
Text
The Alienist and the Soprano
Chapter 12: The Courtship
A/N: This was inspired by Laszlo’s love of opera and my thought on what if he fell for an opera singer. Multi chapter. Canon divergence, there is no Mary Palmer here (I loved Mary and Laszlo, so I don’t feel like I could have her here and have him be with another woman). A mix of show and book canons. No Y/N, OC named Evelina Lind.
A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32029150
Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x Fem OC!
Summary: The last thing Laszlo Kreizler ever expected while investigating the death of children was to fall in love, and with an opera singer no less!
Warnings: Age gap, questioning of a relationship, but it gets resolved, hints of John x Sara (more of them will come in later chapters).
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Laszlo didn’t quite know what to do when it came to courting. He himself had been so inexperienced in love and more so with social interactions that he feared that he’ll make one wrong move and ruin everything. It was one of those moments where he had to admit he knew nothing about the subject and must turn to someone who did.
John would never have thought in a million years that Laszlo would ever some to him for advice, and certainly not of the romantic kind. To see Laszlo looking rather on edge and uncertain gave John a small feeling of enjoyment as the roles have now been reversed, but he did not keep his friend suffering for long and entered the den.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” Laszlo spoke, “Especially on short notice.”
“That is probably the first time you had ever said that to me in all the years we’ve known each other. You must need my help badly.”
“I fear that I do. I-I have asked Evelina if I may officially court her.”
John’s eyes brightened with joy. “Laszlo, that is wonderful! She is indeed a remarkable woman.”
Laszlo smiled and nodded in agreement. “I have never felt this way about anyone, and I am afraid. I am afraid that I shall say or do something wrong and after everything that had happened in the previous days, the last thing I would want to do is cause any further scandal.”
John chuckled and teased, “If you want her to be scandal free, then she picked the wrong man.” John quickly realized what a mistake his choice of words was as he saw the visible hurt in his friend’s eyes. “I am sorry, I was only joking. It is amusing to see you like this though, because last I recall you had some choice words about love. Dull, no more than a mystery than cholera.”
He watched as Laszlo’s mood lightened as he recalled back on his own words and shook his head. “And I did believe them. Or at least, I wanted to believe them. She changed my mind. John,” he asked in a somber tone, “Do you think I am wrong to do this?”
John stared at him perplexed. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just, I am forty and she is just shy of her twenty-fifth birthday, a whole life ahead of her full of possibilities, and I feel like I am taking something away from her, especially with…” He doesn’t say the words, but his habitual gesture of left hand gripping the right wrist finished the sentence.
“Laszlo,” John sighed, “You two are not the first couple to have a difference in age, and many more have had even larger gaps then you do. And I resent the idea of you being too old, because it means I am as well, and I should like to think I am not too old for love!”
Laszlo offered a small smile, but a part of him knew that his relationship did mirror a bit with John’s feelings towards Sara, even though John was with Violet. That was something that Laszlo felt grateful in, not to be a situation where he is tied to one but loves another.
“And by now, she knows about your arm,” John continued, “I am sure that if she had thought less of you because of it, she would have left. Let us be honest, if she hadn’t left after her first meeting of you, then I am certain she is never going to leave. And I shall now share with you a lesson that I had learned a rather difficult way; never tell a woman what to feel, even if you do think she ought to feel differently.” John reached over and placed a friendly hand on Laszlo’s shoulder and grinned. “No one deserves to be happier than you, after everything that has happened, you deserve it. Take it, my friend, and enjoy it.”
Laszlo was touched by these words and knew John meant it. “Thank you. It means a lot to me that you’d say that.”
“My god, Laszlo,” John chuckled, “If being in love placates you, then you must do it more often.”
“I intend to. But what do I do? I mean, what is it that people do when they court?”
John explained the socially proper rules of courting, such as never be alone with her without someone being there, places where they be together, gifts you can and cannot give, etc. Many of these rules made Laszlo roll his eyes, for they were built on patriarchal beliefs that did more harm than good, but overall, when he left John’s place, he felt comfortable to move forward in the relationship.
Evelina had felt herself on cloud nine, for it felt that everything was falling into place at last. The feeling of his kiss still lingered on her lips and it was like a drug that had prolonged effects, for even the stares and whispers that people made when she passed them hadn’t even bothered her. The party at the Roosevelt’s tonight should be able to help with that, especially with Edith Roosevelt in your corner, who had happily accepted Evelina into the party as soon as she saw her.
“Oh, my dear, you are just the loveliest creature ever, love suits you very well.”
Evelina blushed and asked, “Is it obvious?”
“Beautifully so. He’s over by the fireplace, his usual spot in events such as this,” Edith said, giving her a coy smile, knowing she’d want to go to him.
Because of how late the rehearsals went, Evelina had told Laszlo to go on ahead and she’ll meet him there, so this was the first they would see each other after the kiss, and they came together sweetly and shyly. “Good evening, Laszlo, did you sleep well?”
“Quite well, I had the most pleasant dream,” he softly spoke, looking down at her with such a tender love that he could see reflected in her eyes.
“A result from a rather wonderful moment from the previous night?” she asked, knowing full well that was the reason why, she just wanted to hear him say it.
“There can be no other reason.”
The party went extremely well, and Evelina had to say that Laszlo was a good sport, she knew how uncomfortable he can get at social events, which was partially the reason why he stuck close to Evelina. The other reason was because he just adored her so. It was quite apparent to everyone in the room by the end of the night, and many thought it a good match; economically, she will be married to a man who is one of the wealthiest people in New York, socially, he is less irritable when around her. Personally, they loved each other so much.
Laszlo was indeed right, people would move on from one scandal to another, as a week later it was revealed that a prominent society lady was having an affair with her stable hand, and everyone went mad over it. People still looked down at her for her profession, but she brought up a good point during one of their meetings, of how despite people looking down at the profession, they still come to her to hear the music they love.
“It comes from a need to control and a deeper level of jealously,” Laszlo said, “If they see someone that they can put down, then they will as it will make themselves feel important. But they also know that they need that person to provide a need they cannot get themselves, which can cause a sense of jealously and hostility and make them react in such a way. They try to convince themselves that the ones lesser than them need the higher class to survive, but the truth is, the society needs the workers more than the workers need them.” Laszlo opened his mouth to continue, but he noticed how Evelina looked at him and wondered if he spoke too much. “I’m sorry. I tend to go on rambling about such things.”
“Don’t apologize, it was fascinating. I like hearing you speak about such things; it only teaches me something new, but to see you go on about something that you enjoy, it makes me happy.”
Often people have told Laszlo that they didn’t care about his work, that his ramblings about facts, big or small, were not so interesting, and to hear that she not only enjoys it, but likes how it makes him happy, well, that made him even happier.
What made their courtship so different from everyone else’s was how open they were with one another. Laszlo certainly made it no secret that he did not approve of the standard norms of society, which is why he did things so differently, and while to some it would be an improper error, Evelina felt that they should not have to hide how they felt. Most unions were made for the sole purpose of advancement in society, but this one was an affair of the heart. But despite how they felt about these rules, they also knew that there were some rules that could not be breeched. Laszlo visited her when he knew Sara was home to “keep watch” over the pair, which meant she’d be in the next room typing away at her machine while Laszlo and Evelina had the freedom of being alone.
Mrs. Vidal had also played chaperone at the opera, watching with a careful but affectionate eye as Laszlo visited after the show. The first time he came by was after the premiere of Roméo and Juliette, having watched her fall in love, despair and die, all so tragically and beautifully. He looked down at her from his box with incredible pride and adoration, and what he couldn’t believe was that at the end of the show, when she was giving her final curtain call, she looked up at him and gave a small but noticeable gesture of blowing a kiss to him. No one else caught it, between the gesture being subtle and they so enraptured, but Laszlo noticed, and it warmed his heart.
He went down to her dressing room after the show, pushing through the usual crowd of admirers and was allowed the privilege of a private audience with the prima donna.
“Laszlo!” she happily exclaimed, rushing to wrap her arms around him, which caused him to gasp but chuckle as he returned the hug. “Did you like the show?” she asked with her face pressed against his chest.
“Oh, meine liebe, you were perfection itself.”
She pulled back enough to look up at him, with a look of pleasant surprise. “Laszlo, do you realize that you just called me by a term of endearment?”
He thought back and then apologized. “Oh, I hadn’t realized. I am sorry if you don’t like it.”
“Oh no!” she disagreed cheerfully, “I love it. I like to be called your love. But what shall I call you?”
Laszlo chuckled at her sweetness, “Whatever you like, I suppose.”
“It’ll come to me. Such a thing must come naturally, as it did with you. The company is having a party, Delmonico’s, your favorite. Please be my escort?”
He kissed her hand and declared it to be a pleasure and left her to get ready as he waited in the hall. Evelina watched as Laszlo pushed through the crowd and couldn’t help but to laugh at the thought of him getting lost in the crowd.
Maria, still in her nurse costume, was pushing through the crowd of men when she bumped into Dr. Kreizler was confused as to why he was down here. Managing to get through, she entered the room and quickly went to Evelina who was laying on the couch with her eyes closed. “Evelina, are you alright?”
Evelina opened her eyes and sat up with a smile. “Yes, shouldn’t I be?”
“Well, no, of course not, but I saw the doctor leave and I was worried.”
Evelina got up and went to her vanity with a smile. “No, I am perfectly well. Better than well, actually.”
“Good. Listen, I was thinking of us entering Delmonico’s in style. Be fashionably late and-”
Evelina gently interrupted and said, “I am sorry, Maria. But I am going with someone else.”
Maria was at first disappointed, then she perked up when a thought came to her. “Is it the same man of whom you have feelings for?”
Evelina began to wipe the stage makeup off as she nodded. “Yes. We managed to finally express our feelings for each other and he’ll be taking me tonight.”
“Well, don’t leave me in suspense, who is it?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but then closed it. “No, you’ll laugh.”
“Laugh, why would I laugh? Evie,” Maria placed both hands on her friend’s shoulders, making her look at her, “I promise, if I laugh, I’ll lend you my ruby and pearl earrings for the evening. Now, please, tell me?”
Evelina sighed, then said, “It’s Dr. Kreizler.”
Maria paused for a moment, her hands slipped from Evelina’s shoulders and a quizzical look came over her features. “Dr. Kreizler. The alienist?” Maria watched as Evelina nodded. “Huh.”
“Oh, stop it, I know you want to laugh,” Evelina muttered, standing as she tossed her towel on the vanity.
“No, not at all. I am perplexed, to say the least. He is indeed quite good looking and is more well off than Mr. Moore could ever hope to be, and he is older, but so is Moore. It’s just, well, Dr. Kreizler always just seems so…distant and harsh, and you two seem so different from one another. What on earth do you see in the man?”
Evelina’s face softened and an almost dreamy haze overcame her. “Oh, if you only knew. He puts on the air of being steely strong and mean, yet, if you could see him with the children, he’s remarkable, tender, loving. He suffered but only wants to help others avoid what he went through. He’s witty, humorous, brave. And his thinking is so modern, so unlike most men I have known. He believes in women having just as much rights as men, including holding their own jobs and casting votes. He’s wonderful.”
Maria whistled. “Well, in that case, I may just fall in love with him myself.”
“Hands off, I saw him first,” Evelina teased, smiling back at Maria.
“Oh, all right. I suppose I’ll have to settle for Ramon, the tenor,” Maria teased back. Then her smiled turned tender and asked, “But, you are happy with him? Truly?”
Evelina nodded. “Yes, incredibly so. We may not be so similar, but we are similar in where is counts.”
“And that is all that matters,” chimed in Mrs. Vidal. “It’s rather best you do not end up with someone who is completely like you, otherwise, neither of you will push the other to do better, and on the bad days, you’ll hate the flaws of yourself that you see reflected in the other. Dr. Kreizler is a fine man and any man who would risk his life the way he did for you, that is a man worth keeping.” Giving her a kiss on the cheek, Mrs. Vidal said, “You are very lucky, some of us never find the right one, enjoy him while you can.”
Maria smiled, seeing her friend looking so happy was wonderful, especially after the horror she had to endure, and if it was a man like Kreizler, who not only came to her aid but also made Evelina smile, then it was worth it. “Hear, hear! And speaking of, I should leave you to get dressed, can’t keep him waiting.” Maria stood and bopped the end of Evelina’s nose. “I am very happy for you. I’ll, see you at the party,” she called out from over her shoulder.
As Evelina got ready, all she could think of was how lucky she was that not only did she find a good man to love, but that the dearest people in her life liked him too. She almost wept to think that her parents could not be alive to have met him, but she knew that they would have liked him and would have wanted her to be happy. And she knew that she’ll never stop having her heart skip a beat, for when she stepped out after changing and saw him standing there, waiting for her, it was like falling in love all over again.
If people had not known that Laszlo and Evelina were a couple, then tonight had put everything to rest. People stared amazed at the sight of Laszlo walking Evelina into Delmonico’s, especially the opera company, who never saw this coming. It was of course not an unusual practice of a singer taking on the patronage of a wealthy person, but they of all the months that they had spent working alongside Evelina, she never seemed to be the kind to do this sort of thing. The highbrows of society had simply nodded their heads and declared that they had fully expected this of her.
But what changed it from being simply seen as an arrangement to an honest to goodness courtship was seeing that the pair had matched in their flowers; in his lapel, was a lovely boutonniere of violets which matched the same corsage she wore pinned to the front of her dress. It was a spur of the moment decision, as they had passed a flower seller on their way and picked matching flowers that had a very strong and important meaning “faithfulness”.
At this point, they both decided that society could look at them with judgmental glares and harsh whispers all they want, but nothing was going to stop this miraculous feeling of being in love. And if anyone did, Sara would happily get into a fisticuff with the person, as she strongly vowed to the pair. As much as she was very happy to see them together, it did make her feel a little left out, and her gaze fell to John, with a sense of longing that she never could allow herself to admit. It was hard not to see herself reflected in Evelina and her relationship with Laszlo, after all, it was what Sara had imagined being with John might be like.
But it was too late.
Tagging: @monsieurbruhl​, @cazzyimagines​ @scuttle-buttle​ @violetmuses​ @flutterskies​ @sokoviandelights​ @rumblelibrary​ @fictionlandslanddreams​ @somethingthatsaysbubbles​ @alindeluce​ and  @barnesxnobles
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oddaodd · 4 years
Text
Her Eyes
· Tommy Shelby arranged marriage imagine · 
warnings : arranged marriage.  
(Heapings of fluff and a pinch of angst if you squint) 
Y/n never imagined her family would have the nerve to marry her off as part of a deal between the one Thomas Shelby and her father, who had insisted that he couldn’t properly trust the Shelbys  if they weren’t united as a family, but there she was, standing outside the church ready to meet the man she would spend the rest of her life with.  Her father was a powerful man with many important connections and despite Thomas’s desire to never marry again after grace, he found himself having to accept to the deal. When he fist saw her, scarcely some hours before their wedding, he was intrigued by her beauty and kind eyes, but he put on a  nonchalant facade as he introduced himself to the woman whom he would have to live till death do them part.
“Thomas Shelby” he outstretched his hand.
She stared at him for a bit  “y/n” was all she managed to say as his rough hand wrapped around her soft one with a firm shake. There was something about him, almost like dream she couldn’t quite place. He was a very alluring, almost hypnotic man and she felt oddly drawn to him just a few seconds after first laying eyes on him.
“Lets get this over with, shall we?” He monotonously said, breaking her out of her reverie before stepping into the church.
The first few months were really hard because Thomas refused to let her get close to him, both emotionally and physically, Grace’s memory  still freshly lingering around him. Y/n however was determined to turn their marriage into something more than just a business deal. She would play with Charlie, she would bring Tommy tea whenever he was at home, and she always tried to get him to smile which wasn’t easy, but after a lot of persistence, slowly but surely Tommy let her in. Truth was, despite the circumstances he was somehow glad he met her. Thomas never thought he would find a match to his wit but there she was. They could spend hours and hours just talking as time unsuspectedly passed by.   She was an unusual person to say the least, smart, kind, caring, prim and proper, sometimes ladylike, sometimes not,  and with very expressive eyes. That’s the first thing he noticed about her when he saw her for the very first time, the pool of mixed emotions in her eyes before their wedding, she didn’t look perfectly sad, but she didn’t look perfectly happy either. He found himself enthralled by her eyes and in the end they were what made him relent to her subtle yet kind acts of affection. She found herself quickly falling for him and he too did for her, although he would never admit it to anyone least of all, to himself. Their relationship grew to become something along the lines of a friendship and she always made sure to give him space not knowing quite sure if he reciprocated her feelings or not, he was a difficult man to decipher after all.
One night he came home to find her sitting in the grass out in the garden all by her lonesome just staring at the sky and his stars. As soon as she saw him she invited him to join her. He sat next to her under the quilt, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at the stars when she was sitting next to him. He had had an overly tense day and seeing her there, toying with the grass between her toes and a quilt over her shoulders, just  enamored by the night sky made all his worries disappear for a while. . Thomas had learnt a lot just by looking at her, she was brought up to be the perfect high society lady, but when she was alone or with him or Charlie she could really be her own carefree self, knowing they wouldn’t judge her and he felt glad he had become one of the few who could see her like that.  She felt his stare and turned round to look at him, she could feel her cheeks going red when their eyes met and in the heat of the moment, she leaned in to kiss him. A tiny pang of insecurity poked at her insides when he didn’t immediately kiss her back, thinking that she might  have had misread the look in his eyes, she pulled away, but he stopped her by placing both his hands on either side of her face and looking into her eyes where he could see a strange strain of vulnerability before kissing her. Hesitantly she kissed back and they became so entangled in each other that everything around them became non existent. He made love to her that night with the stars as witnesses and after that, their relationship flowered into something else.
Time passed and they grew closer and closer together. She earned the trust of the rest of the Shelbys and soon enough she felt like a part of the family, even more so than with her own family.
Every year Y/n´s family held an event to “ rejoice with friends and family” as they put it, but y/n knew it was more of a “I´m richer than you” parade to which all of her family’s friends and relatives were invited to.  Knowing that her mother would make a fuss if she didn’t attend, she and Tommy found themselves in y/n´s family home one Friday evening, dressed in the heights of fashion, drinking the most expensive champagne money could buy and sitting through her mothers inquiries about their married life. Y/n´s mother was relieved that y/n had married after all, her biggest fear was any of her daughters not living up to the standards according to which she brought them up to be.
“So, Y/n dear, are you with child yet?” Her mother asked in feigned sweet tone.
Y/n choked a bit on her champagne, not expecting her mom to blatantly ask that. Tommy turned to look at her and after taking a drag of his cigarette replied  with a serious face“Not yet Mrs. Y/l/n”
“Oh but you are planning to aren’t you?” Her mother insisted.
“Not at the moment mother” y/n chimed in a bit too harshly for both her and her mother’s liking. Tommy grabbed her hand underneath the table with his free hand to reassure her a bit, but it did little to put out y/n´s feelings of discomfort “and anyway, why does it matter to you? You already have plenty of grandchildren from my sisters” she said this time with a politer tone.
“All im saying dear is that you are not getting ny younger and I would certainly not blame Mr. Shelby here” her mother said pointing at Tommy “ if he were to decide the deal he made with your father isn’t worth enough to put up with a woman of your likes” she finished before taking a sip of her glass of champagne and looking over at the couple to asses their reactions.
Y/n opened her mouth to say something, but she couldn’t find the words she needed. Tommy took her silence as an opportunity to get his word in after another long drag of his cigarette “with all due respect Mrs. Y/l/n,  I think we are way past the business part of this marriage”
Her mother gave him a forced smile indicating that she didn’t believe a word of it before replying with “of course you are Mr. Shelby”
Tommy smiled at her mother in reciprocity before putting out his cigarette and turning to look at y/n “ Let’s dance, love”  he said.
They made their way to the dance floor and swayed to the music “Now I know why you weren’t exited to come” he said looking down at her, trying to lighten her up a little. She barely nodded, too consumed in her own thoughts, her mother’s words ringing In her ears. She would be lying if she were to say it hadn’t occurred to her before, that the distant nagging thought of Tommy only pretending to enjoy her company for the sake of not having another problem to deal with hadn’t kept her up some nights in the past.
“Let’s just go home” she mumbled into his chest.
And so they did and for the next few days Tommy could see that she was a bit distant, sure she always smiled and acted like everything was fine, but no matter how well she acted, Tommy could see right through it, all because of her eyes. She was a proud woman and he knew she would never admit her mother’s words had gotten to her.
One day she was working on some of the flowers she had planted across the property as Tommy approached her. He must have been very silent for when he called her name she gave a little jump.
“God you scared me” she said with a laugh, wiping a bit of sweat of her forehead “Are you in a habit of startling unsuspecting gardening women?” She teased.
“Only on you” he replied looking down at her.
She could see there was something in his mind, but she wasn’t quite sure what it was so she stood up shaking some of the dirt that had collected on her dress before loosely wrapping her arms around him so that she could still see his face and inquired “ What can i do for you dear husband?”
He raised his eyebrows and his mouth curved up ever so slightly. She smiled at him knowing she was the only one who could get him to smile and waited for his response.
“Marry me” he said in all seriousness.
She gave him a coy smile “ But we are already married” she said doubtfully, not knowing what had brought Tommy to request such thing.
“Aye, but i want you to be my wife knowing that I married you for you, because I love you , not as a part of a business deal” he earnestly said before producing a small golden ring with a tiny orange opal from his coat pocket and grabbing her hand (that was covered in dirt) in his “ So, Y/n will you marry me?”
She wasn’t sure what she was expecting but it wasn’t that, it was the fist time Tommy had verbally proclaimed his love for her.  Her eyes welled up in tears, a whirlwind of emotions raging inside in full display. Tommy brought one of his hands to her face to wipe away the one tear that did dare to fall. “Of course I´ll marry you Thomas Shelby” she said grabbing his hand in hers and looking at how he, with his other hand  effortlessly slipped the ring on her finger before chuckling tearily and crashing her lips on his. They had a small ceremony right there on the garden that same weekend, saying their vows in front of the Shelby family. Unlike their first weeding, everyone seemed happy and even though it wasn’t an “official” wedding, they both knew it was the one that mattered.
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cno-inbminor · 3 years
Text
a/n: drabble dump for our boy kuroo -- i love him loads and think about him endlessly. i also apologize beforehand for the awkward ending bc i’m terrible at ending things. hope you all enjoy! gonna go knock back a melatonin and sleep my wooziness away
w/c: ~2.4k; some angst, fluff, mentions of alcohol
you’re avoiding tetsurou, and he’s keen on figuring out why. college!au, friends to lovers.
“you’re not as slick as you think, y’know.”
instantly, a shiver creeps up your spine, electrifying you in quick, tiny bursts. those eight, nine words were more than enough to let you know who was standing behind you, peering over your shoulder in an effort to catch your gaze. his voice made your heart clench and lungs fight for oxygen – you begin to curse the high, intellectual level of tetsurou’s observational skills. you just wanted to make it another day without seeing his face outside of class, opting more for longer walks and just looking back to see the back of his stylishly mussed hair in the far distance. it frustrates you how much you’ve used the word ‘infuriating’ when it comes to him, but there’s no other better word you can think of without having to consult the thesaurus.
you have a few seconds to dart your eyes around, desperately searching for a way to escape. your productivity typically thrives within the library, but he’s always there, so with lots of pleading and promises of baked goods and decent coffee, you were able to borrow a close friend’s ID, a graduate student, and access the graduate resource room in a less traveled hallway. and in the expanse of that area, you’ve tucked yourself away into the back corner behind some shelves where almost no one visits. but it leaves you cornered and vulnerable – no matter which direction, in combination with his long legs, tetsurou would catch up to you in a heartbeat. you thought you had finally found a way to permanently escape his grasp, but apparently not.
much like you, he’s not supposed to be able to access this area. after all, you’re both senior undergrads so –
“how did you get in here?” you quietly hiss. you’re pretty sure you’d be booted out if you made any sound above 15 decibels, and you’re not about to let tetsurou ruin this haven for you.
there’s a rustle of clothing, a hand that rests on the back of your seat, and the hairs on the nape of your neck spike, before a delicate whisper informs, “you’re not the only one with grad student friends, love.”
if you weren’t so focused on keeping yourself rigid, body absolutely understanding of the effect that this man has on you, you definitely would’ve shivered from the proximity. but the gentleness in his tone sends you back to three weeks ago – you’re no longer under a fluorescent light tucked between cream-colored walls, but rather basked in a somewhat garish hue of crimson. your veins were tinged with alcohol, the substance leaving you feeling like you were on clouds, a silly smile breaking across your face uncontrollably. other bodies surrounded you but the only one you were focused on was the one in front of you, following your swaying movements to the beat of the music coming through someone’s speakers. even in the warmth of the house, tetsurou’s hands on your waist seared your skin, branding the feeling on you for eternity. his eyes twinkled with apparent affection, unbridled and screaming at you for you to understand the line he wanted to so desperately cross, that the alcohol pushed it behind his efforts to deny himself the one thing he’s been searching for in all these years.  
“i’m a little drunk, but fuck, you have no idea how bad i wanna kiss you,” he had murmured just loud enough into your ear, then ghosting his lips over the shell of it. everything around you dissolved into a blur as you could only focus on his breaths and the tightening of his grasp on you. his confession wasn’t completely unwarranted – not at all.
tetsurou and you had met in the quantitative analysis lab freshman year, having been assigned as partners for the semester just by how the ta’s drew the seating chart. he was a friendly, kind soul – had saved your ass multiple times from overshooting your titrations, prevented multiple beakers and graduated cylinders from falling over, always down to compare numbers to help ensure that neither of you were fucking up too hard.
coincidentally, the two of you were registered to the same ochem lab the next year and immediately gravitated towards each other, grateful to find some familiarity in all the anxiety. he witnessed your breakdown mid-lab, did his best to comfort you and salvage your sample so there was enough for recrystallization because you somehow got landed with a shitty, leaking separatory funnel, and stayed back with you when you had fallen behind in the cleanup process. from then on, it was a weekly habit to study together and work on your lab journals and reports together, not taking long to become close friends.
tetsurou did his best to keep his growing feelings at bay, knowing that you had explicitly mentioned swearing off relationships as you tried to figure out your future first. he wasn’t oblivious enough to think that you didn’t feel anything for him whatsoever – you were stubborn and tenacious at best. the house party at miya atsumu’s was simply a suggestion for the both of you to relax after a brutal midterm in your inorganic chemistry course, to let loose and treat yourself. he really hadn’t meant to say what he said, but just looked so good, so lovely and beautiful and enthralling, and you were looking at him like he hung the stars and moon in the sky – he knows he’s sent that same look to you multiple times when you weren’t looking, completely sober and unfazed.
he couldn’t stop himself from leaning close into you that night and you hadn’t stopped in – he knows he should’ve resisted, but feeling your soft lips against his was easily one of the top ten highlights of his college career, and his love for you only surged beyond his hold, overwhelming him to the point where all he could think about was nothing but holding your cheek in the palm of his hand so he could get a better angle and let himself indulge just this once.
that’s all it was – kissing and kissing in the middle of the makeshift dancefloor until there was no more oxygen left in either of your lungs. like a decent human being, he dropped you off at your apartment and bid you goodnight, hoping that you wouldn’t forget all the events that had transpired. and maybe, just maybe, he wished that you would let it happen again, that you could make him the exception in your plans.
evidently, you did remember it, because suddenly your responses to his texts were delayed and dry. you were picking up extra shifts, showing up to class at the very last minute, and leaving as soon as the professor dismissed you, allowing practically no room for him to make small talk. and while he would usually pass you in the halls of the chem building at some point, you were always too far from him and scurrying away in a different direction. tetsurou did his best to give you your space, but the less he saw of you, the more nervous and frustrated he grew. there was a wrench thrown into his daily routine, and your presence had always managed to bring some peace to him. so when he realized that you had truly abandoned your usual study spot in the library a week and a half later, he set himself on a mission to find out exactly where you were hiding.
it honestly had been sheer luck that he saw your figure ducking around into a hallway he’s never bothered to go down, and by the time he caught up, the door to the graduate resource room had just closed on your and there was no way he could get in without some help. luckily, his mentor who had stayed at the university for their phd was pretty nonchalant about letting him borrow it for a few days, preferring to study at home or in a coffee shop off-campus themselves.
he knew that since you were hiding, you were probably going to be in the most inconspicuous spot possible. so while there was some time dedicated to navigating the new maze of an area, he immediately felt a sense of relief when he saw your back hunched over your notes, hair tied up into a messy bun, and your laptop open with a spotify playlist.
after you’re done reminiscing, you begin to pack your stuff up, opting to just nor respond to tetsurou and ignoring the pleasant sensation that his term of endearment for you brought. he pulls back and stands straight to give you some room, but the tapping of his foot against the tile floor speaks to his blooming agitation at your silence. you’re still wordless as you weave between the shelves to the exit, knowing that the man plaguing your dreams is not far behind. the game of ‘follow the leader’ (or is it ‘cat and mouse’?) continues until you both have exited the main door, and right before you can walk down the granite steps, tetsurou seizes the opportunity to run ahead of you and stand in your way.
“tetsu, please,” you sigh, avoiding his piercing stare by fiddling with the sleeves of your jacket. “is there something you need?”
“you can’t play coy with me,” he chastises, bending down slightly in hopes that you’ll finally look at him. “you know why i’m here.”
it’s a bad habit of yours to nibble on the inside of your lips when you’re searching for the right things to say. tetsurou only picked up on it just last year – the action itself is very subtle to the outside viewer, and he hadn’t been paying close enough attention back then. “don’t bullshit me right now.”
“do we have to do this now?” you whine a bit.
“yes, or else i’m never gonna get you to talk to me. come on, you don’t do this, love.”
“what do you mean?”
“you’re running away. that’s pretty cowardly, don’t you think? you’ve had 3 weeks—”
you start to walk forward and around his tall, lanky figure. “i’m not humoring you with this—”
“with what—”
“—you’re doing that provoking thing, you’re trying to get me to think that i’m wrong in avoiding you—”
“so you have been avoiding me—”
“i said not now!” you protest in a raised voice, path once again blocked. tears of frustration are beginning to build in the corners of your eyes, and you’re cursing yourself for feeling so weak in this moment. part of you wants nothing more than to run into his arms.
it’s dead quiet for a few seconds – the ambient noise of the wind and the occasional passing car this late at night fail to make themselves known over the pounding of blood in your ears. only tetsurou’s first knuckle underneath your chin to raise you up grounds you, and you can no longer avoid his gaze. small crests of guilt wash over you as you recognize the uncharacteristic brokenness in his eyes – the last three weeks must’ve been much harder on him than you thought.
“just hear me out for a few minutes, okay? you can make your decision then.”
he takes your nod as a signal to continue, but also softening a bit at how nervous you look.
“i’m in love with you,” he softly confesses, a smile of defeat gracing his complexion. “and i have been for a while. i don’t think i’m bullshitting when i say i think you feel something for me, too, but i knew it wasn’t in your plans. didn’t wanna push or force you into making a decision when you weren’t ready. so i held back – but i couldn’t help it at the party, and…i’m sorry, love. i really am.”
tetsurou doesn’t miss the flash of hurt that crosses your eyes. “so does that mean you regret it?” you bite out, nails clenching and digging into the fabric of your jacket sleeves. he shakes his head.
“i don’t regret kissing you at all – it’s all i’ve wanted to do for the last two and a half years. but i’m just sorry that i did it without your explicit, sober permission. i went against your wishes in a time of vulnerability, and that’s pretty shitty of me – i’m not gonna excuse myself either just because i was a little drunk, so i hope you’re able to forgive me.”
he watches you sniffle and fight the grin that’s trying to creep across your face. “someone had their shot of respect women juice this morning, didn’t they?” you chokingly tease.
“five shots directly injected into my veins, every morning,” he jokes back, thumb sweeping over to catch your falling tears. “but i mean it though – i’m really sorry.”
“you’re forgiven, and i appreciate that more than you know. but if i’m being honest…it was something i’ve wanted to do for a while, too. i was just really scared because it was so unexpected and i wasn’t sure if i was ready for our relationship to change, or like if i would be emotionally available enough for you, y’know?” you blubber, hand reaching up to rest against his on your cheek.
“hey—”
“i really want this to work out.” tetsurou can hear your voice shake, and he’s sure you’re almost trembling. “you’re one of my best friends – i can’t lose you, tetsu. and what about grad school? what if we end up too far away from each other and video calls aren’t enough? what if you get tired of me or—”
“i know you hate it when i interrupt, but honestly (y/n), you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. i’m gonna do everything i can to make this work, too, mmk?”
“okay,” you whisper. “okay.”
his thumb gently sweeps back and forth against your cheek for a little bit before speaking up again. “not to ruin the moment, but do i have permission to kiss you now?” his eyes shine despite the midnight sky, and you can’t help the small chuckle that leaves your chest.
tetsurou swears up and down that your kiss in response is much, much sweeter than the one at the party, and he can’t wait to see what the future holds for you two.
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munimuni-muna · 3 years
Text
So I've been thinking, maybe I should write. I had this dream of an older Giorno for some reason and thought, hey I could make this a reader's insert type of story! But I'm no writer, so I hope this isn't too bad.
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Title: His Best Friend
Premise: It's almost 10 years after Giorno became Don and for some reason, his best friend from way back keeps popping in his mind.
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His emerald eyes searched about the room, examining the furniture that has been here for almost 10 years now. Having been a Don for the same amount of time, he decided to continue his education in his mansion. Never did he come back to school. Cleaning up after Diavolo's mess is just a mountain of work to ever set aside.
But once in a while, he would escape; In the dormitories of his previous school, was his quaint room. It was a place of solace where he imagined being where he is now, a place of quiet where he could be vulnerable, a place he was often with you. He never got the guts to give the room away, so he bought it instead, keeping the locks the same as it always have been. Because he knew you had the key.
And he wondered why he missed your company so. Thoughts of you never came across his mind when he was younger nor when he's at work. It was always when he visited this place or when he's more tired than usual. There was always something about you that felt relaxing.
Giorno sat himself down on the floor, leaning on his bed frame. You always did this with him back then and let him rest his head on your sholder when he's stressed out. He loved listening to your talks of goals and dreams. And rarely, you even got him to talk about his. Then you'd quietly listen with no judgement. He watched as your proud and hopeful eyes brighten.
"You'll get there one day because you're Giorno Giovanna." You'd say, unknowing how those words impacted him greatly, how it encouraged him so. And then you'd lean your head on his as you both drift to an afternoon nap.
Giorno stood up. He couldn't resist the allure of the soft bed no longer, so he sat himself on it, bouncing slightly at contact. His palm carressed the linen bed cover and paused.
He then untied his golden braided locks that flowed in a happy mess down his back. This long maine was shorter still when you were around. And sometimes you'd ask his permission to braid it. He'd always say he'd think about it just to tease you. But in truth, he wanted you to touch his hair. You were always allowed, yet you always asked. But he never seeked your touch despite his craving for it. He'd always wait for you to ask first.
Crave. He craved you? Has he been feeling that way all this time? Is it alright to crave a friend? Perhaps. He thought. But what does he crave for in specific? He's never put an effort to finding you, never gave in to this 'craving'. Your mind was always a traveler. It was filled with so much stories about the world to explore out there, from picture books and magazines you've read and seen; How beautiful it must be to visit the great pyramids in Egypt, to see the cherry blossoms bloom in Japan, how eerie and lovely the Taj Mahal might be, or how crystalline the Philippine virgin beaches could be. There's a world in your eyes that he could see, a bright one compared to the gloom of reality. Yet you had no desire to travel on foot. You've always travelled by pen, and you were just full of passion when your thoughts bled on paper.
Where are you now?
Giorno plopped himself onto the bed, scattering his golden locks behind him like crooked rays of light. A growing pain sat on his chest, encouraging a deep sigh of frustration out of his mouth. He closed his eyes, trying to pin the feeling down. But no matter how much he wrestled, there was nothing, no answer, just the image of your face.
The clicks on the door snapped him back from the pool of his thoughts. That couldn't be Mista. The guy always knocks. Those clicks were the sound of unlocking the door, and he didn't have any key.
Giorno sat himself down, his calm demeanor contrasting the boiling pot of assumptions in his mind; Does his opposition know about this place? How did they know he came here? He made sure to keep his visits here random enough not to call attention. Whoever this was, if they're aggressors, they're making the biggest mistake of their lives by opening that door.
He sat on the bed, unsheathing Golden Experience, ready for anything. His emerald eyes focused on the opening door as it slowly revealed the person on the other side.
Being a Don for years now, hardly anything surprised him anymore. But the sight of you standing on that doorway was almost surreal to him! Never did he expect that he'd see you in the flesh right here right now. For a second there, he even thought his stand somehow has a hand with it, but no. This couldn't be a dream. Like a gush of wind rudely hitting his face, it all started to make sense to Giorno: the moemories of you, the craving, the growing pain.
"La mia amore." He let slip the words that should've been said long ago. How stupid can he be for only seeing it now?!
"Giorno!" You called him, your visage mirroring his surprised one.
Seeing tears starting to flow down your cheeks, he let his heart lead the way; Without another word, he expeditiously made his way to wrap his arms tightly around you, making up for those years that he was a fool for not seeing through the veil of his own emotions. And you generously return the gesture.
Ah, this is it. This is the feeling. He thought.
"I missed you." You say, pressing your cheek on his chest, (which was stil very much exposed despite this winter, you noted). "Let me see." You pull away from his embrace which he thought was a pity.
Examining Giorno from head to toe, you see that he has significantly have you beat in height now. He wore a black leather coat, furred round the neck for more heat. Then you finally gaze at his emerald eyes, the body might have changed greatly, but you knew those eyes were still the ones you knew, only now they looked sharper as if it had seen things it didn't like. And you understand that Giorno Giovanna has achieved his dream.
You cupped his cheek as you searched his eyes. He immediately leans to your touch. There was an enigmatic glow dancing about those green orbs you can't quite comprehend at the moment.
"Welcome back." You say, flashing him a thoughtful smile.
Giorno's heart felt full as he pulled you in his arms one more time, a kiddish spark dancing in his eyes. "I missed you too, amore." He said, pressing a lingering kiss against your cheek.
And you had to pull away slightly, surprised by his sudden intimacy. "A-amore?" You stuttered, studying his eyes. If only the answers were there. Giorno has always been hard to read, but by observation, you learned that he conveyed his emotions through subtle mannerisms and reactions. But this forwardness was vastly different from his usual quiet demeanor!
Giorno enjoyed your coy reaction too much to let go of you now. So he pressed his forehead onto yours. He felt you tensing at his sudden closeness while you made fists of your hands on his chest, crumpling his neat clothes. But he paid no mind. In fact you're reaction only encouraged him. "And why would I call the love of my life anything else?" He teased. "Have you been coming here all the time, amore? Were you waiting for me?"
He waited for a response from you, a banter perhaps. But there was a long pause which made him worry. Maybe he was being too forward? You have been away from each other a long time. And the last you've seen each other, you were just friends. Friends. He almost hated the word at the moment. That was not how he wanted your relationship to be, not anymore.
"Yes." You say, pulling him out of his thoughts. "I go here from time to time…hoping…you would…come home." You faded out, averting your eyes from him. The last thing you thought of doing today was to reveal your pining for your best friend, but apparently here you are doing just that.
Giorno heaved a sigh, resting his forehead on your shoulder. "Oh amore, we've only met again." He said, interlacing his hand with yours. "I really want to keep things wholesome. But your reactions are making it difficult."
You were speechless at how shockingly honest he was being. But the happiness you felt from his words were sublime! The puzzle that is Giorno Giovanna is communicating his emotions with you clearly. And that's enough for you for now.
Giorno leaning on you gave you the perfect view of his unbraided locks just sitting on his back in a happy flowy mess. And you couldn't help but ask;
"May I brush your hair, Giorno?"
He chuckles as he always does. "You may." He answered.
Your free hand was quick to find its way to his golden locks, brushing the mess gently. You always loved his maine. The relaxation it provided you while you braided or brushed it was nostalgic. "Your hair has grown, il mio amore." You say.
He giggles at your comment, pulling your hips closer. "Do you like it?"
"I love it." You say. To you, his maine has always been like the man himself: intense like its sudden shifts from a jet black to a golden blonde, and evergrowing, the longer it got, the more magnificent it became.
A relaxing quiet enveloped between you two. You continued to brush his locks while he leaned on you, closing his eyes. Everything just felt peaceful for once especially for Giorno.
"I want to take you home." He broke the silnce, squeezing your hand.
"That's a very forward offer, Giorno, but I have to decline. I'm still trying to get my book published, you know." You say.
Silence.
"Do you still live by that bakery?" Giorno inquired.
"Visit me there when you have time?"
"It's a promise."
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sk1fanfiction · 3 years
Text
the many faces of tom riddle, part 5
 - more myth than man... or not? the mortality of tom riddle and the anatomy of a villain-
That leaves us with Ralph Fiennes’ portrayal of adult Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort in movies 4-8.
I generally find adult Tom Riddle disappointing, even in the books, in terms of character depth. Instead of delving into his motivations and the inner psychology of a villain, we get... slight body horror? And in the movies, it’s even more egregious. 
If a story is as good as its villain, adult Tom Riddle is a bit of a let-down, especially on-screen.
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“I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost . . . but still, I was alive.”
Perhaps the very first time I watched it, I found this scary, but I must confess that nowadays, Voldemort’s resurrection is more funny to me than anything else. The forked tongue and the nose slits, yes, are supposed to allude to Tom Riddle’s loss of humanity, but I don’t think it...worked out that way in practice.
I know that’s how it is in the books, but ugly equals evil (and vice versa) is a tired trope. not only that, but under the CGI, Lord Voldemort is so difficult to relate to, so inhuman, that it’s hard to (1) see his true depravity (2) connect with him emotionally (3) at least for me, not laugh at him flapping around the graveyard in GOF like an oversized crow. 
Now, the reason I’m going on about this is not (just) me being petty. Lord Voldemort is the Boggart for most of the characters in the HP universe, meaning their greatest fear is Lord Voldemort. He represents Fear; as such, he should be utterly terrifying. Now, I don’t mean horrifying in that sense, but Voldemort’s grand entrance should at least feel somewhat unsettling, have some sort of a Gothic atmosphere...
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"But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron."
Visually, this looks great. But it’s not scary. And I’m not a purist by any means, but the words are scarier than the book. Darkness induces fear. 
“The lack of any kind of visual stimuli increases anxiety, uncertainty, and tension.”
So, having Voldemort’s pale body materialize isn’t as scary as it could be.
Furthermore, I think Fiennes’ overexaggerated expressions would actually come across as properly horrifying/threatening rather than funny if they just left his face alone. Yes, Fiennes does manage to emote the fear and the anger through the CGI, but it’s like he’s too alien to be scary, at least to me. The amount of memes with Voldemort suggest I’m not the only one this way inclined.
I think there’s probably a problem going on with the uncanny valley. (Images from the Mori essay linked).
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[When things are still]
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[Creepy things are creepier when moving]
Now, I assume Voldemort is meant to be zombie-creepy, or at least that how Harry describes him in the books.
"The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry...and Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his nightmares for three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's but with slits for nostrils...."
Now, we can’t get Harry’s experience of being haunted by Voldemort in his dreams, because what I think makes Voldemort’s countenance so truly frightening to the other characters isn’t his snake-like nose or his red eyes, but the potential. Voldemort is, in essence, the Grim Reaper. You are at his mercy, and you’re probably going to be dead. 
“This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.“
And yes, Voldemort can be quite funny and witty, but..
“I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers will give their right hands to perform.” (To Peter Pettigrew)
...it’s still incredibly dark, sadistic humour. Whereas the teenage Tom Riddle we’ve been discussing has just barely dipped his toes into evil, Voldemort is, well... swimming in it. At this point, he think he undeniably enjoys causing pain.
And much of what makes Voldemort scary is subtle. 
For example, what I personally consider haunting is the fact that he’s got a cave full of Inferi. A cave full of reanimated dead bodies. 
Either he dug them up, which is unlikely... or perhaps, a twenty-seven-or-so-year-old Tom Riddle would lie in wait like a bird of prey, very quietly and patiently, perhaps reading a book, waiting for an unsuspecting Muggle to wander past. Maybe killing is a game to him at this point, when it’s not so personal as killing Harry Potter. Maybe it’s a whispered Avada Kedavra, and then he carries the dead body away to his cave. Maybe he Imperiuses them to walk off the cliff. Maybe he tortures them first.
Shudder.
And I don’t think you can show that kind of horror through any CGI or make-up, so...
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You know what is terrifying? Revolting? True crime; real-life people who do unspeakably horrible things. And I think a lot was missed out on, in stripping Tom Riddle physically of his humanity. Yes, Riddle is a monster...
But, as we’ve seen, he’s a human monster, not some eldritch horror from the seventh level of hell or something.
I just think it would be interesting to have this perfectly normal-looking human do all the horrific things Voldemort does. I want to see that sick joy in a human face and feel disgusted. I want to see fear make his bottom lip tremble, and feel a misplaced sense of empathy. (Think President Snow from the Hunger Games -- now, that’s a sick, twisted villain who we can relate to as a human being, but still love to hate -- or what about The Joker?).
And out of everything they chose to CGI, why on earth did they not make his eyes scarlet? That might have made him look at least somewhat menacing, rather than a failed lab experiment.
(Don’t even get me started on his and Bellatrix’s death scenes in the movies-)
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Here’s President Snow. He’s got a cute little granddaughter, he sends kiddies to kill each other Battle Royale-style every year, and he poisons all his political opponents. He’s also a master manipulator and has a penchant for white roses. They cover up the smell of the sores in his mouth from eating the poison too, to conceal his treachery.
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Heath Ledger as the Joker in Dark Knight (2008), who is, according to NYT (which I totally agree with), the best Joker. Now this is a villain done right, with many Voldemort-like traits. On a scale of one-to-ten, he’s absolutely terrifying. Why? He’s (unlike Voldemort in the movies) incredibly intelligent, shows young-Tom-Riddle-like skills for charm and manipulation, plays with humans like they’re his own personal psychology experiment (and to hell with the Institutional Review Board), and has one, single, very clear goal -- chaos. Like Voldemort, he wears an inhuman mask that’s not horrifying in its own right; but unlike Voldemort, the human is all there -- terrifying, real, and with a bottomless, obsessive desire to destroy. His disordered thinking is all out there for the audience to see. The Joker’s motivation is to enjoy himself; whereas Voldemort seems to lack drive. Why does he want to take over the world -- who knows, with Voldemort? The Joker wants to see it burn.
Let’s try to do the same with Lord Voldemort:
[SLIGHT FLASH WARNING]
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I had to go with this because Voldemort isn’t legitimately terrifying in many scenes. And yes, this unrefined anger somewhat speaks to Tom’s immaturity
By this point, seventy-one year old Tom Riddle is a hollowed-out shell of a human being. After decades of building his power, he was defeated by a one-year-old, and ended up slumming it as a spirit for a decade, got defeated again, was a shrivelled-up baby for a year, then finally got his body back.
He’s angry, okay! And Fiennes does a great job of portraying the sheer, destructive, unbridled rage of this character.
The body language. again, since his face is inhuman, this is super important. and Fiennes’ body language is great. Voldemort/Riddle commits to his actions. He is very emotionally-driven.
But yet, he doesn’t feel capable, in the way that the Joker or President Snow do. Yeah, we know anecdotally that he’s incredibly evil, sadistic, and second only to Dumbledore in terms of power, but he loses to a baby, and then that same baby as a teenager. So, we really could have done with seeing Voldemort’s power, cruelty, and evil firsthand a lot more often.
Voldemort is not well-characterized. I don’t understand his motives, and the ones that I do understand are not compelling.
Not to die? Well, he’s already made several Horcruxes. Why not sit back and relax? Why start a war and risk himself?
JKR said that Voldemort’s great desire was to become all-powerful and eternal. But that’s... boring! It does little to tell us about Voldemort, other than that he’s a villain and a wannabe dictator. 
Furthermore, the charm, manipulation, and cunning that are hallmarks of younger Tom Riddle’s personality are gone.
Is Voldemort (to return to Jungian terms) all shadow? An empty creature of simple creation and destruction, perhaps? We’ll discuss this further down...
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And this isn’t a problem of having a fantastical world with magic and the like. Grindelwald’s quiet, self-possessed, almost coy “So you think you can hold me?” was infinitely scarier than anything that has ever come out of Voldemort’s mouth. It was chilling. 
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OOTP is my favorite book, and the Ministry sequence is one of my favourite in the films. 
This scene where he psyches out Harry, talking so quietly that he could just be a little voice inside his head (and again, during the possession scene)? Absolute perfection. 
Why? Because this showcases what’s truly scary about him. Voldemort can get into your head. He can make you do things. And perhaps, if we had seen that more often, we’d understand how scary he is.
I wish this had been his grand entrance, and not whatever that scene in GOF was. Somehow, him screeching “I WANT TO SEE THE LIGHT LEAVE YOUR EYES!” is not menacing. At all. 
But, I can’t help but think how much greater the emotional affect would be if he had more human features (think the burned-and-blurred, waxy features from Dumbledore’s memory). 
Just imagine these scenes if Voldemort looked human, and spoke as quietly as he did in this one.
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Because of the reason that I have little to go on in terms of characterization that I haven’t already covered, we’ll discuss the myth and legend of Lord Voldemort.
I can’t decide if the statue in the films is supposed to be the Angel of Death or the Grim Reaper. He has a skeleton and carries a scythe, but he also has wings. There are so many different interpretations, attitudes towards, and personifications of Death across the world that I don’t want to draw any one conclusion. But I must wonder if Lord Voldemort, with his yew-and-phoenix wand (which carries heavy symbolism of immortality and rebirth) and almost deified figure is meant to be a personification of Death himself? His name, Lord Voldemort, is a shade close to Lord Death.
For years, it has stumped me that wizards and witches are afraid to utter Voldemort’s name, especially since we only see the Taboo in the middle of the last book. It didn’t make sense just based on fear; in the real world, we don’t circumvent Hitler’s name, for example.
Perhaps this may have been obvious to others, but it wasn’t to me.
Here’s a counterargument to myself; why Voldemort shouldn’t look human.
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Voldemort, in the Wizarding World, is seen as a literal deity.
I promised to attempt to answer this question in Part 3: 
And so, I can’t help but wonder if the opposite is true… if Tom Riddle creates Horcruxes, would that grant him additional magic powers?
In Part 3, I likened Tom Riddle to a sorcerer in Russian folklore, Koschei the Deathless, also famous for sequestering his soul in objects. This source suggests that Koschei was considered not an ordinary magician, but a representative of the ‘other’ world, the world of death.
So, what if... creating Horcruxes makes you... more than human? Now, I could definitely see god-like status being appealing to sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle. Perhaps, even appealing enough to kill for. Now, his proclivity for Avada Kedavra makes sense. We know it’s an incredibly sinister spell, but at the same time, it’s a very humane way to kill. Why might it be so horrifying?
Here’s a weird theory.
To the best of my knowledge, no one but Voldemort is seen using the Killing Curse more than once or twice. 
Perhaps, ordinary mortals can only cast Avada Kedavra a few times, but Tom, having split his soul and having become in some way a non-human instrument of Death, can cast it however many times as he likes, and that is part of what serves to make him so terrifying.
This makes the idea of Voldemort tossing around Avada Kedavras actually incredibly terrifying, if you take into account what that might mean.
The collective cultural fear of speaking Voldemort’s name supports this theory.
Take the chthonic (underworld) deities of Greek mythology; most notably, Hades and Persephone, the king and queen of the underworld.
Hades, the god of the dead, was feared. 
So feared that the word ‘Hades’ (”the unseen one”) was so frightening, that people came up with all sorts of euphemisms to circumvent actually saying it and he was rarely even depicted in art. For example, they would refer to him as Pluto (”the rich one”), Clymenus ("notorious"), Polydegmon ("who receives many"), and perhaps Eubuleus ("good counsel" or "well-intentioned"), amongst many other names. 
However, he was not seen as evil; just stern, cruel, and fair. Like most Greek gods, he had an associated cult (the Death Eaters, anyone?)
Another interesting connection between Hades and Voldemort is that Hades was associated with snakes.
Persephone (suggested to have a pre-Greek origin and probably pre-dates Hades), who was also a vegetation/fertility/spring goddess, similarly, was referred to as Despoina (”the mistress”), Kore (”the maiden”), etc, because as the terrible Queen of the Dead, it was considered unsafe to speak her name aloud. In mythology and literature, she is sometimes referred to as ‘dread Persephone.’
--Just like how Lord Voldemort is referred to as The Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who... (and if you’re Dumbledore, ‘Tom’.)
Her central myth served as the context for the secret rites of regeneration at Eleusis (which was basically a mystery cult devoted to her and her mother, Demeter), which promised immortality to initiates.
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We don’t know for certain what exactly went on, because, mystery cult -- the members were sworn to secrecy -- but it revolved around immortality and rebirth and possibly psychoactive drugs. 
Perhaps ironically, in comparison to the Death Eaters, anyone could join, as long as they could speak Greek and had never committed murder.
And that concludes my assessment!
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For @lfg1986-backup I saw the bob dylan post and I couldn't help it I got inspired and wrote this.
Summary: “You have to promise me that you aren’t going to fucking laugh at me.”  Timmy says with a shaky voice his nerves shaking within his very body as he tries to come to the reality of what he is about to do. 
“T how long have we known each other since call me by your name hm?”  Armie asks before bringing the glass of whiskey to his lips, sitting down on their couch in the small hotel room they shared together. 
“You have to promise me, that you aren’t going to laugh at me.”  Tim says with a shaky voice his nerves shaking within his very body, as he tries to come to the reality of what he is about to do. 
“T how long have we known each other since call me by your name hm? Armie brings the glass of whiskey to his lips, sitting down on their couch in the small hotel room that Timmy and himself have been sharing for the past week and a half. So that Armie could be the supportive friend, and be there for Timmy during his movie just so that he could see his best friend shine. While also trying to get past the devorce and ignore the constant texts that were coming into his phone so he put it on silent to concentrate on his friend who was standing there guitar in hand, and the sleeve of his sweater in his mouth, hair in his face. a nervous habit that Timmy does but sometimes doesn’t realize that he is doing it until there is either a wet spot on his sleeve or the fuzzy material is on his tongue to which he is gagging a second later.
Timothee has been dreaming of his moment for what seems like a life time and now, it has arrived. He had always wanted to play a famous musician and now we was getting to play someone that he admired and enjoyed as an artist. He wanted to do this wonderful humanbeing justice and hoped that he would be able to breath life into this actual person, to make him come across on the screen and prayed that Dylan would like it. 
“No sweat man you got this! You are going to kill it! I just know it so stop doubting your abilities and just jump feet first and run with it Timmy.”
Armie told him once over the phone, when they were thousands of miles apart, it was easy for Timmy to control his emotions and relax knowing that the object of his affection was away from him. But...
As of right now however, he was going to play a song for Armie that he had been working on for weeks now. It was “Make You Feel My Love” by Bob Dylan himself and Timmy was petrified of the thought of having to sing in front of his best friend. 
Why? The very words to the song were what he was feeling and had been feeling for quite some time. Since 2017 and now here it was 2020 and those feelings had only gotten worse with time, in the sense that Timmy was constantly waiting, biding his time until he got the news from Armie himself and now here they are. 
‘You can do this Timmy you have practiced this song fowards and backwards, morning, noon and night, and this is Armie he isn’t going to make you feel like shit if you mess up! Just sit your ass down and play damnmit!’
“Would it help if I didn’t look at you?”  there is a soft teasing to Armie’s tone that makes Timmy look up underneath his eyelashes at him, his cheeks warming slightly but he shakes his head and laughs when Armie tilts his head back and looks up at the ceiling, chin tilted up to the sky, while his glass remains in his left hand while his right rests on his right thigh. 
“Alright, bring on man. Give it to me show me what you got.” 
With a deep breath coming out in a soft woosh, he sits down on the edge of the bed, resting the acoutsic guitar on his thigh, his fingers shake with nerves as he places them on the fret board, he closes his eyes and gathering up his courage he begins to strum and his fingers move to each chord as he sings. 
His voice is unsteady at first but the more he gets into the song the more confident he becomes and his voice though still soft gets Armie’s attention, before he even realizes it he can feel the other man’s eyes on him. 
Armie is speechless but his mouth soon turns into a grin and his whiskey becomes forgotten as he slowly sets it down, his full attention stuck on that beautiful voice that sounds so... full of emotion and sincereity. Yet, there is pain in it and when Timmy finally opens his eyes the emerald pools are filled with unshed tears and suddenly he feels this ache in his chest that makes Armie want to cry. 
He keeps listening for maybe a few seconds more before he hears his friend’s voice crack and sound watery, thats when he realizes Timmy’s has stopped singing altogether. Timmy is actually crying not full on sob crying but that quiet cry that comes out has shuttered breathed at first before the full hit comes. 
Without a word Armie beckons Timmy over with a come here motion of his index finger, and without fight he goes walking hunched over, curls bouncing lightly, his nose pink, sniffing, his left hand clutched tightly on the neck of the guitar as he drags his feet across the carpet, eyes down staring at the floor. 
The stops dead at Armie’s legs, his socked toes land on top of the older man’s bare toes and then he hears the soft, calm, register of his voice say,  “Give it to me.” and for a moment Timmy is scared to let go of the guitar, he’s afraid that if he lets go the dam is going to break open and all of his feelings are going to drown them both. 
He feels Armie’s gentle caress on the back of his hand. “Hey, it’s alright. I’m right here buddy all you gotta do is let go.” 
When Timmy loosens his grip the guitar goes into Armie’s hand and he sets it aside laying it down carefully on the far side of the couch. Then his eyes fall on the heartbroken features of Timmy’s face the way his mouth is twisted into a frown, the lines in his forehead, the twisting of his fingers. 
And there on his face Armie can see it clear as day without even saying a word. He knows everything that Timmy is thinking. 
“I-” is what Timmy allows himself to say but before he can even turn around Armie untangles his fingers and gives a tug, the small body awkwardly falls forward into the awaiting lap. Where strong arms embrace him in the biggest hug his skinny body is swallowed up by warmth and his ear is up against a very strong thudding heartbeat, a large hand gently stroking his curls as lips kiss his hair. 
What Timmy was going to say was “I’m sorry for turning on the waterworks.” but Armie sort of beats him to it by saying, 
“If you say your sorry for that incredible trip of emotions that you just took me on and gave me. So help me I am going to toss you onto your back, pin your ass to this sofa and tickle the shit out of you until you are screaming like a little girl.”
Armie hears a sniffle and a swallowing of breath, feeling the slender fingers curl around his shirt tightly, Timmy shaking a little with laughter. 
After a beat. 
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The question causes the curly head to pop up and the boys tear striken face is met with Armie’s thumbs lightly sweeping over his cheeks, sweeping away the rest of the tears that come out so freely now. 
“Tell you what?” Timmy hiccups. 
“Don’t play coy with me T you very well know what. No body sings a song like that to someone who is just their friend. I know you have feelings for me, and from the looks of it you have been hiding them a long fucking time.”
“How?”  
“Instagram mostly. You think I don’t pay attention to what you are doing a lot of the time, but Timmy I do. I have been following all the clues from day 1 whether you realize that I was or that I wasn’t. From the first time that we were in Crema together sitting on Luca’s couch holding each other while Sufian stevens was playing to the subtle hints of you wearing the same color clothing or the same brands. Or like that time you put “mystery of love” on your story need I go on?”
Timmy is awe struck.  ‘So he was paying attention this entire time! Oh my god! He knew this entire time!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What did you think was going to happen goofball! You put your feelings for him on blast in a time when he is devorcing his wife and was also sending you signals and you failed to see it!’
Armie smirks. “Not bad for someone who supposively “doesn’t pay attention” as you put it.”
“I don’t know whether to be mordified or grateful that you know how I feel about you.” Timmy replies sheepishly sitting up, his eyes focused on Armie’s. 
“Then allow me to put this in a way that may ease your mind a little and reflect my own feelings back to you.”  Armie takes him by the hands and laces their fingers together, and offers Timmy a warm sincere smile. 
“Oh to see without my eyes the first time that you kissed me. My heat has made it’s mind up and I’m afraid it’s you and if you can’t be signed up this year, next year will do. I will hold you for a million years, I’ve known from the moment we met. I will make you happy, make your dreams come true. Go to the ends of the earth for you no, there is nothing I wouldn’t do to make you feel my love Timothee Chalamet.”
“Nothing you would’t do huh? Well, then Mr. Hammer you can start by pressing your lips to mine and we can see where it goes from there.” 
When their lips do meet in the sweetest of kisses they both pretty much have the same thought 2021 hurry the fuck up and get here. So the sweet falling fantasy can begin.
end
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kindergarten-mafia · 4 years
Note
Top five moments of mickey's character development? (Also just wanted to add that these lists have made me start checking the gallavich tag on a daily basis and it's super uplifting to celebrate the best moments of this ship!)
Thank you so much anon 💞 this was so so hard to only pick 5. Mickey is such a complex character and he has changed so much throughout the years. So I'm sure people will add on more for me.
5. Fuck you is what you where invited to.
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I love love love this scene, Mickey telling Ian not to bang anyone and trying to pass it off like some advice rather than admitting to himself or Ian that he doesn't want him sleeping with anyone else. Also they have had their first kiss just the episode before and I loved that Mickey is trying to ask Ian to spend more time with him but without making it super obvious. I think its a really big deal to Mickey to ask Ian to stay over and spend an extended period of time with him.
4. You're under my skin man
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Mickey was starting to verbally open up to Ian at the end of season 5, he finally told him he loved him but he was still pretty guarded about his emotions. Season 7 Mickey is just besotted and he does not care who knows it. He isn't trying to be coy or play any games, he comes straight out with it, I've been thinking about you I want you to come with me. Like this scene is right out of season 1 Ian's dreams. Ian's under Mickeys skin and that's not about to change anytime soon. I mean Mickey escaped from prison he really shouldn't be hanging around his home town where people know him but he has to see Ian, he had to at least find out if there was a chance he would come with him.
3. Together
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This was the first time that Mickey has acknowledged that they where a couple and Ian wasnt even awake to witness it. When the guy asks Mickey what Ian wants for breakfast he's on the defensive he's just be woke up and he gives a snarky answer. But when he comes in with the are you together question, you can see Mickey stop and consider his answer before deciding to tell the truth. No, what did you call me. No, are you calling me gay. Just together. Yes I'm with this other person.
Also the look that he gives Ian when the guy tells him "you're a lucky dude" it's just so soft and subtle.
2. Club kiss
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This scene really does keep on giving, we have jealous Mickey to start off with and he doesn't even try and hide it this time, he physically removes the guy away from Ian. You can see that Ian is watching in the background and he jumps down to tell Mickey that they have been invited to a party, what's wrong with a little bit of fun. Which sets Mickey off on a grumpy little jealous rant about people trying to touch Ian. Ian looks so fond here and immediately goes to kiss sourpuss Mick, to reassure him it doesn't matter who's trying to grab him, he wants Mickey.
Mickeys go to response is to pull away and Ian just sighs like he was kind of expecting it but then Mickey looks around and you can see the second he decides to say fuck it. No one cares. This kiss is on so many lists for a reason he really just goes for it with Ian in public.
Which is a big fucking deal to Mickey, I know its a gay bar but this was the same dude who was looking for Ian in a gay bar a few episodes before getting pissed of when other people called him gay.
1. I want everyone here to know I'm fucking gay.
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I do think Mickey would have came out eventually and on his own terms but right here in this moment he decided that he would rather face the wrath of his father than risk losing Ian again. Which in itself is a huge deal and really shows his depth of feelings for Ian.
Should Ian have pressured Mickey into coming out off course not, but that's a whole other discussion I just want to focus on how huge a moment this was for Mickey. He had already admitted to other people and to Ian himself that they where a couple but this is a whole other kettle of fish. He very publicly came out to his homaphobic father and to his entire social circle.
Terry off course knew Mickey was gay but whether he was in denial or really was convinced he fucked the f*ggot out of him remains to me scene but after this he really had no other option to beleive it.
Find my other Top 5s here
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buckyreaderrecs · 4 years
Text
Wax and Wane
Summary: Bucky was sure he'd felt all the different types of bad a person could feel. He was wrong. You were pretty sure it was illegal to drive away with an Avenger in the back of your van, but what else could you do? A story about grief that is basically the 'flowers grow in the sidewalk cracks' metaphor fanfictionalised.
Words: 5,614 Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Thor Additional tags: mostly canon compliant (Infinity War and Endgame never happened), Stark Tower still exists, other Marvel characters are mentioned but aren’t central to plot, recovering Bucky, not angsty but a sad story, she/her pronouns Warnings: illness/death, sick children, grief
Note: This was written for Nik's 1k Writing Challenge - @serpienten  My dialogue prompt was, "I'll keep you warm. Hold me closer." I hope you love it, Nik! 
EDIT: Accidentally had all the Y/N replaced with my name because of the Chrome extension. Hopefully fixed, but if you see Rhiannon pop up, please let me know so I can edit. Embarrassing lol.
Wax and Wane
As the paint was brushed gently across their skin in broad strokes, you could read the joy and pleasure in their sweet little faces. It was a very minor and short term relief from their day-to-day pain, but it was the very least you could do. Face painting wasn't going to cure cancer or mend broken bones, but it made the residents of the hospital's children's ward happy.
Most of the long-term patients knew you. You were the girl in the tutu and butterfly wings that would come and blow bubbles and make them smile. But on that day, you weren't the one they were excited for.
The children were in a frenzy as The Avengers entered the room, dressed in their best outfits (minus any dangerous weaponry, you assumed). You stood to the side of the room with the doctors, nurses, and parents, and listened along with an enraptured audience as Captain America and Iron Man introduced the team. The kids couldn't sit for long, so very quickly the nibbles and treats were brought out and the room calmed into a soft party atmosphere.
As soon as you'd set up your station, there was a line of children wanting to have webs and stars painted. You worked quickly, getting through the line fast. Staying put, you only had a chance to briefly survey the room before Liam, one of your most special friends, trotted up to you, pulling along someone new.
"Hey, Liam," you greeted. He let go of his new friend's hand to hug you.
"Look, Y/N!" he said, pointing up. "It's Bucky!"
You looked up at Bucky Barnes, who would have towered over you even if you had been standing. The child's size plastic chair you were on really added a comical size difference though.
"Hi, Bucky," you said, coy smile. Bucky softly smiled back. "You're Liam's favourite,"
"Yeah, I told'ed him that!" Liam said, not a shred of self-consciousness in the child. "And now we can be matching,"
"Matching?" you asked.
"Yeah, 'cause you do the painting and you can paint my arm like Bucky's," Liam explained, holding his prosthetic arm out in demonstration.
Glancing up at Bucky to make sure he was privy to the plan, he simply gave a little shrug.
"Sounds good to me. How about you sit in this chair here, Liam, and we get Bucky to sit right next to us on the floor. Is that okay?" you asked both of them.
Liam jumped into the seat, sticking his arm out ready.
Bucky had a bit of a harder time folding himself down, but he eventually managed to sit in front of you comfortably.
"Okay if I borrow your arm for a bit?" you asked Bucky.
He nodded and held it out to you. When you took it, laying it across one of your legs so you could copy the seams and markings, Bucky held his breath. Most people hesitated. He figured some of them were afraid, and some didn't want to appear rude. Not you though. To you, his arm was just that - an arm. You'd kinda grown used to celebrities (is that what superheroes are classified as? you wondered to yourself) by then. Make a Wish and fundraising events and all that jazz… Turns out most famous people are pretty normal, boring even.
Bucky watched you pull a bunch of markers out of your kit and begin replicating the aesthetic of his vibranium arm onto Liam's plastic prosthetic. He let you gently move him as needed, and found himself in awe of how good your Sharpie skills were.
"You're really good," he said, speaking up for the first time.
Liam held most of the space in the conversation, which was fine by both of you. He told Bucky about his illness, and how even though he'd lost his arm, he was the "luckiest kid in New York" because he was alive and because he got to meet The Avengers. There were shades of adult in his words, like he'd been told of his own luck before.
While Liam spoke, you stole glances at Bucky. Mostly, his gaze was on Liam, sometimes darting over to you and away just as fast; he was avoiding eye contact. However, he quickly would turn to focus on particularly loud sounds or doors opening. If you'd had a chance to watch any of the other heroes in the room, you'd note they all did the same.
"Doin' okay, Liam?" you checked in when the boy had gone quiet.
Liam nodded frantically, not wanting to disappoint. "Yeah!" he affirmed.
"Maybe just need a little nap after this, huh buddy?" you asked.
"Maybe," he replied, relieved that there was a nap in his future.
"Think I might need one too," Bucky chimed in. Liam giggled like it was a joke.
"All done!" you announced.
When the very elated Liam was done tippy tapping and hugging, he ran off to show his parents how absolutely cool he was.
You and Bucky stood, both stretching out your limbs.
"Think you've made a friend for life there," you told him; he softly smiled in reply. "Can I just say something that might be way out of place? I just… I don't know… I feel like you need to hear it."
Bucky frowned, studied your face for a second. "Sure,"
"Okay… So… You do know that you deserve to be here, right?"
Mostly his expression was blank, then his head tilted to the side just a little. You'd been reading him the whole time, he realised. He felt exposed. But there was nowhere to run to.
"Maybe…" he finally settled on saying.
"Maybe?" you scoffed. "I mean, kids are lining up to meet you… And you're not questioning if, like, Wanda Maximoff or Natasha Romanoff should be here, you know what I mean?"
Bucky looked over to where Scarlet Witch and Black Widow were forming a girl gang. "They're different. It's different," he argued, but his words were laced with too much sadness for you to give in.
"Yeah… If you wanna get technical, weren't you the only one under mind control or whatever?" you posed.
Bucky looked at you, tried to figure out why you were being so… persistently kind. Your logic made sense, and something in him considered believing it.
"I'm just saying," you continued, "You deserve to be here. And if you don't wanna accept that, then it can be like… Liam deserves for you to be here."
That, Bucky could get behind. He nodded. "Thank you," he said, awkward but earnest.
You shrugged it off, then took a slow step towards him. "Hug?"
He blinked stupidly, then nodded, opening his arms and letting you step into them. While you wrapped your arms loosely around his neck, Bucky hesitated for a moment, then slid his arms around you. People around the room, even the ones that didn't know Bucky, watched how his hands lingered in the air before settling on your back. They saw how he melted into the hug, let his head rest on your shoulder and closed his eyes.
When you stepped away from each other, he'd inherited some of your fairy glitter.
"I'll see you next time, I guess," you offered, letting your sentence trail off enough that Bucky could catch it if he wanted. There was room for him to say anything. But, he just nodded.
Bucky watched you walk away.
Sam appeared at his side. "So, are you gonna-" Sam said, the amusement clear in his tone.
"Don't," Bucky interrupted.
"She's clearly-"
"I said don't," Bucky snapped, walking out of the room.
Sam went to follow, worried he'd genuinely upset his friend, but he caught Steve's eye. A subtle shake of the head told him to stand down.
Although you buried it deep inside, there was some small part of you that thought maybe you'd hear from Bucky. You weren't exactly sure why you thought that was going to happen. It was easy to let that idea fall in the face of logic though; he was an Avenger… very busy… very private… etc. etc. Nonetheless, that small part stayed alight, and it fed your dreams all the way through to the next time you would cross paths with Bucky again.
It was a different hospital, but the same type of event. Sparkle and shine and cheer the kids up. Although there were less Avengers than the first, the children were entirely chuffed with meeting their heroes. And, this event had something the previous did not. Thor. His laugh bellowed all through the ward's corridors, providing a sharp contrast to the otherwise sterile mundane life of the hospital.
Thor promised the children that it wasn't that they weren't worthy of wielding Mjolner, it was that they just weren't ready yet. "You're far too little! When you're big and strong, like me!" He filled the children with more hope than they'd had in a long time.
Your attention constantly being drawn to the larger-than-life Asgardian was a welcomed distraction… You were trying to give Bucky space, deciding that if he wanted to talk to you, he could. You wouldn't push it. Two superheroes that apparently did want to talk to you, though, were Falcon and Captain America.
Like you were their mission, there was hardly a second where one of them wasn't by your side. Sam was entirely unhelpful, giving creative input to all the face painting. He made the kids laugh though, often at jokes that went over their innocent heads. It was his sassy tone they really liked. Steve was a little calmer, answering weird and wonderful questions only children could think up.
They were both charming, personable, and genuinely fun to be around, but what were they doing? Were they trying to coax Bucky in? Provide a buffer? Or, no… Maybe they were keeping you from him? Shaking the thought from your head, you simply blew bubbles and painted faces and covered the room in confetti.
You would have liked to say you didn't notice when Bucky slipped from the room, not returning, but that small part of you most definitely did. It most definitely noticed and you most definitely felt the effect of him not speaking to you, not even offering a smile across the room.
"Did I do something?" you finally asked Steve, not needing to explain the context.
"No… It's not you…" he answered, looking over at the door Bucky had left through. "He's just… He's trying…"
The children's ward was quiet. It was like that on Tuesday mornings. No events. Rounds over. Just the everyday life of sick children and distraught parents. As you walked down the corridor, you glanced through open doorways on your way to the nurses' station.
It was a hard place to be.
Something caught your eye and you stopped yourself a second too late, passing the room before you could see what it was. A flash of something. Stepping back, you snuck a look around the corner.
A sunbeam off vibranium. Bucky Barnes was folded next to a bed, his arms crossed on the edge of the mattress, his head resting on them. He was asleep. You took a step into the room, then looked to the occupant of the bed. Your heart dropped. Liam.
Liam was asleep in bed, sweating and small.
Cautiously, you crept further into the room. Neither of them stirred, so you took a chair on the opposite side of the bed to Bucky and reached over to pick up Liam's chart from the end of his bed. It didn't say a lot, just the need-to-know for nurse rotation. But you knew those medications enough to know it was bad. Really bad. The emotions caught were too big. You put the chart back; the plastic-hitting-plastic sound it made woke Bucky up. He shot up, chair almost knocked to the ground if it weren't for his reflexes. He looked across the bed at you then, recognition instant. A worried expression took over his face.
"Y/N?"
"He's sick again," you said, your voice sounding far away.
Bucky tracked your gaze to Liam. He nodded. "Yeah… They, ah… It came back… His parents went home to get some sleep. I said I'd stay." When you didn't move, didn't say anything, Bucky grew nervous. He could hardly handle his own reaction, let alone yours too. "They, the hospital, got in touch when he came back in. Said that… I could help. Make him feel… brave, or… I don't know.. It's been a couple weeks, but…"
He couldn't bring himself to say it and you didn't need to hear it.
"I've… I've got to… go…" you said.
When you stood up, you wobbled on the spot and tried to take a step to the door. Bucky was next to you before you even clocked him moving.
"Come on. Don't wanna wake him," Bucky whispered, helping you out of the room gently.
In the corridor, away from the door, you felt the wet hot tears roll down your face. Stupid, you thought to yourself, you should be used to this. It's happened before. The obvious and cruel downside to volunteering in the pediatric ward of a hospital.
Bucky stood in front of you, watching for only a couple seconds before pulling you into a hug. He squeezed you into his chest, your arms curled comfortably between him and you.
"He's talked about you. He'd wanna see you... Come back this afternoon and see him."
You nodded, keeping your eyes shut tightly.
"Okay," you tried, your voice squeaky and small.
"Okay," Bucky repeated, trying to channel the humanity pre-Hydra Bucky showed when Steve's mother passed away. He knew what to say and do then. "You're okay… Go… Go do what ya need to. We'll be here. I've got him," he said.
When he let you go, you felt cold. You wiped your tears, nodded once and looked up at him.
"Go," he prompted, and you nodded again, turning and walking away.
"Yeah, I don't know what that is,"
"Finding Nemo?!" Liam repeated, like if he said it louder Bucky was more likely to recognise the title.
You chuckled from the seat next to Bucky's.
"You knew?" he asked.
"Everyone knows just keep swimming, Buck," you told him with a shrug.
"Guess that's another one for the list then," he said, pulling his phone out and adding the film to his ever-growing list of 'to watch'.
Hours could go by like that. You, Liam, and Bucky sitting around, reciting movie quotes to each other. Guessing titles. Laughing at all the gaps in Bucky's pop culture knowledge. Liam loved feeling smarter than an adult, and he completely lost himself in hysterical laughter when Bucky burst out his chair in joy when he finally recognised a film.
"Star Wars!" Bucky had screamed so loud the nurse came in to shush him. "Luke, I am your father!" Bucky whispered at her, grinning ear to ear. Then there was the Harry Potter time. "I got tricked into watching them," Bucky had said, shaking his head. Apparently, during his stay in Wakanda, Shuri had convinced him that Scarlet Witch and those who attended Hogwarts were from the same breed. He should, she said, watch it so he understands Wanda Maximoff better. Shuri would remember Bucky's face forever when he came back from visiting Team Cap.
"My turn," Liam said. He thought for a second. "I'm gonna make you an offer you can't refuse," he said, his voice forced as deep as his tiny child body would allow.
"Woah! Who let you watch that?!" you said, completely horrified.
"My cousin David," Liam snitched immediately. "The horse head didn't even look real,"
"It didn't," Bucky confirmed, again, happy to identify The Godfather. "Alright, my turn… Ah… Okay. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."
You were as lost as Liam.
"We give up," Liam reported after maybe five seconds of thinking.
"Casablanca?! Come on, guys. It's a classic!" Bucky argued.
"God, you're showing your age," you teased.
"Alright, you do better,"
"Easy," you cleared your throat for dramatic effect, "To infinity and beyond!"
"TOY STORY!" both Liam and Bucky yelled in unison.
Liam then taught Bucky how to act out the "Buzz, will you get up here and give me a hand?" scene, complete with thrown prosthetic.
"Theeeeeee… beeeeestest… leaf!"
You and Bucky ran off in opposite directions. The hospital courtyard wasn't exactly bursting at the seams with nature, but it was enough to complete a little scavenger hunt.
On Liam's orders, you returned with the most impressive leaf you could find. Bucky was right behind you. Handing them over, Liam carefully considered them from his bunded up seat in his wheelchair.
"The winner is…" he said, pausing to cough. "Y/N!"
"What?!" Bucky screeched.
"Calm down. It's one-all," you reminded him. His feather was iridescent therefore better than your grey pigeon one.
Bucky grinned at you, ever competitive and ever aiming to make Liam happy. "Alright," he said. "What's next, little man?"
"Not today, guys," the nurse replied when you ask if Liam could go for a walk.
"Maybe we'll just read a couple chapters of The Lord of the Rings then, yeah?" you said, turning your suggestion to Bucky.
Bucky nodded solemnly, suddenly and deeply affected by the reminder of Liam's weakening state, of mortality.
Before entering Liam's room, you reached out and touched Bucky's arm. He stopped, looked at you with glossy eyes. You don't wanna see it, think it, but sadness didn't take away from Bucky's beauty.
"You okay?" you asked.
It was a loaded question and almost a rhetorical one. Bucky knew that. He didn't answer, just gave you a weak, lopsided smile.
"You Sam or Frodo today?" he asked, shaking it off and moving again.
For the whole time you'd known Bucky, his size had always been so obvious. Sitting beside children, beside Liam, he looked like a giant. Even next to the nurses that came and went he towered. Small hospital chairs. Small plastic cups. Small, sanitised rooms.
So, when you turned the corner and saw Bucky sitting on the floor of the pediatric ward's hallway, looking so fucking small, it stopped you in your tracks. His head was in his hands, and you knew what it meant.
Slowly, step by heavy step, you walked the hallway and came to stand in the doorway of what was once Liam's room. The bed had been stripped of linen, but wasn't yet made ready for the next patient. The charts were gone, and the many tubes and plastic bags of chemicals too. A crushed, empty juice box was on the ground.
Behind you, a nurse cleared her throat.
"Y/N… I'm so sorry… We tried to call ya this morning but-"
"I left my phone at home… I was running late. Locked myself out my apartment. Left half my kit there too. Was late to this fairy party gig I had downtown… Bad day… and-" you were rambling, tears slowly running down your face. The nurse's hand gently cupping your shoulder stopped you.
"S'alright, love… Nothing you could've done. But it's good you're here now. Reckon the Sergeant here might need a little TLC, yeah?"
Nodding, you wiped your tears away on the sleeve of your hoodie. Suddenly, it felt ridiculous to be wearing a pink tutu.
The nurse left you alone with Bucky.
Bucky, who had not moved a single inch since you arrived. Bucky, who looked small. Bucky.
"Let's go," you said, kneeling on the lino floor in front of him. "Think maybe a crying fairy and ah, statue Winter Soldier might confuse the kids… So… let's go."
You thought maybe he wasn't going to reply, but he lifted his head, faced up. Bucky's eyes were rimmed red, but they were dry. He looked haunted. Shaking his head the smallest amount, he told you, "I… I can't… can't leave him…"
"Okay… Okay, yeah. Um…" You looked up and down the hallway, trying to think while your head was drowning in grief. "Alright, um… My van is downstairs, in the lot. Let's just… I don't know, get that far."
Bucky just starred at you. For one… two… three… "Yeah, okay," he agreed, standing.
He didn't say a word as he followed you into the elevator and down to the carpark. People tried to not stare as you walked by.
Arriving at your van, you opened the back and shoved some things out of the way, pulling the small mattress and pillows down from where they were propped up against the side. Turning to face Bucky, you read the confusion in his face.
"Oh, ah… I don't live in it… I just…" There was no point in sugar-coating at that point. "I spend half my time around sick kids, you know? I need somewhere to be when it gets too much. Somewhere to… cry or sleep for an hour or whatever."
Bucky looked from the van to you, gave you a small nod of acknowledgement.
"We can just stay here… for as long as you need…" you offered, feeling embarrassment swell in you, but it quickly gave way to the apathy summoned by abject grief.
If Bucky thought it was weird, he didn't say and you wouldn't have cared. He didn't though. He moved to sit where he could politely unlace his boots and nudge them under the van, then he scooted back onto the mattress, laid down. You crawled in after him, closing the doors behind you.
He'd returned to his state of seeming too big for his surroundings, curled up in the back of your van. When you laid down next to him, he looked over at you. "Thank you," he said, voice croaky.
As tears began to form in his eyes, you had the grace to pretend not to notice. "I think there's a blanket somewhere…" You sat up, looking over a box of costume fairy wings. Before you could locate the blanket, Bucky's arms wrapped gently around your waist, pulling you into him.
Your back was to his chest, his face buried somewhere between your neck and the pillow.
"I'll keep you warm," Bucky said, "Hold me closer." So, you did, putting your arms over his and threading your fingers between his. You didn't need to be kept warm, but he needed to hold onto something solid, someone living, breathing, real, and there. He needed you.
Usually, sleeping in the back of the van was fine. When a super soldier was taking up 80% of the space, however… different story. You lasted forty minutes before snaking your way out, jumping over the front bench seat to sit behind the wheel.
Bucky was definitely dead to the world. You could hear his heavy sleep-induced breathing. But, you couldn't just drive off with him in the back. That would pretty much be kidnapping an Avenger, right? You looked over the seat at Bucky. Waking him up seemed like an equally bad idea, both practically and morally speaking. He was so peaceful.
So, against your better judgement, you got out, grabbed his boots, and jumped back in, putting the key in the ignition and turning.
At every car horn, New York pedestrian, and sharp turn, you glanced over to see if he'd been startled awake. Alas, sleeping beauty. After about fifteen minutes of sitting on your phone when you'd arrived home, parked in the back lot of your apartment complex, you ran out of feeds to refresh. Leaving the car key close to Bucky, where he'd see it, you left him there, figuring he'd probably be able to defend himself if anyone tried to steal the van.
Hours later, close to midnight, you found yourself walking around your place, lost and teary. Pulling your nightgown on, you left your apartment and ventured outside. It was cold. That type of night time chill that only exists when you're at your most sad. Bone freezing. Visible breathing.
There was no reply when you knocked on the back door of the van. Opening it, you were startled by Bucky's upright frame. He was sitting awake, back to the interior wall.
"Buck?"
No reply.
You were a little scared. Unsure of what to do next.
"I… I thought you could use the sleep. We're at my place now…"
Still, nothing.
"Do you want to come inside?"
You chewed your lip for a second, waited, but he remained still. His super soldier body would be fine without food or water for a little while longer, you reasoned. And, he constantly radiated heat.
"I'm apartment 5C. Come up when you're ready."
He didn't look over as you closed the door and retreated back into the safety of your home. There, you cried. Grieved. Tried to sleep. You told yourself you would make him come inside in the morning.
The sun rose red over New York City. You'd left your blinds open all night; waking up to natural like was meant to be good for you. Sitting up, you stretched the last remnants of a restless sleep off your heavy body and stepped out of bed.
Maybe Bucky got himself in overnight. Crept in through an unlocked window. Used some sort of superhero technology to unlock the front door. He wasn't on the couch, though, or anywhere in the apartment.
Teeth brushed and coffee brewing, you once again donned the nightgown and headed outside.
At least he's lying down, you thought, opening the van door.
Bucky was back under the blanket. He was awake, the lines under his eyes deep set and sharing space with purple shadows.
"Come on," you said. "You can't stay here. People are gonna come looking for you."
Slowly, Bucky rolled his head to the side to look at you. Previously, he was staring at the van ceiling. "Steve knows," he told you, throwing his phone over. It landed on the blanket with a gentle thud.
You didn't pick it up.
Bucky continued, "Messaged him last night. Phone's dead now,"
"Um… okay… Well, you should still come inside. There's more room,"
"I'm fine."
It wasn't defiance as much as it was apathy. You wanted to say something. Anything. Be reassuring. But to be honest, you were surprised by his grief.
Surely, the Winter Solider knew loss. Surely, he'd mourned and learnt to cope.
No… No, this was different, you told yourself. The first child who passed away when you started working with the hospitals destroyed you. It took a month to even go back to the pediatric ward. Since then, you'd put things into perspective and learnt to process everything a bit better. Not as equipped as the doctors and nurses to do so, but able enough to survive the pain.
The pain. Entirely unique. Something Bucky hadn't felt before.
He really thought he'd felt all the types of bad there was to feel. He really thought he was no longer able to love. Besides Steve. And Sam. Wanda. Nat. Shuri… Okay, so he was kidding himself. Still. It fucking hurt.
Around lunch, you took Bucky some food. Around dinner, you found it untouched but replaced it anyway.
It was a Sunday night. In the morning you were expected over at the palliative care centre. Reading aloud to the patients helps.
At 5:30 am, you woke from a fever dream. After shoving the sheets in the apartment building's basement washer, you called the centre.
"Oh, no worries, Y/N," they told you. "Sally's bringin' her new puppy in today. That ought to bring some cheer to the place anyway."
Guilt alleviated only slightly, you trekked to the van.
At least he'd nibbled on dinner at some point.
"Bucky?"
It was dark still, the sun only just waking up. You could make out Bucky's form in amongst your stuff.
"You have to come inside today. I…" Guilt. Maybe a guilt trip would work. "I need my van for work…" It almost sounded like a question. "And, I'm sure you've got things you need to do…" No response. "Superhero stuff?"
A muffled snort, but nothing else.
"Any chance you can just leave him there?"
For a second, you thought Steve was joking. The silence at the end of the line said otherwise.
"Ah, I mean, it's been almost two days,"
"I can get a car sent over to you if-"
"No," you interrupted. "That's not it. I'm just… Is this normal?"
Steve sighed. "There's not a normal for us, Y/N. There's just… coping… day by day."
Holding in tears, you nodded to yourself. "Yeah, okay. I, ah, just wanted to check in. See if there's anything I should be doing,"
"I'd wager that you're already doing it… It means something that he's chosen to be near you. He could have run. He does sometimes. So, really, for him, this is… progress. He trusts you."
You're weren't sure what you'd done to deserve that.
"Thanks, Steve,"
"Anytime. Call anytime, Y/N."
When you'd phone Stark Tower looking for help, you didn't really expect to be taken seriously. As it turned out, they were waiting for your call.
To your relief, Bucky was sitting up when you opened the van doors around 5 pm. He watched in interest as you awkwardly climbed in, handing him the tray you were carrying so you could settle in next to him.
"Choc chip cookies and tea," you announced, not letting him give the tray back. "And I'm not leaving until you drink your cup and have at least two cookies."
Bucky looked down at the presentation in his lap. "Guess I can't argue with that."
You chewed your cookie slowly, making sure you'd not finish before him.
"Did you make these?"
"Yeah… I bake when I'm… Whatever," you replied.
He nodded, then took another bite.
"You called Steve?"
"How'd-"
Bucky shrugged. "Just figured you would. What'd he say?"
"Um… That you're okay here," you told him.
Bucky didn't reply, instead picked up his mug of tea and held it between his palms. The china softly chinked against his left hand.
You wanted to ask if he was indeed okay, but you weren't sure of what you'd be able to say if he lied. Or told the truth. Or anything in between.
When the tray was empty of food, you climbed out of the van, and half-heartedly asked if he was coming inside.
"I'm fine here," was his equally half-hearted reply.
Together, maybe, you could make a whole person, something functioning and able to cope better than either of you were doing alone.
Back inside your apartment, you ran out of plain flour and dishes to clean. All that was left to do was mourn.
It had been three nights and days since you'd arrived home from the hospital. Almost eighty hours of saying goodbye to Liam and telling yourself to be grateful that you knew him, and that you were able to help him laugh and find joy in his final few weeks. Hours of phone calls to friends, family, and your favourite nurses. Hours of standing at your apartment door, ready to march down to the van and pull Bucky out by his boots. Hours of it all.
Like all things though, good or bad, it was waning and you were beginning to see how you could survive.
You were sitting at the kitchen bench, practising your pipe cleaner and pom pom crown-making skills when there was a knock on the door. Glancing at your phone as you stood, you thought it was around dinner time. Probably next door, asking to borrow an egg. Or the old lady from down the hall that always made too much lasagne.
Without checking the peephole, you opened the door with your best polite smile ready.
Bucky.
The sight of him hit you, not like a tidal wave, but a waist-deep wave that knocks you back unexpectedly. You stumbled, had to refocus. Felt a little out of control.
Out of the mess of the back of the van, it was easier to see how utterly fucked he looked. His long hair was ratty, visibly knotted in parts. Expression strung out, he looked like he was in amphetamine withdrawal. His skin was too shiny, and his clothes were crumpled and damp in places.
Bucky went to speak, but the words got caught in his throat. He looked pained, then sniffled and wiped his nose on the back of his hoodie's arm.
Without any warning, you burst into tears.
Your hands went up to cup your mouth but it was too late. The sobs were heaving up from deep inside you, and Bucky was born with too much empathy to not be affected. Tears began to roll down his face.
And that was it. Any pretence or attempt to be stoic was entirely dissolved. You crumbled into each other.
Bucky wrapped his arms around you and you pressed your head hard into his chest, almost pushing against him like you were trying to push the feelings out of yourself.
"I know," he whispered, kissing the top of your head.
As his arms tightened around your body, you could feel how it was calming you. It was only a short term relief from the grief, but it was the very least Bucky could think to do. Holding you wasn't going to make anything better, but it made you both feel less alone.
Showers and fuzzy bed socks. Hot cocoa and trashy television. Sleeping close. Waking up together.
From the deep unwanted darkness of grief, something was determined to find a way to grow.
Tag list (open): @browngirlmagic @lookalivefrosty @aynaraxas @vibraniumwitch @the--sad--hatter @bubbabarnes
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potatocrab · 4 years
Text
Nothing Sweeter Than a Touching Scene (Noir AU Side Stories)
The Marmalade on 10,000 Pieces of Toast
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Deacon finally gets the chance to cook breakfast for Charmer. In a tender moment, he shares some truths about his past and thinks about a future with Madelyn. 
(Takes place during Chapter 16 (17 on Ao3) of Salvation is a Last Minute Business.)
“Another day, another ball of fire rising in the summer sky. The city is quiet now, but it will soon be pounding with activity. This time yesterday, Jean Dexter was just another pretty girl, but now she's the marmalade on 10,000 pieces of toast.”—The Narrator as played by Mark Hellinger (The Naked City, 1948)
4393 words | [read on Ao3] 
May 31st, 1958
“The most intimate thing you can do for a person you love is cook them breakfast.”
Words to live by—echoes from a former life—advice Deacon still believed in after so many years. He’d always been somewhat of a hopeless romantic, and despite the amount of tragedy the universe—or God—had thrown his way, he remained steadfast in his convictions. A dangerous thing, given his line of work. If there was one thing he’d learned from watching Casablanca, it was that you didn’t fall in love in the middle of a war.
Not to say the investigation into the Institute was anything like fighting Nazis in Europe—or maybe it was. The days he was getting shot at certainly felt like it, not to mention the car bombs (okay car bomb—but one destroyed Volkswagen typically led to another). And then there were his fallen comrades—Railroad agents that had died at the Switchboard, Ticonderoga, and Augusta safehouse. This was war alright—Deacon only hoped that V-Day was sooner, rather than later.
Through the darkness of it all, he’d found someone—again—and was clinging to the hope that this time, maybe, it would last. That this time, the cruel hand of fate wouldn’t reach down and snatch her from his grasp, just as their connection deepened. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—lose her. Charmer—Madelyn—she was—
“Fuck,” Deacon hissed under his breath as he dropped an egg to the floor, frowning at the mess he’d made while distracted by his thoughts. He shot a glance down the hallway towards the half-open bedroom door, waiting several seconds for the telltale sounds of his creaky mattress and the even squeakier floorboards. But nothing came—good—she was still asleep. Full speed ahead with operation breakfast in bed.
Ignoring the broken shells and splattered yolk at his feet, Deacon considered himself to be a good cook. He hadn’t had very many opportunities to show off the skill and providing late night meals after Railroad ops to Drummer Boy didn’t count—the schmuck would eat anything without appreciation of the craft—couldn’t even tell the difference between Ragù and Bolognese. Madelyn though, she understood it was an artform, just like one of his many other clandestine talents.  
She’d watched him intently the evening before as he prepared their meal—beef bourguignon—just as he’d promised. It would’ve been easier to eat at the 24-hour diner down the block, especially after all they’d been through that day. Hell, the holiday weekend had barely started and Madelyn had managed to be shot at twice. But she insisted, even if it took all night just to have a home-cooked meal made by him. She meant it colloquially—the home in home-cooked—but it struck a chord with him, glancing over his shoulder as he sautéed vegetables to look at her perched on one of the barstools.
Madelyn had been smiling in that small, secret way, blue eyes bright and entranced by his every movement. Deacon contemplated telling her she looked like she belonged there, in the safehouse, in the closest thing he had to a home—had very nearly asked her something far more dangerous after watching her savor the first bite. He held back his words, filled his mouth and burnt his tongue on hot stew, and laughed with her about French cooking and red wine. But the thought persisted—how nice it would be to settle down with her—if she’d have him.
He always was the type to fall too hard, and too fast.
Their first time had been rushed, fervent and had resulted in a few smashed items along the kitchen counter. There was no less passion in their kisses that second night, dinner finished and wine bottle empty, but there was a cadence to it all as they took the time to better familiarize themselves with one another—get lost in each other. Deacon wasn’t entirely sure if he’d gone soft, gone mad, or had died and gone to heaven. Maybe it was a sick combination of the three. Love always was like that, it seemed—a little part of yourself breaking off and floating away as it found root in the heart of one’s beloved.
“Damn,” he breathed a curse again, softly laughing to himself about the circumstances and bringing himself back to the present. He was in deep.
He caught his distorted reflection in the shiny surface of the toaster as he retrieved the crispy bread from the appliance, stacking it onto a plate next to a tiny jar of orange marmalade. “Shallow ends’ for chumps.”
Deacon quietly hummed a showtune as he organized the food on the wooden tray, plating the over-easy eggs next to the crispy bacon and freshly made hash-browns. He placed the glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in one corner before situating the steaming cup of coffee in the other. He stood back to inspect his work, adjusting the silverware and lamenting that he didn’t have any fresh flora on hand to make the display perfect. Somehow he knew that Madelyn wouldn’t mind.
He balanced the weight of the tray in his hands before carefully making his way back down the hall, smiling at his efforts and rehearsing in his mind all the little ways he could wake her up. Deacon used his foot to push open the bedroom door but paused in the doorway as soon as he caught sight of Madelyn’s form on the bed. She was blissfully asleep, the picture of comfort dressed up in his button-down shirt from the evening before with the duvet pulled up across her waist, hair fanned out across the pillows like a golden halo of curls. With the sun shining in through the drawn-open curtains, she looked like she had walked right out of a movie—or maybe his dreams. Deacon suddenly cursed the fact Nick got to call her doll, but maybe he could stake a claim on angel.
“Are you going to stand there all morning?”
Madelyn peeked open one eye, lips curling up into a small grin as she looked at him, hardly a trace of drowsiness in her voice. 
“The view is nice,” Deacon replied, watching as she leisurely pushed herself up to sit against the pillows and headboard. She stretched, arms reaching high above her head and shifting the fabric of the shirt she wore just enough that he saw a sliver of skin. He smiled at the cute way she yawned, wrinkled nose and all. “Just how long have you been awake?”
“Since that first egg crack,” she shrugged, eyeing the tray in his hands. “I’m a light sleeper, don’t you know? You can’t sneak out or up on me.”
“As tempting as it was to follow you out to the kitchen and join you, I decided feigning sleep was a better idea,” Madelyn continued with a quiet giggle, hiding her amusement behind her fingers. The delight and mischief in her eyes was intoxicating. “Let you surprise me.”
Deacon raised his eyebrows, lifting the tray as if on cue. “Surprise!”
He finally entered the room, crossing over to one side of the bed as Madelyn shifted to create space for him to place the tray of food down before he sat on the edge of the mattress. He turned to face her, stretching to rest his chin in his palm, elbow sinking into the plush blankets. She grinned, eyes shimmering as they scanned over the platter.
“First dinner, now breakfast—”
“A show too,” Deacon joked, prompting her to snicker as he alluded to their more boisterous activities.
“It was quite the performance,” she replied, gaze running over his body and lack of clothing—an undershirt and boxers was good enough for a lazy day at the safehouse. “I feel thoroughly spoiled.”
“Good,” he responded, nodding at her. “Now eat, before all my hard work goes cold.”
Deacon stayed where he was, lounging sideways on the bed as he watched her eat. He stole the occasional bite of bacon, smirking to himself when he noted the little blush dusting her cheeks, seemingly flustered under his observation. In the morning light, without his sunglasses or dark-haired wig, the two underdressed in their most natural states it was all very domestic—something Deacon hadn’t experienced in years. Might as well have been a lifetime. No wonder she felt nervous.
His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, on the verge of saying something incredibly stupid and too soon, caught up in the afterglow and butterflies that continued to swirl around in his stomach. He quelled them with a generous sip of her coffee, even if the added sugar and cream wasn’t his preference. Madelyn laughed at his subtle wince, swapping the ceramic cup from his hands for a piece of toast. She’d spread a generous dollop of marmalade atop and had taken one bite before passing it to him.
“What’s the verdict?” he asked before taking a mouthful.
“With skills like this, you could replace Codsworth,” she quipped, smiling against the rim of the coffee cup. “What a shame you don’t have a third arm.”  
“I don’t?” he teased between chews, raising a curious eyebrow.
Madelyn nearly choked on her sip of coffee, spluttering out the liquid into her hand and reaching for a napkin as she laughed at his lewd joke. As flustered as she was before, she was completely flushed now, neck and cheeks tinted a bright red as she struggled to contain her amusement and embarrassment at the mess she’d made. Deacon laughed with her, taking the cup from her hands to place back on the tray and offering another napkin as he sat up.
“You’re too much,” she sighed, slowly pulling the cloth from her face to reveal a coy smile.
Deacon took it from her, dropping it across the food tray before sliding it away and placing it safely on the ground. He sat in the empty spot, leaning over so his arms boxed her in on either side, fingers gradually peeling away the blankets to expose her naked legs. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Madelyn leaned closer, arms circling around his shoulders as she traced her nose against his, lips smiling against his in the ghost of a kiss. “Jury is still out…if you’re bad for me.”
She was teasing him, Deacon knew that. But still, his heart strained against his ribcage, though he hid his reaction well. He knew he wasn’t the best choice for Madelyn—out of all the eligible bachelors in Boston, she could do so much better than some Railroad spy that couldn’t tell the truth. Lately, he’d been honest with her, but there was still so much she didn’t know—so much he would never tell her, just to keep her safe. That’s not the kind of partner she needed in life, not the kind of person you chose to share a future with.
Yet, there he was—there she was—kissing him just as sweetly and enthusiastically as the night before, as she’d done the first night he’d brought her to the safehouse. She’d kissed him a few weeks ago too, outside her apartment door, full of want and silently pleading, confirming to him that she’d made her choice.
“You,” she’d breathed, hot against his mouth when they were perched on the barstools two nights ago. “Deacon, I want you.”
Invigorated by the memory, he tugged Madelyn closer, her legs shuffling from beneath the covers and body shifting beneath his desperate grasp so that her knees straddled his thighs. He groaned, the feeling of her soft hands and manicured nails sliding up beneath his shirt a welcome surprise that had him breaking away from the heated kiss so she could remove it completely. Deacon moved to do the same to the button-up she was wearing, make some kind of raunchy remark about how good she looked wearing his clothes, but she stopped him. Instead, Madelyn nudged him to lay down, adjusting herself so she was strategically straddling his hips, avoiding his ever-increasing arousal.
He gripped her waist, keeping her steady as she bent over to pepper his face with tiny kisses, trailing down and away to his ear. He bit back a moan, glancing at the top of her blonde head. “Cruel, cruel mistress.”
Madelyn softly chuckled against his skin, the sound and feeling doing nothing to placate his state. “Have somewhere you need to be?”
“No,” he answered in a breath, shifting beneath her, holding back from rolling his hips upwards. He smirked to himself, knowing she was just as riled up. “Well, inside of you. If those travel plans can be arranged.”
Deacon felt her smile, more importantly, the shiver along her spine at his cheeky statement. “I’ll book you on a first-class flight.”
Despite their obvious arousal, and her equally bawdy response (that had him tightening his grip and practically growling), Madelyn slowed her movements, pulling away to look down at his face. Her expression was hard to read, even as she softly smiled at him in that small, secret way, a few fingers brushing over the lines of his face.    
“Charmer?” he prompted, the worry from before suddenly worming its way back into his chest with an overwhelming sense of dread. Did she have the same doubts?
“Can I ask you something?” her voice was deadly quiet, just above a whisper and she was barely able to meet his gaze.
The open-ended question terrified him, and he had to admit that in that moment he was emotionally and physically vulnerable—what with being pinned beneath her body to the mattress. Even if he could easily toss her aside and run away, he’d still have to answer to her eventually. Unless he ran away for good—but that was not an option, not when he’d resigned himself to drown in her waters and die a sweet, sweet death.
So he answered, nodding once. “Yeah,” he squeezed her hip in a reassuring gesture. He bit the inside of his cheek as the next word came flying out without thought. “Anything.”
Even Madelyn seemed surprised, leaning further away until she was sitting up so she could trace the faint, ridged outline of a scar that ran along his chest towards his collarbone. Even though he’d given her permission, she was hesitant, teeth raking over her bottom lip as she studied the old injury. He recalled her lingering touch against it, and other marks along his skin as they fell asleep—it was bound to come up eventually.
Finally, her soft voice broke through the silence. “What happened?”
Deacon considered lying—it would’ve been very easy to make up some fantastical story about any one of his scars, but Madelyn always had been very astute at deciphering his wild tales and white lies. Most of the time she ignored it, let him have his fun, or added grandeur herself. Other times, especially as of late, she wanted the truth—and it likely had to do with their developing relationship. He owed her that much, and a part of him felt relieved at the decision.
“Normandy,” he started, Madelyn’s eyes widening in shock, a gasp on her lips. The assumption was there, that he had stormed the beaches on D-Day, but no. “I was fighting in Caen, in the city, with British Allies. German bastard got too close for comfort.” 
“I don’t know why I should be surprised that you served,” Madelyn whispered, still focused on the scar. “Hard to imagine you fighting somebody else’s war.”  
“Plenty of Railroad business overseas,” Deacon shrugged, catching her puzzled expression, eyebrow arched as she met his eyes. “Or at least what would eventually become the Railroad.”
Madelyn seemed to read between the lines, a slow, knowing smile creeping across her lips. “So, you’ve always been a spy.”
Deacon didn’t say anything, matching her grin instead. He knew it was harder to hide the deviousness of a non-answer without the help of his shades, but he was still going to try, if only to rile Madelyn up. She laughed, much to his delight, head tilting back and exposing her neck. He wanted to reach up and unbutton the shirt—his shirt—to expose more skin, wanted to kiss her, keep her there with him forever.
“I was sixteen in 1944…” Madelyn trailed, reaching down to thread her fingers through the hair along his temple. “Just how old are you, Deacon?”
There was humor in her question, but it startled him all the same and he had to quickly remind himself of how bare he was, how easily she could read the subtle emotions on his face. Not that he’d forgotten his age or anything, but he’d suppressed so much of his past and youth that the truth was murky. Just like his war-scars, or his name (which she hadn’t spoken aloud since discovering, to his surprise), this subject was fair game. It was amusing really, how completely backwards they’d gone about forming a partnership—relationship. Then again, their courtship was anything from conventional.
“Old enough to remember prohibition,” he finally replied with a grin, chuckling at her visible confusion as she performed silent equations in her mind. She leaned forward, palms flat against his chest as she scrutinized his face with a wary look.
“You aren’t robbing the cradle with me, now are you?”
Deacon guffawed, one hand tickling at her side and prompting her to wiggle against him in the delightful way he wanted as she giggled. “Not that old, sweetheart. And you aren’t that young.”
“Hey,” she pouted, mocking offense as she pushed away from him once again. “My birthday isn’t for another month.”
That’s right. If he’d read her license correctly (because yes, Madelyn had been correct to assume he’d been snooping through some of her things), she was turning thirty on July 1st. Well, it was only fair since he knew her age, that she knew his. Birthday and astrological sign could come later, maybe over a bottle of brandy, or after a blood oath—just kidding.
“Forty-one and some change,” he said, watching her expression carefully. Instead of amusement or uncertainty, there was a calm sense of wonderment in her baby-blues, scanning over his face like she was seeing him for the first time.
She lowered herself close again, bracing herself against his chest as she brushed her fingers through his hair again, trailing her fingers down across his temple and jaw line before tracing the angle of his nose and the line of his lips. Madelyn regarded him with the tiniest of smiles as she moved, painting him with her brush—he was all too willing to be her canvas.
She kissed the corner of his mouth before slowly erupting into a fit of giggles. “How much change, old man?”
Deacon laughed with her but was more preoccupied by the way she angled her head as she lost herself to her amusement, exposing the soft skin of her neck. This time, he couldn’t hold back and bucked the weight of her body from his hips, hooking his arms around her waist before flipping them so her back was flush against the mattress and he was hovering above her, lips already kissing a teasing line from her chin to her ear.
“How long do I have you for today?” he asked, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt.
“I don’t have anywhere to be but here, with you.”
Leave it to Madelyn to say something romantic, without a trace of lewdness. She sighed, softly moaning as he kissed along her neck and the collar of the shirt. Deacon slowed his movements, even before she spoke again, breathing out the words against the shell of his ear. “No need to rush.”
An affirmation, even as he was drowning in the deep end. Maybe it was time to come up for air, at least for a little while.
Deacon pressed a lingering kiss to her lips, holding her body to his as he rolled to his side. He nestled his head into the pillow, tightening his arm around her waist and smiling when she kissed him softly in return, tucking her arm around his middle. Slow—he could do slow. A nice, and wonderful change of pace to his wild and unpredictable, hectic life. He found comfort in the silence formed between them as they simply stared at one another, studying each other’s faces with quiet expressions.
“A secret for a secret,” Madelyn suddenly prompted, though Deacon was unsure of how much time had truly passed. As if she could tell that he didn’t understand, she continued. “I asked you something. You can ask me something, if you want.”
Tit for tat—Madelyn always was good about keeping things square. His mind swirled with the possibilities, and he very nearly responded with a hushed everything. She wanted the truth, right?
“A secret you haven’t learned about me yet?” she teased, tilting her head back so she could better see his face.
More questions floated through his head, but they all sounded too invasive, even for him, especially for where they were in their undefined relationship. Since she mentioned it, what was she like at sixteen? What were her parents like? Had she ever been overseas? She’d love Paris—or maybe Dublin, take her back to her roots. What did she look like on her wedding day? What was it like to be married to Nate, and…could she ever love again?
Yeah, those were all way too intrusive.
Deacon swallowed back the tightness in his throat. He needed to say something before his mood spiraled or he said something rash. “Can you help me get out of some parking tickets? Lawyers can do that, right?”
Madelyn flashed him a curious look, the faintest hint of disappointment at his deflection of humor before softly laughing. She’d expected him to ask something more personal, just as she’d done, and he’d goofed.
“When they aren’t providing legal advice to grisly detectives or being shot up at city hall, I suppose,” Madelyn spoke, with enough mirth in her tone to relax him, make him feel like he hadn’t offended her. “Which reminds me. I need more clothes from my apartment. I can’t walk around in dirty, blood stained dresses all weekend.”
“I’m sure I saw it as the latest fashion trend in Vogue,” Deacon joked in reply. “At this rate, Nick owes you a stipend. Or a shopping spree at Bergdorf Goodman.”
She grinned, obviously delighted by the idea. “You know, Nick doesn’t pay me. The city does. But I won’t pass up a trip to Fifth Avenue, if you’re offering.”
A day trip to Manhattan didn’t sound too bad, when she put it that way. He mirrored her smile, sliding his hand over her side. “You’re already the best dressed lawyer in Massachusetts.”
“Flatterer,” she said, a wistfully. “Save the designer labels for when I’m back in court.”
Deacon thought about that, and her time spent away from the District Attorney’s office as Nick’s legal aid. “Ever thought about opening your own practice?”
Madelyn’s eyes shined with a different kind of excitement, as if the thought had never crossed her mind. And if it had, she hadn’t given it much serious thought. Which was really all just a shame, all things considered. Her nervous silence didn’t deter Deacon.
“You belong with the big-wigs down at city hall, Charmer,” he encouraged, watching the corner of her mouth twitch up in a smile—good. “You’d even have a shot at becoming state attorney if you wanted.”
She breathed a laugh, but it wasn’t out of disbelief. Her cheeks were dusted with the lightest blush and he wondered if he was the first person to ever tell her something like that. But why not? Madelyn deserved good things, great things, and he would move heaven and earth to give it to her, if it was what she wanted.
“Big dreams for the future,” she responded. A non-answer, but he didn’t need one, based off of her bright expression. “What do you want?”
The question was a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from him. His heart seized for a moment before continuing, racing in his chest. Deacon knew Madelyn could sense the rapid pace of his pulse, and the anxiety etched into his features. For a long time he’d resigned himself to a life of subterfuge, to a life of lies and deception. After Barbara, he was married to his life as a spy and his life in the Railroad. There was nothing else—there could be nothing else. Until now.
Now he was shifting, suddenly dusting off cobwebs and morphing his life in ways he never thought possible to make room for somebody else. Somebody he wanted, somebody he needed. Somebody to share his life with. Terrifying, thrilling and mesmerizing all the same. He spoke the truth.
“Someplace to rest my head.”
“Hmm,” Madelyn sighed, softly smiling in agreement as she reached up to comb her fingers through his hair. He was beginning to think that she liked seeing him without the pompadour wig and preferred the auburn waves. “Well deserved.”
“Where have you been all my life?” he asked, well before he could hold back from saying it, tightening his jaw and inhaling sharply at the shock of his own words. At least Madelyn interpreted it as flirtatious banter rather than anything too serious, flashing him a cheeky grin as she closed the distance between them to kiss him sweetly, lingering there against his mouth.
“Boston,” she whispered. Before he could continue the kiss or bring her any closer she rolled away, onto her back, turning her head to look at him. She prompted him, beckoning him to snuggle against her side. “Come here.”
Deacon was considerably bigger than her, but she didn’t seem to mind the weight of his body laying halfway atop her, his head resting against her shoulder with her arm wrapped across his shoulder, their legs tangled together across the blankets. It was different, but a good kind of different—exactly what he needed.
“Just stay here a little while, like this?” she asked, quietly.
He didn’t mind staying like that forever. “Anything you want, Charmer.”
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mankai-onlyfans · 4 years
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Mankai Method Acting 6/2
Character Profiles
Spring Troupe: 🙇‍♂️ Host Club
Itaru Chigasaki --- Ruby
• Welcome to the Shining Jewel Host Club, where all our guests are treated like royalty, the shining jewels in our crown. Ruby is the ringleader of the host club, and the most requested member of the club. He began the Shining Jewel as a fun side business with his friends. Charming, suave, and considerate, he's the picturesque boyfriend.
Sakuya Sakuma --- Emerald
• Emerald has been friends with Ruby since high school, and they've always talked about going into business together. While Ruby is the dreamer and visionary, Emerald serves as the critic, considering each plan and picking out the flaws to be solved. He's as sharp as his name, quick to call out those around him, and is perfect for guests who prefer a tsundere type.
Citron --- Jasper
• Jasper has the most gap between his real personality and his host persona. In real life, he's cunning and sly, always arranging the chess board in his favor. But if you showed any of his guests this side of him, they wouldn't recognize him. As a host, Jasper is the epitome of the boy next door, and he charms guests of all types with his innocent and sweet charm.
Masumi Usui --- Sapphire
• Sapphire takes care of most of the runnings of the Host Club, from budgeting to catering. If Ruby is the director, then Sapphire is the stage manager. Sapphire aims to be the caretaker boyfriend, anticipating his guests needs and pampering them beyond their wildest dreams.
Tsuzuru Minagi --- Onyx
• Onyx plays the part of the sleepy boyfriend. Cuddling, dozing, and sharing snacks is the way he shows affection to his guests. He loves any form of skinship, and will get pouty if his guests play coy about it. Onyx is fully content with this arrangement, and most of the time doesn't even consider being a host as work.
Summer Troupe: ⚽️ Sports Stars
Misumi Ikaruga --- Kenta
• Kenta loves soccer. It's his biggest passion in life, and all he wants is to be able to play with his friends and have fun. But once he enters high school, team tryouts start to get more cutthroat. He's the only one of his friends who makes it onto the new team. Faced between a chance of popularity and his closest friends, Kenta decides to rewrite the rules, and forms his own soccer team with himself and his friends, determined that they can be successful if they all stick together.
Tenma Sumeragi --- Hiroshi
A ball of energy, Hiroshi is team's loveable goofball. He's always cracking jokes and keeping his friends' spirits up. He was the first to join Kenta's new team - the Uncooked Noodles - and is the most determined, behind Kenta himself, to see them succeed.
Muku Sakisaka --- Aito
Aito is a jack of all trades, but he struggles with focus. He's in almost every extracurricular at school, and his friends don't know how he keeps track of everything. The answer is his digital planner, which is more valuable to him than gold. Aito is under a lot of pressure from his parents to get excellent grades, and upkeep all of his extracurriculars, even though soccer is the only one he really enjoys.
Yuki Rurikawa --- Yosuke
Yosuke was always a lone wolf. He hasn't been playing for as long as the others, and his biggest fear is being deadweight to the team. That's why he trains twice as hard, oftentimes collapsing by the end of practice. But seeing his friends' smiling faces as they help him to his feet makes him feel like he's finally a part of something.
Kazunari Miyoshi --- Koji
• Koji is the goalie for the team, and the biggest skeptic of Kenta's plan. He was the last one to officially join the new team, but after seeing how passionate Kenta was, it made him start to believe that this crazy idea could really work.
Autumn Troupe: 🎤 Rock Band
Taichi Nanao --- James
• The battle of the bands is coming up soon, and James is ecstatic. It's always been his dream to take his garage band Static Shock to new heights. As the leader and drummer, he doesn't get as much spotlight, but that's alright with him. All he wants is to have fun making music with his best friends. But trouble starts brewing when the rival band in town scouts his lead singer, Tony. Will he and the rest of his crew be able to pull together and win the competition?
Banri Settsu --- Lenny
• Lenny steps in as lead singer after Tony leaves, but they are some big shoes to fill. He'd only done backup vocals until now, and he's struggling to balance playing guitar and delivering consistent vocals. He's worried he may have to give up guitar for the good of the team, but he's not giving up yet. Determined and fierce, Lenny is eager to make the most of the limelight now that it's on him.
Sakyo Furuichi --- Griffin
• Bassist of Static Shock. Griffin is laid back and positive. He's always offering food and drinks to the others, and breaking the tension with a joke or two. He was best friends with Tony before he left, and without Tony's serious attitude to balance him out, Griffin hasn't been taking this competition seriously enough. Now James is worried that Griffin may jump ship too, to stick with Tony...
Omi Fushimi --- Squash
• Squash is a man of few words. He plays the keyboard exceptionally well, because he's actually a classically trained pianist. But ever since his friends started Static Shock, he's had more fun playing simple chords for them than the accomplishment he feels from playing even the most intricate pieces of music. Though he doesn't say much, he's always there for his friends, offering a shoulder to cry or lean on. And when he does choose to speak, it's often to give incredibly good advice.
Juza Hyodo --- Tony
• Tony didn't want to turn on his friends, but the Zippers made him an offer he couldn't refuse. Actually getting paid to sing. Having a paid gig to put on his resume will put him one step closer to going pro. He tried to tell the others it was nothing personal, but he still feels bad about abandoning them.
Winter Troupe: 💥 Yandere
Tasuku Takato --- Daniel
• Daniel is a businessman, unassuming, and utterly alone. He's stressed and unsatisfied with his job, and is looking for a change. That's when he stumbles across a business card for "Silken Thread", a night club. Figuring he has nothing to lose, he visits the club that weekend, is able to relieve a little stress and get in a few drinks. Little does he know that his movements were being closely monitored by the club owners, who have found a new muse in Daniel. After he heads home, he expects his life to go back to normal... expect now it seems that he has four new secret stalkers- er, admirers.
Tsumugi Tsukioka --- William
William invades Daniel's workplace under the guise of a new intern. He's clumsy, but a hardworker, and very friendly. He wants to get closer to Daniel, and loves everything about him, his face, his body, his voice, his cute expression when he's confused or scared... but William would never hurt Daniel, and in fact protects him from others most of the time. Yandere level : 3/10.
Hisoka Mikage --- Timothy
• Timothy isn't as subtle as some of the others, and instead begins following Daniel. Daniel grows paranoid and eventually confronts him, but Timothy insists that he and Daniel are old friends, that they went to the same college campus, doesn't Daniel remember? Timothy seems harmless and friendly, but he slowly begins gaslighting and charming the people in Daniel's life, including his family, in the hopes of seamlessly becoming an important person to Daniel. Pretty soon, it'll be like he had been there from the start, just like it should be... Yandere level : 5/10
Homare Arisugawa --- Jeffrey
• Jefferey is a romantic. He starts sending Daniel love letters, handwritten. In his own blood. Isn't that the ultimate show of devotion? After Daniel changes addresses, he starts calling him on the phone, leaving cryptic voicemails and promises that soon they'll be together and nothing can tear them apart. Daniel tries to contact the police about it, but he's unaware that the voice he spoke to was actually Jeffrey once again. Daniel's so cute, thinking he can call anyone he wants to... Yandere level : 8/10
Azuma Yukishiro --- Charles
• Charles becomes Daniel's new therapist. Even tempered and soothing, he fits the roll so perfectly that no one would suspect the madness lingering just below the surface. Charles is singleminded with his infatuation of Daniel, and in his role of a therapist, he's able to learn all the details of Daniel's life, slowly twisting Daniel's memories and mindset to love Charles himself, and him alone. He may play nice on the outside with his fellow club owners, but Charles is not above killing to keep Daniel all to himself... Yandere level : 10/10.
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Please send in any questions you have for these characters today (6/2) and our actors will respond in character, as part of our 100 followers celebration! 🎉
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